by Margaret Dawson | Jul 5, 2020 | Margi's Musings
Joy is one of the most important life lessons
He is smiling up at me with that big tooth grin that says, “I love you, mama.” Or maybe, “I want to play.” Whatever it is, my heart fills with joy.
But as quickly as the touching moment begins, it ends, as this loving boy gets distracted by something in the grass. He takes off as fast as his legs can move him toward the end of the back yard, ready for a chase.
Then, the dune grass rustles. It’s a deer, about 25 yards away, who suddenly breaks free of his frozen stance and starts prancing away. This puts my boy, Benji, into action. He sprints into the dunes, whipping through the grass so fast you can hear the “swoosh” of the reeds. His head and tail poke above the grass every once in a while as he runs and bounces after the deer.
A minute or so later, he comes bounding out of the dunes, which extend from our backyard to the beach and the ocean beyond, toward the lawn. His tail is wagging like a fast-tempo metronome, and his big toothy smile beams, his tongue sticking out as he pants loudly from his exercise burst.
“Did you get the deer?” I ask, in what I now realize is my “Benji” voice.
His tail wags in pure delight as he whines his reply. I translate this to say, “No, mama, I didn’t catch the deer, but did you see how fast I ran?”
This rescue dog rescued me during Covid 19
Benji is a purebred Plott Hound we rescued from the local animal shelter. He did not grow up on the coast, but he has quickly become an ocean dog. He loves nothing more than chasing seagulls and jumping through the waves on the beach where we are blessed to live.
When we first brought Benji home from the animal shelter, he shook with fear and anxiety. When we tried to get near him, he would put his tail between his legs, bow his head, and make his body as small as possible. It was heartbreaking.
I spent the first 48 hours mostly just sitting or lying near him. I read everything I could about helping dogs with anxiety or those previously abused. Like with humans who have been mistreated, he needed to rebuild trust with humans.
At 3 am on the second day, he slowly moved next to me and let me put the leash on him, so we could go outside. He was probably tired of relieving himself on our deck. We figured we could wash it down once he settled.
By day three, he and I established a routine. Early morning walk, breakfast, late morning walk, rest time, and afternoon dog treat. He still did not let me pet him but he at least let me put the leash on and off. Once we were outside walking, his tail perked up.
We had a moment at some point during those first few days. After our morning walk, he came up to me when I was taking off my shoes, and he put his head between my legs. He let me pet him, rubbing his ears. He just let his head hang on my leg. We connected.
Both of us are learning new dog tricks
It’s been a few weeks now, and I can’t imagine life without this beautiful, loving rescue dog. Beyond our daily routine, we have established our own communication and signals. He has learned so many new words and hand motions.
He knows sit, stay, wait for me, stop, good boy, deer, horse, friend, JR (the UPS guy), and much more.
And while he still does not let anyone else touch him, I can touch him all the time, anywhere. He now allows me to brush him, although when he sees the brush in my hand, he still lies down as if I’m about to beat him. However, once I start brushing him, he closes his eyes in bliss.
He is slowly becoming less afraid of other people, especially men. He plays stick and chase with anyone who will run around with him and bark. Yes, he almost never barks except when playing, but he likes it more when the humans bark back at him. He and I also have a growling game when we play tug of rope.
Simple life lessons that humans sometimes forget
Amid it all, I find I laugh more, including all out giggling, when I’m with Benji. It’s like being around a young child, who is so filled with wonder and joy for the world. Simple joys are found each day.
When I thought about what I have learned from my rescue dog, I discovered seven life lessons about joy, trust, energy, and being present in the moment. Benji helps me remember to shine my light each day.
Life Lesson 1: Any stick will do
While Benji does have his favorite sticks, he is happy with just about any stick, as long as he can find a way to hold it in his mouth while he runs through the ocean. It can’t be too heavy or too long, and if it has a little twist in it, even better. Sometimes, as humans, we struggle to accept anything or anyone that we don’t perceive as “perfect.” We need the perfect house, the perfect car, the perfect job. But in fact, we really don’t. Sometimes, good enough is really enough to bring us joy.
Life Lesson 2: Rainy days are just wet, but still good days
As Benji’s breed needs a lot of exercise, we go out in all weather. Whether it’s pouring rain or just misting, cloudy or foggy, or bright sunshine, we are out the door around 5 or 6am for our first and longest walk of the day. I just change what I wear. Rain coat, waterproof gloves, baseball cap, or my mosquito-repelling sweatshirt. Regardless, Benji acts as if it’s the best day of his life. The only part about rain that stops his smile and tail wagging is the dry off routine once we are home. However, even when he sees the towel, he now just sits or lies down on the porch and patiently waits as I attempt to dry him off.
Life Lesson 3: Bacon makes it all better
Perhaps you already know this lesson. Sure, I put bacon in a lot of recipes before I knew Benji. But with him, bacon takes on a whole new level of love. I know a lot of dogs like people food, but I’ve never seen a dog love bacon the way Benji does. He usually gets some bacon mixed in with his dog food for breakfast. He really loves eggs with his bacon, but that’s only for special treats. Before you judge me, let me assure you I only feed him sugar free, organic bacon. So, it’s totally fine, right? And did you know that you can have the butcher (or buy Hempler’s brand) wrap up the bits and left over pieces at a much cheaper price than sliced bacon?
Life Lesson 4: Mama knows best
I have never seen any creature smile at me the way Benji does, as he comes running to greet me when I come back home. Well, maybe when my children were babies, they would give me that look as I held them in my arms. It doesn’t matter if I’ve been gone five hours or five minutes, he wants a big hug and petting when I return. All my husband has to say is, “Mama’s home,” and Benji perks up with a big grin and takes off to find me. Like with humans, Benji knows mama is the one you go to when you don’t feel good, when you’re sleepy, or when you’re hungry. And somehow, I know the difference in his looks and his whines.
Life Lesson 5: A walk (or run) along the ocean makes everything better
The ocean has always been my happy place, but somehow Benji makes walks on the beach even more joyful. Other than the first day, when he tentatively stuck his toe and nose in the water, and quickly jumped back, he now runs into the waves and dances in the water. He washes his stick and plays his own game with the stick, dropping it in the water and chasing it as the wave pushes it into shore. His favorite part of chasing birds is when they fly over the water, and he has to follow them into the waves, even though I’m sure he realizes he can’t catch them. I have to agree, it’s impossible not to laugh or feel joyous running through the water in rubber boots or my bare feet.
Benji chasing seagulls on the beach
Life Lesson 6: Always be curious and try anything once
Benji is an explorer. Each sound, smell and movement brings fresh interest and the need for exploration. My favorite Benji look is when he cocks his head to one side as if he’s asking, “what are you talking about?” Also, like most dogs, Benji will try anything once. Be it learning to walk through the cold ocean water or trying a new food. I appreciate his adventurous eating spirit as he delicately bites on ocean grasses, devours bones, or savors a bite of horse poop. Another animal’s poop seems to be a delicacy as well as a favorite target for rolling his body. I don’t get the poop thing, but I do love that Benji is an eater. Beyond the above mentioned bacon, Benji wants to try everything we have and what’s in the wild at least once.
