Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Make Mine A Cold One
Am big ol' snarky bitch. I know it. I apologize.
This time of year is always tough for me. March 31 is approaching. July 09 is going to be worse. Prepare yourselves now.
Seven years ago, my world changed. Irreversibly. There is no way to fix what happened. There is no cure for what went wrong.
I had been in pain most of the day. I did all the things that usually made the pain go away. I would learn later that the things I did to end the pain were the equivalent of myth and it was merely coincidence that the pain ended when it did it.
That night it literally took all I had to crawl up 14 stairs from a basement and fling myself on a landing loud enough so someone would hear me. The pain was so bad, I could not speak. Yes, that's right, I could not speak. It took all I had to lay there and gasp for air. I felt like I was being stabbed. Not that I know what that feels like but the Drama Queen who dwells within has decided that is exactly what it would feel like.
I don't know how long it took the ambulance to get there but I do know it took three EMT's to pry me out of the fetal position. I remember being on a stretcher and hearing "Responds to stimuli, does not respond to commands." I had this moment of clarity at that point. Something inside me told me I was waaaay more than a wee bit fucked and all really was not well. I remember the needle. I remember the morphine hitting my blood stream and every part of me becoming very cold while my upper lip curled under. They had me on my back where the pain was and I couldn't get the words out to tell them. My mouth was dry and I had trouble seeing. Pain really can be blinding. I remember the disjointed screams; it sounded like me but it didn't feel like me. I remember the hot ambulance dood calling the hospital and asking if he could tranquilize me. Really really.
The next 20 hours were a blur. The stuff that was put in my I.V. before the CT scan made me feel like I had peed myself. The doc was sweet when he gave me the bad news and assured me that I had in fact not wet the bed but, on the ride back from the CT scan, I had vomited all over the halls of his nice, clean ER.
The rest is just a blur.
What I can tell you is this... for me, morphine is my go-to pain killer... what had previously been diagnosed as a "fussy" appendix would turn out to be gallstones that had pretty much turned my gall bladder into a big rock that was messing things up for my liver and pancreas... pancreatitis had developed because of the long term, untreated gall bladder disease... I would need to have surgery to remove the gall bladder... my pancreas was broken... no more alcohol, beef, pork, lamb, wild game, or fatty foods. I miss all of you.
The next few months after that were also life changing. Three and a half months later my gall bladder was removed through my belly button (no, really, it was). Post surgery complications (surgical site infection, pulmonary edema, hypoxia, low blood pressure, biliary dyskinesia) would land me back in the hospital. I would be told by two doctors that I had one last treatment to try and if that didn't work, I had three to six months to live and I needed to prepare myself for that because they were fairly certain this treatment would not work. Then the bastards starved me for a week. And then had the balls to say that I couldn't go home until I pooed. Me being me, Iyelled at them for being bush league, apathetic and flat out idiotic for thinking ice chips would make me shit informed them that it was impossible to summon up a bowel movement when all you have been eating for a week is ice chips. I had a lunch tray the next day. And a poo for the good doctors that night. The Beastie Boys were so right. You gotta fight. For your right. To paaaarty.
I am in remission now and have been since May 2009. I won't bore you with all the details (minimum four BM'S a day kids!) but I will tell you the really important things I have learned...
... having a disease can define you and shape your life. You just have to decide how much of the definition is you and how much is the disease.
... a terminal diagnosis can be overcome by sheer willpower and brutal stubbornness, all you have to do is make that first decision... will I live or will I die?
... being hospitalized for more than a few days will show you who your friends and supporters are; look who is sitting by your bed, reflect on who is absent. The person sitting by your bed loves you more.
... if you suffer from chronic pain, as I do, find a way to deal with it and stop complaining about it because its not going anywhere and neither are you if you bitch about it all the damn time. I have days when I can barely get out of bed to make the phone call to say I won't be in to work but instead of complaining about the pain I remember I'm still lucky enough to be alive and I am still lucky enough to feel pain.
