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2/26/10 – Friday

by @ Friday, February 26th, 2010. Filed under CAE, Life

So, I got my hair cut yesterday – it kind of desperately needed it, it had gotten pretty long – and then I stopped by Kohl’s on the way home to see if I could find any sort of sleep pants to wear around the house ’til the swelling in my belly goes down to a reasonable level and I can wear pants again.

I ended up with a $5 pair of purple velour pants. Heh.

When I got home, I put my oversized sleep pants and sweatshirt back on (it’s nice to go out in public, but it’s nice to get my comfy clothes back on, too. Stupid swollen guts. I BLAME YOU, UTERUS!) and puttered around for a little while before turning on the Blu Ray player and putting the last disc of Californication, season 2, in the player. The player thought and thought and thought and then spit the DVD back out. I was all “GODDAMN BLU RAY PLAYER!” and put the disc back in.

Same thing.

This time, I thought to actually pick up the disc and look at it. It was fucking CRACKED. I was all:


“Motherfucker say WHAAAAT?”

But it was okay, because I had some episodes of Ellen on the DVR, and that kept me entertained until Fred got home.

I made dinner last night (it’s not an issue, as long as Fred gets out the pots and pans I need and puts them on the stove so I don’t have to lift them), it was a true Crooked Acres meal. We had pork chops, zucchini pie, and corn on the cob. It was AWESOME. I don’t know if it’s possible to mess up cooking the pork chops we have, because all I do is rub them with spices and then cook ’em in nonstick pan. They come out fantastic every single time.

The zucchini pie was made from zucchini I dehydrated last summer (I rehydrated it in warm water for about an hour before I put the zucchini pie together), and I made it without a crust and it was still fabulous. But seriously, zucchini, onion, and cheese – how can you possibly go wrong?

The corn was a bit chewy (I think I overcooked it), but still not bad, in the scheme of things.

So anyway, later in the evening, Fred was eating his snack of bran flakes in front of his computer, and he suddenly had to get up and go do something (break up a cat fight, I’m thinking), and when he got back to his desk, Elwood was bellied up to the bowl of bran flakes, slurping up the milk.

“Get away from there!” Fred said, half amused and half annoyed. He’s such a bad boy.” I turned and saw that Fred was holding Elwood so that Elwood’s belly was pointed toward me. I cannot resist a fluffy belly, so I reached out and squeezed it.

Elwood, that motherfucker, react by digging his back claws into my hand, and I ended up with a painful puncture wound in my right pinky, and I was all:


“Motherfucker that HUUUUUURT!!!!”

Of course, it’s my own damn fault, because you’d think by now I’d know better than to grab the fluffy belly of a cat. How many times do I have to be injured before that lesson sinks in, you suppose?

 

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*Please note: In the week after I had surgery, something got fucked up, and I wasn’t receiving your comments in my email for that time. It’s since been fixed, and it’s likely that there are comments I didn’t see, even though I went back and read them.

If you left a question, and I haven’t answered it, whether in the comments section or this entry, feel absolutely free to ask again!

 

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We live on a busy street so I really don’t want Snickers to go outside, but he is determined. Whenever we leave he is right at the door trying to sneak past us. At night, when I gather up the newspapers to put in the garage recycling bin, all he has to hear is the papers rattling and he tears for the door no matter what part of the house he is in. We always have to be “on alert” for a possible breakout. What can I do to discourage this behaviour? Of course, he has a pet chip and collar, but it’s the traffic I worry about. Any help would be appreciated.

In the past, we’ve kept a can of compressed air by the door to discourage cats who were insistent on going outside, and it helped deter them from trying to run out the door. I don’t know that that’ll work with a particularly insistent cat, though, so I’m throwing this out to the readers – suggestions, y’all?

 

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So will you go into menopause now?

Technically, since menopause is defined as The time in a woman’s life when menstrual periods permanently stop, then yeah, I’m in menopause. I think you’re probably asking whether I’ll have the lovely symptoms that indicate one is going through menopause, though, the hot flashes, mood swings, night sweats, trouble concentrating and all that. If we’re able to get my hormones regulated properly, then I shouldn’t have to deal with those issues, or at least I’m hoping I won’t. So far, I haven’t had any hot flashes (THANK GOD), and I don’t believe I’ve been particularly irritable. It’s still kind of early, though – two weeks and two days, uterus-free, woohoo! – so we’ll see how it goes.

 

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Glad you are feeling better! Every female on my mom’s side of the family will exit this world without their gallbladder or female reproductive organs (endo, c-section issues, etc.) and they all live to be like 100 (knock on wood).

Now, that’s what I like hearing!

 

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Also, when my brother had major hand surgery a few years ago, he woke up claiming he saw my (deceased) grandpa (who was the anesthesiologist, apparently) and BEGGING for his pants. He claimed that someone stole them while he was asleep and that he needed his pants or something horrible could happen (he was SO stoned).

They do steal your underwear if you go in with them on…bastards.

This cracked me UP. I always wonder if I’m going to wake up after surgery and be freaked out. Hasn’t happened yet, but there’s always a first time, right?

 

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How are you managing to keep cats off your lap while you are recovering? I know if I spend more than 3 minutes laying on the couch, esp if I have a blanket, I am fighting off my two furry beasts like I was covered in tuna.

Until yesterday, every time I sat or lay down, I’d have a full-sized bed pillow over my abdomen. In addition, I had a can of compressed air nearby, and any time I sensed a cat thinking about climbing on me, I’d shake it in their general direction. It worked really well – all the cats behaved themselves EXCEPT for Miz Poo, who has a deep-down need to be up in my shit as much as possible. I’m recovered enough now that even if a cat bounced across my stomach I should be okay, but I’m still pretty vigilant about making sure that doesn’t happen.

 

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If you think of it, could you post a photo of the tin that the popcorn came in, or measurements? Walmart and other similar -mart type stores used to sell tins of popcorn around Christmas time which came in sizes of “enormous,” “super-jumbo-tron,” and “holy shit, are you fucking kidding me?!”

Here ’tis, with Jake and Elwood to give you some idea of the size (I really should have taken a shot more from the front of the tin than from the top, I’m thinking!). It measures 8 inches high, and 10 inches across. Can you believe there’s still that much popcorn left? Fred asked me to hide it from him because he was grabbing a handful every time he went into the kitchen. In the act of hiding it from him, I kind of ended up hiding it from myself, and how delighted was I to remember that it’s there? SO delighted, believe me!