Life Lesson 7: Take a lot of naps
I admit I have always loved naps. However, I rarely have a chance to nap much anymore. Benji is a skilled napper, and I love those Saturday afternoons when we both lie down in the living room, me on the couch and him on his dog bed, and snooze for an hour or so.
When we wake up, we are both ready for a little snack, some water, and yes, another walk to the beach. Or at least around the block. I needed a reminder to slow down and enjoy a little nap.
We could all use more innocence and joy
It’s a long road ahead until Benji grows grow out of his anxiety and fears from whatever horrible situation he experienced before he joined our family. However, even with those leftover fears, he spends most of his days smiling and enjoying life. And every day, he gets a little bit better.
Through it all, Benji brings joy and laughter at the times we need it most. Whether it’s running around in circles in the sand dunes, chasing the seagulls at full speed on the beach, or throwing his bone up in the air as he plays a game of chase with himself around the yard.
Enjoying life’s simple joys. What a valuable life lesson that is for us all.
by Margaret Dawson | Oct 31, 2019 | Margi's Musings
It’s actually Adult Geek Camp and not in the summer
I arrive in Montreal.
The cool, brisk air hits me as I disembark, and I sigh from relief. After five days in muggy Orlando, the autumn air is a relief.
I take the escalator down to immigration, and I am first in line at the new automated kiosks. After five minutes, I am done and on my way to baggage claim. Last time at this airport, it took an hour just to get through immigration. I’ve noticed this increased level of automation at several airports recently, including Heathrow just last week. It makes me happy.
I grab a cab to the nearby VIA rail station, where a group of us are meeting to travel together to camp. I enter the rail station waiting area and look around. I was hoping for a bar or restaurant. But the entire station is the size of a typical airport gate, and the only thing close to food and drink are a couple of pathetic vending machines with various flavors of potato chips, candy bars, and pop.
“Hey, are you with Bitnorth?” a man’s voice says to me, and I look up a bit surprised.
“Oh, yeah, I am,” I stutter in reply. “How did you know?”
“Uh, you look like a tech geek,” he says matter-of-factly.
“Right,” I say. I decide to take it as a complement.
We introduce ourselves. He is new to the group, but I trust the organizers believe he is “one of us.”
Appropriately, this tall, straight-postured man is complete with nerd glasses and a camo-green duffle bag.
Technology and curiosity bring us together
Within minutes, others join us in the waiting area, and hugs and reunions begin.
There is nothing obvious that ties us together physically, or so I think. Tall, short – long hair, buzz cuts – cargo shorts, jeans, and even heels. But perhaps there is an attitude. A calm confidence. A curiosity. A willingness to embrace strangers on this journey.
Soon, some 15 of us have gathered, arriving by plane, train or taxi, and we are ready to head to our destination – a camp in Mont Tremblant, Quebec, about 90 miles outside of Dorval, where the Montreal airport is located.
This will be a new location for Bitnorth, and a renewal of this once annual weekend event after a four-year hiatus. I have missed it. Perhaps more than I even know.
Bitnorth is an adult geek camp of sorts. It was founded several years ago by a man I met through the tech speaker circuit. Starting more than ten years ago, I would bump into a lot of the same people at cloud computing or tech conferences, where many of us would speak on panels together or recommend each other to the organizers. Events such as: Interop, Cloud Computing Expo, Strata, etc.
Bitnorth is an exclusive camp, I will admit. The organizers select campers based on a fairly strict set of criteria: smart, curious, open, fun, and willing to share ideas with others. And importantly, there is a ‘no asshole’ rule. Everyone at the camp shares some level of core values.
Bitnorth is my safe place. Where you can have intellectual debate and even disagreements without repercussions. Where you can cry, laugh, argue, or sit quietly and listen. Where you learn so much from the other attendees that your mind overflows, and yet, you are hungry for more.
Taking the party bus
Yes, I admit, we also party. There is never a shortage of hard liquor, wine, beer, or cider. Perhaps other legal adult substances. And so much food. Healthy, for the most part, but also bags of chips, chocolate, marshmallows, gummy bears, and other munchies. Up to you what you want to eat or drink. There are few rules other than to be fully present and to share and learn.
Appropriately, this year we are taking a school bus to our special adult summer camp. Literally, a yellow school bus. We load onto the bus with bags of drinks and food for the road trip.
Within minutes of departing, I am popping Prosecco bottles and pouring bubbly into red plastic cups as we pass glasses, french baguettes, cheese and ham around the child-sized seats that our adult-sized legs are crammed into.
Conversations soon flow as easily as the wine and beer, and I can overview discussions of public cloud infrastructure, security governance, travel, golf, new jobs, writing, and, of course, politics. Waves of laughter echo through the bus.
These campers are my tribe
Even though I don’t know most of this year’s attendees, I am confident I will feel the same as in past years. These are my people. My tribe.
For much of my life, I’ve felt different. Not quite smart enough or popular or talented or pretty enough. The input has been consistent as well. Why am I so passionate? Why do I work so hard? Why do I love technology? Why do I snort when I laugh? Why do I ask so many questions? Why do I swear?
As a woman in the tech industry, I face consistent challenges of sexism and bias, both intentional and unintentional.
Fortunately, I have learned to love my quirks, snorting, and passion through conscious effort, good friends, and thousands of dollars in therapy. But even as I have gained acceptance of who I am, it is validating and energizing to spend a couple of days where I can truly be “me”.
We hail from different parts of North America and the world – Silicon Valley, Chicago, Seattle, Montreal, Toronto, London, Amsterdam, New Orleans, and others. We are forced to disconnect from our digital lives and spend 2 ½ days with many strangers in the Canadian countryside, where we share rooms and bathrooms, sleep in sleeping bags, roast marshmallows, and present to each other.
It makes me feel just like I did when I used to go to Girl Scout camp or horse camp, where I was surrounded by other kids who wanted to hike through the woods, ride horses, read Edgar Allan Poe in the dark, and eat too many marshmallows.
And just like Girl Scout camp, where we worked hard on our badges for knot tying, compass reading, and outdoor survival, Bitnorth also has a serious side.
Every camper shares a passionate topic
This adult summer camp is sort of TEDx meets Burning Man.
In fact, everyone at Bitnorth has to give a presentation or lead an activity on something they are passionate about. It specifically is not to be a topic related to our day jobs.
It’s Saturday morning. Sleepy, hungover campers are making their way to the kitchen. I went to bed early since I’m still fighting off a cold, so I am in better shape than most. However, to be truthful, I have never been good at staying up late and drinking. Even in college.
We all fill our mugs with strong coffee from one of the two huge urns on the counter, and start munching on bagels, oatmeal, and eggs. Small groups gather and chat at the various tables in the dining area over breakfast.
Soon, we are herded into the main room to begin presentations. There are some 50 to get through, and at an average of 10 to 15 minutes each, it’s going to be a packed day.
Before I know it, I am snorting and laughing at the first presenter, who opened the event with her presentation, titled, “Is my father in the mafia?”. She is better than most stand-up comedians with her self-effacing humor and comedic timing as she weaves her tale of growing up in an Italian family that, upon reflection, nearly matched every part of the Sopranos television series.
