Recently Maude has been on a big ass tirade over stupid runners not wearing anything bright, light, or reflective while running in the dark. Seriously, do they have a death wish?
Do they WANT to get hit so they can sue someone? I don't know, but Maude has taken to rolling her window down (much to the embarrassment of the kids who are in the car 50% of the time) and yelling at these Darwin-Award winners to Put Some Freaking Reflective Shit ON!
I have people remind me all the time it's a survival of the fittest but I sure as hell don't want to be the one making that prophecy come true. I've already had one near miss (another blog for another time).
I sure don't need the guilt, panic and memory of actually taking someone's life for Pete's sake. (who is this Pete anyway? and did you ever notice the word ASS is in embarrass? I just noticed....) SQUIRREL! (I am so unable to focus lately)
So it got me thinking, there's a lot of dumb ass stuff we runners do, not all of us, not all the time, but we've all done something we shouldn't, at least once.
You have to pass a test before you get your driver's license and God knows you should have to pass one to be a parent, so why should we not have a code, a pledge, a "gentleman's agreement" if we lace up & pound the pavement?
I have attempted to capture a few things that I find important, as a runner, and as the operator of a motor vehicle (and yes, I'm aware I'm a bad driver, but STILL.....) and list them here.
Feel free to add on if I missed something, just be aware that I'm apparently a man-hating American whore and as such I need to "approve" your comments before they are published, you know in case you're some douche-bag with no life from Australia...
So much for instant gratification, eh? I apologize for any comment-approving delays that may occur because I'm too busy hatin' the man. Here is the CODE, in no particular order:
1. I will always wear reflective shit if I run in the dark, near dark, pitch dark or kinda dark. I will wear it if I think I might still be running hours later in the dark even if I leave while it's light. This should include things like a headlamp, knuckle lights, reflective vest, reflective shoes, clothes that resemble fruit loops in color and/or blinkie lights if you have them. At least two items from this list should be worn.
2. If I choose to run in the dark, near dark, pitch dark or kinda dark I will (in particular if you don't have a penis on you) run with at least ONE HUMAN BUDDY. It does NOT matter if the buddy has a penis or not, just remember safety in numbers. A dog, as great as they are, does not count. I'm sorry.
3. I will NEVER assume that a car sees me. Even in broad daylight. Even when I've made eye contact (or so I think). I will wait for the wave or nod before I move. This includes, but is not limited to driveways, stop signs or parking lots.
4. I will obey the traffic laws, even if it means I have to stop and wait until the crosswalk light says walk. That means I have to pause my Garmin and stop, and yes it sucks. But you don't want to be the bug on someone's windshield that doesn't see you and goes flying through the intersection.
5. I will NOT run when I am injured. It only makes things worse. Your BRF will miss you for a few runs, but the endless hours you'll log because you didn't have to have something surgically repaired will be just desserts for the down time. Speaking of dessert and downtime, be careful there.....dangerous territory.
6. I will take water with me on long runs, when it's hot, or any combination thereof. And fuel. If I need fuel I'll bring that too. And if I run with a buddy, I'll be sure to have fuel for said buddy in case they forget. (I've been the forgetter......more than once, thank BRF for the Skittles)
7. I will compete with myself, every time I race, and even if I have a shitty time I'll high five the CRAP out of all my running buddies, regardless of how I'm feeling. (I have never met anyone who didn't do this, just thought it should be part of the CODE). Runners are generally the most supportive bunch of athletes I know.
8. I will not attend any race and post myself at the "2 miles to go mark" and hold a sign that says"You're Almost There" because that's just not done. Thank you Another Mother Runner ladies for bringing that to my attention. (note, this was not an original thought, thank you again Sarah Bowen Shea) This should unequivocally and absolutely be part of THE CODE.
9. I will always, no matter what, be proud of what I accomplish. Every run. Every time.
10. I will always be proud of my running buddy too.
Above all else, if you see Maude out there running, slap her on the ass and tell her to relax a little, would ya?
Love always,
Maude, the menopausal maniac
AKA Amy Little
AKA the man-hating American woman whore
Friday, January 11, 2013
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Can't. Stop. Laughing.
So periodically I check my blog to see if the three regular readers are posting any comments and found a real doozie of a comment to my most recent rant: Maniopausal.
I know, I know, posting about it and not deleting it (and publicly laughing about it on Facebook) is only perpetuating the filth, but SERIOUSLY. I. WAS. DYYYYYYINNNNNNNNG with laughter when I read it.
So let's break it down, shall we? The blog is called www.boycottamericanwomen.blogspot.com and it has some of the funniest shizzle posted by several completely desperate 40 year old virgin men.