 

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I’m glad to hear that this is behind you. You are such a trooper. You seem to breeze through surgery. Do you really not get anxious? I am so envious of people who recover nicely. I am a WUSS about surgery. I do not handle anesthesia well, and am a slow waker upper. I can’t handle narcotics (they make me puke). Not a good combination. I wish I could be one of those people who woke up easily (enjoying the nap) and could take the pain meds, enjoying the ride….For the record, I am a NURSE, you’d think I’d have a better GRIP, eh??? I love your uterus talk. Cracks me up!

This is how I am, anxiety-wise: I am perfectly fine with all aspects of surgery right up until the time I get into the hospital gown and into the bed in pre-surgery. Then I get REALLY nervous. When I went in this time, I was laying there, just this side of terrified, and I was thinking “I’m never this nervous! What if my instincts are trying to tell me something?! MAYBE I NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE!!!”

Then I remembered that I ALWAYS pretty close to terrified at this point before surgery – when I went in for my weight loss surgery, I was on the verge of getting up and leaving right up to the point where they wheeled me off to surgery.

I think I completely forgot to mention, by the way, that this is the first surgery I’ve had where I felt no nausea at all the next morning. I’m wondering if that has something to do with the fact that I had a cup of chicken broth and a cup of jello the evening after surgery? Maybe the nausea has been caused by hunger?

After Fred’s sister told him (before I had surgery) that I would be bed-bound for two weeks after surgery, Fred scoffed and said “No she won’t! She comes from sturdy Yankee stock!”

Of course, what Fred fails to remember is that on my mother’s side I come from sturdy Yankee stock, and on my father’s side is the man who a few years ago was like TWENTY FEET in the air trimming a tree, fell OFF the ladder, practically ripped his arm off, and DROVE himself to the emergency room. He’s also the man whose gallbladder was basically mush and, according to the doctor, had to have been feeling pain from gallbladder attacks for about a year before the pain got so bad he requested my mother take him to the emergency room.

In other words, on one side I’m sturdy Yankee stock and on the other side I’m stoic ignore-it-and-it’ll-go-away Southerner.

My people don’t take kindly to lollygagging.

 

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Tell the kitties they have to scoop their boxes themselves.

Oh, Fred’s the scooper these days. I originally told him that I thought I could get back to scooping at about two weeks after surgery, but since I do NOT want to do irreparable damage to myself, I let him know that it’s going to be a while longer. (It’s not the actual scooping that’s the issue, it’s the bending AND scooping AND lifting, and having to do it for five litter boxes, twice a day!)

 

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Do NOT be tempted to vacuum or do any other domestic chore. I decided a couple of weeks after my hysterectomy that I’d wash the floors. And promptly slipped on the wet floor and it HURT! Vacuuming wasn’t much fun either.

I am not touching that vacuum until I’ve been cleared at my six-week visit. And then you better believe that I’ll be vacuuming like a motherfucker!

 

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Love the sound of that popcorn. We don’t have fancy schmancy pop corn like that down under (although I stand to be corrected if any antipodean readers know of a source).

Come on, Australians, SURELY you guys have some fancy popcorn? Share the knowledge!

 

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When you wrote that Stinkerbelle didn’t like to go out, it reminded me of the first cat I had after getting married (Punkin, she lived to be 20 years old!) Punkin insisted on going out to roam a few hours every day, always returned before night. If I didn’t let her out, she’d go nuts — climbing the door trim, yowling, etc (and she was spayed early on). Anyhow, after about 5 years, one day I let her out — and instead of taking off like a shot, she sat on the porch awhile, looking around. Went out into the yard, sniffed at the grass a couple of times, then came back to the door. And that was it — she NEVER wanted outside again. I even put her on the porch a couple times, and she would zoom right back into the house. I guess she decided she was “retired” from outdoors, and preferred being inside!

I love that!

Maxi has been spending a LOT of time inside lately. In fact, I think she went almost five days without stepping outside at all. She’s spending her nights inside, and even over the weekend when it was warm and sunny out, she had no desire to go outside. It’s very weird, because over the past three years, she’s been outside more than in; even on the coldest nights, she’s preferred to stay outside all night and just come in long enough to warm up and eat.

I suggested to Fred that maybe she’d had a run-in with something (a dog or raccoon) and it scared her, but now I’m thinking maybe she’s decided it’s time to retire from being an outside cat!

 

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Love the pics of Newtles. He looks like he has taken to regular meals juuuusst fine. Or is that winter weight?

I think it’s just winter weight – he and Maxi both generally slim down a bit in the summer. But make no mistake – Newt does adore his regular meals!

 

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When i had my full hysterectomy in 1995, it wasn’t laparoscopic. When I woke up in recovery, a nurse came over to tend to me. She had a list of questions to ask me, and one of the first she asked was, “Is there any chance you may be pregnant?” I stared at her and responded, “Not if y’all did your job right!”

This reminds me that before surgery, they had me pee in a cup, and after the IV had been started, the nurse came in and said “Well, you’re not pregnant!” Um, yeah, good goddamn thing, I guess, huh?

HEY! In addition to all the other good stuff (no more pap smears, no more worries of ever developing endometrial/ cervical/ ovarian cancer, no more periods EVER), this means I’ll never have to take another pregnancy test again!

 

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http://www.thedoghousediaries.com/?p=1306

Did we all mention how much we missed you last week?

That cracked me UP!

 

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I have to admit that I didn’t read any comments this time because there were just too many – BUT – to answer your question re: Californication – my husband watched and watches all episodes on NinjaVideo.net . It’s not a “trusted” site yet, and you have to download an applet to play it. But he watches movies that are still in the theaters! (Also, we haven’t had any problems with it.)

I think I’m going to have to get over my dislike of watching movies and TV shows on my laptop! (And thanks for the tip!)

 

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Was Stinkerbelle always… less-than-social? Or did she grow into her attitude?

Stinkerbelle was actually the worst of a litter of four of the MOST feral kittens we’ve ever had (pics of all of them here). The fact that we are actually allowed to occasionally pet her these days is a source of endless amazement for me. In fact, all of her siblings went to the adoption center before she did, because we thought she needed more socialization. As soon as she was alone in the foster room, her attitude changed completely (thus proving the concept that separating feral kittens from each other changes the way they interact with humans). We kept her for a while longer (a few days, I think), then I took her to the adoption center.

A few days after that (possibly even the next day, it’s been 2 1/2 years and I don’t remember the specifics), I had my regular stint at the adoption center, cleaning out cages, and I made the mistake of reporting to Fred that it looked like she’d spent the entire night digging at the door, trying to get out of her cage.

