Uter-less

This is, hopefully, the last time I will be writing about how some guy knocked me out, cut me open and stole my female parts (last I saw they were available on ebay and there was quite the bidding war). It's been about a month now and most of the time I totally forget that I had surgery (drugs'll do that to you). That is, until I bend or turn juuust right, and then I get a lovely little twinge that says 'hey dummy...you're not quite done healing'. There's still a small scab on one of the incisions and the scarring as nowhere near what I was afraid of. Instead of cool jagged scarring I have little round spots about the size of an eraser that look more like zits gone astray. And...dammit....I still have adhesive from the bandages. It's lovely, my big ol' white belly covered in fuzzy sticky residue..and not from anything exciting either. I tried make up remover (per the doctor's suggestion) but the stuff won't budge.
On the upside, at my post-op appointment I found out I'd lost 4 whole pounds! Woohoo? Hey I'll take it. I also got some LOVELY color pictures of my insides. Namely the top side of my cervix and my right ovary. Behold.....
I know, I know, not what I expected either. Awkward and disturbing to say the least. I mean, why ban ninjas? You'd think they'd be helpful unlike say...sheep herders?
I had mentioned before that from what I had read...the land of 'O' was going to be less than spectacular. Well, let me just say this....LIES....ALL LIES. Things are peachy keen thank you very much. It's ok I know you were dying to know.
I'm still a little moody and stuff, but I mostly attribute that to the fact that I'M STUCK IN MY HOUSE WITH NO JOB AND NO CAR....Oh, and I HAVE TEENAGERS.
I've been watching WAY too much tv. I suddenly live for Wife Swap....holy crap where do they find these nut jobs. And QVC....lord have mercy...QVC. Is there NOTHING to do in the south at 3 a.m.? Don't you people sleep?
So, all in all things are things and it is what it is.
Gotta run, it's time for Reba re-runs.

Got Yogurt?

Well, I survived. Exactly one week ago I had my innards tugged and yanked and some of them removed. And wonder of wonders, I lived to tell about it. I admit I was a little over-dramatic. It's not NEARLY as bad as I thought it would be....so far.
I just wish they'd warned me about the damn constipation. Yes I said it....I was constipated. I didn't shit for almost a week. They don't tell you going in that the surgery will send your system into shock. That the drugs will cause a back up in your colon that makes rush-hour traffic pale in comparison. I digested at the speed of old people humping. Because of course my insides weren't sore enough. I wasn't bloated enough (sidebar: it's EPICALLY ironic that having your baby factory removed makes you look 6 months pregnant). I finally resorted to the ONE thing I could count on...yogurt. Sometimes being lactose intolerant isn't so bad. Tuesday morning however, I awoke with a start. I shuffled to the potty at the speed of....well....I shuffled ok. And then I sat. I sat and I sat. I have NO ab muscles right now.....Ok so you're grossed out now, whatever.
The main thing here is I survived. The world has not caved in...it just feels that way. I still have ovaries and I'm WAY over emotional right now. This could be because they've gone into shock from the surgery (lovely little side effect) or because I'm due for PMS...go team. Either way it blows.

Men*O*Ponder

So...tomorrow's the big day. I'm officially saying goodbye to you. You've been a friend, an ally, an enemy, a demon. You've alternately given me life and sucked the life out of me. At times you clearly defined who I was. I have to come to terms with you being gone. You will no longer be a part of me. I threw you a party, burned you in effigy.
If you, dear reader are confused, I'M HAVING A FUCKING HYSTERECTOMY. Yes, dammit they're removing body parts. I'm glad, terrified, sad, angry, confused, relieved, anxious, frustrated.....pick an adjective and insert it *here*, *here* and *here*. To be more precise I'm having a supracervical laparascopic hysterectomy. Meaning...I get to keep my cervix and my ovaries. And no not in a jar on the shelf.
To make things a little more fun, I was laid off last week. Yep, that's right, more fuzzy lollipops for me. Go team. Oh, and side note...the next person who tells me these things happen for a reason will be removing my foot from their ass. That's right you will have to part your hair to take a shit. Why? Well I'm sure there's a reason in there somewhere.
I really don't know what to think, feel or do. The rational part of my brain says this is totally normal. But the chick in me (what's left of it any ways) is alternating between screaming in my brain and rocking silently in a corner. I know that a body part does not define who I am. I get that. I know I wasn't having anymore kids...between having my tubes tied and my illness, well...that was a done deal. There's just something so FINAL about this though.
Oh, and because this doesn't suck enough....apparently the O's won't be the same either. That's right the BIG-O. As in what makes them so spectacular is the uterine contractions....BUT I WON'T HAVE ONE ANYMORE. *sigh*
I'm torn between scrubbing the ceiling with a toothbrush and hiding under the covers. Overwhelmed much? Nah, not me.
I'm soooooo tired of putting on the game face and pretending I'm ok. I'm not. I'm resigned, there's a difference. Never confuse a desperate bid for survival with strength.
Ok, I'm rambling. But that's why you love me.

