Superficiality

My bellybutton is now half an innie, and half an outtie. My beautiful, perfect bellybutton, is now some kind of halfsie, to quote Dwight. MY FUCKING ADORABLE BELLYBUTTON IS FUCKED UP FROM SURGERY. I can't even look at it, even knowing I'm still swollen as fuck, and it might not be too bad when all's said and done; it literally makes me want to throw up. I'm so superficial it's shocking.

And I don't know if:

A) My belly ring will even be able to go back in, seeing as it can, at the moment, only sit in HALF MY NAVEL, and

B) If the bottom ring hole is even there. I can't tell, and touching it, again, nearly induces vomiting. At least the top hole is still open and fine. And, you know, there.


That's all I've got.

America's Next Top (Drowned) Model

Days till Old Age: 5 (I had to look up what day it was, that's what state my brain is in)
Days till My Uterus Explodes: idk like, probably twenty seconds from now

I seriously think my uterus is going to blow up and kill everyone within a five mile radius. I was feeling great after surgery, but beginning Wednesday night my uterus decided it was time to rebel, and has been oozing blood. Yeah, that's right, I said it: oozing blood. It sounds a hell of a lot grosser than it actually is in practice, but it's still gross, and it hurts like a mother fucker, and it is not helping my cabin fever and current manic feelings. Apparently it's from a wound from surgery, when my doctor clamped my uterus in order to move it around. Yeah, if that didn't just make me the sexiest person in existence, I just don't know what will.

Oh, wait, you want real sexy? Then I guess it's a good thing I waited till now to do this week's ANTM recap! On to the real sexiness!

This Week's Episode: Saran Wrap and Models in Puddles

This week's episode was disappointing for a variety of reasons. First of all, was anyone else hoping that Claire had indeed given herself a concussion (or at the very least, broken her neck and paralyzed herself?) when she hilariously face planted onto the, uh... giant Saran Wrap screen? I was so pissed when she pushed herself back up and started moving around, as I'd been praying she'd at least knock herself unconscious, and drown in the small pool of water. I guess it just wasn't my night.

Second of all, did anyone else want to cry when they chopped off Katarzyna's hair? Like I said right after the makeover edition, they could shave her bald and stick her in a paper bag, and the girl would still be amazingly hot, but must they keep butchering her hair? Like, c'mon, really people. Okay so she rocked an Emo look for one shoot - that does not mean you need to hack off her tresses. I suppose, in some ways, it does take away some of the sex kitten aspect she couldn't shake (or the "Eastern European tackiness" - thank you, Paulina) but I just don't get it. I mean, it's not like Tyra's prone to making sound decisions, but I still hold out hope. I guess I'm too optimistic.

Lastly, it was also the Go See Episode, and while they at least they were (finally) taken pity on this episode, I still hate the go sees with a fiery passion. The girls are always so fucking stupid at their appointments, and you seriously have to wonder just how the hell they manage to function in society on a daily basis. This time was no different. Fatima scared everyone with her under 100 lb frame, the Dominique/Whitney group didn't know when to shut the fuck up, people were ungrateful in front of the designers, and Lauren proved, yet again, that she should never be allowed anywhere near civilized people. (Seriously, I was afraid the bitch was going to start tweaking out again - what the fuck was she thinking in that fight about fucking coffee??)

At any rate, the shoot was... interesting. I'll give it that much. Some of the pictures were fabulous (and it pains me to say so, seeing as some of the ones I adored were from people I want to kill, but whatever) but others clearly said, "hey, we're attempting to drown awkward models in small puddles on Saran Wrap." Not quite something you usually see in the pages of Vogue. Here are the pictures, in order of call out:

Winner: Fatima

I hate that Fatima did so well, because I have to admit that she... well, you know, did really well. She looks graceful and perfectly proportioned, and she really just flows with the whole shoot. She embodies the feel of the shoot and doesn't let that whole "water in my eyes, nose, mouth, etc" thing shake her off. Most unfortunately. And I also have to admit that I was actually on her side during Lauren's insanity. Fatima was - for once - nothing but nice, and actually apologetic, yet Lauren continued to scream and rant like she was about to eat her face off. I'm kind of disappointed that it didn't escale to that point, really. Two birds, and all.


