Friday, April 18, 2014


When we were in NOLA, over Christmas, I thought I pulled a muscle in my stomach.  Apparently, that was the beginning of this whole, bizarre, medical adventure.  Since then, it's been ER visits, ambulance rides, various hospital beds (I liked the one that re-inflated/readjusted itself every time I moved best), and showing off my monkey bits to pretty much anyone who asked.  (Oddly, having existed this many years in the human world, rarely did humans have any interest in my monkey bits . . . and in the last 3 months . . . parades of humans have expressed an interest.

Now that I'm mostly functional again, I've gotten to travel.  I'm in Boston. My hotel room looks out over Harvard.  (And, a mall.  America's most historical city and I can spend the day watching the customers at a cheesecake factory.)

Later today, we'll venture out to more historic looking places.  Probably have some food we can't find in culinary hell.  (Oh, and if I press my forehead to the window of my room and look off to one side, I can see the Charles river.)

This is probably the lowest key vacation I've ever had.  But, I'm hoping that it will serve as the closing door on the last few months of medical experiments.

Wednesday, April 16, 2014


During a skype date with one of my favorite humans, I was informed I have a stalker.  A celebrity type stalker . . . not the creepy type.

I feel like Kevin Bacon.

A stalker . . . you know you're on your way to fame! fortune! world domination! when you have a stalker.  Even if that stalker is one of your favorite humans.

But, now I have this insane pressure to do something, anything, worth being stalked for.  Oh, fame, you're so fickle.

Saturday, April 12, 2014

Healing of the body, rotting of the brain

We are getting close to being a functional monkey again!!  The wound vac will come off next week, to be replaced with an intricate pattern of bandages and tape.  But, even looking like a first aid class gone wrong, being without the wound vac offers more mobility.

This week, I was finally able to rejoin the SMLF table.  And, it was celebratory cherry mt dews for everyone.

But, now I need to wean myself off the media I've been consuming during my confinement.  I have become TLC's viewing monkey. . . which is not a good thing at all.

In the beginning, I was streaming shows from PBS.  And, of course shows from my favorite foodies.  But, then, there were those dark nights where I watched Say Yes To The Dress back to back.  Then, the prime availability for both the foodie shows and the wedding dress show disappeared and I had to find something else to watch.  I watched some crime shows, but I also fell into the TLC abyss.  Two "reality" shows involving over indulged southern men . . . some dude name Christley (I think) and a bunch of whiners in Charleston, SC.  Frankly, now that I write this, I don't even know if they are TLC shows . . . they just seem to be the TLC sort.

I also have given into reading comments on the interwebs.  Fortunately, Jezebel has the best comments ever.  The folks who read/comment seem thoughtful and willing to say they made a mistake and discuss . . . but they are also terribly funny.  This holds for news stories, opinions, and gossip stories.  I am hoping reading the clever comments on their site is balancing the harm done by my television habits.

But did you hear that one of the Dugger daughters is engaged?

Thursday, April 10, 2014


Because of my recent medical battles, I've had to be on a rather strange diet.  Temporarily, and slowly now being reintroduced, I've not been able to eat most veggies/fruits.  And, those I can have must have no peels and must be very over cooked and low in fiber content.  (While the dietitian explained the diet to me I kept muttering "Yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck")  I also cannot have nuts yet.  This is difficult because nuts in all forms were one of my daily snacks.

But, now that recovery is happening, I can slowly start to add the foods I actually like back into my diet, with some caution.  (YAY)

Several of my lovely human friends have been so helpful and supportive during this time of foodie hell.  One keeps a growing list of foods we will have once I'm back to 100%.  Another has reminded me several times that the moment I'm up to it, she and I will have a meal to beat all meals at a super-wonderful, best-meal-ever, tapas restaurant we love.

Now, stay with me while I seem to veer off topic.

Last month, two nice young people Phenom and I are both acquainted with got married.  They are very young and both work in the field of journalism (print journalism too!) and thus are dirt poor.  Because of my medical situation, we were unable to travel the many miles to their wedding and partake of their blissful beginnings.  And, because of my medical situation, last night we finally got around to ordering their wedding gift.

