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Did I mention that I had my yearly appointment with my gynecologist last week? It hardly seems fair that I had my uterus and ovaries removed and still have to go see her every year. Stupid ovaries; one of them was adhered to my bladder by endometrial cells. Or kidney or some other organ in the area, I don’t even remember anymore. Probably my bladder. That’s in the right area for that to happen, right? I swear to you, I have zero clue where any organs in my body are located. She could have told me it was stuck to the inside of my left eyelid, and I would have been “Yeah, I feel like I’ve heard of that happening…”
Of course, seeing as how I’m on the estrogen patch (and OTC progesterone cream), I have to go back and see her once a year so I can get a prescription for the patch. I’m not sure I’d be so ready to go see her every year if I didn’t need that prescription, so it’s probably good that I do have to go see her for it.
Between the appointment in early January with my Gastroenterologist (my lab numbers looked so good he said I can go to seeing him once a year instead of every six months), my appointment at the end of January with my Primary Care doc, and my appointment late last week with my Gyn, I do believe I’m done for the year with doctors.
Except that I just remembered I need to make an eye appointment. Maybe I’ll put that off for a few months. I’m pretty sure I’m about at the point where I’m going to need reading glasses (ohhhhh how I laughed when I was a kid and my parents had to hold something at arm’s length to read it. Who’s laughing NOW, Young Robyn? ‘Cause it sure as shit ain’t Blind Old Robyn.) and ugh. Given that I can barely walk from one side of the house without misplacing my ass, I’m not looking forward to needing to keep track of reading glasses.
I know, I know, get a tether (or whatever the fuck it’s called) and let my reading glasses hang around my neck when I don’t need them. Only, do you know how many times a day I almost hang myself by the headphones cord to my iPod? Oh, that drives me crazy.
Anyway.
I had an appointment with the surgeon who performed my gastric bypass (we just passed six years since I had the surgery!), but a week before the appointment, his office called. They said that he’d retired, and they were going to reschedule the appointment with his partner, who was taking over his practice. So I rescheduled the appointment, and then when the office was closed I called back AND I CANCELED IT. Oh, yes I did.
I find it exceedingly odd that he up and retired with very little notice (his name is actually on the answering machine message at the office), given that he can’t be older than in his mid-50s, if that. It makes me curious as to what the real story is there. What it DOESN’T make me want to do is keep going back to that office. For the past six years, I’ve dreaded my appointment at that office. I’ve actually seen my surgeon’s partner before, and if it’s possible, he has even less of a bedside manner than my surgeon does. My PCP can monitor all my important blood tests, and if there’s something that needs to be done – if I need an iron transfusion (which I haven’t in two years) or whatever, she can refer me to the pertinent specialist.
I am aware that I need to do a six-year update at OneFatbitchypoo. I’ll get to it when I do. I have to tell you, I’m not much interested in OneFatBitchypoo anymore and I have to force myself to update over there (which I haven’t done in a year, so there you go.) There’ll be something up by the end of the month. Probably.
So, there you go. The state of me: healthy. A bum shoulder (hate physical therapy), crappy vision, but my blood pressure is so fantastic it makes triathlon runners gnash their teeth in jealousy, my cholesterol is super-awesome (did you know I eat a scrambled egg every day for breakfast? Sometimes two if I’m hungry and they’re small.), and I don’t look a day over 63 1/2.
I call that good enough.
Last year at this time, I was gearing up for my breast lift/ upper arm lift/ chin lift surgery. The year before at this time, I was gearing up for my hysterectomy (in retrospect, I suspected I was going to come out of that goddamn surgery without my ovaries. Stupid endometriosis.). This year, no surgery. 2012 is the Year of No Surgery.
(Every time I say that, I can feel my appendix getting ready to burst.)
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Sally and Everett (pardon the blur), keeping watch on da bird.
I need to make a video – that Everett gets some serious hang time when he jumps.
Jumpin’ Sally. I love the look on Everett’s face, like “Wait. I’m the only Pepper who’s allowed to jump around here!”
Lucy comes over to check out the form on these jumps.
Everett takes a break from jumping to show the correct waltzing form.
Everett senses that for some reason, he should feel annoyed…
“What is it that has me so annoyed right now?”
“SO annoyed.”
Does Alice look pleased with herself, or what?
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Alice, fangin’.
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Previously
2011: Here, have some more exclamation points!
2010: Petsmart kitties.
2009: “IF I GET PIG SHIT ON ME, I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!”
2008: Please don’t tell me she’s a flighty mess in real life.
2007: She became entirely liquid somehow, and flowed through my fingers and across the room, ending up under the bed.
2006: I think that the next thing Apple should create is a cell phone/ iPod player.
2005: Yes, I use the same kind of lotion as my CAT.
2004: No entry.
2003: Anyway. Enough about my underwear.
2002: You’ve been warned, skank hos out there who would swoop down upon my husband in his grief and get him to marry you.
2001: Yeah, that’s me, not giving a shit if they can see me or not…
2000: Really, what other journaller will thrill you with pictures from the litter box?