Saturday, December 03, 2016

An Overly Detailed Medical Post Involving Ladyparts

These socks are awesome.

Trigger warning for talk of womanparts and medical details.* I had a procedure done, minor surgery to remove a uterine polyp (our family's full of polyps, as my mom would say) and do an endometrial ablation.* The backstory is that I got diagnosed with a startlingly serious bout of anemia this summer which led to a whole bunch of testing to find out why--apparently my iron levels were low enough that I had to be losing blood somehow. Among other things, mainly the fact that I most likely haven't been absorbing iron from vegetable sources very well (possibly for years), I have also been having heavy periods. Ladies of a Certain Age, ask me about perimenopause! So this is my gynecologist's preferred treatment of what's officially called menorrhagia.

Told you there'd be womanparts and medical details.

I was mostly worried I'd get silly coming out of general anesthesia, but I think I pulled it off okay, aside from telling everyone, "Thank you so much!" over and over again. Which I probably would have done even without the drugs. My first thought when I woke up was "Damn, that was such an interesting dream and I've already forgotten it," and my second thought was "I LOVE SURGERY," which I happily did not say out loud.

Before walking awkwardly into surgery, clutching my johnny around me as a nurse led me by the IV line, I listened to my doctor explain the risks in a reassuring way, and add at the end: "Rarely, we can't complete the procedure because of the shape of the uterus. If the uterus is too big, the machine just won't fit correctly." And I thought, but didn't say, "The machine?!"

Oh, another thing: my hospital bracelet said "Mary," and so they all called me Mary (my gyn typically goes back and forth between that and remembering that I go by Liz). I decided it was preferable, since it made me feel a little like it was someone else who was having surgery, my alter ego.

I liked the whole cast of characters. My favorite was Julia, the post-op nurse who called me "my dear," despite being at least 15 years younger than I am, and my least favorite was also the only man, Dr Somebody the anesthesiologist. But he was fine, and we talked about the weather and speculated about whether it would snow a lot this winter, and in the end he was my best best friend of all.

If you would care for more information on this medical adventure, you can check out this Web MD link, which is full of funny details like this one, under Why It Is Done: "Childbearing is completed." Check! Childbearing, completed. I also see that it can be done via freezing, laser, electricity, or "microwave." Hmm. I see my doctor as a laser beam type.

Now I am just achy and crampy and confined to the couch for the rest of today. Mark is spoiling me with lattes and baked treats and tuna melts and foot rubs.

*No, seriously.

*Endometrial ablation is a procedure that destroys (ablates) the uterine lining, or endometrium.

Wednesday, November 16, 2016

Tuesday, November 15, 2016

Thursday, November 10, 2016

Is This Real Life?

I had this dream that Tromp won. No, I really did, about a week ago, and I woke up in a knot of anxiety--for that single moment, it hit me how bad it would be if he won the election. The next time I felt that feeling was sitting in front of the TV at our friend Mitchell's house, after what started as a cheerful election viewing and burrito party. I don't know what time it was--9:30 or 10:00, I guess--when I found my hands pressed against my face, my body curled forward, a low moan coming out of my mouth. We all stared in disbelief. He hadn't won yet, but it was clear what was happening. Even after Mark and I came home and climbed in bed and managed to sleep a little bit, part of me thought

1. It was a dream, it was all a dream
2. Something miraculously happened at the very end to change the outcome
3. Or..? I don't know, I don't know

But there it was on my phone in the morning, sent by the New York Times to my email in-box. I can't type it, but you know what I mean.

[There's the dream where the bad guy wins and a chill settles: he's a bad, bad guy. He is surrounded by badness, he is supported by evil ugliness. And his HAIR. And...]

Then there's the dream Mark had the other night where he could text emoji to Zoë and Isaac that were edible--little pink cotton candy and stretchy salt water taffy emoji! Edible, so cute! I really, really wish that dream came true.

("David After Dentist" idea borrowed from Meg Rooks.)
("Tromp" borrowed from Elias, age three.)

Monday, November 07, 2016

Not a Dream Journal

I dreamed I was staying in some weird B&B where the only coffee cups they had were very old, used styrofoam cups, all bent and curled, coffee-stained. I declined, and the host person was mystified as to why--she said something like, "But most of them were only used by people related to you!" Theo was there, meeting other cats for the first time, batting at them adorably with his paws. Then Zoë was driving a car, fast in a parking garage, with me as a passenger. I took over so she could go "play a concert." I had to drive around picking a bunch of people up, fast, so we'd make it to the concert in time to hear Zoë. We were running late when I woke up.

Friday, November 04, 2016

Oregon Trail

Did I mention that this guy got his driver's license this summer? (Not Theo, the other guy.) He's a good driver, careful and smart, although he has the stylish habit of keeping only one hand on the steering wheel. One night this summer, he drove the car in the dark with his cousin Oona riding shotgun and Mark and me in the back seat. Many nights this fall, he went out late with his pal Christian, driving around. I think it's wise to wait until you're 20 to get your license, because your brain is more fully formed then (I may be biased, since that's about how old I was, too. I was so much stupider at 16).

One day I was riding in the car while Isaac drove, taking corners just a little bit abruptly, and every time, we could hear the dog water bowl we keep in the trunk clang loudly. Isaac said it sounded just like the Oregon Trail computer game he and Zoë used to play, the clang of the wagon train. It made him laugh.

These driving adventures happened during Isaac's visits home over the last several months. In New York, he is of course carless, although his license helped get him a temporary PA job on the set of a well-known TV show. He texted us from the driver's seat of a black SUV that was waiting outside a store near Rockefeller Center for the costume buyer to return. So he soon will have far more experience driving in Manhattan than I, for one, have.