Falling Down

Yesterday was a lovely day and I felt so good. Maybe too good?

Beloved and I puttered around the house, completing little tasks in between his telling me to, "Go lay down!"

It felt good to be getting some little things done; folding laundry, clearing out some old clothes, sweeping the floor, cleaning the kitchen. My list was long and I was pretty sure if I paced myself I could get a lot done. It was while I was cleaning the kitchen that I heard something odd.

It sounded like running water.

Hmm...must be the washing machine draining...

No, it sounds like falling water.

One look into the garage, where the washing machine lives, showed me the very wet and wild truth. The hose that drains the water from the machine had come undone from it's housing and was spewing laundry water all over the garage.

I am happy to report that our wet/dry vac works like a charm. Of course, Beloved remembered we actually had a wet/dry vac after we had mopped up a good deal of the water with towels, but that's okay.

And everything would have been just dandy...if I hadn't been trying to "help" just a little more.

I tripped over the hose. I tripped over it when Beloved wasn't in the garage watching my every move and telling me, "You better take it easy!"

I tripped, but caught myself and didn't face plant onto the cement.

That's good, right?

Instead, I a jarred my body around and became aware of the fact that I had surgery just ten days ago. Oh, yeah...

I wasn't going to tell Beloved, but I had to admit to him what happened. He frowned at me and sent me to bed with the paper and a drink.

So much for the rest of my to-do list.

Last night, as Girl and I snuggled under a blanket while sitting on the couch, she looked at me and said, "You're weak!" I replied that I knew that, thanks a lot. She was surprised at how quickly I had lost the strength I use to have. I told her about the near face plant in the garage and she shook her head. She told me that if I ever get a serious illness it won't be the illness that kills me, but the inability to clean the house.

That is not true!

Okay, it might be a little true...

Upper Cut

Yesterday I drove.

I drove Girl to school.

I drove to my doctors appointment.

I drove home.

I drove over to the college and picked Girl up.

Then I let  Beloved drive when we went to have our taxes completed.

And then I hurt all over and ran a temperature.

It was great to drive...but the aftermath of all that driving and walking and waiting and rushing was an upper cut to the jaw and left me weary and worn out.

However, the doctor had all nice things to say about my progress. She asked me how I felt the surgery went. Really? Because, just between you and I, I have no idea what happened after they gave me Valium. Not only am I a cheap drink date, but apparently I am a cheap drug date too.

I asked how she thought things went and she thoughts things went great! Why, she even had pictures to show me.

Pictures of me innards.

It was totally gross.

But it did give me insight to what was going on inside and why things were happening the way they were. Doctor also found out some other things that were wrong, but was happy to report that all the pathology reports came back clear. It seems I got a two for one because they removed a foreign entity to boot. She said, "I figured since we were in there, we might as well."

Ain't that swell.

Of course now I am left with full color pictures of my insides. I've decide to put them with the cd-rom of my previous mammogram. You know, just for a keep sake. Or a weird party conversation piece.

Later that afternoon we visited the tax gal. Let me just say that I am not a fan of the tax man. I think he takes too much of me money and blows it on stupid crap...like welfare...but that's another rant for another time.

My Beloved is making great money these days. All those years in the trenches are paying off. I asked for more hours after we moved into the little green house on the corner and also received a raise. We made more money this year than we have ever made.

And the state of Oregon, once again, is demanding more of it.

Beloved isn't stoopid and since we ended up paying those idiots last year, he adjusted his withholding early in the year to compensate for the income that he is now making. It made a difference so that we only owe the state a couple hundred instead of several hundred.

Me likey.

Our tax gal is a hoot! But she grew very serious and pointed out that we a stones throw away from the next tax bracket and that it will KILL us next year.

Me no likey.

That was a left hook to the kidneys baby.

So, now we need to make some decisions. Beloved will make more money in the coming year. He's already been warned that it's looking like mandatory OT for several months. OT tends to make him crabby. The one cure for the a tired, crabby Beloved is the little wifey who takes care of him and all the little details around the home. I'm a most excellent wife, just ask him. He likes to be babied. Show me a man who doesn't.

We need to make some decisions about money and time and who does what when.

I see a long talk in our future.

Just sayin'.

And now, it's off to bed. I was a bad girl all day yesterday with running around.

Missing Links

Yeah, so I pulled yesterday's post. After some of the drugs wore off I felt I was a little harsh on some of my courtship friends. One specifically.

While I do feel that my generation may have made the next generation of spouse hunting more difficult, it really isn't for me to say who is right or wrong. Each family must decide for themselves. Just be careful crossing those lines. It's a slippery slope into legalism.

That being said, let us move on.

It's day seven since my surgery. Sometimes I feel like a million bucks. Then I wash the dishes or some other little chore and feel lousy. I'm really not good at waiting. I'm not a good waiter. Just sayin'.