... because pancreatitis was historically thought to be a disease afflicting chronic alcoholics, when I go to the hospital because I am having a pancreatic attack, most staff at these medical facilities will suspect I am a drunk who destroyed their pancreas and is now on the prowl looking for drugs.
... Mundare Sausage, while is tasty yummy good stuff, will put me in the hospital for two days after projectile vomiting all over That Aunt's clean bathroom, thus ruining Christmas dinner. Go on, trump that!
... in my world, the liver bone is connected to the pancreas bone is connected to the kidney bone and I gotta keep my bones healthy.
... if I ever need to get all hood like dat, I can lift my shirt, show off my scars, and claim I got shot, just like Fiddy.
So ya, that's why I'm little Miss Grumpy Pants. And it is not because I feel sorry for myself. It is because I am broken and it cannot be fixed, no matter what I do. And I get frustrated and stabby having the precious time I have left wasted by people who can't find their ass with both hands, even if they have a road map and a tour guide.
And a shopping cart. Those fuckers always come with a shopping cart.
On that note, I need to go have BM number 4. Some days, having pancreatitis is shitty.
This time of year is always tough for me. March 31 is approaching. July 09 is going to be worse. Prepare yourselves now.
Seven years ago, my world changed. Irreversibly. There is no way to fix what happened. There is no cure for what went wrong.
I had been in pain most of the day. I did all the things that usually made the pain go away. I would learn later that the things I did to end the pain were the equivalent of myth and it was merely coincidence that the pain ended when it did it.
That night it literally took all I had to crawl up 14 stairs from a basement and fling myself on a landing loud enough so someone would hear me. The pain was so bad, I could not speak. Yes, that's right, I could not speak. It took all I had to lay there and gasp for air. I felt like I was being stabbed. Not that I know what that feels like but the Drama Queen who dwells within has decided that is exactly what it would feel like.
I don't know how long it took the ambulance to get there but I do know it took three EMT's to pry me out of the fetal position. I remember being on a stretcher and hearing "Responds to stimuli, does not respond to commands." I had this moment of clarity at that point. Something inside me told me I was waaaay more than a wee bit fucked and all really was not well. I remember the needle. I remember the morphine hitting my blood stream and every part of me becoming very cold while my upper lip curled under. They had me on my back where the pain was and I couldn't get the words out to tell them. My mouth was dry and I had trouble seeing. Pain really can be blinding. I remember the disjointed screams; it sounded like me but it didn't feel like me. I remember the hot ambulance dood calling the hospital and asking if he could tranquilize me. Really really.
The next 20 hours were a blur. The stuff that was put in my I.V. before the CT scan made me feel like I had peed myself. The doc was sweet when he gave me the bad news and assured me that I had in fact not wet the bed but, on the ride back from the CT scan, I had vomited all over the halls of his nice, clean ER.
The rest is just a blur.
What I can tell you is this... for me, morphine is my go-to pain killer... what had previously been diagnosed as a "fussy" appendix would turn out to be gallstones that had pretty much turned my gall bladder into a big rock that was messing things up for my liver and pancreas... pancreatitis had developed because of the long term, untreated gall bladder disease... I would need to have surgery to remove the gall bladder... my pancreas was broken... no more alcohol, beef, pork, lamb, wild game, or fatty foods. I miss all of you.
The next few months after that were also life changing. Three and a half months later my gall bladder was removed through my belly button (no, really, it was). Post surgery complications (surgical site infection, pulmonary edema, hypoxia, low blood pressure, biliary dyskinesia) would land me back in the hospital. I would be told by two doctors that I had one last treatment to try and if that didn't work, I had three to six months to live and I needed to prepare myself for that because they were fairly certain this treatment would not work. Then the bastards starved me for a week. And then had the balls to say that I couldn't go home until I pooed. Me being me, I
I am in remission now and have been since May 2009. I won't bore you with all the details (minimum four BM'S a day kids!) but I will tell you the really important things I have learned...
... having a disease can define you and shape your life. You just have to decide how much of the definition is you and how much is the disease.
