Tuesday, December 24, 2013

the price

I've mentioned it before and I'll mention it again: When I get too excited for something, I start to think it probably won't happen. This defense mechanism has been in place for as long as I can remember... sold-out movies, closed restaurants, and no-shows at birthday parties. I'm not complaining about this. I'm certain everyone has seen their fair share of disappointment, and in the grand scheme of things, I'm a bit of an asshole to complain about a canceled bowling trip in 1975 when other people have suffered far, far worse.

But, that's who I am. When I'm excited about something, and it looks like it might really happen, I get super anxious and have even suffered full panic attacks. Once I've regained my composure and realized that, even with the panic attack, the wonderful thing I want to happen is really, really going to happen, I go into full defense and assume something terrible will happen to me or to someone I love, as a form of payment to stabilize the see-saw between good and bad. I'd say I owe a pound of flesh and all that, but I don't know. I'm not comfortable with that reference. I think that's more of a revenge thing, but Courtney Love distorted it. Am I allowed to allude to a pound of flesh if I am thinking of Hole and not Merchant of Venice? You know what? I'm not sure I really understand what any of it means in a metaphorical sense, but the following has always made sense to me in its literal meaning, and it relates not one ducat to what I'm talking about here.
Because you bought them: shall I say to you,
Let them be free, marry them to your heirs?
Why sweat they under burdens? let their beds
Be made as soft as yours and let their palates
Be season'd with your food? You will answer
'The slaves are ours:' so do I answer you:
The pound of flesh, which I demand of him,
Is dearly bought;
'tis mine and I will have it.
Our kitchen is almost complete. Secretly, I've been working with the notion that my back surgery is karmic payment for such a wonderful and gorgeous room in the house where I live. But, our contractor/builder/worker/thinker Nate Schrock is doing such a fantastic job, I am now convinced my back surgery isn't enough payment.

cadaver bone, mending nicely
I have some super nice internal bling. There's a strong chance I will have some adjacent segment disease. I overcame a wee infection and some swollen weirdness on my neck. It still hurts like a sonofabitch, but the tingling sensation in my left hand is long gone. The scar isn't nearly as badass as I had hoped it would be. And, according to Dr. Nice, I'm on track for normal recovery. He even suggested I might be able to ski in as soon as a month or so, if I promise to be careful.  

In short, I didn't suffer this back surgery. What I mean is, I kept as positive a spin on it as I could. Groom will disagree vehemently. He has definitely suffered my whiny, bitchy, grumpy, and for the love of all that's holy let me out of the house recovery.

Wait. Is it possible Groom is paying the price for the kitchen?

And, now that I think about it, do I owe him a pound of flesh?

Monday, December 23, 2013

Places to find the recipes

Sorry I haven't posted in a while. I've been trying to get through a pile of freelance work and felt guilty updating this blog when I had other deadlines (or rather...have...other deadlines hanging over my head), but it's Christmas week and who the hell works over Christmas week, except the people in restaurants, retail stores, shopping websites, shipping establishments, resorts, hospitals, and convenience stores. And, of course, the people who don't actually celebrate Christmas, like non-Christians. And me.

I went shopping with Groom last week as the bagger grabbed another plastic bag (yeah, we forgot our reusable bags so what) for our many, many items, I said, "I can't believe how much food we bought!"

And he was like, "Well, you must be having a big party!"

"Nope! We don't celebrate Christmas!"

This guy--who reminded me of a cross between Jebidiah Atkinson on SNL and Lou Todd on Little Britain (You really have to squint your eyes to get there, but smoosh those two people together and you have a bagger at an IGA in a small town in Maine)--this guy, his face screwed up into such an awesome mixture of confusion, shock, and pity. "Whaaaa...t??"

As we were leaving, I couldn't help myself and I wished him a Merry Christmas. And he said:

"Thank you! Merry....uh...have a good...um..."

And then he looked down at his feet.

I'm such a jerk. This is the same place where I noticed the cashier's voice was super raspy so I said, "Oh, it sounds like you're getting over a cold!" To which, she replied, "I had throat cancer and needed radiation. My voice always sounds like this."

And I said, "Con...grat...u...lations...?"

So, I imagine I'm probably a beloved fixture in this community. And, I can't find it, but I'm certain I've told that story already.