I present on how to write and speak to engage with your audience. Lessons I learned from my writing retreat. New content from my passion project – my book and this website.
The gap in our lives that adult camp fills
Throughout the course of the day, I learned not only about the mafia, but the story of growing up in pre-WWI Europe, how we solve the world’s wicked problems, how to play frisbee golf, how to build new communities, the art of touch improvisation, secrets of addiction, the science of taste, the business of sex, nature versus nurture, the Gerasimov Doctrine, the healing power of water, Burmese muslem refugees in Bangladesh, Amelia Earhart, and so much more.
Each topic and presenter showed his or her passion, and everyone listened, cheered, and validated.
As the early afternoon transitioned to evening, our cups filled with wine and beer instead of coffee, but no one stopped listening or engaging.
“Do you find it easy to have this kind of intellectual discussion outside of BitNorth,” one man asks while we stand around the kitchen sipping our drinks.
“No,” I say at once, in harmony with about five other people who all respond in kind.
“Why is that do you think?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I respond. “But I only had this type of community when I lived in Taiwan. There was a group of expat friends from all over the world, and we could discuss anything. It didn’t matter what side you were on; it was more about learning from each other and trying to understand the world around us. I think in the tech industry, everyone is too busy trying to be the smartest person in the room or make someone else wrong.”
“We’ve become so divided that it’s dangerous to share your point of view,” suggests another camper.
This discussion spotlights the reason I need this camp and these people in my life. There is no other place like this. Intellectual yet fun.
Why we all need our own adult camp
It makes me wish we all had a camp with people that make us feel safe and who challenge us to be better people.
Why is camp just for kids? Adults also need time to make new friends, try new challenges, learn new things, and step away from day-to-day life. Not to mention sitting around a campfire and roasting marshmallows.
As I sit in the airport lounge ready to head to Boston and a week of meetings, I feel thankful.
Thankful for my health. Thankful for global entry and airport lounges. Thankful for good food and wine. Thankful for people who make me think about new ideas and perspectives. Thankful for a husband who told me, “you have to go to Bitnorth; it’s your happy place.”
But most of all, right now, I am thankful for my weekend at adult geek camp.
by Margaret Dawson | Aug 14, 2019 | Margi's Musings
“Hello beautiful, happy Friday,” I say as Connie’s face appears on our Zoom video conference call.
As usual, her beautiful white-blond hair is flowing around her face. I don’t see Dolby, but I assume he’s lying somewhere nearby, his bulky Golden Retriever body in happy slumber. It looks like a sunny day in Montana from the light around the camera.
“Hello, and back at ya beautiful,” she chirps. “How are you?”
I know she really means it. Not like those people who say, “How are you?” and before I can even answer, they are ten feet away not even waiting for me to respond.
“I am exhausted,” I admit. “I’ve been up since 3:30 am for a 4am call with Europe.”
I’m at my work-from-home desk, where I’ve been sitting for most of the past 11 hours, other than to get up and pee, or grab coffee or food. What I really need is a walk on the beach, but it’s Friday, and we have a lot to cover in our weekly marketing meeting. So, instead of a walk, I have a glass of red wine in front of me.
“But I’m fine,” I say, knowing from experience that these end of the week calls with Connie usually energize me and make me feel better.
“How are you doing?” I ask.
As typical, we are both wearing our matching anti-glare computer glasses. We don’t say it, but we admire the girl geek in each other.
“Good!” she says.
We exchange a few personal updates, before getting down to business.
COLLABORATION COMES CRASHING DOWN
“Should we dive into our metrics?” I ask.
We’re trying to use data across the many tools tracking our web and social media initiatives, like RivalIQ, Google Analytics, Facebook Insights, etc. Sometimes, we get lost and spend two hours just wading through data. We are both data geeks.
However, today, we don’t start with data. There’s a bigger issue we both know we should talk about first. And that’s Facebook. It’s just that neither of us wants to ruin the moment.
The Facebook incident started earlier in the week, when our discussion in the comments section of our shared Google Doc went from uncomfortable to borderline nasty. This is the doc where we track our weekly priorities. Usually, it really helps with collaboration.
Not this time. This chat didn’t follow our normal back and forth. In fact, we stopped collaborating, and we both went on a strong offense, pushing each other into defensive mode.
“What happened to Facebook? I can’t access admin stuff anymore.” I wrote in a comment.
“What are you talking about?” Connie replied in the doc. “I didn’t do anything.”
A day later, she wrote: “Something changed when you set up our SNOL business account, and now my personal business account is messed up big time.”
“I haven’t touched Facebook in three weeks since I set up the account. You have been doing the FB ads lately,” I countered.
Fast forward to now and our face-to-face video chat. Instantly, without catching ourselves, we’re diving back into the blame game. Finger Pointing. NOT Supporting. Not like us.
FACEBOOK UPDATES TORE US APART
“Something happened when you set up the ads – I shouldn’t have had to give you my credit card again.” My frustration is apparent with my opening salvo.
“This is why I manage my other client’s Facebook accounts through my own business account,” she explains with an undercurrent of passive aggression.
10 years and 1800 ads, and I’ve never had an issue until now, Connie thinks.
“Well, then you should have advised that before I set up the account,” I quip back.
I’m pretty sure I did advise that! Connie fires back in her mind.
“And, when I set up the business account, everything was fine,” I defend myself.
“It’s not fine. Not only can I not do anything on the SNOL account, but now my business and personal accounts are completely messed up,” she says with frustration.
“She’s supposed to be the f*cking social media expert,” I’m thinking.
“When will she realize who she’s working with? I learned from Mari Smith, and Gary Vaynerchuck follows me on twitter!” Connie thinks simultaneously
Our conversation is sliding into dangerous territory.
With a flash of self-awareness, I realize I am not using my Crucial Conversations practices. So, I breathe deep and attempt to start over.
“Let’s go into Facebook and look together.”
FACEBOOK’S BAD UX UNITES US
We go to our SnortOutLoud business manager page. Everything looks different. For example, where are our business settings or our admin roles? Where the f*ck is anything anymore? It’s like landing on an alien planet without even knowing we left Earth.
Strangely, Connie’s personal email is now somehow associated with our SnortOutLoud page, and I am not a business manager or admin at all anymore.
Let me clarify something here. We are both seasoned social media pros who know what we’re doing, and none of this is making any sense AT ALL. WTF did Facebook do?
“There it is,” Connie is pointing to the screen. “Click on the Business Settings tab in the far upper right corner.”
“Who the f*ck did this user experience?” I sigh with serious frustration. “You never put a major action button in the far upper right corner. And you don’t make it BLUE!”
Finally, after 10 minutes of flailing around the business account interface, a “pop up” appears neither of us has seen before.
It informs us that Facebook has changed the business manager experience to make it better and easier to use.
I read out loud the sentence in the middle of the pop-up: “People in your business account have automatically been given permissions that match their previous roles.”
“What the…???” we say in unison, breaking into laughter. And relief.
“Oh my god, Facebook randomly decided how to assign us roles? And which emails to put on which accounts? And who should do what?” we ask in absolute disbelief.
