The Day My Guts Exploded

 Disclaimer: The following is gross and TMI.   If you're not into gross, don't read it.

Today was my last day in captivity.  My last day of medical leave from the surgery I had to remove my lap band.  All was going according to plan and I was healing well.  This is what I thought, at least.

This morning, I get out of bed and meander downstairs.  I go out, feed the ponies, come in, poke the fire and then go in the kitchen to make my protein shake.  I'm standing there, minding my own business and I'm like, why is my shirt wet? Did I lean on the sink?  I pull it up and my biggest incision is spurting out an orangey-red fluid.  Not dripping, not oozing, SPURTING!  It was like a bad horror flick where the killer hacks at the teen-age girl and then blood spurts everywhere.  Just like that.  I'm sure my eyes were the size of saucers.  I'm like, "oh, shit, this is not normal!" And then I think I said, "Oh God...Oh God..." I lean up against the sink where the fluid can create the least amount of mess and then I started thinking, crap, I need to stop this before my guts combust, pieces of flesh splatter everywhere and this gets out of hand!  I grabbed two large sheets of Bounty paper towels.  Within seconds the paper towels are soaked.  Apparently they are the "quicker picker upper," but they are not bio-hazard friendly.  I looked around frantically and then decided on a clean kitchen towel.  It is one of my horsey kitchen towels.  I put it on there and stand there, dumbfounded. Now what?  This isn't a 911 situation, I don't think.  I mean, the spurting has now reduced to an ooze.  I call the doctor's office.  They aren't in yet, but their answering service says they will pass the message along.  Great.

It was at this moment that Will was texting me about his bluetooth for his phone.  I'm walking around the house, a towel clutched to my belly, looking through his laundry and other locations for the damn bluetooth.  This is nuts, my guts are falling out, I don't have time for this! I called him, "I don't really know where it is right now...and I've got a problem, my guts are spurting out."  I reassured him that I had it under control and had a call in to the doctor.  He seemed skeptical, but didn't have any way of assisting since he was at work.  I called Mom, "hey Mom, my guts are spurting out, do you have time to take me to the doctor if I need to go?"  And here is the thing, she didn't even seemed phased.  I mean, she was mildly concerned, as any Mom would be, but it was almost as if every other phone call I had made her to this date had prepared her for this moment.  Like, there was nothing I could say that would surprise her.  What have I done to this woman?  I don't have time to think about it, I was applying pressure and the horsey towel was working overtime.  My sister gets on the phone and says, "so what happened?  And you didn't do anything to cause this?  You and Will weren't like, you know...?"  Oh geez, I hadn't considered that, what if Will and I had been having sex and my guts burst open?  We would have been scarred for life!  I assured her that nothing of the sort had happened.

About 40 minutes went by and still no word from the doctor, so I called them again. They agreed my guts should not be spurting, so they made me an appointment for as soon as I could get there.  Mom came and picked me up and as we were driving in, the doctor's office called to see what was up.  I guess they just got the memo from the answering service.  I'm seriously glad this wasn't urgent.  I think two hours is kind of ridiculous for a call back.  I mean, I was oozing!  Seemed important to me.

I arrived at the doctor and told him of my horrific experience.  He said, "I know what the problem is, we can fix this."  Apparently, when we took the lap band out of my guts, it left some empty space. I guess my body isn't about having empty space, so it filled it up with fluid.  Then, it just kept making fluid, like it makes cellulite apparently, stupid body, and then pressure built up.  In rare cases, this happens, the doctor tells me. Well, aren't I special? I'm rare. He put's some anti-bacterial on there and bandages me up.  He informs me that the worst of it should be over....however, this could lead to infection.  If that happens, that is bad.  But, since my second surgery is planned in two weeks, we can't really give me anti-biotics because then I could be at risk for other serious infections like CDIF.  CDIF is highly contagious, apparently.  My Dad had it when he was sick and everyone that came in his hospital room had to wear hazmat-like suits.  You know, it just causes watery diarrhea, fever, sepsis...death.  No big deal.  But, if they don't get me on anti-biotics, I could get an infection and then all bets are off.  I'm sitting there, oozing, trying to remain calm.  Bloody Finger doctor goes to talk to my other doctor that is now back from vacation, or where ever doctors go for weeks at a time.  They both come back in the room.  I knew my guts spurting was  big deal, but having both doctors in there made it seem pretty intense.  They have decided to put me on a 3-day anti biotic regimen. And, if my guts don't stop oozing, or if they get irritated or red, I need to come right back in.  Great.  In addition, no bathing until the oozing stops.  Sponge baths only.  Wait.  What?  I don't want to take sponge baths.  I want to be clean and smell pretty.  But, what's a girl to do?  I don't want deathly diarrhea.

I'm on my way home and my buddy-ol-pal Valerie is demanding a status.  I call and tell her the news.  I tell her I am pissed because now all my plans could be shot to hell and I'm pissed.  She informs me that my bigger problem is that the high-power anti-biotics are going to give me a yeast infection.  I hadn't considered this.  Damn it!  I can't be bending over ooozing and scratching other stuff at the same time!  That's gross.  I can't be at work with a blood stain on the belly of my shirt and riding my chair like I'm looking to make 30 seconds on a mechanical bull.  This won't work...at all.  Then, Valerie starts talking about how Will can sponge bathe me and it will be so romantic.  No. When I had my foot surgery, I couldn't even get him to shave my legs, he's not going to sponge bathe me now. And, I may not know a lot about romance, but no where in any of the 50 Shades of Gray books did it talk about spurting guts and a sponge bath. This was not a good news kind of day.

