Bewitched by the Dress

So, first of all, I'm still on my high from wearing a dress today that had pockets.  It's really a pretty big deal.  Like, I had my hands in there whenever I was walking and I felt so...carefree and whimsical. I felt as if  I should have no cares in the world as I sauntered around like a girl in a douche commercial walking in the park on a summer's day.  I even thought to myself, with that sort of freedom it is good that men don't wear dresses with pockets.  I mean, the access they could have to their junk...productivity would be at an all-time low, from a corporate standpoint.   As a woman, I just want to put lip gloss or a feminine product in there and know that I can be hands free with my lip gloss safely riding at my side ready for use at a moments notice.  I think they call that "peace of mind." 

Anyway, I'm coming off that high, but also I have been agonizing about an experience I had yesterday.  It all started with this dress.

I saw this dress a week or so ago in a Torrid catalog sent to my home.  I was all a-twitter and thought,"that is so cute!"  I figured it probably wouldn't look very good on me because I do not have the model's curves.  My curves are in different places.  Like, where her hips are, those lady lumps are sticking out the front where my stomach is, or are lower on my thighs.  And, don't get me started about her boobs.

Well, fast forward to yesterday.  I needed to take my wedding ring in to the store where we purchased it at the mall so it could have its semi-annual check and rhodium plating done.  I had to walk right by the Torrid store.  This dress was hanging in the front window and I knew it was a sign I should go in and try it on, you know, just to see.  It wasn't going to work, I knew it, but I just had to put this curiosity to bed. 

I walked in and acted all casual, like the dress didn't matter.  I cruised around looking at other stuff, the clearance rack, you know, played it cool.  I didn't need the dress.  No. Big. Deal.  But nothing interested me like that damn stripey dress.  Before long, there I was, standing on my tippy-toes trying to get a hold of the freaking hanger without looking like a desperate bridesmaid trying to catch a bouquet.  It was on the upper rack where only giants can reach, but I did manage to get two different sizes to try on.

I took some other stuff in the dressing room as well.  None of it really rocked my world, but I had saved the best till last.  I put on the bigger size first, assuming it was the way to go.  It kind of hung on me like a sack.  It was longer than I thought it would be and I just looked at my reflection sad and disappointed. I tried to talk myself into it and make it okay.  Like, this could work.  Finally, I took it off and tried on the smaller size.  Hey, this is form fitting, it actually looks a bit better than the first one by being snugger.  I turned around and looked at my back-side.  Oh my word, my ass looked fantastic in this dress.  I ran my hand over my ass and was like, damn, girl!  Not that my ass is anything special, but in that moment, I'd date me with that ass in that dress.  Then I stood facing front analyzing if the dress was flattering with the stripes.  It kind of was.  I didn't have the curve-in at the waist like the model in the picture, but I didn't have anything bulging out or cellulite showing through either.  I looked pretty good, I thought.  I started to get excited.  Could I be brave enough?  Could I wear this and have the confidence?  The dress left no room for imperfections.

And then, the nightmare began...I turned sideways.  That's right, I stood there side-ways looking at how I looked from the side...in the mirror...at my side...in the mirror...  I looked like I was smuggling a sack of potatoes in my mid-section.  And then, it kind of hugged the front of my thighs.  At that moment, I wished I was a Flat Stanley, like people only saw me from the front.  I was horrified, but I still tried to make it okay.  I thought, well, people will mostly be walking towards me, or behind me thinking, "look at that ass...".  Most people won't be looking at me from the side... What about when I sit down?  What happens to the potato sack?  Will it shift? Will it rest on my muffin top?  I just didn't know.

I so wanted the dress, and it is such a stupid thing to want a dress that bad.  I don't know if I wanted the dress more or just to be able to wear something that a thinner person could wear.  This is when the inner dialogue really got serious.  I thought, you know what, who cares what I look like from the side?  Will anyone else notice?  Yes, they will.  Or...maybe they won't?  Maybe I should just own it?  You know, some big girls really own it.  I wanted to own it, but was I brave enough? I usually dress strategically enough to cover some of the bumps...and potatoes.  I mean, it isn't like people don't know I'm fat, I'm not a fucking magician.  It's just, I don't advertise curves that don't exist and I don't let my belly hang out.  My ass though...I had to admit, it looked good.  Not like Kardashian or Beyonce booty, but you know, not too shabby for a girl like me.