Back to all the food I bought at the local IGA. My plan was to cook up a storm during the ice storm. Instead, I slid my way to a friend's condo on the mountain and drank way too much wine, stayed way beyond my welcome, and spent the entire next day in the fetal position thinking about the buttercream frosting she makes for her delicious cupcakes and realizing the only thing that might get me out of the fetal position was access to more of that buttercream. (I know buttercream isn't vegan. I had only a little. And it was totally worth it.)

Now I have a bunch of food that needs cooking. I scan websites and blogs all the time for yummy recipes. I figure it's only fair I share the names of them here. And, I can find maybe 75% of the necessary ingredients at my local IGA, so dinner turns into kind of an educational scavenger hunt. Which is fun. During an ice storm.

Thug Kitchen
This guy cooks up some really yummy, mostly vegan recipes. What I love about this site is that he makes it all seem so easy. He's got this "don't worry about it" approach to cooking and his language is so foul. I love it. Today, I'm making the tamale pie to test drive it before people come over next week. For my guests, I'll have sour cream and cheese available. I'm not mean.

100 Days of Real Food
Although this isn't a vegan site, there are some awesome recipes and ways to cut processed food from your diet. My friend MoMo of Three Daughters Cookie Company is taking the 10-day pledge after the new year; I'm eager to hear more about it. For what it's worth, MoMo whipped up a batch of raw kelp noodle pad thai for me last week. I thought I had died and gone to heaven. And, while I was visiting with her, she took three catering jobs, pulled together a basket of MoMunch Granola for a client, baked a coffee cake and a bundt cake for the local coffee shop, consoled a relative over the phone, and picked up her daughter from school. She is a machine and she has the loveliest family ever

My Whole Food Life
I use recipes out of here all the time. The pecan pie larabars are super easy and an excellent sweet treat.

EatGoodFood4Life
I lived on the almond butter banana granola bars for the entire month of October.

goop
Yeah, I know. I can't stand Gwyneth Paltrow, but this site is worth it. My friend Darcy turned me on to it and even I had to let go of my "Gwyneth is an elitist" mentality. I'm a fan of the broiled balsamic salmon.

The Spunky Coconut
The fact that this site has the word spunk in its name totally outweighs the fact that they identify themselves as paleo. Paleo is the new macrobiotic, right?

Vegan Monologue
Good recipes. Excellent name. And, mama like the drunken noodle.

Mark Bittman
Thank you Mark Bittman for the arugula and chickpea salad. Thank you.

And for cookbooks, I've been leaning on Vegan Cooking for Carnivores (but I'm starting to shy away from trying to fake meat recipes but I am making their tofu spread today), Veganomicon and Vegan with a Vengeance (like Thug Kitchen's guy, these ladies are just punks), and for special occasions Light and Healthy by America's Test Kitchen, which is really fatty and yummy, just not as fatty and yummy as their normal stuff.

I need to drink a glass of bourbon to outweigh this annoyingly earnest post about eating healthy. I'll get on that, right after I take this tablespoon of cod liver oil. You know. For my health.

Tuesday, December 17, 2013

end of year list

Who doesn't love an end-of-year list? Since my recovery from back surgery feels like it's been taking about a year, I've compiled a list of my top 15 discoveries.
  1. I talk to myself. A lot. And, I mean a lot.
  2. I have an amazingly gracious and generous pile of family and friends.
  3. I am terrible about writing thank you notes. 
  4. I am not very good at taking showers every day.
  5. Groom is very good about not mentioning that I'm not very good at taking showers every day.
  6. Reality television is vapid, insipid, and vitriolic.
  7. I love reality television.
  8. I do not have a single female friend resembling any of the Real Housewives.
  9. I like to spend my spare time thinking of celebrity doppelgangers for my friends. If you are reading this and we are friends, it's very likely I have come up with a doppelganger for you.
  10. My celebrity doppelganger is either Jane Curtin or Dianne Wiest.
  11. I have a sit-in-bed shelf life of about seven days before I cannot watch another television show or movie, and I can no longer sit quietly and read a novel.
  12. But, graphic novels are always awesome. 
  13. I will sit and watch just about anything on YouTube
  14. Parker Posey is excellent in everything she does. 
  15. I love Jennifer Lawrence.
The scar on my neck is healing up nicely and isn't nearly as badass as I had hoped. I head into my post-op follow-up tomorrow and I'm hoping Dr. Nice says something like, "Your recovery is miraculous! You can go back to work full-time! I hear Sunday River has gotten over a foot of new snow this week! Go skiing any time you want! Now get out of here, you scamp!" (And, yes, I now have him messing up my hair by rubbing the top of my head.)