So, basically, it is time for me to return to work, but I can't bathe, can't get sick, can't risk an infection and need to control the oozing.  How am I supposed to go to the bathroom in that place?  My God, there is disease and bacteria everywhere!  It's a death trap!  I need to acquire a hazmat suit, anti-bacterial spray, gel, wipes and lotion, and then, there will be no hugging.  I don't care if you are clean, no hugging.  And if you have children, stay away.  I know they have germs and you are a carrier of said  germs.  On the up side, I guess I probably won't have to worry about the hugging if I'm not showering.  And hey, how am I supposed to get back to the gym?  I can't risk getting sweaty or popping a gut on the bike!

Between the stress from before the previous surgery, the stress of not knowing if the second one will happen and hating the holidays, I think I should have been prescribed some valium, too. It really would be the gift that kept on giving to everyone.  Valerie says God doesn't give you more than you can handle and that he is checking on my tolerance level.  This does not comfort me.  What should comfort all of you, though, is that I promise, if I do get a yeast infection,  I won't blog about it.  But, if you see me seeming agitated in my chair, please, just keep walking, deal?

Kiosk Mall Dude

Yesterday, I had my post-op appointment with my doctor.  On the way, I decided I should pay my phone/internet/TV bill which are all bundled into one package.  I would hate to lose my only source of entertainment. I mean, if I can't get a marathon of some sort of skinny girl turmoil, what purpose do my days have? 

My provider of said services used to have a store in our mall.  I went in there and found it no longer there.  What the heck?  I found a little kiosk in the mall with my company's name on it.  Apparently, the dude was representing the "Wireless" segment of the company, even though the kiosk says it can help with my phone, internet and TV as well.  I ask this kid, "So, is the Glass Palace store no longer here in the mall?"  He looks at me like I have two heads.  He advises me that the store is no longer here in the mall, but that he can help me.  All he needs to do is look up my account.  I advised him that I work for the company and so I am all set up, I just need to pay my bill.  He then says to me, "If you work for the company, why don't you know where to pay your bill? You would think you would know that?"  What? Did he really just say that to me?  How does he know I'm not the Vice President to the Executive Dude in Charge of Everything?  I advised him that I usually pay my bill on-line but that the system didn't seem to be working today.  He then proceeds to tell me how much my company sucks and that Comcast is so much better and that we just have nothing but problems on-line.  Now, I'm not going to lie, I whole-heartedly agree, but I don't go around telling people I don't know that.  I asked him if he knew where the Glass Palace store is now.  He does provide me the address.  Then he says, "Yeah, I've been thinking about transferring over to the main office."  Well, that just happens to be my area.  I told him a little about the job.  He is wanting to make $1000 a week in commission.  I burst his little bubble about that.  I told him he would have to apply for a position when it becomes available and has to get certified, etc. if he wanted to come over.  He's like, "I'm already certified."  I looked at this kid that had just totally talked trash about the company that signs his check and said, "You are not certified to talk to our customers on the phone."  I said, "Look, I'm the admin, so I can't tell you whether it would be better than what you do now or not."  He looks puzzled, "What's an admin? You lost me...."  I said, "You know, the administrative assistant for the center..."  He shakes his head, "Nope, I still have no idea...."  I sat there, kind of stunned. I thought of something he might be able to identify with.  I thought of many descriptive terms, but decided to be professional about it.  I said, "You know, a secretary?"  He just shook his head and gave up.  This is the face of my company at the mall.  I feel good about our future.  Yep. I do.

I'm about ready to leave and he says, "yeah, that girl at the front desk, she's nice."  I said, "yes, Palace Enforcer, she is nice."  He says, "yeah, I was always promising to bring her coffee, but I never did."  What do you say to that?  I was like, okay then, gotta go pay my bill now....

I did manage to find the Glass Palace store and pay my bill.  At least now, I am guaranteed intelligent interaction on TV. Thank goodness.

The next stop was the doctor's office.  By now, I was super hungry, I hadn't eaten since some cereal this morning and it was now 3:30pm.  Right around the corner from my doctor's office is Dick's burgers.  I love Dick's burgers.  This is not exactly what you want to eat on your way to see your bariatric surgeon, but we were in a pinch and I was hungry. I thought about it some more and decided this was a bad idea.  I told Will to nevermind, but while I was on my cell phone trying to calm one of my friends down that just had a run in with the IRS, he pulled in to Dick's and ordered me a burger.  I ate it.  It was delightful.  Then, I panicked. My appointment was 15 minutes away.  I said to Will, "I can't go into my doctor's office with Dick on my breath! I need gum!"  Two pieces of minty gum later, and I was on the way to the doctor.  I wonder how heavy that cheeseburger was?  The first thing they are going to do is weigh me.  Crap. 

I got weighed and got through the appointment without incident.  I really don't know why I had to drive all the way down there for the doctor to look at my incisions and say, "looks good" and then ask me how I feel.  We could have covered this over the phone.  Oh, well.  I guess, if I hadn't left the house, I would never have met Dude at the mall and gotten a Dick's burger.  Considering my last week of pajamas and couch habitation, I think this was a very exciting day. 

Now, if you will excuse me, I need to recover from it.  Kitchen Nightmares is on.  Oh, and I need to get Will on those Christmas lights.  They don't hang themselves!



 

Am I the Last Unicorn?

Disclaimer: Some of this may be a repeat from the other night when I came home, but this is the story in it's entirety as I remember now that I am out from under the fog.

