First things first – stumbling around the internet, I came across an article about Denis Leary (well, really about his family and their home in Connecticut and their many animals) and from there I found Ann Leary’s blog, and she is funny as hell, and from THERE I discovered that she’s a writer and has published two books.
So I bought ’em.
I finished the first one, An Innocent, A Broad, yesterday, and let me tell you – she is HILARIOUS. Any book that can make me laugh out loud (and I did that a lot) and tear up just a few pages later is a book that gets two thumbs up from me.
This whole section right here is just flat-out NASTY. If you’ve a weak stomach, are a wimp, or are eating, I HIGHLY recommend you skip down to the cat pictures. Don’t whine at me if you get grossed out – I warned you.
I had my six-week followup visit with the gynecologist yesterday. I expected to be cleared to resume all activities, but before that could happen, she had to peer up and see how things were healing. She informed me that while the healing was going well, my internal incision was like a cake.
I nodded, befuddled, wondering whether that was code for something. Saying “What does that mean?” would have been too obvious, so I just lay there in silence and waited.
Not done in the middle, is what she was saying. People heal at different rates, and I wasn’t healed completely. She directed the nurse to hand her a Q-tip with silver nitrate on the end.
I’m familiar with silver nitrate because back when I had the mole on my abdomen removed, it started to get a little infected, and the doctor cauterized it with silver nitrate, and while the cauterizing of the infected mole wasn’t painful, the idea of it was painful. Before I realized what was going on, she’d applied the silver nitrate to the slowly healing section of my incision (the incision at the end of my vagina, people, try to keep up), and while I was just starting to think “Isn’t silver nitrate what they put on my mole and it bubbled and looked gross?”, she’d applied a second Q-tip of the stuff, and was done.
It didn’t hurt while she was doing it or while I was getting dressed or making my appointment to go back in two weeks, but once I got to the car, I started having cramps that approached the worst period I’ve ever had. Apparently my innards do not care for silver nitrate and were beginning to protest.
A couple of Tylenol took care of that, though.
She told me that I’d probably have discharge that would have black flakes in it and maybe even a little blood. I never threw out my maxi pads, THANK GOD, because I’ve been discharging like nobody’s business. I turned over in the middle of the night last night, and I swear it felt like there was a three-liter bottle of water up there, emptying out, glugglugglug.
(You’re welcome.)
I asked her if I could start lifting heavy objects again, and apparently I took her by surprise because she sputtered for a moment and then said “Such as?”
“Forty pounds buckets of litter – cat litter,” I said.
She looked confused and then like she wasn’t looking forward to telling me that I couldn’t lift them, so I said “Well, I don’t have to, I can get my husband to lift them for me.”
She looked bemused and said, “You don’t buy them in smaller sizes at all?”
And I said, “We have a lot of cats.” Which, ha HA, THERE’s an understatement if there ever was one.
In the end, she said to take it slow and work up to it.
So I promptly left her office, went to Sam’s, and loaded 10 40-pound buckets of litter into a cart.
I AM KIDDING. Don’t email and yell at me, I did go to Sam’s, but I didn’t lift anything heavier than a bag of rawhide bones for the dogs.
I swung by Petsmart to check out the cats, then ran over to Target, then stopped by Publix.
Wednesdays have GOT to be Senior Day at Publix, because that place was PACKED, and there wasn’t anyone under the age of 73 in the place. I dropped off my prescription for estrogen, bought a few things, and went back to the pharmacy to pick up my prescription.
“Your doctor wrote this for a three month supply at a time,” the pharmacist said. “And I do have enough to fill the prescription, but if you get all three months right now, it will cost you $120.”
“I’ll just take one month then,” I said.
I came to the decision a couple of weeks ago to start cutting my estrogen patch in half and perhaps eventually wean myself off estrogen completely, but earlier this week it came to my attention that I am having RAGE issues over the stupidest shit, and thus I have gone back to the full patch. (Yes, I am also on a progesterone cream.)
I paid for my prescription, left, and finally got home a little after 11:00. I put groceries (and Sam’s purchases) away, called Fred, puttered around the house, and then went in to feed the Bookworms. They ate, and then Rhyme went into the litter box.