Anya

Oh, Anya. I'm convinced there's nothing but some cotton stuffing in your skull, but I have to admit that you're a good model. Anya knows how to pose, and she has no qualms about acting ridiculous in order to get the shot (it also helps that she's always acting ridiculous) and it shows. Her last few pictures have been really good, and she continues to chug along and consistently do well. Even if her eyebrows seem to have escaped her face.


Katarzyna

OMG how excited were all of you when Katarzyna finally made Cover Girl of the Week?? I may have shrieked a little out loud - not only did Claire finally get kicked the fuck out of the spot, it went to my absolute favorite girl in the competition. Katarzyna is gorgeous and takes incredible pictures (I actually think she did better than Anya here, but at least she was called out third) and consistently does well. She can walk, she looked amazing in all of the designer pieces at the Go Sees, and she takes beautiful pictures. Sure, she could be more outgoing and... zanier... like the other competitors, but the fact that she's so normal and sweet is so damn refreshing. The judges should stop harping on her to be crazier, and appreciate the fact that finally someone is normal (and tolerated by the general population.)


Whitney

Ummm... Whitney. Okay, Whitney is still fierce as hell, and I am still very excited that she's doing so well, and seems to be in the competition for the long haul, but this episode I was kind of... baffled. That she would bitch about the designer right there in the designer's studio was shocking, and I wanted to slap some sense into her. Yes, she's gorgeous, and yes, it's unfair that even though she is so gorgeous she won't be able to be in the same shows as the other girls, but she knows this. Unlike most of the girls, Whitney's not an idiot, and she needs to pull herself together. Sure, I'd love to see them send her on a Go See that caters to plus sized models, but hey, the second designer did have women of all sizes in their shows, and happily said they'd use her, so she needs to stop the pity party. She's so lucky she's made it this far, and is actually a force to reckon with. Now stop the goddamn bitching. Oh, and one more thing - what the fuck is a "fabulous, full sized fetus?" Is that supposed to be a compliment, Paulina?


Stacy Ann

Stacy Ann, Stacy Ann, Stacy Ann. I'm still not sure what to do with her. I have to admit that - even with her ostrich face and falsetto voice - she's growing on me. I still think she's kind of scary in general, but she does have the certain... je ne sais quois. Well, she has something at least. And I was impressed by how good she looked in the designer samples at the go sees. Her skin is so beautiful, and it looked brilliant against the clothes, and it helped that she could actually, you know, walk in them. She's still not my favorite, but at least she's not Dominique. Oh, and that brings me to...


Dominique

Let me ask you the same question I asked you last week - do you know what this is? This is a dude. A dude in a dress. A dude in a dress in a puddle of water. There is nothing in this world that can convince me that Dominique is actually a woman, even if you pulled her pants off and aired her vagina like Paris Hilton during a night on the town. Dominique is a man. She's literally so horrifically ugly that it offends me. Every time she's shown on the screen, I want to run to New York, hunt her down and beat her to a bloody pulp, just to stop the madness. Between the soccer mom hair, the pulsating, protruding veins in her neck, and the general offensiveness that is anything above her shoulders, it's just too much to handle. It's like she's been placed there solely to anger me. Her pictures are hideous and awkward and good fucking lord, I can't wait for the day that the villagers storm the studios with their pitchforks and torches and off her.


Lauren: Bottom Two

Uh, I'm not sure what happened here, but I think that Lauren went on the rampage, then slipped and fell to her untimely death on this screen. It really looks like she just fell and splattered messily everywhere - very much like a bug on a windshield. It's not graceful or attractive, which isn't surprising, seeing as Lauren is the exact antithesis of both graceful and attractive. And seriously, this whole Anger Management Issue thing is really freaking me out. Sure, she occasionally takes good pictures, but she's otherwise completely incapable of modeling in any capacity, and she's probably going to snap and murder all of the other contestants, so we could probably get her in a straight jacket sooner than later. Although how awesome was it to see the second designer literally gape at how terrible Lauren's Lurch walk is? She was so horrified!


