disclaimer or something

A mummy-hand holding, (former) biker gang affiliating, hippie influenced semi crunchy granola mom's ramblings and reminisings on an off-kilter life

Tuesday, June 23, 2015

Cervical LEEP and Broken Foot part two

Just a brief follow up post....

It has been what, 3 or 4 weeks since my LEEP? Three I think, Anyways; I barely bled at all afterwards. Then tmi (but this whole topic is tmi), I shed some weird skin looking thing which put me in a panic, but it is just from the iron stuff they used to seal my wound and stop excess bleeding. Some people lose it in a giant creepy chunk like I did. Then,  I got my period. Then, no issues for two days and now, not heavy bleeding as in oh my gosh call the doctor bleeding, but it is fresh blood and at the level of blood a period would be at, so it if lasts more than a few days or pain accompanies it, I will go to the doctor, as my doctor said don't worry unless there are clots and the like. So I am hoping all is well, even if I have a bit of panic!

Then, my broken foot and sprained ankle.....it has been 4 weeks and I thought I could at least bear weight on it since I have a weight bearing/walkable Cam Boot cast thingy. Nope. I tried to bear weight just for a moment so I could step in the shower (I am sick of not begin able to even bathe/shower on my own!) and OUCH. The pain in my ankle, well, there wasn't any but my whole foot, even my heel, had pain. The pain was at the level which mirrors the pain of a I-just-a-second-ago-sprained-my-anke level pain, pain which I know well since I have sprained my ankle four times. Apparently it is a family thing, my cousin sprained her ankle six or eight times! So yeah....

The doctor said oh bear weight on it when you can, walk on it when you can, see you in six weeks. That made it seem like I'd be bearing weight and walking on it, given his advice and the walkable boot I am wearing. And I'm no pain wimp, having given birth without any painkillers, having had my head sewn shut (13 stitches) without anesthesia as a child, having not gone to the doctors until 12 hours after breaking my foot and not taking any prescription pain killers.... I'm not a pain wimp and just bearing weight HURTS.

I am disappointed in my healing time for all my issues and its getting the best of me.

Friday, June 5, 2015

cervical LEEP surgery

I searched in vain for people's experiences with the cervical LEEP procedure, but all were too vague or clinical. So, here is my experience but each woman's experience is her own and can differ from mine.

””
”” I was diagnosed with HPV 16 a few months ago per an abnormal pap. Women, PLEASE GO GET YOUR PAPS REGULARLY, I cannot stress that enough. Had I not dragged myself to my Gynecologist, things could have turned much much worse.

My HPV is HPV 16, one of the two kinds most responsible for cancer, and is aggressive. I had a cone biopsy and it came back as CIV3, the worst of the worst of cervical abnormalities one can get without actually having cancer. So I felt relieved yet kinda worried, like, eek I have the worst case! Thank God I did get that pap when I did.

So I got scheduled for a LEEP procedure. I am truly the biggest medical procedure wimp and was honestly very nervous and scared.

I went in and layed on the pap type table with stirrups, undressed from the waist down, with a little courtesy sheet to, for me, shield my view of stuff.

They inserted the speculum or whatever it is, the one for this procedue is larger than the one for a PAP so it is not exactly painful but rather awkward and uncomfortable. Then they did that click click click bumpy thing they do in a pap but it was more clicky and lasted longer and verged on kinda painful. Then I got a shot in the cervix.

...actually 4 shots of anasthesia, and I felt all 4. Its a dental type needle so it feels like a dental anasthesia needle and usually you only feel one, not four, lucky me. The 4th one was the twingy-est and i gritted my teeth.

It anesthisised my cervix but the rest of the vagina was not anesthised. So you feel the speculum and the insertion of tools, none of which hurts but it just reminds you of what' going on inside, so it is hard to ignore. But luckily you dont feel the actual chop chop of your lady bits.

Bring an ipod. Well even then you HEAR everything but it is at least kinda dulled by your ipod music. Oh did I tell you, you get a giant silver bandage to ground you so you don't get electricuted?

The doctor uses a vacuum, I guess because there is smoke or fumes from the procedure. I am not certain, as I didn't ask because fumes and smoke from my vagina was far too freaky for me to think about. The vacuum is as loud as a carpet cleaner, but for me was strangely good. It was white noise I could zone out on.

