Binky

So, yeah, it's been a bit.  Months.  Several months. Almost a year. First of all it had to do with moving, secondly had to do with work, finally with ignoring my feelings.  What feelings you might ask??  Exactly....

As my fingers lightly touching the keys, after months, don't have much to say/type.  This is my form of communication and yet I don't have much to say.  Oh!  I do have something, the reason I stopped writing for months, other than what I already mentioned above.

I was scared and completely over it.

From the moment that the asshole more commonly known as Melanoma entered my life, he has consumed me.  Or is Melanoma a 'she'?  I guess I'd rather know cancer as an "it" because that would be something unknown; I've already written something about this here.  The diagnosis takes on a whole new meaning...a whole new persona.  "It's" kind of like you have an annoying new roommate that you didn't invite in, yet this person is totally comfortable in your living room, using your silverware, eating your favorite ice cream that you bought for yourself, completely cozying up with your favorite blanket while staring you directly in the eye and not blinking.  

O-kay, those might be fighting actions.  I would kick a dude, possibly even a child, if they did all that back to back.  I take my blanket business serious.  I'm so not afraid to say that I legitimately have a binky.  And binky is in the dryer getting super fuzzy and warm right now.  I will get into the 'scared and over it' part later on, right now I just want to enjoy my hubs and my warm blanket.

Scan-erday...

Scan-erday...at Kaiser...I think it was the 24th of October...
Sorry, whenever I hear the day/word Saturday (or 'Scan-erday in this scenario), I have to finish it in my head with "in the park".  You know, the 'Chicago' song?  Anyways.

I envy people that get cancer and say that it was the best thing to ever happen to them.  I need to board that damn train...  Does it ever stop in crazy-town? 

So, I had my pelvic and abdominal scan a few weeks ago.  Turns out, I am "fine".  To which I respond.... please define "fine"?  My koo-koo bananas brain would like to think otherwise.  There is nothing wrong with me - well - nothing with my intestines, no tumor, nothing going on with the lymph nodes in my groin, no crazy inflammation that they could see in my small and large intestine.  The only thing mildly weird was that my bladder was 'deflated' and had 'diffuse wall thickening'.  The Gastro-nurse said that it was "normal, but if you wanted to pursue this with your primary care doctor then you can."  Why tell me that if it's "normal"?  Why leave the light on at the end of the tunnel for my curiosity to think - hmmm, what IS that down there?

Google tells me that 'diffuse wall thickening' is sort of inflammation not tied to one spot and could be caused by a few things.  It could be due to an inflammatory disease (why, hello my dear friend, Ulcerative Colitis), although when it involves the bladder it tends to be Crohn's if it's within the Inflammatory Bowel Disease family.  Another thing I read is that endometriosis could cause the bladder wall to 'thicken' or become inflamed. Endometritosis, while not life threatening in any sense, is super painful, annoying and can only be removed with a doctor surgically scrapping shit off from the outside of your insides...does that make sense?  My primary care mentioned this may be the culprit months ago, but I karate blocked that and my assumptions went straight Ulcerative Colitis Avenue, then took a sharp right turn to Melanoma Way.

But you know what?  I'm really tired of looking for answers of why I feel this way. Yes, I'd love an answer, but I am tired of being told it's nothing.  There is no consolation with 'nothing'.  So, I'm getting to the point where I am surrendering.  I'm holding the white flag at my side - not quite ready to hold up it without regard, but I'm holding that flag with a firm grip.  I am sick and tired of pondering over something that may or may not be there.  The nurse that I saw last, as I was crying to her telling her that I am worried that Melanoma had spread to my bowels, she looked me dead in the eye and said "And there would be nothing you could do to stop it".  Her words resonated.

Even though I am slowly inching towards the idea that my brain is causing physical symptoms, I'm not quite allowing "IBS" settle into my rented space because...well, I just don't fucking want to.

Pain in a pain, you know what I'm sayin'? [part two]

{Part One Here}

I have a battery of blood work done and given new medication that is an "anti-spasmodic"...not for me in general, but for my intestine.  I think this is going to be super because it's a really, really bizarre sensation to feel your intestines - especially when it's spazzing out and contracting.  This new medication basically slows down the contractions, hence making the cramps less powerful.  However, what it does to your inside also generally does to your whole damn body.  SO fucking tired!  I am already exhausted all the time from whatever the hell is going on...tacking on a new med that a side effect is drowsiness is just lovely. 

Within 5 days of taking the new meds - I wake up at 3am to the worst pain that I have ever had.  Literally, every had.  It was so powerful that while lying on my back in bed, it shot my legs straight up.  Luckily, it only lasted about 2 seconds and then it's gone like the wind and leaves me behind with only worries.  I emailed my doctor that morning and told her the new meds aren't working as I hoped and I'm getting nervous, especially after review of some of my blood work.  I only had one that was out of range - lymphocytes were low out of range - there were a few dangling on the edge of "not normal".

A nurse wrote me back and interpreted what a Nurse Practitioner said (which, by the way, Kaiser freaking LOVES having Nurse Practitioners around - I think I've seen more N.P.'s than actual doctors).  Anywho, this NP basically tells me that it's assumed I have IBS...on top of my hibernating ulcerative colitis.  I stare at my computer screen, in shock, because not too long prior I bleed, had debilitating pain and they are trying to pass IBS on me?  I type a nasty gram and tell them that it's essentially bull shit because IBS is an excuse for a diagnosis - hit send on the message and cry. 

This last Friday, back at Kaiser for a follow up to see how I was doing.  This time with yet another Nurse Practitioner.  I was glad that it was a new one - I would be able to hopefully sell my case to a brand new jury. Within the first minute of us talking, I am in tears because I am SO frustrated with all this pain - I just want it to go away.  I tell her everything that has happened over the last 6 weeks and she makes me feel like I am being fucking paranoid. She looks me in the eye and asks if I have been put on anything for my moods yet.   She even muttered "PTSD".

She then goes on to tell me that she's worked in family planning and talked about my bad periods for a good 5-10 minutes.  Listen, I will take whatever I can in the bad period department, but I don't think my monthly's are going to cause me damn cancer.  I start getting agitated towards the end of the appointment because after telling her that I am worried the Melanoma went to my bowels, she's correcting me saying "everything is fine with your bowels, you had a colonoscopy".  Yes, you're right Ms. Fake Dr, but I'm talking about my small intestine and colonoscopies just don't (can't) go there.

I leave the office with paperwork for damn stress classes, a name of a book about fucking periods and a 'prescription' for magnesium oxide that I can get at Trader Joe's.  I cry the entire way back to work.  I started feeling like maybe I am being paranoid. Maybe I am causing this pain from stress.  That's a hard-jagged pill to swallow; to know that I'm having all of this physical pain that I am mentally causing myself.  The weekend sucked after having this slowly sink in like grease on concrete.

Guess what?  O-kay, you'll never guess, so I will tell you.  Tuesday I have an email from her saying that she showed my case to a (real) doctor and he thinks that I should have a CT to rule out metastasis.  Finally!  Someone gets it!!  I wrote her back and told her that Friday was really hard for me because I was feeling like I was crazy - I even mentioned the crying the whole way home part.  I hope she read it.  I hope she felt just a teeny bit bad.  I hope it changes the way she talks to people that are fucking crying in front of her. 