The first paragraph almost made water come out of my nose:
I am an American man, and I have decided to boycott American women. In a nutshell, American women are the most likely to cheat on you, to divorce you, to get fat, to steal half of your money in the divorce courts, don't know how to cook or clean, don't want to have children, etc. Therefore, what intelligent man would want to get involved with American women?
I'm reading between the lines here, but what I THINK he's trying to say is:
I am a teeny tiny (in every sense of the word) little worthless man who has never gotten laid, went on a date or had any woman ever speak to me except to say "would you like fries with your order" or "whole or skim milk in that latte sir?" So, instead, I found a wife through this company: www.buythirdrdworldbrideswhoaresogladyouhaveindoorplumbingtheywillgiveyouablowjob.com.
Now, if I were an American man, currently married to an American woman I'd be pretty pissed. "What intelligent man would want to get involved with American Women?" seems a little teensy bit over the top offensive and a horribly sweeping generalization. I mean, that would mean that my husband, your husband, the neighbor's husband and all other husbands are stupid. And I'm pretty sure my husband could kick this guys ass from here to Tuesday. Hell, I could probably kick his ass. And mop the floor with him in Jeopardy. Well, at least my husband could.
The next part was also entertaining:
So what he's saying here is his ex-girlfriend is a 20-something sorority bitch (as a former sorority girl I can totally say that and get away with it, K?) and she's super duper sorry for sleeping with his roommate and passing along that little STD. Nothing a prescription won't fix.
I am super curious where he gets his statistics from, as follows:
I know, I know, posting about it and not deleting it (and publicly laughing about it on Facebook) is only perpetuating the filth, but SERIOUSLY. I. WAS. DYYYYYYINNNNNNNNG with laughter when I read it.
So let's break it down, shall we? The blog is called www.boycottamericanwomen.blogspot.com and it has some of the funniest shizzle posted by several completely desperate 40 year old virgin men.
The first paragraph almost made water come out of my nose:
I am an American man, and I have decided to boycott American women. In a nutshell, American women are the most likely to cheat on you, to divorce you, to get fat, to steal half of your money in the divorce courts, don't know how to cook or clean, don't want to have children, etc. Therefore, what intelligent man would want to get involved with American women?
I'm reading between the lines here, but what I THINK he's trying to say is:
I am a teeny tiny (in every sense of the word) little worthless man who has never gotten laid, went on a date or had any woman ever speak to me except to say "would you like fries with your order" or "whole or skim milk in that latte sir?" So, instead, I found a wife through this company: www.buythirdrdworldbrideswhoaresogladyouhaveindoorplumbingtheywillgiveyouablowjob.com.
Now, if I were an American man, currently married to an American woman I'd be pretty pissed. "What intelligent man would want to get involved with American Women?" seems a little teensy bit over the top offensive and a horribly sweeping generalization. I mean, that would mean that my husband, your husband, the neighbor's husband and all other husbands are stupid. And I'm pretty sure my husband could kick this guys ass from here to Tuesday. Hell, I could probably kick his ass. And mop the floor with him in Jeopardy. Well, at least my husband could.
The next part was also entertaining:
So what he's saying here is his ex-girlfriend is a 20-something sorority bitch (as a former sorority girl I can totally say that and get away with it, K?) and she's super duper sorry for sleeping with his roommate and passing along that little STD. Nothing a prescription won't fix.
I am super curious where he gets his statistics from, as follows:
I also love all these stats too:
Thursday, December 27, 2012
Maniopausal
Maniopausal, that's what I am, that nifty little combo between maniacal and menopausal. My family is soooooooo lucky.
It's really almost funny, well, it IS funny (I have to admit). Many of the symptoms are really not too bothersome, the only one I will complain about are the totally irrational thoughts.
Think of your VERY worst PMS, where you were slightly paranoid, very emotionally unpredictable and completely sleep-deprived. Now, times that by TEN. That's me these days.
And the guilt, oh the guilt over things that normally wouldn't bother me, but my mind flips through my memories like an old roll-a-dex and then pulls one out from the very bottom of the pile, and I feel bad all over again about something I can do absolutely nothing about. Good times...
Best part, this usually happens middle-of-the-night waking up in a pile of sweat after a colossal hot flash. So then I'm cold, guilt-ridden and unable to go back to sleep without the aid of narcotics. Which I refuse REFUSE to take any longer. Time to start drinking again I suspect.
And I desperately wish for the superhero ability to command hot flashes when I need them, like in the freezer section at Safeway, Fred Meyer or basically ANYWHERE in the Walmart Neighborhood Market (that place is a fricken ice box).