Claire: Went Home

Thank GOD! At least ONE good thing came out of this episode! Claire has been on thin ice from the moment her ugly ass sauntered out for her first minute on air, in all her half-buzzed-head, self-breast milk-drinking glory. Claire is 24 but looks 54, and is so untalented and hideous that I was terrified she'd end up in the final 2. And what was the deal with her (until this week) because the goddamn Cover Girl of the Week?? Claire brought absolutely nothing to the proverbial table, and every week she stayed on, I wept for all our sakes. At least now she can go back to her baby (you know, the one she misses soooo much, but willingly abandoned for a half-assed reality tv show?) and save us all the horror of being subjected to her face and body.

I Am Alive

But oh, what a crazy few days it's been. Let's start at the beginning.

Saturday: I took the Amtrak's regional overnight on Friday, and got into South Station in Boston at 8am on Sunday. My mom picked me up and we went back to Hull to drop my things off, and then decided to go out for a very unhealthy, calorie-laden breakfast. As we were getting ready to walk out the door - around 9am - I realized I needed to call the blood lab to see about my blood results, so I called and they said they'd sent the results in, but couldn't give them to me even though they were my blood results. Fab. So I called my doctor's office, and my doctor said she'd go check the fax machine, seeing as the results came in late the night before.

She calls me back a minute later and says: "Sorry, surgery's off." The last time I was checked for Factor 7, I tested at 40%. I don't know exactly what that means, other than that I was healthy and it was barely an issue, and it pretty much just meant I was a carrier of the gene and nothing else. Well, this time, I tested at 17%. My first reaction was "Oh yay, I'm better!" but this means that I'm worse. Apparently 20% is the severe risk level, and I was, obviously below it. So of course I freaked out.

Yep, crying on the phone, panicking, making an ass of myself. My doctor was very apologetic, but she wanted to be safe, and while I can't blame her, it's quite a punch in the gut. And she didn't know when I could have surgery, which would've meant I would've had to change pretty much all of my plans for the next few months (including getting the fuck out of DC and moving elsewhere.) So my mother gets on the phone and talks logistics with my doctor, and I try not to pass out from anxiety. My doctor says there's still a slim chance surgery could go as planned, but she'd have to get in touch with the hematologist and work out all the issues, and find more Factor 7 to have on hand in the OR. And she's not even sure my hematologist would consent to surgery, seeing as she hasn't seen me in close to 2 years. It was one giant mess.

After we get off the phone, we decide to still go out for breakfast to cheer me up. I pour myself into the car, feeling terrifically sorry for myself (but looking forward to chocolate chip pancakes and hash browns) and we start driving. About a minute later (this is now around 9:30am) my phone rings, and once again it's my doctor's office. I pick up, and my doctor announces: "Surgery's on! I'll see you Monday!"

To say I was shocked was a bit of an understatement. In that half an hour, my doctor had not only gotten hold of the hospital and found more Factor 7, but she'd already talked to my hematologist and they decided that since I have absolutely no history of bleeding, I'll be okay for surgery. With the extra Factor 7 on hand in the OR, I'd be okay in case anything happened. Again, all this in half an hour. So then of course I cried on the phone again, but at least my doctor is a young woman who specializes in women with hormonal insanity, so she was used to it. So, within a half an hour, surgery had been canceled, then was back on, and I was almost insane. At least we ended up going to Stars and eating enough food to feed a small army.


Monday: Surgery day! I woke up at 6am with my mother to go to school with her before surgery. Since they'd bumped me up to an earlier time, we decided to go ahead and do the before school program that my mom does, and then just go right to the hospital from there. And to drop off my rent check along the way, since I was juggling a million things at once when I left and DIDN'T DROP MY CHECK OFF. Sure, it would be in on time since it's not due till the first of the month, but still. Ugh. So at 8am we left for the hospital, and I went right in for blood work. Everything panned out and I changed into one of those super flattering hospital johnnies, and settled in for the long haul. I was supposed to have surgery at 11, but it ended up being closer to noon because of another surgery before mine that had to start late.

