Here we go again

O.K., so here we are again--a day before the big surgery. I'm not nearly as nervous as I was last week. I should be--all the possible complications are still there--but I'm not. I guess that's a good thing. The biggest thing I'm worried about? Dying without ever knowing how LOST ends. It's a sincere concern of mine.

I go in and talk to the surgeon this afternoon. I'm telling him that he has my permission to remove any non-essential organ that gets in his way or has alien cysts growing on it. I'm also going to try to convince him to give me a hysterectomy while he's in there. Think he'll go for it?

I'm also trying to come up with a really creative threat to tape to my stomach before the surgery. I'm allergic to iodine. I had a big red wristband on stating that. I also reminded the surgeon and the anesthesiologist. But, they prepped me with betadine anyway. I spent 3 days burning and itching.

So, I'm going to tape a note to my stomach reminding them, and I'd like to include a threat. Something that they'd know was a joke yet would also convey that I mean business. Any ideas?

Oh, and I have a codicil for my will. I would like you to get Kathy Griffin to give my eulogy. I know she's a busy celebrity, but in my head we're best fiends. I think she'd do it.


And all those jokes I want from all of you? Have them printed in a book to be given out as gifts at the after-party.

And I want a pink casket.





And if anyone comes near my cold, dead eyelids with blue or green eyeshadow I'll haunt you (in a bad, evil way) for the rest of your life.

I think that covers it.

Oh wait. One last thing.

Those with weak stomachs may want to avert your eyes.

Ready?





Are you sure?

My before shot. You'll see a lot of this as the months go on.

Before, a side view. Flattering, no? I like how it shows off my back hump (years of poor posture and a mild case of scoliosis). Just call me Quasimodo.


You guys totally thought I was going to show you another ovarian cyst picture, didn't you?

The new subtitle

I read a quote from one of the Twelve Apostles of my church today:

“Let us once and for all establish our residence in Zion
and give up the summer cottage in Babylon.”
–Elder Neal A. Maxwell

My first thought was, "Oooooh! A summer cottage!"

And if you know me, then you know that it's a fitting title for this blog. I'm mostly a good girl. I try to purge all of my rebelliousness into my posts here. I tossed around "Brandi's Den of Sin and Unrighteousness" as an option after my prop 8 scandal, but I think Summer Cottage in Babylon has a nice ring to it...

And if any of you know how to make it centered, I'll love you forever. It's driving me crazy!!

A Tiny New Obsession

One of the tricks that successful gastric bypass patients use to get and stay thin is tiny dishes and utensils.

It's totally psychological--for people used to piling their plates, it can feel like torture only having two ounces of food on that same plate (even though that two ounces will stuff you). Those two ounces will fill a tiny plate. And using tiny forks and spoons makes you take tiny bites, which is ideal for tiny stomachs.




So, a couple of months ago I was at Target and they had lots of tiny dishes. Cute tiny dishes. And little silverware, too. So I bought a few. And then I was at Pier 1 and they had even cuter tiny dishes, so I bought some more. Over the past couple of months I've started a nice little collection.

Sorry, this is a horrible picture but I had already put them all away and didn't want to get them all out again. Look how cute those tiny spoons and forks are! Did you know spooning leads to forking? True story.

So, now you know what to get me for my birthday (after the Ronco Dehydrator, of course).

Something else I've been collecting? Vitamin supplements. This will be mandatory for the rest of my life.

Not pictured: 8 pounds of isolated whey protein powder in various flavors.

Family Update Volume VII

Once again it's Sunday and I have very little to write about for a family update. Or at least that's how it feels, but then I start typing and it ends up being a novel.

Anyway.

Ben started the gifted program this week. He takes a bus to one of the other elementary schools every Thursday and spends the entire day there. The teacher called and said he did really well, and it's all he could talk about at home. The downside? He now hates "regular" school and complains that he's bored out of his mind every day.




Amelia is still giddy over becoming a Sunbeam. She likes going to primary with her brothers instead of to nursery.

Liam is obsessed with fire safety. This has actually been going on for months, but we thought it had subsided. His pre-K class visited the fire station back in October and sat through a lecture about fire safety. From that point on he was convinced that if he didn't become an expert on fire safety he would die in a fire. Dinner times were spent with him going over and over our family's escape plan and where we'd meet and reminding Amelia and Ben not to hide if there was fire and not to be afraid of the firemen in masks.