All in all though I feel pretty good, and even started making a list of things in my mind about why it is totally awesome that I don't have any remnants of a reproductive system left. Here they are, in no particular order:
1. No more shopping for feminine products. At least until Kaylee needs them, and GOD WILLING I have at least 4 or 5 more years until then.... And I am sure, as it did the last five years, tampon technology will have reached new heights, ensuring an embarrassing 20 minutes in the lady goods aisle.
2. No more uterus. Nuff said. That thing, aside from giving me two beautiful children, has caused me NOTHING but TROUBLE.
3. The Cliff Notes version of menopause. Unlike many of my friends, not only did I have a primer course for about 5 months on Tamoxifen, but now I get the speed round since it has been surgically induced. Can you imagine years of hot flashes, mood swings, and other very unmentionable side affects? Me either, and thanks to modern medicine I don't have to.
4. I will never ever have had to plan my race calendar around my monthly "bill". EVER. Thanks to the IUD, the mastectomy and now this, no period will interfere with my athletic pursuits. Nothing says fun like menstrual cramps for 2 hours during your sprint-tri, eh?
5. No more monthly bloating and irrational behavior, followed by an unstoppable craving for salt & chocolate. Done, check that box. Granted the next few months will be a little on the rough side (I think my husband and kids are pricing apartments for me for a 6 month term) but we'll all get through it in one piece. Except for some things that I might break in a fit of menopausal rage. It could happen.
6. A killer excuse for going ape shit on stupid people. I can give dumb ass annoying people a complete verbal bitch slap and then say I'm sorry, I'm in early menopause. Don't take it personally. K? And they'll be like "OMG her poor husband and children". You thought Tami was tough, wait until you see what Maude can cook up.
7. I can coach all my friends through menopause in 10-20 years. I'll know what books to recommend, foods to eat, homeopathic remedies to try (gotta gut this out without hormones thank you HRBC) and apartments to rent. Nothing I love more in life than being helpful to others.
8. Hubby time will no longer need to be planned around a 28 day cycle. No more stocking up the week before 'cause I know what's coming. Nope, it's on. Anytime, anyplace. Well, in six weeks, oh, and within reason.
9. New underwear. My Mother In Law suggested I buy all new stuff and then burn the old stuff. I. LOVE. THE. IDEA. Though there won't be any sort of public burning and neighbors and friends I promise not to do it in the fire pit where we toast marshmallows in the summer. Cross my heart.
10. All kinds of NEW and FUN material for my book (that is not yet written, concepted or titled) and this blog.
My poor children and husband. They are simply the best. I hope they can forgive me for all my hot flash, hormone withdrawal, crazy ass making no sense because she's maniopausal behavior. I hope they know how much I love them, and that Maude will only be here with us for a short period of time. We hope. Pray for them, would you?
It's really almost funny, well, it IS funny (I have to admit). Many of the symptoms are really not too bothersome, the only one I will complain about are the totally irrational thoughts.
Think of your VERY worst PMS, where you were slightly paranoid, very emotionally unpredictable and completely sleep-deprived. Now, times that by TEN. That's me these days.
And the guilt, oh the guilt over things that normally wouldn't bother me, but my mind flips through my memories like an old roll-a-dex and then pulls one out from the very bottom of the pile, and I feel bad all over again about something I can do absolutely nothing about. Good times...
Best part, this usually happens middle-of-the-night waking up in a pile of sweat after a colossal hot flash. So then I'm cold, guilt-ridden and unable to go back to sleep without the aid of narcotics. Which I refuse REFUSE to take any longer. Time to start drinking again I suspect.
And I desperately wish for the superhero ability to command hot flashes when I need them, like in the freezer section at Safeway, Fred Meyer or basically ANYWHERE in the Walmart Neighborhood Market (that place is a fricken ice box).
All in all though I feel pretty good, and even started making a list of things in my mind about why it is totally awesome that I don't have any remnants of a reproductive system left. Here they are, in no particular order:
1. No more shopping for feminine products. At least until Kaylee needs them, and GOD WILLING I have at least 4 or 5 more years until then.... And I am sure, as it did the last five years, tampon technology will have reached new heights, ensuring an embarrassing 20 minutes in the lady goods aisle.
2. No more uterus. Nuff said. That thing, aside from giving me two beautiful children, has caused me NOTHING but TROUBLE.
3. The Cliff Notes version of menopause. Unlike many of my friends, not only did I have a primer course for about 5 months on Tamoxifen, but now I get the speed round since it has been surgically induced. Can you imagine years of hot flashes, mood swings, and other very unmentionable side affects? Me either, and thanks to modern medicine I don't have to.
4. I will never ever have had to plan my race calendar around my monthly "bill". EVER. Thanks to the IUD, the mastectomy and now this, no period will interfere with my athletic pursuits. Nothing says fun like menstrual cramps for 2 hours during your sprint-tri, eh?
