I heard this song years ago but had forgotten about it. It was written by Johnny Cash. The link is to the Porter Wagoner version of it I found on youtube.
COMMITTED TO PARKVIEW
Johnny Cash
There's a man across the hall who sits staring at the floor,
He thinks he's Hank Williams hear him singing through the door.
There's a girl in 203,who stops by to visit me,
And she talks about her songs and the star that she should be.
There are lots of special people staying in or passing through,
And for one thing or another, committed to Parkview.
There's a girl in 307,coming down on thorazine,
And a superstar's ex-drummer trying to kick Benzedrine.
There's a boy just below me who's the son of some well-known,
He was brought in by his mother 'cause his daddy's always gone.
There's a bum from down on Broadway and a few quite well to dues,
Who have withdrawn from the rat race and committed to Parkview.
There's a girl who cries above me, loud enough to wake the dead,
They don't know what she has taken that has scrambled up her head.
There's a writer and a singer who has tried and tried and tried,
They just brought him in this morning an attempted suicide.
There are those that never made it, those that did but now are through,
Some came of their own good chosing, some committed to Parkview.
They wake us about 6:30,just before the morning meal,
While they're taking blood pressure, they ask us how we feel.
And I always say fantastic there ain't nothing wrong with me,
And then they give me my injection and i go right back to sleep.
The days are kind of foggy and the nights are dreamy too,
But they're taking good care of me, committed to Parkview.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Friday, November 23, 2007
Can you recall what it feels like when something very good happens, like, maybe you find a favorite sweater you had misplaced? Maybe you stick your hands in the pocket of your old jeans and find a wad of cash you thought you had lost forever.
Perhaps you see the face of an old friend you haven’t seen in a long time. Remember how that makes you feel? Remember how you wondered why in the world you ever let that friendship die, or why you didn’t encourage it to grow into something more?
Have you ever experienced something so wonderful and for the rest of the day felt so good and had so much energy that you did things you’ve been putting off forever and actually grinned about it the entire time?
That is me. I am so happy. I’ve had the ole “shit eating grin” plastered across my face just about all day. I’ve been on high speed and that is normally not my pace. Since early this morning, my heart has pitter-pattered non-stop.
This is where we may differ… It scares the shit out of me to feel this happy.
I am afraid to feel that good; about anything. I hesitate to enjoy life too much. It has always been much easier to remain level, to stay on one plane rather that allow my heart to feel joy. I fear being content. I had my world snatched out from under me too many times. From my earliest memory, I lack the ability to recall any sense of security.
It has always felt like something is out there…waiting …Waiting on me to feel happiness, or to feel safe. This “thing” is waiting for me to let my guard down. It listens and waits and sniffs the air, waiting on me to let something slip from the inner most part of my mind that would indicate that I am just dripping with joy. This entity seems astonished that I could be so foolish, as to think I deserve anything good.
In my world it was safer to just be…to exist quietly and without notice.
So over the years I worked on my wall of security with the steady tenacity of an artist, perfecting the ability to protect myself from hurt. Flawlessly stacking brick and mortar perfectly.
Although I am sure I have protected myself against some hurt over the years, I am also sure I that I isolated my heart from the wonderful things I could have been experiencing all along. I may have insulated my heart and soul and kept out all the cold and the rain and thunder and storms, but in doing so I have also kept out the sun and the flowers and the rainbows and the butterflies.
I told myself today, that I would take that wall down. It will be one brick at a time & I understand that I cannot undo overnight, what it has taken me years to perfect.
I understand that I will need to be kind to myself when I mess up and fall back into my old habits and I will ask you for help to get back up and start again.
I will take pleasure in this gift that has once again come my way.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Lost Friend, Lost Brevity
WARNING: CORNY AHEAD
I came upon a good old friend this week,
It was like a breath of fresh air.
for us both to show we care.
In my fear and trepidation I thought that I must run
but my friend never really left my mind like I thought that my friend had done.
Maybe this is like a second chance
but what if I can’t change.
What if my thoughts and my reactions
I cannot rearrange.