While I was hospitalized in January (at the beginning of this nightmare), I watched the entire series of "A Chef's Life" on public television.  It is a series about a chef who left NYC to return to her rural hometown to open a restaurant.  She is committed to local foods/farmers and being inventive with classic southern ingredients.  (She does some damn interesting things with grits.)

As it happens, this chef's restaurant is in the same town as the newly wedded couple.  And, just because I can't eat fun food right now doesn't mean I have stopped obsessing over other people getting to eat fun food.  I ordered a hefty gift card for this restaurant for the couple.  I figure it will be enough for a few fancy date nights.

Less than an hour later, a good friend of ours called to check in on my recovery.  During the conversation, she suggested that once I'm fully recovered, I should come visit her (far away from us) and that hey, have you heard about The Chef and the Farmer restaurant?  It's not too far away from where she lives and she too watched the PBS series and we should go eat there.

How cool is that?  And, OH YUM!  And, the outpouring of affection and concern and sweetness and generosity from so, so many people during the past few months has been the most life affirming, lovely thing ever.  I'm such a spoiled monkey.

Monday, April 07, 2014

The spiral to helplessness

I have a friend who runs a craft group for kids.  She is often dismayed that the kids she teaches often lack basic crafting skills . . . like gluing and cutting.  And these are kids ranging from 2nd - 7th grades.  She says that what is even more baffling is that they are incapable of following simple instructions.  She says that with each craft, she breaks them down to easy steps . . . and even then, the kids have a difficult time following what she's doing.  And, just as disheartening is that the kids in her group rarely work outside the prescribed template, they are fairly lacking in creativity.

We have had many a discussion about how we were learning to knit and sew and create large paper mache' sculptures at ages much younger than these kids.

I've got another example of this spiral into helplessness.

A class mate of a child I use to baby sit for has started a foodie blog.  She is newly into her 30s and has a real, grown up job.  She decided that it was about time she learned what that weird room with all the appliances really is for after all.

She writes that she printed out a simple recipe and was happily gathering ingredients in the grocery store t prepare her own dinner when she realized the instructions called for several hours between prep steps.  So, she googled something else to eat and came across two recipes that claimed to be quick.  So, she purchased entirely different ingredients and went home to start creating.

After chopping and throwing ingredients into the pot did she read the recipe enough to realize she'd already screwed it all up.  Her finished project, as much as it was a learning experience, wasn't actually food she wanted to eat.

But, what I saw was someone who couldn't be bothered to read past the first line of a recipe before finding herself lost. I think this is a phenomena particular to her generation . . . they don't read all the way through an article or recipe before launching head first into something.

Just wait until they have kids and need to assemble a bike on christmas morning.

Sunday, April 06, 2014

Little tricks

Between the initial emergency and the first surgery, I purchased a small lap top computer and lap desk so that I could keep myself occupied/check email/play games/chat with friends during my recovery.  It was the best purchase I've made in a while.  I sleep with the computer next to me on the bed.

Because I have to take medication on a strict schedule, I frequently find myself awake in the middle of the night and unable to get back to sleep.  Generally, this means I troll facebook, read the comments on news stories, and watch programs on amazon prime.  (Curses on Amazon for cutting the prime accessibility of food network shows.  I already pay for prime, I'm not paying extra to watch the shows I want.)  When you look at a program on the prime listing, they will also show you other programs people who watched this program also watched.  Through this little service, I have found THE SHOW.

It's a cooking show.  And, it's fairly recently produced in the UK.  But it is done in 80s style documentary with calm/soothing voice over.  And, I haven't yet watched an entire 30 minute program because it puts me straight to sleep.

It's perfect!  I'll never get bored with the series because I'll never make it through a whole program . . . and I don't spend hours every night being an internet troll.

Saturday, April 05, 2014

Getting there

Another month, another surgery.

My reward for not ripping the balls off the radiologist was my final surgery was scheduled ASAP.  This past Monday, in fact.

We arrived at prime hour, 5:30am, at the surgical center.  A parade of people, with all sincerity and caring, asked me the same list of questions.  They worked hard to find a vein for an IV and wheeled me into the operating room.  As with the last surgery, I've tried to remember the events as they unfolded just before surgery.