5. No more monthly bloating and irrational behavior, followed by an unstoppable craving for salt & chocolate. Done, check that box. Granted the next few months will be a little on the rough side (I think my husband and kids are pricing apartments for me for a 6 month term) but we'll all get through it in one piece. Except for some things that I might break in a fit of menopausal rage. It could happen.
6. A killer excuse for going ape shit on stupid people. I can give dumb ass annoying people a complete verbal bitch slap and then say I'm sorry, I'm in early menopause. Don't take it personally. K? And they'll be like "OMG her poor husband and children". You thought Tami was tough, wait until you see what Maude can cook up.
7. I can coach all my friends through menopause in 10-20 years. I'll know what books to recommend, foods to eat, homeopathic remedies to try (gotta gut this out without hormones thank you HRBC) and apartments to rent. Nothing I love more in life than being helpful to others.
8. Hubby time will no longer need to be planned around a 28 day cycle. No more stocking up the week before 'cause I know what's coming. Nope, it's on. Anytime, anyplace. Well, in six weeks, oh, and within reason.
9. New underwear. My Mother In Law suggested I buy all new stuff and then burn the old stuff. I. LOVE. THE. IDEA. Though there won't be any sort of public burning and neighbors and friends I promise not to do it in the fire pit where we toast marshmallows in the summer. Cross my heart.
10. All kinds of NEW and FUN material for my book (that is not yet written, concepted or titled) and this blog.
My poor children and husband. They are simply the best. I hope they can forgive me for all my hot flash, hormone withdrawal, crazy ass making no sense because she's maniopausal behavior. I hope they know how much I love them, and that Maude will only be here with us for a short period of time. We hope. Pray for them, would you?
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Bye Bye Barbie
Oh what an adventure I've had this week! As a handful of you know I was scheduled for my second, and God willing, FINAL breast reconstruction surgery on Monday. At the same time I opted to undergo a complete hysterectomy, removing my ovaries, tubes and uterus.
Basically, in less than 6 months, everything that makes me a woman has been removed. It's a very strange thought. Having my girl parts removed means I go straight into the lightning round of menopause and I have already informed Mark that soon we might be shaving together in the morning.
Today is Thursday (I think, damn percocet) and I have a pretty good story to tell you about Monday. As with any surgery, no food or drink after a certain time of day, which for me this time was midnight.
My procedures were scheduled to begin at 7:30am so my report time was 5:30am. Not eating or drinking after midnight was going to be a snap, as there is nothing I want to do less than shove food in my face (unless absolutely necessary) at 5am.
We arrived at the hospital in time and got all checked in. As some of you might remember, I have a bit of a nervous, ahem, pooper. Before any race I tend to empty that baby out, in three trips or less to the nearest porta-shitter.
Monday, thankfully, there was a nice, clean, restroom within close proximity to the waiting room. By the time we got checked in and in the waiting room it was 6 am and time was wasting. I was a little worried about leaving in case the nurse came to get me while I was out. In any case, I still defiled it three times before 6:30am.
I work fast. I can be in and out of the restroom, hands washed and pants in place in under two minutes. It's not like I take a newspaper in there with me and dilly dally. I don't have that kind of time, nor did I on Monday.
Unfortunately, two of the three times I went to the bathroom, Murphy's Law (or whatever Law applies) meant that the nurse came looking for me, I wasn't there so they left and didn't return for another 5-10 minutes.
It went a little bit like this:
ME: "Mark! Oh my GOSH. I think I have to poop. Like right now!"
MARK: "Then go." (oh it's just so simple isn't it?!)
ME: "What if they come looking for me?"
MARK: "I will tell them where you are." (makes perfect sense)
ME: "OK."
Three minutes later, I return, Mark says "They came while you were in the restroom, she said she would be right back."
I watched the clock. LIKE A HAWK. Five minutes went by and I could feel another one crowning and didn't want to leave AGAIN and have the nurse show up AGAIN and leave AGAIN. But I started to sweat, I thought it might just shoot out on its own, so repeat the conversation above, and again, she came looking for me and left again while I was, er, making my deposit.
Third time's the charm, as I wandered back they came & got me, mind you over 20 minutes had been ticked off the clock at this point, which meant that all the other pre-op stuff would be rushed.
As we get back to the area where you strip down to your birthday suit and they get you all geared up with an IV port the nurse walks me to the bathroom and says "I need you to empty your bladder." Clearly no one had told her I'd been in there THREE TIMES ALREADY. I just laughed at her and said there wasn't probably a drop left in there after the morning I had just had.