I have no memory whatsoever of getting my anesthesia or waking up after surgery (I got my anesthesia in the pre-op area so god only knows when the hell they pulled that one on me) but I do remember waking up an hour or so after surgery, covered by this awesome blanket that was hooked up to a machine that pumped hot air into it, so I constantly stayed warm. This was amazing because the last time I had this surgery, the anesthesia made me so cold that I was shaking and kept hurting my surgery area, and they had to pile, like 8 blankets on me. Oops.

I would've been out of recovery about an hour or so after surgery, but without thinking I said sure to having pain meds pumped into me (twice) and so I ended up spending FOUR HOURS there, while I tried not to puke my brains out. I can't handle any pain meds anymore - no percs, no vicoden's, not even morphine. All of it makes me feel like my stomach has turned itself inside-out and is trying to spew itself forcefully out of my mouth. Sexy.

So, around 6pm my mom and I finally emerged from the hospital. Some retarded new nurse brought us all over the place because he got lost wheeling my wheel chair out to the door (brilliant.) Then, while my mom went out to get the car and bring it round to the door, some crazy, haggard looking woman wandered up to us and asked if we had an extra cigarette. Yes, because a nurse and a chick hunched over in a wheelchair, clutching a pillow and looking like hell, would definitely be toting around packs of cigarettes. Nothing says "smokers!" like scrubs and someone obviously out of surgery.

Anyway, my mom carted me home and put me to bed, and I spent much of that day sleeping and whining and whatnot. I actually felt (much) better than I'd anticipated. Last time, I spent 3 days out flat on my ass, and had a hard time getting up and moving around. This time, it was much easier, and I'm much more mobile. The day after surgery, I could maneuver the stairs without it hurting too much. The surgery itself was far more minimal - rather than thick bands of scar tissue everywhere, and endometrial tissue on nerve endings and stuff, there was only a bit of endometrial tissue on the underside of my uterus. More sexy! At any rate, my reproductive organs are still operating swimmingly, and I'm fine.

Everything in gerneal was pretty fab, really, until late yesterday afternoon, when I realized I was having some bleeding issues. As far as I'm aware, this is considered normal, but given my Factor 7 issues, I'm freaking out a bit. As of yet, I haven't died or anything, and a trip to WebMD said it was normal, but I'm waiting for my doctor to call me back and assure me that I'm okay. Fingers crossed.

At any rate, I feel okay, and I'm definitely getting better. As long as all this blood crap checks out, I'll be good to go!

Just Kidding

I'm not done yet.

Just got off the phone with my doctor, who informed me that the blood lab, rather than performing a Factor 7 Activity Level test like instructed, performed a Factor 8 Activity Level test. Now, I'm not quite panicking yet because they said they can rush the results for the correct test and have them in either this evening or tomorrow morning.

Now, my doctor originally said the results could be in tomorrow and I'd be fine, so that's... good at least. The only problem is that they were supposed to be in yesterday or today, so that my doctor had ample time to speak to my hematologist in case my risk factor had gone up (which I still don't understand, given as I have the gene, and do not have hemophilia) but she thinks surgery should go on as planned. The only issue would be if the results changed, but they still would have the Factor 7 on hand just in case, so I have no idea what the fucking issue is. Just order freaking extra, if you're worried.

This is ridiculous. All of this could've been avoided if they'd just told me in ADVANCE that I needed this test done. Then the lab could've fucked up and it wouldn't be an issue. Now, of course, I get to go home and spend the entire train ride worrying that something will be off, and I won't be able to have surgery on Monday. I swear to god, if I don't have surgery, I will kill someone. Happily.

Last Minute Craziness

Days till Surgery: 3
Days till Old Age: 12

So today is the day I pack up my comfiest pajamas, make sure all the food in my apartment that could go bad is thrown away, and prepare for a week full of surgery, recovery, and eating entirely too much ice cream at home in Hull.

