The Desert Mermaid

Getting rather paranoid about my own health--Mom was sick last week with a miserable cold, and today I have ... A SORE THROAT. It's rather unnerving.

I also seem to be having Old People Problems with my left hip. It feels ... inflamey. Has for weeks. I'm not sure if I've been sitting on it wrong, or if it's some kind of horrible occult infection and I will die within the year, but it's sure making me tear through the Advil.

At least my gallbladder isn't giving me any more trouble. After that I can handle anything.

The Insurance Part

ME: Hi, billing lady! I've been working out every single possible angle of this whole "paying for surgery" business. I think I've worked out how to pay for it all, but I just need reassurance. Does this payment plan work?
BILLING LADY: Oh, totally! All set! We've got your deductible all worked out!
ME: Great! And this won't turn out to be all fucked up later, right?
BILLING LADY: Of course not!
ME: ... Against my better judgment, I am going to believe you.

Pre-Op

NURSE: Okay, just a few more things to go through. First, please put all your stuff into this bag
ME: Right!
NURSE: Then put on this paper bag and matching booties!
ME: You got it!
NURSE: Then pee into this container.
ME: Sure th--wait, what the hell is this?
NURSE: We need a sample of your urine.
ME: In a toothpaste cap?
NURSE: Now, now. It's at least thimble-sized.
ME: What, you need, like, half a cubic centimeter, tops?
NURSE: Well, you haven't drunk anything since last night, have you? How much are you expecting to have to pee now?

So I went into the bathroom to change into my paper bag and Pee In The Cup. And, in order to make this as inconvenient as possible, the tiny bathroom contained exactly two things: a toilet and a roll of toilet paper. Which means that once you've whizzed all over yourself and into the cup, you 1) have no where to set the cup, and 2) have to exit the bathroom to wash your hands. Which is also awkward when trying to adjust your paper bag.

ME: This is a hazing, isn't it.
NURSE: You have to prove your devotion to the surgery!
ME: The thousands of dollars didn't do that already?

Op Op

One of the things about getting surgery in the hospital where your dad works is that all the staff know your dad. It's weird to have the anesthesiologist laughing that "she even rolls her eyes just like her dad!"

It also means that I know a little bit of doctor-dynamics backstory.

ANESTHESIOLOGIST: Well, hi there! Lie on this table. We'll get you all straightened out.
ME: Is that the Rolling Stones playing?
ANESTHESIOLOGIST: Nope, it's the Who.
ME: Don't get to play that when you do surgeries with Dad, do you?
ANESTHESIOLOGIST: Well ... he likes classic rock ...
ME: I know. But not for surgery.
ANESTHESIOLOGIST: He prefers ... well ...
ME: Smooth jazz.
ANESTHESIOLOGIST: *wistful sigh* Yes. Yes, he does.
ME: I feel ya, buddy.

Anesthesia Is WHACK

ANESTHESIOLOGIST: Anyway! Let's get started. Here, I'll just put some local anesthetic in your hand here ...
ME: DAMN! That is a big old bump on my hand!
ANESTHESIOLOGIST: And then I'm going to put in the general anesthesia itself ...
ME: Sounds good!
RECOVERY NURSE: I see you're waking up!
ME: ... wharrgarbl?
RECOVERY NURSE: Yup. Surgery's over. We'll have you on your way home in a little while!
ME: ... did I ... miss ... something?
RECOVERY NURSE: Just your gallbladder!

Seriously, y'all. Anesthesia doesn't give you the same sense as when you're asleep. When you sleep, you have at least some sense that you have been asleep. Anesthesia is more like those couple of times I've passed out--it's less like feeling you've been unconscious and more a sense that you just hit one of those time skips the Harlem Globetrotters kept running into in Futurama--you're in one place, and then suddenly BAMF and you're struggling to comprehend how the hell you wound up in the recovery room.*

I also became aware, before I really was paying attention to anything else, that I was hooting with every exhale.

I'm not sure why, but when I am feeling under the weather, I have this tendency to hoot. Or hum, or moan--I'm not sure what you'd call it. I just make these little soft moany noises. For some reason, it makes me feel better. Here, though, I couldn't seem to not hoot. Every time I let out a breath, it was with a little noise. Mom informs me that I was constantly commenting on it ("oh, I just did it again"), but all I remember is trying not to just to see if I could stop. I couldn't.

