The odd thing about my fear is that for years it was never really related to a fear of actually dying in a fire. Back when I was keeping my worldly possessions in a laundry basket under my bedroom window, I never really doubted that I would be able to get out of the house. I had convinced myself that of the four bedrooms in our two-story colonial, mine was probably the easiest one from which to escape.
No, the selfish child I was was afraid that I wouldn't be able to save my "things." For the life of me, I can't name for you all of the "things" that I needed to save. I know that the laundry basket was not static, its contents changed almost daily as I prioritized and re-prioritized my belongings. I know that I always kept some clothes and a pair of shoes in the laundry basket because if nothing else, I was practical. Too many times I had read about people escaping a house fire "with just the clothes on their back." I wanted to make sure that I had more than just my Holly Hobbie nightgown to wear. I also recall that my favorite yellow blanket made its way into the basket on a regular basis, and I'm pretty certain that my piggy bank which contained about $117 in small bills and change was a mainstay in the laundry basket because how else would I be able to buy new things?
Now that I am a wife and mother and my fear has come back with a vengeance, my fear has slowly morphed into a fear of actually dying in a fire and/or a fear that I won't be able to save my family and one, some or all of us will perish. This is the fear I am trying to work through by writing these posts.
Thursday
Irrational Fear
Since I was about seven years old, I have had an irrational fear of fire. To clarify, I am not afraid of a warm, cozy fire in a fireplace or a controlled, crackling campfire, but for as long as I can remember, I have always been afraid that my house was going to burn down in a fire. I don’t honestly know where my fear originated. I suspect it was from an elementary school presentation given by “Smokey the Bear,” but I don’t know for sure. When I was in the fifth grade, my fear was exacerbated when a house in our neighborhood where I had once played with the kids actually did burn to the ground while the family of four was shopping at Meijer. Fortunately, no one was hurt in the fire that started in their dishwasher, but for a few nights after that house fire, I slept on the floor directly underneath my bedroom window so that I could escape quickly.
Even before that neighborhood house fire, for a portion of my childhood, from about age seven to eleven, each night before bed, I collected and stashed my most prized possessions in a laundry basket that I kept underneath my bedroom window so that in case of a fire, I could just grab my things and jump out the window. My parents knew about my laundry basket of goodies. I often made a big deal about not being able to find this item or that item before going to bed, and they participated in the search so that I would just go to bed already. While I don’t have a specific recollection of any conversations with them about my fear, I’m sure they attempted to dissuade me and allay my fears about perishing in a fire, but to their credit, they let me deal with my fear in my own way, and eventually I grew out of it… sort of.
I’ve long since stopped stashing my things in a laundry basket. But, around the time when I finally realized that most tangible items, with a few exceptions, can be replaced, I got married. And the fear came back worse than before, because now the "thing" that mattered most to me couldn't be kept in a laundry basket. Over the last few years, since the births of my two children, the fear has become even more intense.
Stories about house fires always make me cry huge crocodile tears. Like this one about the mom of a family of six who was the only survivor of a house fire. Her agonizing tale of trying to coax her fifteen year old daughter to jump from a bedroom window still makes me tear up. Then today, there was this story of an eight year old boy who perished in a house fire. For awhile, the news was reporting that he was “missing” as if there was a chance that he made it out of the house with his mom and sister, but had wandered off in the confusion.
Given my irrational fear that someday, my house will burn to the ground, I know I should not read these tragic news stories. But, I have to read them. I have to read the accounts of the survivors who maybe, just maybe can offer me a clue as to what I should do in such a situation. If I file these nuggets of survival in my brain somewhere, maybe, God forbid, I can draw upon them to get my own family safely out of a burning house. I also need to read about those who don't survive, so I can anaylze what they did wrong, why they couldn't get out in time, and hopefully learn from those mistakes to get my family to safety.
Even before that neighborhood house fire, for a portion of my childhood, from about age seven to eleven, each night before bed, I collected and stashed my most prized possessions in a laundry basket that I kept underneath my bedroom window so that in case of a fire, I could just grab my things and jump out the window. My parents knew about my laundry basket of goodies. I often made a big deal about not being able to find this item or that item before going to bed, and they participated in the search so that I would just go to bed already. While I don’t have a specific recollection of any conversations with them about my fear, I’m sure they attempted to dissuade me and allay my fears about perishing in a fire, but to their credit, they let me deal with my fear in my own way, and eventually I grew out of it… sort of.
I’ve long since stopped stashing my things in a laundry basket. But, around the time when I finally realized that most tangible items, with a few exceptions, can be replaced, I got married. And the fear came back worse than before, because now the "thing" that mattered most to me couldn't be kept in a laundry basket. Over the last few years, since the births of my two children, the fear has become even more intense.
Stories about house fires always make me cry huge crocodile tears. Like this one about the mom of a family of six who was the only survivor of a house fire. Her agonizing tale of trying to coax her fifteen year old daughter to jump from a bedroom window still makes me tear up. Then today, there was this story of an eight year old boy who perished in a house fire. For awhile, the news was reporting that he was “missing” as if there was a chance that he made it out of the house with his mom and sister, but had wandered off in the confusion.