I was very conflicted all morning long, I was excited to get the hard plastic barbie tissue expanders out, but not at all excited about the hysterectomy, add to that a sprinkle of menopausal symptoms from the Tamoxifen and you get a really fun patient. I went from cracking jokes to tears faster than Lindsey Lohan checks in and out of rehab.
It didn't help that it took the nurse and anesthesiologist three tries to get my IV in. THREE TRIES. I asked, after the second time they missed, if I could get that valium before the third try, but that isn't "hospital policy". Plus, I needed to be coherent and standing for when my plastic surgeon arrived to draw all over my boobs. I am glad that I wasn't swaying as he drew a line right down the middle of my chest with a purple felt tip marker.
The conversation with my plastic surgeon was the bright spot in my morning, discussing the shape and sizing of the implants he ordered and getting my thoughts on which I prefer. Basically in a matter of months I went from Skipper to Barbie, and to be honest, I was not really comfortable with my big huge plastic boobs. They just aren't me.
Much to Mark's dismay, I chose the more natural looking version and I am really happy. Skipper to Barbie to something in between. I am FOREVER grateful to have pretty, symmetrical non-drooping boobs at the tender age of 40.
And, as promised, every vote counted in the "What should I name my new boobs" poll and I'm pleased to announce the names of the twins: Bonnie & Clyde. As my aunt says, "they'll always be on the run with me."
Next up in my pre-op timeline, the anesthesiologist lead came in to introduce himself and I swear to you he has the whitest freaking teeth I've ever seen. Blue eyes, fit, (nice ass, I could see it even though he had on scrubs) totally adorable.
After he left Mark said "What do you think of Dr. McDreamy?" and I totally busted up because that's what I was thinking. I'm sure he is a real panty-dropper under normal circumstances, but I wasn't really in a place where I could even think about it much.
I mean, I THOUGHT about it, a little bit. Just a lil' bit. But when you're getting ready to have your uterus removed it's hard to think of much else than that.
I quickly noted the whiteness of his teeth to Mark out of fear that I might make mention of it in a highly inappropriate way as they wheeled me into the surgical room, then giggled hysterically as I heard the nurse call him by name: Dr. McBride McBride/McDreamy it was all too much!
I woke up in the recovery room, as expected, and was there for about an hour while they tried to make sure I was breathing well and not in much pain. Up until Monday I was questioning my decision to do both procedures at the same time, and whether I needed to do the hysterectomy at all.
The best news came to me while in recovery: my endometriosis surrounded my uterus and had it in a very weird place. This explains a lot. Which I won't go into.... No more Tamoxifen either, since those useless ovaries were yanked out too. I've eliminated my risk of uterine and ovarian cancer and cleaned up the endometriosis that has given me trouble for well over 20 years.
And while I am a bit sad about taking out those reproductive parts (even though I had no plans to use them further) I am glad that I made the right decision. However, life is nothing else if not full of irony. I'll give you two guesses where my hospital room was, and the first one doesn't count.
MATERNITY. Yes, the maternity ward. They put a 40 year old woman whose entire reproductive system had been removed on the maternity ward. My dear, sweet, boob loving husband tried to request they move me before I got up there, but alas, his efforts were futile.
They put me in a section far away from any babies or mommas, and in a giant room that is larger than our bonus room here at home. I kid you not. It was bigger than most hotel rooms. It LOOKED like a hotel, in fact that's what I said in my morphine haze as they wheeled me in. Imagine, me saying every thought that comes into my brain.
I am eternally grateful to Legacy Good Samaritan for putting me in room 581, as I was surrounded by the best nursing staff on the planet. No lies, kids. They were simply amazing. All of them had a sense of humor (highly important as I made all kinds of inappropriate jokes about everything and they laughed with me) and gave me the best care imaginable. I almost didn't want to leave. Almost.
I'm home now, recovering, trying really hard to curb that OCD human lurking inside me that wants to straighten out every room in the house. I'm bored, I don't like TV, I fall asleep when I read and I struggle to find things to keep myself entertained. This is the hardest part for me: being down for the count. If only I had Dr. McDreamy here to keep me company.....
I'm a survivor. I survived childbirth, junior high, breast cancer and I'll survive this too.
Basically, in less than 6 months, everything that makes me a woman has been removed. It's a very strange thought. Having my girl parts removed means I go straight into the lightning round of menopause and I have already informed Mark that soon we might be shaving together in the morning.
Today is Thursday (I think, damn percocet) and I have a pretty good story to tell you about Monday. As with any surgery, no food or drink after a certain time of day, which for me this time was midnight.
My procedures were scheduled to begin at 7:30am so my report time was 5:30am. Not eating or drinking after midnight was going to be a snap, as there is nothing I want to do less than shove food in my face (unless absolutely necessary) at 5am.