That was all she wrote. Fred, who was half in love with her to begin with (he’s a sucker for a blue-eyed girl), demanded that I let him stop on the way home and get her. I eventually gave in, and she came home with him that night.

Her name was originally “Maryann” (we went with a “Gilligan’s Island” naming theme, kinda), and when Fred suggested “Stinkerbelle” as a new name, we both laughed. She’s been Stinkerbelle ever since.

Her deep love for Tommy has never wavered, either. BOY she loves her some Tommy, and has from the first moment she laid eyes upon him. Poor Tommy – it ain’t easy being The Ambassador.

 

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Previously
2009: “What’s this ’sit’ they keep saying to me?!”
2008: “You (kick) are such (kickkick) an asshole (kickkickkick) get in that goddamn house!”
2007: Christ, what a weekend we had.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: God, why why WHY do women do this to themselves?
2003: A Day in the Life of Spanky.
2002: No entry.
2001: Saturday was my dumbass day.
2000: No entry.

2/25/10 – Thursday

by @ Thursday, February 25th, 2010. Filed under Life, Picture Entries

Dudes! Remember how yesterday he was all “Who in the what, now? Refi rates have hit what? Is that good or bad? WHERE can I find out more information about this refi stuff?!”?

TODAY, he’s all “Motherfucker say what? I have to go back to SCHOOL now? Social Security ain’t gonna pay me for going to no SCHOOL! How’m I gonna afford SCHOOL?!”

I think he’s really hit his niche with that look.

 

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You know, I have really been doing nothing at all lately except laying on the couch watching TV, and sometimes sitting on my ass in front of the computer.

(And directing Fred on what to do to keep the house semi-clean.)

So I has nothing for you today, and also I am going to be leaving for a little while to . Thus, a series of cat pictures. It’s been a LONG time since that, huh? Like, an entire day! You lucky readers!

We got Jake and Elwood what, back in… August? Mid-August, apparently, which I’ve determined by checking the dates on the pictures I posted of them on Flickr.

So we got them in August, and for these last six months, we’ve been waiting. And waiting. Annnnd waiting. We knew it was just a matter of time before they figured out how to use the cat door. They’ve been spending a lot of time hanging out by the back door watching the big cats go out and come in and sniffing wildly at the door.

Then Saturday, Fred said “I see Jake outside!”

The time had come. We dug through our baskets of odds and ends and collared up both Jake and Elwood.

For those of you who don’t know, we have an electric fence around the back yard so the cats can go outside but can’t get out of the yard. If the cats get too close to the fence, their collars sound a warning beep. If they continue to get closer to the fence, they get a short zap. It usually only takes being zapped once. They’re pretty smart, they figure it out quickly. Not all the cats need collars – Miz Poo and Spanky have never once tried climbing over the fence. We used to put a collar on Kara, but she showed no inclination to go anywhere near the fence, so we don’t collar her anymore and have had no issues with her jumping the fence. Sugarbutt and Tommy, on the other hand, will jump the fence in no time flat (especially Tommy) if they’re uncollared, so we collar them up every morning. The only cat who never goes outside is Stinkerbelle – it’s not that she’s not allowed outside, it’s that she hasn’t shown any inclination to go outside, and since I imagine we’d be taking our lives in our hands every morning when we put the collar on her, I’m just as happy to have her stay inside.

Jake and Elwood didn’t like wearing collars at ALL, but they got used them within a few hours. Jake was in and out through that cat door like a champ. He spent most of his time on the steps or near the steps. Elwood? Not really much of a desire to go outside, oddly enough. We’re still collaring him up every morning, just in case, but maybe he’s decided he’s an indoor cat.


Jake, peeking through the door.


Happy Jake, at the bottom of the steps.


I don’t remember what it was, but something freaked Jake out.


But he got over it pretty quickly.

He stuck close to the back steps for most of the day, but the next morning I looked out and saw him hanging from the tree in the back yard (the tree has a piece of metal around it, about six feet up. The cats can climb up the tree a little, and hang there, but the metal prevents them from climbing too high.)

I think it’s hilarious that Jake is in and out all day long, but Elwood is really not all that interested in going out. Maybe he’s just a little scared and needs some time to get used to the idea. Who knows?

It’s VERY odd, seeing two little gray cats around the house wearing red collars. Elwood was curled up sound asleep yesterday, and I glanced at him, and he looked SO much like Mister Boogers that it took my breath away.

 

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Previously
2009: I have so much to learn.
2008: “Well,” I said. “You really hit the fuckup trifecta this weekend, didn’t you?”
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: “That’s all she had to say! A simple ‘thank you’ would have made Doug as happy as a sissy with a dick in his mouth!”
2004: This DOES NOT STRIKE ME as a government that is staying the FUCK out of my face!
2003: A Day in the Life of Miz Poo.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: Ahhh, sweet blessed Friday.

2/24/10 – Wednesday

by @ Wednesday, February 24th, 2010. Filed under Life

Thanks, you guys, for your suggestions on what I should watch next! Once I’m done with Californication (which I expect will be this afternoon), I’m going to give Madmen a try (I’ve been wanting to try it out, but kept forgetting to add it to my queue) and then maybe the United States of Tara. Eventually Dead Like Me, and The Tudors, and oh – just about everything y’all suggested!

 

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So, one day last week I was looking around online for information about progesterone, and I stumbled across a q&a page about hysterectomies. And on this page was the following line:

Some women will ask: Can I still have children after my hysterectomy? The answer is no.

Really? “Some” women will ask this idiotic question? Do they perhaps mean “No” women will ask this question? Or maybe “drunk” or “high” women? I mean, come on – they have GOT to be making that up, right? Or maybe they misunderstood the question? Maybe women were like “Can I still ADOPT children after my hysterectomy?”, and instead of saying “Lack of uterus does not, to our knowledge, bar one from adopting children”, they just said “No.”, and the country is filled with uterusless women who are mourning the fact that they can’t even ADOPT.

(Speaking of, kinda, y’all see that woman on Dr. Phil the other day who was a surrogate and gave birth to twins and then kept them herself? I had to delete the show after four or five minutes because she was so utterly smug and unlikable and I found I wasn’t even paying attention to what she was saying, I was just thinking about how much I wanted to smack her.)

(SQUIRREL!)

Seriously, can you imagine? The doctor’s all “Blah blah uterus blah blah incision blah blah no hanky panky for six weeks blah blah and THAT is how a hysterectomy is done! Do you have any questions?”