And once again, just like that, we’re unified.
REPAIRING THE DAMAGE
“But, we didn’t get any warning,” Connie says. “No email, no message . . . they just update the UX and everyone’s roles and permissions without telling us?” Are you kidding me? That’s such a Facebook thing to do.”
“Looks like it,” I confirm, shaking my head.
“Oh my god, I am so sorry,” I say, feeling guilty.
“I’m sorry, too. I was totally blaming you,” Connie admits.
“I can’t believe we were ready to kill each other and were both SO positive the other person had totally messed up our Facebook account.” I whine.
“So much for women intentionally supporting other women,” Connie smirks.
“Good one,” I admit
“You should totally write a blog on this,” Connie suggests.
“Maybe I will,” I say.
For the next 45 minutes, we attempt to navigate this new “experience.”
We figure out how to make each of us a “business manager.”
I find the page that enables us to assign permissions or access rules for different parts of our account. Facebook has introduced something called an “Asset.”
“What the hell is an asset,” Connie asks
“Well, it appears an Asset can be a page, a post, an ad, or anything we do on Facebook business,” I hypothesize.
We get a bunch of areas fixed, but personal and business information are still mingled together.
TROUBLESHOOTING FACEBOOK ISSUES
“Maybe we need to log me out on both of our computers, and then log back in separately with our personal authentication? Somehow I think we are both logged in as me.” I try to troubleshoot.
“Sure, try that.” Connie coaches.
There’s a button that says “Leave Margaret” on the business manager page.
“Did an Australian write this?” I quip. “Does this mean, like, Margaret is now leaving the account. Or does it mean Log Out Margaret.”
We assume the latter.
Nope. We are wrong. By clicking on the “Leave Margaret” button, I receive a pop up asking if I’m sure. I am not sure, so I decide to click “Dismiss”.
Dismiss somehow did not mean cancel. Instead, Facebook completely erased “Margaret” from our business account! Wait…wha…what???
“Holy shit, that can’t be right. No warning, nothing. Just click Leave Margaret, and I’m erased from the account,” I say in total disbelief. But I hit “Dismiss”, I cry out.
“That’s SO Facebook! It’s not you!” says Connie, coming to my defense. “Facebook is Facebook. It feels like they don’t beta test the user experience before pushing out an awful solution to a problem that didn’t exist.”
Seriously, “Leave Margaret”? Not, remove Margaret from this account? Or, do you want to erase Margaret from every piece of this business account, so she is banned from all activities? Nope, just “Leave”.” I mean seriously…who does this?
“Okay, let’s start over.” As our only business manager left, she is able to re-invite me to be a business manager of MY account.
By the end of our lengthier than normal meeting, we resolve most of the issues, other than Connie’s email is still wrong.
IT’S NOT JUST US
In doing research after this weekly meeting debacle, I find only a couple of articles explaining the new user interface. I do learn Facebook launched the new experience during the exact period of time Connie and I descended into Facebook “mean girl” land.
According to an article in Digital Information World, the Facebook team wrote a blog post on this exciting update: “We’re always working to improve our advertising solutions and business tools, and as part of this effort, we’re introducing a new design and navigation in Business Manager that will make it easier and faster to manage assets and permissions across our platforms.”
However, I looked for this blog post via multiple searches within Facebook’s site and on Google, but I could not find the source of this quote nor any blog on this new update.
The author of the article in DIW also reported that the Facebook team “tested” these design and navigation updates. Really? With whom did they test these updates? They sure as hell didn’t give the average small business any heads up.
It could be just us. Search Engine Journal, had a short article stating: “With a new design and navigation, users should find it easier to manage assets and permissions in Business Manager going forward.” Uh, did anyone at the SEJ actually attempt to manage a business account before writing this lovely review?
It isn’t just the Business Manager interface pissing off users. Many clients trying to use Facebook’s ad network are fuming!
“Ads Manager is crashing with regularity, according to interviews with numerous advertisers. The outages, which can last for hours at a time and make it impossible to start a new ad campaign or manage an existing one, seem to happen every month,” according to a Bloomberg article.
LEARN FROM OUR MISTAKES
So what can we all learn from this exercise? Here are a few takeaways and learnings Connie and I had from this experience.
1. Don’t jump to conclusions!
2. Don’t blame another person without all the facts. Assume good intent!
3. User experience is a REALLY big deal, and your users really CARE about the interface.
4. Change is hard, so take more time than you should to explain changes to your customers.
5. Changes done poorly really piss off your customers and threaten to directly impact your retention and revenue.
6. Friendships and business relationships are more important than Facebook (or any social network).
The user experience for an application, whether social media or enterprise, needs to be put first, not last, in the product development cycle. Too often, we focus on the cool new feature or capability, and then back into how the user will interface or experience the new feature.
I am sure Facebook engineers and product managers had absolute best intentions. They want to make their products better for customers. However, sometimes we get too close to our product, and we lose sight of how customers really experience our technology.
I’ve seen many companies ignore some customer input because they judged those customers as “not very smart” or “not really our core target group.”
The truth is it shouldn’t matter. If a user interface is really doing its job, someone with zero technical background and NOT in your target audience should be able to figure it out.
WE ARE STILL USING FACEBOOK
In spite of all of this, we are still on Facebook, trying to navigate this new world, build our follower base, and hopefully, help change the world for the better with our posts about light, empowerment, and the occasional F-bomb.
Apparently, we (and thousands of others) are so addicted and dependent on social media networks that we can’t afford to build a business or a brand without them. Both Facebook and Instagram, which is owned by Facebook, are helping businesses build clientele and brands.
For example, one handyman business I know in my hometown does not have a website, and it doesn’t need one, because the recommendations and personal reviews on Facebook bring in more business than they can handle.
For many businesses, you must balance a group of social media networks – Twitter, Facebook, YouTube, Instagram, Pinterest, and others. All to reach customers or followers in different ways be it via stories, videos, photos, or details of your services.
However, not all small businesses or services companies have people who understand technology and/or social media. I think if this took two tech-savvy women two hours to troubleshoot, how is the average business owner managing this?
THE REAL TAKE AWAY
The real takeaway is how quickly two women nearly crashed a loving relationship. And these are women committed to supporting each other’s dreams and aspirations, and who deeply respect each other’s capabilities.
In a moment where we could not do our work and nothing seemed right, we turned on each other, making it personal. Instead, we should have assumed good intent, and blamed the technology, rather than the person.
Supporting another woman takes more than a proclamation. It takes constant self-awareness of our thoughts and actions. Intentional support requires us to slow down, analyze the situation, and maintain a positive approach, even in times of stress.
We have both committed to working harder to learn from this experience, so we don’t repeat it.
But let’s be honest, Facebook really did f*ck-up this recent update.
by Margaret Dawson | Jul 24, 2019 | Margi's Musings
Researchers at New Zealand’s Wellington University claim that using the F-word can improve relationships. That’s right. People who swear are all about making everyone feel good. In fact, the study concludes that the word “fuck” is associated with expressions of solidarity. It is used to bond members of the team, ease tensions, and equalise members with different levels of power and responsibility.
