Reno or Demo? The Follow-up Appointment

So now the follow-up appointment where we learn the fate of Aunt Flo's granny suite. Since there were no polyps to be found it came down to two choices.

Reno, otherwise known as enometrial ablation. This is where the doctor cauterizes the lining of your uterus. Many women have had this procedure and are quite happy with it. Recovery time is about 10 days, and it's done as an outpatient procedure. The success rate is pretty good. The problem is you may not know if it was successful for up to a year after the procedure. Also, the amusement park might be under maintenance for the first three months.

Demo, otherwise known as a hysterectomy. It involves surgery, at least one night in the hospital and six weeks to recover. But at the end of that six weeks - it's done. No waiting to see if it worked. No more maintenance at the amusement park. No more cramps. No more back ache. No more wanting to throat punch the guy (it had to have been a man) who came up with the whole "Have a Happy Period" advertising campaign.

Guess what folks? Auntie Flo's going to be looking for a new apartment soon. I'm going with option two.

I was thinking of doing this post with a Love it or List it theme, but figured it would just get gross.

You're Dying to Know Right?

Because I know you're all dying to know what's been happening with my uterus, I decided it was time to share an update.

I finally did get my Hysterosonogram. If you missed me bitching about it earlier, getting the appointment for this test was like trying to win a lottery. In fact during the five months it took me to book the test I won $108 on the lottery.

When I arrived for the test, the ultrasound department had just moved into their new home so I was shown into a lovely large room instead of a curtained cubicle. The technician pointed out that the bed had a depression in the middle - like I didn't notice and know exactly what that was for. What she forgot to do was let me know that it wasn't a good idea to use that part of the bed as an access point. My knee discovered that it's all hard metal under that sag in the fitted sheet.

Once I was suitably laid out - it was time for my audience. It's a good thing the room was large because this event was attended by the Ultrasound Technician, an ultrasound trainee of some kind, the radiologist and my gynecologist. That's more people than I would invite to a dinner party, never mind a viewing of my privates.

Nothing was really set up for the procedure, because it was a new room. Turns out the lighting that is best for ultrasounds is not necessarily best for seeing up inside of a vagina. Since the gynecologist didn't bring a head lamp with her, there was some scrambling to find a lamp of some kind. In her rush to get one in place, the radiologist nearly took off the gynecologists head with the lamp.

Finally everyone got themselves settled for the show, my uterus playing the lead of course.

If you were wondering, having a catheter threaded up your cervix so your uterus can be filled with saline is not a pleasant experience. On a scale of 1 to 10, with Mirena installation being an eight, the procedure ranks a 10 for pain discomfort. Childbirth isn't on this scale because at least they offer you drugs for that.

The technician, the gynecologist and the radiologist started muttering amongst themselves. Since it was my uterus they were discussing, I assumed it was acceptable to barge in on the conversation.

Me: So there are no polyps?

Gynecologist: No polyps.

Me: So it's a completely normal looking uterus?

Gynecologist: It is.

Me: So what's with all the bleeding?

Gynecologist: Sometimes that's just what happens. We'll discuss treatment options at your next appointment. You may experience some spotting over the next couple of days.

I was pissed. Not at the gynecologist, at least she tried to find a reason for the issues I was having as opposed to my last gyno who just slapped a Mirena in there and called it good enough. I was pissed that I waited five months for that test and it showed nothing at all.

If you wait five months to see what the inside of your uterus looks like, shouldn't there at least be some vague swirls that look like the face of Jesus or something? Even a smiley face or a hand flipping you the bird. Anything would have been better than nothing.

Shitastic Saturday

In a sleep fog this morning I dismissed my six am alarm and almost snoozed the seven. I woke up knowing the roads would be shitty and snow would have to be cleared from the car. I was already pissy just having to work, adding blowing snow to the mix did not make me feel any better.

I walked out of the bedroom to be greeted by the sight of adult sized boys sprawled all over my living room. They were also on the sofa where my clean clothes normally live. Which meant scrambling twice as hard for two socks that match.

I'm wearing two socks, I haven't checked to see if they actually match. 

I couldn't find my belt. Or at least I couldn't find the one that fits, the two that are too short were exactly where they belong. Possibly the one I needed was hiding under one of the sprawlers, but either way it made for a day of continuously pulling up my pants.

I like my pants comfy, nothing wrong with that. 

After giving up on the belt, I went to brush my hair and teeth. Which is when I discovered there was no hot water. Which there should have been since nobody else was up to use it. With no time to pull out the freezer and get at the tank that problem got filed under later. 

Then I went to fill my thermos and to-go cup, except no thermos. I forgot it at work last night.

Someday I'll miss this.

Life has changed since Asshat #1 moved into his own place. Mornings I can actually get in my bathroom for more than 5 minutes. I still only take about five minutes but it's kind of nice that I can have those minutes when I need them. It's better than wasting twenty minutes sitting with my legs crossed not daring to move in case shit happens.

When I come home from work I don't have two loads of laundry to wash. No more of those unlucky nights where I might even have three or four. Now I only do laundry when I run out of pants and we never run out of clean towels anymore.

I really need to buy more pants.