“Yes, doctor. My husband and I are really excited to start a family. How long must I recuperate after surgery before I can start trying to get pregnant?”

Doctor (looking around for hidden camera): “Did I mention that I will be removing your uterus?”

Patient: “Yes, yes, you said that already. Do you think I could get pregnant by the end of the year?”

Doctor: “Your uterus will be GONE. Did I mention? That you? Will have no uterus?”

Patient: “Frankly, your insistence on going on and on and ON about my uterus is kind of annoying. Can’t you just answer the question?!”

Doctor: “Where are you under the impression the baby will grow?”

Patient: “Really? You’re a DOCTOR and you don’t know this? Suddenly, I think you might not be the one for the job. OBVIOUSLY when an egg and sperm meet, the resultant zygote travels down the fallopian tube, then flies to heaven, where it grows into a baby, and nine months later, the stork brings it and drops it on your doorstep. I mean, seriously, Doc, this is elementary stuff. HOW did you graduate from med school without knowing it?!”

And so on.

 

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Late last night I finished We Bought a Zoo, and while overall I’d give it a positive rating, it was really less interesting than I expected. Also, not NEARLY enough pictures.

But in the course of reading the book, the author mentioned that there was a camera crew filming the whole time while they were getting the zoo ready to open again, and ultimately a miniseries called Ben’s Zoo aired in the UK. I thought that it was likely the miniseries would be interesting, so I went to Netflix and searched on Ben’s Zoo, and. Well.

Y’all go to Netflix and search on Ben’s Zoo and see what comes up. It’s certainly NOT what I was looking for. Ugh.

 

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I just went to weather.com to see what the weather’s supposed to do in the near future (the temperature’s supposed to slowly trend upward, or so they claim. I HAVE MY DOUBTS.), and this ad in the sidebar cracked me up:

The face is killing me. He’s like “Who in the what, now?”

 

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Last weekend (speaking of weather, like I was up there just a second ago) was gorgeous and sunny. We actually went out into the back yard for a little while, and a handful of the cats joined us.


“Say, this warm weather is nice. It heats up the concrete and warms my belleh!”


Newt felt so good, he started rolling around…


Offended by this behavior, Sugarbutt came FLYING out of nowhere to put the smack down.


Note that Sugarbutt is multi-tasking here, running AND smacking.


But ultimately, Newt can go places Sugarbutt can’t, and so he sat atop the fence post taunting Sugarbutt for a good long while before wandering off to parts unknown.

 

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Previously
2009: That’s helpful.
2008: Every now and then the finch would flap his wings and squawk indignantly.
2007: No entry.
2006: I hate spoiled rotten princesses.
2005: “4.2 billion,” he said suddenly. “Not 4.7. Because a regular signed 32-bit integer only goes up just over 2.1 billion – that’s 2 to the 31st power – and an unsigned would be one more power of two onto that, so–”
2004: Is it easier to write bad poetry, or am I just naturally a bad poet (and didn’t know it)?
2003: Let’s see whether or not I can give Lisa what she wants!
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: Have you noticed that I feel like an idiot a lot?

2/23/10 – Tuesday

by @ Tuesday, February 23rd, 2010. Filed under Fostering, Life, medical crap

Oh, readers.

Readers, readers, readers. You disappoint me, greatly. You make me tearful and sad. I made a bet with Fred, and y’all let me down.

Last week I posted:

Y’all said: NOTHING, because you totally missed:

Hmph.

And I also posted:

Y’all said: NOTHING (though probably you were thinking Oh look, an exciting picture of Robyn’s hospital room. Could she BE any more boring?), because you totally missed:

And then I posted:

You: Nada.

And lastly:

You: Zzzzzzzzzzzz

Hmph.

HMPH I SAY.

Considering how, back in October, I posted a pic of my canning cabinet, and y’all were like “ZOINKS! IS THAT A BABY CHICK IN THAT JAR?! ARE YOU CANNING BABY CHICKS?! WHAT KIND OF MONSTER ARE YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUU?!” in about ten seconds flat, I expected more from you.

(The pic in question: )

I told Fred before I posted those pictures last week, that I was sure by comment #3, someone would be all “Um. Is that that doll you showed us a few weeks ago, peeking creepily from one side of the picture, or have I just gone insane?”, but nada.

Nothing.

No one noticed!

Ah well. I have to admit to you that we giggled like the great big dorks we are when we were setting up those pictures, so it was worth it, even though no one else got the joke.

 

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I had an appointment with my gynecologist yesterday (thus the lack of update), and it was the first time I’d driven since surgery. The driving went fine, and the appointment went fine, too. She was just checking my incision and checking in with me to see how I’m feeling. I got another four weeks’ worth of estrogen patches. So far, the estrogen patches seem to be working okay, but I think it’s too early to declare that we’ve found my dosage. Who knows what my body’s going to be pulling in the next few months?

I have developed, due to the surgery, a lovely little pot belly. She told me that eventually it would go away. IT BETTER, is all I’m saying. I didn’t pay for that damn lower body lift to end up with a pot belly, damnit.

These days, I’m spending my days wearing a pair of pajama pants that are about two sizes too big, and a sweatshirt. The pajama pants are perfect, because they don’t put any pressure on my swollen guts. I can wear jeans for a little while, as long as I don’t tighten the belt all the way, but the instant I get home it’s back into the pajama pants for me. (I think the kids call them “sleep pants” these days.)

Sunday, I felt so good that Fred and I actually went up to the flea market in Tennessee and walked around for about an hour. Fred bought three $3 t-shirts, and I bought a box of Girl Scout Cookies. They were out of Samoas (DAMNIT), so I got the chocolate/ peanut butter ones.

There were a lot of puppies for sale at that flea market. I came thisclose to throwing a temper tantrum and demanding that Fred let me buy a tiny little Shih-Tzu/ Yorkie puppy, but then I came to my senses and remembered that we’re not dogs (in the house) people. And especially we’re not buying-dogs-at-the-flea-market people when so many dogs are languishing in shelters, needing homes.

S/He sure was a cutie, though.

 

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I have been a TV-watching fool while I’m recovering from surgery. I actually ran out of stuff on the DVR, and had to flip wildly through the channels and set up to tape more stuff. I watched the biographies of Kristy McNichol and Carrie Underwood last week, and I still have Val Kilmer and Leonardo DiCaprio to watch. I started taping Ellen again, to add to my Dr. Phil and Oprah episodes (I don’t watch every episode of Oprah or of Dr. Phil – usually they have five minutes to catch my attention before I delete it).