Given my irrational fear that someday, my house will burn to the ground, I know I should not read these tragic news stories. But, I have to read them. I have to read the accounts of the survivors who maybe, just maybe can offer me a clue as to what I should do in such a situation. If I file these nuggets of survival in my brain somewhere, maybe, God forbid, I can draw upon them to get my own family safely out of a burning house. I also need to read about those who don't survive, so I can anaylze what they did wrong, why they couldn't get out in time, and hopefully learn from those mistakes to get my family to safety.
Wednesday
Laser Hair Removal: Did I expect too much?
Lured by promises of being able to "throw away my razor," I surrendered over $1800 of hard-earned money to a certain laser hair removal company (we'll call them "Certain Laser Company" or "CLC," for now). I signed up for 2 packages: one to have my underarm hair removed, and the other to have the hair along my bikini line removed. These are the two areas that I absolutely hate shaving. I also chose these areas because I am prone to razor burn. No matter what combination of razor and shaving lotion/gel/cream I used, I was honestly at a point where I'd rather not shave those areas than be seen in public in a bathing suit with all the red bumps.
The packages I purchased included six (6) laser treatment sessions every ten (10) weeks. This particular company offers a "guarantee" that if hair "ever grows back in the treated areas," then I can come back for more sessions, "free of charge."
I did not notice any difference after the first treatment. When I went back for my second treatment, the technician assured me that I would notice a reduction in hair, but not until after my second or even third treatment. It turns out, she was right. I started noticing a difference in the amount of hair in my underarm area after the third treatment.
Each time I go for a treatment, the tech asks me to estimate my overall hair reduction. Since the fourth visit, I have estimated that my bikini line hair has been reduced about 70%, and my underarms are in the area of 50%.
I finished my sessions in February 2007, without ever realizing my "hair free" dream. Even with the reduction, I'm still shaving those areas as often as I was before, and I'm still getting those nasty bumps. I will say that my underarm hair is "finer" and slightly "lighter," but as I said, it still needs to be shaved on a regular basis. The hair along my bikini line is exactly the same as it was when I started the treatments.
Recently, I spoke at length to a woman who owns a medical spa here in town where they also do laser hair removal. She told me that in her opinion, no one in the laser hair removal industry should be talking in terms of "throwing away razors." She said she goes out of her way to tell her clients that they will not necessarily be "hair free for the rest of their lives." She knows for a fact that she has lost sales because she won't tell people what they want to hear. But, for her, it's all about expectations. She understands the limits of laser hair removal and knows that if she speaks to her clients in terms of "hair reduction," instead of being "hair free," her clients will be much more satisfied with the results, and some, the lucky ones, will actually be hair free for the rest of their lives.
Honestly, I would not have signed up for laser hair removal with CLC if they spoke to me in terms of "hair reduction." That's not what I wanted, and they know that. I didn't want to have to shave my underarms or bikini areas ever again, and now, I realize, that was an unreasonable expectation.
So, what's my recourse? What am I going to do about it? I'm not sure yet. I'm still receiving treatments "free of charge." I'm pretty sure it's in vain, though, because as I said, I have now received 10 treatments, and I have not noticed a difference since after my third visit. I've been told that the hair that's left, especially in my underarm area, is "too fine" and the laser can't "find it" to "zap" it.
The packages I purchased included six (6) laser treatment sessions every ten (10) weeks. This particular company offers a "guarantee" that if hair "ever grows back in the treated areas," then I can come back for more sessions, "free of charge."
I did not notice any difference after the first treatment. When I went back for my second treatment, the technician assured me that I would notice a reduction in hair, but not until after my second or even third treatment. It turns out, she was right. I started noticing a difference in the amount of hair in my underarm area after the third treatment.
Each time I go for a treatment, the tech asks me to estimate my overall hair reduction. Since the fourth visit, I have estimated that my bikini line hair has been reduced about 70%, and my underarms are in the area of 50%.
I finished my sessions in February 2007, without ever realizing my "hair free" dream. Even with the reduction, I'm still shaving those areas as often as I was before, and I'm still getting those nasty bumps. I will say that my underarm hair is "finer" and slightly "lighter," but as I said, it still needs to be shaved on a regular basis. The hair along my bikini line is exactly the same as it was when I started the treatments.
Recently, I spoke at length to a woman who owns a medical spa here in town where they also do laser hair removal. She told me that in her opinion, no one in the laser hair removal industry should be talking in terms of "throwing away razors." She said she goes out of her way to tell her clients that they will not necessarily be "hair free for the rest of their lives." She knows for a fact that she has lost sales because she won't tell people what they want to hear. But, for her, it's all about expectations. She understands the limits of laser hair removal and knows that if she speaks to her clients in terms of "hair reduction," instead of being "hair free," her clients will be much more satisfied with the results, and some, the lucky ones, will actually be hair free for the rest of their lives.
Honestly, I would not have signed up for laser hair removal with CLC if they spoke to me in terms of "hair reduction." That's not what I wanted, and they know that. I didn't want to have to shave my underarms or bikini areas ever again, and now, I realize, that was an unreasonable expectation.
So, what's my recourse? What am I going to do about it? I'm not sure yet. I'm still receiving treatments "free of charge." I'm pretty sure it's in vain, though, because as I said, I have now received 10 treatments, and I have not noticed a difference since after my third visit. I've been told that the hair that's left, especially in my underarm area, is "too fine" and the laser can't "find it" to "zap" it.
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