I fear rejection more than most things in this world,
inside I am basically still like one very lost little girl.
if I could just put aside the fear and make myself more bold.
Christians, Steeples and Judgement
DOES ANYBODY HEAR HER
I accidentally (?) heard this song today. Fortunately I was almost in my driveway before it came on the radio. It basically boils down to a young woman being just in the shadow of a church steeple, dying inside, but being ignored & shunned by the people coming and going in the church.
Part of the chorus:
If judgment looms under every steeple
If lofty glances from lofty people
Can't see past her scarlet letter
And we've never even met her
My hope is that I am never, ever that person coming or going that ignores her. I’ve worn that scarlet letter.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Chocolate Cysts
Chocolate cyst, endometrial cyst...I don't care what you call
it, this morning it was GONE!!
I can breathe fully now. I didn't realize how much breath holding I had been doing.
Sighhhhhhh
it, this morning it was GONE!!
I can breathe fully now. I didn't realize how much breath holding I had been doing.
Sighhhhhhh
Monday, November 19, 2007
I am not afraid
Friday, November 16, 2007
CPAP, Tears and Abstinence
No the title doesn’t mean a thing, but it is late and my brain is on low beam after a most hellish week at work.
When I was a kid, I had several report cards that came home with teachers notes stating that, “SIMD does not take constructive criticism well”. Well no shit! Criticism at my house generally came with a hair brush across the face or a belt across the back.
I guess at my ripe old age of 47, I still have a rather negative view of Constructive Criticism, because were it not for the good ole Lamictal, I think I might have ripped my boss’ head off today and throw in out in the pond in front of our office. Instead what did I do? I cried. Prick! First time that has happened at work since the doc put me on Lamictal. Moral of the story - Either learn to handle Constructive Criticism, or hope you look good in an orange jumpsuit because if you DO rip your boss' head off you'll probably wind up in the pokey.
I wear a CPAP to sleep most every night. It took me a long, long time to get accustomed to the thing and be able to sleep with it, but now it doesn’t bother me. Some nights though, I will awaken to this gosh-awful sound and it takes me a minute to figure out where I am and that it is my dumb ass making the noise.
What happens is, every once in a while the mask (it is a full face mask) will slip and become lodged between my lips and at 12 PMI it is quite a sound. My dog used to jump off the bed when he heard it but he has gotten used to it now. My husband wouldn’t wake up if you stuck a stick of dynamite in his ear and lit the fuse. Moral of the story, if you’re told you need to use a CPAP at night, keep trying, you’ll get used to it and it will help you feel better, not to mention live longer.
As far as the abstinence…same old stale story. I guess it has been about a year now (and no it started WELL before the CPAP came in to the picture) since there has been any action in our bedroom. Been together approximately 8-9 months when he told me he “just didn’t have any desire” any longer.
I didn’t believe it was a forever thing. I fought it and I talked (begged) and suggested (demanded) counseling. I bought books and negligees and toys and threatened and did everything but present a firm ultimatum (meaning I did present one a few weeks ago but when nothing changed I didn’t ACTUALLY ask him to leave). It is only in the past year or so that I have come to understand we can either remain together and live in abstinence, or we can separate/divorce.
This is my second marriage. The first one was over 24 years. Well over half my life had included sex on a regular basis and this is very strange for me, and very sad. Moral of the story, sometimes life don't turn out like you expected and it hurts just like a real kick in the ass.
Time to go now, put on my CPAP, and pray I don’t have a sex dream…those are the worst.
When I was a kid, I had several report cards that came home with teachers notes stating that, “SIMD does not take constructive criticism well”. Well no shit! Criticism at my house generally came with a hair brush across the face or a belt across the back.
I guess at my ripe old age of 47, I still have a rather negative view of Constructive Criticism, because were it not for the good ole Lamictal, I think I might have ripped my boss’ head off today and throw in out in the pond in front of our office. Instead what did I do? I cried. Prick! First time that has happened at work since the doc put me on Lamictal. Moral of the story - Either learn to handle Constructive Criticism, or hope you look good in an orange jumpsuit because if you DO rip your boss' head off you'll probably wind up in the pokey.