I tried on the bigger size again.  No, it wasn't the same.  I tried on the smaller one again.  The potatoes are still there.  I tried on the bigger one again, could I make it work?  Would I be more comfortable?  No.  I tried on the smaller one again.  I wanted it.  I wanted to be that confident. I wanted to wear what I wanted to wear and not be held back by bad body images.  I wanted to accept this body in front of me for the moment, with the understanding I will continue to try and make it better.  I tried on the bigger one again.  No.  No.  It's not the one.  I put on the smaller one again.  I begged myself to make peace with my potatoes. 

I couldn't.  I left the dress.

But, I can't stop thinking about it.  I feel so stupid for continuing to think about it.  I don't know why this one has me so bewitched.  I think maybe it's my mind making it a big deal for a reason I don't quite understand.  I told The Rug Doctor today about the dress.  She was proud of me for liking my ass and excitedly asked, "So, did you get the dress?"  I said, "No.  I couldn't do it."  She looked kind of disappointed, but then nodded her head and said, "okay."

What should I do? Embrace the potatoes and buy the dress? Or, be happy that I have the common sense not to make a spectacle of myself?  Should I be confident and damn anyone that looks down on me for an inappropriate fashion choice?  Or, make peace with the fact that the dress just isn't for a girl with this body shape?  I don't really give a shit what people think of me, but at the same time, I don't want to feel so completely exposed.  And, abs shouldn't be made of potatoes, but mine are.

Is this the dumbest blog I've ever written?  I'm not sure.  Is this like a real growth moment?  I don't know.

Seriously confused.

#sidepotato #idtapmyownass #stripeddressgotmelike  #areyoureadyforthisjelly

Get Out of my Dreams...

Today was Therapy Thursday.  It's funny how often these sessions bring me here to my blog page, even though it's been a while. For tonight's session I had sent an email to the Rug Doctor telling her what I wanted to talk about.  I think most of my peeps know that I am a vivid dreamer and that my subconscious tries to work a lot of things out in my sleep, but  there is one recurring person in my dreams that has been bugging me for a while.  I told the Rug Doctor I wanted to talk through it and that I thought it had a lot to do with my late high school years.  She was game and thought it was actually a good idea.

In preparation, last night I went through my old scrapbook and found my senior year pictures.

I looked at them long and hard.  I remember that 18 year old girl.  I remembered how she felt.  I stared at these pictures, memories flooding back.  This girl had a smile on her face. This girl made it Kindergarten through 12th grade.  She survived it all - the teasing, fat shaming, depression, the battle with food, trying to fit in, always feeling not pretty enough, too fat, not smart enough, just a farmer girl that rode horses, band geek, the girl that no boy ever wanted to date, the secrets at home that none of the other kids knew.  It was a hell of a ride.  But this girl, as strong as she was to survive it all, still holds the power over the 46 year old that sits here at the keyboard now.

What you don't see in these pictures is the anguish she felt with her family's struggles.  Her Dad's abusive behaviors and his alcoholism, the fact that we lived barely surviving financially so that we could have the horses and show them and live the farm life we did.  You wouldn't know from looking at these pictures that this girl would take her lunch in the library every day.  A lunch that consisted of a Slim Fast shake and an apple.  She didn't want people to see her eat. You wouldn't know that she would sit in the middle of her bedroom on the floor at night and sob and cry and beg for God to help her and to make the pain stop.  Beg God to make her Dad stop the violence.  You wouldn't know that she cried herself to sleep sometimes because she just wanted a boy to like her for who she was.  Not any boy, but one specific boy. This is the boy that brings us to tonight's therapy session.

