Miz S

I Don't Know Butchie Instead.

                         

                                 Why? Why must I close my eyes for every photograph?

Please, one of you smart people out there, explain the last episode of John From Cincinnati to me. Please? I am a literal-minded person, and I never understand allegories or symbolism. Only seldom do I catch on to clever allusions.

It's something to do with God, right? Spell it out for me, baby. Don't make me read one of those discussion boards.

I hope that today might be the last day that I have cause to mention anything medical. Even a hypochondriac like me has her limits. This morning marked the end of the 48 hours that I was ordered to REALLY rest and keep my feet up, after a bout of bleeding on Saturday morning. Don't worry, the bleeding stopped.  But I am continuing to take it easy because it suddenly occurred to me that I start back to work in 6 short days, and it will be beyond inconvenient if I am not well.

You guys have all been very kind-hearted with your comments and emails. Thank you. And check this out: Angie signed me up for a free month of Netflix in a desperate attempt to make me sit still. I swear, if Angie were not so busy milking goats and coddling hens, I believe she would have driven up here, spoken sternly to me in person, whipped the entire household into shape, and spoon fed me with wholesome homemade goat-milk yogurt. I intend to have all future medical procedures done in Virginia, and recuperate at Angie's house.

And guess what came in the mail today? A care package from Wende, complete with a tiara, a lavender sachet, and 2 incredible bars of dark chocolate. Dark chocolate is good for me, right?

You guys are very sweet, and I truly love you.

If you are looking for me tomorrow, I will be sitting on my couch, wearing my tiara and watching movies while stuffing my face with chocolate.

And after tomorrow, let's never talk about my vagina again.

The Sibling Summit.

Yesterday, Evangeline and I drove under fretful, cloudy skies to meet my sisters and my brother at The Farm. We always call it "The Farm", even though it is not really a farm at all. I think I have explained this before, maybe? My parents bought a farmhouse and 45 or so acres in southwestern Pennsylvania when my sisters and I were in our teens and my brother naught but a small, freckled lad. They wanted us to be exposed to a more wholesome, down-to-earth environment than that of the la-de-da suburb that we were living in (where they chose to buy a house, I'm just saying). We spent weekends and summers there. It didn't stop me from smoking pot, but at least I was smoking pot with down-to-earth farm boys.

My brother Tom and his family live there whenever they are not living at the boarding school where he is a Latin teacher. They have goats and chickens and stuff. Perhaps you know about this already.

The farm always makes me a little bit sad for reasons that I can't explain easily. It is one of the most beautiful places in the world to me, and a place where I can be very happy and peaceful at times. It represents simplicity and security and independence and unrealized dreams. Let's leave it at that for right now.

So Evangeline and I drove up there to attend the sibling/cousin summit. Siblings for me, cousins for Evangeline. Sasha is in Boston visiting friends, so it was just the two of us (and Rosie). We were in my mini-van, which is not new enough to have one of those modern "cd players". I keep Evangeline's old set of 8 cassette tapes with the unabridged Lolita on it, and I listen to it a lot. It was fun to drive up with E., because we listened together and talked about parts that we liked, and little things that we never noticed until the 2nd or 3rd or 8th time we had read the book. (I'm the slacker who has only read it twice.) I would mention a particular bit of dialogue or a vignette that I was especially fond of, and Evangeline would say, "Oh, that's probably on Tape 7. Here, I'll find it" and presto, she would find it.

We reached our destination just as Humbert Humbert killed Quilty.

I spent most of my time up there sitting on my ass watching other people cook. There was lots of fun chatter. There was not a full complement of cousins, but you never would have known from the amount of noise that they made.

The sibling/cousin summit did not include a real agenda. Mostly we all just talked all over each other. It was rather novel, though, because the 4 of us are rarely in one place at the same time, and never without my parents there as well. We all agreed that my mother's memory loss issues are getting much worse, and that my father is even more of a saint than we ever realized.

Sarah-of-the-Adirondacks and I walked into the woods to a place where sunlight filters through the trees in an especially subtle way, just a short way because I was tired, just enough to sit on a log and smell the woods and talk about, oh you know. Kids. Classrooms. (Sarah is a teacher, too.) My vagina. The usual stuff.