We arrived at the hospital in time and got all checked in. As some of you might remember, I have a bit of a nervous, ahem, pooper. Before any race I tend to empty that baby out, in three trips or less to the nearest porta-shitter.
Monday, thankfully, there was a nice, clean, restroom within close proximity to the waiting room. By the time we got checked in and in the waiting room it was 6 am and time was wasting. I was a little worried about leaving in case the nurse came to get me while I was out. In any case, I still defiled it three times before 6:30am.
I work fast. I can be in and out of the restroom, hands washed and pants in place in under two minutes. It's not like I take a newspaper in there with me and dilly dally. I don't have that kind of time, nor did I on Monday.
Unfortunately, two of the three times I went to the bathroom, Murphy's Law (or whatever Law applies) meant that the nurse came looking for me, I wasn't there so they left and didn't return for another 5-10 minutes.
It went a little bit like this:
ME: "Mark! Oh my GOSH. I think I have to poop. Like right now!"
MARK: "Then go." (oh it's just so simple isn't it?!)
ME: "What if they come looking for me?"
MARK: "I will tell them where you are." (makes perfect sense)
ME: "OK."
Three minutes later, I return, Mark says "They came while you were in the restroom, she said she would be right back."
I watched the clock. LIKE A HAWK. Five minutes went by and I could feel another one crowning and didn't want to leave AGAIN and have the nurse show up AGAIN and leave AGAIN. But I started to sweat, I thought it might just shoot out on its own, so repeat the conversation above, and again, she came looking for me and left again while I was, er, making my deposit.
Third time's the charm, as I wandered back they came & got me, mind you over 20 minutes had been ticked off the clock at this point, which meant that all the other pre-op stuff would be rushed.
As we get back to the area where you strip down to your birthday suit and they get you all geared up with an IV port the nurse walks me to the bathroom and says "I need you to empty your bladder." Clearly no one had told her I'd been in there THREE TIMES ALREADY. I just laughed at her and said there wasn't probably a drop left in there after the morning I had just had.
I was very conflicted all morning long, I was excited to get the hard plastic barbie tissue expanders out, but not at all excited about the hysterectomy, add to that a sprinkle of menopausal symptoms from the Tamoxifen and you get a really fun patient. I went from cracking jokes to tears faster than Lindsey Lohan checks in and out of rehab.
It didn't help that it took the nurse and anesthesiologist three tries to get my IV in. THREE TRIES. I asked, after the second time they missed, if I could get that valium before the third try, but that isn't "hospital policy". Plus, I needed to be coherent and standing for when my plastic surgeon arrived to draw all over my boobs. I am glad that I wasn't swaying as he drew a line right down the middle of my chest with a purple felt tip marker.
The conversation with my plastic surgeon was the bright spot in my morning, discussing the shape and sizing of the implants he ordered and getting my thoughts on which I prefer. Basically in a matter of months I went from Skipper to Barbie, and to be honest, I was not really comfortable with my big huge plastic boobs. They just aren't me.
Much to Mark's dismay, I chose the more natural looking version and I am really happy. Skipper to Barbie to something in between. I am FOREVER grateful to have pretty, symmetrical non-drooping boobs at the tender age of 40.
And, as promised, every vote counted in the "What should I name my new boobs" poll and I'm pleased to announce the names of the twins: Bonnie & Clyde. As my aunt says, "they'll always be on the run with me."
Next up in my pre-op timeline, the anesthesiologist lead came in to introduce himself and I swear to you he has the whitest freaking teeth I've ever seen. Blue eyes, fit, (nice ass, I could see it even though he had on scrubs) totally adorable.
After he left Mark said "What do you think of Dr. McDreamy?" and I totally busted up because that's what I was thinking. I'm sure he is a real panty-dropper under normal circumstances, but I wasn't really in a place where I could even think about it much.
I mean, I THOUGHT about it, a little bit. Just a lil' bit. But when you're getting ready to have your uterus removed it's hard to think of much else than that.
I quickly noted the whiteness of his teeth to Mark out of fear that I might make mention of it in a highly inappropriate way as they wheeled me into the surgical room, then giggled hysterically as I heard the nurse call him by name: Dr. McBride McBride/McDreamy it was all too much!
I woke up in the recovery room, as expected, and was there for about an hour while they tried to make sure I was breathing well and not in much pain. Up until Monday I was questioning my decision to do both procedures at the same time, and whether I needed to do the hysterectomy at all.
