Pissing blue

Yes I am still alive for those who are wondering. I was wondering myself if I would live to see today.

In the paper yesterday in the continuing series of economic gloom in the auto industry, they interviewed a former Ford engineer who still is loyal to his company despite it laying him off. "I still bleed blue." he was quoted. Well I am still pissing blue though not out of any loyality to Ford or even Kizer whose color also is blue though I wish both companies well out for profoundly selfish reasons, but because of an intensely blue dye used to map my nodes. Presumably my bad breast is blue too but I haven't removed the swaddling to confirm that or the major pit it now contains. But the bright blue toilet bowl is sorta freaky.

Sign up for teacher conferences was early on the agenda yesterday. I had only a brief window of time (so I thought at least). I get there and there's a line out the door so I just turn around and go home full of self-pity. Like how come I have to wait in a line when I have surgery that day and why couldn't Steve volunteer to do this which of course led to what is going to happen when I can't do the things that people rely on me for? It reminded me of my miscarriage long ago, a week long process between finding out the baby was dead and it actually coming out. I would have painful contractions and they would just stop but once the contactions had begun, I would think this it only for them to stop after an hour or two. During this time, I was running (as in organizing)a race in charge of volunteers. I had to get them all together and tell them en masse what I expected of them. Steve was my co-chair. There was alot of grunt work involved that he didn't have to face the public for that he did but it was assumed I would do all the public speaking. Of course I started having the contractions when it came time for me to speak but Steve is so absolutely terrified of public speaking, I knew I couldn't ask him. Ironically, a few days later when I was having them for real, a woman was berating me for 'poorly organizing' my girl scouts who were water passer-outers. The next year, she lost a child also and a very mean part of me thought it was karma but of course I didn't interrupt her tirade to say excuse me my dead child is about to come out of me right now so I rather not listen to this abuse. But then Karma comes and kicks you on the butt. She had breast cancer pre-menopause. I could see her from afar with those pathetic head scarves but I didn't send her a note or anything despite at one point we had been training partners for triathlons. I try to be logical and realize my cancer has nothing to do with how nice I haven't been. For the record I was nice to my former softball teammate with cancer and sponsor her in breast cancer events. Both are still alive despite maybe scarier prognoses.

I digress. Steve eventually figured out how to sign up for the conferences though I will be still stuck dealing with the teachers. Most of yesterday was spent waiting, waiting, waiting. Things kept coming up with my fellow surgical patients. I could hear the clerk later canceling all of Dr. Diehl's patients for the afternoon, which was probably for upsetting to them. The first step was for a wire to be inserted into my breast while being smooshed under the mammogram machine. I was told that this would be the hardest part (in terms of pain). Indeed, the patient before me kept passing out and 'being difficult' delaying the whole day. Right before it, my pulse was 97 vs its usual 55. (Steve before he had to give a talk in front of the chemistry dept went up to 180 so I guess he was twice as terrified). They do give you lidocaine and it is very creepy but I presumably was their easiest patient ever setting some sort of time record. I was then wheeled into the presurgical area and told to change into 'their' gown. I said why can't I just use the breast center gown. Oh ours are different, we have snaps. Well before I had use of both arms and now I was told not to move my right arm at all or I could pull the wire out protruding from my breast. Why didn't they give me the surgical gown first when it would have been easy for me to deal with it or why have me come in at 9:30 when as it turns out, my surgery wouldn't be, until 3:30 why why why. Shanna showed up around noon. Olga offered to babysit Oliver to free her up. I guess this is a nice gesture but suspect she was using the opportunity to sneak hummus in him unimpeded. I had a slight headache from lack of caffeine and was freezing though they kept putting warm blankets from the blanket oven on me. The staff was very nice. The PA had an interesting Palin accent or speech impediment, we couldn't figure out which. Diehl showed up all apologetic about her uncooperative patient that threw her schedule off. I do like her. She thought I was remarkably calm-the pulse had gone back to 55. Right before my surgery, she came in again to warn me that they were just cleaning the operating room. I asked why, is there blood splattered over the walls like a slaughterhouse? The anaesthesiologist taking my history did ask about my alcohol history. I didn't mention my half pitcher of sangria I guzzled the night before but I did ask why she needed to know how much I drank? She said that the more alcohol I drank, the more anaesthesia I would need. Shit, do I tell her now that I probably drink more than a glass of wine a day? I meekly said that I seem to have a high tolerance for alcohol, will that translate into needing more drug? I worried they wouldn't give me enough but she said that wouldn't be a problem. Of course I worried they would give me too much and I wouldn't come back back I guess I would never know. She had dark circles under her eyes and two closely spaced babies at home. Hopefully she could overcome obvious sleep deprivation to calculate this right.
They wheeled me into the room. I don't remember moving to the operating table though I must have been awake to do that. I do remember them putting a mask on me telling me it was pure oxygen and to breathe deep. Must not have been too pure as that was the last I heard until 3h later. I was warned that there would be a time that I could speak and respond but I wouldn't remember it which did happen. Apparently I did alot of mumbling which drove Steve crazy as his hearing is getting worse and worse and the part of my brain still functioning didn't remember that. I slowly returned to reality. Shanna said that in my stupor I had said I was in pain and they gave me fenantyl-very heavy duty so when I did come back, I didn't feel much pain beyond my throat hurting from the tube. It still does despite my meds. I've had mild sore throats before that ibruprofen would quickly ameliorate-I am surprised the viocodin isn't helping. I can't really speak now beyond a whisper so maybe the throat was damaged. I certainly didn't want to talk to people last night as speaking is an effort. I wanted warm stuff-slippery warm noodles. Now I keep drinking coffee but haven't figured out what would be good to eat-nothing that would scratch my throat. I was very groggy and getting dressed to leave was an effort as was stumbling to the car. I am not in much pain but I have been 'on top of my meds' to make sure.

I returned to pretty flowers when I got home. Thank you dear friends!!! Shanna and Steve also got me sunflowers-girasole (Italian for turning to the sun).

Martha had called the night before wondering what I would need that she could supply. She had gone through 2 nasty cancers and hell and back. She said if I needed to rage against the diesase I could call up and scream at her. I asked her if this had been something she needed to do and if she had found someone to abuse. No but some people need to do it and she was willing to take my abuse. Well thank-you Martha but you would be the last person I would ever abuse.