I had surgery Monday, as planned.  My first words after coming-to in the recovery room was, "Did anyone see the truck that hit me?"  Sure enough, just like any perfect crime, no one had seen anything.  Then, the doctor, the bloody fingered doctor from my pre-op appointment, came over to see how I was doing.  Through my drug induced stupor, I said, "Hey, do I still have my spleen?"  He looked confused and said, yes, it was still there.  I said, "what about my intestines, did you cut any out?" He said they were all still there too. (If you read my earlier blog last week or so, I had concerns about this.  The doctor is apparently not a follower because he had no idea what I was talking about.)  Dr. Bloody Finger walked away.  I think I might have scared him.  It was at this moment I noticed I had a fat lip.  How did that happen?  I asked my nurse, "Did someone rough me up?"  She didn't know anything.  None of them knew anything. Sure, lie to the drugged up girl. Someone knew something.  Clearly this is a job for Scooby Doo and the Mystery Machine. I think they were trying to get that damn tube down my throat and I cowgirled up on them and then a fight ensued and then someone threw a $20 into the ring and one of them jumped on me, held on for eight seconds, wrassled me and then crammed that tube down there.  I can't prove it, but it is a theory. 

I don't think they were prepared for my comedy routine while coming out of the anaesthesia and I think they really wanted me out of there.  This little nurse comes over and tells me that as soon as I can walk, I can go home.  I looked at her and said, "seriously? YOU are going to catch me if I fall?"  She smiled and nodded yes.  I was seriously tempted to test her upper body strength, but thought better of it since I had four incisions in my belly. Proving my point might not be in my best interest.  I managed to do four laps up and down the hallway while Will took pictures of my butt almost sticking out of the hospital gown and then yelling, "She just made another left turn!" like he was calling a Nascar race.  I begged him to stop.  There was one other man in the recovery area, at least he seemed semi amused.  We take this show on the road folks, for the right amount of medication, we can recreate this routine for your amusement!

I finally got to the safety of the truck to go home.  Now, when Will signed that piece of paper saying he was the "responsible party" for my aftercare, I think there should have been some additional questions asked.  As soon as I got settled in the truck, I was like, "hey, let's call people and give them a status!"  Will said,"here, let me hook up the blue tooth..."  A responsible person would have stopped me and advised me it was a bad idea.  Not my husband.  And, what made matters worse is that while I was coming out of my drug induced state, he had led me to believe I had taken a magical unicorn ride while I was in surgery.  I told the nurses this in the hospital and then I proceeded to tell every person I called on the way home that I had taken a unicorn ride.  And, everyone was so nice about it, they were all like, "Oh, REALLY? ?That must have been fun...."  I didn't find out until the next day that I hadn't taken any special rides.  It was pretty disappointing if you ask me.  In addition to the unicorn ride, I had apparently invited several people to a marijuana confessional circle like on that show called That 70's Show. I apparently also said everything was "Effing Awesome." I don't really remember everything that I talked about on the ride home, but Will laughed a lot.  Again, he is not a responsible party.  I guess I'm lucky he didn't video it, because if my sister had picked me up, she would have for sure.

So, I've been sleeping, taking my prescribed narcotics and sleeping and basically just chillin.' I realized it might be time to stop taking my meds yesterday as I went in the bathroom to get cleaned up to make an appearance at Thanksgiving dinner and I noticed one of my pupils was huge and the other was small.  I noticed I could see my full reflection in my one pupil.  I was trippin' out.  Seriously.  I came stumbling out of the bathroom and I grabbed the phone and called my sister.  Will is like, what the hell are you doing?  I shooshed him.  I called and Theresa answered.  The following conversation took place (It helps if you have seen the movie, The Last Unicorn);

Me: Theresa! Do you remember the movie, The Last Unicorn?
T: Um, yeah....why?
Me: Do you remember how the unicorn was a unicorn until that magician guy turned her into a human because the bad guy was after her and then she was a woman and then she went to the bad guys castle where all the unicorns were being forced into the ocean but the bad guy didn't know she was really a unicorn and then she fell in love with the prince guy but then the bad guy looked into her eyes and he could see his reflection in her eyes and he was like, "why can I see my reflection in your eyes?! Why!???".... Theresa, I could be a unicorn!
T: O...M...G...what is wrong with you? What did you take?
Me: Nothing, just my ...stuff.  I think I'm a unicorn.
T: You are not a unicorn.  Maybe you should stop taking the medicine.
Me: I'm fine.  So you don't think I'm a unicorn?  I mean, I could be...
T: You are not a unicorn.

Then, I went on Facebook and posted that my pupils were different sizes and it was weird.  Now the phone calls started.  No one wanted to talk to me, "Let me talk to Will."  Next thing I know, Will is looking for my doctor's number.  I'm like, "hey, it's Thanksgiving, I don't want to go to the doctor....okay, okay, I'm not a unicorn.  I mean it, I don't want to go to the doctor.  Will, I'm fine, I'm not a unicorn, I mean it, I promise, I won't say it again, please don't call the doctor."

Will looked some things up online.  Turns out the pupils weren't a huge deal.  The side effects didn't mention anything about someone thinking they were a unicorn, so we called it a draw on that.  He would just keep an eye on me.

Anyway, I survived and things are starting to become more clear.  My pupils are normal again. I haven't had any narcotics for over 24 hours. Now, my tummy just hurts a lot and I'm just kind of in a haze.  Apparently a tree fell down outside our house today while Will was gone at work.  I didn't hear a thing.  So, I guess if a tree falls and no one hears it, I guess it still really does fall because there it is, laying on the ground.  I don't know why people pontificate about this question.  It's too deep of a conversation for me now.  Trust me, I mean, I was a unicorn yesterday, people.  Baby steps.

Mean Girl - Get a Life

Last week I had a fellow blogger friend that was attacked by an anonymous asshat on her page.  The comment  was mean, uncalled for and immature.  Not to mention, hurtful.  I told her how I might react to the situation, if it had been me, but understood that her demeanor and mine were quite different. I suggested that she take some time to think about it, and strike back intelligently and with purpose.  She did just that, with all her style and grace and I was proud of her for taking a stand.