I am, most unfortunately, at work for the better part of the day today, although I get to leave early to make sure I have enough time to get everything together and actually get to the train on time. For those of you that have had the immense pleasure of traveling with me, you know I like to be early for any train/plane/automobile I may be taking. When I travel Amtrak, for instance, I arrive precisely an hour early, and I sit in the seat closest to the gate, so that when it comes time to line up, I can leap up, push aside the elderly and any small children, and guarantee that I have a window seat. You never know - sometime the train comes from Virginia, and the good seats are few and far between.

I also need extra time to finish packing, even though I have been packing for several days now. I always cause immense levels of stress in those around me when I pack, because I can never make up my goddamn mind. Even when I'm going home to basically sit on my ass for a week, I spend hours stressing over which pajama shirt best goes with which pair of pajama pants - because you never know who may come bursting in your room and judge you on your outfit. Hey, it could happen.

Oh honey, those striped Victoria's Secret loungewear pants are so last season!

So I have much to do when back at my apartment, and a few things to actually do at work before I can take my week long pseudo-vacation. For instance, upon arrival in the office this morning, I had to tally up the first round of the Sweet 16 scores, and see where we all stood in our office pool. If that's not important, earth shattering work, then I just don't know what is. Unfortunately, I am in a tight spot, as I'm currently in last place...

...but! A few of the guys have teams going all the way to the last two (or even winning the entire thing) that have already been knocked out, and since those rounds are obviously worth more points, I may be able to turn the table at the last minute. C'mon, UCLA and UNC! Especially UNC - if I don't win this, heads will roll. Literally.

Once I get home, things will hardly slow down, at least for the weekend. This morning my brother is having oral surgery (goodbye, wisdom teeth!) so I'll spend the weekend helping my parents make sure he's suitably comfortable, and trying to help out as much as I can. I'd feel really bad if he was still really in pain and then I went and had my surgery and stole their attention away, so hopefully things will even out and he'll be in good shape once it's my turn to have Operation played on me. Why we're having surgery so close together I don't know - I don't think anyone really realized what was going on until both had already been planned and it was almost show time. Now we're all looking sheepish and going "Oooh yeah... damnit!" At any rate, this will be one very interesting long weekend.

So now I must say adieu, my loyal readers. I won't be updating for a few days - at least until I can sit up and attempt coherent thought. Hopefully I'll have an update on Wednesday or Thursday, if all goes well. I'm crossing my fingers and already dreaming of a giant vat of Coffee Heath Bar Crunch ice cream. Here's to our dreams.

The Trials of (Pre-) Surgery

Days till Surgery: 5
Days till Old Age: 14

So yesterday's post was made before even more insanity went down. Here's what happened:

Like I said yesterday, South Shore Hospital informed me that I had to come in sometime before surgery for blood work. They said Friday morning was fine, as long as I was in before 5pm when they close. It was a pain in the ass, but I started planning a new trip home, and was waiting on my mother to call me back to change my travel arrangements.

Well, then my doctor's office calls, and informs me that no, I cannot have the blood work done on Friday, as that specific test has a WEEK turnaround time, and we're going to have to reschedule surgery. EXCUSE ME??? You do not schedule an over-the-phone consultation 6 DAYS before surgery, then inform me that I HAVE to take a test that has a WEEK turnaround time. On what planet does that make sense?? I'd talked to my doctor and several people in her office numerous times since scheduling my surgery (which was, by the way, weeks ago) and not once did they inform me that I needed more blood work. My doctor even said I didn't need a real pre-op, since I'd already had the surgery before, and all my blood work was up to date.

Obviously, I freaked out. I've been anxious for days now because of surgery, and my hormones are touchy as hell as it is, being on the Lupron, so hearing that I might have to rearrange all my travel, fight with work to move my schedule around, and have to wait another week for surgery (meaning it would be 2 days before my birthday, which is no fun) pretty much pushed me over the edge.

My doctor spoke with my hematologist who said I had to get the blood work done, but said if I could find a lab in DC that could get the results in by Saturday, I could have the surgery as scheduled on Monday. A million thanks to Sam for pointing me towards LabCorp, a lab on K Street, as I called them and they seemed outraged that the test would have a week turnaround time, as they could do it in 2-3 days. I literally got teary eyed, I was so grateful.

