As my world turns

Life's been crazy lately, what with trying to bounce back from surgery and trying to get back to "normal" life. Here's what's been happening lately:

I started back to work last Thursday, July 23. Office politics may kill me, and were made even worse by the fact that I really didn't feel quite ready to be back yet. I have a new mantra: "Do your job and keep quiet." Not easy for me, but necessary.

My Mac crapped out. I need to take it to the Genius Bar and see if they can pull anything off of it, so everything isn't lost. It's six years old and has worked pretty much non-stop in that time, so I'm not going to complain too loudly. Mike and Rae are graciously supplying me with a loaner to get me through until I can afford to replace it. I'll be going with an iMac next time, and I'll start squirreling money away for that as soon as the car is replaced.

As for the car, it's running fine, but we turned the 200,000 mile mark last week. I don't want to drive it through another winter; that would just be too much to ask of it. So sometime between the end of September and Thanksgiving, I'll be car shopping. I hope to replace the Jeep of Love with a similar, but newer, vehicle. I want something with the same engine, because that reliable little baby has run like a dream. I'm thinking 2003 or newer Cherokee or Wrangler, 4.0 liter inline six-cylinder, not yellow. Other than that, I'm easy.

I get nauseated really easy since the surgery. If I don't have a little food in my tummy, walking to the bathroom gives me motion sickness. It's weird.

I love Indian food. I'm new to it, and I don't think I like the super-spicey stuff, but I am really enjoying every bite. Trader Joe's has some terrific simmer sauces I can make at home, and their frozen naan is food of the gods. And yes, I think of James with every bite.

I spent all day yesterday at my dad's house. It was a beautiful day. I lounged in the backyard to get a little sun, something I haven't done in about 20 years. Dad is recovering pretty well from his knee surgery (he had the second one replaced about three weeks ago) and he's at the point now where he's ready to be running around but his knee isn't ready for that. Impatience, thy name is Glenn. We celebrated my sister Jenn's birthday, and her husband made lasagna. Wow ... just delicious. Is there anything that layers of pasta and cheese with a side of garlic bread can't cure?

Doctor says I can't go back to the gym for another week. I miss it, and my friends there, terribly. I think this weekend I will at least spend some time on a lounge chair at the pool. It's not exactly a workout, but it will at least get me back in the door!

That's it from me for the time being. What's new with you?

Alone?

So the gallbladder is gone. To say its removal was a bit more intense than expected would be an understatement, although I am incredibly grateful that Bex went through all the wacky stuff so I didn't have to. When my primary care physician first suggested the surgery, she said I'd go in on a Friday and be back at work on Monday, so I figured ... three days of badness, then normal life. No worries.

This is not how it worked out.

Now, don't panic. I'm fine. It just wasn't the walk in the park I thought it would be.

So Patrick picks me up on Thursday morning. There is truly no better way to go to the hospital on a warm summer day than in a convertible Mustang. Seriously ... it was a great trip. We walk in and are practically whisked away to my little private room. We sit and talk and get caught up for several hours ... they're running behind. No big deal, Patrick's mom will come later and drive me home if need be.

Eventually, it's time to head to the OR. I'm a little petrified, and then the drugs start coming. Oh, blissful narcotics, how lovely you are. I left the room around 2:30, and was back by 4. By 5, they were ready for me to leave. Ma Farbo would drive me to my dad's house, because Doctor didn't want me alone overnight. Doc also didn't want me driving for a week. This was news to me, since I'd been planning to be back at work on Monday. Aging divorcee learns new skills.

I get to Dad's and can barely move at more than a slow shuffle. I think Dad thought I was falling apart. He and Kathie were incredibly sweet to me, Kathie running off to fill my prescription for painkillers and Dad fixing me ice cream. The man truly knows his daughter! I was in bed by 9:30.

And up about every half hour. Damn, they must've pumped me full of fluids at the hospital, because I could not stop with the peeing.

Friday morning I woke up and had breakfast with Dad, Kathie and Mike. I played tough, but I felt like doody. I sat, read magazines, tried not to fall asleep, and waited for Eric to pick me up. Finally I couldn't stand myself anymore and took a shower. It was good to be clean.