I wear a CPAP to sleep most every night. It took me a long, long time to get accustomed to the thing and be able to sleep with it, but now it doesn’t bother me. Some nights though, I will awaken to this gosh-awful sound and it takes me a minute to figure out where I am and that it is my dumb ass making the noise.
What happens is, every once in a while the mask (it is a full face mask) will slip and become lodged between my lips and at 12 PMI it is quite a sound. My dog used to jump off the bed when he heard it but he has gotten used to it now. My husband wouldn’t wake up if you stuck a stick of dynamite in his ear and lit the fuse. Moral of the story, if you’re told you need to use a CPAP at night, keep trying, you’ll get used to it and it will help you feel better, not to mention live longer.
As far as the abstinence…same old stale story. I guess it has been about a year now (and no it started WELL before the CPAP came in to the picture) since there has been any action in our bedroom. Been together approximately 8-9 months when he told me he “just didn’t have any desire” any longer.
I didn’t believe it was a forever thing. I fought it and I talked (begged) and suggested (demanded) counseling. I bought books and negligees and toys and threatened and did everything but present a firm ultimatum (meaning I did present one a few weeks ago but when nothing changed I didn’t ACTUALLY ask him to leave). It is only in the past year or so that I have come to understand we can either remain together and live in abstinence, or we can separate/divorce.
This is my second marriage. The first one was over 24 years. Well over half my life had included sex on a regular basis and this is very strange for me, and very sad. Moral of the story, sometimes life don't turn out like you expected and it hurts just like a real kick in the ass.
Time to go now, put on my CPAP, and pray I don’t have a sex dream…those are the worst.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Breast Pumps, Hess Trucks and Moving
We worked on cleaning out our building out back this weekend. This house came with the most magnificent two story block building with drive through door and a walk in door. All kinds of space but of this point has only held boxes of junk that people like us tend to haul from one move to the next because you might need it one day or it has sentimal value.
We're cleaning it out so we can store some things out there that we really need to keep but not in the house. I also want to use half of it for my woodworking. The upstairs would be perfect for raising some small parrots.
I found a few treasures, and had enough guts to throw out a few things also. I found my breastpump they gave me in the hospital when my second was born..in 1982. Still in its box with all the parts and the directions. I never used the thing. When baby boy would latch on to the left boob I would hold a cup under the right boob and then switch them around and that gave me all the "emergency" milk I might need to keep in the freezer.
I found a stuffed hippo names Edgar. Edgar was the last little boy toy my son ever asked me to buy him. Edgar was $10 in one of the little card stores in the mall and $10 to us right then was a big deal, but something inside of me said "do it". A few years later it dawned on me that he never once asked for a little boy toy again. I have been so thankful I spent that $10.
Hubby found all his old hess trucks in their boxes and thankfully free from mold or mildew. Ebay here we come. I doubt they'd be interested in my breast pump though hunh?
Is it true that women who unconciously know they are dying begin to feel the need to clean up all their loose ends?
Remainder of post removed..............Remember boys and girls, if you stick your head in the sand the problem will go away!!
We're cleaning it out so we can store some things out there that we really need to keep but not in the house. I also want to use half of it for my woodworking. The upstairs would be perfect for raising some small parrots.
I found a few treasures, and had enough guts to throw out a few things also. I found my breastpump they gave me in the hospital when my second was born..in 1982. Still in its box with all the parts and the directions. I never used the thing. When baby boy would latch on to the left boob I would hold a cup under the right boob and then switch them around and that gave me all the "emergency" milk I might need to keep in the freezer.
I found a stuffed hippo names Edgar. Edgar was the last little boy toy my son ever asked me to buy him. Edgar was $10 in one of the little card stores in the mall and $10 to us right then was a big deal, but something inside of me said "do it". A few years later it dawned on me that he never once asked for a little boy toy again. I have been so thankful I spent that $10.
Hubby found all his old hess trucks in their boxes and thankfully free from mold or mildew. Ebay here we come. I doubt they'd be interested in my breast pump though hunh?