I don't remember the little hair cap being put on my head at any point.  I assume it went on, but I have no idea when.  I remember being wheeled to the operating room.  I am trying to recall if I moved myself or if they transferred me to the operating table.  I think, this time, a mask was put over my face and I was told to breathe in, deeply.

Then, the recovery room.  I remember the nurse talking to me and fairly soon after I opened my eyes, she gave me ice chips.  This was nice because, like last time my throat was dry.  This time, there was a huge sore on my upper lip.  I remember telling the nurse I had a "fat lip" and she told me it would go away.  She seemed to not understand I had an injury.  There were a couple more ice chips, and I kept waiting for them to say something about bringing Phenom in to see me.

Instead, they wheeled me up to a room and they said Phenom would meet me in the room.  And, VOILA! Just as they promised.  I remember being fairly awake for a bit that morning.  And, the nurse remembered me from the last surgery.

They had me on different post operative drugs, having learned that morphine doesn't do anything for me.  The new drugs made me sleepy, very sleepy.  I slept quite a lot over the next few days.  Frankly, it was kinda fun.

This recovery has been faster/easier.  But, this surgery was less extensive than the last.  And, I have the incentive of being near the end of this very long tunnel I've been stuck in since January.

Now, if I could just get my appetite back.  I know, I ask for a lot.

PS: The photo is borrowed from a friend who is on another sort of journey.

Friday, March 28, 2014


I identified another one of those pesky little situations that triggers me being instantly distrustful and annoyed.
When doctors, or medical professionals, appear to have not read my chart.

Now, I got plenty of that with my last hospital stay and all the little baby docs who wandered in, having been told to "make rounds" while having no clue the specifics of my medical condition or treatment.  But, sadly, I didn't really put my finger on just how much it annoys me until yesterday.

Yesterday, I had a perfectly horrible, terrifying, stressful procedure at radiology.  But, to start everything on a sour note, they kept asking me questions that seemed to indicate they didn't really understand my unique needs/situation.

I talked to the radiology tech on the phone the day before.  I explained the arthritis as well as the wound vac and other issues impairing my mobility.  Then, when they get me into the x-ray room, one of the assistants asks me "now, why are we doing this procedure today?"  I asked her why she didn't already know, had she not read my chart?  The come back was something about making sure I understood the necessity of the test.  Well, then phrase it in a way that isn't so condescending.

Then, they got me up on the x-ray table, which was a feat . . . it was too high for me to comfortably climb up on, and there was nothing to grasp onto to allow me to pull myself up/over.  Then, just being completely flat on a hard surface compounded my discomfort.  They all disappeared for several minutes, adding to my anxiety.  Then, the tech I'd spoken to the day before comes whisking in and asks "what surgery did you have last month?"  Well, I understand that there are some procedures that are so routine that they have a name.  What happened with me was complex and doesn't have a name.  I admit, I was less that pleasant in responding.  Partly because I was very uncomfortable and becoming distressed but mostly because I felt like this was stuff they should have known, or been able to look up.

Then, they started the procedure. . . . which demanded that I roll over to a position that went beyond discomfort to pain.  Remember, there was nothing to grip or hold on to for leverage.  Part of the requirements of the procedure added an "extreme" factor to my discomfort/pain.  At this point, the doctor felt I should be able to roll over even more.  I could not.  He saw this less as a factor of the wound vac and more a factor of me being uncooperative.  We had several minutes of a very heated exchange, during which my discomfort grew and, yes, I admit, for emphasis, I used profanity.  When I was asked to roll over again, and I held on to the one thing in my reach that appeared to be a handle, he yelled at me (again) to not touch the equipment.  He also yelled at me for breathing heavily because I was in discomfort and pain.

Why do medical professionals think that telling a patient that is obviously stressed and in a high level of discomfort to "calm down" will actually result in actual "calming down?"

Part of me thinks he was unaware of the specific factors that limited my mobility.  But, most of me is outraged that he would treat a patient in the inhumane and vicious way that he did.  I have never reacted to a medical procedure the way I reacted to this one.  Part of it was the unique situation I find myself in, physically.  But I believe that the way I was treated pushed me far beyond what was reasonable.