After the anesthisizing, I was shaking like mad. As said, I am such a wimp. I was pale, my blood pressure skyrocked, my breath got shallow. The doctor suggested I could try full anasthesia, it was an option but meant longer procedure and recovery, but I get panic attacks from it so I declined. My doctor taught me relaxation techniques, rest your hand on your navel and breathe in 4 seconds, so you feel your hand rise. Breathe out 4 seconds to feel your hand fall. Repeat. Vacate your mind.

So back to the procedure, I felt tools and hands and maybe the microscope go in and out and around....some iodine and alcohol and water to cleanse me....and then a high pitched squeeeeeeeee. I did my best to convince myself the squeeeeee was part of the Pink Floyd song on my ipod, because I did not wish to think hey thats some tool chopping off my cervix, squeeeee, just like the band saw I used in metal shop in 7th grade.



Each time the vacuum shut off, my shaking returned cause I was like, omg did they just turn off the vacuum because they just accidentally chopped off my labia? Am I bleeding to death? Did they remove the wrong thing? Am I dead? But no. It was just normal procedure.

The surgery seemed to last forever due to my nervousness, but once it was over I was like, its over? Already?

All the nurses kept asking me, are you ok? I guess my super nervousness made them worry. I must have looked like I saw a ghost. Apparently, I really was a nervous freakazoid.

I have a follow up appointment in 4 weeks, and am told I can have pain, like menstrual cramps, for a few days or so. I can take tylenol or advil and get stronger stuff if I call the doctor.

Afterwards, I had some pain but not cervical pain. The un-numb parts of my lady bits hurt. It feels like, well, like I had a giant, wide, metallic device shoved up me for a half an hour withojt lubrication because that is exactly what happened. To add to things, due to a broken foot, I cannot shower on my own and decided to use a diaper wipe to clean down there for a few days and wowza. I got a mild chemical burn so my exterior lady bits hurt. The doctor said to put coconut oil on a soft towel and dab the affected areas so hey...even if you did not wish to know about my chemical burn, now you know how to treat one if you get one. See? I am all about passing on knowledge,  a true teacher at heart.

I can have on and off heavy bleeding for up to four weeks! And strange colored discharge (mostly blood and iodine), and to only freak if I have clots come out. No sex, tampons, or heavy lifting for 4 weeks because, as the nurse said, "basically you have a gaping wound". Gaping wound, doesn't that sound lovely?

I am quite tuckered out today, not need-a-nap tired, but ran-a-marathon tired, where my body and mind just want to slip away into another less sore and tuckered out existance. No one told me I would feel like just laying in bed doing nothing afterwards. Maybe having the broken foot and sprained ankle is just compounding the issue. Maybe it is that I somehow lost 6 lbs since my foot injuries, and so my body needs more calories since calories are energy? Who knows but I am dog tired. I wish I could get myself into my jacuzzi!

Tuesday, June 2, 2015

go ask alice

As her head hit the pillow and her eyes shut, there was a rumble outside but it did not disturb her as she drifted to sleep.

The harleys quieted, and the guests stumbed inside, the meth layed out, divided, snorted, almost to the beat of the Rolling Stones from a tinny single-speakered record player.

Awoken by the commotion of a late night party, the little girl looked over the landing, a birds-eye view of drugs, mirrors, beer bottles, and crowds of bikers cavorting. She liked the music playing; the Doors, and she hummed "when the music's over, turn out the lights". She was awake, bored, and decided to tiptoe down to the busy living room to look for some toys.

At the turn of the stairs, she could see her parents, back turned, and then a sudden rush of the crowd towards the door, screams of "shit!" And "no!" Echoed up the staircase.

Her parents ran out, oblivious of her, and she began to step off the last steps as she saw a woman approach. Red and blue lights reflected off the wall, red, blue, red, blue, mesmorizing her. She felt like she could get lost in the sparkling lights, but the woman smiled, bringing the girl out of her daze. The woman had long brown hair and a 1970s style rusty-yellowy sweater, and she sat down on the step, beckonjng the girl to her lap. The woman felt warm, safe, motherly, and the usually shy girl sought the woman's comfort. The woman grabbed a toy, an Etch-a-sketch, and the two began drawing geometric patterns. The chaos seemed to drown away, the flashing colored lights were no longer of interest, just the sense of love and security, the joy that an adult had taken time to sit down and play, almost child-like, filled the girl with a memorable warmth and peace.