Is it true that women who unconciously know they are dying begin to feel the need to clean up all their loose ends?
Thursday, October 25, 2007
46 Pound Woman Found Starved To Death
Horrible, horrible news I read today...
46 Pound Woman Found Starved To Death
At a house overrun with roaches, choked with cobwebs and smeared with garbage police found a 46 pound woman starved to death.
Officials arrested the victim's sister and brother-in-law Sunday. A grand jury charged them with manslaughter.
Police said Christine Baxter, 30, died of complications from malnutrition. She was blind, deaf and unable to feed herself . Go here to continue story.
My dear grandson is 5 years old. He was born blind and developmentally delayed.This article made me think of him and what could happen did he not have mom and dad and other family who love him dearly.
I hope this dear lady is talking with Jesus right now, walking on those streets of gold and admiring the view in Heaven.
Bless her heart.
46 Pound Woman Found Starved To Death
At a house overrun with roaches, choked with cobwebs and smeared with garbage police found a 46 pound woman starved to death.
Officials arrested the victim's sister and brother-in-law Sunday. A grand jury charged them with manslaughter.
Police said Christine Baxter, 30, died of complications from malnutrition. She was blind, deaf and unable to feed herself . Go here to continue story.
My dear grandson is 5 years old. He was born blind and developmentally delayed.This article made me think of him and what could happen did he not have mom and dad and other family who love him dearly.
I hope this dear lady is talking with Jesus right now, walking on those streets of gold and admiring the view in Heaven.
Bless her heart.
Counting Down. . . .
I was all calm and stuff, but I guess I read too much online.
The more I read, the less the results of that CA 125 they did seem to matter. I’ve read that some women never have a raised number on that test. I have read that (depending on whose article it is) 20 – 50% of negatives are false negatives. I have read it is NOT a reliable diagnostic tool at all, that it is mainly used to judge how well the cancer is responding to treatment.
I am not sure how to explain how I feel while waiting for the next ultrasound. I am not afraid, I really don’t think I am, but there is this constant roar of uneasiness from “not knowing”.
26 days to next ultrasound.
The more I read, the less the results of that CA 125 they did seem to matter. I’ve read that some women never have a raised number on that test. I have read that (depending on whose article it is) 20 – 50% of negatives are false negatives. I have read it is NOT a reliable diagnostic tool at all, that it is mainly used to judge how well the cancer is responding to treatment.
I am not sure how to explain how I feel while waiting for the next ultrasound. I am not afraid, I really don’t think I am, but there is this constant roar of uneasiness from “not knowing”.
26 days to next ultrasound.
Friday, October 19, 2007
Mammography on the Small Plates
When I went for my pelvic exam a couple of weeks ago, they also gave me an appointment for today to get a mammogram. This will be my second mammogram.
I had my first 5 years ago at the age of 42. I figured it was time for a “baseline” and being the good medical consumer that I am and wanting to be proactive in discovering any problems before they turn into large problems, I broke down and went.
The lady who did the test was very pleasant. Actually, had we met under other circumstance we would probably have become friends. She did and said everything just right to put me at ease.
I had been told all kinds of things about this test. I was told it was horribly painful and it felt as if they were laying your boobs on the road and running over them with one of those asphalt packing machines you pass on the interstate.
I had women tell me if they had been forced to stand there another second they would have screamed or passed out. Folks, I have an extreme fear of embarrassing myself, and screaming or passing out while one of my boobs was squished between two plates of glass would qualify in my mind as very embarrassing. I mean can you just see me hanging there by my flat breast, unconscious?!?
Needless to say, to admit I was a bit nervous would be an understatement, but like a good girl I went. She was very nice and she got right down to business, handing me the required paper ½ gown. (We won't even get into the “One Size Fits All” bullshit. Look back to my post on Pap Smears, PCOS and Ambush of a Rectum for that rant).
While I am undressing “from the waist up”, (did I look so country and hick that she actually though I would undress completely if she didn't give me step by step instructions?) she is putting the film in the machine and adjusting the height. Once she gets that done, she reaches and picks my boob up and lays it on this piece of glass like it was a lump of dough she was getting ready to knead.
