Love You

I feel weird, like I'm just discarding part of my body. That doesn't seem right. I've had my hip for 51 years, and it'll be gone, either incinerated or at the bottom of some medical waste dump by noon on Good Friday. I feel as if I should thank it for being around for so long. My best years with it were when I was in taekwondo. It helped me to achieve my black belt. I got second place in women's regional sparring. I could kick really high, which surprised a lot of my opponents, and helped me score three points each time I made contact. I still have my trophy. I would have gotten first but some naughty chick kicked me in the stomach and knocked the wind out of me for the rest of the tournament. I still haven't gotten over that.

To my hip:

Thank you for being there for me after all these years. I am sorry but you have to go. Over the past year, you've caused me a lot of pain. I wish I'd taken better care of you...kept the weight off...so we didn't have to part so soon. I'll take responsibility for that. I promise I'll do better with this implant. I want to be healthy. I will be healthy. I am eliminating as many processed food as I can. I'm becoming a whole foods girl because of you. I didn't know that you had a birth defect either. Guess that's something that should have been detected by doctors when I was born. I want so badly to be pain free. I want to walk again without a noticeable limp. I want to swim without wincing. I want to dance in the living room, letting Adam Levine know that I too can move like Jagger. I want to walk my dog everyday. I'd like to also enroll her in agility classes, so we can do even more fun activities together. I want to toss my cane in the trash. Or use it to hold up tomato bushes this summer. As you can see, right hip, I have a number of plans. Thank you so much. I appreciate you making me become aware of my body. That's what's really key in this whole thing. I wish you peace. And, most importantly, I love you.

Do vs. Done

After my last post, less than an hour ago, I started to finish up things around the house. I began to hyperventilate again. It's giving up control that's tough for me. I'll readily admit it. So, to get myself centered again, I've decided to post the tasks I've been mulling over.

To Do List

• Call insurance to find out whether aftercare is covered. Done!
• Get prescriptions filled in advance. Done!
• Test the raised toilet seat. Done!
• Pack for hospital stay. Done!
• Print phone numbers for Jackie Gleason. (I can't use his real name without permission, so I'll call him that.)
• Take out all the trash. (If it smells now, it'll definitely SMELL later.) Done!
• Pet the cat and make sure he's got food and water for a few days. (I love this little guy. He's so self-sustaining.) Done!
• Pack prescriptions in case the hospital doesn't have some of them. Done!
• Don't take the water pill on surgery day because it may affect anesthesia.
• Don't eat too heavily the day before surgery. 
• Don't eat or drink or smoke anything after midnight.(I'm thirsty already.)
• Wear my leopard bra to lighten up things. Done!
• Bring good underwear. 
• Put pillow cases on all pillows. (I hear there's lots of propping.) Done!
• Bring magnifying mirror and tweezers. (All women over 35 will understand this.) Done!!
• Set up staging area in living room. Include water, books, laptop, journal, crocheting project, telephone, Kleenex. Done!
• Bring crutches. Done!
• Reread the here's-all-you-need-to-know pamphlets.
• Bring my reading glasses. Done!
• Bring special hair conditioner because I don't want my new color to fade. 
• Empty the dishwasher and hand wash all dishes. Done!
• Bring the kitty litter and laundry soap downstairs. Done!
• Wash and fold all clothes. Done!
• Clean the kitchen floor. Kinda done!
• Clean the shower downstairs. Done!

Oh well, that's a start. I'm feeling better already. I'm sure that'll pass if I think just a smidgen more..

“Having come to the conclusion that there was so much to do that she didn’t know where to start, Mrs Fowler decided not to start at all. She went to the library, took Diary of a Nobody from the shelves and, returning to her wicker chair under the lime tree, settled down to waste what precious hours still remained of the day.”
― Richmal Crompton, Family Roundabout 

No Title

Not sure what to write about, but I’ll just keep typing until something comes up.