People you once knew

Things have sucked around the old homestead lately. Money’s tight, I’m not in remission, and I’m facing major surgery. Somewhere in there I got the crazy notion that my family – you know, those people you saw at Christmas and Easter when you were a kid – might maybe be willing to help. That if I reached out to them SURELY they would help out; SURELY they would be compassionate and understanding. The crickets have never sung so loud or profound. I heard from an aunt….an aunt in Michigan who’s recently widowed, has 2 teenage boys and is going through her very own version of Hell-ville and offered me her spare bedroom. SHE called my mom….who did what she does best, pretended it can’t possibly be that bad, packed up some toothpaste and chapstick and mailed it off to me. Oh the joy of opening prezzies.
And so I wrote a follow up email. One where I said goodbye to my IDEA of family. Where I let them know I wasn’t really asking them for money or shiny new toys, but, an invite to Easter dinner wouldn’t fucking kill them now would it!
I got this in reply:

“Hi there,
So sorry, I did not respond back to your message. I did give you mom a call when I first received your message. Just want to get her take on your situation. Also to see if she was going to come out when you had surgery. Time are tough for everyone. Seems like you are being hit just harder.
Everyone assumes if you don't hear anything everything is OK. And it easier that way.
Hey, I just called your mom and talked for a while with her. She says she's sending you all some care packages. I'll try to get you one also.”

Where do I begin? Maybe with why….WHY would you call my mother? My mother….WHO LIVES ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE COUNTRY. To get her TAKE on the situation. Once I was done stapling my head back together and rediscovered how to breath I was still livid. I’m just hit harder….I HAVE A LIFE THREATENING ILLNESS AND I’M HAVING MAJOR SURGERY…..YA THINK!!!
And she really is right….it IS easier that way. For her and her little bubble.
Yep I can never have enough toothpaste or chapstick…it’s what gets me through those harsh lonely nights. Hell throw in some Vagisil and an enima kit and call it Christmas.

I am NOT!!

Contrary to popular belief I am NOT a cheer mom. Yes I’m the mother of two cheerleaders, yes I coach, yes every spare minute and penny goes into fricking cheer, and yes our family “vacations” tend to center around one competition or another……I am NOT a cheer mom. There are no stickers on my car. I don’t deck myself out like some crazed fan covered in buttons and face paint waiving crazy signs. (OK I lied, I make signs)
I DO happen to enjoy torturing little girls….They’re flexi

they’re bendy

and they bounce really well.

I got involved a few years back when Tina first started and now…well….every year I declare I’M NEVER DOING THIS AGAIN, and yet come the new season there I am front and center. I’ve been a Board Member, a Fundraising Coordinator, a Team Mom and now….in our last year with Pop Warner….I’m coaching *GASP*.
I’m not a huge fan of cheerleaders in general, or of cheermoms and their crazy competitive nature (sorta like stage moms but…WORSE). But I like being involved with my kids; I like the camaraderie, and…yes…the coaches meetings at the local sports bar.
If you’ve never had a 12 year old thrown at you, or drop out of the sky at you…it’s hard to explain the physical nature of the sport. My 12 year old has arms like a weight lifter, strong and defined. My 16 year old has legs to die for. If this sport (YES I SAID SPORT) was easy, they’d call it football…at least they get to wear padding.
The new season starts in August but we’re already running clinics and putting together routines.
I and NOT a cheermom….but I am a mom.
Eat. Sleep. Cheer. Repeat.

Straight Crazy – 2009 Nobel Prize Winner

A friend of mine got into it with The Dude....again. She found herself at the drink-o-mat in the parking lot sharing her woes (and bottle) with a new found kindred spirit. Straight Crazy. He's a man of wisdom.....he wrote her a poem and we'd like to thank him. So...Here’s to you Straight Crazy…..may you keep on ridin’ that night train straight to the bounty on Boone’s farm. Where the thunderbirds soar, the colts run free and everyone’s your bud.

Ode to Stressica.....

Jessica,

Your beauty is endless

Your reality is real

you is Jessica, don’t

play mind games you

study and let nothing

get in your way

you fear nothing

you Jessica are an

angle of God

study until your

mind sings if

no more then study (? undecipherable)

again Jessica

you are incredible

one of the finest.

I Finally Did It

Look mommy I blogged all by myself…..ok this is awkward.
Yes, I’ve finally wandered into the 21st century and fixed myself a blog. Not to be confused with fixing a martini, that’ll come later when the kids are asleep and won’t notice the circus midget and jumper cables set up in the living room….now THAT’S awkward, or at least it was the first time.
But I digress.
For those of you who know me, hey how’s it going! If you don’t well, I’m not sure why you’re here, but welcome, we have cookies and we promise not to make you sacrifice any animals during your first visit.
I’ve decided to take this on because I have WAY too much crap stuffed into my head and it’s all starting to jockey for position and I worry that if I don’t let some of it out I’ll start losing fundamental things like how to tie my shoes or pee. Well, that and I figured what the hell, if the Pope can go cyber so can I.
I’m a single mom of 2-1/2 lovely girls. Well, technically it’s 3 girls, the oldest of which is 18 and our relationship is somewhat…..strained. As in I’m the mom and therefore I’m Satan and have ruined her life (gee and it’s only 10 a.m., looks like I’m ahead of schedule and will have time for that latte after all). Recently however she’s decided that I’m not in fact Satan and I’ve been demoted to some lesser demon, Satan’s secretary perhaps. My 16 and 12 year old have yet to decide if I’m truly one of the “dark-ones” or if I can be trusted….funny I was thinking the same thing about them.
Like everyone else, I have issues, hell I have lifetime subscriptions. Some I’ll describe in detail, some I’ll gloss over as denial is a LOVELY coping mechanism.
At any rate, this is me….welcome to my mood swings.