What he's likely to say is, "Hmmmm....things look pretty good here. You're feeling okay? Okay. Well. Great. Let's stay on this. Give us a call if you experience any new pain or symptoms. NEXT!"

And I will leave the office, get in my car, pull onto the highway, think about the doctor's appointment, and punch the steering wheel because I forgot to ask when I can start working out again. 

Heh-heh. That's ridiculous. I won't forget to ask.

Bonus track:
   16. I have indicated otherwise, but I am not looking forward to working out again. 

Thursday, December 12, 2013

off the drugs, high on life

My favorite smoothie:
juiced apple
banana
almond butter
flax seed
one ice cube
Enough of this lazing about, drinking smoothies, and watching TV. I went back to work this week. Since I work from home, it's not as challenging for me as it would be for someone who has to shower, dress, drive to the office, and sit at the computer all day trying to get some work done while people stop by and ask how they're feeling. Those people, the ones who work in an office, have to wait...I don't know...three weeks before they can return? Something like that.

Overall, things are going well. I had some weird swelling that made me look like I had a goiter on my neck. I took a picture and sent it to my friend who works at spine doctor's office and, get this, Dr. Nice called me himself to talk about it. That's the second time he's called me directly. I've never talked to a doctor on the phone before. Ever. And now I've talked to a doctor twice over the phone and not because I insisted I talk to him but because he called me. #mindblown

Now I'm taking these giant antibiotic horse pills that smell like...sorry, I have to say it...diarrhea. I'm supposed to take them four times a day, which translates to every six hours, but there's no way in hell I'm getting up at 6am to take a pill, unless that pill is a painkiller (I mean, come on, right?) so I'm taking as many as I can while I am awake, which is sometimes four, sometimes three. But, the lump, which was the size of a small fig is now the size of a pea. It's always food, isn't it? Is that to make the grossness and bad news more relatable and friendly? Is it misdirection, like a magician...I mean illusionist?

"Sir, you have a tumor the size of a lemon." I love lemonade!
"Your cyst is the size of a melon." Let's meet for brunch!
"We detected a growth the size of a grape." What do you say to some wine?

I feel like I may have stolen that riff from David Sedaris.

I stopped wearing the cervical collar over a week ago, so I no longer try to reenact Joan Cusack's water fountain scene in Sixteen Candles, and I'll admit I snapped a shot of myself for a friend when I realized how difficult it was for me to eat a bowl of nuts and berries I had procured for a snack and had to balance precariously on my lady shelf.

I still have surgical tape residue stuck to my neck (gross) and I'm having some difficulty swallowing. I'm assuming it's from the endotracheal they shove down your throat when you have surgery. I, of course, have been referring to it as intubation, only because I watched ER every single Thursday night in the '90s. I used to wait tables at The Good Table (speaking of brunch) with a regular Thursday night shift. I would drive home after work before my friend Linnea, who also worked at The Good Table, would drive over in her shitty ass Saab (sorry Linnea) and we would head to Amigo's for the long haul. She showed up one Thursday night and I ran down to the door and waved at her to come inside. I was watching the episode from the first season where this adorable couple comes into the ER because the very pregnant wife has a UTI but it turns out she has eclampsia--what killed [Downton Abbey SPOILER ALERT] Sybil--and I was visibly sobbing when I opened the door to my building.

"What's wrong??" she asked from the street.

"She's dying!" I shouted before leaving the door ajar and running back up the stairs.

For those of you who are too young to remember when ER was the most exhausting show to watch because so much happened at once--or, for that matter, for those of you who don't remember the show ER at all--it's sort of like Grey's Anatomy with more action and less...mcdreamysteamy. The hottest guy on the show was George Clooney and let's face it. He's funny and all, but he isn't the be-all and end-all.