For a good thirty minutes I felt wonderful.  Vindicated.  Heard.  Then, naturally, panic sets in because someone finally agrees that there actually may be something wrong.

Scan is set for Saturday.  This is my first one with contrast (drinking that chalky-ass shit and being hooked up to an IV).   It's taking up nearly my whole damn Saturday.  Not really, but at least the fun middle part of the day.  I fast for four hours before (so no eating by 10:40), then I arrive two hours before the scan (get there by 12:40), start drinking liquid chalk and get dressed in my gown for the scan at 2:40.  I should be out of there and starving by 3:30...hopefully.

I'm sure it's to end up being nothing.  This is going to be a huge step for me just to make sure that everything is o-kay.  I can then move on with life.  My brain hasn't been right for months because of all of this crap.  If it is IBS...ugh...then I will let it soak in deeper and deal with it.

Wish me luck!

Pain is a pain, you know what I'm sayin'? [part one]

There has been lots going on over the last few months.  I started writing a post about it back in July - but it ended up being a super long and drawn-out...which this may totally be, too.  In a way to hide that this is going to be an excessive post, I am going to chop it into two!  I am sooo tricky!

Basically, I've been having pain in my lower abdomen for years now.  Two to be exact.  I have always assumed it was due to my Ulcerative Colitis.  After having bummer exam numero 3 (or more appropriately numbered 3.5), I am told my large intestine is looking great.  I am actually shocked to see the images because it's SO not what I was expecting.  I expected lots of ulcers, lots of inflammation, lots of something...definitely not lots of beautifully pink insides. 

Exactly one week later after the colonoscopy, I am back sitting on an exam table at Kaiser because something doesn't feel right.  If it's not the U.C., what the fuck is causing the pain?  I am popping Extra Strength Tylenol like candy (which those don't even work that well - I am not "supposed" to take anything else).  The pain is primarily in my lower right abdomen, sometimes it radiates around my entire midsection, every now and then it's a sharp, stabbing pain...every day it's a dull ache to crampy.  So, then it's got to be my internal female bits, right? 

I have a lovely PAP done...which I hate.  Hate like loathe, hate them.  One of my previous docs said that trying to find my cervix is like going on a roller coaster ride.  Not cool when the car is the speculum and the track is my who-ha!  She tests for all kinds of gnarly things which means extra weird looking swabs attacking my cervix.  My tests come back stellar, which I completely anticipated because my girl is all good.  Then the next logical step, per my doctor, is to make an appointment for an ultrasound.  This isn't the typical preggo type ultrasound though, this is to take a look at the female bits from the outside AND the inside.  The probe (that I nicknamed Slim Wandy) is sheathed in a super-thin, narrow condom slathered in hospital grade lube...which is comical to say the least. Once Slim Wandy is inside, the nurse takes him on a guided tour of my uterus - and he finds nothing suspicious. There is nothing abnormal with ovaries, fallopian tubes, uterus or bladder. 

About a month after the probing, I am again back at Kaiser.  I had an appointment scheduled for a few weeks later than this particular date, however a couple things happened that kind of startled me.  I bled.  Now, it wasn't like how I bled back in the day - but hey man, bleeding when you're not supposed to bleed, especially from a place that isn't meant to bleed, is terrifying!  I told the hubs if I bleed again then I will push my appointment sooner.  Well...the next morning the pain in my abdomen was so strong I could hardly stand up.  It was 7am and I was contemplating going to the hospital.  It eventually passed and didn't happen again the remainder of the day, so I called Kaiser first thing on Monday.  The rep I spoke to told me that I probably should have gone to the hospital and should definitely if it happens again.  Esh.

1-900-Psy-chic

Within the first week or two after finding my dad, I decided I was going to look up psychic mediums in Southern CA.  I was at home on the couch, continually wiping off the screen of the tablet from the tears that had fallen from my eyes.  It couldn't have been any longer than two weeks at that point and I was looking for someone to give me answers; I was looking for a stranger to help with the pain.  I realized that it was probably too soon for this...

Fast forward to about a month or two ago.  I, again, looked up psychic mediums in Orange County – this time feeling more in control than the last.  I found that the famous James Van Praagh is from Southern CA and I saw that he would be in Irvine in the coming months.  I got super excited; until I realized that he would be in front of over 150 people that shelled out $90 just for a seat.  It immediately made me super sad to realize that the vast majority of those people wouldn’t even receive a "message" – and to top it off they shelled out $90 to just sit there and watch other people receive theirs. 

How fucking sad/annoying would that be?  Sitting there, hoping and praying that you might get a faint glimmer of the person you lost and then the chick/dude sitting two chairs down from you gets that joy.  That's great for them.  It's awesome.  But knowing my personality - I would only be left with a hazy memory of a violent fit fueled by cheap chardonnay.   

Some of these mediums straight up charge $250 for 30 minutes.  30 minutes!  That's a little over eight bucks a damn minute. You think these people have “gifts”, why are they charging SO much for a "gift"?  The truth: people will pay large amounts of money to hear from their loved ones...to hear what they want to hear.  I haven't quite gotten to that point yet, but at times I am teetering dangerously close to the edge of nonsense.  Dangerously close.   Let's just say I can see the edge...without binoculars.  

There is a huge part of me that wants to  go and check it out primarily because it totally intrigues me that someone could know intimate details about you and your loved one's lives without ever knowing you.  They receive images, feelings, smells, little fairies whispering in their ears, who knows?  Regardless, it's totally amazing - to me.  I like to think that I am a little psychic because every now and then I have dreams of things that will randomly happen, but I am no where near 'Long Island Medium' status.  My dreams are more like "Oh, I had a dream you wore a red hat today".  Never anything of value like Saturday night's winning lotto numbers.  Bummer!  

But let's be logical here.  If any of these self-proclaimed psychic mediums need a little "innocent" push for information and turn to Google for help, they will soon read damn near everything about my life over the last two and a half years because of this very blog that I turn to vent my emotions.  Ah, easy fix - I could  just withhold my name, right?  Not so much, unless I have someone else pay because all of my payment methods will have my name on it.  I've run clean out of silver and gold for trade, I'm only stuck with plastic and paper. 

So, I don't know - we'll see what the future holds.  I'm sure I will eventually see a psychic - out of curiosity (and for science, of course!).   Although...I suppose the psychic already knows all that ;)

3rd time was NOT a charm...

My last post was about my impending colonoscopy.  My third one...no big deal, I've done this shit twice before.  I'm a damn pro at this now.  This time was like no other.  I will never, ever forget this time. This was a terrible experience.  Move over that one time I flew head-first off of my bike, sprained my wrist because I was trying to eat a piece of candy...colonoscopy numero three has you trumped.

Allow me to preface this...Kaiser does shit weird...at least in the colonoscopy world.

