Handbag Hang-up

I am not sure when I acquired a hang-up with handbags.

Hang-up (noun) hang-up (hang-ups)

1.     Continuing anxiety about something

a.     A psychological or emotional problem or fixation about something

2.     Cause of problems

a.     A persistent impediment or source of delay

                                                                         i.      Bureaucratic inefficiency was the main hang-up.

My anxiety about my handbags started when I worked at a department store. I, at the time, called them, “purses”, and had to work hard to start to call them “handbags” as “handbag” was the required term for them at the department store. They called to me, no matter what name you gave them; they had my name on them. Rows and rows of handbags- All sizes-All shapes- All colors. 

The anxiety began when I got my first paycheck and had to decide which one really needed to come home with me. It didn’t matter the size, the extent of what I carried was as follows: lip gloss, keys and money. I was 16 and fabulous without much gear. Size, in this particular case, didn’t matter. 

The next hang-up came when I wanted the next one. 1. How would I justify to my mother that a new handbag was a need and not a want?! (I still lived at home and had to answer to my mother). 2. What would my first handbag think of me cheating on it? The thought did cross my mind. There was nothing wrong with the first one. It wasn’t worn out, it wasn’t dirty, it wasn’t out of style- I was just bored. I wanted excitement, so I decided to cheat and get handbag #2. This dirty little secret of mine continued well into college. 

Then I got married. The handbags were now like big beacons in the night sky…daring my husband to ask me the big question: “Why so many handbags?” Was it that I didn’t trust him to understand that I needed these bags? I was attached? In love? I did my best to hide the handbags, but that became more difficult as I also liked to change my handbags with whatever I was going to wear. There was a constant shuffling through the inventory for just the right one. 

The handbag fixation has continued through several moves (where professional movers had to pack my handbag inventory and more than likely made comments over coffee during their breaks about my obsession) and a divorce. 

While the things I have carried in my handbag have changed over the years (my handbags have also doubled as baby bags, party bags, overnight bags, carry-on bags and so much more), my handbag hang-up has not changed. My affair with my handbags has brought me much joy and pleasure. How could it not?   

Thank You Elizabeth Edwards

Today, I was really pondering things, yet again, about how cancer just seems to steal someone right out from under us. With the passing of Elizabeth Edwards yesterday, and her goodbyes uttered throughout different medias, I wonder what would I do in her shoes.

I had skin cancer. I never had to go through chemo or radiation, just the series of surgeries to remove the cancer. I never considered myself a cancer survivor because I have not had chemo or radiation. I have filed it in the back of my mind/head and have glossed over how lucky I was that it never got more serious.

When I go down the series of events in my mind that took place that got me to that cancer diagnosis, I was very very lucky that I had high blood pressure. I was going in regularly to get my blood pressure taken and my Doctor (when lifting up my shirt to listen to my heart after  taking my blood pressure) noticed a spot that just kept changing over time. He said he thought it was nothing, but thought we should check. In the process, I mentioned that a birth mark on my leg had recently changed as well. I went through the process of them shaving the sample and sending it in. I went on without any other thought of the outcome of the tests because I knew it was nothing.

The call came. It was something. So, I went through all of the steps to deal with the "something". I went through the body scans, the surgeries to remove the top of my ear lobe, a spot on the side of my head, five places on my back, and the worst of them, my inner upper thigh that was the birthmark that just started changing.

None of it seemed real.

Looking back on it, I really feel like it happened to someone else. I went through the motions. I did what I was supposed to, but I never celebrated how lucky I was that things never went further.

Today I celebrated. In my mind, I was thankful that my high blood pressure saved my life. I am thankful, that because my Doctor was aggressive and attentive I never had to deal with anything but the discomfort of surgeries and then the more painful part that seemed to be the waiting and not the surgeries themselves.

I don't want anyone to go through any of it. That is why I Relay for Life. For everyone's stories that I read of survival and loss, I Relay.

Today, I celebrate that I am making a difference in this world and I celebrate that I am still here with my precious family and friends.

I did survive so that I could Relay.

I will leave you with this:
"I have found that in the simple act of living with hope, and in the daily effort to have a positive impact in the world, the days I do have are made all the more meaningful and precious. And for that I am grateful." Elizabeth Edwards.