I was, honestly, too tired to drive back, having only had 4 hours of sleep the night before. Nonetheless, I did. I think I was anxiety-ridden about the idea of being stuck up there with no TV or internet and the possibility of another night of insomnia.  I did not let Evangeline drive, because she had also only had 4 hours of sleep (insomnia apparently being de rigueur around here), and I figured that I had more experience driving under difficult conditions.

We arrived home in one piece, just in time for me to fire off cranky emails to people and then collapse in bed. The good thing about only getting 4 hours of sleep the night before is that I slept like a baby for 10 hours straight.

This morning, everyone's dire warnings came true and I was bleeding like the proverbial stuck pig. I called the doctor and was instructed to, ah, rest. Put my feet up. Lie down, even. 

I have been as good as gold all day, but I am feeling very blue. I hate resting. It makes my head hurt.

Beginning To Understand The Concept Of "Rest".

I sent this picture to Robyn the other day because I knew she would appreciate the sheer ridiculousness of it. Every evening, moths get inside the house when we let the dogs in and out. Pushkin ignores them because he is smart, but Nash gets all frustrated and runs around the house looking up at the ceiling and making little sad kitty noises. Occasionally I will pick him up and try to help him catch one. Since I couldn't pick him up the other night, Sasha did, but she's too short to help him reach the moths, and he was batting helplessly at them while I was rolling on the floor laughing hysterically. It really does not take a lot to amuse me.

I was bored last night so I changed my Typepad template to one of their new designs. I think it's pretty, but I also think it might be taking longer to load. I can't tell if it is the new design or if it's just my internet connection that is being cranky. Do me a favor and tell me whether you think it is taking longer or not.

Also, I decided to add categories. I thought it might be helpful if I was trying to remember something that I wrote about the pets, for example, or about Evangeline and her totally useless pancreas, or Sasha and how damn funny she is.  I have not yet gone through all my old posts and categorized them. I guess that will be something I could work on today while I sit on my ass and rest.

Yes, it turns out that there must be some reason for resting after surgery, because I was a mess yesterday after I got back from Children's Hospital. All exhausted and shaky and self-pitying.  Don't feel sorry for me, because we all know that I am a stupid-ass. Normally, Evangeline would have gone by herself. But the appointment this time was at the hospital in DC instead of at the easy-to-drive-to satellite clinic. Evangeline was nervous about getting lost, and since I love to be needed I said that I would go with her. I really didn't think it would be a big deal.

Whatever. I'm an ass. So today I have vowed to do absolutely nothing. There will be lots of jobs for Evangeline to do when she gets home from THE DRINKING PARTY she was at last night. I think you will enjoy this: Evangeline and her friend Caitlin and some other college friends were all spending the night at Caitlin's house last night. They were going to watch the movie Carousel and drink every time there was some dialogue that was degrading to women. (e.g., "It is possible dear, for someone to hit you, hit you hard, and it not hurt at all.") I'm a big fan of Rodgers and Hammerstein musicals but damn I hated that movie.

Josh allowed her to take alcohol from our house because she forgot to get Sasha to buy it for her before Sasha went to the beach with Paul and his family. (Are you following all this?)

Fine, go ahead, judge me for my permissive parenting style. She'll be 21 in 9 months and she's ridiculously responsible and level-headed.

Where was I? Oh, right, I was rambling. And defending the lack of drinking parameters around here.

SO. I have more for you, but if I tell you everything NOW, I will have nothing for TOMORROW.

Carry on.

In Which Too Much Is Revealed.

On Friday I was bouncy and self-congratulatory about my AMAZING POST-SURGICAL CONVALESCENCE.

I was all, "I feel fine! It's probably because I'm in such good shape! You know, y'all should really work out more often because then you, too, would be bouncy after your hysterectomies."

My zest for living faded later in the evening. By 11pm I was lying in bed being weepy because my bottom parts were hurting and no one downstairs knew that I was thirsty and I wanted attention. I availed  myself of modern technology to remedy the situation. I called everyone's cellphone. The first two were off, but I got lucky on the third try.  Evangeline was on her way to a friend's house but she kindly called  back on the house phone and told Josh to go upstairs and check on me.