This boy. He was the one that was my crush.  He was a friend and he did not feel the same way about me, but he was never unkind to me about it.  In retrospect, as an adult, I can see that while I would have enjoyed having a boyfriend in high school, he was not the one for me.  We wouldn't have made sense. He was the all-American boy, handsome, smart, athletic, came from a solid family that went to church.  I adored him.  I had known him since kindergarten.  He would have never dated a girl like me that came from a dysfunctional family and was not a church-goer. I believed in God, but no one in my family was going to church, so I didn't go.  I would have given anything for him to like me in that way, but he didn't.  At that time, I believed he didn't like me because I was not pretty enough, because I was too fat and not smart enough.  Not only did he not like me, but no other boys were coming after me either.

When I graduated high school and we all went our separate ways, I never saw him again.  However, the feeling of not being enough, feelings of being unlovable followed me for years after the fact.  I'm not blaming any of this on him, it's just how I felt as a result of my experience growing up.  As such, I didn't date much at all in my 20's.  I was certain that no one would love a fat girl like me.

Fast forward to today.  I wanted to talk about this boy, this Mr. HS Crush because he has been appearing in my dreams for quite a while now. On and off for years, but over the last year, it's almost constant.  They are not romantic dreams at all.  His presence is simply there.  I see him in the dream, but I don't necessarily interact with him.  I want him to go away.  I don't want to wake up and remember he was in the dream, because it just brings me back to my horrible self-image.  His presence reminds me that I am not worthy of attraction or love.

The Rug Doctor and I talked about it and she wholeheartedly agreed that his appearance in the dream is a representation of those feelings.  It isn't about him at all.  I was in my "formative years" and he was who I was holding on to for validation that I was wanted and lovable.  My Dad should have provided some of that validation, but he didn't.  I know that he loved me and that he was proud of me, but he was so engrossed with his personal demons, that he didn't give me what I needed.

So, why is Mr. HS Crush showing up? I have a loving, attentive and committed husband.  Shouldn't that be enough?  Shouldn't that make Mr. HS Crush's appearances a thing of the past?  Apparently not.  I tell myself that I have made peace with the past.  That I have let that go and that I know my parents did the best they could and that I am okay with who I am.  So, what's my problem?  Why am I so freaking insecure on the inside still?  I know those feelings weren't created overnight and sometimes it takes a while to overcome them, but I want them to go away.  Why won't they?

I told the Rug Doctor that I've recently been having anxiety about Shark Bait and his health.  I'm so scared I'm going to lose him due to his diabetes.  I said, "What if something happens to him?  I'm done.  I found the one guy that wants me.  No one else ever has, so what are the chances anyone else would?  Like, I found him, latched on and tagged him liked a downed deer."  Rug Doctor says that isn't true.  I went on, as I often do, sobbing, and telling the story like a victim of a crime, "No. It's like I am the farmer  that is headed out to the turkey pen to get one to kill for Thanksgiving and all of the turkeys scatter.  I managed to net the one that had a broken wing and an eye pecked out by the other turkey's so he couldn't really see me coming.  I netted that bastard and called it a day.  He never saw the crazy coming."  Sometimes it's hard for the Rug Doctor to keep a straight face when I'm sobbing, being dramatic and then commence cry-laughing like a crazy person.  She's a freaking trained professional, I tell you that.  I do like to challenge her though.

Anyway, Rug Doctor said there is no way that he is the blind and broken turkey and that I can't think like that.  I then told her what happened just last weekend as I was dressed up as a fat Julia Roberts in the sequel to Pretty Woman called Pretty Fat Woman.  I jokingly (and frankly, rather seductively) said to Shark Bait, "So, do you think I can make some extra money tonight?"  Referencing my tall black boots, heavy make-up with fake eye lashes and a stuffed bra (a rolled up t-shirt in each cup as well as random accessories for the night, lip gloss, lip stick, hair clips, tissue...my phone).  He says, "What are we talking, the full deal or just a blow job?"  I said, "I'm not at total whore, I'm just trying to pay the bills, not make enough money for a tropical vacation...just a BJ.  What do you think?  Should I charge...what...$25, $50....hell, maybe even $75!"  Shark Bait says, I shit you not, "I wouldn't go as high as $75, maybe $50."  I sat there and stared at the side of his head as he drove us to the party, boring holes in the side of it with my eyes.  Anyway, things started to digress in my discussion with the Rug Doctor.