Many years later, the girl asked her parents about that night. They swore she stayed asleep in bed and that unfortunately someone overdosed at the party and an ambulance showed up, but that her memory of the party and the lights must hsve been something she overheard, a manufactured memory. And the woman? Her parents both swore there wasn't even a single brunette woman there, let alone one im a sweater. Another manufactured memory.

That is, until the now-grown girl flipped through a dusty shoebox at her grandma's; photos stashed away of grandma's ex husband, that pig. Mixed into photos of the hated ex was a photo of a woman, it was black and white and dated to 1930. Aside from the curled up-do and tailored dress, and obvious lack of coloring, the now-grown girl gasped and with a shaky hand, flipped over the photo. "Alice" it said.

Alice.

Her great grandmother who passed away decades ago.

Alice.

Alice had comforted her that scary night.

It was definitely Alice, with a different hairstyle and outfit, but the likeliness was unmistakable.

Alice, Alice the angel, sent to comfort and protect her great grand-daughter, a relstive she had never met since she had passed away years before, but a girl she knew she needed to protect.

A girl who, relatives say, reminds them a lot of Alice.

Friday, May 29, 2015

The Prey

"Such a lovely, well mannered, but quiet girl"
"Needs to come out of her shell, but otherwise, perfect student!"
 "Shy, but sweet and smart"
The loopy cursive may be faded and smudged on pink carbon-copy paper, but the same messages echoed back through a dozen years of report cards- a quiet but lovely girl. What every parent hoped for. But inside, she felt alone and scared. Insecure, a victim without circumstance.

The perfect child, she would sit cross-legged on the Persian rug and watch the static black and white TV, blasting out Leave it To Beaver or Walter Cronkite, a well-adjusted girl with secrets going on right there on the couch behind her, behind seemingly invisible veil.

Emotional abuse. Schizophrenia. Methamphetamine. The illegal gun trade. Discussions of overdoses, the KKK, prison, prostitutes, and blacking out, all the while she seemingly was oblivious. The quiet, perfect child.

Demons danced in the shadows unabashedly, whispering in her ears with their raspy voices, "are you afraid of the dark, little girl?" She feared her room, yearned for the comfort of home; felt abandoned by her parents yet drawn to their hugs and false security.

A host of haggard untouchables, toothless, legless, hopeless, came in and out like the pumping of blood through veins, seeking the illegal goods provided in her family. At age eight, she could (if she had ever wanted) negotiate a drugs or arms deal, but not explain the meaning of family, religion, safety. She saw the TV world as just that, a pretend world where there were three square meals, smiles, kind words, baseball games, and slumber parties, a world beyond her reach behind the fiberglass of the television.

In a world unfit for children, she existed quietly, afraid to shake up a volatility not of her understanding.

The worst experiences, by far, were those haggard men. They would mention, while standing over her, "Hey she's gonna make a hot wife!" while their stinging alcohol breath wafted down like poison gas. They would swoon over her beauty, her hair and eyes and how she was a looker. All the while, her parents turned a blind (or imtoxicated) eye. Nothing much ever came of it, but every day she could feel predatory eyes, imaginary lips licking over her luscious prepubescent body, the demons lurking in every corner, and appearing in reality daily to get their score and more.

The predatory demons left their scent for decades, wisps of fear leaking into everyday interactions, like a permanent tattoo, an ominous unshakable presence. When her collection of psychologists asked her, "what's wrong, ehy are you here", it all came back to her and she wanted to recede into her shell even more, in hopes hiding from life would hide her demons.

...Work of fiction after reading a psychological thriller...





Thursday, May 28, 2015

broken part 2

My tablet is wonky so my last post ends midsentence, i cant add any more or delete or....so here goes... .....
.....
something about cleaning! My bff swept and mopped the floor! It looks so nice and she cleaned off the kitchen counter and I was like ahhhh...i feel less mess-twitchy.

So anyways. 12 hours after the soft cast and dr visit, my big toe cramps up. I am trying to sleep. It cramps worse and worse until I am choking back tears, and I finally wake my husband (I hate asking people for help) and he takes off my cast. imstant relief. The next morning we put it back on and a few hours later, I have migrzine or childbirth level pain in my toe. I call the nurse hotline and am advised to just loosen stuff. Luckily it worked as wowza it hurt.

