Monthly Archives: October 2016



Well, I did it.

Had all my lady parts robotically removed on Friday.  Not as bad as having a C-section but other than some horrible kind of fake panties, a toothbrush and toothpaste, I came home less than I went in with!

Unless you can count the pain….I have five stab wounds in my belly which only hurt when I move or breathe or God forbid…sneeze, and some pretty bad cramps that mimic that part of my life where my lady parts still had a purpose and monthly made their usefulness known.

I have pain pills but they don’t seem to help at all and they are not “fun” so why bother taking them since all they will do is make my already backed-up plumbing back up even farther and so if I eat anything there is a good chance it will end up as tasting like “shit” and it will be literal shit!

So I am existing on coffee with flavored creamer which so far has been okay since I am not really hungry and Lord knows I could use some weight loss.  But my top question here is:  How can I make poopy if I don’t eat anything to make poopy?  And eventhough I am taking stool softeners by the handfuls, if there is nothing in there to soften what is going to happen?   Inquiring minds need to know this stuff…..

So, you lucky reader, I am going to take you on my journey to being barren and then you can decide for yourselves if it is a journey you too may want to traverse someday.

I have nothing but accolades for the Day Surgery facility and staff at St. Luke’s.  This was my second time this month that I was treated to their services and both times I have nothing to complain about.  Top-notch.  They even found a Notary for me to sign my Health Care Directive so if something were to have gone wrong, I would have my wishes legal and binding.  I did get a gorgeous fuschia-colored bracelet with the big letters DNR to go along with the bright yellow Fall Risk, and the shocking red neon one that said ALLERGY in addition to the two other bracelets that everyone who came into my presence had to either scan or ask  me my name and date of birth and why I was there.  I felt like a paper-bracelet gypsy queen in a too small hospital gown.

I must look smaller than I am cause they always tell me that the regular-size gown will fit me and sure as heck, it never does and I end up being choked at the neck and having my Khardashian assets hanging out the back.  You would think they would look at my height and weight before laying a gown out.  And you know that info is in your file because no matter what you go in to the doc’s office for, they make you step on the scale.  I am truly convinced the nurses have some sort of financial gain for getting like the most poundage per week to win a pot.  I used to take practically everything off before getting on the scales but nowadays, I keep everything on because when you are my size, a couple of pounds either way sure as heck ain’t gonna matter!

I had to have FOUR iv pokes to get two lines in.  Damn those things hurt.  My first poke resulted in a collapsed vein which felt really weird…like a balloon popped inside my vein and shot air pressure out to my middle finger.  So they had to try again on the same hand….nope….so I get to be poked on my right hand…..third time was supposed to be the charm but….no….so the fourth time the nurse decides not to give me any Lidocaine for the pain and just plunges the needle in and I heard angels singing (or maybe it was me screaming as by now I am hypersensitive to pain).  They must have put the other line in my left hand in while I was doped up cause I certainly don’t remember it going in but I have the bruising and swelling to show for it today.

I had always thought that my right side was a tad bigger than my left side but only noticeable by me until the nurse who was going to put some inflatable things on my legs came in and stood at the end of my bed and pronounced, “Wow, look at her right leg, it is much bigger than her left”!  Well I’ll be sure to be much more self-conscience  about it from now on, thank you very much.

The anesthesiologist came in and proceeded to ask me a bunch of questions and when he got to the one, “Do you get short of breath climbing a flight of stairs?”, I just looked at him square in the eyes and said, “I am one hundred and twenty pounds overweight, what do you think”?   I think he probably checked the YES box on that one!

And because my body seems to be able to foul-up any kind of electrical devices, they could not get a good reading of my blood pressure…I was almost dead according to the levels they were getting on my left arm (which should have been a clue that maybe trying to get an IV line into my left hand wasn’t such a good idea) and so another nurse took it one my right arm and that one was pretty much where my BP usually is but the nurse who was championing for my left side like a rabid Hillary fan, was bound and determined to get a good reading and so she tried it again and the whole cuff blew right off my arm after it had squeezed the crap out of it.  She said she had never seen that happen before….Ya, well that is pretty much the story of my life with anything electronic….I once took down a rotating dental x-ray machine when they were trying to get some full-view x-rays and the machine all of a sudden goes haywire!  I think it must be my secret power?