But, what I hate the most is that although I know I was treated badly, I'm left wondering what I did wrong.

Tuesday, March 18, 2014

Could be daylight, could be a train

Post op appointment today.  I'd, naturally, worked myself up in to a full frenzy, totally believing that the doctor lied to me before surgery and simply told me what he thought I wanted to hear.

Apparently, and I'm sure you're as surprised as I am, I over reacted.

He is scheduling me for a test (within the next few days) to make sure the bits they operated on have healed properly.  If the tests come back as he hopes they will, he will schedule me for the last surgery to reverse what they had to put in place to allow for healing.  He also says that by that time, the wound vac should be unnecessary, and I should be good to make my travel plans in mid-April!

Tomorrow, I will call his clinic to double check on the radiology appointment.  I don't trust the people in his clinic to actually follow up or do their work as they should . . . or bother to communicate with me.  They've got a terrible track record thus far, I'd be surprised if they break form now.

I still can't imagine that the stars are actually going to fall into place to allow me to travel in mid-April . . . but I've got some hope.  And, that hope is allowing me to have a bit more energy, a bit more drive to be more active.

And, my estimate of how much weight I've lost from this little misadventure was EXACTLY on.  As much fun as it has been to have a no veggie, all meat and carbs diet . . .. I'm sooooo looking forward to kale and cabbage and fruit again.  Oh, a salad . . . A SALAD!  I'll even share my bugs.

Wednesday, March 12, 2014

How you know the machines hate you

The Phenom has some luddite tendencies, except for checking sports scores and buying stuff (lots of stuff).  Although, he seems to appreciate the connection he can make with some of his friends through my grid, I think he'd give it up if he could or it suddenly disappeared.

Me, well, The Old Woman loved a gadget.  She often remarked that she wished that her mother had lived to see television because she just knew her mother would have loved soap operas.  The Old Woman always said that you should be open to new things, because you never know what your favorite is, unless you try as much as you can.  I generally apply this to new chip flavors.  But, I admit, I like a gadget.  Now, I did give up my smartphone because the ongoing cost didn't seem worth the hassle. But, I have the fancy kindle and a mini-laptop computer.  Plus, kitchen gadgets galore (including a molecular gastronomy play kit waiting for me to be back to myself for some foodie experimentation).

But, I also realize that the machines are some times out to get you.

I once had a car that only broke down when I was far from home.  Well, that's not true . . . the ONLY time it broke down in town, The Phenom was out of town and I found myself stranded at a car repair shop and no ride home at the close of business and we had no car rental outfits at that time.  Bastard car.

This wound vac attached to the gaping slice in my gut also hates me.  The night they set it up, it spent much of the time beeping at me.  Fortunately, we stayed an extra night in the hospital because it would have made me a nervous wreck if they'd sent me home . . . exhausted, in pain, and with some piece of machinery that was totally foreign to me that wouldn't stop beeping.  The next time, it had a full canister . . . at 3am.  I had to ease myself out of bed, rummage through the HUGE box of supplies and then flip through a large instruction book to figure out how to change it.

Last night, it decided it had a blockage.  I followed the instructions in the manual and it shut up . . . for a bit.  At 2am, I found myself on the phone with the home health nurse in a total panic (I do not want to have to return to the hospital).  Her solution worked and today the bugger has behaved itself (but not before causing a restless night of semi-sleep).

Just a few minutes ago, it just stopped making noise. (It is just about 1am as I write this.)  I turned it on and off . . . no luck.  I checked the canister and it was full, only the alarm to tell me it was full wasn't beeping.  I anticipated the new canister (after the last middle of the night change) and had it waiting.  It is humming along now . . . plotting its next middle of the night annoyance, no doubt.

Sunday, March 09, 2014


I finally was discharged on Wednesday.  The trip home was long and exhausting.  I did as little as possible on Thursday.  Then, Friday, when I got up to bathe and put on fresh clothes, I became suddenly overwhelmed with it all and just started crying.  It was an ugly cry.  But it was needed.  I had a big, scary surgery and then had absolutely no control over what happened to me for a period of time.  The first several days, post-surgery, my pain meds didn't get adjusted properly, which just made it harder.