My prep day was this last Sunday and the directions had me starting to drink the go-go juice at 6pm - and then drink 3 of the 4 liters over 3-4 hours. And yes, you read that right, 4 liters (that's more than 1 gallon, kiddos).  I decided that the directions were stupid and I started earlier because I didn't want to be up all fucking night in the damn bathroom.  Besides, I had to wake up at 5am the morning of and finish the final liter of gag inducing, salt water.  Shhh...don't tell anyone, I couldn't finish the whole thing.  My body was literally rejecting it.  Here is a photo of the amount that I drank on Sunday night, basically 2 liters.  The bottle/container/receptacle was larger than my big ass head.

Momma comes and picks me up on Monday and we get to Kaiser.  I don't even have time to sit down before the nurse is calling my name to go back to the temple of doom.  All hooked up, I get wheeled back into the procedure room and the nurse administers my sleepy-stuff.  I feel a slight burn and then immediately my throat is super itchy; she warns of this.  I get really sleepy, almost like I've taken two Tylenol PMs....or maybe one PM plus a muscle relaxer.  Am I asleep at this point?  No, just super, duper relaxed and tired.  I hear the doctor say "I'm going to proceed with the rectal exam", and I respond with "I'm not ASLEEEEEP!" The all caps part is because as the words 'I'm not' leave my lips, I feel his fingers in my extremely sore bum and I yell out 'ASLEEP', followed by "Jesus Christ, man, I'm not asleep yet!  What the fuck!?"  He chirps to a nurse to give me more medication.  Thank you, you're too kind. 

Next thing I know, I am feeling the fucking colonoscope.  No, the doctor didn't hand it to me so I could feel it with my little, petite fingers.  No, I am not feeling it against my naked leg.  I'm feeling that bastard inside me.  I feel it, oh - I don't know - I'd assume about 6 inches or so in me?  It could have been 2 inches or it could have been 12 - it's all the same when your insides are sore. All the while I am trying to squirm but I can't move too much because I am doped up on meds and yelling out that I am not asleep yet.  The doctor huffs and mutters "I can't do this" - as if I am putting him out.  Bitch, hand me that scope, bend over, see how you like it.  Well, that's after I sleep off these meds...

I awaken to murmuring voices and I'm a little confused, thinking "Did I leave the TV on?  Wait, where the hell am I?"  Then I remember the recent violation of my bum.  I also vaguely remember seeing a nurses face hover above mine as she tells me that I need to come back tomorrow to be completely anesthetized. 

Joy.  I have to not eat again.  I have to take massive amounts of laxatives again.  Joy.  So, I spend my dad's birthday in the bathroom.  I did take a short break to release two helium balloons with the hubs from our porch.  The teary birthday speech didn't last long, because I had to go - literally. 

Tuesday's procedure went much easier.  I had a different doctor, who I really liked - he was much more personable and I am going to see if I can keep him.  Ha!  Kind of sounds like "Hey mom - I found this lost doctor - can we keep him?  Pleeeeaassseee??"   I was given the medication and once again, I heard "I'm going to proceed with the rectal exam".  While the seconds are ticking down before I am completely knocked out, I slur "Oh no, please not that".  You know what he did?  He stopped.  The dude stopped and said, "Okay, I'll wait".  I close my eyes and allow my body to accept the sleep. 



Bummer Exam numero three

Well, it's that time again.  Time for me to write and time for my third colonoscopy.  Not literally right now, but this Monday, as in tomorrow.  I requested this day off weeks ago to do something nice in honor of my dad on his birthday...Kaiser had other plans.  They called and said that it's been 2 years since my last one...went by faster than I care to admit.  I guess he'd be proud that I am getting this shit handled like I am supposed to.  Since my appointment is relatively early, I should be done by around 11:15, at home and asleep by 12:00 and then alert-ish by 3:00.  I plan to go down to the party store and get some helium balloons, attach a note and then head somewhere to release them.  Hopefully the bummer exam will not stand in it's way.  That would be a bummer.  I'm so funny...

This will be my third of many that I will have in my lifetime.  I estimated that by my 60^th birthday I will have had over 15 colonoscopies!  Maybe by that time there will be a new standard for taking a peek at your insides...Maybe?  With my luck, probably not :/

Lately I’ve become really irritated with this ulcerative colitis business.  It’s wearing me down.  I'm so over it.  I don't want to play anymore.  Sir, get me off this ride, I feel like I am going to hurl.  I’m sure most of it has to do with stress which obviously isn’t good for me or my insides.  Constant pain, complete exhaustion for no reason, joint pain, being nervous to eat anything when you’re not at home, the need to scope out bathrooms of every place you enter, not having healthy nails/hair because your body doesn't process nutrients the way it should...those are just a few of the many, many joys of having a chronic, inflammatory bowel disease.

However, another annoying one of the worst side-effects of U.C. is the fact that you don't physically look sick (*insert air finger quotes here*).   I mentally have to fight to get up in the morning, but because my makeup does wonders all of it just magically flutters away...  On the outside, I appear to be a normal, functioning (*insert air-finger quotes here*) human being when all I want to do is crawl back into bed, lay there in a fetal position because on the inside, it feels like I have a ball of hot, broken glass slowing making it's way through my intestines.  That, my friends, should be on the pamphlet in the doctor's office, that no one would ever read, explaining IBD... preferably with an illustrated diagram.

So, today I am starving myself.  Ugh!  I am SO FUCKING HUNGRY!  Have I mentioned that I really enjoy eating?  Like, literally - I love it - I love being able to pick out the different flavors and nuances in meals...try to figure out what was used to get that uber, yummy taste.  Majority of the time when I am craving something, it's on the savory spectrum. You can understand my frustrations that the only damned savory thing that I can "eat" today is broth.  Everything else is sweet: jell-o, hard candies, clear juices and sodas.  I wish Willy Wonka was around with his '4-course meal in a candy'.  I could totally go for that...  Then, theoretically I will be expanding with gasses like Violet once I have to drink my 3 liters of "go-go juice".  I just came up with that nick-name the horrid liquid, clever, right? I think so.  

Please, eat something delicious for me today....I beg you.  

John Doe C02247-14

Lately my little, dumb-ass cancer blog has become a blog about dealing with my emotions surrounding sudden/accidental death.  And I am totally fine with that.

As I sit here, my fingers tapping the letters on my keyboard, I am speechless.  My fingers are wordless.  So....how can I start this?  I read the coroner's report today.  Literally, my index fingers continue to tap the keys and nothing is coming to mind.  Blank.  I read the coroner's report today.

Blank.

This report was something that I've personally been waiting on for months. I was hoping that it would give me a little more insight on what actually occurred to our dad.  We know what someone else has told us based on their assumptions.  We know what we assumed happened.  We know what we saw after the fact.  But no one really knows because he was all alone.

Blank.

The problem is that the report didn't do what I was expecting.  I was hoping that the report would seal at least a little of the closure gap that has been  w-i-d-e  open.  It actually made his death a little more sad seeing/reading what happened to his body and he was all alone.  His death has already been really fucking traumatic for all of us....but fuck, man - this report gives us an idea of what actually went down....excuse the pun.

I guess my expectations were a bit high.  I shouldn't reach for the sun...even though it's so damn pretty.  The one thing I appreciated with the report is, that several times, the pathologist referred to my father's organs as "glistening".  I didn't necessarily need to know which bones broke in his fall, but knowing his organs were bright and shiny were a nice touch.