But, this episode...jeez louise.... It's almost 20 years later and I still remember it so vividly. I even remember the husband was played by Bradley Whitford, but that could be because I remembered him from Revenge of the Nerds II.

Yes, I can see what I wrote there. Yes. Revenge of the Nerds II. The sequel. Yup. And I just realized the guy from Thirtysomething who played CJ's boyfriend on West Wing, the show where Bradley Whitford played Josh, was one of the lead nerds. I feel much better after working that out.

Side note: Why are people still making tribute videos to ER?

Second side note: What happened to Bradley Whitford's face?

sad delicious cake
What were were talking about? Right. I'm off the Oxy and I'm back to work, part time. I can handle sitting at the computer for about two hours (with breaks). Otherwise, my back gets all kinds of angry with me. I took a break from work yesterday and took a walk instead--about 1/4 of a mile, but it was freaking freezing out and most of it was uphill. Both ways.

I strayed from the vegan nonsense while I was recovering from surgery--I ate scrambled eggs and my in-laws visited and cooked up some scallops in butter with cake for dessert--but for the most part I'm sticking to the plan. What bums me out is that I had a perfect excuse to eat what I wanted and the Oxy made everything taste like a tin can. Not fair. Now that I can taste things, it's lentils and chickpeas again. Which are admittedly delicious if you add kale that's been sauteed in coconut oil with a giant spoonful of mango chutney plopped next to them. But, I would still choose cake 4 out of 5 times.

For the record, this post took me three days. I might need more recovery time. I think I'll take Groom's most recent advice. Literally

Tuesday, December 10, 2013

new look

I hope this doesn't disorient people, but I changed the look of the blog. That mountain in the background didn't really apply anymore since I achieved my goal to build my strength up and the bright blue was starting to bum me out. A former co-worker and, now dare I say it, friend Jimmy asked me to give his super sweet blog a quick review and I remembered how much I prefer white space. His blog is nice and clean. And since he's the catalyst for this change, he deserves a shout.

I look forward to reading about his adventures this winter. Plus, his girlfriend is named Jorie, which made my friend Tanya of My Lovely Sentences remark that perhaps Jimmy's girlfriend is named after Jorie Graham, a poet I had never heard of so I looked her up and read this particular poem first and it made me think of boating and fishing and marriage and pragmatism all at once. And I fell in love.

Speaking of pragmatism, looking at Jimmy and Tanya's blogs, I'm starting to think I should have gone with Wordpress. I did zero research before starting this blog. I just started typing.

And that's all, folks.

Well, not really. I'm too lazy to look up whether it's supposed to be "Jimmy's and Tanya's blogs" or "Jimmy and Tanya's blogs," and "the blogs by Jimmy and Tanya" is just too much. So, can I get a pass from the grammar police if it's incorrect? Thanks.


Wednesday, December 4, 2013

I shouldn't be doing this

This post goes out to all the people who have had surgery and need to sit quietly. I'm a huge fan of crawling into bed and watching whatever Netflix has to offer. I typically choose a genre or an actor and run with it for days. I've seen every episode of Weeds, Breaking Bad, Black Adder (including that horrible time travel one), Doctor Who, Charmed (yeah, whatever, shut up--and I tried to look up the funniest Charmed scene, but all clips were, like, 4-6 minutes long, which leads me to believe that Charmed fans are crazy, so double shut up), Touched by an Angel (see Charmed), The Office (and I know that blooper clip I just linked is 18 minutes long, but I could watch Office bloopers all day, which makes me realize just how crazed Charmed and Touched by an Angel fans really are), Mad Men, Rome, The Sopranos, anything with Ryan Gosling (except The Notebook, can't do it), anything with Steve Carell (here's part two of the clip I link to his name), every Mission Impossible, Iron Man 1, 2, & 3, The Avengers, Captain America, every Hulk movie, and a really depressing black comedy called Visioneers with Zach Galifianakis, who is perfectly cast in that part but seeing him also reminded me with great joy that my brother bought me a dickie as a get well present. My bout with pneumonia has ruined all streaming period dramas I can find on Netflix, but I continue to look for ones I haven't seen, such as the Billie Piper movie version of Mansfield Park (as opposed to the Frances O'Connor version, which I had already seen, and not to be confused with the BBC series from the early '80s). Billie Piper also happens to play Doctor Who's companion when the absolutely wonderful Christopher Eccleston was the Doctor. She's carried throughout the series and showed up as The Moment's conscience in the 50th anniversary episode, which I had to watch twice because I was so hopped up on pain meds, I couldn't figure out why there were three Doctors and why they were all locked in the Tower of London together.