I asked the Rug Doctor what I was going to do about all this insecurity and that I don't consciously feel that insecure.  She talked about how it all came to be and how I need to be compassionate to myself, blah, blah, blah.  Told me about a gal at her high school that used to say how she knew all the guys wanted to bone her and how popularity isn't always a positive thing, blah, blah, blah. I told her, "We had a graduating class of around 120-150, if I remember correctly...NO ONE wanted to bone me.  Look at the girl in those pictures, no one wanted to bone her."  She said there is no way I could possibly know that and that I don't know what other people were feeling.  While I wasn't psychic, I wasn't blind or deaf either.  However, to all of you reading, if anyone knows of someone I went to school with that wanted to bone me, could you let me know?  It might make me feel better.  Unless it's some fat kid.  Ew.  (Do you see what I did there?)  As a matter of fact, it doesn't have to be anyone I went to school with...if you've seen it in the bathroom on the wall...in a subway...really, anything.  Don't worry, I'm not really measuring my worth on my fuckibility (it's hard to know how to spell that since I don't really think it's a word), I think more of myself than that.  Honestly. (but again, if you know someone...)

So, apparently, my homework from the Rug Doctor is this:  I'm supposed to write a love letter from 46 yr old Cassondra to the 16-18 year old Cassondra in my pictures, specifically, she pointed to this one:

Dear 18 year old Cassondra,

First, you needed a better bra under this dress, what the hell where you thinking?  Are you even wearing a bra?  This isn't the raging 60's! Secondly, I'm sorry you didn't get bigger boobs, that isn't going to change, but someday you'll meet a woman named Victoria, ask her for her secret.

I want you to know, you are the skinniest in this picture that you are ever going to be, so take pride in that.  You work hard on the farm with all of your chores, you work hard with the horses and that is your real love.  High school isn't your love, it is a necessity. It is a rite of passage. It's temporary and a small portion of your life. And you are doing the best you can.  No matter what is going on in your life, you get up and you take on the next day.  You never give up while so many people do.  You don't drink, do drugs or tramp around.  Sure, mostly that's because no one wants to bone you, but even if they did, you'd say no because you respect yourself too much to just give it up for some Barney.  Being in love means something to you and you don't give your love easily.  Cherish that and eventually, the one that earns your love will also cherish it.  

Don't worry if you are pretty enough.  You are.  For every person that tells you that you'd be pretty if you lost weight, remember, they'd be prettier if they saw people for who they are instead of outward appearances.  And also, you are pretty, as is.  And lovable?  If people only knew what you had to offer, they would regret never giving you the chance. You are fiercely loyal, which is a hard thing to find in a friend and a good listener.  You are there when people need you.  You get what you see and your honesty may be blunt, but it comes from the heart.  You don't hurt people just to hurt them.  That's not who you are.  Sadly, you've lashed out in retaliation too many times.  It wears on you, because that isn't who you are.  You know that your unkind words do not heal the pain you feel when hurt, but you're only human.  Forgive yourself.  

You are smart.  You may not understand advanced math and chemistry, but your gift is your creative mind, your wit and your ability to make people laugh.  You are book smart and you will become someone that others depend on for friendship, leadership, opinions, writing help and your creativity.  Your mind works in ways that others minds cannot.  You have gifts, don't ever sell yourself short.

Someday, you are going to bone someone and you're also going to be good at that.  Until then, be patient. Enjoy the time you have with your friends, your horses and your family.  Once "the one" comes into your life, all of those dynamics change.  Enjoy who you are right now.  Enjoy every moment.  Don't ever hide, you're worth being seen. You're pretty awesome, believe it and believe in you, you're the one that counts.

You're going to be okay, but it's going to be a hell of a ride. Buckle up.

I love you.

C.