Apparently, tonight was my night to be tested. I've had a rough couple of weeks, for many reasons, but I am a survivor and I managed to muster through.  I credit my family and friends for being there for me and being such a wonderful support.  Anyway, I'm minding my own business tonight.  I'm at my Mom's house.  It is our first Thanksgiving without my Dad, so it is weird, but we are making the best of it.  I'm still recovering from surgery on Monday, so I am a little woozy and laying low.  Had a small dinner and was hanging out with my sister.  My phone buzzes.  I check it and it is a message from a girl that used to be one of my 4-H kids back when I was a 4-H leader.  Mind you, I haven't seen this girl, haven't talked to this girl, I mean no contact in over 15 years.  I have heard from a few different sources over the years about her life and what she has been up to.  She was even a Facebook friend, but she didn't really comment much.  Some of her pictures and comments seemed ridiculous to me, but who am I to judge, it's her life.  I believe in living and let living.  Her life is none of my business.  Doesn't matter what I think of her, it's not my life.  Tonight, however, out of the blue, she sends me the following personal message via Facebook:
"You know what kind of posts i hate reading? pathetic ones about how fat someone is as they eat another candy bar....good bye cassondra."

What the hell is she talking about?  I sat there and contemplated my recent posts and my recent blogs.  I don't recall saying in my posts "oh, I'm so fat and I don't know why...I've only had 3 candy bars today, I just don't understand..." I don't recall posting anything like that.  I do poke fun at myself for making bad choices. I do poke fun at my life as a fat person.  I do comment on my struggles.  And, sometimes, I get pretty down about it. I have no intention of giving up my fight with my weight and it will always be a struggle.  I don't think that makes me pathetic.  I think it makes me honest and real.  And, no one has to read what I write. This statement she made to me infuriated me.  I wanted to tear her apart.  I wanted to call out all of the things in her life that make her pathetic in my eyes.  But, here is the thing, aside from what I have heard about her, I don't really know who in the hell she is anymore because she has not been in my life.  I have no more right to trash her than she has to trash me.  I'm just still sitting here amazed at her.  What a joke she is.  What a poor excuse of a person to think she is so evolved and so much better than everyone else that she should have the power to tear me down.  Hey little dreadlock bitch, go F yourself.  In case you haven't noticed, you were not needed in my life the past 15 years and I sure don't see you holding any sort of importance in the next 15 years. It must be amazing to be you, because you are perfect and you are the moral compass for good vs. bad and right vs. wrong. How fortunate for you that you have made only good decisions in your life. You really should go on the road as in inspirational speaker, because clearly, you are tuned in to what is going on in people's lives.  

This girl means nothing to me, but she struck a nerve.  So much so, I read many of my recent FB posts and looked at some of my blogs.  I don't even know what tonight's attack was about. I haven't talked about eating candy bars. Actually, I have been talking about how I have been trying so hard to be good, and going to the gym, etc.  I don't know what she is referring to.  I'm the kind of person that likes to understand the why's behind these types of personal attacks but, here's the thing, I'm not going to know and that is okay.

Most people that read my blog respond positively to my method of venting or expressing myself.  They enjoy the comedy of it because they can relate on some level, or they appreciate that I can laugh about it.  Let me be clear to anyone that might not enjoy it - STOP READING IT.  It's that simple.  I'm not asking for your acceptance. I'm not asking for your approval.  I'm not asking you to be a follower.  I'm not asking you to agree with what I have to say.  If you don't like what you read here, MOVE ON.  I make no excuses for who I am, how I act, or what I decide to write about.  If tearing me down makes you feel better about who you are, I can assure you, you are exactly the kind of person I couldn't give a shit less about in this life.

So, to the person that sent me that message tonight, get over yourself.  You will not be missed.  May I not encounter your mean little spirit ever again.  And, thank you for reminding me how thankful I am for the amazing people that I do have involved in my life that love me.

If anyone else shares her views, don't let the door hit you on the ass on the way out.
 

I'm totally high...

So, I went to my surgery appointment today.  Made my weight goal, since the doctor's scale is lighter than mine.  Thank you, God.

I don't really know what just happened the last few hours, but I am totally stoned on drugs.  I'm effing awesome and I want some people to come over so we can sit around in a circle like that 70's show and talk about what's awesome.   Will said while I was knocked out I went on a magical unicorn ride and you know what? I  believe him.  It was effing awesome!  I like unicorns.

When I was starting to come out of my anesthesia, I saw my doctor at the foot of the bed and I asked him, "Do I still have my spleen?" He said yes.  I said, "Are my intestines intact too?" He said yes.  Whew, that is a relief after him almost cutting off his finger on the wood working tools. However, what I don't understand is how I got a fat bottom lip with two marks.  Is my doctor a Twilight fan? Did he bite me?  Did I get out of hand and they whacked me?  I don't know, but it is FAT.  No one is talking. The nurses aren't talking.  I need to know.  I also asked if they had given me a boob job, but they said no.  Damn. So hard to get good service. They did give me pictures of my guts though, that is also awesome.

I walked up and down the alley in my gown with the nurse.  She said she would catch me if I fell and promised my butt wasn't sticking out. I don't belive that she would catch me, but I went walking anyway with my little rolly drug bag thing and the nurse on the other side. I did three laps without passing out, so I guess I was good to go home.  Will was at the other end of the hall yelling, "it's just like Nascar, she just made another left turn!" I asked the nurses to drug him up, but they declined. 

One the way home, I called my brother to see if he wanted to come be "stoned" with me.  He declined.  Everyone else I called on the way home seemed to enjoy the fact that I am on good meds and don't even care that my incisions hurt. 

I'm home now and will probaby go pass out.  Being high is a lot of work.  I just wanted everyone to know I lived and to not divy up my desk toys yet.

I'm going to crash now.  Thanks for the support!

Sauna Suit & Laxatives...

Any day that starts out with an all-out melt-down at 5AM is not going to be a good day.  I knew it, Will knew it and soon, the world would know it.