I hate hate hate asking people for help. It goes back to some odd psychological issue of, if I don't ask for help, I dont cause any negative feelings and can just become the wallflower that I am, meets, the huge moral I was taught and have a complex for, dont ever hurt anyone's feelings and that includes not even asking them for help.

so here I am needing help for everything. Help...no...more, someone must do an entire task for me. I cant clean the cst litter or pick up the sock on the floor or shower on my own. i cant drive a car, chase after my boys, water my garden, or reach the bowls and plates and cups. I cannot do any of this for at least 6 weeks and must rely on others to do it all for me.

I refuse to use my crutches as they are cumbersome, deadly-teeter-totter-y, and hurt my armpit and boobs. So i have an office chair I can wheel around in, but that still restricts me to 200 square feet of chair-scoot-able space. And my good foot and leg are tired of scooting. You exert a lot of energy, surprisingly, when you can only use one leg. It is exhausting, oddly, to be stuck in bed or a chair all day.

I am a calm but anxious and ADD type restless person. I realize in a normal ten minutes, i have probably checked facebook, gotten a snack for myself and juce for the kids, let the dog out to pee, turned off a light, rescued a child from imminent danger (repeat that twice), broke up a wrestling match, let dog back in, changed seating positions, searched for a toy, put shoes on to go imto the garden. I realize how ADD active I am and how oddly soothing it is, like a drug fix...must...do...ten...things...at...once. suddnely I cant do that.

I now have A cam boot, it weighs a ton and makes me itchy. My foot looked bruised and tan but the tan is actuslly a bruise. Im sitting right now Without the boot as I removed it to itch my ankle and....4 hours later am still cast boot-less, against doctors orders, because my husband disappeared into his office to work 4 hours ago and it requires 2 people to put back on.

Soon, my husband has to travel for work. I will be stuck alone with small kids and well, I am basically bed ridden. My mom will drop by "for a few hours one day" which I am grateful and bitter about...like...thanks, 2 hours of you chasing the kids and  reaching a cup for me so I can drink water totally doesnt make up for days of me praying my kids will just sit still, and that I can somehow feed and clothe and bathe them and myself all on my own. Oh and that darn cam boot cant come off, so i will reek because I wont be able to wash it or myself. Or any clothes.

And I get to be on crutches, dont walk on the broken foot, for at least 6 weeks. My mom has delusions of grandeur of us shopping. Suuuuure, I will park 400 yards away from kohls, and crutch-hobble while she pushes my reluctant kids in a stroller, all around the store, placing prospective outfits...somewhere....and onto the next store....sure mom.

I know I know. Complaining doesnt help. But this sucks!

After 23 days where we never saw the sun (but did see snow!) The fog has lifted and summer is here, beckoning my kids and I outdoors. Screw you, inviting summer I cant enjoy!

My mother in law uses a cane to walk, and seems to actually enjoy ordering others around while she rests in the chair. Not me.

Oh!

Oh! But there is more!

I get half my cervix chopped off and drilled into next week.

Because why not, right?