Being at home means I have to find a totally new way of getting in and out of bed, routines for basic functions . . . which is also exhausting.  And, having this wound vac machine deciding ONLY to beep and go nuts in the MIDDLE of the night doesn't help.

But, after the bit of a breakdown, I spent a whole day pretty much just sleeping.  And, that seems to have made a huge difference.  My brain feels like it is starting to wake up some.  Which is good, because I have some work that must get done this next week.

But, at least I'm not in some hospital gown that will not stay on my shoulders, no matter what I do.  Not that monkeys have much dignity to begin with . . . but still.

Wednesday, March 05, 2014

Navel gazing

I made a realization during dressing change today.  I don't have a belly button any more.  Now where am I going to stash the extra bug snack?  Monkeys may be the only creatures actually utilizing the natural pocket, and now, in return for their silence, those sick doctors have taken it from me.

On the flip-side, I'll never be accused of navel gazing again.  There is that.  I'm still a wet-the-bed-liberal . . . but not a navel gazer.

Monday, March 03, 2014

Nearing the next step

I'm being shoved out into the world tomorrow.  They have removed all but one tube.  I can eat a modified diet, but more than just liquids.  And, I've gone from sweet, easily drugged patient to the assertive monkey demanding appointments, and follow-up, and specific information about what to expect next. Apparently, I ask too much.

I've also gotten a chance to watch way too much TV.  I think I've actually worn myself out on Law and Order.  I did catch Rachel Ray's newest show "Three in the Bag."  She has one (very large) grocery bag and makes three meals from what fits in one bag.  The thing is, I think they told her that the show would be shown in Bulgaria and that the viewers would not understand English.  She speaks slowly, she repeats herself, she uses simple vocabulary, and WILD arm/hand gestures like she's supplementing the English the viewers can't understand with her own version of sign language.  Also, I'm pretty sure she could get a fourth meal prepared if the stopped lifting every ingredient over her head as she announces what it is . . . that extra time could really be used better.

But, the coffee shop makes yummy smoothies and if not for them, I'd not get anything to eat.


Saturday, March 01, 2014

Not in a cage

Well, I didn't wake up in a cage in an undisclosed location.  So, either my surgeons didn't figure out the big secret (which would make one wonder how good they really are?) or they had compassion . . . or worried that outing me would mean my health insurance wouldn't cover all the messy, icky things they did to me.  Probably the health insurance stuff.

They actually managed to take me back early.  I've been trying to remember what I remember.  I remember the little guy trying really had to pull up a vein so he could get the initial IV in . . . and the doctor telling me that they would get a larger one in once I was "out" and wouldn't feel them digging.  Fun!

I did tell the doctors about how Phenom likes to do an impression of the Alien from the movie Alien and how my response is always to yell "I don't want to kiss the alien" and if they witnessed this after they started giving me the "good" drugs, not to be alarmed.  Ah, the things we have to confess to in the course of medical treatment.  I remember moving over to the operating "table"  . . . and them setting up arm boards for me   . . . I seem to vaguely remember a woman with glasses peering at me and then nothing.

I woke up in a darkened recovery area  . . . I remember there being quite a few "beds" around me.  There was a tube in my nose that went into my stomach to keep me from dying in a pool of my own sick.  There were tubes and wired coming out of me from all angles.  They finally brought the Phenom back.  He was tremendously happy and enthusiastic to see me.  I suspect as each second of the surgery ticked by, a year came off his life.

The original plan was for him to spend the night and go home early Thursday to give midterm exams.  But, they told us that I wouldn't get a room until possibly noon the next day because the hospital was full up.  Phenom was willing to camp out in the waiting room all night.  But, they convinced him to go home.  So, he brought my bags in and reluctantly left.  About 1 am I got a room.

The way to become every nurses' favorite patient is a) have your belongings in a Holly Aiken bag that reads "am I in the mood for evil or pie? on the front (lift the flap and it says "evil") and b) have several copies of the "Better Pain Scale" for your nurses to better communicate with you.

Thursday, I was totally worthless.  They gave me morphine in my IV for a while and seemed to respond more to my indications of pain than some prescribed schedule.  Then, they set up a morphine pump for me.  They also took the nose to stomach tube out . . . which made me feel like I was drowning.  I kept forgetting to hit the morphine pump until I'd hit the point where I was past the point when it would have been really helpful.