I am caught up on Hoarders – I think I watched about ten episodes in the last week and a half. Are you watching Hoarders? You totally should, because it is an utterly fascinating show. The hoarders on that show seem to be divided into two camps – the people who hoard stuff but manage to get the garbage out of the house, and the people who have a house full of stuff AND garbage. I mean, seriously, the lady with the house full of adult diapers? What the holy hell must that house have smelled like? And the people with dead animals under piles of stuff? AGH.

These hoarders, god almighty, they ALWAYS seem to have cats. And they NEVER seem to clean UP after the cats. Okay, MAYBE I’m guilty of not cleaning up a pile of cat barf if I think Fred will see it and clean it up within an hour or so, but I don’t leave it there for DAYS MONTHS YEARS. And I would never ever leave a pile of crap laying on the floor for longer than it took me to stand over it in disbelief, swear a blue streak, and then find the cleaning stuff. If I catch even the slightest hint of cat pee, I’m a woman on a mission, walking around sniffing wildly, the spray in one hand and the cleaning rag in the other. Ask Fred – I must ask him a million times a week “DO YOU SMELL CAT PEE?” and “SMELL THAT CAT BED OVER THERE AND MAKE SURE IT DOESN’T HAVE PEE ON IT.”

The problem is that anything with the slightest chemical smell to it can initially smell like cat pee to me. There are these cord protectors that are, “infused” with a citrus scent, to deter cats (and other small animals) from chewing on them. To me, these cord protectors do NOT smell like citrus. They smell like cat pee with the slightest side of ass, at least the first whiff does. All the cords in the foster room are covered by the protectors, and most of the cords in my room are, and so are the cords in the guest bedroom. Any place where kittens might chew on cords, are these cord protectors. So I spend a LOT of time walking around my house going “OH. Is that CAT PEE?!”, sniffing wildly, and then determining that it’s the cord protectors I’m smelling.

Um. Look at me, I got distracted there. That was NOT where I meant to go when I started talking about the hoarders.

Where I meant to go, was to tell y’all that there hasn’t been one single episode of Hoarders where I haven’t spotted at least one Amazon box, and at least one Target bag. Every single episode. If I were the drinking sort, I’d make up a drinking game where you did a shot every time you spotted a Target bag or Amazon box. Then you could do a shot every time someone hovered tearfully over a piece of garbage and ended up deciding to keep it. And a shot every time someone’s family member got fed up and stomped off.

Actually, a better game would be one where every time you spotted a Target bag/ Amazon box, you pause the show and go find something to toss in the trash. Your house would be clean in no time!

Truly, I do not know how the therapists and organizers deal with this shit. The first time my client was all dithery about whether or not to keep the stack of classified ads from 1998 or the pile of unopened Target bags that were brought directly home from the store and tossed in a corner of the room, I’d be snatching that shit from their hands and screaming “GET OVER IT!” in their faces. I get really impatient while I’m watching the show. I mean, are you KIDDING ME, you have a pile of bags from the store chest-high, that you never touched once you brought them home, and somehow you’re SO attached to this shit that the idea of seeing it thrown out pushes you to the point of a nervous breakdown? SERIOUSLY?

I also – JUST MY OPINION – think that when your house is so stuffed with crap that your partner has fallen down the stairs and broken her leg because of it, and your response is to get overwhelmed and declare that you’re not getting rid of anything at all, that is incredibly fucking selfish on your part, and FUCK YOUR DISEASE.

See? I’d be a horrible therapist.

I’ve also powered my way through one and a half seasons of Californication, and I have to admit to you that I am loving that damn show. I’ve never really watched David Duchovny in anything, but I like him in this show, and I LOVE the holy hell out of Marcy. She’s like a tiny, younger, funny Demi Moore. Truly, the only character who annoys me is Mia and even she’s starting to grow on me.

The second disc for Season 2 is on the way from Netflix, and I’ll likely get it watched in an afternoon. THEN what the hell am I going to watch?

Suggestions?

 

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Thanks for all your comments regarding Hoyt. Someone is seriously interested in adopting him, so I’m keeping my fingers crossed that that works out. Y’all keep your fingers crossed, too, and I’ll be sure to let y’all know more when there’s more to know. 🙂

 

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Lena posted in her blog that her son – who lives in Jacksonville, Florida – found this poor, malnourished pit bull. Look at the pictures of that poor dog, is he not the most pitiful thing?

Wes is pretty sure that his homeowner’s policy won’t allow him to keep a pit bull, so he needs help – if you’re in the Jacksonville area and you’re willing to foster or adopt this sweet boy or know someone who will, contact Wes (email address is toward the bottom of this page).

 

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Has everyone read about little Myron, Sue’s sweet foster boy?

Bad news: Myron tested positive for Feline Leukemia.

Good news: Sue found a great shelter with a small Feline Leukemia ward, willing to take him!

I love Myron because he reminds me more than a little of my sweet Mikey (who is now Aaron & Marian’s beloved Topher). I think it is absolutely awesome that there’s a facility willing to take sweet Myron.

You can make a donation to Purrfect Pals here.

(And keep your fingers crossed that the lottery ticket we bought yesterday wins. How amazing would it be to have a small facility devoted to taking care of special needs cats? I’d love to be able to do that!)

 

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Hey, look who we’ve got pictures of!


That’s sweet Clairee.


And Drum and Clairee!

They are reportedly very happy in their new home, and their new parents adore them and are glad they adopted both of them. I mean, seriously – have you ever seen such happy monkeys?

 

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“Do I need to come over there and smack you around a little, perhaps?”

 

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Previously
2009: They are weird-looking and obnoxious.
2008: No entry.
2007: Seriously, I might be a bit lackadaisical in my housekeeping, but I wouldn’t let CAT POO sit around on the floor, let alone let it show up in a picture!
2006: Second of all, we both hate our voices and to release them forth into the world would be a cruelty beyond measure.
2005: Impromptu day off.
2004: I’m going to save a fortune on tampons, that’s for sure.
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001: Damn that Sam’s.
2000: Heartless bastard.

2/22/10 – Monday

by @ Monday, February 22nd, 2010. Filed under Picture Entries

I have to leave for an appointment with my gynecologist in a few minutes (she’s way on the other side of Huntsville), so here’s a picture to tide you over, and I’ll see you tomorrow!

Until then, may all your tunes be loony.