I love you John Doe #C02247-14

16 Weeks

Today it's been exactly 16 weeks since my dad was last seen alive.  In two days, it will be exactly 16 weeks since the day his body was found in Kern River.  In the beginning of all of this shit, I used to count each and every day that went by: how many days it had been since he presumably died and then how many days it had been since I called the coroner's office and found him.  Luckily those two dates are exactly 1 week apart; I'm too blonde for anything other than that.

I did that with Melanoma, too.  I am TERRIBLE with dates, absolutely terrible - but diagnosis and death dates seem to stick quite well in my mind.  As of February 14th, it had been 8 years since I was diagnosed with Ulcerative Colitis and then February 28th, it had been 2 years since I was diagnosed with Melanoma. 

When you count each physical day, it's consuming. You begin focusing the wrong energy just to get by each day; focusing on the sadness of whatever day you're counting versus using that energy to live each day and look forward to a new one.   BTW - I completely need to relearn that because I am still stuck on the date(s) regarding my father's passing - I'm still stuck on his death because it's still so new.  It's still so weird because it doesn't feel real yet (and I'm sure I will write about that later).

If I recall correctly on last year's Mela-versary, I was fairly consumed with Melanoma all day; I kept going over the phone call in my head all day.  This year, I didn't even think of it.  Come to think of it, I can count the times I've thought about Melanoma on one hand since my dad passed.   The first time was the day after finding out about him.  The hubs and I were going down the hill from Lake Isabella impound in my dad's truck and he asked me if I had thought about cancer at all.  I responded, "Yes".  I cried for a second and continued "only because if it ever decides to come back, he wont be here with me".

It was comforting having my dad there to talk with about Cancer.  He understood.  He would give me pointers on when to call the doctor's office for results - key things to say (*ahem* YELL) to nurses, like this gem: "HEY!  You don't have something growing in YOU, do you!!"  Ah...he sure had a way with words...or maybe I should say he had a way with his vocal range.  He never was afraid to lite a fire under someone's ass to get the results he wanted.

Yet, we had different types of Cancer and were at different stages - but regardless of type or stage: Cancer IS Cancer.  Cancer is a fucking asshole that rearranges your life without asking if you like the design.  Cancer is a thief.  He comes into your home (life), takes your valuable things (sanity, for one) and then leaves.  It doesn't matter how much time has passed, you will never feel comfortable in your home again because you know a stranger was there.  And you don't dare let your guard down because, if wanted to, he knows how to break back in again...he already made it in there the first time around.  Yeah, I think that's a pretty spot on analogy, if I do say so myself.

I know there are countless sources of people that I can 'talk' to - but it was just nice having my dad there and I miss him so much :(   I'm not much of a talker about my feelings; neither was he.  Just being around his calm, stoic nature calmed me down when I was in the middle of one of my freak-outs.  He'd put his giant hand on my shoulder and say "Am, what can ya' do?  It is what it is."  I'd hold back tears because, if he's not crying with his situation then I have no business crying in mine.   Shit, maybe he was holding back tears, too - who the fuck knows with two people that don't talk about emotional shit. 

I miss you dad.

Thank you to 2015!

Fuck 2014!  The last part of this year was obviously terrible.  I hope to not have another one like it nor do I wish for another to be worse.  I only wish for better, that’s all I ask. 

The few days leading up to Christmas were really hard for me.  I eventually had to remove Facebook from my phone (I didn’t uninstall; I sadly only removed the quick access button).  I got annoyed of seeing everyone’s joyful, family postings.  I know that it’s kind of an awful thing to say, but it’s true.  I have been entirely apathetic to other people’s issues.  Last weekend while I was taking the Fox Force (aka: Foxy; Auntie G’s dog) out for a pee, this random dude that I've never met or even seen in my life, decided to talk to me; this 2 minute “talk” was way awkward to say the least.  He jumped right into telling me how bad of a day he is having because he has to kick out his roommate on account of the fact that "the roommate" is verbally abusive to the "the roommate's" girlfriend who also lives there.  I guess he could tell by my furrowed brow accompanied with my what-the-fuck-are-you-talking-about expression that I couldn’t find one, single shit to give about his minuscule “problem”.  

As of late, all I want to do is zone out on Netflix.  By the way, ‘The Office’ is hilarious!  After I am done with 9 seasons of the aforementioned (I think I am up to 3), next on deck will be 'Parks & Recreation' and so on and so fourth.  Even though I am attempting to "zone out", it typically doesn't work out as anticipated.  Being alone with my thoughts isn’t the greatest idea right now given my dumb ass temper, so that's why being around real live people is so much better.  

Since we've usually been around family/office family, they all know the situation and we don't talk about it – which is fine – some days I can talk about it without shedding one, single tear; other days it’s an accidental commercial, or a completely random thought that brings me crumbling down.  Unfortunately there were two people at Christmas Eve that weren't aware of the situation.  And they commented on how pretty my necklace is.  I. Almost. Lost. It.  I told them “Thanks, it’s…umm….it’s my dad”.  And they stepped closer asking if it’s his hair or something, to which I respond “Uh, no.  It’s him, like his cremains...  He, um...he died about 4 weeks ago”.  And of course during this exchange, I could hear murmuring with faint bits of "Yeah, her father just died”.  I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

Christmas Day was better, my momma met the hubs and me at our place then the three of us went over to hub's momma's place.  Good lord, it would have been surreal if we had Xmas at my mom's place - no thanks!  Because of the different environment, it was easier (for me, at least) - and I think it was easier for my momma, too.  She cried a bit, although I'm certain the tears were way less than it would have been had Christmas been at home.  That would just be too weird. 

With his passing being in the midst of the holidays, everything has gone by SO incredibly fast!  The actual holidays themselves have been a complete blur overridden by a cloud of his tragic passing.  The only sort-of-good in this was the fact that there were federal holidays mixed in with the sadness.  This is the first time since I was in high school that I've slept for hours and hours.  There was a day last week that I slept until straight up 10:45!  That is amazing!  My body/belly is stressed, for sure, but at least I am able to finally sleep.  Actually, I am tired all of the fucking time.  But, I suppose it's better than being totally bummed, belly/body/brain stressed and not sleeping, like I usually can't.  Sleep I will take with a smile... 

So, all in all, I am SO damn grateful that last year is OVER WITH!!  

Cheers to a better year!

Cheers to the family that we DO have!

Cheers to new happy experiences that we have yet to have!

Cheers to growing and learning as a person!

Cheers to having a better year than the last....(clink *gulp*)

My 100th Post! I've decided, it's going to be an angry one! No, seriously...it's about anger :)

Santa, this year I want a punching bag so I wont' hurt my fucking hand anymore.  K?  Thanks. 

I feel as if a furnace was lit, deep within my soul.  A fire that once ignited, it grows and grows until I can no longer contain it.  And then I explode.  I want to scream as loud as I possibly can and the inanimate objects around me are the focus of my fists.  Or my fist, I should say.  It’d be weird to use your left hand/jabbing hand in a match against a wall or a door… which both have been my recent ‘opponents’...both shouldn't have been.  

All of this anger is super embarrassing to me, well...after the fact of course.   In the midst of my fits of rage, I only see red (sometimes there is crimson and maybe a little maroon).  Regardless of the shade of red, once the color is seen - there is no turning back - just like there is no reasoning with an angry bull. 