Finally after two hours of prep and paper work, the fun part starts….I get a “relaxer” shot of something….I love that stuff….but wait a minute….this isn’t my usual high-maker, this is some crap that is making me super dizzy and I do not like it at all.  And to make matters worse, they are now going to be moving me to the OR and I am feeling like I am in the middle of a twister and everything is going around and around .  NOT FUN, NOT FUN……

Oh, and I forgot to mention that I asked for every anti-nausea available just in case,  so they slapped a little “cruise ship” motion-sickness disc on the skin behind my ear and told me that I could leave it on up to three days but WARNING….taking it off could land me in the ER if I should happen to touch the back of it and touch my face.  My pupils would be dilating at different levels and so it would look like I was having a stroke and it would not be a pleasant experience so be careful.  And this thing is stuck to my skin with the killer back side on top of my skin?  What the heck?

And what is with doctor’s coming in to talk to husbands after the surgery to tell them how it went?  Is there a man alive who can relate that really important info back to a woman verbatim?  I realize that I am in no condition to remember where I am let alone what the doc had to say but they should be required to at least put a post-it note on our chest so we can read it for ourselves after we are alert enough not to see Chris Hemsworth standing shirtless in our room…..

I have never been so dry mouthed before in my entire life.  No amount of ice chips or water was touching it.  I had no spit….none….nada….and they kept asking me if I had to go to the bathroom….um, if I have no spit how on earth would I have any pee?  Plus I was cathed during surgery so I was bone-dry.  Had I stayed any longer in the hospital, I would have just dried up into a very large turdless, spittless, peeless, blob right there in my bed.  I did not get any spit back until this morning (Sunday).  That, my friends, is a long time to be left spittless…..try eating something with no saliva….you are headed for some major choking which is something you want to avoid when you have five stab holes in your stomach.

After the surgery, they have you wear these inflatable ankle-to-knee things that take turns cutting on and off your leg circulation and you have to leave them on all night.  Don’t be fooled by how tired you think you are that you will even enjoy a short nap that first night.  I had figured since I had been up since 5am, been put to sleep and had a robot chopping up my lady parts and trying to pull them out of spaces below, and then being inflated and deflated constantly, and having Morphine shots (which only made me envision some really weird stuff, didn’t touch the pain at all) and getting anti-nausea shots, and doses of Percocet (another disappointing drug), I thought I should sleep like a baby…..well I guess I did if that baby was up all night with colic…besides being in pain, those damn inflatables kept me awake because they inflated and deflated in no specific order and half the time, when one would inflate, I would think someone (or something…October is my month to binge on horror films) was grabbing my leg and I would jump and that would cause more pain.  Sometimes I thought it was my stupid dog laying on me….wouldn’t you think after having these on for hours I would have gotten used to it?  They made me get up once to walk the halls and I did ok except by the time we got back to my room my tongue was dragging along the carpet picking up all bits of flotsam and jetsam and my mouth was so dry that ashes were flying out like little specks of non-existing spittle.  I couldn’t swallow because my tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth and my uvula was stuck to the side of my throat.  It was actually quite terrifying.

I need my sleeping space to be dark, cold and quiet….my room was bright (those dumb computers that are there keep the room bright), I made the nurse turn my room down to frigid and I had brought earplugs but I could still hear noises.  It was one of the longest nights of my life….just looking at the clock, waiting for the time to come when I could get another 600mg of Motrin (worked better that any of the narcotics they were giving me) and for the anti-nausea shot since anyone who has been reading my blog for awhile knows I have a HUGE FEAR of throwing up….so to be nauseous is just about the worst thing that could happen to me!

I must mention the fake underwear they give you to put on….it is like two pieces of a pattern sewed together but unlike any underwear I have ever seen.  I wasn’t quite sure how to put it on plus having been stabbed in your stomach five times, trying to bend to get something on even while sitting on the toilet is not any easy feat.  So I struggled to get them on and the pad that had less stickiness than butter and finally after much pain and agony, I stood up to pull them up and lo and behold they are on backwards so the front came up over my belly to the top of my rib cage and the back barely came up to my crack!  I thought about leaving it just like that but I was afraid that the back would slip down the moment I struggled back into bed and then what would I do, so I sat back down and painfully took them off and put them on the other way only to discover when I stood up to pull them back up they fit the exact same way.  Oh I was mad….all that pain and effort and my backside was still not fully covered and my frontside was up over all my stab wounds…..had I had any moisture in my body I would have attempted to cry but dry crying hurts more than wet crying so I opted to just swear. Swearing is good when you have been stabbed five times in your stomach.  It takes no effort, or spit (I was only swearing in my mind) or causes any pain and you don’t have to worry if it will affect your ability to poop.

I did have one moment of pure joy though.  Yesterday the nurse came in with a shot of an anti-coagulant and had I not had lots of fat under my arms I would have had to have the shot in my belly.  I will never bemoan my fat flaps again.  They now are my heroes because I just don’t think I could have stood one more thing hurting my stomach.