He came up and patted my head and brought me water and cookies and was very sympathetic despite my whiny tone of voice.

I decided that today (Saturday) I would really take things easy and be a complete invalid so as to not overdo things.  So I did, and it was boring. I don't like forced inactivity. I read a little, I watched some tv, and I napped a lot. The high point of the day was going to the bathroom.  You know, the post-surgical  bowel movement. Dumping out. Downsizing. Burying a Quaker. Dropping the kids off at the pool. Making a package. Whatever your favorite euphemism, the post-surgical bathroom experience can be scary. I didn't pass out or anything, but I was a little shaky afterwards.

It was all so exciting.

And now it is 2am on Sunday morning and I cannot sleep at all, probably because I napped all day. I am lonely and bored and I can't think of anything to dooooooooo.

Even the internet has let me down. Apparently no one updates their blogs at midnight on Saturday. I rummaged around and re-discovered an old trainwreck journal that I used to enjoy reading for the sheer fun of feeling superior and  smart, and I plowed my way through the archives with a great deal of enthusiasm. But you know what? It was just sad, reading about this woman's fucked up life, even when I factored in the fun of the tarot cards and the one-night stands and the witch powers. I wouldn't feel so bad if she didn't have a kid, but of course she does. It was hard to enjoy.

The Benadryl has kicked in so I guess I should go get some rest now. Tomorrow I will try not to nap so much. I will attempt to be just active enough to maintain my sanity, but not so much that I overdo it and get all weepy and self-pitying.

Talk to you later.

The Doctors Despaired Of My Life.

Ha. Not really. I am so damn healthy it's ridiculous. I walked out of the hospital on my own two feet at about noon today, and I even carried my own backpack. I'm a beast.

The care that I received ranged from exceptional to abysmal.

Nurse Kathy in the recovery room: funny, efficient, compassionate, totally on top of things.

Nurse Dottie (working the day shift on the ward) - she was, well, dotty. Spaced out, didn't know how to work the equipment, generally idiotic. Example: she examined my VAGINA PARTS without closing the curtain in my room, while my 94-year-old roommate looked on with great interest.

Nurse Marifa the evil night nurse.She was young and pretty but damn she was a snippy little bitch. Unfortunately she was paired with Health Tech Pam who seemed just plain stupid, and Healthtech Sullen Man whose name I never learned. Between the three of them, it was a long evening and night. Thank God Josh was there to make sure I had water, otherwise I would have died of thirst before midnight.

With the morning sun came Nurse Norma and Health Tech Michelle. They were wonderfully professional and friendly and checked in on my roommate and me frequently.  Imagine that! Health professionals who are also people persons!

I had lots of visitors yesterday afternoon. My parents came, my daughters came, and Josh's cousin's wife came with her baby. It was like a party in my room. Josh stayed until 10:30 or 11, but after he left was when the real fun began.

My roommate was Poor Old Deaf Lady. She had a horrible cough and plainly felt terrible, and she was a little confused about things. For chrissake, she was 94 years old. The TV remote control and the nurse call button were on the same device. Every time that she wanted to change channels, she would push the big red button that had a picture of a nurse on it. After a few seconds, Bitch Marifa would come on over the intercom, "Yes? Do you need something?"  But Poor Old Deaf Lady couldn't hear her and just kept pushing the button. Then Bitch Marifa would come on the intercom again, and it was just an endless Monty Pythonesque cycle.

In the meantime, I was trying to sleep. Finally, I pushed the call button myself and said, "Look, I'm trying to sleep here."  So then that mean nurse came in and YELLED at Poor Old Deaf Lady, really yelled at her to stop pushing the button.

5 silent minutes ticked by.

Then, Poor Old DeafLady started calling out from her bed, in a sad, quavery voice, "Nurse? Nurse? Nurse? I need some water...Nurse?"

Well, Bitch couldn't hear her. So I buzzed Bitch and said, "Umm. She's afraid to use the call button now. And look, I really need to go to sleep."