Six Week Summary - The Captivity Has Ended

Today is my last day of recovery time from my hysterectomy surgery.  I have healed pretty well, I think.  I'm still pretty low energy and if I over-do, I get sore, but other than that, I'm ready to rejoin society and the workforce on the regular.  While I have been out, I have had a lot of time alone with a lot of thoughts.  Low days and high days alike. I'd like to talk about some of the things I have taken away from this time all by myself (queue Celine Dion).

First, I want to thank my hubby, Shark Bait, for taking care of me.  He may not have always answered the walkie-talkie when I paged him, but overall, I am so lucky to have this man in my life. He genuinely cares and I like to believe that he enjoys taking care of me.  Without him, recovery would have been a huge struggle.  He took a week off with me when things were going very badly and then he would take care of me after working all day.  Yeah, he also went fishing many of the Saturdays, but I encouraged him to go, as he deserved some downtime. I also want to thank Pal-o-mino, Snoqualmie Ridge Shorty and my sister, Velcro Butt, for providing me much needed human contact and conversation when I thought I was losing my mind. Thank you to Valerina and Harley Babe for the phone conversations keeping me in the loop! And others that dropped me direct messages on FB and interacted with me.   A special shout-out to Short Bus, I cannot believe how our friendship has grown over such a short time! You are just as twisted as I am.  Long live gummy bear farms!

You all helped me survive captivity!

Here are some of my challenging times via video:

Walkie Talk - First Attempt

Walkie Talk, take 2

Day Four - Shit Show

Overall, this recovery was hard for me physically and emotionally and while everyone at work had set me up with thoughtful gifts to keep me distracted, most days I just didn't feel well enough to do anything.  I had the dogs for company, but you know, they don't say much.  I did teach myself to do some very basic crocheting and managed to make about 1/4 of a scarf and also two coaster size circle things, which, while in a drug-induced state, decided to turn into a bikini top, which really was more like pasties, and then sent it to a few people (I will NOT be sharing that picture here).  The people that received it were all the type of friends that could handle it, however, my one friend that decided to open the picture on her work computer has probably scared one of the managers at her work that walked up behind her.  He may not be the same for some time.  Luckily, my head was not in that photo, so really, it is just a pair of 46 year old boobs with crochet pasties.  It's actually horrifying.  Poor Shark Bait.  I didn't really realize what a bad deal he was getting. I guess I shouldn't be too hard on myself, it isn't like man-junk is anything special you'd want to display on the month of June in a fireman's calendar or any other calendar...just saying.  Anyway, he's never complained about the shit show I have going on under my clothes, of course, but still, wifey needs a boob job.

The part about this past six weeks that was the hardest was realizing how much I do depend on my friends and the people I interact with on the daily.  They really do make life more fun, even if it is at work.  All of them were at work dealing with their own stresses and their own lives and here I was at home alone.  It's in this way that Facebook was a saving grace, because I could get a people fix, but that didn't always work well with my medications.  For example, apparently there is a video I took while watching watching a marathon of Say Yes to the Dress and I was extra emotional and medicated and created a video and sent to my mom.  But then, other people said they saw it, too.  I don't recall making this video or sending it to anyone.  My Mom asked me a week or so later what that was all about.  We argued about it's existence, but upon looking through my phone, I found it.  I was baffled by the video and by the fact that my Mom, nor anyone else bothered to do a wellness check on me.  Clearly, I was a mess.  Did anyone check on me?  No. 

That whole ordeal made me think about all the people I've been there for, that I've listened to, counseled to, helped through the hard times, encouraged, talked them off the ledge, etc.  Where were those people?  I felt so used and so disappointed.  I'm very empathic and can usually sense when someone needs a little pick me up. I really do want people to be happy, so no matter what I am personally going through, I will always give all of myself to help someone that I care about (and sometimes those I don't as much).  Where were those people now?  I'm easily reached via FB messenger, via text, via telephone, via email...I mean, I'm literally home crocheting pasties and coloring farting unicorns!  I'm not hard to find.  I'm making video's of myself being silly for everyone else's entertainment...why?  And, it isn't like I keep score of who helps who.  That's not it at all.  I'm extremely loyal as a friend, but I also don't like feeling used and I really felt that during this recovery time.  And, please don't read this right now and think, "is she talking about me?"  I'm not trying to lecture anyone or make anyone feel bad, that's not what this is about. It's more about me being in that space, having those feelings and finally saying,