Had a really good day. Hardly any pain, which is a first in several months. On scale from 1 to 10, with 10 sucking the life out of a welcomed newborn, I’d say it was a .5. Perhaps it was due to the new blog, the double-dose of anti-anxiety pills this early morning, the I’m-so-pissed-off-at-you chat with God, the 1.5 hour massage, the dye job on my new red/brown hair, the low to no fluctuation in the barometer (thank you Sweet Baby Jesus), the pedicure, the facial, the soul-cleansing talk with my friend (where he really listened to me because I demanded that he do so), or even the rarity of the sun—whatever it was—I’ll take it. Damn, it feels so good to get some relief. And right before surgery. Can I get an “Ahhhhhhmmmmmennnn!”?

I picked up the dog after all that and brought her to the kennel. She didn’t want to go inside, so I had to coax her with her stuffed squirrel. For a brief time, I felt guilty, and then I let that go. (Almost a week without having to take care of her will be a welcomed respite for not only me but the cat, too, who’s lost several pounds from constantly being hunted and then chased. Poor Buddy. He’s 14 and has survived three dogs.) There’s one gal who adores Eowyn. “Ooh, she’s here!” Eowyn’s response is to squat and pee. I kissed Eowyn on the bridge of her nose and promised that good things were going to happen. She didn’t seem to believe me, so she straightened her legs and had to be drug to the kennel. The technician told me that she settled in by laying on top of her squirrel.

My final act of wrapping things up was to quickly enter Walmart and buy a raised toilet seat. Sorry friends, but that place scares the crap out of me. Have you been to the People of Walmart site? I will tell you this…they’re out there and they're real and they do live in Iowa. I parked in the closest handicapped spot, weebled my way in, grabbed my new potty, and checked out. All in record time. I didn’t look anyone in the eyes. Although, on the way out, I did walk behind a family of four who looked like they could have starred in another remake of The Hills Have Eyes. 

Well, that's it for now. I don't have a witty close for today's entry. So, I'll leave it at that. 

Graphic Nature

I found an image that may be applicable for this blog. The artist's name is Devin. Here's where he's located on MySpace: http://www.myspace.com/milkphat/photos/30506263.

Mental Machinery

I am on here, creating a new blog, at 3 AM. It's just two days before my hip replacement surgery. I have done what I can, thus far, to calm down: meditated, medicated (hello to a double-shot of lorazapam), received facials, received pedicures, talked to and written friends, journaled, plus mercilessly hugged and smooched my dog. I find that my mind and body are in conflict with what I want them to do.

My mind thinks, "OMG, they're going to saw off part of my leg!" My body reacts, "Run!" So, my heart pounds through my chest wall, my face gets super hot, and my anger (or defense) reaches atomic levels. I feel like that helpless 18-month-old child, left alone so many years ago, with a Naval coreman, awaiting my eye surgery. The only thing I could do at that time was yell, "SHIT!" so my parents wouldn't leave. Unfortunately, that's not going to work this time.

I want to be at peace with this whole surgical process, knowing that it's the right thing because I've diligently worked through other possible solutions. Over the past year, I've participated in acupuncture; yoga; sideline physical therapy; massage; tapping, Advil graduating to Alleve graduating to meloxicam graduating to hydrocodone, swimming; hot tubs; scalding baths; and finally paying attention to what I eat. Logically this all makes sense, especially since I hobble all the time with a cane now. But, what is it that's holding me back so much? Does anyone really come to total peace with major surgery?

I really wish I could figure that out. Maybe by keeping this blog, I'll be able to do that. Maybe not. I do know that I feel a little better documenting what's going on. I'm the kind of person who needs to write to understand what's swirling around in my head. Without that, I am lost.

“My own brain is to me the most unaccountable of machinery - always buzzing, humming, soaring roaring diving, and then buried in mud. And why? What's this passion for?”
― Virginia Woolf