Wow. I totally Jack Kerouac'ed that intro paragraph.

And, I just turned a name into a verb.

I am boooooooored. And I'm not supposed to be sitting up, never mind typing on a laptop, so if you know Groom or see him in the halls, don't mention this post to him. I just want to get back to work or go do something. Oxycodone makes me really restless, but my brain gets so goofy, I can't really do anything. I totally tore apart a flower arrangement the other day because I couldn't sit still and I can't leave the house.

Groom is a saint, dealing with the dog every morning, coming home to make lunch, walking the dog in the afternoon, going grocery shopping, dealing with the laundry, making dinner, walking the dog after supper, and then sitting with me to watch reruns of Arrested Development until he falls asleep--god, he must be so bored with his life right now. Every time I walk up from my basement recovery room, I have flashes of Boo Radley ("Hi Boo!") and Flowers in the Attic. I'm this person secreted away and not talked about. If someone named Jane Eyre ("I must shut up my prize.") shows up, or more appropriately and even worse, if someone named Mattie Silver shows up, I might lose my mind entirely. Lordy. We have the snow for sledding and Groom has an Ethan Frome limp already. Hm.

All right. I have to sign off. I overdid it the other day, which means I walked the dog, I sat up for too long, and I received a visitor. That was too much. Yesterday, I slept until 1:00 in the afternoon and was running a fever by 6:30. I'll admit I was in pain and therefore I was unable to meet my goal to be off the Oxy by yesterday. Today, I'm just taking Tylenol. Yeah. These crazy ramblings are coming from a sober person.

This is what recovery really looks like. Nobody talks about the boredom.

Sunday, December 1, 2013

recovery

after drugs
before drugs
I'm slightly more coherent today because I'm weening off the pain meds and all. (The song I linked there is more appropriate for what I'm talking about, but I want to share my favorite Ween song as well. Gets me every time.)

Let's talk about surgery, shall we? Hmm? I've never been put under and with the exception of a a few (eight, to be exact) pieces of my cervix being removed when I was in my early 30s, I've never had any major procedures done.

out of my league
Right now, I feel like I've been in a car accident. Actually, I feel the way I did after I was showing off with some friends and skiing at mach 10 (which is like, mach 1 for people like Lindsey Vonn). Three of us were racing down the hill, cutting each other off, and jumping into muck on the sides of the trails. I don't generally do that. I'm a huge fan of Safety First--just ask anyone who hung out with me from 1998 to 2003. I believe my "Safety First!" alter ego's name was Pat Sanderson. If you ask me to dust that character off sometime, I promise I will. All I need are some fake teeth and a closely-cropped wig, preferably dirty blonde in color.
look at devivo's smile though

I digress. I jumped into some muck behind my friend Caroline, a carefree and daring skier. While she bailed immediately because the snow was super cruddy, I carried on like a champ and went ass over teakettle. I never dumped any speed, so I did a tumble/cartwheel at the same rate as the person skiing next to me. (The DeVivo I mention in this post here.) Other than a little smack to the ego, I was fine, but I couldn't walk for days. That's what I feel like now.

If you're headed into surgery soon and you're looking for some advice about how to act and what to expect, you may or may not have come to the right place.