The ride home was also a real joy….I screamed more in pain than when I gave birth.  Every pot hole, every turn, every bounce of my belly made me scream like a girl.  And since Scott had lots on his mind besides me, he would sometimes forget to slow down when going over the bumps until I would scream obscenities that shocked the both of us in not only their volume but their content…..must be a side-effect of the  morphine shots….cause you know I would never do that in real life!

So as of today,  I have eaten a cup of pudding and some pretty bad Kwik Trip cream of potato soup hoping that it will get the ball rolling if you know what I mean….not that I will know the difference in the pain stabs as I am having “phantom period cramps” and so if I get “gotta go….go now….”cramping, I might just miss the opportunity or worse yet, think it is one of those elusive farts I have been trying to squeeze out ad end up with a load of stool softener and bad Kwik Trip potato soup on the couch with me.  Either way tonight is gonna suck…..except for the second episode of the new season of the Walking Dead….that might take my mind off of my troubles for an hour!

So the question I am going to leave you all with is this:  Do I dare take more softeners and Milk of Magnesium or just wait and see if anything develops….(my mom and sister are going to be so embarrassed by this post…that I would give out so much personal information about my bowels and innards…..I have no filter in my writings as most of you know by now….what is really me is what you really read….sorry if I gave TMI.  You may wish to ignore my next post since it will probably have to do with Angels singing and toilets flushing……

Your ever gross Queen,






I was just watching the NBC Nightly News and they had a segment on how to keep babies from getting SIDS and while the voice-over is telling us that babies should sleep in their parents room until they are a year old (the video shows a baby in a crib in it’s own room), to put babies on their backs, (video shows a mom putting the baby on it’s SIDE), and to put them on hard surfaces and to not use blankets or have toys in cribs (and both videos show mom’s putting blankets on infants and there were toys in the crib along with the baby).

Oh my goodness….my brain is ready to explode….this is not the first time I have seen these kinds of  things happen on the news.  Is it me…Have I died and gone to some weird 5th dimension where black is white and white is black…up is down and down is up….fat is in and thin is out (okay, that is just not gonna happen but it’s my 5th dimension and I can always hope…)

Why would you put the exact opposite of what you are saying up on the screen?  I didn’t see it as “Warning: This is what you should NOT do”.  It was more like no one bothered to edit the segment.  Crap like this is why I would never trust anything I see on the news…no matter which channel I was watching!


Your Queen, who is quickly losing her patience with news media stupidity



imageI may have come to the end of my entertaining days.  I just cannot keep my house up enough to not feel bad about the dog-hair-tumbleweeds that seem to accumulate in hidden spots until they hear I am having company and then they scurry out like little mice to take up residence under my furniture and along my walls.  I have no carpet anywhere so they can roam freely and sometimes they hook up with spiders and leave dog-hair-tumbleweed-webs (which from an artist’s stand point they are pretty cool!).

Because I am a chronic procrastinator, I leave everything to the last minute and then I exhaust myself trying to get it all done in a matter of hours while having to take multiple naps.

Today I have taken five naps, cleaned the bathroom (in the most broad terms), made a huge chicken salad, washed three loads of dishes by hand and dried two of them, made myself somewhat presentable (no make-up, no fancy clothing, no jewelry), and now I am waiting for my three or four friends to arrive (one friend is bringing a friend who has never been here before so I will hope she doesn’t have on black pants and socks or she is in for a rude awakening as Madd Maxx’s hair is white with little barbs on the tips so it cannot be removed (Have I mentioned I hate that dog?).

I am one hormone away from crying….I love having people over.  But each time I do, it gets harder and harder on me physically and emotionally (because, damn it, everybody else can keep their house up, why in the hell can’t I?).

I don’t know if I would cut myself some slack no matter what illness I had.  If I was chronically ill with cancer would I hate myself this bad for not keeping my house company clean?  Probably.   This kind of life is getting old.  I am getting old.

I go in Monday for a test to see if perhaps I have endometrial cancer cells.  Half of me hopes so….to just get it over with.  To be done.  To have run my race and to look forward to the finish line.  To finally be at peace with myself.

And if it turns out that it isn’t, then I will start badgering my husband to move to a tiny house with a big garage!  I do not need much space to entertain and that is what makes me happiest…to have friends, family and an ocassional stranger over for conversation and laughter.  If we have to be squished, so be it. At least I could still entertain and not have much to clean except the tiny bathroom!

So we will see what the future brings….I am ready for anything but this life I have now.

With much love and dog-hair-tumbleweed-cobwebs,

The Queen