So I called my doctor, informed her that she was doing surgery, and then skedaddled down K Street to get my test done. I was in and out in less than 10 minutes, and now I'm all set (for real this time) for surgery! I understand that my doctor is very busy, and really likes to take all possible precautions, but this was just insane. If you really want me to have a test that's practically needless, at least tell me beforehand, so you don't fuck up my entire schedule. It's so horrifically unfair to announce "well we didn't tell you more than a week before, so we're gonna reschedule!" The surgery itself really isn't all that bad, but all the anticipation and anxiety and stress leading up to it really gets to me, and it's too much to have to push it back.

Sure, you might say I'm being a baby, but I've already had it happen once, and it was a disaster. I went in for surgery the very first time, was hooked up to an IV and ready to go, when they announced that some ridiculous test (not a standard test at ALL) had shown I had the gene for the Factor 7 Deficiency - and I had to go home. The test is almost never preformed (and shows just how ridiculously slight my deficiency is) and obviously I was fine, as I'd already had my wisdom teeth out, and if I really had hemophilia, I would've died a horrible, bloody death in the operating room. I'm all for better safe than sorry, but not when it fucks my mind and body over. At least give me some damn warning so we can schedule accordingly.

So, enough ramblings - I'm coming home as planned on Saturday morning, having surgery as planned on Monday morning, and hopefully all will be well. Although if I get another call about yet another issue, I'm gonna start snapping necks left and right, so I might end up in prison - and that wouldn't be good.

I'm Screwed

Days till Surgery:6
Days till Old Age: 15

Royally screwed.

I spoke with South Shore Hospital today (if you couldn't guess, it's where I'm having my surgery done) and they informed me that I had to - not if I wanted to, or was inclined to, but had to - come in for blood work prior to my surgery. Problem? They're only open on weekdays, and I'm not going home until Saturday morning. with surgery at 11am on Monday morning, there's obviously no time to come in and have any work done. But, as I said, they stressed that I had to go in.

Of course I've already booked my train home, which means I get to cancel the train, pay the cancellation fee, rebook the train, pay the extra amount, come home a day and a half earlier, take a day and a half more off of work, and attempt not to lose my mind over all of it.

Now, it's great that they're so fastidious about blood work, especially because I have the gene for Factor 7 Deficiency, but the point is, I only have the gene. Technically I do not have hemophilia, it just shows up on certain tests because I carry the gene. The only time anyone is at risk for fun side effects like bleeding into their brain is if I mate with someone else that carries the gene, and 1 out of our 4 children actually contracts the Deficiency. But they still want me to come in to make sure everything's okay, which is fine with me, it really is - better safe than sorry. But it's a hell of a lot to smooth out in order to actually take this precaution.

So now I have a mother who's MIA (how, pray tell, does a Kindergarten teacher go MIA?), a father who's dealing with my grandmother who just had surgery, a brother who's having oral surgery either that Thursday or Friday, and one big mess of a fucked up schedule. I feel like a liquid lunch is in order today - preferably several martinis, with lots of olives.

Surgery, Travel, and March Madness

Days till Surgery: 7
Days till Old Age: 16

So today marks the beginning of several week's worth of insanity. It also marks the beginning of my downfall in our office's NCAA Bracket, but I'll get to that in a minute.

This week is a whirlwind of last minute preparation before surgery next week, including a few doctor's appointments, making sure my surgeon has Factor 7 on hand (just in case I decide to start bleeding profusely out of embarrassing orifices), finishing the limerick book drawings for my mother's Kindergarten class, packing, pre-op stuff, and traveling. Oh, traveling.

I'm heading up to Boston on Friday night, taking my old standby, Amtrak's Regional Overnight. Some people hate taking the train, and I'll admit that it can be difficult to spend anywhere from 8-12 hours (depending on whether or not there are delays) stuck in one seat, but the way I look at it? I'd much rather be comfortable and on my ass for hours on end, than plummeting out of the sky when a plane has a mechanical failure and crashes to the ground in a massive, fiery explosion. Unless I ended up on the Lost island... hmm...