The best news came to me while in recovery: my endometriosis surrounded my uterus and had it in a very weird place. This explains a lot. Which I won't go into.... No more Tamoxifen either, since those useless ovaries were yanked out too. I've eliminated my risk of uterine and ovarian cancer and cleaned up the endometriosis that has given me trouble for well over 20 years.
And while I am a bit sad about taking out those reproductive parts (even though I had no plans to use them further) I am glad that I made the right decision. However, life is nothing else if not full of irony. I'll give you two guesses where my hospital room was, and the first one doesn't count.
MATERNITY. Yes, the maternity ward. They put a 40 year old woman whose entire reproductive system had been removed on the maternity ward. My dear, sweet, boob loving husband tried to request they move me before I got up there, but alas, his efforts were futile.
They put me in a section far away from any babies or mommas, and in a giant room that is larger than our bonus room here at home. I kid you not. It was bigger than most hotel rooms. It LOOKED like a hotel, in fact that's what I said in my morphine haze as they wheeled me in. Imagine, me saying every thought that comes into my brain.
I am eternally grateful to Legacy Good Samaritan for putting me in room 581, as I was surrounded by the best nursing staff on the planet. No lies, kids. They were simply amazing. All of them had a sense of humor (highly important as I made all kinds of inappropriate jokes about everything and they laughed with me) and gave me the best care imaginable. I almost didn't want to leave. Almost.
I'm home now, recovering, trying really hard to curb that OCD human lurking inside me that wants to straighten out every room in the house. I'm bored, I don't like TV, I fall asleep when I read and I struggle to find things to keep myself entertained. This is the hardest part for me: being down for the count. If only I had Dr. McDreamy here to keep me company.....
I'm a survivor. I survived childbirth, junior high, breast cancer and I'll survive this too.
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Yesterday
Something happened to me yesterday, something I will never forget, because I truly felt God's presence in my life. Yesterday started out as a day for me to get a lot of things done. The kids had school, but I had a day off and I had many things planned to check off my list for the holidays.
Yesterday didn't start out to be a bad or good day in particular. It was just a day. First thing, I hit the gym to avoid the lecherous un-attractive (because if they are good looking it makes it ok, right?) older and very creepy men who would likely stare at me in the evening and I had a pretty good workout. I zipped home and did some stuff for Cause + Event, wrapped holiday gifts for the kids and in general had a pretty ordinary day, yesterday.
I needed to accomplish a lot of "off site" stuff yesterday, including mailing some Cause + Event shirts out, a couple of holiday gifts, a Costco trip and a WinCo adventure. Yesterday was just a typical day. I did not even one time think about my impending surgery or the fact that I had cancer last summer. No, yesterday was a day to just get things done and I was loving it.
After lunch I took off to check more things off my list. While in Costco I didn't hear my phone ring, it must have been on silent or I hit that vortex where your phone has no reception. When I got outside I realized there was a missed call and a voicemail. I didn't recognize the number, so I listened to the message.
Yesterday my oncologist's office called to let me know that my bone scan had been scheduled for Dec. 10. There's nothing scary about the bone scan, it isn't because they are looking for cancer or anything like that. It's routine, to set a baseline to evaluate my bone density going forward as I'll be thrown head first into a surgically induced menopause at the age of 40 on December 17th.
What upset me yesterday is that I had gone most of my day without thinking about cancer. This friendly little phone call was another reminder, in a long line of exhausting reminders, that for the rest of my life I have to be looking over my shoulder.
As much as I pretend that I'm OK, I'm not OK. Cancer (no matter how small or minor your experience is) signs you up for a lifetime of tests, poking, prodding and checking. I never gave it much thought before, that I would only go to the doctor if I were sick or needed my annual lube, oil and filter. I rarely, if ever, saw the inside of a waiting room, unless I was there with a sick child.
Now, and forever more, I'm subjected to regular tests, scans, questions and visits and it makes me angry. I didn't sign up for this. I didn't volunteer. I don't want this.
So I was feeling really blue, really upset because I just got a cancer bitch-slap reminder in the middle of what was a very lovely and ordinary day yesterday. I pulled into the WinCo parking lot and decided to park on the north side of the building. I don't know why, I've never parked there before. I always park in about the same place, but for a reason I can only describe as divine intervention, I parked in that north parking lot yesterday.
I hopped out of my little white kia and opened the trunk for my reusable shopping bags (take that angry napkin waiter!) and a woman in a red BMW pulled up with her window rolled down. "Excuse me" she said, and I walked over to her expecting to give her directions some place or answer a question of some kind and instead she handed me a newly purchased $20 gift card to WinCo and simply said "Merry Christmas."
I was stunned, speechless and so thankful. I am not sure what I said to her at the time, but she told me she had been driving around for five minutes just WAITING for someone to pull in and park in front of her. That someone was me.