And that's how I scored me some Ambien.

I slept like a baby until 6am, when I slowly awakened to the sounds of loud voices down the hall. Loud voices that got louder and louder, and turned into an unhinged person yelling, "Get away from me! Leave me alone! Get away, get away!" This was interspersed with soothing voices obviously trying to reason with the guy. (The fact that the voices were soothing makes me suspect that Nurse Marifa wasn't helping out.) This went on for quite awhile and things got louder and louder and more exciting until there was a call over the intercom, "Rapid Response Team needed in Room 240!" 

A few minutes later things got quiet, and I pictured that it was like one of those scenes in One Flew Over The Cuckoos Nest, or Terminator 2 in the mental ward.

AND THEN...(sorry, we are not finished yet) a very handsome young Physician's Assistant walked into my room, introduced himself as "Jason", and said that he was there to remove the packing from my vagina. Yes, my vagina was packed. With gauze. And a handsome young man was there to remove it.

"Okay," I said. "Is it going to hurt?"

"Nah," said Jason.

"I don't believe you. I bet that's what you were doing to that dude down in Room 240."

He chuckled, and then proceeded to pull about 6 feet of gauze out of my vagina.

Vagina, vagina, vagina. I'm starting to love that word.

That's all I have for you right now. That's enough, though, I think.

Thanks for all your nice emails and good wishes. I'm glad to be home.

Taking Care of You, As Commissioned

Hi there, everyone.  This is Evangeline, reporting as promised on the long-awaited hysterectomy.

The report is--now take a deep breath for this one--that everything is just fine.  According to Dad, the doctors were very enthusiastic about how the procedure went, which means there was no funny business (I was worrying that someone would accidentally drop a Junior Mint into the open abdomen, like in that episode of Seinfeld).  Mom is now in the recovery room, awake and chipper, albeit rather bored.  Sasha and I are going to visit her as soon as the hospital gives her a room to herself, which will hopefully be quite shortly.

I would also like to comment on the fact that in the past couple of weeks, Mom has been remarkably calm about the rapidly approaching operation.  Even yesterday, when many in her place would be a nervous wreck, she was the very essence of serenity, going to the bank and playing with the dogs and keeping a healthy sense of humor about the whole thing.  There was nary a whimper of worry, and I was impressed.

One last thought.  For those of you who have become engrossed by this sordid saga of surgery, don't worry: the fun has only just begun.  From what I have heard, the body does some . . . interesting things after a hysterectomy, and knowing my mother, she will not withhold the gruesome details.  And as she will be forced into convalescence for a week or so, chances are that posts will be frequent.  You're in for a good time!

Have a lovely day, everyone, and thanks for all the well-wishing.

Sporty! I meant SPORTY!

Jane quite disapproved of the fact that I equated "scooter" with "sexy" in my last post.

"You've lost your mind," she explained helpfully.

Wait, wait, said I. Let me 'splain. But by then she was busy eating Thai food and asking for extra cilantro because she just can't enough of that stuff.

What I meant about scooters is that they are carefree, sporty, and adventurous. When driven by a woman, that is. When a man drives a scooter, it implies that his wife or girlfriend will not let him get a motorcycle. Which is exactly the case around here.

There have been no further scooter escapades for me because Josh has been home late almost every night what with softball games and whatnot. And, y'know, he scoots to work. 75 miles to the gallon, Al Gore!

Hey, guess what?  I have been a veritable paragon of industry as my surgery date closes in on me. Man, if I could just schedule surgery 3 or 4 times a year this place would be ship-shape like crazy. I am cleaning out closets, filing papers, arranging estimates for some long-awaited projects, taking cars in for inspection and repairs, weeding the garden, and some other shit. Like artfully arranging canned goods in the kitchen so that everything is symmetrical and straight. NO WIRE HANGERS!

This is a very special time for my uterus and me. Our last week together. I'm writing a poem about her.

O, womanly vessel! Hue of pink! Shape of pear!

Why do you hate me so?

Well, that's as far as I've gotten. But I think it's awesome so far, don't you?

Anyway, surgery date is a week from today, August 1st. No need to get excited because I will be posting between now and then.