Home To Sock Jail

The other thing I hadn't thought about was that I was going to be taking compression socks home with me--little leg wraps that puff up to help with circulation, so's to prevent deep vein thrombosis and pulmonary embolism. Mom got me set up with them that first day. Pain in the ass, they are. Every time I had to pee I'd either have to take them off or unplug their little motor and carry it with me to the bathroom.

It also presented another issue.

CAT: Oh, you've just had surgery? So what? In case you haven't noticed, I am stuck outside, and am at your window demanding that you make the long trip around to the back door to let my fuzzy ass inside.
ME: You're lucky I'm so goddamn nice, cat. All right, I'm going back to Sock Jail.
CAT: I'll probably want to go out again in a few minutes. First I'll come check out your room and OH SHIT WHAT THE HELL IS THAT
ME: It's my sock motor.
CAT: HOLY FUCKING FUCK IT IS MAKING NOISE
ME: Yeah, it does that.
CAT: IT WILL GET US ALL
ME: Don't worry. It's a rental. It'll be gone soon.
CAT: I AM ON TO YOU, BUZZING THING. YOU'RE IN LEAGUE WITH THE TRAIN, AREN'T YOU
ME: At least you have good survival instincts.

Insurance Strikes Back

INSURANCE COMPANY: Guess what! Your insurance payment plan is all fucked up!
ME: I wish you jerks wouldn't deliver these letters on Friday afternoons. Now I gotta wait all weekend before I can call you and yell about this.

And So

So that was what happened a couple of weeks ago. And then I loafed around for two weeks having mood swings and feeling like stomped shit, and the only thing that made it really bearable was that lineup of audiobooks I got.** But now, it's been enough time that I think I'm starting to feel normal! It's kind of a nice feeling. My sleep schedule is still Even More Fucked than it was before this whole gallbladdery disaster, but hopefully that will get fixed soon.

The other weird thing is feeling the very obvious absence of a gallbladder that has been very much PRESENT for a couple of years. It doesn't feel like an empty space; I'm just not getting the sense of some large, bilious*** alien sitting just under my boob.

And it wasn't just a subjective feeling. I went in for my post-op the other day and my doctor just about burst into the room.

DOCTOR: YOUR GALLBLADDER WAS THE BIGGEST, INFLAMEDEST GALLBLADDER I HAVE EVER SEEN! IT'S A GOOD THING WE GOT IT OUT!
ME: So peeing in the toothpaste cap was justified after all!

It's always a validation to realize that you felt rotten for a reason. Hopefully I will now feel less rotten. Every day seems to be getting better about that!


*Or, that one memorable time when I passed out, why the hell you're lying in a wet bathtub with your Dad throwing a towel over the shower door at you so you'll be decent when he opens it up to see if you're still alive.

**For the record, Bruce Coville's Full-Cast Audio Unicorn Chronicles are pretty excellent. A few of the voice actors' choices were Not How I Imagined Them (the attempt to Ed Wynn-ize Medafil was weird, and the first book's voice for Lightfoot was kind of ridiculous), but overall they are audiobooks as they should be.

***"Bilious" is a rather startlingly apt description. Before all this nonsense I hadn't realized it, but there is a very specific feeling associated with it. The closest other description I have is "sour"--as in, it felt like there was a big sour THING just sitting in there--but really, even that doesn't work.

Feeling a bit more focused than I have in days. That's a relief. It's boring not to be able to pay attention to things, dangit.

Aww, yeah, last meal tonight before I cut myself off for surgery tomorrow!

Oh, did I mention the surgery?

Yeah, I'm goin' in tomorrow to get rid of this darn chestburster. I am all set for recovery, too--all my pajamas freshly washed, audiobooks by supercool authors to tell me stories if I'm too loopy to read, and books and videogames for when I'm not too loopy. So if I'm gone for a few days, y'all will know I'm simpy lying around feeling sorry for myself. Have fun without me!

For some years now the grocery store nearest our house has been slowly descending into a dystopian wasteland. The setup is haphazard, the bakery and deli are half-assed at best, most of the stock is from this terrible off-brand company that seems to make all of its products from soup to pecans with a 3D printer, and the most helpful employee in the store seems like the kind of guy whose most treasured possession is a chainsaw named after his mother.* It has become an unpleasant experience.

