Jitterbug's Beat

Celebrate Good Times, C'Mon!

Two of my very dear friends got married last weekend.  It was awesome and super fun.  I thought I'd gotten all of my to-do stuff out of the way in time for the wedding, but in the week before, I found myself a guest-zilla - slightly freaking out, having tried two dresses that just didn't work, waiting for (and pinning all of my hopes on) the third dress and an extremely last minute hair cut and color that I lucked into scheduling (yes, the hair gods were smiling on me).  Oh yeah and I should also note here that due to an unfortunate purse-unloading-while-looking-for-keys incident after the bachelorette party, I drove home with a bright pink vibrator wedged between my license plate and trailer hitch.  That's another story for another time - I'm just thankful I didn't get pulled over for a license obstruction.  The wedding was on Saturday - on Friday I got sick. Pretty darn sick, in fact, but I was NOT about to let that show at the wedding 'cause I was WEARIN' that dress!  I did have pockets - and should have had kleenex in one and a flask in the other - just to keep from drawing any attention my way during the ceremony due to an inopportune coughing fit.  JW says that I got sick in protest to yet another couple marrying who've been dating for a shorter time than he and I.  Mmmm, perhaps.  Well it's either get sick or hold my breath, and quite frankly, I'm just getting too old to hold my breath that long.  ZING! Anyhoo, it was a beautiful wedding - but there was one thing in particular that really hit home. From my seat, I could see my girlfriend's face while she recited her vows to her hubby-in-the-making, and the way she looked at him... it just broke your heart.  In a good way.  I felt like a fly on the wall of an incredibly private moment - it was as if those two were the only ones in the room.  That they let us all in to share that moment with them... it was a beautiful thing to bear witness to.  I can scarce describe it and still do it justice.  It was just... love.  Pure and unadulterated love.  And it was really, really amazing.  Shouldn't we all be so lucky.  

And as a special note, JW actually danced with me!  He wanted me to tell you all, gentle readers, that he asked me to dance SEVERAL times, and I didn't ask him to dance.   So let the record show, that's how it went.  He also took some very sweet pictures with me, which was only a little out of character.  We had a grand time.  

Tales of Basement Surgery.

So last month I underwent a "procedure" - they call it a procedure because if they called it what it really is... pulling bits out of your inside for about 20 minutes with sharp instruments and no pain killers ... I don't think anyone would be signing up.  Results from that "procedure" led me into the operating room for a LEEP, where they remove the entire lining of your uterus with electricity because it's starting to tend toward cancerous inhabitation, and they want you to have a fresh start.  The nurses were great - I was a wreck, this being my first actual surgery ever, and even in my 30's, I really wanted my mommy.  I was already a bit of a tearful mess, and then the one nurse - the Butcher of Seville took over to put an IV in my hand... no, missed that vein... in my arm... oops, missed again... let's try the arm again... SERIOUSLY.  And while I cried and tried to look away and not focus on what she was doing, she kept missing, and then saying "OOPS!"  Out loud!  Followed by "Oh, I never miss!"  She did miss.  Three times.  It hurt SO much.  To add insult to injury, she chastised me: "Your hand is ice cold!"  Oh really?  Oh I'm sorry, that's probably because you stuck me too many times and I actually exsanguinated while you were busy trying to find a passable vein you FUCKING MONSTER.  Now stop slapping my arm like a desperate heroin addict.  Oh but wait.  There's more.  Once she finally slid that needle home, I hear this, "I got blood on your gown so we're going to change it."  Before I can even survey the damage (she did get blood EVERYWHERE, but the drop on my gown was barely dime-sized), she's pulling down the neck of my gown (I'll note here that I was tucked in to both a set of sheet and two blankets) which then caught up my IV tube and PULLED it... she proceeded to struggle with my gown, tangling it in the IV tube, and no matter how much I cried, that beast would not get her hands off me.  That, and an nice IRS tax audit - now that's my idea of a good way to start the day.

On a good note - that was the worst of it.  Once the wonderful anesthesiologist hooked me up they wheeled me into surgery - only I was thinking, "Gee, wait, shouldn't we wait for the drugs to..." and that was my last conscious thought - except before that looking at no less than 20 people in the operating room, all getting ready to stare at my crotch - that was mildly disconcerting.  Fortunately I wasn't awake long enough to have qualms.  And as a nice afterthought, I always did want to ride in a wheelchair.  Now lord willing, this will all fade away as just an old amusing story to tell and will have no place in my future.  If it DOES have to happen again, I'll request a nurse other than Psycho Nurse Mengele.