By December his fervor had died out (so we thought). Then, he brought home a stack of recent art work from school. Every single one was a drawing of him rescuing his classmates from fire. His teacher said that that's all he wants to play during free play as well--he puts on the fire hat and rescues his classmates, even if they aren't playing. Surprisingly, he has no desire to be a fire man when he grows up.




Will is once again NOT preparing for the NCO of the Quarter for Fort Gordon board that he has on Tuesday. Personally, I think that since he's made it this far, he should start trying to win. If he wins this one, he moves on to compete in the Army wide competition.

As for me, my news is all about the surgery and the cyst and the next surgery on Wednesday. I sincerely hope they can do it laproscopically so the recovery time is relatively short. I think if I'm laid up for 2-3 weeks Will may not come out alive. Watching him cook and "clean" and do all the other daily tasks has made me want to do violent things, especially since I left the house spotless and affairs in order when I left Tuesday. It's a helpless yet enraging feeling to be lying in a hospital bed and get a call from Liam's teacher 30 minutes after he should have been picked up asking where we were, and even more enraging to find out it was because Will was napping.

Deep breath. Deep breath.

We also broke in our Y membership yesterday. We got up early and headed over. We put the kids in the free daycare and Will and I worked out for an hour. Then we got the kids and swam for another hour. If we do it again, we'll leave Liam in the daycare while we swim. Last summer he couldn't get enough swimming in our pool. At the Y he was clutching us and screaming that he was going to die. Not much fun for all involved.

I have a different picture I thought about posting here, but it's so completely blasphemous and offensive that I just couldn't do it. E-mail me if you want me to send it to you.

That about covers the week. See? A novel. Sorry.

Here are some more old pictures of the kids:

Amelia, one day old


Liam, 7 months old (I think)


Ben's first day of first grade, August 2005

Woo hoo!

Guess who dodged the lady part cancer bullet for a third time? Me! The OB/GYN called this morning and the "eight pound cyst-baby" (description courtesy of Stephanie. Maybe I should have a cyst-baby naming contest...) was benign.

Last one, I swear. :)

So, onward to surgery again on Wednesday.

Also, I got to shower today for the first time since Tuesday. I'm almost happier about that than not having cancer. I said, almost! Geez, people.

And, I'm up and around and about to go shopping and am pretty much pain free.

The only bad thing about today is that I accidentally took two doses of stool softener (Look, general anesthesia slows your intestines way down. You'd need it too. ) instead of one dose of stool softener and one dose of Tylenol. That's a mistake I'll be paying for all day.

It could have been worse

As crazy as an eight pound ovarian cyst is, it could have been worse.

This poor woman had a ninety-three pound cyst!




Actually that wouldn't have been so bad. Just imagine it--I wake up from the anesthesia and the doctor says, "Mrs. Douglass, it turns out you don't need gastric bypass surgery after all. We just removed a hundred pound cyst. Go home and have some pizza."

Sweeeeeet!

An eight pound bump in the road

So guess what? Someone still has not had gastric bypass surgery yet.

They started to do it and discovered an eight pound, bowling ball size ovarian cyst. Yes, you read that correctly. Eight pounds.

Not mine, but mine was about this size.

So, they removed it and are testing it to see if it's cancerous. If it's benign, I'll have the bypass surgery on Wednesday.

The last eight pound thing I had cut out of me was Liam.

This is the third time in my life that I've had to wait to hear if some part of my lady business is cancer-ridden. I wish they'd just take it all out. I'm done with them. Anybody need a slightly used uterus? A couple of defective ovaries? You can use them for parts.

I'm at home now, looped up on narcotics (so forgive me if this post is unintelligible). I have seven incisions and no tiny stomach to show for it (although I did drop a pants size). I feel like I was run over by a truck. And then stabbed multiple times in the torso as part of a gang initiation.

Is the room spinning for you guys, too? It sure is for me. Guess I should lie down.

Oh--but there is one bright streak in all of this. I can eat this week. Yay for food! When I stop puking from the anesthesia anyway.