So we've started going to a farther away, but much more pleasant store, which is like sunshine and butterflies compared to the nuclear winter of our local place. It's got friendly staff, delicious local artisan organic free range everything, lovingly set up displays, delicious chicken salad sandwiches, and an all-around better selection of products. And it only occasionally tries to kill you.

Today, for instance. Today Mom and I were walking in for a shopping run for the office, and Mom was straight up assaulted in the doorway. By the door.

As it turns out, getting whacked in the ribs by a rogue automatic sliding door is REALLY GODDAMN PAINFUL. Mom couldn't even indulge in some therapeutic swearing, because after an initial "FUCK" whooshed out of her all her breath was gone. She staggered in and sat down. We both decided that it was important to tell someone about this, if for no other reason than that the store is constantly swarming with really old people (I guess old people like pleasant grocery stores, too) and if that door hit a little old lady with osteoperosis, it might crush her to powder. So we asked for a manager.

HELPFUL LOUD GIRL: YEAH, THE DOOR IS BROKEN. I'M SORRY, I THOUGHT IT WAS STUCK! IT HIT YOU? I'LL GET SOMEONE!
THE SOMEONE SHE GOT: What's up?
HELPFUL LOUD GIRL: THE DOOR HIT HER! I'M GOING TO GO TURN IT OFF COMPLETELY BECAUSE IT HIT HER AND THAT'S DANGEROUS AND IT'S WARM ENOUGH WE CAN JUST TURN IT OFF AND LEAVE IT OPEN SO I'LL DO THAT NOW!
CUSTOMER AT SELF-CHECK-OUT, WHERE HELPFUL LOUD GIRL IS SUPPOSED TO BE STATIONED: Can I get my 5¢ bag discount please?
HELPFUL LOUD GIRL: JUST AS SOON AS I TURN OFF THIS DOOR SO IT DOESN'T HIT ANYONE ELSE!
MOM: *wheeze*
THE SOMEONE: I'll go get a manager.
THE SOMEONE: in the distance Manager! Some lady slammed into the door!
ME: I could write a linguistics monograph on how she worded that.
MOM: Ha--OW. Don't make me laugh.
ME: Are you going to live?
MOM: I think I bruised a rib. I'll let you know if my lung starts to collapse.
HELPFUL LOUD GIRL: I TURNED THE DOOR OFF. I THINK THAT'S BEST. I DIDN'T ASK MANAGEMENT BECAUSE I KNOW THIS IS WHAT THEY WANT AND WE DON'T WANT ANYONE ELSE HURT AND--
ME: Thank you! That's good! I think that self-check-out lady is going to whack you with a mop in a second.
HELPFUL LOUD GIRL: OH, RIGHT. BUT THE DOOR IS OFF, JUST SO YOU KNOW!
MANAGER: I am concerned about this.
ME: Join the club.
MOM: Nah, I can walk it off, it's a good hurt. I just won't inhale for a few days.
MANAGER: Are you going to hypothetically see a doctor?
MOM: No plans at the moment, but I'll keep you informed.
MANAGER: Are you going to sue us, hypothetically?
ME: That depends. Are you hypothetically interested in giving us some free chicken salad sandwiches?
MOM: Shut up, dear. As to suing you, I'm thinking no. I just want this written down somewhere.

So we got that all squared away and continued shopping. All the other employees expressed concern over Mom's clearly pained demeanor. It was still the nicest damn grocery store we'd ever been to.

ME: I knew there had to be something wrong with this place.
MOM: And yet we still prefer it to our local dystopia.
ME: Well, sure. That off-brand Soylent Green they sell is awful. Probably not even made of real people.

Our luck this week had better improve, because with Mom's flattening and my brother's broken hand, we've got two casualties heading into Family Awesome Time. Here's hoping nobody gets eaten by a bear or something.


*He is actually pretty helpful, though. Never says a word, but if you ask him where something is he'll immediately leave whatever he was doing and lurch off silently, and if you follow him he'll lead you directly to the item. Then he vanishes like a ghost back to the stockroom or wherever.

Today might mark the first time I have ever regretted the disadvantages of owning a basic no-frills cell phone telephone whose only extra feature is that it tells the time. Do you have any idea how hard it is to try on glasses frames when you can't actually see yourself through them? If I had a smartass phone, I could take pictures of myself in each pair and examine those, rather than have to stick my face an inch away from the mirrors in the Glasses Place.