I have surgery scheduled for next Monday and in order to be ready, I still need to lose a few more pounds.  In the last 10 days, I have lost approx 13 pounds, but the doctor has a target weight he would like me to be at in order to have surgery in the surgery center, instead of the hospital.  Let's just say, this morning, in spite of all of my efforts, I was up a pound.  I LOST. MY. MIND.  Are you freaking kidding me?  I have been perfect, I haven't even thought about an M&M or potato chip.  I have gone to the gym, I have consumed nearly a gallon of water a day, I have cut carbs out of my life and now this blatant disregard for my efforts being thrust in my face by that damn weight watchers scale?!  I hate your guts!  Mother trucker!  How am I going to reach my goal?  What is it going to take? What if I don't make my goal and they cancel the surgery?  This is SERIOUS!!! Will came over and placed a hand on me and said that he loved me and was sorry. He then left for work like a man that had just been let out of prison after a 25 year sentence.  He was gone.  Smart man.  

After reining in the tantrum, I headed in to work. I shared with a few people what my issue was. Everyone had ideas on how I could lose weight fast.  Some of their ideas seemed drastic. I was skeptical about some of them, but I had other problems to deal with.  I had an ultrasound scheduled this afternoon at 2:30PM.  The doctor wanted to see my gall bladder one more time before making the decision to take it out or not.  My instructions were to not eat anything until after my ultrasound and to consume 24 oz of water one hour prior to the appointment and not pee after drinking those 24oz.  I hate those instructions. Oh, and today just happened to be a big 'ol Thanksgiving potluck, so all I smell all day is food.  You people kill me! Anyway, I started in on my daily water intake right away and by 1:30pm had consumed 96oz of water.  24 of those ounces had been consumed  without peeing.  Off to my appointment I go.  After waiting until an agonizing 2:40pm, the lab tech came out and got me.  She asked me how I was doing.  I said, "other than wanting to pee myself, I'm fine."  She says, "oh really? Do you want to use the bathroom before we do this?"  WHAT????  I told her how I was instructed to drink the water and not pee.  She says, "Oh, not sure why they would have told you that, it isn't necessary for what we are doing today."  Seriously?  I wanted to punch her in the head.  I mean, it wasn't her fault, but someone had to pay. I was almost crying it hurt so bad.  I ran to the bathroom and peed with abandon.  It was almost the best feeling ever.

So, once that appointment was done, I stopped by my natureopathic doctor's office and talked to Diet Barbie.  I asked her what I should do about this weight loss dilemma.  She said, "Well, what has everyone else suggested?"  I listed off the ideas: water pills, laxatives, colon cleanse, Hollywood diet, wrap at Desert Sun tanning salon, time in the sauna, use a sauna suit, stop drinking water, drink more water, cabbage soup diet, eat nothing but water and raspberries, eat fruit an water only, and work out like a maniac.  The doctor considered this an said, yeah, most of those, please don't.  She said she has a friend that does a Colonic before every vacation so her tummy looks flat.  At this point, it would take one hell of a colonic to make mine flat.  I considered it.  Did I really want someone sticking something up my butt and roto-rootering it out?  I don't think I'm ready for that. She also said she had tried the wrap at a Desert Sun tanning salon and the girls were not trained and had the heat on so high it almost left burns all over her.  Great, if that happened to me, the whole place would start smelling like bacon and then people would start coming out of their tanning beds asking where they could get their bacon.  No, those ideas won't work.

After much discussion, we decided I would try the sauna suit and I would do a Fleet laxative. The sauna suit is basically a suit made out of a plastic bag that is supposed to make you sweat the water out.  Ideally, you should use it with exercise.  I'm not so sure I will wear it at the gym, as fashionable as it is, but I might wear it here at home and see what I can do to work up a sweat.  You know, like clean the horse stalls and clean house or maybe use the Wii and workout.  Probably not a good idea to use it during sex, though. Sounds hazardous for geriatric folks like us. Will might be a cowboy, but if I was in a sauna suit, he would have problems holding on for eight seconds, for sure. Anyway, after some additional discussion, we decided I should not use the sauna suit while under the influence of a laxative.  I don't need to crap myself while in a plastic suit.  It just sounds...problematic and unsanitary.  Speaking of the laxative, I'm not super excited about it.  I've never had to use one before.  I'm not sure how it is going to work.  I mean, will I crap myself suddenly?  Or will I be sitting there and my stomach cramps into one horrendous knot and then I explode?  We decided I had better do this on Saturday when I could stay home and not have any plans.  I'm not going to lie, I'm scared.  What if the laxative doesn't kick in until I have surgery on Monday?  What if I crap myself on the operating table?  That isn't sanitary.  Then, I wake up and I'm wearing an adult diaper and the nurses all hate me.  I mean, if I am going to wear a diaper, I want one of those My Little Pony diapers, those are awesome.  I want to be stylish.  Besides, who is going to make fun of a fat girl in a pony diaper?  Most people would be speechless, I would assume.  I wonder if they even make a pony diaper in my size.

So, in conclusion, on Saturday, don't call me, don't come see me and for crying out loud, don't ask to use the bathroom, Will.  Go outside.  Here's hoping this takes care of those last few pesky pounds.  Oh, and if I do crap myself, I will try to not blog about it.  But, if I do end up wearing a pony diaper, there will be pictures to follow.

Wish me luck!

Rockin the Sauna Suit...

Hope Floats...in a Toilet...