Eric arrived and I was on my way, after hugs from Dad and air-kisses from Kathie. When we finally got to Chez Mags, it took forever to get me up the stairs. Lord, everything hurt. Eventually, I made it, and headed straight for bed. Eric went shopping, made me snacks and dinner and watched TV with me and let me nap. By far, this was the toughest day. I was not one with my noggin, what with the Vicodin being more powerful than my own logic. I would start talking and then completely forget why. Getting up from bed hurt. Sitting on the couch hurt. Talking louder than a whisper hurt. And my poor friend stayed until midnight, until he was sure I was out of the woods.

Saturday morning, I woke up with only a little pain, and a strong sense of my head on my shoulders. This was new. So I only took Extra-Strength Tylenol and got through the entire day that way. It was wonderful to feel one with my own thoughts again! There were moments on Friday when I wasn't sure I would ever get my brain back. Anyhoo, I was visited by Di bearing food (and lots of it) and Shakespeare bearing my errands from Target, and it turned out to be a pretty stellar day. Nap a little, eat a little, think a little, heal a lot.

Sunday was more of the same. A visit from Cute Brian followed by Linda from the Gym made for zero boredom and a ton of happiness. Brian brought waffles (who can resist a boy who brings waffles?) and Linda showered me with delicious and beautiful things, including sunflowers and Trader Joe's Sea Salt Brownies. Seriously, do not knock them until you try them; they are ambrosia.

And today I've been on my own. Curled up watching television, doing a little writing, doing a little knitting, and doing a lot of napping. It's been a good day, and I've been thinking about something Eric said to me at one of those moments when, evidently, my head was working on Friday. "This is it," he said. "This is the first big thing post-Christopher. The thing that makes you realize that you're not alone. The thing that makes you realize you don't need him to make it through." And he's right. Throughout all of this craziness, I have not for one moment felt alone. Whether it was a visit or a phone call or a Facebook comment or a happy thought you've sent my way, I know you're out there, loving me. I know I'm not alone. In fact, I'm so much better than simply not alone; I am full of life and love and people who just won't let me forget that.

So even though for the moment I have boo-boos on my belly (and blisters surrounding them because I'm pretty much allergic to everything in the world) and am missing an organ, I'm still whole, complete and perfect, just as I am. In no small part because you're along for the ride.

The unmitigated gall!

Sometimes, it seems nothing goes smoothly. This is one of those times.

As you already know, since about last November my gallbladder and I haven't been getting along. I had scheduled surgery to have the sucker removed this Friday. I was nervous - hey, anesthesia is a scary thing - but I was pretty sure I'd be fine. It's a common operation, zip in, zip out, done. All was rosey in my world.

Until last Friday when the surgeon's office called. He's not available on the July 17; we can either make it July 16 or 24.

Great. Making arrangements wasn't easy in the first place. I have people taking off of work to take care of me, and now I have to re-arrange their schedules and my own. Thankfully, I have wonderfully flexible friends. But that's not where the headaches end. While I was on the phone with the surgeon, I asked them (for the second time) if I would need any pre-op testing to be done, and I was told the hospital would contact me but any testing would likely be done the day of surgery. It didn't seem right, but it's not like I was going to convince them otherwise.

Then I got the call from the hospital yesterday, confirming my surgery for Friday. No, I said, it's been rescheduled for Thursday. Well that will be fine, the OR is free, and as long as you've already had your blood work done ....

Wait, what?

Yeah, it should've been done last week or at the latest yesterday, in order for the results to come back in time for the re-scheduled procedure. And to top it all off, the referral I have from my primary doc is good for the admission date of 7/17 ... so before I let anyone cut into me, I figure I'd better get an updated copy, otherwise I really don't have a leg to stand on if the insurance questions anything.

Needless to say, I headed to Aurora this morning to have blood drawn and pick up a copy of the referral. Sounds like a simple thing, and it should've been, but the freakin' vampire who took my blood didn't believe me when I told her my veins can sometimes be challenging. Only after three tries and literal weeping (me, not her) was she able to get enough blood for the tests they need to run.

I am now out of patience. I look like a human pincushion, or a really messy addict. But my sister has assured me that on the day of surgery I'll get good drugs that will put me in a happy place.

As long as they can get the damn IV in, that is!

Paralysis

It happens, sometimes. That "stuck-in-a-rut" feeling that feels impossible to shake, when doing the things you know will make it better seem far too difficult to even try.