Now, before I go on, let me tell you that I realized Tuesday that Rhyme and Bolitar both had pretty bad diarrhea, so I added some Forti-Flora to their food, and I dabbed some hemorrhoid cream to poor Bolitar’s swollen backside, and Wednesday morning things seemed to be better. Then after I fed them, Rhyme went into the litter box and had explosive diarrhea. I looked around frantically for something to scoop it up with (so I could take it to the vet for testing), and when I had found a spoon to use (I hope it’s needless to say, that spoon will never see the inside of our utensil drawer again), I leaned down to scoop it out of the litter box. Before I could scoop anything, Bolitar climbed into the litter box and hunched down, and so I just held the damn spoon under his butt, and got the best sample in the history of poop samples.
(Pardon me while I go add a grossness disclaimer to the beginning of this section.)
I called the vet’s office, they said I could bring it in, and off to the vet’s office I went, sample in tow.
I dropped it off, let my number, stopped at Publix again to buy replacements for the plastic dish I’d used to store the sample in (OY the old people. I had no idea that store gets THAT busy. Seniors love their discount; who can blame ’em?), and got home a little before 2:00.
I was going to eat lunch and maybe even watch TV, but I was in the middle of doing something on my computer, and had to reboot, and that was all she fucking wrote. The latest version of Firefox had downloaded, so after I rebooted, Firefox did the updating thing, and then it shit the bed. For the next hour, I swore and raged at my computer, rebooted 300 times, had to resort to using Internet Explorer, and threw myself upon the mercy of the geek I’m married to.
He eventually fixed it, but in the course of rebooting this goddamn computer (DON’T LOOK AT ME, YOU FUCKING THING, YES I’M TALKING ABOUT YOU) I fried my Sansa Clip mp3 player and nothing I did would bring it back to life. Yes, I have an iPod, but I actually prefer using the Sansa Clip, because (1) It cost $10 at Woot, so I’m not worried about dropping it and breaking it, the way I’m worried about dropping and breaking the iPod, (2) It’s a lot smaller and lighter than the iPod, (3) It goes down my playlist in order of the shows I’m listening to, and I don’t have to mess with choosing a show and hitting “play”, it just does it automatically.
I’ll be keeping an eye on Woot and will buy the hell out of a new Sansa when it comes around, believe me.
Annnnd… that was my day. It was lovely and sunny and warm yesterday while I was running around like a chicken with its head cut off, and today it’s going to still be warm, but it’s raining like hell. I am going to be one vacuuming fool, believe you me. You have no idea how excited I am to be resuming my vacuuming schedule.
That’s right. You know you envy my super-exciting party ways!
The boys are now on Panacur, have been since last night. They did not appreciate this “medication” business, but they got over it quickly enough. They’re far more interested in getting OUT of their room. I go into their room and feed them, and they’re happy enough to eat and to snuggle with me, but once I leave the room, they (Bolitar, especially) stand at the door and howl. And howl. And howwwwwwwwwwl. They have got the most piercing little voices, and I’m pretty sure that one day they’re going to drive me straight out of my mind with those piercing howls. They do eventually give up and go play and sleep and such, but the ten minutes or so that they howl at the door is ETERNAL.
Bolitar, slurping up water.
Reacher, snuggling.
Corbett and Rhyme, fighting.
::CHOMP::
“BRING DOWN THE HAND FOR THE BELLY RUB!”
Gorgeous Rhyme.
::Slurrrrp::
Still no defined kitten heads or movement seen or felt in the Maura belly region. She’s no dummy – she’s like “I have plenty of food and water, toys, and a cat tree to climb. Why on earth would I want to have BABIES to mess it up?”
Maxi keeps an eye on the goings-on from the safety of her box.
Previously
2009: For they are fearsome creatures.
2008: “My flabby sections” would be an excellent band name.
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: The spud is officially licensed.
2004: Ain’t it always the way that when you call someone names in your journal, secure in the knowledge that they’ll never see it, they always do?
2003: (And before you say it, yes. You shouldn’t give a shit what I think, either.)
2002: Is it just me?
2001: No entry.
2000: If you knew you’d get $341 million for being treated savagely and cruelly for 7 years, would you do it?