Back in 2007, I decided to do something drastic about my weight.  I have fought it all my life and had grown very frustrated.  I decided to have weight loss surgery and had the Lap Band procedure done.  After the fact, it came out that the band was not all it was talked up to be.  It mostly caused me pain and frustration.  I spent more time choking and "sliming" than losing weight.  Oh, you don't know what sliming is?  Well, picture this, you have just put a piece of meat in your mouth and chewed it and chewed it.  You swallow.  It gets stuck because the band is too tight and the food can't go down.  Your meat can't go anywhere, so your body tries to lube you up and get it out of there.  You sit there and choke and start producing more drool than a toddler with overactive glands.  You do this until you yak it up or it passes.  Usually the yaking is the answer.  Anyway, it didn't get me to where I wanted to go, so I had all the fluid taken out of it a couple of years ago and it has pretty much just been sitting in there doing nothing except giving me heart burn and some random pain on occasion.

The reason I'm sharing this with you is because it leads in to today's adventure of being Angry Pony.  You see, I have decided to have the band taken out.  I'm tired of the heart burn and other side affects.  To this end, I have been working with the doctors, the insurance company and various other key people in the process for months.  It has been exhausting, but after quite a bit of recent struggle, I had my surgery date all scheduled for next week.  Hooray.  Indeed.  All I needed to do was meet my surgeon today for my final appointment. Or, shall I say the surgeon that is going to fill in for my surgeon because my guy is on vacation and one of his partners is going to take care of me. I can handle that, it's okay.  I'm sure this guy is perfectly qualified.

I arrive at my surgeon's office ahead of schedule. I check in, sign all the paperwork, etc.  The little medical assistant takes me back to his exam room.  All seems to be going fine.  I hear some scuttlebutt outside the door talking about my doctor. Seems he is not here.  The medical assistant sends me over to get my blood work done because, after all, by the time I'm done the doctor will be there.  I go to the lab and there isn't a soul in there, so I breeze right through and return to the doctor's office.  Again, I am ushered into the exam room.  My appointment was at 1pm.  It is now almost 2pm and I hear someone say he will be here within 20 minutes.  I'm staring at the door where there is a flyer that says, "Do you want to share the experience you had with us today?  If so, log on to....."  You should never leave me in a room for that long and have that be the only thing there is for me to read.  Do they really want to know about my experience today?  I doubt it.

Finally, the doctor shows up.  He comes in and talks to me about the surgery. He wants to take my gall bladder out too while he is in there, but wants me to have more tests. Additionally, he would like me to lose 10 pounds before I have the surgery so that I can have it done in the surgery center vs. having it done in the hospital.  He doesn't think I can lose it by next Thursday.  I am pretty frustrated at this point because I want this done badly and I have already made all the arrangements.  I said, "Isn't that what Colon Blow is for? I could clean this baby out."  He was not a fan of this idea.  I suggested I could also vomit for a few days.  Again, he was not going for it.  I felt sad and depressed.  And then, Will, who was with me, noticed that the doctor had his finger all wrapped up and you could see a little blood coming through it.  It had been hiding under my chart the whole time he had been talking.  We both became alarmed.  How did he do that?  He claims it was an accident with a tool.  What kind of tool?  A scalpel? Was he taking someone's band out and, "Woops!"  He said it was a wood working tool.  Will seemed satisfied.  I was not.  I looked at him and then looked at Will and said, "Sure it was a wood working tool...sure it was..."  My mind was reeling.  I pictured this doctor...this surgeon...he is in his garage and then a tool slips and then he is dancing around cussing and saying "owie, owie, owie...oh God....oh God...." and then passes out.  I'm sure that isn't how it happened, but it is how I visualized it.  What if he slips on my guts?  "Woops, there goes her spleen!  Ah shit, I just slipped and cut her intestine...does anyone have duct tape?  Nurse?"  I'm suddenly a little nervous.  I'm sure it will be fine, right? I mean he is cancelling my surgery date for next week, so now he should have plenty of time to heal and get that steady hand back.

Sad and disappointed, we left.  It was time to go to my weekly therapy appointment.  Since Will was with me, he tagged along to the session as well.  The room was warm and the couch was soft.  I felt him settle in next to me.  I'm pouring my heart out.  I hear his breathing change.  I look over and he is sleeping.  Hey!  I'm trying to make sense of this world!  If you could participate that would be great.  I looked at the therapist and said, "you see what I am dealing with?"  I slapped his knee and elbowed him.  He's like, "what?"  Seriously.  Who falls asleep during therapy.  I mean, I know it isn't him we are focusing on, but a little participation would be good.  I just told him the other day about this kind of thing.  The other morning, I was getting ready to leave for work and I was sharing some things that were bugging me and he is shining a laser light on the wall and is making it go all over the room and the dogs are chasing it.  Um, HELLO, I'm talking here!  This is why I have to pay someone to listen to me once a week.

So, I guess I'll probably have the surgery the following week. Maybe.  Now, I just have to wait for the girl I like to call, "Schedule Bitch" to call me.  It was bad enough we played phone tag earlier in the week and she didn't call when she said she would and then I had to hunt her down and then she told me I only had to lose three pounds by next week and basically lead me astray.  They say she will be calling me, but rest assured, I will be on the phone first thing in the morning.  She doesn't know who she is dealing with.  You don't jerk fat girls around, they get mean.  You'd think she would know this based on working where she does. 

Anyway, this was my day in a nutshell.  This is why I don't have hope.  You get hope and then some doctor with a bloody finger takes it all away.  And then your husband falls asleep in therapy.  Makes the hopeless little  pony angry.