She then begins to lower the top half of the “squisher” and all of a sudden she stops. I can’t figure why she just stopped like that. I mean there I was, all set, already holding my breath to try and make my belly look a tad tighter then it is, and she stops and walks to the other side of the room.
She picks up this glass plate almost like the one my boob was still laying on and tells me to step back and let her “put the smaller plates on the machine”. WTF????? “Smaller plates”????
Sure effing enough, she takes the “large” plate off and puts this little bitty thing on there that looked like it was made to squish golf balls at the most. Here I was with my B+ cups that I had heretofore been quite proud of and she’s hauling out the miniature plates!
These boobs breastfed two very healthy, very large babies. For what they have been through, even with the stretch marks and the fact that they point “downward” more than they point “outward” now, they’re still decent looking girls.
After all was said and done, I will admit she was good and she was fast and physically there was no pain, but the mental anguish will haunt me forever.
Now I know how men must feel when they get those spam emails urging them to buy their product in order to “Make your dick bigger”.
I think when I get there today, I will go ahead and tell her to please fetch the small plates before we even begin.
I had my first 5 years ago at the age of 42. I figured it was time for a “baseline” and being the good medical consumer that I am and wanting to be proactive in discovering any problems before they turn into large problems, I broke down and went.
The lady who did the test was very pleasant. Actually, had we met under other circumstance we would probably have become friends. She did and said everything just right to put me at ease.
I had been told all kinds of things about this test. I was told it was horribly painful and it felt as if they were laying your boobs on the road and running over them with one of those asphalt packing machines you pass on the interstate.
I had women tell me if they had been forced to stand there another second they would have screamed or passed out. Folks, I have an extreme fear of embarrassing myself, and screaming or passing out while one of my boobs was squished between two plates of glass would qualify in my mind as very embarrassing. I mean can you just see me hanging there by my flat breast, unconscious?!?
Needless to say, to admit I was a bit nervous would be an understatement, but like a good girl I went. She was very nice and she got right down to business, handing me the required paper ½ gown. (We won't even get into the “One Size Fits All” bullshit. Look back to my post on Pap Smears, PCOS and Ambush of a Rectum for that rant).
While I am undressing “from the waist up”, (did I look so country and hick that she actually though I would undress completely if she didn't give me step by step instructions?) she is putting the film in the machine and adjusting the height. Once she gets that done, she reaches and picks my boob up and lays it on this piece of glass like it was a lump of dough she was getting ready to knead.
She then begins to lower the top half of the “squisher” and all of a sudden she stops. I can’t figure why she just stopped like that. I mean there I was, all set, already holding my breath to try and make my belly look a tad tighter then it is, and she stops and walks to the other side of the room.
She picks up this glass plate almost like the one my boob was still laying on and tells me to step back and let her “put the smaller plates on the machine”. WTF????? “Smaller plates”????
Sure effing enough, she takes the “large” plate off and puts this little bitty thing on there that looked like it was made to squish golf balls at the most. Here I was with my B+ cups that I had heretofore been quite proud of and she’s hauling out the miniature plates!
These boobs breastfed two very healthy, very large babies. For what they have been through, even with the stretch marks and the fact that they point “downward” more than they point “outward” now, they’re still decent looking girls.
After all was said and done, I will admit she was good and she was fast and physically there was no pain, but the mental anguish will haunt me forever.
Now I know how men must feel when they get those spam emails urging them to buy their product in order to “Make your dick bigger”.
I think when I get there today, I will go ahead and tell her to please fetch the small plates before we even begin.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
CA 125
My test results were "normal". She said it was a 10 and anything under 34 is good. She still wants to take a peek at the ovary in a few weeks though...She must need a little extra for her Christmas shopping.
You know...it just occured to me...I have NEVER been a 10.
You know...it just occured to me...I have NEVER been a 10.