Unfortunately, this isn't something new.  I’ve had a bad temper for as long as I can remember.   Actually, that’s not true.  It was only after puberty hit that I became the delicate, fuming psychopath that I am today :)      Good ‘ole puberty!  I wasn’t given acne, I was given anger. 

I remember one lovely day in high school, I was walking to class and I was pissed off at one stupid thing or another.  I had my arms crossed across my chest and this boy that I wasn’t particularly fond of threw a crumpled up, ball of paper at me.  Did I act like a normal person would and just ignore him?  Nope!  Not at all.  I grabbed the piece of paper, charged him while screaming at him at the top of my lungs.  I don’t recall what exactly I was saying (*ahem* yelling), but it was loud enough that it brought teachers out of their rooms and he was backed up against the locker.  I got to class and was completely furious.  The main problem wasn't how mad I was; the problem was that I didn’t know why I was mad.  I had to think hard about what just happened to cause this kind of emotional reaction.  I essentially blacked out from anger.  And...that wasn't the last time that would happen.  And that’s not cool. 

As we all know, anger is one of the five stages of grief.  Yay!  Let's go ahead and add intensified anger to an already irritable person (and, to top it off, I am close to my period right now = triple whammy!  Instant bitch!)   My poor husband...  Shuggy, I AM so sorry - I'm crazy, kookoo bananas!  I love you so much and you've been great through this whole ordeal thus far (and you were stellar through the whole cancer dealio, too).  You're a rock star honey cakes, don't you forget it.  I love you, Tony :)  <3

Here is what I am planning to do to stay out of the red/crimson/maroon :)

• Groups.  Today I signed up with a bereavement group for young'ish people that are grieving - most of who lost one (or both) of their parents.  They meet once a month and sit around talking...not sure what about, but I can only assume they talk about how they cope with things, which I obviously need some guidance in.  I am SO glad I found this group because I really wanted to avoid any groups of anyone/older people talking about how sad it was when they were able to tell their older parent(s) good-bye because of an 'expected' death and they died peacefully in bed.  
• Punching/Hitting.  I found this 'reflex' punching bag that has a pedestal base and when you hit it, it sways back at you so you have to block yourself.  I kind of love it (I had one similar growing up along with a 60lb punching bag. I obviously like hitting shit).  This one particular model, a woman reviewer said that she "can use this to rid of negative energy safely".  Whoah...I need this thing...like yesterday.  
• YOGA.  I'd love to learn yoga, I plan on learning it because I know I need to do it.  Almost all of my doctors have told me to calm the F down (prior to my padre's passing).  Seriously, I've even had an eye doctor tell me that I needed to do yoga because my stress levels were causing my ulcerative colitis to flare, which in turn subsequently caused my eyeballs to swell.  Yes, I just wrote that - yes it happened - my colitis caused my fucking eyeballs to swell.     
• Writing.  I will continue to write because it really does calm me down.  Writing gets these random thoughts out of my crazy head so that way I don't explode, implode or there is that little thing called spontaneous human combustion.  Maybe that's why I am always so damned hot??  
• Laughing.  And last but not least, I'd like a sign that typically factories have that say "It's been  (however many) days since we've had an accident" - Although, I am going to make my sign and it will say "It's been (however many) days since Amber has punched furniture".  I'll post a photo of it when I make it.  I'm for reals.  I think it will be funny and also keep things in check for my silly ass brain/temper/fists of fury.

***UPDATE - this was NOT my 100th post!  Errr!  I was looking at my blogger account and it included all of the drafts that I have.  That being said, I have 88 posts and 12 drafts of ramblings that I did not see fit to be posted to the world.  My brain is mushy and angry, what can I say!

Two tough subjects

I originally started this blog to help get my crazy thoughts and emotions out of my head about cancer; about my Melanoma.  I never could have imagined that this silly blog would help me with thoughts about a new, different and even tougher subject: Death.  Death of our father...death of my dad.

So far, one of the hardest parts about all of this is grappling with the feelings that I wasn't worried when he was 'missing'.  My aunt was concerned and that's what made me concerned.  Auntie K reached out during the day and I reassured her that nothing was wrong...although when I got home that Monday evening, I just couldn't get dad off of my mind.  Almost a full fucking week, and I wasn't worried!?  Dad had been gone for 6 full days and I felt nothing; I was oblivious.  And that makes me feel really, really shitty.

No dreams.  No intuition.  No...nothing.

Dad did the same thing about a year ago - he took off to camp/fish/gold pan/whatever the hell he was doing and was gone for about 5 days without really telling anyone anything.  The obvious difference with this story is that he arrived back home, alive and well. So, I guess that's why I wasn't worried...he's done this before.  But that doesn't change the feeling of absolute, guilt - kind of like I let him down.  Now...I understand that knowing where he was wouldn't have prevented his accident by any means, but at least he wouldn't have been lying in a cold morgue as a fucking 'John Doe' for however many days.  And that makes me feel really, really shitty.

Another hard part is that I still don't feel like he's gone.  Maybe that's normal.  Maybe it's because we're taking someone else's word that the "body" they found was his?  They told us the finger prints matched, we have his truck, his keys, his wallet, his phone and last but not least, his ashes; but we never got to see "him".  We never got to see our dad's body.  Not that we necessarily wanted to see it given the circumstances of the circumstances (i.e. major head trauma, his upper body being in moving water for about 2 days and...well, he'd been 'gone' for 7 days at that point).  His body, our dad, wouldn't have looked anywhere close to the big, happy man that we knew and loved so well.

I guess in a way, there will forever be an opening in the closure that we all so desperately need.

Sometimes I get a short break in reality to see this fleeting glimmer of hope that he will show up somewhere, but I know that's never going to happen.  Then there are other times when I think that he can now go wherever his little heart desired.  He could be ghosting around a beautiful beach somewhere checking out chicks in teeny, tiny bikinis.  He could be ghosting around an amazing lake skipping rocks.  He could be ghosting around any river/creek with huge boulders and standing on the edge without a care in the world.  Regardless, I miss him :(

This is all totally new.  It's a terrible emotional roller coaster ride and we have just passed week two (since finding him).  Week two, people!?!  jesus, it seems like so much longer...and I have the rest of my life to go...   I just need to get used to, or at least sort of used to, the movements of this roller coaster and go with the flow because there's nothing that I can do to change it.

We love and miss you SO much, dad! 

Part Two: No-Thanks-November

Wednesday morning my brother and his wife drove from Temecula to my mom’s house in Hawthorne and picked up the hubs and me.  The four of us drove out to Bakersfield to the coroner’s office, then to Lake Isabella to see “the rock” and lastly to snag dad’s truck. We essentially set out on the worst scavenger hunt on one of the worst driving days of the year: the day before Thanksgiving.

While driving we spent most of the time trying to figure out what the fuck happened?!  We were going through different possible scenarios, but nothing fit.  We just couldn't wrap our heads around (pun so-not intended) someone slipping off a goddamned rock and dying.  Who does that??  I mean, seriously….who does that?  We wrote down questions to ask when we finally arrived at the coroner's office, which finding it was a challenge in it’s own right.  I swear, this whole process has been a damn debacle…trying to do everything right and proper while dealing with these new feelings of 'what the fuck?’, anger and grief is completely...well, bizarre.