This is true for me. I definitely use the F-word in a loving way.
Good girls and moms use the F-word
As if on cue, my fifth and final child is calling me.
“Hello love,” I say into my headset, as I drive through the suburbs outside of Seattle.
“Mom, remember not to swear at the bridal shower today. And don’t be too aggressive. These are nice Catholic girls and their moms,” this child of mine says with absolute sincerity.
“Oh my god”, I sigh. “Why do you all think I’m fucking stupid.”
“Uh, maybe because you just said the f-word at the moment we’re talking about you NOT swearing,” he sarcastically retorts.
Fair enough, I think. But really, do these children think I don’t know when to behave myself and when it’s okay to let the whole Margi come to the party?
“Don’t worry,” I assure him. “I will be the perfect good girl at this party. I promise to make everyone proud.”
As I hang up, I sigh with frustration that every single one of my children called to remind me not to swear at the shower for our son’s Irish Catholic fiancee. For goodness sake, I am a layman at church. I read bible verses and help with communion. I’m a great mom, and I have a reputation for making babies laugh with my silly faces and tongue clicking sounds (it also works on horses, btw). With over 20 years in the tech industry, I am a successful businesswoman who meets with CIOs all over the world!
There are many times I don’t swear at all. Not just because I don’t think I should, but because it doesn’t occur to me in the moment, or it’s not befitting of the situation
The F-word sometimes gets me in trouble
So why are you questioning yourself now? my alter ego asks.
Because, to be honest, there are moments when I spew the F-bomb at inappropriate times. For example, during an interview many years ago for a senior marketing positioning, I told a story and included the F-word. It came back to the recruiter, who then lectured me on being a professional in interviews. That one still stings, because I felt stupid to make such a rookie mistake. I got too comfortable and stopped thinking.
Then there was an internal presentation at my company where I used the F-word, and I received three HR complaints from women in the audience. That pissed me off, to be honest. But I swallowed my pride and realized I need to respect other people’s values and perspectives.
Duh, that’s why it’s called fucking diversity, I say to myself. Oh shit, I did it again.
Maybe I do have a problem. A wave of humble self-awareness washes over me, as apparently, I do need to be reminded. Suddenly, I feel like I’m 5 years old and getting reprimanded for throwing sand in Billy’s face for the hundredth time.
I should have driven the other car, I chide myself. The top is down on my convertible mustang, as it’s one of those rare perfect Seattle days. 75 degrees and bright sunshine in an azure sky. However, with a profanity-filled Eminem song blaring from the speakers, I stand out. I lower the volume as I turn into the manicured neighborhood of my future daughter-in-law’s parents.
I park along the curb of the yellow Craftsman bungalow. Tugging on the hem of my skirt, I climb out of the car. I should have worn that other, more conservative dress.
My confidence is wavering.
I know how to behave myself
I ring the doorbell, now feeling shy, insecure, and out of place. To steady myself, I take a few deep breaths.
The door opens, and a perfectly-coiffed woman in a flowered dress with pearls is standing there. Could you be any more stereotypical, I thought. And then I tell myself to shut up and be nice.
“Hi, I’m Margaret, Rachel’s future mother-in-law,” I say in my mom voice.
She welcomes me in. The ice breaker game is already underway. Pearl woman slaps something on my back, and says, “you have to guess which famous woman you are.”
Oh, goodie, I love games, the sarcastic voice in my head replies. Yeah, I hate games.
“Oh, how fun,” I say out loud to pearl woman.
In the end, I receive rave reviews. I was “delightful and funny.” As I get up to leave the party, I see the relief and gratitude on my soon to be daughter-in-law’s face.
“Thank you,” she says. “You were perfect, and so funny!”
“I was perfect, and I made people laugh,” I report back to all the children. Adding, for the record, that I did not swear once. I achieved this perfect behavior in spite of drinking only ice tea and playing silly games.
Honestly, the ice tea limitation was worse than the games. If I had known this was going to be a non-drinking party, I would have stopped on the way and had a glass of wine to calm my nerves. What Irish family doesn’t drink, for God’s sake?
Swearing is part of who I am
Why do I swear? I’ve asked myself this question many times, as have many other people. To be honest, I don’t know. It’s become a part of who I am, just like I have green eyes and I snort when I laugh.
I could blame it on my dad, who swore a lot. Unlike my mother, whose curse words were primarily “fiddlesticks” and “for crying out loud.” Maybe it’s my first boss Carole’s fault, as she loved the F-word and used it often. Or perhaps my swearing came from being involved in sports.
Working in the automotive and technology industries my entire career hasn’t helped cure my potty mouth. These Alpha Male environments are made for cursing. In fact, when I worked at Microsoft, I wouldn’t have survived my stint in Israel where my engineering team worked if I didn’t curse. Incorporating the F-bomb in a passionate debate is not just helpful, but a requirement to survive in that culture.
It’s ironic, because there are some words that make me blush, and I can’t say at all. Like the C-word (I can’t even type it), which in Australia is a word used as often as “mate”. And I don’t like using God’s name in vain. Thank you Sunday School.
I also say many old fashioned phrases, like “goodness gracious” and “for the love of Pete,” of which I also don’t know the origin. My husband laughs every time I somehow combine goodness gracious with fuck.
Regardless, I remain fond of the F-word. Its ability to be used in so many ways. An exclamation, adjective, verb, adverb, noun, and more. It conveys power and emotion, or pure humor.
Research suggests swearing is brilliant
I don’t believe using the F-word makes you low class or stupid, which some people suggest. My favorite t-shirt says it best: I am an educated, classy, well-educated woman who says fuck a lot. Cursing and class are not mutually exclusive.
Science backs me up on this. Multiple pieces of research suggest that people who swear are more persuasive, honest, and collaborative, as well as healthier, because they aren’t suppressing emotions.
One study concludes that swearing in the workplace is not always negative, and can improve your persuasiveness and emotional connection.
“Swearing can also be used as a tool of persuasion,” agrees Dr. Richard Stevens, author of the book, “Black Sheep: The Hidden Benefits of Being Bad.
Using the F-bomb might help people trust you, as they see you as being more “real”. In 2015, researchers found that people who use taboo words, like fuck, are often perceived as being more open and honest.
This is backed by another study that suggests people who swear a lot also lie less often and have higher levels of integrity, according to an article in the Huffington Post.
I am not trying to vindicate my trucker’s mouth with all this great research. Well, maybe I am. The main point is a curse now and then does not indicate that someone has crappy core values or is a bad person.
We need to not judge someone’s potty mouth too quickly.
Cursing is not always culturally appropriate
That being said, there are situations where cursing in general and the F-word specifically are just not okay. Like the bridal shower I talked about above. Or in church. Job interviews are a good time to keep your mouth clean. Most presentations should remain swear-word free (I have been known to drop an F-bomb during tech presentations, but only if it’s audience appropriate).
There are also many cultural nuances to take into consideration.
For example, an Australian might call someone a “silly c***” in Sydney, but in Boston, that could lead to a face punch. In Dublin, I can use all the f-bombs I want. If anything, I find it hard to keep up with my Irish colleagues in the number of fucks they deliver. But if I was meeting someone’s Irish mother, you would not hear a single curse cross these lips.