Friday, October 12, 2007
Ovarian Cancer and KOOLS
I went back for my vaginal ultrasound yesterday. My doctor had ordered it based on some symptoms I was having and the pelvic she had performed last week.
I must admit, that technician who did the ultrasound was good! She was so calm and she just really knew how to put one at ease during what could be considered a very embarrassing situation, (and no - no one even offered me a cigarette afterwards). Kudos to her.
I knew something was wrong before the ultrasound was done. The tech had been talking and we were laughing about the fact that when I was pregnant both times, they only did ultrasounds if something was wrong. I had told her my daughter showed me ultrasound pictures from her three girls and I would always smile and say “Ohhhhhhhhh” but really I couldn’t tell there was anything there. To me it looked like snow on the TV did back in the day when channels actually went off the air at midnight.
She had explained the right ovary to me, and how she could see the cysts on it from the years of PCOS. She told me my uterus looked normal. Then she got to my left side and stayed there much longer than she did anywhere else and she didn’t talk any more.
I never even asked her about it, even though the silence was so obvious.
Basically it boils down to this... the doctor said there is definitely something on my left ovary and it was solid and hard. She drew for a CA125 before I left and we should know those results on Monday, but from everything I've read, the CA125 really isn't that accurate - lots of false positives and negatives. I read it is mostly used during the treatment of ovarian cancer to watch the progress or non-progress of the treatment.
Regardless, she wants another ultrasound (almost like sex twice in a two month period - wow! More action that I've seen in a couple of years. Snort-snort) in 6 weeks and if it isn't gone she said I will need surgery to remove it and do a biopsy and they'll look around in there to see if they see if there is anything suspicious looking. I wonder, if I throw an extra $500 their way, if they would yank some fat out since they're gonna be in there anyway???
I'd tell you the dimensions of the little bugger, but when she told me the first half of the dimensions (1.5 ct) my mind just went blank. I guess I was shocked that they found anything. I remember thinking, “She sounds just like she is in a well talking”.
I didn't tell my husband until last night. I didn't want it to sound like I was scared or anything, so I just casually mentioned it a few hours after I got home.
I have had all the symptoms except for ascites. I felt like something was wrong. I made this appointment 4 months ago. This doctor is always backed way up. Then when my appointment came up they called and cancelled it because she was gone to a funeral out of town, so I had to wait 2 more months.
I’m really not afraid, I have a weird feeling, but I wouldn’t call it fear. I know one thing, if they tell me I don’t have long left, I’m buying me a carton of Kools. I have not smoked in 9 months and 12 days, but if this is how it turns out, I'm smokin!
I must admit, that technician who did the ultrasound was good! She was so calm and she just really knew how to put one at ease during what could be considered a very embarrassing situation, (and no - no one even offered me a cigarette afterwards). Kudos to her.
I knew something was wrong before the ultrasound was done. The tech had been talking and we were laughing about the fact that when I was pregnant both times, they only did ultrasounds if something was wrong. I had told her my daughter showed me ultrasound pictures from her three girls and I would always smile and say “Ohhhhhhhhh” but really I couldn’t tell there was anything there. To me it looked like snow on the TV did back in the day when channels actually went off the air at midnight.
She had explained the right ovary to me, and how she could see the cysts on it from the years of PCOS. She told me my uterus looked normal. Then she got to my left side and stayed there much longer than she did anywhere else and she didn’t talk any more.
I never even asked her about it, even though the silence was so obvious.
Basically it boils down to this... the doctor said there is definitely something on my left ovary and it was solid and hard. She drew for a CA125 before I left and we should know those results on Monday, but from everything I've read, the CA125 really isn't that accurate - lots of false positives and negatives. I read it is mostly used during the treatment of ovarian cancer to watch the progress or non-progress of the treatment.
Regardless, she wants another ultrasound (almost like sex twice in a two month period - wow! More action that I've seen in a couple of years. Snort-snort) in 6 weeks and if it isn't gone she said I will need surgery to remove it and do a biopsy and they'll look around in there to see if they see if there is anything suspicious looking. I wonder, if I throw an extra $500 their way, if they would yank some fat out since they're gonna be in there anyway???