... a terminal diagnosis can be overcome by sheer willpower and brutal stubbornness, all you have to do is make that first decision... will I live or will I die?
... being hospitalized for more than a few days will show you who your friends and supporters are; look who is sitting by your bed, reflect on who is absent. The person sitting by your bed loves you more.
... if you suffer from chronic pain, as I do, find a way to deal with it and stop complaining about it because its not going anywhere and neither are you if you bitch about it all the damn time. I have days when I can barely get out of bed to make the phone call to say I won't be in to work but instead of complaining about the pain I remember I'm still lucky enough to be alive and I am still lucky enough to feel pain.
... because pancreatitis was historically thought to be a disease afflicting chronic alcoholics, when I go to the hospital because I am having a pancreatic attack, most staff at these medical facilities will suspect I am a drunk who destroyed their pancreas and is now on the prowl looking for drugs.
... Mundare Sausage, while is tasty yummy good stuff, will put me in the hospital for two days after projectile vomiting all over That Aunt's clean bathroom, thus ruining Christmas dinner. Go on, trump that!
... in my world, the liver bone is connected to the pancreas bone is connected to the kidney bone and I gotta keep my bones healthy.
... if I ever need to get all hood like dat, I can lift my shirt, show off my scars, and claim I got shot, just like Fiddy.
So ya, that's why I'm little Miss Grumpy Pants. And it is not because I feel sorry for myself. It is because I am broken and it cannot be fixed, no matter what I do. And I get frustrated and stabby having the precious time I have left wasted by people who can't find their ass with both hands, even if they have a road map and a tour guide.
And a shopping cart. Those fuckers always come with a shopping cart.
On that note, I need to go have BM number 4. Some days, having pancreatitis is shitty.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Blessed
When Buddha spoke of attachment, he wasn't saying that it's wrong to have loving feelings toward family and friends -- a common misinterpretation. Some newcomers to Buddhism have the mistaken idea that they're supposed to become "detached" -- distant and cut off from the world around them so that they can develop in splendid isolation. In fact, nothing could be further from Buddha's teachings... love and compassion, not detachment and distance, are the authentic Buddhist path. ~ David Michie (from "Buddhism for Busy People")
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Blessed
I love my past. I love my present. I'm not ashamed of what I've had, and I'm not sad because I have it no longer. ~ Colette
Friday, March 18, 2011
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Am Not Dead
I am pretty sure this trip to Mexico is going to kill me. Before I even get to the airport.
I have had a nervous breakdown in a Walmart dressing room over the size of my ass and how much cleavage is too much for a trip taken with colleagues from work.
I could not find a dress at Old Navy that didn't hang like a muu muu off me.
I thought my arm was going to fall off after the first Twinrix shot.
I am having a crisis over which bags to take and which to leave home. They all want to go to Mexico and I think only two or three will be making the journey.
I have been told so many diarrhea stories that I am already taking Imodium.
Travel Companion A turned out to be a total ass hat of a boyfriend. Travel Companion B said if I could not find someone of the male and available persuasion to go, she would. Travel Companion C was a douche bag about coughing up a copy of his passport, taking days off, and cost memy entire budget for resort wear hundreds of dollars because he did not answer an email. Travel Companion B then had a family crisis that involves funeral plans. Travel companion D is happier than a pig in shit to be going.
Travel Companion A, no I will not have hate sex with you and you can go hump an ant hill.
Travel Companion B, stay strong girl. Be brave. Chin high, shoulders back, heels in the best pair of stiletto's you have.
Travel Companion C, you are not the only ride in the amusement park. Your loss. Again.
Travel Companion D, let's rawk.
Ya, so there's that.
Now, if you know me, you know my skin is pale. The kind of pale that is only one shade darker than albino. And when one is off to Mexico but is currently residing in the North Pole, one must "pre-tan." Sounds simple enough, right? I have been tanning before, I own ceramic protective eye wear, and I know how to nude up in less than two minutes. Yes, this is important information for all of you who do not tan and keep in mind, I was naked for what I am about to describe to you. OK, just the tanning bed part. Things can get pretty sexy at The Office, but we keep it G-rated. Who am I kidding, it is all NC-17 in that place.
