This may be my longest post ever, so go pee and grab a drink first.

Last week I spent a good portion of Friday and Saturday bitching about my own stupidity as opposed to my usual bitching about the stupidity of other people. I had a day and a half of vacation time still coming to me. With Christmas and Boxing day being Statutory Holidays (ones even my workplace actually observes) I could have taken the Friday and the Saturday and granted myself a little mini-vacation.

After a year of working 50 to 80 hours a week, who doesn't want a little mini-vacation?

I kept thinking about the lost opportunity and how it wouldn't work this week because New Years is only one day off and there's no day-after-New-Years day off. Then I had an epiphany. Once we hit New Years Day it's a new year. Which means I will have 2 weeks plus a day and a half vacation to take.

So I booked Thursday, Friday and Saturday off. Add in the day off for New Years (another stat holiday we actually get to have off) and the Sunday and that's 5, count em, 5 days in a row of not having to drag my ass out of the house in the morning.

Sometimes I amaze even myself with my brilliance.

Plus, I go back to work on Monday and then I have Tuesday afternoon booked off for a hysterosonogram.

This is the point where anyone squeamish about period talk should just stop reading and come back tomorrow. Also, I will mention my uterus and probably my vagina too. Especially my vagina - mostly because I like to see the discomfort the word vagina seems to inspire in other people.

Vagina, vagina, vagina!

A very long, long time ago - last spring - I decided it was time to evict Aunt Flo from her Granny suite, or at least get her to behave more like a respectful tenant.

The first step was going to see my family doctor. In Ontario, if you don't already have a family doctor you have to apply to become a patient. Thankfully I had already completed that process three years ago. I just never actually went to see him.

Making the appointment was a major pain in the ass. To call from my workplace is long distance and I worked the same hours as the receptionist and then some. Which meant I had to put extra minutes on my pay-as-you go cellphone. Yes that's right - I PAID MONEY TO SIT ON HOLD ENDLESSLY WAITING FOR SOMEONE TO ANSWER THE GODDAMNED PHONE!

Once I actually got to see the family doctor, he scheduled me to come back for a physical and some blood work - 3 weeks later. He was also supposed to refer me to a gynecologist. I soldiered my way through the blood work (easy peasy) and my physical (not so easy, but a girl's got to do what a girl's got to do). I was assured that the Holy Grail was within reach and the gynecologist would call me any day with an appointment time.

One month later I still hadn't heard from the gynecologist and not only is Aunt Flo sticking around for two and three weeks at a time she's also popping in unexpectedly during play time.  So I call the doctors office.

Me: Um, I was supposed to be getting a referral to a gynecologist and I haven't heard anything yet.

Receptionist: These things take time.

Me: It's been over a month.

Receptionist: It takes time. When they have openings it's on a first come first serve basis.

Me: But it's been over a month and I should at least have an appointment by now.

Receptionist: Well what are you waiting to see the gynecologist for?

This is where instead of telling the nosy woman that it's between me and my doctor and none of her effing business, I started almost bawling, told her never mind and hung up. An hour later, my phone started to ring. By some miracle I still had minutes left.

Me: Hello?

Nurse Practitioner: Hi Vanessa, this is blah blah I'm calling from doctor blah blah's office.

Me: Okay?

NP: Vanessa it seems doctor blah blah forgot to fax the referral request to the gynecologist.

My Brain: May his prostrate be permanently inflamed as his penis endlessly dribbles pee. 

NP: Were you just seeing the gynecologist to have your Mirena removed - because I can do that for you.

Me: Well it was for more than that - I'm having never ending periods too.

NP: Let's try taking the Mirena out, it's almost time and it might help. I can give you a prescription for birth control to regulate your periods and I'll fax the referral as well.

So I made another appointment. Of course she can't actually give me a prescription for birth control because I'm over forty and I smoke. I knew that was too good to be true. She removed the Mirena - which was a whole hell of a lot easier than the installation of that bastard - and suggested sponges and condoms as birth control. She also referred me for an ultrasound, since the gynecologist would probably want one anyhow.