Stop #1: Kern County Sheriff’s/Coroner’s Office
This stop was first purely because of it’s location.  I was told that morning (and the night before) that dad and his belongings were at the Sheriff’s office in Lake Isabella, but after a call made while we were on the road confirmed that he and his belongings were at the office in Bakersfield, on the way to Lake Isabella.  *What an easy place to find in a lovely, clean, beautiful city! It must make grieving families feel less stressed; what a great experience! *Excuse my sarcasm, it’s way too easy for me…  

After arriving to the coroner's office, we're sitting in the waiting room and well, waiting on instructions on what to do next.  Within a few minutes an older gentleman walks in through the front door; he’s wearing a white, button down shirt and black slacks.  As soon as I see him walk in, I think ‘he looks like a mortician’ and then boom: I know what he’s there for.  He goes up to the bullet proof glass and tells the receptionist that he’s there to “pick up Glenn Davis”.  Here is this mortician to take “his” body...our dad’s body.  The same body that we've hugged and loved.  We all started crying because shit just got real.  Really real.  If this mortician guy, or we, would have arrived 15-20 minutes later or earlier, we probably wouldn't have had this encounter.  But maybe we all needed this?  To know this isn't a horribly, cruel joke, to know that this is in fact real life?  Regardless, it happened.  Regardless, it is real.

Stop #2: “The Rock” Around Mile Marker 23 off the 178 hwy
The next stop was the “spot”.  We stopped at a few places along the way and those areas just didn't make sense.  The river bed was too close, the rocks were relatively small…seeing them just made less and less sense, adding more and more to our question list.  We kept on looking close to the 23 mile marker….although it really was closer to the 24 mile, maybe mid-mile, I’m not sure, it's all still sort of a blur.  We then continued our mission and drove up on this HUGE rock ledge….HUGE.  It was a pull off and completely obvious once we saw it.  That was the spot.  That’s where “it” happened.

Arial shot - just to see how large it is.  There are two cars on the road, this can at least show some scale

This is where the majority of our questions were answered.  This wasn't just a rock...I don't even know what to compare it to other than an enormous boulder?  Probably an enormous boulder of granite that was carved out of the earth?  Some spots were smooth, most of it was shiny in the sun.  We saw why it was that our dad stopped...it was beautiful.  There was a slight decline to it and I know that I was waaay nervous walking on it.  The boys (Craig & Tony) were getting damn near up to the ledge which was scaring the hell out Kathy and me.

Craig & Tony scaring the hell out of Kathy and Me (and showing the divots in the boulder

Stop #3: Towing Place 
It was a shock, to say the least, that we needed to pay to get my dad’s truck out of impound (aka: a dirt filled lot that was absolutely, completely empty) when we just learned about his passing the day prior.  His truck had been there since Thursday the 20th, we were there picking it up on Wednesday the 26th - almost a week's worth of impound fees when we had no damn clue it was even there.

Once the hubs got into the driver's seat and I hopped into the passenger seat...I sort of lost it - the whole way home - I cried off and on.  I cried so much that the next day my forehead hurt.

I don’t know what is worse.  That I called them on a hunch and physically heard them confirm that this random body was my dad?  Or the fact that they didn't call to confirm that this random body was my dad.  They had his truck, his wallet, his fucking driver’s license.  Seriously, just call us and tell us that they have his truck!  If they didn't want to mention a body - then don’t!  We’re smart people, we’d be able to say “Well, that’s strange that you have his truck, he hasn't been home in a fucking week!“  At this point it’s obvious what is worse.  It’s the latter option of  the two.  I need someone to blame…and that’s fine with me because I am sure as hell not blaming our father.


To our fam - let's get our light shining bright - he'd want that!  I love you all!

Part One: No-thanks-November

The last couple of months I haven’t really put too much time, thought or effort into writing…anything.  Because of that, a few weeks ago I was thinking about writing something in the form of things that I am thankful for since I haven’t written in a while. My family and I will NEVER forget This Thanks Giving, this month of November of this year, 2014.

I almost don’t even know how to start this, but this was one of the first things on my mind this morning.  To write.  To get things off of my chest.  I’ve written a bunch of random sentences that don’t make sense even to me…so I deleted them.  My thoughts are scrambled.  I have so many feelings coursing through my body - some that I never hoped to feel in this magnitude: LOSS.

I’ve had a few family members die in the past, but they were old (sorry grandmas & grandpa - but you were).  They lived out their life and died in bed, where you’re supposed to. We all know death is certain; we know our days are numbered.  It’s weird to feel that someone definitely had more numbered days than the ones that he was given.   I guess there are no true rules in life or death.

My dad was “missing” for a few days.  Was this uncommon?  No, not really.  He’s done this before.  He would grab his fishing stuff, grab his gold panning stuff and go up to a river and hang there for a few days without telling basically anyone where he was going or when he was coming back.  And jeez, back in the pre-cell phone days, no one could get a hold of him for anything.  See, he’s always been an ‘on the move’ type of guy.  He put a camper on his truck and he’d just drive around - sleep where and when he wanted to, eat where and when he wanted to and shit where and when he wanted to.  I wouldn’t hear from him for months.  He’d miss his weekend to come get me and I’d sit by the window and wait for hours - the whole weekend even - only to get a letter a month later saying that he’s sorry he hasn’t talked to me.  Actually, come to think of it, almost all of the childhood letters that I have saved from him start off that way.

When my mom mentioned that he hadn’t been back by Friday of last week, I didn’t think anything of it.  It wasn’t until Monday that I received a message from my aunt, my dad’s sister.  She was concerned and then of course, that made me concerned.  I tried to reassure her that nothing is wrong, he’s just up in the mountains/river/lake, wherever he felt like going to get some fresh air.  That Monday night, I would think “what if something happened?” - then I would kick it out of my mind.  He’s a strong man, he’s a smart man and he’s a tough man - he could kill a bear with his hands.  Last part is a fib, but I know he‘d say “Damn right I could!” as he’d stand up tall and pump his chest out.

Tuesday morning while at work, on a hunch, I think that I’m just going to look for ‘incidences’ near Frazier Park.  Google kept on correcting it to ‘accidents’, but my gut was saying to look deeper into ‘incidences’.  On the Kern County Sheriff website, I see…umm….I see something that I will never forget: body of unidentified man found in Kern River.  I look further into this and based on the reports, they assume that he was a man out by himself.  My brain starts swirling around and all arrows are pointing to my dad.

I call my mom and mention this to her and she tells me not to worry, to not start going down this dark street in mind; my dad was fine and she’s sure he’ll be coming home any minute now.  I then call and mention this the hubs and he’s like “Babe, you NEED to call them!  Just ask them if they can tell you this man’s approximate age, his race even.  Shit if you don’t call them I will!”.  So, I do.  I call the coroner’s office.  I start off the call telling them this is completely weird that I am even calling, but my dad likes Kern County and I am wondering if they can answer some questions regarding ‘this body‘.  Part of me was thinking they would say “Oh, he’s a 30 year old, 5’6” Hispanic man”.  Phew!  Bullet dodged.  But, it didn’t work out that way.