Friday, they made me get up and move to a chair . . . which was accomplished with much cursing and several people pulling me along . . . and I counted the minutes until I could get back to bed. Then, they changed my wound dressing . . . . which is complicated and let's just say there are not stitches, they want the skin to heal itself . . . but it's a big wound.  It was hands down, the most painful experience I've ever had.  There was much cursing and pathetic behavior.  THEN, they discovered that a big dose of pain meds had been ordered to be given 30 minutes before the procedure.

Today, they took me off the morphine pump and I'm now on a med that has a serious street value.  The first dose, we decided to go down the middle of the range the doctor had prescribed  . . . and it knocked me into a dopey sleep.  So, we've cut back and seem to have hit the happys without the nap.  And, I was able to get up and move to the chair with no profanities.  Progress is being made.

But, there are still miles to go before I stop annoying the doctors . . .

Saturday, February 22, 2014


Oh shit Oh shit Oh shit.  They may be on to me.

In the last of my pre-op appointments yesterday, the doctor used the phrase "unpredictable anatomy" in discussing the surgery.

They haven't said anything, hinted around, or even asked pointed questions that would lead me to think they have figured out I'm a monkey.  But, (and it's a big butt, pa-dum-dum) I'll be out cold and they will be mucking around . . . let's just hope that they will be focused enough on the surgery itself they won't start to realize that everything looks mostly familiar but just a little off.

If this is my last post, you'll know they figured it out and I'm stuck in a cage in a lab in an unknown government facility.  There won't likely be any fancy monkey sanctuary retirement for me.  It will be solitary confinement, for sure.

Thursday, February 20, 2014

A funny relationship

Only a few humans (and monkeys) like pain.  Oh sure, there is drama pain . . . too many humans go seeking that sort of pain out.  But I'm talking OW pain.

I'm a craven coward.  I assume everything is going to hurt.  And, when you hurt me, I'm afraid I may, involuntarily, kick you in the shins.

When I had to learn how to give my self shots, I asked to have an appointment with the health educator because I knew if it were up to me to stab myself the first time. . . we'd still be waiting.  (Only my super macho ego outweighs my cowardice.)

When they removed my PIC line in the hospital, first thing I asked was "how much is it going to hurt?"  (It was a little creepy to feel the wire coming out from my chest through my arm, but didn't so much hurt.)  When they took out the cumbersome, painful, and terribly annoying medical device the other day . . . even though I was THRILLED to be parted with it, I hesitated because I thought it would hurt.  (Apparently, I'd long since ripped the anchoring stitches and it pulled out super easy.  If I'd known it would come out so easily, I would have gotten rid of it a long time ago and just been all like "the what?" when they asked about it.)

So, of course, I'm concerned about pain and pain management with this upcoming surgery.  I've already discussed my options for pain management with the doctor . . . and expressed my preference for having as much control as possible.

The doctor says they want to keep my pain in the "2-5" range on a 10 point scale.  Thing is, I am lousy at expressing my pain on that scale.  There are different kinds of pain.  I have a terrible time deciding if something is the most pain I've ever experienced .  .  . or could there have been something more painful I don't remember?  Also, I've been on pain meds for arthritis for years, and I have come to realize that I don't experience pain the same way humans must.

Last time, in the hospital, they kept offering me drugs and I kept turning them down because my usual meds took me from being "in pain" to "just uncomfortable" and I didn't see the point of taking more drugs for "just uncomfortable."  Apparently, humans never turn down drugs.

To assist in expressing my needs to the medical staff, I have made up a handout from Hyperbole and A Half's Better Pain Scale.  I've made up extra copies because I assume the nurses may want to keep it.  And, given the mean, horrible things they plan to do to me, I totally expect to accept all drugs.

Wednesday, February 19, 2014

And the power and control wheel turns

We're in love again.  He said all the right things.  He surprised me with a little gift.  Now, I'm all giddy again.  I'm sure, in a week's time, I'll think the doctor the most cruel person ever to walk the earth.  (Well, in a week's time I probably won't be conscious. . . details.)