Yesterday at 2:30pm I felt the hand of God on my shoulder telling me that I'm going to be OK, and that there are many people who have many more struggles than I do. Yesterday, I knew without a doubt that moment, that wonderful woman, was inserted into my life so that I could focus on something other than myself.
I took that $20 gift card and without giving it much thought, spent the next half an hour in the store GLEEFULLY picking out food for the food closet at my church. Yesterday, I forgot all about my stupid cancer, bone scan and surgery, and focused on something much more important: someone in need.
Yesterday I cried, a lot, in the store as I shopped. I couldn't believe that someone would give ME, randomly, a $20 gift card to spend. I have to tell you, $20 doesn't get a lot of food. I was completely humbled by the experience. Even in a place like WinCo, $20 doesn't stretch too far. I left the store feeling so blessed and so fortunate, and so not even thinking about cancer or the aftermath.
Yesterday was a wonderful day, and one that I will never, ever forget.
Yesterday didn't start out to be a bad or good day in particular. It was just a day. First thing, I hit the gym to avoid the lecherous un-attractive (because if they are good looking it makes it ok, right?) older and very creepy men who would likely stare at me in the evening and I had a pretty good workout. I zipped home and did some stuff for Cause + Event, wrapped holiday gifts for the kids and in general had a pretty ordinary day, yesterday.
I needed to accomplish a lot of "off site" stuff yesterday, including mailing some Cause + Event shirts out, a couple of holiday gifts, a Costco trip and a WinCo adventure. Yesterday was just a typical day. I did not even one time think about my impending surgery or the fact that I had cancer last summer. No, yesterday was a day to just get things done and I was loving it.
After lunch I took off to check more things off my list. While in Costco I didn't hear my phone ring, it must have been on silent or I hit that vortex where your phone has no reception. When I got outside I realized there was a missed call and a voicemail. I didn't recognize the number, so I listened to the message.
Yesterday my oncologist's office called to let me know that my bone scan had been scheduled for Dec. 10. There's nothing scary about the bone scan, it isn't because they are looking for cancer or anything like that. It's routine, to set a baseline to evaluate my bone density going forward as I'll be thrown head first into a surgically induced menopause at the age of 40 on December 17th.
What upset me yesterday is that I had gone most of my day without thinking about cancer. This friendly little phone call was another reminder, in a long line of exhausting reminders, that for the rest of my life I have to be looking over my shoulder.
As much as I pretend that I'm OK, I'm not OK. Cancer (no matter how small or minor your experience is) signs you up for a lifetime of tests, poking, prodding and checking. I never gave it much thought before, that I would only go to the doctor if I were sick or needed my annual lube, oil and filter. I rarely, if ever, saw the inside of a waiting room, unless I was there with a sick child.
Now, and forever more, I'm subjected to regular tests, scans, questions and visits and it makes me angry. I didn't sign up for this. I didn't volunteer. I don't want this.
So I was feeling really blue, really upset because I just got a cancer bitch-slap reminder in the middle of what was a very lovely and ordinary day yesterday. I pulled into the WinCo parking lot and decided to park on the north side of the building. I don't know why, I've never parked there before. I always park in about the same place, but for a reason I can only describe as divine intervention, I parked in that north parking lot yesterday.
I hopped out of my little white kia and opened the trunk for my reusable shopping bags (take that angry napkin waiter!) and a woman in a red BMW pulled up with her window rolled down. "Excuse me" she said, and I walked over to her expecting to give her directions some place or answer a question of some kind and instead she handed me a newly purchased $20 gift card to WinCo and simply said "Merry Christmas."
I was stunned, speechless and so thankful. I am not sure what I said to her at the time, but she told me she had been driving around for five minutes just WAITING for someone to pull in and park in front of her. That someone was me.
Yesterday at 2:30pm I felt the hand of God on my shoulder telling me that I'm going to be OK, and that there are many people who have many more struggles than I do. Yesterday, I knew without a doubt that moment, that wonderful woman, was inserted into my life so that I could focus on something other than myself.
I took that $20 gift card and without giving it much thought, spent the next half an hour in the store GLEEFULLY picking out food for the food closet at my church. Yesterday, I forgot all about my stupid cancer, bone scan and surgery, and focused on something much more important: someone in need.
Yesterday I cried, a lot, in the store as I shopped. I couldn't believe that someone would give ME, randomly, a $20 gift card to spend. I have to tell you, $20 doesn't get a lot of food. I was completely humbled by the experience. Even in a place like WinCo, $20 doesn't stretch too far. I left the store feeling so blessed and so fortunate, and so not even thinking about cancer or the aftermath.
Yesterday was a wonderful day, and one that I will never, ever forget.
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