I can hear the woman typing on her computer and to lessen the silent I am spitting out things about him:  “He’s an older man, about 68.  And he’s a big dude…like 6’ and about 250lbs on a good day”.  She then asks what his name is and I respond: Glenn Davis.  She sighs and says “Oh dear”.  Two words.  Six fucking letters.  “Oh dear” changed my life.  I start shaking, crying and repeating “Are you serious?  It’s him, isn’t it?  Are YOU serious?!“ She puts me on a brief hold and then pulls up more information.  I ask her to confirm his birth date…it’s right, it‘s his.  She says that they have his truck…it’s right, it’s his.  I ask if we need to come down to identify him.  She mentions that he had extensive head trauma; it appears he slipped off of a rock and basically landed on his head.  This unidentified body was a man that was full of life.

I get off the phone and go into my boss’s office and pretty hysterically yell out that I need to go home, my dad is dead and they’ve found his body.  My dad is dead.  It feels so weird typing that.  I can barely think it, I can barely say it, but my fingers are capable of writing it.

Shutting the door on cancer

Sometimes I think to myself that I need to shut Cancer out of my life.  Just close the door, lock that shit up and walk away (preferably with a bomb going off in the background...OH - and in a slow-mo sequence!)  Besides the bomb idea, I really enjoy the thought of it slowly wasting away to nothing in a dark box/closet/cellar/basement/dungeon that I'd never return to.  

I hate thinking this and I hate typing it even more: I worry about it coming to get me ALL the time.  It breaks free from this box/closet/cellar/basement/dungeon and sneaks up and....it gets me.  This is a nightmare of mine.  This worry/nightmare gets much, MUCH worse when I have a health 'scare'.  For example, the first would be the large lymph node that popped up on my neck last year and the most recent scare with the mass/lipoma on my back last month.  These ‘scares’ severely fuck with my mental state and are absolutely overwhelming, in every sense of the word.  It takes me entirely way too long to bounce back to what is now my new “normal”.

As I’ve mentioned before, my body doesn't handle stress well.   Not at all!  Stress is a loud bitch.  Stress screams and wakes up my ulcerative colitis, during it’s well deserved nap time, and 'it' becomes a full blown brat ('IT' meaning: ulcerative colitis - which now may be known simply as U.C.).  Then it takes me weeks for the side effects from U.C. to go away.  My belly hurts - stomach AND intestines alike - my joints ache and we can't forget that I also get ulcers in my mouth.  Right now it hurts to talk and to eat – I just want to cry (again).   I am mentally and physically drained.   But my fingers don't hurt...that's why I am typing...

Due to my stage, statistically I have a 8% chance of dying within 5 years and a 14% chance of dying within 10…  and I’ve been “fine” for almost 2 years.  SO, why the hell am I freaking out?

Right???

I read stories daily of other people’s lives – their journeys, their family’s journeys – and then more importantly their deaths.  That’s why I freak out.  Plain and simple - that is exactly why I lose sleep, why I worry...  I understand it is ‘their’ stories, ‘their’ lives, ‘their’ reality – but the unfortunate fact is that we all share a common denominator: Melanoma.  Regardless of stage, Melanoma is the link that connects all of our stories into one, horrible, truth.   

I decided to do something today in hopes of helping (me).  As much as I hated doing it, I cancelled all of the notifications that I receive from this particular Melanoma group I am a part of on Facebook.  I see several postings a day and it’s just too heartbreaking.  I see one posting and then I get sucked in and I will continue to read comments and so forth.  I realized that I am in a constant state of sadness for other people and a constant state of worry for me.  That’s not a way to live – it’s not healthy by any means.   I didn’t have the courage to fully remove myself from the group because I have grown fond of several of the members, but I had to do what needed to be done.  I am too vulnerable at the moment; can’t see that stuff every single day.  Shit just got real!  So, I turned to avoidance like I do with other issues in my life - you know, since that's been working out so amazingly. 

In other news I have been itching to get another tattoo!  Haven't figured it out yet, but since I am impulsive with tattoos, I may never figure out what I truly want.  

See how I just changed the topic?  I'm so slick.   Avoidance and comedy kids...it's what's hip!

I wished for fat and that's what I got!

Finally, I received a call from the surgery office yesterday with the results - after calling/messaging them twice - the mass was just a lipoma!  Thank you, baby Jesus!!  You heard my wishes of "please, just let IT be fat - let IT be a lipoma".  Although, now thinking of it, you did conveniently ignore my wishes when I was little of "please, let me be a 36c" - but whatever, we're all good now, I'll call us even.  Wait a second, I see what you did there...you were trying to hook me up, but just accidentally put the fat on the wrong side of my body.  Oh, Universe, you're SO hilarious!!

But seriously, man.  This surgery center sure knew how to keep the suspense rolling like a M. Night Shyamalan movie!   I had the surgery on Thursday, September 25th.  A week goes by with no answer = suspense, level 1.  I messaged them the following Friday around noon or so.  The neat thing with Kaiser's online system is you can send emails with pictures to your doctor(s) and they will respond.  The even neater thing is you can see if they've opened/read your messages.  At 3pm on Friday, I see that my message was opened and read = suspense, level 2.  By Friday at 5pm with no response = suspense, level 2.5.

I go on about my weekend, rarely thinking about it.  O-kay fine, I might have thought about it a LOT!  So, what...  I would have my moments without thinking of it, but then I'd backtrack and wonder why they wouldn't just respond with a quick "no, they aren't in yet" or even "we had to send them off to another department"; the latter would have sent me reeling, but at least it would have been a response.  The dude knew how freaked out I was since I mentioned it to him at least three times.  I obviously didn't make much of an impression...

Monday rolls around and still nothing = suspense, level 4.  I end up having a minor freak out in the bathroom Monday night.  Of course, all of this thinking (*cough* WORRYING) made my belly also freak out.  My belly is such a good friend; it didn't want to leave my mind freaking out all by itself.  I mentioned to my dad that my stomach is making noises that I thought only dinosaurs made.  I hate ulcerative colitis...not as much as I hate Melanoma...but there is absolute, valid hatred there.

My belly is so jacked up that Tuesday I need to call in.  I was up almost all night in pain.  I wrote the guys at the office and told them that I'm not sure if I have "the bug" or whatever because someone had it earlier on in the week.  I'd force some soup in me and then come in after - but, my butt had other plans.  The soup backfired...literally (thanks, ulcerative colitis).  I laid around with no energy (thanks, ulcerative colitis) during the in-between times when I am not in the bathroom (thanks, ulcerative colitis!).  I decide that I am going to call Kaiser and ask them what's up so I don't have to deal with this shit anymore.  As I am on the phone with a nurse in the surgery center, she tells that the results from the surgery are in, but she needs to review them with the doctor.  Suspense...maxed the fuck out, level 5!

Then the call.  I am on the phone with the hubs and I tell him I need to go, Kaiser is calling.  Inhale...  "Hi, this is Amber".  Exhale....

It was a lipoma!!!  A stupid piece of fat...on my back....that decided to grow there and mess with my head for a full month (well, technically over a month after 'the discovery').  I told her thank you.  Thank you for calling me back....and thank you for allowing me to finally get some well needed sleep.  I slept solid from about 8pm until 5:45am.