The doctor was eager to explain everything to me . . . welcomed my questions.  Flattered me.  And, surprised me by removing the medical appliance they installed that has been nothing but pain and bother.


He even told me I could do some light exercise if I felt up to it.  AND I COULD TAKE LEGITIMATE SHOWERS.  Of course, next week, it will all come to a halt again with surgery . . . but I'm loving the return to something that feels normal for now.

For the first time in weeks, I don't feel like the poster child for the "People of Wal-Mart."  DID I TELL YOU I GOT TO TAKE A SHOWER TODAY?????!!!!!!

I got to go to the office today.  I even made a legitimate meal.  I can bend over and move like a normal monkey again.  And, we're changing up the meds, so perhaps one day I won't have a balloon for a head anymore.

sigh . . . isn't he just dreamy?

Monday, February 17, 2014

Aw, you poked a sleeping bear

On January 26, I wrote about this bizarre medical issue that will require some rather extensive surgery to correct.  Well, I wrote about it about 2 weeks after it first occurred.  AND I STILL HAVE NOT HAD THE SURGERY.

The surgery is scheduled for next week.  It would not be scheduled already if I had not gone full monkey whine on the doctor's nurse.

I spent 3 weeks calling, nearly daily, the doctors (as I was instructed to do upon discharge from the hospital) to get an appointment.  Then, the weather got my appointment cancelled.  That's when I went full monkey whine on the nurse.  (Until that point, she treated me like some crazy person who was demanding surgery and I wasn't even a patient.)  She, to shut me up, promised to email the doctor (notice, even his nurse has to email him for information about patients) and see if there were any truth to my claims.  AND LO!  The doctor confirmed that not only am I patient, but yeah, schedule that surgery.

I have my first of two pre-op appointments tomorrow.  The second is because another surgeon from another practice will be assisting in fixing my monkeyness.

While the doctor has been seeing other patients and lolling around in the snow, I've been growing more and more annoyed.  I am pretty twerked up for this appointment.  I have questions written out.  (Another fun wrinkle is that they have told me the time and date of the surgery, but nothing else.  Can we say power and control issues?)  I am in no mood for bullshit.

At this point, I almost feel sorry for the doctor . . . not really.

Thursday, February 13, 2014

A matter of taste

Look, I know you're madly in love.  I know that you've reached an age when you admit that the sexy-sexy happens.  I'm happy for you.

But, please, for the more prudish amongst us, please stop posting photos on facebook of your very hairy man, naked in the bed.

That is all.

Tuesday, February 11, 2014

Strange turn of events

Or, how I know I'm a grown up.

When I was a young monkey, I attended the local public school like any human child would.  And, as any human child did, I experienced some level of teasing and/or meanness from some of the other students.

One of the more perplexing incidents was a pretty mean rumor that was spread about me.  It was one of those rumors that had the right blend of sex and scandal and person you wouldn't expect getting caught that the student body seemed to really take hold of it . . . for about two weeks until squirrels distracted them or something.

Being young, I was distraught.  (Especially because no part of the rumor was true.  And, being young, I assumed this would forever color my life.  Whew.)  I consulted my friends to find out who started the rumor.  During lunch, one day, a friend pointed out the "source" of the rumor to me.  It was a girl I didn't know, didn't have any classes with, and had no idea how on earth she would think to know anything about what I did away from school.

Knowing the rumor came from a near stranger helped me realize how silly it was to fret about it.  But, I've always had a level of dislike or distrust of this person.

Fast forward to the present day.  In the hoopla of facebook, many of the people who attend my school, especially my graduating classmates, rushed to friend everyone else who attended our school or was in my class.  Thus, I find my self "facebook friends" with this rumor-starter.  I'm pretty sure she has no recollection of being the source of two weeks of angst in my young life.

She recently experienced the death of her mother.  Her grief is overwhelming.  And, I find myself offering her messages of comfort (like going out of my way to send her private messages) and sympathy.  I'm not quite sure why I'm drawn to her grieving . . . except that perhaps it hits close to home.

Still, I wonder if she remembers the days when she was number one enemy?  Strange, this growing up.  Some grudges you can let go . . . others we wear like armor.