 "Cassondra, you can't help everyone. You can't put yourself on the back burner for other people while they are in crisis.  When it comes right down to it, it's you and you.  You need to set boundaries.  You need to let other people's drama go.  They need to own their drama.  They have to want to fix their lives.  They have to be engaged in doing that.  You can't beg them to, check on them, remind them.  You got this life to live and you have a husband that is your other half.  Make you and Shark Bait your priority and your focus. In your darkest hour, you are your strength, don't wait for anyone else to be that, because they won't."

That doesn't mean I don't care about other people. Doesn't mean I'm mad at anyone.  I want people to feel they can confide in me if they choose to.  I will always try and brighten someone's day, (unless they are really pissing me off, and then, in a heartbeat second, I will darken their day) but I won't be involved in the drama anymore.  I need to balance my life and my stress more carefully for however long I have left here.  I may have lost my uterus, but I gained some insight.

I know, that's some heavy stuff, but, like I said, I had a lot of time to think.  Something else that I really thought about is how much people say they hate Facebook or what it does to us as a society and how people create these allegedly perfect lives on there or fake friendships.  Well, I sure as hell don't, as most of you know, I say it like it is.  Anyway, I really do enjoy the connections it creates.  For example, on Monday nights, my sister and I would banter back and forth about The Bachelor or The Bachelorette on FB.  Other people started watching our conversation and joining in and then suddenly, there was a group of us that just started convening every Monday night on FB so that we could banter about this show that is so full of drama and stupidity.  My sister, my Mom, myself and then a handful of my friends that didn't even know each other and now we are like this little group each week.  We get together because it is fun to just not worry about all the stress of life and talk about this trashy show and joke around.  I so needed that over this past six weeks!  I've also got my BBG girls in a private group chat.  We can put out the bat signal and talk it out there.  Without FB, I may have lost contact with some great friends.  I have a few others that message me on the regular, and some not so regular, and we keep in touch.  It's nice.  I have enjoyed the distraction and I appreciate everyone putting up with the posts, updates and check-ins that allowed me to not feel completely isolated.

Tomorrow I return to work.  I'm a little nervous because I have really learned to enjoy sleeping in.  Like, a lot.  And me and my dog hang out.  And I spend time on the deck and I walk around in my underwear and like, don't work.  Part of me needs to be busy, so it will be good to be back, but the other half...it's going to want to sleep.  Regardless, tomorrow I put on my big girl panties and head back into the office like it is my first day going back to school in the Fall. 

I am looking forward to seeing many of your faces.  Others I am looking forward to re-establishing the boundaries as I am sure there has been plenty running amuck.

Brace yourself.  The Admin returns.

Captivity - Over.

Commendation for the Nurses

Subject:  Letter of Commendation 

Dear D3 Nurses, 

I had the pleasure of being cared for by several of you on June 29th when I came in to have a hysterectomy.  I think being a nurse is a pretty amazing profession and the amount of patience, empathy, care and knowledge that you have may go unappreciated by some people.  Not everyone is the breath of fresh air that I am (please feel free to add a tone of sarcasm to that...even though I actually was on good behavior) and I imagine there are days you go home and question if what you really need is wine or sleep, or both.  I wanted to take a moment and extend my thank you for making my experience in the hospital as pleasant as possible considering I had a tube up my lady bits for much of my time there. 

First, I believe it was Michele who prepped me for surgery.  At least, I think that was the name she put on the white board.  She was friendly, kind and efficient.  I will say that while she was with me, the dude that came in to take my blood before surgery was very UNPLEASANT.  I don't remember his name, don't remember if he gave it to me, but he came in, no smile, no warmth, no communication with Michele and pretty much, put a band on me and started to look for veins.  I told him the best vein to use, because I am a tough draw sometimes.  He ignored me, and while I was answering questions for Michele, he put a band around my wrist and out of nowhere stabbed my wrist with a needle as if he was harpooning Moby Dick.  My entire body came off the bed and I yelled out.  Even Michele couldn't believe what was happening.  And just like that, he was gone.  He left Michele in a bind because now she had to find a different spot to put the IV in. That guy sucked.  But enough about him, Michele continued to be awesome and she deserves a pat on the back and some ice cream or something awesome. 