I've discovered that the bathroom vanity is gray. When #1 still lived at home I forgot what it looked like. I don't have toothpaste gobs in the sink and there are no puddles of water laying around on the floor or the counter. Not everything changes though. The Q-tip drawer is still always open. Asshat #2 must clean his ears a lot.

The other thing that changed once #1 moved out? All of a sudden my house became the preferred hangout destination for all of #2's friends. I have adult sized people coming and going all evening, every evening. Sometimes they just all sit in the same room looking at their phones. Other times I can't get out of my driveway for the vehicles that would have to be moved first.

Someday I'll miss this, just not today.

Sunday company - it's nice but tiring.

Like most Sunday's I woke up this morning read a bit, drank a bit of coffee and ate some Pringles.  I made a half hearted stab at the laundry and housework and all of a sudden it was afternoon and I was still in my PJ's.

Then Asshat #1 dropped in with Jackson. We talked for a while and I offered to make dinner for him.

Then I went and got dressed because he's company now and I figured the least I could do was put on a bra. He went off to his former bedroom to spend some time with it's current occupant - #2. I cooked dinner and then got an email from my mom.

"We're coming for a visit"

Then friends of #2 started dropping in which is how I wound up with a house full of adults and adult sized people and two dogs.

I'm fucking exhausted now.

Women understand women and they hate each other.

Yesterday we were finished packing early because we've finally hit our slow time. Being a lazy ass, I try to never pass up an opportunity to nap. So rather than come home and take my Christmas tree down I flopped on my bed started reading and nodded off exactly as I intended.

At five minutes after five my work phone rang and woke me up. In my sleep fuddle I missed the call but I knew who it was.There's this one lady in the office who has no concept of breaks. Or lunches. I've gotten so tired of her calling me when I'm sitting in my car on break or at home trying to wolf down my fried egg sandwich that I've stopped bringing the phone with me. I'm not at my desk, I can't answer her question and it's not as if it's ever something that couldn't wait 15 fucking minutes.

So she left a voice mail to let me know that she would send me an email. And because she wanted everyone in the world to know that she was still working at 5 minutes past five trying to figure out a mistake I had made, she also cc'd my boss.

Yet she mistakenly thinks it would be an awesome good time for us to get together over a bottle of wine.

 ***

I much prefer the company over at Yeah Write's Moonshine Grid, so grab a bottle of wine or a cup of tea and join us for some great reads. 

So that's where all my panties went.

I have not done a scrap of house work since New Year's Day. I had taken time off work and I swear I spent all of it laying in my bed reading. And then Monday came and went along with Tuesday and Wednesday. I went back to work at my paying job, but never resumed my non-paying work.

With Asshat #1 living on his own elsewhere the house remains somewhat tidy, or at least better than it was and laundry has lost it's urgency. So while the bathroom looks remarkably tidy, it doesn't change the fact that the toilet hasn't been scrubbed in a while. Clearly it was time to get off my ass (belly actually - it's my preferred reading pose) and do something. Maybe even take down the Christmas Tree.

I started with folding the blankets that were on the couch from #2's friends spending the night on Sunday. Yes I do know that was four days ago but in my defense there wasn't a damn thing on TV worth watching so why would I clear the sofa? Then I removed my folded laundry from the coffee table and discovered that my clean panties weren't all jammed in the bottom of the laundry basket where I thought they were.

Me: You crammed all of my panties in the nut bowl?

Asshat #2: Well I had to put them somewhere.

Clearly it's time to take the Nike slogan to heart and just do it.

A near miss and my uterus hates me.

It was bound to happen sooner or later. After close to a year, I almost had to look The Polish Guy in the eye. Not that I have any problem looking him in the eye since I have nothing to be ashamed of. He, on the other hand does. Appropriately he dropped his head and pretended not to see me.

Which is exactly how I want it.

My uterus hates me.

Yesterday was supposed to be my big day. The planets had all lined up and I was finally going to get my hysterosonogram. Then my period started on Monday and since the two are mutually exclusive I had to reschedule it to the 21st.

But the receptionist at my gynocologists office likes me and let me keep my follow up appointment booked for the 27th. Which means I will still find out whether Aunt Flo's granny suite needs demo or a remodel by the end of January.

Take that Aunt Flo - nah nah nanah nah!

Snooze alarm math, because getting up is hard to do.

I'm incapable of properly setting a real alarm clock every time the power flickers, so I use my phone. Whenever I need an alarm at a different time, I make a new one. I'm up to four now and they are all set to go off every day except Sunday. I would rather have my sleep disturbed repeatedly than risk oversleeping.

I don't know what I was thinking when I chose an alarm that sounds like sunshine shining, unicorns farting glitter and birds singing for the one that goes off at 5:30 am. In reality it's dark, the effing wind is howling and there is no glitter. This morning I hit the snooze twice and by the third time had convinced myself that I didn't really need to go in an hour early to catch up from being off work for a few days. Half an hour would be plenty so I dismissed the singing birds and the glitter farts.

When the second alarm with it's more traditional annoying beep beep went off, I started doing my snooze alarm math.