 

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Previously
2009: No entry.
2008: No entry.
2007: I’d hate for him to be able to CLIMB things.
2006: HOT MONKEY SEX, that’s what.
2005: I can tell you this – I’m not terribly fond of my mailman right now.
2004: No entry.
2003: No entry.
2002: Not bad, since it’s been ten years or so since I read the play, eh?
2001: Resolutions for 2001.
2000: Well, apparently “coke” sounded like “coffee” to the Einstein taking my order.

2/20/10 – Hoyt

by @ Saturday, February 20th, 2010. Filed under Fostering

Do you remember Hoyt? Hoyt was from the True Blood Six. He looked like this.

Then he looked like this.

And ultimately, he turned out to look like this.

Then he went to the adoption center.

And then some people came along and fell in love with him and adopted him.

He’s been doing well in his new home, and his people love him. They even trained him to use the toilet!

Recently, he had to go to the emergency vet, and was ultimately diagnosed with Feline Lower Urinary Tract Disease (FLUTD). It ended up costing his people $1500 to make him well again. They’ve changed his food and are keeping an eye on him. According to the Cornell page on FLUTD, most cats rarely experience the problem again or will have only occasional recurrences. But for some cats, this can turn into a chronic condition.

The bottom line is that Hoyt’s people can’t afford to spend that kind of money on him on a regular basis, and if this happens again, they would have to put him to sleep. They travel on the weekends a lot, so keeping an eye on his food intake is near impossible (they have another cat). They contacted the shelter saying that they might need to return him, and of course Challenger’s House will always take back any cat at any time, for any reason.

Here’s the thing – Hoyt could go to the shelter itself, but he’d have to spend most of his time in a cage so that he could be monitored, and that’s just no life for a cat. Fred and I talked about having him here as a long-term foster, if need be, but my concern is that he might get lost in the crowd, and we might not notice that there’s a problem until it turns into an emergency situation.

I have no experience with FLUTD (and if you do, feel free to add your opinion/ advice in the comments), but I suspect that if Hoyt were in a home where his people were able to keep a close eye on him and could monitor his food intake and see symptoms of an issue arising in the early stages, even if it were to turn into a chronic problem, catching it before it turned into an emergency situation might make it not a big deal.

(WOW, that was a long, convoluted run-on sentence, wasn’t it?)

What I can tell you about Hoyt is this: he’s a great big sweetheart. When he was with us, he always announced his entry into a room with his funny “Here I am!” meow. He gets along well with other cats, and he LOVES people. And he is GORGEOUS.

Is there anyone out there who might be willing to adopt this great big sweetheart? Do you guys have any advice or suggestions? Feel free to leave a comment or email me!

I mean, seriously – LOOK at that face! And did I mention he’s trained to use the toilet instead of the litter box??

2/19/10 – Friday

by @ Friday, February 19th, 2010. Filed under Life, Picture Entries


“SHE asked me to post something to let YOU know that she’s alive and doing fine and is just taking it easy today. She hasn’t even rolled her lazy ass out of bed yet.”


“She’s all ‘Ohhhhhh, I’m still recovering from surgery!’ and ‘Ohhhh, can you get that heavy pan and put it on the stove?’ and ‘Ohhhhhh, I can’t lift that, it’s too heavy, can you do the laundry, can you fill the cat waterer, can you do the dishes?’, real dramatic-like. THEN she says to The Man, ‘If my uterus were a cat, it would be Stinkerbelle!’ and he was all ‘And The Grays would be your ovaries, dancing around her, pissing her off.’ and they laughed and laughed. What the fuck does that even MEAN?!”


“I hate her.”

 

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Previously
2009: Hello, Gorgeous.
2008: “And the next, you and Franklin are being chased across the back forty by a really pissed-off injured pig who has slop in her mouth and murder in her heart.”
2007: We’ll be spending all day at the house.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: Bet I was a cold splash of water in HIS night.
2003: Poor Miz Poo.
2002: Give me a guy with a great smile any day.
2001: Yeah, I know, it’s goofy.
2000: No entry.

2/18/10 – Thursday

by @ Thursday, February 18th, 2010. Filed under Life, medical crap

Somehow yesterday, during my rigorous schedule of doing NOTHING AT ALL (seriously, the most rigorous thing I did was watch an hour-long Biography channel show about Kristy McNichol), I overdid it. Today, my body informs me that I’m not doing a damn thing today OR ELSE.

So I’m going to go lay in bed and read for a few hours in an effort to convince my nerve endings to stop putting out PAIN.

Gone for a week and a day and THAT GODDAMN UTERUS is still makin’ my life difficult!


“I TOLD her not to lift that car! I told her she’d be sorry!”

 

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Previously
2009: I held up four fingers. “I. Have. A. TOTAL. Of. Four. Buckets. Of. Litter.” I said slowly.
2008: This is my “What the fuck am I supposed to do here with this board that isn’t as tall as the others?” face.
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: Amazon is the Jonathan Baker of boyfriends.
2004: I could have crowned myself “The Queen of Fuck.”
2003: Because M&Ms rock, and so does my husband.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: Have I mentioned that three-day weekends rock? They surely do.

2/17/10 – Wednesday

by @ Wednesday, February 17th, 2010. Filed under Fostering, Life

Before I forget, Jennifer asked in my comments yesterday:

You’ve yet to explain the mushy aspect of Satan’s Uterus. Lurid minds want to know.

First of all, “Satan’s Uterus” made me laugh, and OW (but HA!). Second of all, marinating in all that endometriosis-y goodness is apparently what made my uterus mushy (or “boggy”, as they sometimes refer to it). I did much Googling over the weekend to find this information out, turned around and told Fred “APPARENTLY the mushiness of my uterus was caused by the endometriosis!” and Fred said “Yeah, well, that’s what I figured from what she said after she did the surgery…”

Okay, well, HE DIDN’T TELL ME THAT, just said “And she said your uterus was mushy” as if she’d just casually tossed that in there for no apparent reason, all “So, the surgery went fine, took her ovaries, all endometriosis-ed up, she’s in Recovery, should be along soon, have a great day, ohright, uterus was mushy, whatevs.”

I wish there were a more exciting explanation, frankly.

And that reminds me – I told Fred the night before surgery that every single time I go into surgery, I fully expect that the surgeon is going to get me open, and then stare in amazement into my abdominal cavity and say “What the HELL is THAT?!”

I like to imagine my surgeon standing over me like Vincent standing over the briefcase in Pulp Fiction, my abdominal cavity shining a golden light up at her while she stares in amazement.

I might need a life.

 

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ONE WEEK, UTERUS-FREE, CAN I GET A WHAT-WHAT?!