Now the game plan is getting mentally back on track.  It took me a long time to get to where I was before this stupid ass piece of fat decided to fuck my world up.  So crazy how something so seemingly small can impact you in such a large way.

SCARlet ONMYBACKson

Today was the first day that I was able to walk around without a bandage on my new addition....the name is SCARlet.  Get it??  Because there is SCAR in it??  I amuse myself.  But for reals, I haven't really named my scars before - but I might start.  It's never to late to try something new, right??

Anywho - this morning I was awake at 3:15 - exhausted - but wide awake.  I toss and turn, not able to find another comfortable spot because as most of us know, when there has been a surgery on your back, it's a little difficult to get comfy.  It's not quite as bad as the wide excision, not only because the lymph node biopsy in my pitter was crazy sore, but also because they took quite a large chunk of skin off my back and sewed me up REALLY tight.  This one is a little different, however essentially the same.  I was sliced down to muscle, yanked on, fat removed - still sore.

This morning, delirious from the Tylenol PM wearing off, I started thinking of stories I might say to someone if asked what my scars are from.  Seeing that I have a stellar personality, my mind pondered through so, so many options.

• "I was at a Kangaroo sanctuary and Momma Roo was upset that baby Joey took a liking to me.  She kicked my ass....I mean, my back."
• "I go to Sturgis every year, riding my hog with no helmet.  I got into a knife fight.  You should totally see the other 5 men, waaaaay worse off than me."
• "I worked at the Post Office and it was a terrible, terrible letter opening incident - we don't speak of this anymore."  
• "You know those beds of nails?  Well, someone thought it'd be hilarious to literally pull my leg.  It wasn't funny."
• "I was born half angel.  My right wing never sprouted"
• "Horses are assholes!" (and just leave it at that and walk away)
• "I used to para-glide....until I ran into the side of Mt. Everest.  The everest is history"
• And the hubs' contribution: "My mother was stabbed in the belly while I was in the womb" <- I just had to add this one because it's too weird not to.  

But of course, none of those stories (*cough* LIES) will ever be muttered.  I will always be compelled to tell my/our story.  I'm like the honey badger, I don't care.  If they ask, then they can deal with the repercussions of the truth - however uncomfortable it may make the other person.

Saturday: 09/27 - right after the dressing from surgery was allowed to be removed.  Still pretty swollen, even though I had been laying on ice packs for two days.

Sunday: 09/28 - swelling looks better, bruising is a little yellow now.  And I think I might be more allergic to sticky things than I initially assumed??  Everything said latex free...but jeez, man!

The fat's in the wrong spot, Dr....

Well folks, I had a nice surprise today at the doctor's office.  As I mentioned, I was anticipating a discussion of options about the lump on my back.  Maybe a scan, maybe a biopsy - I wasn't anticipating the....dun.dun.duuuuun:  Surgery.  Removal.  Complete excision.  Not today, I was expecting it a week or two down the line.

Me and the hubs walk into the room and there is a fully dressed surgery table, the light is already on - surgery tools standing by on deck waiting to be put in the game.  I said to the nurse "wait a second, THIS is happening today - right now?"  She giggled and confirmed.  I sat down and turned to the hubs and mentioned that at least I wont have to freak out for another week or two until the actual date comes around.

I throw on my luxurious gown, which was WAY nicer than the last (big) surgery one that was paper and lined with plastic.  Of course, it's a photo op.  It's always a photo op with me and the hubs.  Yesterday we tried out this new sammy place (Firehouse Subs) and he got a kiddo meal and they give you this little, teeny plastic fireman's hat - to which I wore for unknown reasons.  What happens - he whips out his....phone and takes pictures.

Anyways - Dr. walks in and is like "Um, I'm not sure why you're here - your pathology report from Nurse Moreno just shows a standard Nevi".  Nevi is 'mole' in Dr. talk.  I had a mole removed from my left underboob that was ugly and depending on my bra would sometimes get clipped - I wanted it gone.  Literally like 5 days later is when the hubs found the lump on my back.  So, I explained that's SO not the reason why I was there and arched my back - the hubs quickly moving my my luxurious gown out of the way and pointing out the lump.  I should have named that bastard ....hmmm..... Quasimodo - I LOVE IT!!  That's suiting, yes??

Dr. begins examining Quasi - pushing him around and says that he thinks it's just a lipoma and I agree, but given my history and since I have been freaking out - I just want Quasi off my back.  He said "Well, you know - it's small and we could just watch and wait".  I am not of the 'watch and wait' mentality anymore.  I told him that I am more self conscious of the lump than my scar - I like my scar - I wear it as a badge of honor.  This lump is mucking my badge up...get that shit off of me!  Dr. mentions that he's in Club Melanoma, too, and completely understands why I am there and why I want it out/off of me.  His was caught super early, on his scalp he had a divot - about the size of a quarter.  That was it, that was all that was needed.  I'm glad I had a club member working on me.

So, we're off to the races.  He numbs me up and we get going.  I have never been awake, other than the skin/mole biopsies, while someone is cutting into me.  Oh,  My.  God.  SO fucking weird....Sooooo fucking weird.  Quasi was basically stuck to my muscle.  He loooooved it there.  The Dr. was tugging on Quasi and he did NOT want to let go.  I can't describe it.  You're numbed it, but you can feel an internal tug - then he started cutting and I could feel that.  More numbing stuff - numb me the fuck up - this is weird...

We're talking while he's evicting Quasi which is nice....weird, but calming.  I am trembling and sweating - just because it's such a bizarre experience.  I mention to the Dr. that the other day I was on the Melanoma Research Foundation's website looking for a support group in O.C. because I've been freaking out that much and the first person's bio that I read is someone that had an identical situation - someone with a history of Melanoma and two years later they had a lump near their scar - to which the Dr's thought it was a lipoma.  It was removed and it was that asshole Melanoma in disguise.  I told him that it shot me WAY deep to the dark side and I've been a mess since.   He reassured me that he sees nothing weird in Quasi.  Quasi is just a lipoma....but will be sent to pathology just in case.

We finish up - I get dressed and I ask the nurse if it's o-kay that I take a picture of the bloody instruments used.  "Go for it!  Do you want to take a picture of the lipoma, too?"

Heck yes I do!  Tony took a gnarly one, I wont share it here because seriously, it's gross.  And that's coming from me - I love gross shit - his photo is disgusting.  

And this is my back at the moment.  I can't take off this gauze covered in plastic tape until Saturday.  The Dr. put up his fingers and gauged out about 2-3 inches.  I laughed and said "That's child's play!" - kidding, I said that the bikers are going to think I am SO awesome (true story, I had a biker tell me at the store a few weeks ago "Awesome scar!" - I replied: "Thanks!  Cancer!").  

Dr. mentioned that my muscle was still a little 'thick' - not sure what the hell that means, but at least it's chubby buddy is GONZO!  I am stoked.  I will love my new pirate pizzazz.  And I will try not to worry about the results - I get them in about a week.  

Good thoughts that Quasi was just a lipoma.  Repeat - Quasi was just a lipoma.