Girl and/or Flower Power

There’s this girl – we’ll call her “Girl”, which is really funny when you consider her screen name is Girl – who moved to this area fairly recently. A couple weeks ago or so ago I thought I saw her at the grocery store with a new do. I wasn’t positive it was her, I only caught fleeting glimpses of her and never straight on, so I followed her around in a non-creepy kind of way. Mostly because if Girl saw me and saw that I saw her, but I didn’t say anything then that would be totally rude. But I didn’t want to just come up behind her and be all, “Hi Girl! What’s going on?” and then have this person who may not even be Girl turn around and think I’m crazy. Her hair was short and spikey and Girl could totally pull it off so I really thought it was probably her. My attempts at stealth were unsuccessful, however, and I left not knowing for sure if it was her. A few days later I saw her at church with the same hairstyle she’d had the week before so there was my answer. It wasn’t Girl at the store.

Fast forward to today. As I was putting my groceries on the belt a woman came up behind me in line. She was looking at magazines and stuff so I didn’t get a good look at her and I thought it might be Girl. She had a ball cap on, but the hair looked very Girlish. Again, I just wasn’t sure if it was her or not. This person was wearing glasses and I’ve never seen Girl with glasses. But she had a pretty tattoo on her arm and Girl has a pretty tattoo – I just couldn’t remember what Girl’s tattoo is. I got up to the cashier while the woman was putting her stuff on the belt and I said, “Girl?” She just kept putting her stuff on the belt as if I wasn’t talking to her. So I don’t think it was Girl.

Hey, Girl. I promise I’m not trying to stalk you OR your doppelganger. Though isn’t a doppelganger an evil twin? ‘Cause these ladies didn’t look evil. Geesh. The next time it probably will be you in the store and I’ll just totally ignore you because I don’t want to make a fool out of myself. So you’ll have to say hello first, ‘kay?

And how’s this for information you wish you never had. When you come out of the grocery store parking lot you can either turn left or right on a big street or go straight into a restaurant parking lot. As I waited for the light to turn green so I could turn left, a nattily dressed man on a cell phone walked out of the restaurant directly in front of me. He turned around and picked his seat, if you know what I mean. Right there in front of God and country! Why didn’t he do that inside the still-closed restaurant instead of outside on a crowded street??

Okay. Enough of that.

Look what I found:

Now how did that happen, I wonder?

Puppy Poop Ponderings

Or
Sookie Dookie

I never thought I’d write a post about poop. It does seem to be almost fashionable in some circles, but I thought I was above that type of potty humor. Au contraire, mon frere.

When I took Sookie out the other morning to do her business it was about 31 degrees out. I was fascinated when I saw the steam coming off the gift she left for me. It was a steaming pile of poop!! Seriously. I mean, I’ve heard derogatory remarks like, “You steaming pile of poop!”, but I’d never actually seen one.

That same afternoon I was telling my neighbor, Laura, about it. Laura is Brady’s mom and she said she’d noticed the same thing. It just goes to show that you can reach the ripe old age of 30 or 40-something and still learn something new.

Another thing I should really just keep to myself but won’t is that I’m always put in mind of a Play-Doh press. You know the little toy you put the play-doh into, push down the lever and it comes out looking like a log? Her tail sticks straight out while she’s working and she even pumps it a couple times at the end.

Some of you are probably cringing, wondering why in the world I would write about excriment. I have no idea. Others of you – I won’t name names (Matt, Ben, Taylor) – are probably thinking, Finally! A worthy post!

Frankenboob

You know, when I had my breast reconstruction I had no idea I’d still be having procedures nearly a year later. And I’m still not finished, though hopefully the only thing left will be the tattooing.

I’m sitting here again trying to think of a delicate way to put what I had done yesterday, but nothing comes to mind. There’s just no way to phrase “I had a reconstructed nipple gone bad fixed”, in a way that won’t make some people squirm. Sorry. And the only other words the thesaurus has to replace “nipple” is “teat” and “udder”. I refuse to use those terms as it relates to me. *WHEW* Since I’ve now gotten past that I can go on.