(Please don’t give me a what-what. I don’t know what-what it is, and I’m not sure where I’d put it.)

 

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Today, I am feeling really good. We’ve hit the point, post-surgery, where my spirits are really good, I’m feeling fine, and yet I’m a little frustrated because there’s so much I’d like to get done but am physically unable because it involves lifting.

(Example 1: filling the bird feeders.)

This is the danger point, where I have to stand over myself and sternly tell myself to take it the hell EASY, because all I need is to injure myself and end up flat on my back and add more time to my recovery.

(Example 2: vacuuming the house.)

But I promise, I will take it easy. I’m going to spend a little time in front of the computer, then I shall haul my ass to the couch and watch some TV, maybe do a little reading. Tomorrow I’m planning to drive to town and do a few quick errands.

I’m taking it easy, I promise!

 

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I got a lovely bouquet from my peeps at Challenger’s House:


Flowers make me so happy.

AND a very happy and healthy looking mini rosebush from my parents:


Seriously, how happy looking is that little rosebush? I can’t wait ’til it blooms!

And though I didn’t snap a picture of the tin itself, a tin of the MOST fabulous popcorn from Nance and family. Seriously, I’ve HAD Kettle Corn before, but this is some serious GOURMET stuff. It’s one of those tins with three flavors (LOVE the three-flavor popcorn tins!), and it’s got Kettle Corn, Cinnamon Toast (OMIGOD!!!), and Crunch Caramel. I actually had to put it in an out-of-the-way place so I wouldn’t stuff a handful in my mouth every time I walked into the kitchen. It’s so good I simultaneously want to eat it all immediately, and eat it slowly so it lasts. It’s a conundrum!


Jake thinks the box the popcorn came in is the BEST Jake Cave ever!

 

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LOOK who I found on my memory stick!


That’s Ouiser in the front, M’Lynn and Clairee in the back.


Drum and M’Lynn.

I forgot they were so little!

 

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“What’s this ‘recovering from surgery’ bull? When Spanky wants his Snackin’! Time!, Spanky WANTS his Snackin’! Time!, and I recommend you hop to it, lady!”

 

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Previously
2009: It was like nails on a chalkboard every time someone said it.
2008: We’re very protective of our property, if you couldn’t tell.
2007: No entry.
2006: Don’t call me paranoid – it happens to me ALL THE TIME.
2005: I feel like every time I run an errand in the Jeep I’m tempting Fate.
2004: I am blogrolling’s bitch.
2003: We figured if nothing else, we’d just start killing and eating cats.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: ***Warning! Adult language and situations ahead! Skip the first three paragraphs if you’re easily offended***

2/16/10 – Tuesday

by @ Tuesday, February 16th, 2010. Filed under Life, medical crap

The faculty member who shot other faculty members (killing three, wounding three) at the University of Alabama at Huntsville last Friday IS married to a man with the last name of Anderson, but she (and he) are no relation to us. In case you were wondering.

The spud asked, between the shooting at her old middle school recently and this shooting at UAH, what the hell they’re putting in the water down here.

Good question. No more school shootings, please, can we agree on that?

 

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Okay, so, a brief overview of the whole surgery thing. I’ll try not to do a blow-by-blow, because I know it can get long and boring. But of course I am SO FASCINATED by everything having to do with ME that warning: this could get long.

We had to be at the hospital at 5:30, so we left on time, made it there a few minutes early, and once I signed in and answered all the questions, I don’t think we had to wait longer than five minutes before they whisked me back to the preop area. They had me pee in a cup, then get undressed and put the gown on and wait for the nurse.

But oh, y’all, the gown. The gown was the most fabulous invention on the face of this earth, and I am NOT kidding. It was a Bair Paws gown, and it’s this lovely johnny-type gown that you put on, and then there’s a PORT at the waist where you hook up a hose, and then you turn this dial, and heated air is injected into the gown and it is FABULOUS.

I told the nurse I need something like that at home, and I am SO not kidding!

Of course, it puffs you right up, so you look a tad fluffy, but when you’re getting ready to go into surgery, who cares how you look, amiright?

The nurse got the IV started, and then they brought Fred back to sit with me. The anesthesiologist came in and talked to me, asked if I wanted something in my IV to relax me, and then went along his merry way. A few minutes later, the nurse came back in and gave me a shot of phenergan in my IV, and shortly after that, that was all she wrote. My surgeon did come in after that, but I barely remember it, and then I was on my way to surgery.

I forgot about it until a few days ago when Fred and I were talking about it and he reminded me, but Fred gave me a kiss before they wheeled me out of the room and then said to me, “Don’t die.” The nurse gave him a look, and he said to her, “Don’t kill her.” The nurse said “Do you know how much paperwork would be involved?!” Heh.

Next thing I knew, of course, I was in Recovery. They kept me there a little longer than usual because they were waiting for a room. As one Recovery nurse turned me over to another, I heard her say “Total Abdominal Hysterectomy and BSO.” Which I took in and understood, but didn’t really think about, at least at the time.

For those of you who don’t know, BSO technically stands for bilateral salpingo oophorectomy, but it’s much simpler to think of it as both stupid ovaries. In other words, they’d taken both my ovaries AND done a total hysterectomy instead of a partial (they were supposed to leave my cervix).

So they got me up to the room and I had to scootch from one bed to another and by that time I was HURTING, but luckily they got my morphine pump set up and handed me the control. When Fred came into the room they told him that I could get a dose of morphine every ten minutes, and that he should keep an eye on the clock and nudge me when it was time to hit the button because I’d likely be dozing.

After about an hour, the pain was gone. I had gotten to my room around noon, and though we’d originally decided that there was no reason Fred couldn’t get in a half day of work after I was out of surgery, I asked him to stay. I was mostly sleeping, but waking up and having him in the room made me feel better. He sat and read, and I had CNN on TV, and the nurses were in and out.

My room was a nice one – they always are – and I was a little surprised to see that I was in a room by myself. When I’d checked in, they’d specifically asked if I was requesting a private room, and I said no, figuring that I could share a room for one night if I had to. Later, I decided that if I’d ASKED for a private room, there would have been some sort of charge added on to my bill, which I’m sure insurance would have taken one look at and scoffed at the idea of paying for. Kind of a tricky little maneuver there, I’m thinking. (That’s just supposition on my part, though – maybe they ask so that if the hospital gets overwhelmed and they need room for more patients, they’ll be sure that patients who are okay with sharing a room are put together. Or something.)