Also, when traveling in some parts of the world, like Japan, such strong language is culturally inappropriate.
I know it’s a given, but you should know that I believe there’s a huge difference between cursing for emphasis and swearing at someone. Angry, hateful F-bombs are never okay.
Give the F-word a fucking break
I think fuck has received a bad rap for too long. I am not suggesting we all go willy nilly and use it constantly. Even I hate gratuitous swearing. And any word, taboo or not, is only powerful when used in a limited fashion.
But there is good news for those of you who have a fucking habit like I do. You are okay! Drop that occasional F-bomb and stop feeling guilty. Or use whatever swear word is your favorite.
As the BBC writes, there are many benefits of swearing. And everyone knows that the BBC never lies.
by Margaret Dawson | Jul 17, 2019 | Margi's Musings
The airport is packed. At first, I’m surprised. But then I remember. It’s summer travel season.
It’s not just the dozens of people gathered on the sidewalk as I step off the shuttle that reminds me. But more the myriad of pajama bottoms, flip flops, sweats, family herds, and babies crying. This is not the typical business travel crowd I’m used to. That predictable group who all head to TSA-pre or Clear with their Tumi carry-on bags and briefcases, ready to remove travel-size liquids or large electronics at a second’s notice.
I start taking Zen breaths as we cross the street to head into the terminal. I think I’m prepared for the onslaught. But as we walk through the glass doors to the bridgeway, the cacophony of sounds and smells slam into me like a bad wave I didn’t quite dive under far enough. I am not ready.
A family of five is walking five-wide in front of us. No one can pass.
My outside voice proclaims, “Excuse me!” I speed through a narrow gap in the family wall, startling the mother. Like a good offensive team, my husband sees the screen I set and follows me through the opening. For a few glorious seconds, we move at our pace. Fast.
We take the escalator up to the main terminal area. At the top, we try to move around the long, winding line of travelers waiting to go through security. It reminds me of the words for long line in Chinese – “long Dragon tail”. That’s exactly what it looks like – a Dragon tail – as families make their way through the maze.
Please be general screening, I pray silently. And it is.
SUMMER TRAVEL IS AMATEUR HOUR
Another hundred yards away, we see the TSA-pre sign like a lighthouse in the storm. As we get closer, we see the line is only a few people deep. Almost empty. I pump fist my husband. Yes!
But just as we start to enter, a family of four stops right in front of us and starts debating where to go. My irritated sigh is audible to everyone but these four.
“Can I help you figure out where you need to go?” I ask in my ever so sweet mother’s voice. Even though in my head I am yelling: “get the fuck out of my way, amateurs!”
Deep breath in through the nose. And exhale, slowly. Keep calm.
The group figures out they need to go over to the general screening area and moves away one slow step at a time. Just as we start to enter the ropes, another family of four walks towards us, going the wrong direction. They are trying to leave the TSA-pre line and, in the process, block our way.
I can see it in their faces. They thought they had found a magical empty line just for them that somehow no one else saw. Good karma, they thought.
But no. To the dragon tail all of you, I snicker in my head.
WHY I LOVE TSA-PRE
We zip through the ID and boarding pass checkpoint, and go straight to an empty security screening area. I lift my carry-on bag and matching red tote onto the ramp and ease them into the black hole.
“You look like you know what you’re doing, so I’m just going to step back over here,” says a TSA officer.
“But don’t let me down and screw up with a water bottle or something,” he jokes.
Smiling at him, I say, “Never. All good, sir.”
I try not to think about that one time I went through TSA-pre with my typical confidence, only to forget I’d left a screwdriver in my purse from a weekend project. When the officer asked me if there was anything sharp in my bag, I, of course, answered no. “Not even a screwdriver?” he asked somewhat sarcastically. “Oh shit,” I said. And honestly, at that point, all I could do was laugh, as I donated my beautiful tool to the airport security’s screw-up pile.
Today, I know my bags are packed perfectly. No liquid is over 3.4oz and properly stored in a clear, quart-sized Ziplock bag. In my quest to reduce the number of liquids, I’m trying a new bar shampoo and facial bar made from organic carrots. It’s hard to fit all of my hair, facial care, and make-up products in one quart-sized bag. And I’m relatively low maintenance for a woman. But I’m on a mission. Like I’m going for level 30 in Tetris.
Within a minute we are on our way to the train, the international terminal, and the Delta Lounge.
But there are hundreds of people between us and salvation. I can’t even see through to the A Gates.
MY CHALLENGE WITH CROWDS
Confession time. I don’t do crowds well. Especially if I can’t see an easy escape or open space. Once at Disneyland, when the crowds smothered me, I broke into an all-out sprint to the exit, nearly taking down small children in my wake.
I try breathing slowly and walking at the crowd’s crawling pace. Out of the corner of my eye, I see my husband ready to make a break. My body is screaming at me to run. I find a hole and leap bag first into it. We are weaving and darting like Formula 1 drivers trying to break from the pack.
The main problem is I get overwhelmed by people’s energies. Imagine, if you can, that every person’s energy is smoke. Some of the smoke is white and misty, while some is brown like smog. Other smoke is thick and black; the kind that sears your throat and makes your eyes water. With hundreds of people, it’s as if the air becomes a wall of smoke, making it hard for me to breathe.
Even if I take a million Zen breaths, it’s as if there is no oxygen.
I walk as fast as my feet will move to a space ahead where the “smoke” is thinner. Just stay calm, I tell myself.
Here’s the irony. I love humanity. However, I don’t like most people. And I don’t have a good armor against the myriad of inputs, as I am too sensitive to it all.
My empathy and sensitivity gives me an incredible ability to relate, love, and nurture, and know when someone is in pain or needs help. However, it also allows toxicity, pain, fear, grief, anger, and every other energy-draining emotion to get inside me.
BE AWARE OF YOUR SURROUNDINGS
Have you ever noticed that many humans lack awareness of the world around them, and the impact they have on it? They move as if in a bubble, not knowing whether their movements, smells, thoughts, or words have any impact on other people or not.
Airports are the worst. Well, and airplanes. People stop in the middle of a walkway or aisle. Travelers bang their huge bags into other people. Some eat disgusting-smelling food from their airplane seat.
Because I travel so often, I’ve developed some strong coping techniques. Most of the time I am a vision of calm and poise. However, sometimes, it takes hard work (and running away) to maintain that.
I am now sitting on the airplane in an aisle seat. Supposedly, this is Comfort Plus, which feels an awful lot like an economy seat without much comfort or plus. But I remind myself I am saving my company money by not flying business. And I get to sit next to my husband.
The two women behind me are talking like they are long lost high school friends. There’s a family across the aisle from me with two young boys yelling back and forth over the seats.
My husband points to his ears. “Music” – he mouths to me. Right. I grab my earbuds, find Pandora on my phone, and crank up my Thumbprint Radio.
Loren Allred’s killer vocals blare in my head: “Never Enough… never never.” I go to my happy place, barely noticing the backpacks and butts banging into me as the plane loads. The song switches to my next favorite, “How Far I’ll Go,” from the animated movie, Moana.