The next person I remember took me into the surgery room where a whole pit crew of people immediately started to work on me.  I don't remember a lot about that time, but they were all nice and friendly and I felt like I was in good hands.  And, I don't know who got me out of the purple gauze gown thing and then into the ever-stylish hospital gown, but kudos to you, team, that couldn't have been easy! They also deserve a pat on the back and a round of drinks because Lord only knows what they went through maneuvering this massive form of a body.  I think the medical term is "body habitus" or "morbid obesity" whatever, they earned a drink or three and a massage. 

After that, I remember a nice lady named Linda who was at my side as I was coming out of my anesthesia fog.  She asked how I was doing and I kept telling her it hurt and then she would give me more drugs. This continued until I was feeling more conscious and less painful.  I liked Linda a lot.  She can drug me anytime.  I think she told the person that came to take me to my room that I was "stoned."  I think I remember being hilarious, but I can't be sure.  Long live, Linda.  She deserves a day off and a glass of wine. 

When I got to my room, it was time for Windy (and it's Windy, NOT Wendy, let's be clear) to care for me.  I loved Windy because she is sassy like me. But not like mean sassy, like fun sassy, but still very caring and very on top of it.  She took amazing care of me keeping me comfortable, up on my meds, bringing me food, ice, whatever I needed.  And, while this is her job, she was just so on top of her game, I really never had to ask for anything, she was always one step ahead of the game.  I heart her.  She deserves a gold star and whatever else she wants.  

Alas, Windy had to go home for the night, but she left me with Carie, I think.  I'm a little fuzzy on this name because...drugs.  If I have the name wrong, I'm sorry, because Carie was so sweet and so kind, she also deserves recognition.  I feel like we are close because at 3:30am, Carie took my catheter out.  It was a special moment.  The poor woman has seen things down in the nether region that frankly, I don't even see.  She was awesome and I appreciate her care equally.  She was there encouraging me to walk around and cheering me on.  She also deserves a gold star and a day off for having to deal with the 'ol vagina. 

In the morning, Windy returned and continued taking great care of me until it was time for me to go home mid-day.  She gave me lots of great after-care advice and instructions when I checked out and wheeled me down to the curb for my ride home.   

Since I have arrived home, I've had a slew of issues with a bladder infection, becoming allergic to my incisions, not pooping for five days and riding an emotional roller coaster.  There were several times I thought to myself, "I wish I was back in the hospital where they took such good care of me!"   I mean, who wants to go back to the hospital?  No one in their right mind, that's for sure, but you all made it seem like a really safe place with the best care.  All kidding aside, I truly want to thank your team for being so awesome.  Even the people that I don't remember (because drugs) or don't know the name of. You all are beyond awesome.  You all deserve a raise!  [Side note: Dr. Dau was probably pretty good, too, but he doesn't get the amazing nurse status recognition like you all.] 

I know you take care of a lot of people and you might not remember me, but that is okay, who I am isn't important, who you are is what matters.  However, here is a picture of my uterus in case that helps your memory: 

 

Sadly, I don't have a picture of my vagina while I was in the hospital, so I can't share that. Taking a picture of its current state wouldn't really help you now, so I'm going to hold off on that.  For those that had to see it, I’m sorry. 

I do have this picture that my husband took of me right before surgery: 

That's my excited to get my uterus ripped out face. 

I’m adding this letter to my blog that I do for my own writing therapy so that it can be shared with other nurses that may be having a rough day.  Please know that when you are not having the greatest day or greatest patients, there are those that truly appreciate all that you do. 

Sincerely, 

Cassondra

Uterus Free Since 6/29/18 

https://angry-pony.blogspot.com/