I've been that way with money. I used to manage it really well, and then I turned it over to my ex. When he left, it was like I just didn't know how any more.

I've been that way with people. When it's been awhile (years, sometimes) it can be hard to make that phone call, no matter how much I want to hear Julianne's voice at the end of the line.

And I've been that way with my health, and that's what petrifies me the most. It is so easy to slip back into my old habits, to let the comfort of a sedentary life lead me to time on the couch. It feels like paralysis, like I just can't do it. I can know beyond a shadow of doubt how much better I'll feel if I just get to the gym, or walk around town, or even vacuum really fast, but there I sit.

Yesterday was my first time back at the gym since June 30. That's almost two weeks, and for someone like me, that is not okay. I had my reasons, believe me. Last week the gallbladder spoke to me pretty loudly. I had a couple of days when only the Vicodin kept me from performing surgery myself. Never missed work (although I'm real happy I didn't get picked for a random drug test) but it was tough to get to the gym. Then it was 4th of July weekend, and I had lots of good food to eat and sleep to catch up on and fun to have. And then Monday, work came at me like crazy. Deadlines and blamestorming was the theme of the week, and I got caught in the crossfire. Un-fun. So I worked late Monday, which stretched into Tuesday, and by Wednesday I just wanted to go home and eat an entire pizza.

I could've done so many things differently. I could've tried taking a little walk when the gallbladder hurt, just to see if moving around helped at all. Hey, circulation is a good thing, right? I could've gone to the gym after work, regardless of how late I was stuck at the office. I could've shaken my groove thing on the elliptical or the treadmill instead of in class, since class and I couldn't coordinate our schedules. I could've done a lot of things, but instead I let myself wallow a little. I went home, ate delicious food, spent a lot of time in the bath. See, it's not like I spent my nights with my good friends Ben and Jerry; on the contrary, I still ate rather healthfully and deliciously. It was the moving my body that was missing.

So last night, I hit the gym again. Thursday night Salsa/Funk, surrounded by friends. In the middle of the last song (which incidentally helps us all tap into our inner pole dancer) it began to wash over me ... it's as much about working my soul as it is about working my body. I come here to sweat, and to get fed. So many good people, standing at the ready to shower one another with inspiration and encouragement, how could you not move? How could you not want to just let your body go and dance the hour away?

I'm not foolish enough to think that one night has put me back on track. And I'm a little nervous, because next weekend I have the whole surgery thing and that will require me to take things a little easier, at least for a few days. But I reminded myself of some important stuff last night: my connection to my friends (I love my John and Linda and Donna!) matters more than calories burned. The post-workout shower feels better than any other clean routine. And my body is meant to move.

So you have my word that I'm not gonna let paralysis take me over again. And when I feel it coming on, I'll call ya, or text ya, or e-mail ya. I'll let you kick me in the tail so one night doesn't turn into two weeks, because I know I'm worth it. And I know you think so, too.

Policies

So yesterday at the office, we were provided with our Social Networking Policy. In it, we learn ...

"Employees are prohibited from using the name ... in any online social networking and blogging activities without express permission" from the undisclosed company for which I work.

Additionally, even while we are forbidden to name said company, we are prohibited from posting material that is "obscene, vulgar, defamatory, threatening, discriminatory, harassing, abusive, hateful or embarrassing to another person or entity."

So let me get this straight: I can't tell anyone where I work (which, incidentally, is not the CIA) but I also can't make fun of anyone or use the eff word? Seriously?

In an effort to comply, I have removed the name of the undisclosed company for which I work from this here blog and my social networking activities. But yikes, it seems a wee bit Big Brother-ish to me. Here's my favorite line in the policy:

"Employees have no right to absolute privacy when they post on a social networking site, regardless of where the employee accesses the Internet."

Except when they wrote it, it wasn't punctuated quite as well.

Not meaning to complain too much here. I still love my job. But isn't it enough that I occasionally pee in a cup for them? Doesn't my pride in my company preclude their fear that I might say "company name" and "did you see the way she tucked her skirt into her panties?" in the same body of work? These are the questions that keep me up at night. Those, and "Why is the cat standing on my chest?"

Hope my undisclosed company has an answer for that, too.