Tomorrow is doctor day. I'm hoping she'll shed some light on my nausea issue. It's getting old. On the up side, I'm just a few pounds away from the fifty pounds lost mark. On the downside, I'm not doing anything and my muscles feel like noodles. And I'm so scared about my first workout...not that it will be any time soon, but I'm so weak and I cannot even imagine how hard it's going to be.

One thought that is giving me great joy is the return of my Boy. India has been a great experience for him and I wonder how it has changed him. Even more, I wonder how he'll find a job and get on with his life now that this portion of his training is over. He's got an internship lined up with his church, school to finish, he needs a car and of course the job to pay for all that. I know that God has a plan, but I wish I knew what it was. I'm just nosy that way.

Being here alone so much has given me time to think about many things. It's been good to reflect on these subjects and consider the gravity of each. Some things seem to weighty while others make me laugh when I consider how important I felt they were. Why do I do that? Make mountains out of mole hills? Why do you?

I'm reading a book by John Fischer and it's so good and so challenging. Not to mention it's the first book I've actually had time to read in nearly a year. That makes me so sad. I have always been such an avid reader and writer, but over the year time has eaten up by other, more pressing issues. I've lost the mojo and my creative side has been slumbering for months.

In the coming days, Lord willing, I'll start working on Girls graduation book. I finished Boys the week after he graduated and here it is nearly spring and Girl graduated last year! I'm a bad, busy mom.

But now it's time to lay back down and rest. My body fails to follow where my mind would lead.

Day Five

All is silent in the little green house on the corner, save for the rumble of the washing machine in the garage. Beloved is off to work and Girl has left for school. It's just the dog, the cat, and I.

All is well.

My pain is so very limited to certain movements, such as getting out of bed, that one would hardly believe I've had surgery. I have scars to prove it though and a weak and tired body that refuses to do more than walk a few laps around the kitchen. I'm hoping that Beloved will take me for a short walk outside when he returns this afternoon.

Of course, I'll have to do something with my Albert Einstein hair first. Which will require more strength than I believe I possess at the moment.

There are so many things I would like to do, such as sweeping the floors or cleaning the bathroom. Alas, simply making breakfast wore me out today.

Perhaps I'll simply watch a movie and snooze.

That sounds like a better idea.

Day Three

I'm feeling surprisingly well...all things considered.

The doctor's told my Girl and my Beloved that things were tricky, but successful. The doctors never visited me again so I have no idea what that means. Instead, they sent me home with strong narcotics that made me woozy and dizzy and I started to hate them.

I've stopped taking them.

I feel better.

My record for being out of bed: one hour

I love my bed.

I'm going back there now.

Thanks for your prayers. It's kinda cool to know that folks I've never met have prayed for me from all over the world. Kinda makes me wanna throw a party for them.

In a few weeks, that is.

Night all.

Day One

Today is the day.

I am calm.

I am ready.

I am so dang hungry I could eat my dog.

Okay, maybe not my dog....maybe a horse....

I lost four pounds overnight and let me just say I look super skinny. Well, something good had to come of all this :)

Keep praying, oh faithful ones!

I'll catch you on the flip side.

It's All About Me

I am a walking, talking, ball of anxiety.

I just hate that. 

It makes it difficult to listen to other people and assess their needs, wants, desires. I suppose it's because right now, it's all about me. 

Yeah, cause I'm all THAT and more. Snicker. 

I knew this week would be bad, but I hadn't expected the true level of anticipation. I was unprepared. 

However, the house is sparkling clean, save the oven where the meatballs EXPLODED in a roar of grease and flames. 

Seriously. Real, live flames....

And lots of smoke. 

Which reminded everyone in the household about the time I "hid" candles in the oven. DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME. 

Anyway, I just want to...punch something...or sleep...or eat something. Yeah, that whole "eating" thing, sooo trying to keep that monster at bay. I've hit the forty pounds gone mark and I don't want to add any back. I'm proud of myself and the fact that I now weigh what I've lied about for all these years on my drivers license. Kudos to me. 

But I'm anxious. 

I've only got another day at work, which is great because the handful of girls that I've told about my upcoming adventure are just about to make my cry. One of them brought me a gift for my recovery. Another brought me a card. A third just stood there blinking at me and hugged me tight. 

gulp.

It's not cancer people, I promise! At least we are pretty dang certain it's not cancer. 99.8% sure. No cancer. 

It's all good.

Except that I keep thinking about my mother and how if I were to die I wouldn't get the last word.

GAH! I have to have the last word! I want to tell her so many not so nice things. Isn't that dreadful? I told Beloved how I've been mulling over the litany of complaints against that woman who gave birth to me and he said, "Let it go."

And he's right.

But I still want to have the last word, because I am small and petty that way. And then I wonder if she'd even be sad that I was dead. And THEN I realized that our entire past would still be my fault and she'd be able to lie about everything without my being here....OH MY WORD!

See? It's soo bad. Must.Let.It.Go.

Of course there are other things to consider. Worrying about Girl getting to school on time. Worrying about Beloved eating good, healthy meals and having clean jeans for work.  Worrying about being back to my old self by the time Boy arrives home from India. 