Remember when I had my nipple reconstruction in August? It all seemed to have gone well, even though I did end up with an infection on the right side. Once that cleared up, however, all appeared fine. Except for the left “protrusion” decided it didn’t want to be anymore. So I had it built up again yesterday and hopefully it will choose to stay around this time.

I also had the incision on my left breast smoothed out. This is probably getting to be redundant for many of you, but I’m going to explain my reconstruction yet again.

May of 2005 I had a left radical modified mastectomy. What that means is they took everything that even slightly resembled breast tissue. I was left with an 8-inch horizontal scar from the center of my now extremely flat chest to just before my back.

Last December I had a breast surgeon remove the right breast, but she left most of the skin and sort of scooped out the tissue. Then the plastic surgeon took over. First he basically performed a tummy tuck, then he kind of stuffed the right breast, replacing what skin was removed with a patch from my stomach. After that he re-opened my left mastectomy site and because skin is only so elastic, used more skin from my stomach to fashion the skin of my left breast and then stuffed it with tummy fat. This patch was approximately 6″ X 3″. He also did a bit of microvascular surgery so that these “transplants” would have their own blood supply.

For any of you who sew you can see how difficult it is to insert a rectangular patch into a straight cut and make it nice and round. Instead of a round breast the left side looked more like a trapezoid. So I had three areas along the incision smoothed out yesterday as well.

Imagine yourself standing in front of a surgeon who is holding a purple felt tip pen. Now imagine you’re half nekkid and pointing out areas on your boob for him to draw on. Yeah. Funny thing is I didn’t feel any embarrassment or discomfort. It was a very “whatever” moment.

Just like last time I hop up on the table and he shoots my desensitized breast with Lidocaine. This time, however, I felt the needle when he was on the outside of the incision. He left me alone for a few minutes and when he returned started to work. First was the patch where my cleavage is. He begins cutting with the scalpel and guess what. I FELT IT! Not the pressure like I described the last time. No. I felt THE KNIFE CUTTING MY SKIN!

You all are yelling things like, “Oh, No!” and “You poor thing!” right now, aren’t you? Well don’t cry for me, Argentina, because it’s not quite as bad as it sounds. It felt more like a scratch. I told him I could feel it so he shot me up with more Lidocaine. It didn’t do a lot and I felt every stitch he gave me.

It was the same thing for the other two areas on the incision. I laid there thinking, “This would be so much better if I were unconscious.” The nipple, however, was gloriously pain-free.

Tomorrow I get to take the dressings off the three incision sites and then Saturday off the nipple. I don’t expect this time to be as traumatic as the last since I know now what it will look like.

This is kind of funny and I wish I would have thought to take a picture with my phone. But yesterday morning I show up to work and there’s a picture on the bulletin board. It’s two circles with two slightly larger circles around them and then two big circles around those. Think of the “O”s on the Hooters signs. I asked Beth if I was supposed to take it to the surgeon as a reference for him. She laughed and said one of the little girls in the Monday class drew that for her. It was her eyes wearing glasses.

So Much For A Relaxing Saturday

The morning held such promise. I slowly awoke to the sound of a drenching rain pattering on the roof. Snuggling further into the blankets, I smiled at the thought of doing mostly nothing all day. Todd and I had to drive into his office for our flu shots, but other than that my day was whatever I wanted it to be.

After lazing around with a couple cups of coffee we headed off for our shots. We decided to hit Costco afterward since it’s not too much further, but not before stopping at Starbuck’s for my traditional post anything-slightly-resembling-a-medical-type-procedure Venti White Chocolate Mocha. By the time we got to Costco it was starting to rain pretty good.

We fought the crowds and wandered up and down the aisles until we couldn’t fit anything else into the cart. When we came out it was pouring like the liquid of your choice out of a boot. I ran up ahead of Todd to unlock the car and he threw our purchases into the back as fast as he could. He took the cart to the corral and as he shoved it in with his foot his other foot slipped, causing him to fly up into the air and land on his back, his head bouncing on the slick pavement like a rubber ball. He wasn’t nauseous or seeing double, so he drove home.