The lovely Della, Queen of the Countdown to Mexico, and I have been tanning buddies for a couple of weeks now. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, I have a date with Della at 12:30 to go get microwaved. Last Friday was particularly stressful as I had to empty my savings account onto my credit card to pay for Travel Companion C's cluster fuck bullshit game playing (ya, I said it and I meant it). It was exacerbated by Judy The Travel Agent when she called to say the credit card number I had given her was invalid. Big sighs of relief when it was discovered she had transposed the last two numbers. BIG SIGHS. I have never been so close to needing to jump half the people I work with for their antidepressants.
The lunch date tanning session was supposed to relieve all these frustrations. On a regular day it would. Not on this day and not in tanning room three. I did the typical flight of the bumble bee to nude up, goggle up, and jump in the bed. As I lay there na-na'ing with Rhianna, I heard some creaking from above me. I was mindful of it but did not pay much attention as I was more concerned with finding the optimum tanning position and Drake's "uuuuuuhh".
I should have paid attention.
At about the seven minute mark, the Plexiglas from the top side of the tanning bed came crashing down on me. Yes, it was no longer part of the tanning bed and I was nakedly sandwiched between it and the rest of the bed,having a near death experience and totally freaking out leaving me to quickly ponder my future. Why? There are speakers attached to that tanning bed. Speakers that have electricity flowing through them and they are about to kill me.
I cannot remember all of what went through my mind at that moment but it was all prefaced with "I am naked, I am not a size two, I cannot scream for help. I am uber fucked." I managed to slide and then push and fall my way out from under the Plexiglas and onto the floor of the tanning room. By this time, I was nakedly crawling about the room with my eyes squished shut (protective eye wear seems to be the first thing to fail you in a tanning crisis), feeling my way around to the stop button, not so conveniently located in the back of the bed. When I opened my eyes, I was relieved to find that the speakers on the Plexiglas are actually just covers and the speakers are actually hard wired into the top of the bed.
Big sighs.
Am not dead.
Am naked on my hands and knees, with my ass up in the are like I am worshipping some tanning god.
Are we there yet?
PS:
To the The Office Goddess... thank you for being you. Thank you for having shoulders to cry on, hugs that make the pain go away, and boobies to rub up against.
I have had a nervous breakdown in a Walmart dressing room over the size of my ass and how much cleavage is too much for a trip taken with colleagues from work.
I could not find a dress at Old Navy that didn't hang like a muu muu off me.
I thought my arm was going to fall off after the first Twinrix shot.
I am having a crisis over which bags to take and which to leave home. They all want to go to Mexico and I think only two or three will be making the journey.
I have been told so many diarrhea stories that I am already taking Imodium.
Travel Companion A turned out to be a total ass hat of a boyfriend. Travel Companion B said if I could not find someone of the male and available persuasion to go, she would. Travel Companion C was a douche bag about coughing up a copy of his passport, taking days off, and cost me
Travel Companion A, no I will not have hate sex with you and you can go hump an ant hill.
Travel Companion B, stay strong girl. Be brave. Chin high, shoulders back, heels in the best pair of stiletto's you have.
Travel Companion C, you are not the only ride in the amusement park. Your loss. Again.
Travel Companion D, let's rawk.
Ya, so there's that.
Now, if you know me, you know my skin is pale. The kind of pale that is only one shade darker than albino. And when one is off to Mexico but is currently residing in the North Pole, one must "pre-tan." Sounds simple enough, right? I have been tanning before, I own ceramic protective eye wear, and I know how to nude up in less than two minutes. Yes, this is important information for all of you who do not tan and keep in mind, I was naked for what I am about to describe to you. OK, just the tanning bed part. Things can get pretty sexy at The Office, but we keep it G-rated. Who am I kidding, it is all NC-17 in that place.