After I got dressed she came in with a handful of packets that at first I thought were condom packets. No such luck, it was a handful of single dose Advil packets. She left me with the advice that I might experience a little bit of spotting the next day. If you want an exact description of what followed for the next two weeks there are entire websites devoted to women who can't spell, describing their experience after Mirena in excruciating detail. I will leave it at saying "a little bit of spotting" was like calling Niagara Falls a trickle. The Canadian falls, not the US falls.

However, the long awaited gynecologist appointment was booked for the end of August. One week before the designated day, I received my ultrasound appointment - for the week after I was supposed to see the gynecologist. Which makes absolutely no fucking sense.

So I called the ultrasound booking department - where I was told that my doctor's office knew weeks ago when the appointment was. Had they bothered to call me when they got the appointment, I could have made arrangements to go to Windsor and have the ultrasound done well in advance of actually seeing the gynecologist. So after bawling on the phone to the poor lady booking the ultrasounds about how they might as well just sew up my vagina since I couldn't use it anyhow, I had to agree to postpone the appointment with the gynecologist to mid-September.

On the day of that appointment I was just about ready to piss myself with excitement. Finally I was getting somewhere. Until my cellphone rang. The specialist had been up all night delivering babies and I would have to reschedule.

Two mother effing weeks later I spent the morning on pins and needles hoping I would actually get to go to this appointment. This time, I finally got to meet my new gynecologist. Surprisingly (insert sarcasm), she had not received the results of my blood-work or pap smear. Her prognosis?

Gyno: I think you have polyps. It explains all of your symptoms - even the ones from five years ago. I'm going to send you for a Hysterosonogram.

Except, she doesn't actually book you for the appointment. You have to book it yourself.

First you wait for your next period to start. Then you call the booking department on the first day. They count out 14 days from that day and try to book you an appointment on the Tuesday closest to that day. Because of course they only do the test on Tuesdays. Once you have that appointment, you call the gyno receptionist (who is awesome by the way) and she sees if the gyno is available at that time to attend. Which is when I said "so basically it's like trying to win a lottery?"

First month - no appointment available.

Second month - no appointment available

Third month - I get an appointment but the doctor isn't available.

In the meantime just to prove it's easier to win the lottery than book this test, I won $108 dollars on the Lotto Max.

Fourth month - Aunt Flo doesn't show when expected but she sends out a warning of her arrival. 14 days before Christmas. I'm disappointed because I know there's no way I'm going to get my appointment for Christmas Eve. For once, Aunt Flo decided to show some Christmas charity and delay her arrival for another week. I cross my fingers and call the booking department.

Booking Department: So let's see, 14 days brings you to the 31st. We aren't doing any of those on New Year's Eve. 

Me: I get that they are trying for mid-cycle. I get that they want me to be near ovulation, but come on! I'm 43 freaking years old. Who knows when I ovulate or even if I do?

Booking Department: That's true - I have an appointment the following week, do you want to try that?

Me: Sold!

I call the gyno office and the doctor was available that day.

I may not be able to win millions on the Lotto, but who cares. I won the goddamned Hysterosonogram Sweepstakes!

Crazy Cat Lady?

A couple of weeks before Christmas, I finally got around to getting Miss Kitty spayed. Our local Humane Society now offers low cost spay and neuter services. You call and leave a message and they call you back with an appointment for their next assembly line style spay day.

The cost savings is huge - $75 dollars for a spay as opposed to $300 at our regular vet. For an extra $50 bucks they will de-worm and vaccinate as well.

You bring your cat in for their 8 am opening and pick it up at the end of the day. Which is how I found myself booking a day off so I could wake up at the ass crack of dawn and drive for 45 minutes, instead of sleeping in like I normally do when I take a day off.

I made it there for a quarter to eight. There were two ladies waiting at the door already. One of them looked to be about 60 with no pet in sight and seemed grateful to see me. The other lady looked about 50 (maybe not so old, but I desperately want to believe she had to be older than I am) with a cat carrier at her feet and a tiny gray kitten peeking out of her coat.