Thankfully the rain let up this afternoon because Todd and Taylor had to help our good friend, Ben, move out of his apartment and into our house. Most of his stuff went to the infamous Matt Silver’s basement, but he’s going to be living with us until he gets married next spring.

Todd has a blackbelt in Isshinryu Karate, but he hasn’t practiced it in years. Still, boys will be boys and when Taylor found out Ben was going to throw away some old slats from his bed, Tay asked Todd to break the wood with his hand. I think flexing muscles and moving furniture stirs up the testosterone because Todd took the ridiculous challenge. Twice. The only thing he managed to break was the skin on his knuckle. Thankfully he stopped trying when his hand went numb. He said Taylor laughed so hard he had to hold his jimmies while he rolled on the floor. Can someone explain that to me? Not being equipped in that way I don’t understand.

As Ben and Todd were finishing in Ben’s room I left to take Katie to Applebee’s. She and Taylor had been invited by some of the young adults to Buddy Night and Taylor was meeting everyone there with another friend who had helped Ben move. I dropped her off and cruised home with the sunroof open and the iPod blaring. Ben had gone to band practice (he leads the youth and adult band at church) and Todd and I were going to enjoy some quiet alone time with a little Thai food and a glass of Riesling.

I was the only one to have a glass of wine, but we both had the Thai I picked up on my way home and our quiet time resulted in both of us falling asleep while watching a movie on TV. I had just awoken when the phone rang. It was Katie calling to tell me the group had gone to Nelson’s for ice cream and she thought she may have eaten a peanut. For more on her nut allergy you can read here.

I grabbed the EpiPen and Todd and I flew out the door. Cristie, the girl who organized the Buddy Night, met us at a Wawa with Katie and we drove on to the hospital. I kept talking to her so I could listen to her and make sure her throat wasn’t closing up. It was a relief to hear her clear and calm voice and know she wasn’t having a terrible reaction.

We had to maneuver around a horrible accident and finally made it to the hospital. She was given preferential treatment because of the nature of her visit, but because her breathing was fine we weren’t rushed back. When we did make it to the back Katie hopped up on the gurney and leaned back, only to sit back up with a funny look on her face. Todd asked if she was feeling sick and she nodded her head. The hippie doctor handed her a little spit bowl just in time.

Todd grabbed the tiny bowl and held it for her as she threw up mass quantities of stuff with the force of a power washer. Suffice it to say the little spit bowl wasn’t big enough. Oh, and if I hadn’t already asked what she had to eat at Applebee’s we could have guessed. Nachos. When she finished her hurl session she and Todd hobbled into the bathroom to clean up and the nurse came in to change the sheet on the gurney.

Then he picked up the overflowing puke pot, sloshing the contents onto the floor, and threw it – contents and all – into the biohazardous waste bin. Todd and Katie came back and she looked much better. Todd, on the other hand, looked much worse for the wear. All I can say is it’s a good thing he was there because if I had been holding the plastic vomitorium and the barf splashed onto my hands the nurse would have had a whole lot more to clean up.

Tossed cookies aside, it was a fairly uneventful emergency room visit. No IVs. No shots. No drama. Just the constant smell of nachos and something unspeakable. My Dove deodorant smelled MUCH better. Thank heaven – or not – for Todd’s camera phone:

After Katie drank some water and kept it down without a problem she was given Benadryl and Pepcid – both pills – and a liquid steroid. She tossed it back like a kid at a frat party and we all held our breath as we watched her to see if it would make her throw up. I even said, “I’m sure that tasted better than all that disgusting stuff you let loose with,” and she just shook her head no. Okay, then.

They had us stay another ten minutes or so to make sure she tolerated the medicine without incident and then we were released. A shower, a glass of water and a nice, cozy bed was the thing for her when we got home. Washing everybody’s clothes was the thing for me.