People Love Pot(s)

I woke up today to Facebook exploding about election day and who had won and what initiatives had passed.  It looks like in my state marijuana is going to be legalized.  Everyone acts like this means anyone can grow it and strike up a doobie and that every person is this state will be stoned all the time.  Newsflash, anyone that wants to smoke pot, already does.  Anyway, not going to get into the logistics of all of that, but really, what if we were all stoned?  Consider this, at work, you walk in and say to your boss, "Hey dude, I'm totally going to get to those expense reports today...or tomorrow at the latest.  I'm just gonna see how it goes." And then your boss says, "Awesome!  I'm gonna go sell some chickens on Farmville and take some conference calls while I "mellow out."  My boss is such a buzz kill..."  Then, you walk past this chick that really annoys you and you are all like, "Hey Buffy, nice tye dye shirt."  And then she is totally like, "Thanks, man...."  Beats the hell out of being uptight and wanting to punch people.  Let's all get stoned.  Better yet, let's eat some pot brownies and laugh until it hurts (or you pee yourself, not saying I've done it, but also not saying I haven't) at least once a day.  I've heard that laughter actually improves your health.  The only thing we would need to care for is that there were enough Doritos and Cheezy Puffs down in the vending machine, because from what I hear pot makes you hungry.  Of course that is going to make us fat, then we are going to need Segways to get around at work, who wants to work out? No one.

Some of you are wondering, why in the hell is she going on about pot?  I'll tell you why.  Today, in a very ironic twist of fate, my company decides they are going to give our employees a token to commemorate Veteran's Day.  This token is a pot.  That's right, it is a little pot with flower seeds inside and instructions on how to grow them.  To avoid confusion, before I passed them out, I sent an email out advising them that I was bringing pots around, but that it had nothing to do with this being the same day we are legalizing pot.  As it turns out, this was not helpful.  Each person thanked me for their pot and made a joke about it.  That's fine.  It's all in good fun.  I just could not get over how excited each person was about these little pots.  I mean, you would think that there was actual marijuana in them. People asked if they could have a second one and they wanted to make sure no one was left out. One person spotted me heading towards his area and said, "Just so you know we've all been moved around, so you might have a hard time finding us."  I advised him that  I would be able to figure out where people sit.  He said some of the cubicles still looked like people sat there, but in fact, they didn't.  I, once again, assured him I would be able to handle this. He seemed skeptical.  I said, "Here, take it now then."  He declined, apparently deciding to trust me with his pot.  I went along my merry way and passed out the pots.  I gave them to everyone and even left one at his desk, as promised.  I then got over to my pal Valerie's desk and left her a pot.  She has been gone for a while on medical leave, but she is coming back soon.  I continued on to the other side of the area.  Suddenly, I hear the "concerned citizen" yelling at me, "Cassandra, Cassandra, no one sits here!" and he is holding up a pot while standing at her desk.  I was instantly irritated.  Why in the hell is he checking all the desks I left the pots at?  I yelled back that yes, someone does sit there.  Mind you, ALL of her stuff is still there.  And, I mean, my word, she has like three pairs of glasses, post-its everywhere, umbrella's pictures, general memorabilia, it's clear it is inhabited. I advise him again, yes, that is Valerie's desk and she is coming back.  He argued that he had never seen anyone sit there.  I argued back that I know she is coming back soon. Slowly he put the pot down, but you could tell he didn't believe me.  I finished handing out the pots and I wondered, was the concerned citizen going to go around and steal everyone's pots?  If so, what was he going to do with them? Was he going to start his own growing operation?  I mean, he does have a tye-dyed t-shirt.  I sense a movement is upon us.

I returned to my desk wondering why people were so stoked about these little pots.  I guess I'll never know because I have been trying to kill two plants at my desk for 3 years with only semi success.  Oh well, I guess I'll just let it be an enigma.  I wonder if the presence of the pots will somehow create a calmer workforce.  It might be a fun experiment.  Maybe some of those seeds should be changed out.  We'll have a control group and placebo group.  Yes, this could be fun!  Now, where do I get pot?  Anyone?

Bicycle Barbie and Orgasma Hair...

Today on my afternoon break, I wandered over to see my pal Orgasma Hair.  We were chit-chatting about life, dating and how we should do a sitcom about life as we know it.  Bicycle Barbie walked over and joined us as I was asking Orgasma Hair if she had read 50 Shades of Grey.  She had not.  This lead to a conversation about sex.  I don't mind a good conversation about sex, you never know what you will learn about people.  And, as the junior member of this trio, you know, I might learn what is in store for me.  Not to mention, who can figure out men?  I mean, as simple as they are, I still sometimes find myself baffled.

Anyway, Bicycle Barbie says she hasn't had sex in a while, except for her "boyfriend."  I said, "you mean, 'B.O.B.'...you know, battery operated boyfriend?"  She said no, her bicycle seat.  Um, okay.  Now, Bicycle Barbie is naturally thin and very fit.  She rides her bike all the time.  I mean, I guess I know why now, but still.  For her, the seat is a spacious area where her butt is free to roam the full surface of the seat, but in reality, even when she is sitting on it, she probably still has room for a diet coke, a sleeping bag, pick axe...another person.  She actually sits ON the seat.  I'm sure Bicycle Barbie doesn't understand how it would go down for me and Orgasma Hair.  Orgasma Hair struggles with her weight, as I do, but on a smaller scale.  And, when I say struggle for Orgasma Hair, I mean on the scale, mentally, whatever.  Making right choices is hard.  When I say struggle in relation to myself, I mean those things, but also the physical struggle.  You know, like pulling my Pranx down (or up), like rolling around on the bed like a beached whale trying to get up, like getting in a "man down" situation on the couch, like trying to get your belly button to drain after a shower - REAL STRUGGLE.  I tried to explain to the ladies that if I sat on a spin bike, the whole seat would go up my ass cheeks of despair.  Like, I would have to go to the hospital and get a medical assistant braced on each side grabbing on to the only thing sticking out of my butt, probably the pedals, and pulling for dear life all the while hoping they don't get sucked into the vortex of the cheeks of despair. People don't think this could happen, but it could.  I think warning labels should go on those bikes.  What if some pudgy chick wants to get her groove on and goes for a ride and things go horribly wrong?  Then her bicycle seat is stuck up in her uterus.  Being fat isn't just depressing and inconvenient, it's flat out dangerous.  I keep telling you people.  Seriously, this is why I do the recumbent bike.  It's a spacious seat and you're not perched on anything.  I mean, sure, your knees come up and punch your boobs as you pedal, but it beats a trip to the ER.  I guess I will never know about bike sex.  It isn't meant to be.  Truly a sad day for Orgasma Hair and myself.  Bicycle Barbie does seem happy most of the time. Sigh.