all the joys of broken

Yeah....the title is gramatically incorrect... No one ever told me how much of a pain in the ass crutches are. How splints and boots anD the like itch like mad. How pain,well, hurts, and how being handicapped sucks. A few days ago, my clumsy self decided to ski down the 45° board on the side of the stairs, full weight on the ankle bent sideways, then boom, land on the ankle and foot full force on the non-carpeted floor. All I can say about that is white hot. And the world's loudest, longest, F word. I felt pain as bad as The worst part of childbirth (which I did unemedicated) but yet different, more sharp. I saw a flash of blinding white, nothing else which slowly faded to real vision. Heat and light, like being struck by lightninG. I painfully rolled myself to my back, and grabbed a (luckily clean, fell out of the hamper) shark mop pad which was within reach and bit down. I did not even cry because it hurt that bad. My husband rushed down, my youngest son crying (perhaps he knew something was very wrong, or I frightened him with my loud cursing). I was uncontrollably shaking, and my husband scooped me up and plopped me on the couch, covered me in a blanket as I shook and shivered like mad, and put a shot of tequila to my lips. I am trying not to drink alcohol, but it did not matter, I needed to numb the pain or my mind or something before the gone missing advil could be found and take effect. I hopped to bed and slept. In the morning i did a weird backwards butt crawl thing upstairs for breakfast and kept eyeing my foot. I finally decided, yes, I hafe sprained this very ankle twice but the pain wasnt nearly as bad and i could gently bear weight on it and this time, no. So off to urgent care I went. I sat in a wheelchair that wasnt a self moving one, so someone else had to wheel me. The secretary called for my copay and luckily someone took mercy on me and wheeled me over, because I got stuck! Once in an actual patiet room, I had to pee. Of course. So I was wheeled in, door shut, and had to figure out how to get out of a wheelchair, pants off, onto the toilet, back up, to the sink, and paper towels (omg why are they so far away?!?!) And back into the chair without falling and injuring myself more. I succeeded and pulled the nurse button-cord and got yelled at for not turning it off (hello the off button would require me to stand!) off to xray and... Fractured metatarsal bone and a severe ankle sprain. I got a "soft cast" and an appointment 3 days later. I got crutches, too. Crutches suck big hairy rocks. The slightest incline or step results in a death defying teetering maneuver, and even on flat surfaces, you realize you are essentially an untrained circus stint walker. With injuries. And they say dont rest the crutch in your armpit and they mean it!! Dont!! Even when I try not to, my armpits ache as if they have swoolen lymph nodes. The crutch even made a breast cyst of mine get all...cyst-y so now that hurts, too. I havent seen the downstairs of my home for 3 days. I do know the mess down their is hoarders-meets-tornado level, and I can do nothing about it. I just want the toenail clippers hiding down there. I know, its the little things! I have bad swelling, so I am stuck most hours of the day in bed or on the couch, foot raised. My tailbone (which has a sciatica type issue) aches from this. I cannot just get up and go pee or grab a snack. Oddly, as much as I loathe housecleaning, I miss it. Or rather, the mess makes me feel all twitchy and stabby and not being able to fix it drives me mad. Luckily my bff came over and man if I could just not be jealous, and have her as a sister wife (plus other complications...) she rocks. My tile floor upstairs is sparkly clean, she fed my kiddos some lunch, and..ok that was

Friday, April 24, 2015

the new F-word

Fuck the word fuck and all the wussy, wimpy, petty little things that come with it.

Cancer. Cancer is totally the new F-word.

I went in for a pap smear a few months ago and got a call. They found HPV, you know, genital warts. Eww, I thought. I wanted to hide it from my husband, I mea, eww, but told him. I mean, till death do us part, so he took it pretty well, until they said "follow up".

My husband jokes and calls me Misses Followup. Anyone would look at his plumper shape and my jow-the-hell-did-you-give-birth-twice-and-fit-in-your-high-school-clothing self and label him the follow up gug, but it is me.

Well over a month later, I found myself in a clinical surgery room sneering at medical oxygen tanks and scalpels and thinking, BREATHE. It did not help that the surgeon was an hour late, because bad thoughts love these empty room full of surgery equipment moments.

They put a microscope up my lady bits, a bit uncomfortable but hey I gave birth without pain meds, this procedure is my bitch, y'all.

Until.

Until, you have HPV 16, that and its bff 18 account for like 80% of cerival CANCER. Suddenly, fuck looses steam. The nurse holds my hand, pets it, gives a look of pity as the doctor does a biopsy (another word to replace fuck). I turn white.

I see a chunk of iodine-blackened flesh floating in a pee cup, and "a week or so for results"  echoes in my brain. "Abnormality, like daggers, invades my thoughts and stops my breath for a moment. I am too young. I have small childrdn Oh Dear God, I think. The doctor lets me sit there "in case I am faint" and says upon results, we will develop a plan, discuss steps. My blood boils. I pray like mad and keep my composure, somehow.

I think of facebook posts , post this if you support cancer research, lost a loved ond to cancer. Cancer was some far off idea. My grandpa died of it when I was four, but he was a chain smoking alcoholic. My other grandpa passed when I was a teen but I had only met him once, also a chain smoking alcholic. Not than anyone deserves cancer, but they kinda had a heavy hand in the roulette game.

But suddenly it was me, a mom and wife, woman in my 30s, nice dorky little Christian stay at home mom with fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. Abnormalities, the type that leads to most cancer, CANCER.

I await my results. I am strong. I am  woman hear me roar (while I wipe back tears).

Cancer. It is the new four letter word.

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