Now this should cure my fear of flying!

Surgery is on Monday, then it's a week on my ass for recovery/binge eating/chocolate consumption. Then, MOST unfortunately, I do have to fly back on Sunday the 6th. I wanted to take the train, but I feel like 8+ hours on a rumbling, shaking train probably isn't the best way to travel so soon after having surgery. I mean, I'm mobile again after about 3 days, so by that Sunday I'll be feeling much better, but still, I figure it's best not to risk it. I'd be so pissed if I felt good, then got on a train and fucked myself over.

So yes, I'm flying, and I'm taking Jet Blue and I'll probably be on lots and lots of happy pills so I can do it, but oh well. You gotta do what you gotta do.

So I get back on Sunday night, and go back to work on Monday. On Wednesday I turn 23 (speaking of which, I found another gray hair this morning - delightful!) and immediately lapse into a coma of self-despair. Luckily, I'm going to the Celtics game that night, and watching then crush the Wizards (while drinking copious amounts of FREE alcohol in our company's Box Seats) will surely cheer me up. Nothing says "Happy Feelings" like booze and basketball.

¡feliz cumpleaños!

I hope the bar in the Box has Margaritas.

The very next day, I drag my hungover ass out of bed, and roll into yet another Amtrak seat, as I'm whisked away back to Boston for my post-op appointment, and more birthday celebrations. Hopefully by this point I'll be walking with ease, and the train shouldn't hurt too badly. I seriously considered flying back and forth for this weekend, but the idea of flying literally makes me so nervous I want to cry, and since I'm already subjecting myself to it once this month, I decided to risk the train. If the appointment were any earlier, I'd fly, but I lucked out. I think. I hope.

Anyway.

I was hoping that after this weekend's NCAA college basketball games, I would at least have the Office Bracket to cheer me up. As of Round 1, I was firmly in second place in our office, with an impressive score of 44 points (which, okay, was only 2 points more than the person in third place, but that's beside the point.) Well, this morning I added up the points after Round 2, and realized...

...What the fuck, I'm in last damn place! By 4 points! When my boss first announced we were doing a bracket, I didn't even want to participate. Sure, I know the basics of the NCAA; I know who's good and who sucks, I know who's favored to win and who isn't, but I had no burning desire to get caught up in the mayhem of it all, especially considering I'm the only female in my office, and everyone takes it very seriously indeed.

But then I got roped into doing it, and now I'm freaking out about it. We're all getting so competitive it's ridiculous, stooping so low as to count and re-count our tally, even when we all know that everyone in the office has counted each sheet about 20 times. One miscount turned into a massive brouhaha, and I'm not sure I've ever seen a certain co-worker so riled up about, well, anything. It was somewhat impressive.

I will fuck your shit up

At any rate, I now know why they call it March "Madness." Talk about insanity. I'm hoping that UNC continues to kick ass - I have them going all the way, and beating UCLA to take home the title. Of course I had Georgetown in my Final 4, and Davidson kicked their stupid ass, so who knows. As long as UCLA and Memphis keep going, and UNC stays strong, I'll be all set. I better fucking win this bracket - there's not only Nat's tickets on the line, there's my pride.

The Joys of Menopause

Days till Surgery: 27
Days till Old Age: 35

I think part of the reason I feel so damn old is that I welcomed in my 21st - and will welcome in my 23rd - birthday while in menopause.

Now, I know it's not real menopause. Once I stop taking my shots, my body will go right back into churning out eggs and being one massive vat of fertile woman bits. Seriously, if I ever get pregnant, I'm in trouble - I'll have a litter or something.

But knowing that this isn't real menopause, and knowing that I'm not really in my mid-to-late fifties doesn't really help much when I wake up at 4 in the morning because I'm having night sweats so badly I've lost 2 pounds. And it doesn't help when I'm so hormonal that I cry over commercials, and crave chocolate so badly I dream of robbing the candy counter at the closest CVS. And you'd think maybe the second time around wouldn't be so hard to handle, but it's really not all that much easier.