I returned to my desk and considered Bicycle Barbie and others of her kind, like High Heel Barbie.  She was already thin and she just went on this diet for a month and dumped a bunch more weight.  I'm sick of skinny people and their successes.  Enough.  Show off.  They are all like, "Hey look at me, you can see my skeleton.  Hey look at me, I had to buy all new clothes.  Hey look at me, I can do anything except get fat." And, for the record, I don't really like fat people and their successes, either.  I mean, really anyone successful in weight loss, I hate your guts.  Eat a cheeseburger already.

For the record, I do try and lose weight. Why, just today I was down with Ass Kicker, riding the recumbent bike and working out.  Also for the record, no orgasms were had by anyone I saw in the gym.  Course, spin class starts at noon...it could happen.

Ponies, TuTu's and Deep Thoughts...

It's Monday. What can we really say about Monday?  We are tired, cranky and really just want another day off.  I had just come off a good weekend of fun, as it was my birthday, but was hoping today I could get back on track and get my crap together.  I mean, seriously, it was a great weekend of fun, but a BAD weekend for eating.  I think I gained four pounds.  That is caution to the wind, baby.  However, today was the day I was going to get back on track (assuming I had ever actually been on the track).  I was confident.  I had packed a healthy breakfast and lunch and heck, I might even make it to the gym. 

Upon arriving at work, I couldn't help but notice that it looked like My Little Ponies had a frat party at my desk.  Yes, thank you High Heel Barbie for decorating my desk.  Thank you for the MLP nail polish and body glitter.  Thank you for all the balloons.  Kangaroo Guy said, "Do you think you can ever have too much pony stuff?"  I looked at him as if I didn't understand the question.  I replied, "Too much? No. I mean, if there is a threshold, I surely have not reached it."  Some people don't understand the power of the pony.  Anyway, as I am absorbing my environment, here comes High Heel Barbie and she has that evil grin.  I mean, it's friendly, but she is up to no good.  Here is evidence of the crime:

Yes, she made me a tutu.  And she brought me a boa.  And she made me a special wand I can clobber people with (the gift that keeps on giving).  I did the complimentary parade of shame in my outfit.  I mean, Barbie's Minion did go to all the trouble to make the tutu and bedazzle it, I had to show it off.  I guess once you have been all that is Honey Boo Boo, really, what standards do you have?  Exactly.

After removing the tutu, I headed to the ladies room.  As I sat there in stall #1, I realized three things. Realization number one, I noticed the dead fly that had been on the floor for going on two weeks now, was still there.  Just laying there on his back, legs up.  This is proof the janitor has not been doing his job.  So, what? If no one craps all over the floor we don't have to clean it?  Whatever.  Not that I have any love for flies, but he may actually live there for eternity...or until someone craps on him. Realization number two, as I sat there, I couldn't help but notice my boobs were looking good today.  Then I realized why - my gut was pushing them up.  That's right, my gut is "nature's underwire."  Who needs Victoria Secret?  I've got Nature's Underwire.  And finally, realization number three. As I was pulling up my pants, I was forced to consider the reality that "stretch jeans" are only capable of so much.  I really did need to get to the gym today. If I put any more pressure on that button, it's going to come flying off of there and take someone's eye out, or break a window. I don't think this is what the manufacturer of stretch denim had in mind.  They really ought to put a warning label on them like they do for say, your hair dryer.  I mean, they tell you not to blow dry your hair while in the shower, I think the least they can do is tell you what the maximum stretch capacity is for your Calvin's and what will happen if you exceed that.  It's safety and it just makes good sense.

As my day progressed, I decided to take a walk on my lunch hour.  As I got outside this one gal was looking at me funny, then she looked away and then looked back and said, "Didn't you....aren't you the one....didn't you dress up.....as.....?"  I said, "Yes, Honey Boo Boo, that was me."  Of all the things I could be known for, this was not exactly what I had hoped for.  I continued walking.  It was really nice outside, the sun was kind of out, it was kind of warm.  I was contemplating all kinds of things and then I hear this loud noise of someone hocking up a hairball, then he reaches up, plugs one nostril and shoots snot out the other.  Really?  Nice.  I guess I should be glad he wasn't raping a squirrel.  I started to walk a little faster, it's dangerous out here. 

I got back to my desk and pulled out some pre-cut veggies I had bought at the store.  I was going to snack healthy even though what I wanted was to have some chocolate.  I tried to get a carrot out.  Wouldn't budge.  Tried to get a piece of celery out. Stuck.  I'm trying each piece, pulling on it, nothing.  Son of a bitch.  WHO does this? I'm a fat girl in a bind and I can't get my freaking carrots out of the stupid container!  It's bad enough I have to eat rabbit food when other people are eating chips and cookies and crap.  And don't even get me started about all the asshats that brought all their kids halloween candy in and put it all over the building because God forbid their little asshats don't want to get tooth decay.  I can't even get a freaking carrot out!  I took the container and started slamming it against the desk.  Finally, just when it was about to go flying across the room, a carrot fell out.  I ate it. It sucked.  And that is pretty much how that went.

In other news, I'm trying to get used to my new no-line bifocal glasses.  They were another item that almost went flying across the room.  I hate them.  I will give it a week or so and then I'm going back down to Pearle Vision where I got them and tell that lying glasses selling whore that she was wrong when she said I would just love them.  Hmphf.

I guess that sums up my Monday.  Three cheers for Tuesday.