The lovely Della, Queen of the Countdown to Mexico, and I have been tanning buddies for a couple of weeks now. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, I have a date with Della at 12:30 to go get microwaved. Last Friday was particularly stressful as I had to empty my savings account onto my credit card to pay for Travel Companion C's cluster fuck bullshit game playing (ya, I said it and I meant it). It was exacerbated by Judy The Travel Agent when she called to say the credit card number I had given her was invalid. Big sighs of relief when it was discovered she had transposed the last two numbers. BIG SIGHS. I have never been so close to needing to jump half the people I work with for their antidepressants.
The lunch date tanning session was supposed to relieve all these frustrations. On a regular day it would. Not on this day and not in tanning room three. I did the typical flight of the bumble bee to nude up, goggle up, and jump in the bed. As I lay there na-na'ing with Rhianna, I heard some creaking from above me. I was mindful of it but did not pay much attention as I was more concerned with finding the optimum tanning position and Drake's "uuuuuuhh".
I should have paid attention.
At about the seven minute mark, the Plexiglas from the top side of the tanning bed came crashing down on me. Yes, it was no longer part of the tanning bed and I was nakedly sandwiched between it and the rest of the bed,
I cannot remember all of what went through my mind at that moment but it was all prefaced with "I am naked, I am not a size two, I cannot scream for help. I am uber fucked." I managed to slide and then push and fall my way out from under the Plexiglas and onto the floor of the tanning room. By this time, I was nakedly crawling about the room with my eyes squished shut (protective eye wear seems to be the first thing to fail you in a tanning crisis), feeling my way around to the stop button, not so conveniently located in the back of the bed. When I opened my eyes, I was relieved to find that the speakers on the Plexiglas are actually just covers and the speakers are actually hard wired into the top of the bed.
Big sighs.
Am not dead.
Am naked on my hands and knees, with my ass up in the are like I am worshipping some tanning god.
Are we there yet?
PS:
To the The Office Goddess... thank you for being you. Thank you for having shoulders to cry on, hugs that make the pain go away, and boobies to rub up against.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Random Sauce, Part Nine
No one can force you to drink a keg of beer for dinner.
~~~~~
My bangs are not the only thing that is ruining my life.
~~~~~
He wants me to have hate sex with him. But I don't hate him.
~~~~~
She tells me that worse things have happened. Yes, they have. But why is this thing happening?
~~~~~
While it may not be for me to understand and it may just be something I have to do, I would like it to make a bit of sense while I'm doing it.
~~~~~
Fermer la douche.
~~~~~
~~~~~
My bangs are not the only thing that is ruining my life.
~~~~~
He wants me to have hate sex with him. But I don't hate him.
~~~~~
She tells me that worse things have happened. Yes, they have. But why is this thing happening?
~~~~~
While it may not be for me to understand and it may just be something I have to do, I would like it to make a bit of sense while I'm doing it.
~~~~~
Fermer la douche.
~~~~~
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Blessed
Better the hard truth, I say, than the comforting fantasy. And in the final tolling it often turns out that the facts are more comforting than the fantasy. ~ Carl Sagan
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Blessed
Every atom in your body came from a star that exploded. And the atoms in your left hand probably came from a different star than your right hand. It really is the most poetic thing I know about physics: You are all stardust. ~ Lawrence Krauss
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
I'm On The Right Track Baby
Oh Gags... what we gonna do about you?
I do love you. You manage to stay relevant even if your music isn't so much revolutionary as it a version 2.0 of Madonna and Cyndi Lauper. You bring two of my favourite things together: chair dancing and sociology.
The meat dress. Was it really a statement or did you do it just because you could get away with it? Sometimes I wonder if that is your gig; let's see how much bollox you can thrust upon the world and how much of it the world will consume. If I were in your position, I would push that shit as far as I could, just to see how far consumers will let a celebutante go. I wonder if they know you are laughing on the inside.
I watched you awkwardly climb out of a fiberglass egg people are saying you lived for three days. I call bullshit but the minivan majority gobbled it up. Or the monsters. Whichever. Well done Mi'Lady.