7 SUMMER TRAVEL SURVIVAL TIPS
As I sit in squished bliss, I think about what I would tell other travelers about my survival tips, and I write them down. I want to share them with you now.
Take time to relax and smile
1. Give yourself plenty of time: I am not one of those people who get to the airport at the last minute. I’d rather get there early, treat myself to a nice meal, and a glass of wine (or two) in the lounge while I work or write. And some airports, like Schipol, have amazing shopping for those in the mood.
2. Stay calm and smile: Why is my first tip so important? Because if you’re rushed, it’s hard to stay calm. But regardless of how much time you have, try not to get irritated or angry. It will only result in more delays, and possibly a complete body and bag search. I am always amazed how travelers take out their frustrations on airport security, airline personnel, or other people just doing their jobs. Try smiling. Say thank you to the TSA officers. You will feel better.
3. Dress the part: I am all for dressing comfortably on airplanes. However, let’s not lose our self-respect in the process. Pajama bottoms should stay in your suitcase or at home. Same thing with sweats, unless you are a traveling sports team, then it looks cool. As I mentioned above, I also pack light and fit everything into a carry-on bag and my laptop tote. If I run out of clothes, I use the hotel laundry service or go to a laundromat. Not having to wait in line to check your bag saves a lot of time and significantly reduces the potential for stress.
Use Lounges and Antiseptic Wipes
4. Pay for benefits like lounges & Global Entry: Even if you travel only once in a while, the benefits of Global Entry are huge. You always get TSA pre, and you breeze through the lines at U.S. immigration when you come back into the country. It does not take long or cost much. Most major airports now have interview offices for applicants. The same goes for airline lounges. For some, if you have the airline credit card or achieve a certain status, you receive a free or discounted lounge membership. Some companies will cover the cost so be sure to check your benefits. During the summer travel season, the business lounge is my haven. There are few children, free food and drinks, and quiet nooks with plenty of outlets.
5. Stay healthy: Yep, I’m that person who sits next to you and wipes down my entire seat area, armrests, and tray. My doctor recommended it. I was getting sick nearly every time I flew, which was ridiculous. So, my naturopath advised me to take antiseptic wipes and keep my hands and environment clean at all times. I also take Emergen-C twice a day while traveling. Finally, I eat little or nothing on airplanes, as the food almost always makes me feel bloated or sick. And I drink several glasses/bottles of water before, during and after the flight. And yes, that means I get an aisle seat because I have to get up and pee every couple of hours.
Oh, and even though that wine and beer are often free or cheap, minimize your alcohol content on the plane. Dries you up.
Be prepared for anything
6. Pack for all emergencies: I am gluten free, so I always have snacks I can eat in my bag, like Kind bars or nuts. Plus, I always have a small bar of dark chocolate, gum and mints. Just in case, my bag includes a small Neosporin, Band-aids, sticky notes, a lot of pens, and extra batteries.
For parents traveling with children, this is critical. Your number one job is to keep your child healthy, quiet, and entertained. Sorry, but it’s true. When we used to travel some 15 hours with young children from Taipei to Seattle, each boy had his own special bag of toys, books, snacks, and videos. We never had an airplane issue or airport meltdown. The boys learned from an early age how to travel, and we did everything we could to make it as easy as possible for them AND the other passengers.
7. Research your destination: I love learning about new places and knowing about the weather, currency, traditions, and transportation before I arrive. Take the time to prepare for your travel, even if it’s within your own country. I also will pay a little extra to take a taxi or arrange a car from the hotel, because I feel safer and don’t have to think about directions.
For example, the driver I had in Berlin this week was not only a safe, considerate driver, but he also played tour guide all the way to my hotel. He even took a couple of detours to drive me by historical monuments (for no extra cost). I know folks are anti-taxi these days, but I always have the best conversations with taxi drivers. Even in New York.
Summer Travel Doesn’t Have to be Stressful
It’s summer! We are meant to be happy and relaxed. But travel these days, whether by plane, train, boat, or automobile, seems to only result in stress and aggravation.
However, you can survive and thrive while traveling. Whether you’re traveling for business or pleasure this summer, take the time to be prepared and stay calm. If I can do it, so can you. I hope my seven tips help you have a wonderful summer travel season. Bon Voyage!
by Margaret Dawson | Jul 10, 2019 | Margi's Musings
It was a small bump above my belly button. I found myself playing with it, pushing it in and watching it pop back out. I finally asked my husband, “what do you think this is?” Without a beat, he declared with his full medical knowledge: “that looks like a hernia!” To be fair, he has had two, so he does have some hernia knowledge.
I thought that was ridiculous. Don’t hernias only occur in the groin area? And, if they do happen around the belly button or elsewhere, don’t they hurt like hell, since your guts are falling out? Wouldn’t I know if I had a hernia?
Turns out, not necessarily. After weeks of pondering this bump, I finally asked my OB/GYN during a routine annual exam. She took a look, agreed with my husband’s prognosis and recommended me to a surgeon to take a qualified assessment.
I saw the surgeon, and she confirmed I had an umbilical (ventral) hernia. (See diagram on left)
In other words, a tear in the tissue above my belly button, with a bit of intestines sticking out. Two tears from what she could feel.
I scheduled the surgery a few weeks out, taking pamphlets explaining the procedure with me.
I figured it was no big deal. My husband had hernia surgery, and he seemed to recover quickly.
In my naive bliss of having never gone under the knife or been under general anesthesia, I had no idea what I was going to experience.
When non-invasive hernia surgery feels very invasive
The surgery was, frankly, a terrifying experience. Although I should add that nothing bad happened. My surgeon and anesthesiologist were awesome. But it was still terrifying.
It began like all great hospital visits, getting naked and wearing that ever-attractive paper gown, tied in the back. The nurses took my vitals. I was repeatedly asked my full name and date of birth. I took some Tylenol. Easy peasy.
Then, it went downhill. I was to receive two IVs. Not one. Two.
This was because I was getting laparoscopic surgery with a robotic arm. In case one IV got in the way or something happened, they wanted to make sure there was a backup. Somehow this seemed perfectly logical to everyone in the room except the person getting two IV’s shoved into her arm.
I found it ironic that laparoscopic surgery is known as NON-invasive. All these IVs felt very invasive to me!
When your veins don’t cooperate
You see, I have a vein problem. For as long as I can remember, giving blood or getting an IV has been an adventure of “where in the world can I find a good vein on Margaret’s arm?”
The irony is I have that traditional translucent white Irish skin with blue vein lines all over the place. I can see my fucking veins everywhere. I’ve had old lady skin since I was 12. But clearly not the type or point of the vein they need for serious things, like sticking needles in to take blood or insert vital fluids to keep me hydrated during surgery.
Instead of one of my two assigned nurses doing it, they called in an IV expert who happened to be roaming around. This turned out to be a mistake. After missing the right spot TWICE in my left arm, she finally just dug around until it worked and got that baby going. Another two misses on my right arm, and she and I were both done. She waved the white flag and called in one of my two nurses, named Sara.