So I finally just went with glasses almost the same as the ones I already have, except for the important difference that I can read road signs through the new ones, and I don't spend all day squinting so hard the skin on the back of my scalp gets stretch marks.

Also, I got me some prescription sunglasses. Dang, y'all, I don't know how I got along without these. No longer do I have to put a pair of big dumb shades over my regular glasses. I am all set now!

Damn it's good to live in a time when glasses exist. Every so often I wonder how I'd have gotten along back in the olden times. Even if my eyes didn't get this bad, I would probably spend my life with one hell of a headache.

I think I'm mostly better now. Still lightheaded and missing every nutrient in my body, but that can be fixed.

... Let's not do THAT again.

Calling in sick to a doctor's appointment.

It's been a rough day.

No, this is not snow. Take a closer look.



There are some disadvantages to all these lovely cottonwood trees blowin' in the wind. A lot of librarians alternately sneezing and swearing, for one thing.

---



My own garden is primed and ready to go. The radishes and parsley are already having a great old time, the strawberry is blooming, tha calendulas are turning into weeds, and you can see some of the little seedlies that will turn into carrots chard, and spinach.

Since I took this picture a couple days ago, I've stuck in a couple of tomato starts, a couple pepper starts,* and a bunch of marigolds. If it's anything like last year, this sparse-ish patch of dirt will start looking pretty green in just a few weeks. At least, I hope so!



My first radishes! See the pink ones? This is a blend of Easter egg and red radishes. Because, you know. RAINBOWS.

---



So it's ben getting warmer around here, balmy and breezy, and I have had to face facts: my fuzzy winter shoes have turned from cozy, soft winter protection to the Red-Hot Iron Shoes From Hell. Clearly, I needed a pair of sandals.

ME: I need some sandals.

REI Lady: What kind?

ME: I need some that'll support a lot of walking, and I need closed toes.

REI Lady: What are you planning to do with them?

ME: Work in a library.

REI LADY: …

ME: Ever run over your foot with a book truck? You need some structure there.

---



I made this necklace last year. It's a net weave of seed beads and irregular freshwater pearls. The closeup didn't turn out, so I'll have to snap a better shot, but it looks pretty good just like that, don't it?


*I'm trying to start my own from seeds, but I am still rather bad at it. Better safe than sorry, sez I.

A day late, but gimme a break—yesterday was as bonkers as Monday. Anyway, here’s …

What I Learned Since The Winter Solstice

• Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds had lupus.
• In other WTF music deaths, Melvin Franklin, the awesome bass singer from my favorite band, died of necrotizing fasciitis—the FLESH-EATING VIRUS.
• The platypus’s bill is electrosensitive.
• Quinoa comes in all the colors!
• Friendship bracelets work on the same knot-tying principles as macramé, except for some reason they’re a lot more fun.
• Gliese 436b is an ice planet with a surface temperature of 800˚F. Yes, that means it’s a planet of hot ice.
• Gallbladder surgery can be avoided with magic purple stuff!
• If you watch enough of them, it’s possible to date old western movies to within three years of their release.
• Scientists have spliced spider genes into goats, making spidergoats whose milk can be processed into spider silk. And the spiders aren’t even radioactive.
• Even turning into a skid won’t always save your car from blunt force trauma.
• Wearing a seatbelt can save you from a lot of injury, but it may give you a purple boob if your car has a front-end impact.
• There are three timelines in the Zelda universe, splitting with Ocarina of Time. In one, Ganon got the Triforce and was defeated by grown-ass Link. In another, little Link tipped everyone off to Ganon’s shenanigans (shenaniganons?) and Ganon didn’t get to become the King of Evil. In the third, Link failed and the sages had to seal Ganon into the Sacred Realm.
• The receptionist from Monsters, Inc. has a MEAN older brother.
• The brain-eating amoebas are IN YOUR TAPWATER RIGHT NOW. RUN.
• Contadina sauce is the best for pizza.
• Writing a synopsis for your own book is never easy.
• Bomber jackets can be amazingly warm.
• People seriously believe that monitoring the state of my reproductive system is a serious job requiring lots of government resources.
• THERE IS A SPACE OPERA VERSION OF THE HOBBIT.