From my bed, looking toward the door.


From my bed, looking toward the window. (Missing: A shot directly ahead, where the flat-screen TV was hanging.)


Me, snoozing. Heavenly, heavenly ice chips in the white cup to my left. First they don’t let you eat or drink past midnight so you go into surgery hungry and thirsty, then they cut you open, THEN they only let you have ice chips for several hours. By that point, you’re all “ICE CHIPS?! REALLY? I CAN HAVE ICE CHIPS?! YES PLEASE THANK YOU!”

At one point, what I’d heard the nurses saying to each other hit me, and I opened my eyes and said to Fred “DID SHE TAKE MY OVARIES?!”, which is when I found out that when she opened me up, she found an abdomen filled with endometriosis. She thought at first that she would be able to leave me one ovary, but ultimately wasn’t able to save it from the endometriosis. One ovary was adhered to my bladder, the other was covered in endometriosis, and there was just no saving it.

I was, to put it mildly, bummed. Because while I was ready to have my uterus out, I had wanted to keep my ovaries so I wouldn’t have to mess with hormone replacement therapy. I know it doesn’t always work that way, that sometimes having the uterus out kicks your ovaries into no longer working, but my ovaries and I had an understanding. OR SO I THOUGHT – obviously they were secretly working in conjunction with THAT GODDAMN UTERUS behind my back. Or in front of my back. WHATEVER.

I do not, by the way, blame my doctor for not knowing that the endometriosis was there. I wasn’t having any symptoms that would indicate endometriosis, for one, and apparently the only way to know it’s there is to see it during surgery. Given the lack of symptoms, it’s only happenstance that the endometriosis was found before any lovely, lovely complications could occur. While still not thrilled about the loss of my ovaries, I’m considering myself lucky at this point.

After several rounds of snoozing, waking up, exclaiming “I can’t believe she took my ovaries!”, then snoozing some more, I told Fred around 3:00 that he could go home. He kissed me, wrote down the direct number to the room (remember back in the old days when calls to hospital rooms had to go through an operator? No longer!), and left. I spent the afternoon dozing, waking up, watching TV, and dozing some more.

If you followed my Twitter while I was in the hospital, you probably noticed that I Twittered inanely every few hours all night long. I don’t know how it goes for other people when they’re in the hospital, but for me, an overnight hospital stay consists of no real sleep, just dozing and waking, dozing and waking. Thus, the Twittering.

At some point my doctor stopped by to check on me, and we had a discussion about what had happened. At another point, the kitchen sent up a tray of clear liquids for me, and I had a cup of chicken broth (surprisingly better than I expected) and some Jello. The night passed slowwwwwwly, and then the morning came and in short order, my pain pump was disconnected and I was switched over to oral pain medication, my catheter was removed, and I got up and moved around.

I was able to move around a lot easier than I expected, and after the nurse gave me a hand the first time, I was able to get in and out of bed with no help at all. My bladder was functioning perfectly fine, and I did several laps of the hallway.

Though, of course, I wanted to go home as soon as possible, I had to stay longer (I’m pretty sure I was ready to go home about five minutes after I got to my room), and they finally released me around 2:00.

Side note: Fred annoyed the shit out of me by being far too concerned about my bedhead. My hair, being short, was all pushed up in the back since I’d spent much of the last 24 hours and he would not shut up about the amazing height my hair had attained (to be honest, it was kind of amazing. Too bad he didn’t have the camera with him.)

The ride home was painful, and as soon as we got home, I popped a pain pill and try to settle down in front of the TV. Unfortunately, my butt has gotten a bit bonier since the last time I was recovering from surgery, so the recliner was not comfortable at all. Fred finally moved the recliner back to where it had been before and moved my couch back over, and as long as I had a pillow under my knees, laying on my back was pretty comfortable.

So, there you go. I’m home, I’m recovering pretty well. I’m taking it easy, and every day’s a little better than the day before. I’ve been off Hydroc0done since Saturday, since I just loathe the hell out of that dopey feeling. I’ve been taking Tylenol and Advil, and it’s working just fine keeping the pain at bay.

Yesterday I saw my doctor to have the staples removed from my incision. MAN did it sting, having some of those suckers removed! We talked about hormone replacement, and she gave me some estrogen patches (they applied one before I left the hospital on Thursday), and she said that at my age I’d likely need a higher strength of estrogen.

(The funny thing is that when she said “at your age”, I knew she meant “at your young age”, because I am relatively YOUNG when it comes to needing hormones, I AM ONLY 42, for god’s sake. Fred, however, heard “at your age” and thought she was saying it because I am so VERY VERY ANCIENT. Fucker.)

I’m going back to see her next Monday for another followup. She said I’m doing well, that I seem “perky” (hee), and to call if I had any problems.

So there you go – that’s the state of me right now! I’m feeling no pain most of the time (thank you, Tylenol and Advil) except when I laugh, and who’s the lucky gal married to a funny motherfucker? (Also, sneezing REALLY FUCKING HURTS.)

I am making a concerted effort to stay the fuck away from Google right now because as I’m sure I’ve only mentioned 10,000 times before, I’m a worrier, and reading about the side effects of estrogen, for one, or the lowered life expectancy for someone who’s had a Both Stupid Ovaries operation can be slightly terrifying. Sites like Hyster Sisters is a great resource, but it’s also a site where you tend to read less “I had a total abdominal hysterectomy and I’m doing great!” and more “I had a total abdominal hysterectomy and I can’t sleep, I’m depressed, my skin is shit, and I haven’t taken a proper crap since!” Which is to be expected, really – you don’t go on a site like that to report that you’re doing great, because you’re busy doing great. You go there to be sure that you’re not alone.

I prefer to keep my head sort of in the sand for now because really – I AM doing great, and I DON’T want to spend all my time worrying, you know?

 

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“Stop lollygagging, woman, and give me my Snackin! Time!”

 

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Previously
2009: WHO CAN POSSIBLY STAY UP SO LATE?!
2008: No entry.
2007: (”Rescue me! I’m a sad little practically-orphaned waif, adrift in this cold, cruel world, wahhh! Save me! Pity me!”)
2006: So, in summary, if we are to judge all female cats by Miz Poo, then male cats are nicer, but female cats are clingier.
2005: Don’t you wish I was responsible for your books?
2004: I WANT TO FUCKING KNOW WHAT HE SAID.
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001.: And almost wet my pants in terror.
2000: So, the nausea continues.

[Bitchypoo is peeing-her-pants excited to be powered by WordPress.]