I didn't take long for me to understand why the older lady looked so damn happy to see me. The lady with the kitten mashed into her cleavage was talking - a lot.

Cat Lady: I have three at home that I bottle fed blah, blah, blah.

Cat Lady: One of them was born with her head twisted to the side. I did some research and found out it could be caused by one of two things. A virus, an injury or an infection blah, blah, blah.

My Brain: That's three things.

Cat Lady: We named her Pearlie. My husband picked her name because she looks a little bit like a Siamese blah, blah, blah.

Cat Lady: We have another one that is a diluted tortoiseshell blah, blah, blah.

My Brain: What the hell is a diluted tortoiseshell?

Cat Lady: This one was born a week early, but you can't tell to look at him. 

My Brain: How the fuck do you know that?

Other people started to arrive. The older lady went to retrieve her cat from the car. The Cat Lady went through her spiel again.

Cat Lady: This one knows what a car ride is. "I guess I should put you in your carrier." He's snug as a bug in my coat. "You love your mommy don't you?"

My Brain: Her hair is neat, no skunk line of gray roots. Her clothes are clean and neat. She looks so normal until she opens her mouth.

Part way through the third repetition of this woman's entire history as a cat owner, a couple came up behind me. They checked on their kitten in normal pet owner style as opposed to weird cat lady style.

At 8 sharp, they finally came to unlock the doors and put an end to the longest 15 minutes of my life.

I sighed with relief and whispered "Thank you God!"

The man behind me said "Amen!"

Except it wasn't over. Now we were handed clipboards with the standard release forms that must be signed before your pet undergoes surgery. Then we had to wait in line to pay our fee and hand over our felines.

During this time new people arrived. Each one who wandered into The Cat Lady's sphere triggered another accounting of her history as a cat lady.

Cat Lady: This one was born a week early - not that you can tell to look at him.

My Brain: How could you possibly know that?

By this point I was wondering if she stalked her cats at night and marking the dates they had sex on a calender. The calender would have kitty pictures on it, and she would be wearing a cat sweater and everything in her home would be cat themed and covered in cat hair.

I'm pretty sure by the tenth time I heard all of this I started to glare at any new arrivals who approached the woman. She handed over her kitten and settled her ample backside on one of the few chairs. I finally handed over Miss Kitty, paid my fee and race walked for the door.

I wonder how long it took the staff to get rid of her?

Of course I'm driving around with an effing Christmas Tree in my trunk.

Something happens when you work a shit ton of hours in the weeks leading up to Christmas.

You end up scrambling to get all of your Christmas shopping done in one day, and that one day ends up being only three days before Christmas.

Today being Sunday and the only day of the week I don't work, I slept in this morning. Waking up at eleven doesn't make for an industrious day, but around the middle of the afternoon I finally got my ass in gear enough to get dressed and leave the house.

Because I really needed to finish my Christmas shopping that I had started on Friday. Friday the 20th in case you want to pat yourself on the back for getting that shit done sooner than me. After I finished shopping for the Asshats I headed for Wal-mart to buy some gifts for the dogs.

Yes I do buy presents for my dog, he likes presents too! 

I grabbed a new stuffed toy for Louie with a squeaker because he loves his squeakers. A Wubba and some Kong squeaky balls for Asshat #1's dog Jackson, who will actually fetch like a real dog. I started to get worried because I was spending more on Jackson and he isn't even my dog. Maybe Louie would get upset and start to think I loved Jackson more. Then I smacked myself in the forehead, because they are dogs and could care less how much money I spend on them.

Which is how I ended up buying a tree at 4:30 pm - only 3 effing days before Christmas.

PS I didn't really drive around with a tree in my trunk - I picked it up on my way home from Christmas shopping.

PPS I really hope Louie doesn't think I love Jackson more, He's my favorite even if he won't fetch.

PPPS I ended up giving Louie his gift early because he saw the Wal-mart bag and kept guarding it from Miss Kitty.