Oddz'n'endz
Am I out of my funk yet? Hell no! But, I figured I might as well make an attempt at posting that doesn't involve crying in my soup.
First off, let me report that I had a very long, drawn-out, yawn-fest of an inservice today regarding corporate compliance, privacy practices, goals, vision, and blahblahfuckingblah.
Half of the people in attendance were snoozing during the powerpoint. I, however, was seated front and center and was forced to doodle my way to alertness. Someone in my general vicinity smelled a little like butter, wrapped up in stale damp skidmarked underwear. I was not a happy camper.
Came home and took a nap. It was a bit warm out, so I cranked up the a/c and snuggled in on the cool leather sofa lined with doghair. Had a wicked dream. Check it.
There were rottweilers and Nazis and my friend with the cancer, her husband, me, and one of those silver Airstream RVs from the 70's. Her husband (in the dream) was portrayed by this new security guard at work, that happened to look quite a bit like Joe, but didn't seem to fit in the dream for any real purpose. Other than the fact I was trying my darnedest to convince him how much I loved him, and I KNEW we belonged together. If it wasn't for the fact that we were trying to outsmart the rotts and the germans so they didn't take my friend away (who didn't seem to mind, she thought they'd just make her work a little bit and then let her return), there was little indication he was supposed to be her husband, other than the resemblance. And the RV was smokin' hot, though it served no purpose beyond a lawn decoration, and a place to hide from the tanks. Oh yeah, I forgot, there were tanks. And dogs can't climb up the side of an airstrem. Booyah.
So anyway, about my bud with the tumor. They did the bronchoscopy, but were unable to get a satisfactory sample. Her needle biopsy was cancelled, due to the location of the mass vs the risks involved, so she's scheduled for another type of diagnostic next week, with possible radiation to shrink it until they can yank the fucker out. They just don't know yet what kind of treatment this particular tumor will require. Small details like that kinda piss with you, ya know?
In other news, I am not cycling this month. I have a vague idea of what cycle day I'm on, but I haven't even temped once. The peesticks are buried at the bottom of the drawer, and there are no red or green marks on my calendar. How refreshing.
Little dawg is back in the cone. She ended up with a golf-ball sized lump on her floppy little ear, and was walking around with her head cocked to the side, looking all curious and running into things. The HotVetGuy told us she had been scratching and digging her ears again, and gouged down into the cartilage, which had then tried to heal, resulting in a big infected bloody wad of goo that needed to be surgically removed. She even had to stay overnight! I was sad. But now I just laugh at her, she looks like a dork. I wonder if The HotVetGuy would do my insemination.
Lastly, I'm coming up on three years since the due date of my first miscarriage, and two years since I conceived Nicholas. And I'm surprisingly calm. I hadn't even noticed the date until now. How do you recognize the due date of a miscarriage, anyway? I don't even know how to write it without sounding silly. It was that pregnancy that blew me out of the water, and started the renewed efforts of TTC anyway. If for nothing else, I can credit it for that. I don't where he/she came from, or how in the world it happened after so many years, but it did, and made me think maybe I'm not completely broken, just a little rusty and dented. So, I took the old ute out on the track for a couple more laps, and barely made it back to the pit. Can't blame a girl for trying. I want my fucking trophy! One for "Best In Show"?
First off, let me report that I had a very long, drawn-out, yawn-fest of an inservice today regarding corporate compliance, privacy practices, goals, vision, and blahblahfuckingblah.
Half of the people in attendance were snoozing during the powerpoint. I, however, was seated front and center and was forced to doodle my way to alertness. Someone in my general vicinity smelled a little like butter, wrapped up in stale damp skidmarked underwear. I was not a happy camper.
Came home and took a nap. It was a bit warm out, so I cranked up the a/c and snuggled in on the cool leather sofa lined with doghair. Had a wicked dream. Check it.
There were rottweilers and Nazis and my friend with the cancer, her husband, me, and one of those silver Airstream RVs from the 70's. Her husband (in the dream) was portrayed by this new security guard at work, that happened to look quite a bit like Joe, but didn't seem to fit in the dream for any real purpose. Other than the fact I was trying my darnedest to convince him how much I loved him, and I KNEW we belonged together. If it wasn't for the fact that we were trying to outsmart the rotts and the germans so they didn't take my friend away (who didn't seem to mind, she thought they'd just make her work a little bit and then let her return), there was little indication he was supposed to be her husband, other than the resemblance. And the RV was smokin' hot, though it served no purpose beyond a lawn decoration, and a place to hide from the tanks. Oh yeah, I forgot, there were tanks. And dogs can't climb up the side of an airstrem. Booyah.
So anyway, about my bud with the tumor. They did the bronchoscopy, but were unable to get a satisfactory sample. Her needle biopsy was cancelled, due to the location of the mass vs the risks involved, so she's scheduled for another type of diagnostic next week, with possible radiation to shrink it until they can yank the fucker out. They just don't know yet what kind of treatment this particular tumor will require. Small details like that kinda piss with you, ya know?
In other news, I am not cycling this month. I have a vague idea of what cycle day I'm on, but I haven't even temped once. The peesticks are buried at the bottom of the drawer, and there are no red or green marks on my calendar. How refreshing.
Little dawg is back in the cone. She ended up with a golf-ball sized lump on her floppy little ear, and was walking around with her head cocked to the side, looking all curious and running into things. The HotVetGuy told us she had been scratching and digging her ears again, and gouged down into the cartilage, which had then tried to heal, resulting in a big infected bloody wad of goo that needed to be surgically removed. She even had to stay overnight! I was sad. But now I just laugh at her, she looks like a dork. I wonder if The HotVetGuy would do my insemination.
Lastly, I'm coming up on three years since the due date of my first miscarriage, and two years since I conceived Nicholas. And I'm surprisingly calm. I hadn't even noticed the date until now. How do you recognize the due date of a miscarriage, anyway? I don't even know how to write it without sounding silly. It was that pregnancy that blew me out of the water, and started the renewed efforts of TTC anyway. If for nothing else, I can credit it for that. I don't where he/she came from, or how in the world it happened after so many years, but it did, and made me think maybe I'm not completely broken, just a little rusty and dented. So, I took the old ute out on the track for a couple more laps, and barely made it back to the pit. Can't blame a girl for trying. I want my fucking trophy! One for "Best In Show"?
posted by Julie at 9:48 PM
4 Comments:
"Cool leather sofa lined with doghair"...that sounds so comfy.
;)
It's been a few years since I had my miscarraige, and I still think about it on the anniversary it happened, and what was supposed to be my due date. Lots of "what-if's" go through my mind on those days.
I used to make a point of feeling bad on anniversary dates - now I just make a point of making those around me feel bad. lol Just kidding. I don't know what to do about them either - I think it's probably ok to just remember. That's my new approach. Remember vs. obsess.
Yeah, we'll see how that goes.
Having the drone of an inservice can cause one to start thinking of other things. I think about those dates more at work than I do at home. I think it shows how much thought I really put into my work, huh?
You seemed to have held on to your sense of humour, which is a real coup, given the circumstances! Due dates can be tough, depending on what else is going on. The due date for my first m/c was in June, but now that month is firmly dedicated to Lydia, so I must admit that I don't think about it directly too much anymore.
I hope your ute gives you a few more years of service so that your family can be as big as you want. Seems to work that way for TV families, anyway (the post-40 "oops" baby that makes all of the older kids turn from being surly teens to being helpful and loving to their new sibling, etc.)
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