I'd tell you the dimensions of the little bugger, but when she told me the first half of the dimensions (1.5 ct) my mind just went blank. I guess I was shocked that they found anything. I remember thinking, “She sounds just like she is in a well talking”.
I didn't tell my husband until last night. I didn't want it to sound like I was scared or anything, so I just casually mentioned it a few hours after I got home.
I have had all the symptoms except for ascites. I felt like something was wrong. I made this appointment 4 months ago. This doctor is always backed way up. Then when my appointment came up they called and cancelled it because she was gone to a funeral out of town, so I had to wait 2 more months.
I’m really not afraid, I have a weird feeling, but I wouldn’t call it fear. I know one thing, if they tell me I don’t have long left, I’m buying me a carton of Kools. I have not smoked in 9 months and 12 days, but if this is how it turns out, I'm smokin!
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Temporarily Sane
Get it? Temporarily SANE???
Yep. All hell is just breaking forth all around me the past week and I am NOT LOSING MY MIND!!! That my internectory friends, is a not very small miracle.
Maybe it is not temporary, maybe the Lamictal is what I needed all along.
I'm calm. I just wanted you all to know.
Peace........
Yep. All hell is just breaking forth all around me the past week and I am NOT LOSING MY MIND!!! That my internectory friends, is a not very small miracle.
Maybe it is not temporary, maybe the Lamictal is what I needed all along.
I'm calm. I just wanted you all to know.
Peace........
Friday, October 05, 2007
Pap Smears, PCOS & Ambush of a Rectum
I went to the gynecologist today. First time since 2002.
Now before ya'll go all fanatical on me, I HAVE been having pap smears, I’ve just been letting my primary physician do them. I went to the Gyn today because I’ve been having some funky pain and thought she might know more what’s going on “down there”.
Evidently in a five year period we can have enormous mental and/or emotional changes. Either that or the memory just goes straight to hell. I had completely forgotten what it was like to sit in the waiting room of an Ob/Gyn’s office. Everybody is so effing pregnant! If they’re not looking like they swallowed a watermelon, they’re pushing 10 pounds of screaming flesh around in a cart.
Speaking of carts, that’s something I have NEVER understood. That tiny baby weighs how much? 10 – 15 pounds? How frigging much does all that other apparatus weigh??? I have never understood why people drag all that crap around to tote their baby in when they could just…oh I don’t know…TOTE THE BABY!?!? Anywho, that’s a completely different rant. Back to all the preggos in the waiting room…
I am 47 years old. My ovaries probably ain’t spitting out nothing more than shriveled smelly eggs, but seeing all the preggos was very depressing for me. I couldn’t a bit more handle a baby now than I could perform brain surgery, but gosh my uterus just ached seeing all the cute little spitting machines and the lovely, sensual rounded bellies.
Just before the tears started, my name was called from back somewhere deep in the pits of hell. Then the assault began. I go back to the little room where they hand you the nice little “open in the front” paper robe. These come with little plastic belts to tie it closed. I am assuming it was a belt. It was lying there on top of the robe. It looked like what I floss my teeth with but hey, the world is not made for grown-up sized women is it? They also hand you this piece of paper “for your lap”. For my lap!?!?! Sh*!&... I know and they know and they know that I know that piece of paper was for covering my Bojingo. They know that cute little robe ain’t gonna cover all my junk.
So the doc comes in, all fast and seemingly in a hurry. She does a breast exam and is asking me questions the entire time. Then she says, “Ok. Put your little feet in the stirrups for me”. I’m sitting there thinking who the hell else is in this room, cause I KNOW she ain’t referring to my feet as little. Had she told me to slide my little ass to the edge, I would have laughed out loud.
Now, Scalpel, over at Scalpel or Sword had a post this week about this subject. The title, I think, was Medical Student Tips - Using the Speculum. I read all kinds of comments about what docs can do to put the woman more at ease during this what can be an uncomfortable procedure. This doc obviously did not read Scalpels blog that day.