I held back the laughter when you accepted some award on some award show and said "Born This Way" was inspired by Whitney Houston. You had people believing the fake tears, the fake accent, the fake shoulder protrusions. Quick somebody get the whiskey and the tea cup.
The new video is going to piss off a lot of people. But you like it like that, don't you? I'm totally up in the pink hair and I think you need to whip it harder. Not sure about the underwear parts. Haven't you already done that? Bit old, non?
The schtick is bigger than the music. And I kinda dig that.
Maybe we shouldn't do anything and just see how far this thing will go.
PS: Are you birthing that gun or riding it?
I do love you. You manage to stay relevant even if your music isn't so much revolutionary as it a version 2.0 of Madonna and Cyndi Lauper. You bring two of my favourite things together: chair dancing and sociology.
The meat dress. Was it really a statement or did you do it just because you could get away with it? Sometimes I wonder if that is your gig; let's see how much bollox you can thrust upon the world and how much of it the world will consume. If I were in your position, I would push that shit as far as I could, just to see how far consumers will let a celebutante go. I wonder if they know you are laughing on the inside.
I watched you awkwardly climb out of a fiberglass egg people are saying you lived for three days. I call bullshit but the minivan majority gobbled it up. Or the monsters. Whichever. Well done Mi'Lady.
I held back the laughter when you accepted some award on some award show and said "Born This Way" was inspired by Whitney Houston. You had people believing the fake tears, the fake accent, the fake shoulder protrusions. Quick somebody get the whiskey and the tea cup.
The new video is going to piss off a lot of people. But you like it like that, don't you? I'm totally up in the pink hair and I think you need to whip it harder. Not sure about the underwear parts. Haven't you already done that? Bit old, non?
The schtick is bigger than the music. And I kinda dig that.
Maybe we shouldn't do anything and just see how far this thing will go.
PS: Are you birthing that gun or riding it?
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Thy Will Be Done
I do not pretend to understand the universe; it will always have its secrets and I will not always be privy to it's inner workings.
Yes, yes, this is me admitting I do not know everything. Truth is, I know very little.
What I do know is this...
The universe unfolds as it should and neither you nor I can or should try to control that. Call it destiny, call it fate, call it the path you are on, call it whatever you want, it is all happening as it should. If you cannot find you way or you lose your way, the mere act of handing yourself over to the universe will grant you resolve. But beware. The universe does not always give you what you want but it will give you what you need. Do not be greedy. Accept what comes and understand that the universe is serving your best interests.
Don't believe me? Think this is just more of my zen floating Buddha talk? Chew on this: three nights ago I found myself at a crossroads with no answers to the questions I was asking myself, literally exasperated with where I was at. I handed it all over to the universe and simply said, "Thy will be done."
It was done.
Welcome back Captain Celery. I have missed you. I have always loved you.
I have also asked the universe to arrange it so that you will never show up anywhere I am dressed in a Borat mankini. I don't care how sexy your furry nipples are!
Yes, yes, this is me admitting I do not know everything. Truth is, I know very little.
What I do know is this...
The universe unfolds as it should and neither you nor I can or should try to control that. Call it destiny, call it fate, call it the path you are on, call it whatever you want, it is all happening as it should. If you cannot find you way or you lose your way, the mere act of handing yourself over to the universe will grant you resolve. But beware. The universe does not always give you what you want but it will give you what you need. Do not be greedy. Accept what comes and understand that the universe is serving your best interests.
Don't believe me? Think this is just more of my zen floating Buddha talk? Chew on this: three nights ago I found myself at a crossroads with no answers to the questions I was asking myself, literally exasperated with where I was at. I handed it all over to the universe and simply said, "Thy will be done."
It was done.
Welcome back Captain Celery. I have missed you. I have always loved you.
I have also asked the universe to arrange it so that you will never show up anywhere I am dressed in a Borat mankini. I don't care how sexy your furry nipples are!
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