Now it’s 11:30. Katie’s asleep, Todd’s watching the ballgame in bed, Ben is in his room and I’m waiting for Taylor to get home from Buddy Night. This would be the nice, relaxing part of my Saturday.

Pig Got Your Tongue??

This morning as I was playing on the computer washing dishes I received a phone call from my friend Barbara. Matt Silver – our Youth Minister – had asked her earlier if she could drive up to Souderton and pick up something for Sunday night’s youth group. She had prior commitments and was calling to see if I would be able to make the 30 minute jaunt.

Not a problem since all I was doing was playing on the computer dusting and vacuuming so I said sure.

This is what I picked up:

Do you know what this is? No? Let me show you a closer shot:

Yes, folks. I drove to a meat packer and picked up ten pounds of pork tongues. Here’s the conversation I had with Matt after I spoke with Barb:

Me: Am I going to gag when I see them?

Matt: Naw. They’ll be in a bucket with a lid so you won’t even see them.

Me: Phew!

Matt: Can you boil them for me?

Me: Laughing. Um, yeah. I guess. (It did sort of occur to me that I would have to see them, but I tried not to think about that.)

Matt: Great!

Me: What exactly are you going to do with them? (I was afraid of the answer.)

Matt: I’m thinking of something like bobbing for apples. Maybe I’ll put them in a big bowl of spaghetti.

Me: *gasp* *giggle* You are seriously demented.

Matt: Yeaya.

So then my sister, Terri, calls and I tell her where I’m headed and that I’m going to boil them when I get home.

Terri: Oooo! It’s going to make your house smell!

Me: Yeah. I was thinking about that.

Terri: You need to open all the windows and doors and buy a ton of Fabreeze and scented candles.

Me: Good idea.

Terri: Then you’ll stink up the entire neighborhood and all the neighbors will talk about those crazy Arkansans.

Me: *snicker*

Terri: You know, “they go to the sex church and their Southern cooking makes the whole place reek”.

Me: Thanks.

The drive to Souderton was beautiful, but wet. I found the place, went in the office, paid for the tongues, asked how long to boil them for, never got an answer because no one seemed to know, and was told to go back the way I’d come, past the stairs and to “customer pickup”.

So I went back the way I’d come, past the stairs and started looking for “customer pickup”. All I found were metal doors with ominous looking “Danger” signs. And the farther I explored the smellier it became. I finally went back to the office to ask for directions again. This time she told me to drive around, past the tractor-trailer rigs and the door with the stairs and ramp was customer pick up.

The person in the white lab coat, surgical cap and industrial eye and ear protectors
threw me. I was only there for tongues. What kind of experiments do they perform in there? Whatever. By that time I just wanted to get my bucket and go because I was afraid the stench was going to stick to my clothes and my nose hairs.

I drove back to town and called Todd as I pulled into the high school parking lot to pick up Taylor and Kristen.

Me: Guess what I have in the back of the car.

Todd: I have no idea.

Me: Pig tongues.

Todd: What?!?!

Me: Pig tongues. Ten pounds of them.

Todd: Why??

Me: Matt needs them for Sunday night and Barb was busy so I told her I’d go get them.

Todd: That’s disgusting.

Me: It gets worse.

Todd: How?

Me: I have to boil them.

Todd: WHAT?!?! That will stink up the house for days!

Me: Yeah. I thought of that. And Terri mentioned the same thing.

Todd: Yeah.

As much as the thought of smelling boiled pig tongue for a week concerned me, what I was really afraid of was seeing them. All those tongues floating around in whatever liquid they’re packed in. And then taking them out and putting them in my stock pot. Just the thought makes my tummy feel all squicky.

So after some thought I called Matt and told him I had the tongues, but I couldn’t boil them here because: a) I didn’t want to smell up everything; and b) I was afraid it would make me puke. I called Todd afterwards about something else and found out he had called Matt, too.

Poor Matt. He’s coming by tomorrow to pick up the bucket and taking them home to boil. Sure hope they don’t smell up his house!