Here are some tips I got from other people:
  • Drink plenty of water. (I failed.)
  • Don't drink any water, and I mean NONE, for at least eight hours before going under the knife. (Success! But then the anesthesiologist nurse couldn't find a vein for my IV and I now have a bruise the size of a sand dollar on my left hand.)
  • Don't drink alcohol for a few days prior to the procedure. (I failed miserably and instead got so stinking drunk with some friends that I think I may have tried to make out with Little Miss Bounce a Quarter. Not entirely sure.)
  • Eat plenty of fiber prior to the surgery and after the surgery. (Success!) Seriously. Just do it. An apple, raspberry, banana, flaxseed smoothie with a side of dried figs may not appeal to you, but trust me when I tell you it is far more appealing than what will happen if you don't eat a lot of fiber. I heard a horrific story involving a baby spoon--in the interest of privacy, I won't reveal who told me that story, but I am related to that person. I have not had those issues.
  • Explain to the anesthesiologist that you suffer from motion sickness if, in fact, you do suffer from motion sickness. There is no room for stoicism in the operating room. (Fail! And I suffered the consequences, as did the nurses, PAs, medical associates, and my fellow patients in the recovery room. It's the only moment I was aware of my surroundings while still dosed and it was very unpleasant.)
  • Try not to tell your doctor you think he's dreamy while under medication. (I have no idea what my success rate is. I do recall him standing over me after I vomited and I seem to recall he grabbed my shin and gave it a little shake, which could mean "Oh, you're so drugged up, aren't you cute," or it could mean "Oh my god stop talking you lunatic." I fear it was the latter.)
That's it, really. Once they put the mask over your face, you just have to let go and let surgeon (because surgeon totally thinks he's god). I'm kidding. I don't think my surgeon had a god complex, but I do know he was distractingly dreamy, and he's nice, which makes it worse. He's a nice guy. I hate that.

His PA showed up after the surgery and I nearly fell out of the bed though. This PA, whose name was Dr. Valentine (Really? REALLY?!), was suuuuuper dreamy. He did a few tests to make sure my neurons or whatever were firing correctly. He ran his fingers down my arms and asked, "Do you feel any pain?" I enthusiastically shouted "No! I don't! No! No pain!!" He ran his fingers along my jaw. He tested the strength in my hands and wrists. And then he ran his finger down my inner thigh. "Can you feel that?"

Here's where it gets dicey. I squeaked out a tiny little...yes. My friend Liana asked me, "Did you tell him where you felt it?"

And that's why I want her to be around for the rest of my life.

I instructed Groom to hand me back my wedding ring at that very moment. A little reminder for us all that looky is fine, but no touching.

Next came the patient navigator whose sole purpose is to make sure you're comfortable. She will answer any questions you might have and make you feel special--something I already had going for me after Dr. Valentine (seriously) stopped by. The PN went over my chart and asked me some general questions, including "Have you ever taken Oxycodone?"

I paused. I looked at my brother who sort of smirked at me. I looked at my hands. I finally told her, "I don't know how to answer that question." Of course I've had Oxycodone. I'm a member of the pill generation. Christ, I was drinking beer when I was 10 and taking speed at the age of 12. I forget what we called those speed pills. I wanna say we called them Valentines, but that might be my drugged brain looking for a sweet little connection.

To the PN's credit, she shrugged it off and told me since I hadn't had any trouble with Oxycodone in the past (other than giggling myself into a puddle on my brother's couch one night), I probably wouldn't have any trouble with it now.

Finally, the surgeon with the dreamy eyes came in and checked on me as well. After a quick review, he got a sweet and slightly mischievous look in his eye. I'm thinking...what? I looked down to make sure I had my wedding ring on. What?

"Wanna go home?"

F*CK YEAH! So, I didn't have to spend the night at the hospital. Bonus. I felt like I passed some really hard test.

And then it all hit me. If you've never had surgery, this will be news to you. You're going to feel fine for a few days. I was ready to run a marathon. That's because you are so hopped up on pain meds and numbing agents, you don't know. You just don't know. I had the surgery on Tuesday. By Saturday, I was outside taking a walk. By Saturday night, I thought I was going to die. Just keep that in mind. It's all livable and I do not for one second regret having this procedure done, but the recovery is long, a little painful, and very boring. Part of me thinks they prescribe so many drugs in order to keep you docile and incapable of doing any damage with your bored self.

This is like a short acknowledgements section here, I suppose. I told everyone to stay away from me when I was headed into this surgery. I thought I was doing everyone a favor--making it so they don't have to deal with me and my weird back situation and grumpy nerves. I purposefully (purposely?) chose my surgery for this week, Thanksgiving week. I knew people would be busy, and that was my way of letting them off the hook.

My brother, of course, bamboozled me and showed up anyway. He's just that guy. I was slightly irritated at first (and I know you'll read this, brother, so keep reading). In the end, I was extremely glad to see him. He was very helpful, especially since Groom was hiding a head cold and some serious tooth pain from me and probably needed the help. I think brother was in cahoots with my friend Liana who hosted everyone the night before the surgery since she lives about 30 minutes from Maine Med and her house is extremely dog friendly so we could keep our Mr Magoo shell of a dog there (Thanks Don!).