It's exhausting. 

And it's stupid.

But, I don't want to talk about it.

Except in my head, where it's all about me anyway.

Surly Thou Jesteth

How does one handle a jest...when you aren't really sure it actually was a jest?

Perhaps "jest" isn't the correct word.

For the life of me I cannot remember what word was used, but it was something like did I "bully, nag, hound" this person to get a positive response.

I had not.

In fact, the woman in question brought up the subject. Not I.

I'm a little put out over the idea that I would strong arm this very nice lady into a conversation concerning a not so important matter.

Actually, I'm a little put out about just about everything these days. I realize it's the anxiety of waiting on test results and the upcoming tour of the surgery theater that has me on edge. It's hard to fake being cheery when I really don't care.

There. I typed it.

I

Don't

Care

Which is so not me. Not really. I'm not that person. I usually ooze sympathy and understanding (except when it comes to FIL that is), but somehow the vat of compassion in my soul has dried up and been blown away by the northern wind.

I am assuming that once the horror of these days pass, that my usually happy demeanor will return. Then, instead of allowing someones thoughtless words to fester in my mind, I'll simply laugh it off and move on to the next conversation. The problem is that in the not so distant future I have a meeting with two ladies who wounded my family in the past and I worry about my snarky tongue.

The elder lady has already taken me to task about a not so kind remark about spending time with an idiot. She was right, of course, it was unkind of me to point out the obvious conclusion of the Berkley woman's idiocy. Truly, what was I thinking?

Oh, perhaps I was simply jesting....Yeah, that's it.

At any rate, I find that I'm being overly sensitive and letting little things get to me. My tongue seems sharper than normal with those on the outside of my little circle. I'm fine with the family, but not so much with the irritating ladies around me. Some of them are just so...so...well, you know how we girls can be at times.

I've just got to tough it out a few more days and take nothing to heart. I keep reminding myself that it's me, not them. However, I'm pretty sure that some of my "jesting" could be misconstrued as something not so nice and they'd be right. It seems my tongue has a life and will of it's own.

Gah!

Thou shall not jest! Not even a little! And thou shall not throw a hissy fit without the opinion of a sane person.

Yesterday, during my pre-op, the nurse told me that on the day of surgery the nurse will offer me Valium or something along those lines. She told me to take it because it will relax me for surgery.

I'm thinking they should have given it to me YESTERDAY, simply for the good of humanity.

Doctor, Doctor Gimme the News

I've had an on going medical issue that has lasted for months. After this test and that test we all agreed that it wasn't the BIG C.

That sigh of relief you heard a few weeks ago, yeah, that was me.

That's all good. It truly is. Now it's just a matter of finding a surgeon that will accept my case. I had no idea that surgeons could be so picky. I guess I understand it though.

Annie can't do anything the easy way.

This week I have three, yes three, doctors appointments. I'm also training newbies at work (love them!). I'm driving Girl to school (she drove on the freeway for the very.first.time.today!!) and the house needs cleaning, meals need cooking, and Beloved likes to talk to me every once in a while.

A couple of days ago, because all that wasn't enough, my jaw started hurting. It mainly hurts when I wake up, but it kinda hurts during the day. It's right where the two jaw bones connect. Oh, and it bugs me if I chew anything hard such as almonds.

I'm confessing, right here and right now, that I haven't phoned the dentist.

Do I really need another doctors appointment this week?

Gah!

Plus, I need to have doctor number one assure doctor number two (so she can assure the surgeon...if we ever find one) that I am not a nut job.

Y'all know what a sappy, emotional, weepy girl I can be. Tis true. Doctor number two is new to the emotional roller coaster that I am. I've cried twice in her office and both times I felt like an IDIOT. I hate crying in front of people that don't know me. Everyone who knows me just brushes it off and hands me a tissue.

Doctor number two asked why I was crying the first time I visited her. I confessed that I was scared to death that it was cancer. I think she understood that and we moved on.

Visit number two confirmed that it wasn't cancer, but there were other matters at hand that needed to be addressed. Of course I cried again. Damn it! This time Doctor number two looked at me quizzically and asked  how my Beloved was handling all this.

Huh?

Oh! She wants to know how supportive he is and if he has a clue. I assured her that my Beloved is a prince among men! A prince I say! She prodded me with more questions about him until my pea brain understood what she was saying...

"No, he isn't abusive!" Good Lord Almighty!

And that's when it happened. I think Doctor number two decided that my weepy, sappy behavior is due to a lack of emotional fortitude.

She thinks I'm a crack-pot

Unstable

Emotionally unprepared

Crud.

So, now I have to talk to Doctor number one, who has known me for years and years, and see if she'll write a nice little note in my chart about how stable and NORMAL I am.

And then maybe we can convince a surgeon.

And then we can all meet up in February (should have been January) and get this all taken care of.

And then I can get on with life.

Unless something else decides to fall apart.