My gosh, I gave birth to two large children, the last one without medication of any kind. It's not like I am this 100% pure wimpy woman or anything, but that speculum was shoved in as if she were in some sick type of contest. Soon as that cold metal struck my tender flesh, I immediately thought about what I said in the comment section of Scalper or Sword on the subject. About how I would rather have paps than go to the dentist any day. Not sure I feel that way any more.
After the assult on my cervical os with that little steel wire brush, she hands off the speculum to the assistant in the room and sneaks her friggin ARM up my arse while putting her other arm in the ole Bojingo. I believe this is referred to as the rectovaginal component of the exam. Way too fancy sounding terminology for it if you ask me.
Maybe it’s my age, but I really don’t look forward to that next year, even if it was the most action that part of my anatomy has seen in a while.
I’ll go to my family doc from now on. He at least offers me a cigarette afterwards.
Now before ya'll go all fanatical on me, I HAVE been having pap smears, I’ve just been letting my primary physician do them. I went to the Gyn today because I’ve been having some funky pain and thought she might know more what’s going on “down there”.
Evidently in a five year period we can have enormous mental and/or emotional changes. Either that or the memory just goes straight to hell. I had completely forgotten what it was like to sit in the waiting room of an Ob/Gyn’s office. Everybody is so effing pregnant! If they’re not looking like they swallowed a watermelon, they’re pushing 10 pounds of screaming flesh around in a cart.
Speaking of carts, that’s something I have NEVER understood. That tiny baby weighs how much? 10 – 15 pounds? How frigging much does all that other apparatus weigh??? I have never understood why people drag all that crap around to tote their baby in when they could just…oh I don’t know…TOTE THE BABY!?!? Anywho, that’s a completely different rant. Back to all the preggos in the waiting room…
I am 47 years old. My ovaries probably ain’t spitting out nothing more than shriveled smelly eggs, but seeing all the preggos was very depressing for me. I couldn’t a bit more handle a baby now than I could perform brain surgery, but gosh my uterus just ached seeing all the cute little spitting machines and the lovely, sensual rounded bellies.
Just before the tears started, my name was called from back somewhere deep in the pits of hell. Then the assault began. I go back to the little room where they hand you the nice little “open in the front” paper robe. These come with little plastic belts to tie it closed. I am assuming it was a belt. It was lying there on top of the robe. It looked like what I floss my teeth with but hey, the world is not made for grown-up sized women is it? They also hand you this piece of paper “for your lap”. For my lap!?!?! Sh*!&... I know and they know and they know that I know that piece of paper was for covering my Bojingo. They know that cute little robe ain’t gonna cover all my junk.
So the doc comes in, all fast and seemingly in a hurry. She does a breast exam and is asking me questions the entire time. Then she says, “Ok. Put your little feet in the stirrups for me”. I’m sitting there thinking who the hell else is in this room, cause I KNOW she ain’t referring to my feet as little. Had she told me to slide my little ass to the edge, I would have laughed out loud.
Now, Scalpel, over at Scalpel or Sword had a post this week about this subject. The title, I think, was Medical Student Tips - Using the Speculum. I read all kinds of comments about what docs can do to put the woman more at ease during this what can be an uncomfortable procedure. This doc obviously did not read Scalpels blog that day.
My gosh, I gave birth to two large children, the last one without medication of any kind. It's not like I am this 100% pure wimpy woman or anything, but that speculum was shoved in as if she were in some sick type of contest. Soon as that cold metal struck my tender flesh, I immediately thought about what I said in the comment section of Scalper or Sword on the subject. About how I would rather have paps than go to the dentist any day. Not sure I feel that way any more.
After the assult on my cervical os with that little steel wire brush, she hands off the speculum to the assistant in the room and sneaks her friggin ARM up my arse while putting her other arm in the ole Bojingo. I believe this is referred to as the rectovaginal component of the exam. Way too fancy sounding terminology for it if you ask me.
Maybe it’s my age, but I really don’t look forward to that next year, even if it was the most action that part of my anatomy has seen in a while.
I’ll go to my family doc from now on. He at least offers me a cigarette afterwards.
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