Even though I mentioned to anyone who asked that I didn't want people around me, I also mentioned that I wanted flowers. I love being surrounded by flowers, which is in direct contrast to the person I was when I was a teenager. I hated vases of flowers back then. These days? Bring it.

I was so pleased and tickled to see an orchid (with a clever note) from Joan, an edible arrangement of fruit and kale (which was all turned into smoothies) from the Brunos, giant flowers that I can never remember what they're called from Hollander, a crazy pretty arrangement in a bamboo vase from Liana, and a pile of tulips from the Coens in San Francisco.

When Groom and I returned to the condo, we found vegan broccoli soup, hot & sour soup, and tomato soup courtesy of Shelley--who remains in my mind as that little bowl of chocolates everyone loves to see on a stressful day. Whiton and Galen had already pulled together a collection of Deadwood DVDs and a pile of graphic novels, but she had the fortitude to come see me the day after Thanksgiving as well. Shelley spent an afternoon listening to me ramble on about I don't know what. And, Callie arrived with a handful of gossip magazines, which were perfect because I can't concentrate on anything more complicated than the back page puzzle in Highlights magazine. I can't even watch the Doctor Who 50th Anniversary episode, which aired last week, because my brain can't follow the wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff at all.
recovery room with daniel craig. hello.

Groom is upstairs pulling dinner together for me and he periodically checks in on me in my recovery room, which is super cozy and inviting.

I'm uncomfortable, but all I can think is...there are people who really do go through this alone. I requested that I be left alone and that's an entirely different experience. I knew I wouldn't be alone. There are people in this world who have nobody to offend by telling them to stay away. My version of "I want to be alone" is nothing like the people who take a cab to the hospital and somehow make it back to their apartment where they themselves have stocked the pantry and when they go back to work six weeks later, nobody even notices they were gone. Maybe those people want to be alone, but they don't have the choice. I have the choice and just maybe I told people to stay away because I have such a robust support system, I knew I had to put up some parameters. I don't know. That was a weird way of expressing gratitude and appreciation toward the lovely people in my world.

Oops. Getting sentimental. Stop.

the other side

I had every intention of writing a "goodbye cruel world" post the night before I went into surgery this week, full of apologies to the various people I have injured over the years--the guy who always got the lion's share of my wrath at Amigo's when I was in my 20s, the old woman who worked at the shop at the North Shore Shopping Center where I stole a tiny Smurfette figurine when I was in the 4th grade, the guy I made cry at the Free Street Taverna after I pulled him aside to offer helpful advice about his personality, the woman who let me move in with her when I was living in a van and I treated her like she was my understudy. As I was thinking about it, I could sort of see it might start funny but turn into cloying treacle. (Cloying treacle. Look it up, DeVivo.) And, I really do dislike too much sentiment.

Instead, I wandered aimlessly around my friend Liana's house thinking about...nothing.

Now, here I am, almost a week later, sitting in a neck brace with a restless, drug-addled mind, staring at Blame it on Rio on a giant flatscreen TV on the first floor of a three-story townhouse Groom and I rented for the winter. (It's not a huge luxurious place. It's vertical living with thin walls. I'm not complaining, but I do want to clarify that I'm not bragging either. If I'm ever going to brag, it will be about the remodeled kitchen we might have someday. Someday.)

I should probably point out right about now that I'm on an apothecary's cocktail of pain relievers, nerve blockers, and muscle relaxants. I don't know where my hands end and the keyboard begins. And, the line between reality and fantasy is very, very thin.

And I have the worst case of dry mouth.  But, I did get outside and take a little walk today, so the baby steps are working out for me.

More soon, dear lovely people who actually read this silly blog. More soon. I just wanted to check in to let you know I made it to the other side. Not the other side, like, "stay away from the light Carol Ann" other side. I mean, I woke up from surgery.

That last paragraph there? That's why I'm not writing a full post--I can feel myself buzzing the sweetness tower. (Sorry, Goose.) These drugs are making me sentimental, overly sensitive, and just a little clingy.