What's interesting about this time around is that the symptoms are slightly different. When I first went on menopause, there were three constants:

1. Hot Flashes: They always happened a certain way. First I'd feel this terrible wave of nausea, then 5 or so seconds later I'd erupt in a horrific hot flash, that would last anywhere from 30 seconds to several minutes. It felt like I was burning up from the inside out, and that everything inside was turning to hot liquid magma. As soon as it was gone, I'd feel fine. If it was a short hot flash, I'd strip off whatever layers I could, and fan myself until it passed; if it was a long hot flash, I'd run to the bathroom and stick my head under the faucet, or run to the kitchen and stick my head in the freezer. The freezer was the best remedy, but seeing as most classrooms didn't have one, I could only use them on certain occasions.

Come to me

2. Mood Swings: Oh, mood swings. One minute I'd be fine, and the next minute I'd be screaming and throwing things, over something as simple as "where did I leave that pen?" There was no telling what would set me off, and there was no telling if it'd be a rage swing, or a sad swing. If it was a rage swing, then the throwing of sharp objects would commence; if it was a sad swing, I could usually be found bawling in a heap on the floor over absolutely nothing. Luckily, I was able to mostly curb these with the help of certain add back therapy, but they still surprised me on occasion. And I'm sure they surprised other people around me.

3. Night Sweats: You may think these are the same as Hot Flashes, but you couldn't be more wrong. Sure, they both involve copious amounts of heat emanating from my body, but while one was usually over after a few excruciating seconds, the other plagued me for hours at a time. Night Sweats varied - sometimes I'd just wake up drenched in sweat, and trudge off for a very baffling 3:30am shower. These weren't quite as bad, because I'd just wash my sheets and go back to sleep. But other times I'd wake up drenched in sweat, and wouldn't be able to shake the heat. I'd sit in bed, miserable, for hours, feeling like I was melting. I'm not sure why they were so bad, especially when daytime hot flashes were more predictable, but that's menopause for you.

Kill me now

This time, things are different. Now it's like my body's been set on a low broil, and there's nothing I can do to shake it. My hot flashes and night sweats are as common as ever, but there's not that "volcano eruption" phenomenon happening. Rather than having to tear off all my clothes and sweat all my water weight out, I just feel like I'm simmering away on a stove top. The night sweats aren't really sweats per se (I'm sure you're all relieved to hear I don't need to wash my sheets every night, as I'm not actually sweating) - I just feel so hot I have to sleep on top of all the covers, and it's hella uncomfortable. I can't get cool, and I can't get comfortable, and I end up staring at the ceiling and wondering if the neighbors upstairs are screwing or beating each other up. Hmmm.

The hot flashes seem like mild, uncomfortable heat that just keeps going and going and going. I don't melt like I used to, but I'm definitely hot and unhappy - and rather than for minutes, or hours. On the Amtrak down to DC, everyone was wearing coats and sweaters and scarves - I was in leggings and a t-shirt. I wasn't dripping sweat, but I was overheated and cranky.

And the mood swings now seem set entirely to "sad swings." I haven't felt any irrational anger yet, as I'm sure everyone around me is grateful for, but I have these deep senses of sadness that hit at random times. This time around I know what they are, so I can ignore them, but they're tricky bastards. Last night, for example, I had one while I was making pasta for Erin and myself. I was in a good mood and chatty and talking Erin's ear off, but at the same time I just wanted to sit on the floor and bawl, and eat the entirety of her Oreos package. I probably just should've done it and gotten it over with.

Must. Eat. All. Oreos.

Now, all things considered, I am very grateful to be on Menopause. Without it, I'd be developing more cysts, ending up in more hospitals, and fighting to the death with more ridiculously stupid and chauvinistic male doctors. The menopause lets my system reboot, and once I have surgery, it enables me to feel 100% better. I can work out, I can run for miles, I can have as much sex, with as many partners, as I so desire. (Watch out, world, 27 days!)

If that doesn't spell success, then I just don't know what does. But it would be easier without all the side effects.