Turns out Sara just transferred to the OR from 10 years in the emergency room, where putting an IV in is a matter of life and death. You have to do it in a matter of seconds. She looked at my arm, didn’t see the issue, and put the tourniquet on. I pumped my fist, and she stuck that needle right in and got it working. I officially love Sara.
Don’t have a colonoscopy the same week as surgery
I should probably stop here to mention that I had already experienced one painful IV experience earlier this same week, when I had my first ever colonoscopy. Yeah, let’s not even attempt to understand my perfect logic of having two major medical procedures in one week. Both of which involved being put under and having medical instruments stuck in both my arms and other cavities of my body. It made sense at the time I made the appointments.
As I told my surgeon: “Hey, I had a colonoscopy earlier this week so I’m all cleaned up for you to make your work easier.” She did not laugh. I thought it was hysterical. But then, I often laugh at my own jokes.
Before my colonoscopy, the nurse dug around my right arm, and finally struck blood. But she told me my veins were too deep, and it was a big problem. It’s bad enough we are to feel shamed for everything, but for my veins being too deep. Really?
So here i am lying basically naked with IVs in both arms, and the rest of my lower arms looking like models for a heroin addict marketing campaign. Doctor comes in and explains everything. Anesthesiologist comes in and explains everything.
And before he leaves, he asks me if I want something to calm me before surgery. And I’m thinking, I’m perfectly calm, what kind of whacko needs drugs to calm them before they get drugs?
A really smart whacko, that’s who!
I should have taken the drugs
I’m wheeled into the OR, where I am assaulted with the coldest, brightest lit, overwhelming room with machines everywhere that I’ve ever experienced. Cold, blinding, metal.
I shuffle my bumm over to the operating table from my rolling bed, and then the fun really starts. My feet are strapped down. My arms are put out to the side and strapped down. And then the anesthesiologist puts a round cup of some kind over my mouth and nose.
And I start to panic.
I am trying to say that I don’t like the sheet around my neck, and I can’t breathe, and my arms hurt, and . . . All I hear is, “let’s get you some liquid sunshine.”
I wake up suddently, and my whole body is shaking, including my jaw, which I didn’t know could shake. I’m in the most incredible pain I’ve ever felt, other than when I delivered naturally a nearly 10 pound baby. But it was right up there with birth pain. A nurse is asking me to rate the level of pain from zero to ten. I say “eight”. I mean, it was probably a ten, but who ever actually picks the absolute highest number on those scales.
She calmly says, “let’s get that down to a 3 or 4”. And I’m thinking, let’s get this down to zero. I say to her that I can’t believe the pain. So much pain. And why is my jaw shaking so violently?
“Well what did you think? You just had major surgery,” the nurse says.
What do I think? I think I want to punch you in the face, only my arms are not taking the signal from my brain.
Finally, the pain gets to the point where I’m not completely consumed by it, and the nurse rolls me into the recovery room. At that moment I realize I’m wearing a completely different paper gown.
Now, I have this incredible image of myself with arms and legs strapped down on a table where I am butt naked with robot arms roaming inside me. I pray there was no video.
Don’t put off hernia surgery
My husband comes in and goes through what the doctor told him. She said I did very well in surgery, he explains. I’m not sure how I could have misbehaved, seeing that I was drugged, naked, and at the mercy of a robot. The pain? Well, turns out I didn’t have 2 hernias, I had SIX! Yes, six tears. As in half a dozen.
Because of the severity of the tears, the surgery was a bit more complex and took longer. At some point, I noticed that instead of one slice on my side, I actually have three incision points. Must have been part of that more complex side.
So boys and girls, the learning here is don’t put off surgery, which I might have done for a while due to work stuff and travel.
Now that I have the scoop and am awake, everybody seems ready to get me up, moving and out of there. I just want more sleepy drugs and to go back to sleep, like, forever. I’m numb, and in pain, and confused.
“Let’s get up and go pee, then get you in a wheelchair and to the car.”
What a great idea.
I may be exaggerating a little, and I should again emphasize the nurses and everyone at this hospital were amazing. I mean really really nice. At some point they gave me that really good orange jello and called me sweetie. They were that nice.
But it didn’t really matter, because their niceness did not stop the pain.
Reinactment of how I feel when I get to eat applesauce cups after surgery
Thank god for ice packs & applesauce cups
At home, my naive journey to hell continues. Pain is my constant companion. As is my ice pack, which numbs the pain enough to sleep a little. Which means I have to crank up the heating blanket, because the ice makes me freeze all over. It’s a constant battle.
All I can think about is how soon I can take my next dose of crack. (okay, it is not literally crack but one of those pharmaceuticals in the family of legal Opioids). Also, each time I take my medicine, I get to eat one of those little applesauce cups to curb the nausea. I love those things, almost as much as orange jello.
I have read a lot about addiction, and am terrified of these drugs. However, you wouldn’t know it from how lovingly I am holding these little white pills. As soon as I check off a dose on my medicine schedule chart, I begin dreaming about the next dose.
And then the hospital calls to see how I am doing. I mention the pain is still really bad, and the nurse tells me I can also take ibuprofen in between doses of crack to help with the swelling. WHAT? Bring on the ibuprofin. This is nothing short of miraculous.
Get off the drugs and start moving
Day four. I am shuffling around at the speed of Tim Conway’s old man character from the Carol Burnett show. My swollen belly resembles a well-formed 5 or 6 month baby bump, complete with the need to pee or fart every 30 to 60 seconds.
But I am up and moving.
Importantly, I am off the Hydrocodone and just taking Extra Strength Tylenol with the occassional 2 Advils. The pain is manageable – especially if I don’t move from bed. I can now sit up without screaming.
Oh, and did I mention I can even poop without feeling like I’m ripping a new hernia? Major accomplishment.
I call my son. The nearly 10 pounder. Whose birth is that of legend and a broken pelvis. I tell him he’s been replaced. His childbirth is no longer the most painful experience of my life. Of course, it’s amazing the pain we can withstand when someone puts a beautiful baby in our arms after it all. In this case, all I have to show for it is three ugly scars and a deeper fear of needles.
Oh, and I guess my intensines are no longer falling out. So that’s good.
In summary: 7 tips for surgery recovery
Next time, I will be ready. And hopefully, after reading my story, so will you.
But just in case, I’ve summarized 7 easy tips to remember next time you are faced with major surgery.
- Take the meds. All the meds they offer, when they offer them.
- Get off the meds. As soon as possible.
- Ice is your best friend. Use ice wraps as much as you can. Ideally with a heated blanket, because you’ll be freezing.
- Eat all the jello, pudding and applesauce you want. I recommend the little cups, because you won’t be that hungry, and there’s something comforting about going back to being a 5 year old.
- Take an extra week off than you think you need. You will need it. Maybe two weeks.
- Just stay in bed as much as you can (while still getting up every couple hours to walk around).
- Ask for help. A lot. Do nothing. Have someone bring you hot tea, water, drugs, applesauce, ice packs, etc.
Finally, hope for the best and assume the worst, so you don’t walk into surgery like you are walking into the hair salon.
YOUR BODY IS BEING CUT OPEN. Do you hear me?
And now, I need to go eat another applesauce cup.