My Brain: I need to leave at x time and it will take me y to get ready which =a+2b+c. I can hit the snooze one more time because I know where there is a matching pair of socks.

After it went off the third time I considered the howling wind, snow, and Arctic temperatures. Instead of hitting the snooze another couple or three times, I got up and made the coffee and did some more math.

My Brain: The roads are snowy so I need to an extra 10 minutes travel time but I've got plenty of time to sit and have another cup of coffee.

I toast the first bagel in between brushing my teeth, when it's done I pop the second one in and run out and start the car - OMG it's cold! One minute to throw my hair in a pony, 30 seconds to reapply my deodorant because I forgot that I had already put it on. Another 3 minutes to gather up my work phone and my personal phone, cream cheese my bagels and put everything in my backpack.

Then I went out to the car where the ice and snow had melted not at all. I brushed and scraped and then brushed some more.

My Brain: I wonder who thought an aluminum handle on an ice scraper that you use in the cold was a good idea.

My Brain: An idiot that's who because my hands are freezing.

I got in the car and tried to back out of my driveway. Cursed, got out of my car and shoveled the snow drift away from the wheels. Got back in the car and after some rocking back and forth I was on my way. I arrived at work five minutes earlier than my usual time.

It's a damn good thing I was trying to get to work early or I would have been late.

Leaky faucets, coffemakers and what do you mean I can't put it in the dishwasher?

I've got a leaky bathtub faucet. It started out as a drip, but now it's a trickle and I really am starting to worry the cat will drown himself drinking from the faucet.

I know what the problem is, and I even know how to fix it. Finding the part is the problem. The faucet is a Danze. I used to have a Moen, but I got tired of changing the cartridge every 9 months or so. The Danze is almost 5 years old so I'm satisfied with how long it lasted. What isn't making me happy is trying to find the part. I've been to two Canadian Tire stores and the Home Hardware with no luck. My next step is to call the 1-800 number.

But I did find a new coffee maker.

I've never liked my old coffee maker. It was too round, and a round peg in a square hole is just sloppy looking. It took forever to brew a pot of coffee and the sneak-a-cup feature was broken. My habit of pulling out the pot as I was cramming my cup under the drip to get that first swig of coffee had the whole thing looking gross. I was almost ready to stick it in the dishwasher.

Yes, I have done that before.
 

My only complaint? I'm a lefty - you knew I wasn't all right didn't you? The lid to fill it opens like a book, only not all the way. But it's squarish and it's pretty and clean.

Because he's an even bigger coffee addict than I am, Asshat #2 had to brew a pot of coffee right away. Wanting to rib him a bit about living dangerously, I was reading the cleaning instructions since I'm pretty sure you're supposed to run water through once or twice before you actually make coffee in it.

Apparently, you aren't supposed to put your entire coffee maker in the dishwasher. Who knew?

PS I wonder what the cleaning instructions for the toaster are?

A Smorgasboard of Weirdness

Seriously I can't decide which one to read first.

Realizing I'm Better than Okay

I woke up this morning and realized something.

Right after I realized that if your dog gorged himself on stolen cat food the night before it's best to get up and let him out when he asks instead of yelling at him to go lay down.

I'm sorry Louie - I know that little accident left you feeling mortified. I could tell by the way you tip-toed around the evidence when I finally pried my lazy ass out of bed, but Mommy really wanted to sleep a little more.

I realized that going into 2014 as a single woman doesn't bother me at all. In fact it's kind of liberating. I can read whenever I want to. I don't have to be sociable when I don't feel like it. I can blog and write whenever I please. If I want to sit on twitter all night I can.

With Asshat#1 moved into his own place, I don't have two, or even three loads of laundry every night. Asshat#2 will actually tidy up after himself and his mother, so I don't have to come home to a house that looks so much worse than it did when I left in the morning.  Sometimes it even looks so much better than it did when I left.

If I feel like serving frozen pizza for dinner, I can do that. If I'm not hungry and I don't feel like cooking I don't have to. (As long as I've got a freezer full of loaded-with-white-bread-carbs-and-sodium prepackaged food that #2 loves).

I no longer spend my weekends sitting in The Polish Guy's garage drinking too much and trying to make conversation with a man who has no conversation to speak of. I don't have to listen to him moan about how broke he is even though he makes twice as much as me. I don't have to listen to him bitch about his ex-wife being a terrible mother when in fact she did a damn fine job of raising his children.

I no longer have to hear someone belittle my passion for writing and blogging by referring to my blog as "my bloopers". I've stopped feeling as if I can never be enough and hangovers are no longer just a regular weekend morning for me.

So instead of feeling as if I'm starting another year alone, I feel as if I'm starting the year unencumbered. I'm no longer carrying the weight of trying to hang on to something that isn't worth hanging on to.

It feels pretty damn good.

***

Linking up with The Weekend Moonshine Grid at Yeah Write - because the people at Yeah Write make me feel good too. 

Frito blocked - it's worse than getting cock blocked.

I've had issues with inanimate objects since I was old enough to run the vacuum (grudgingly I'm sure my mother would say). Trying to get that stupid effing retractable cord to retract was always a bitch. I would give it that little tug that was supposed to make the vacuum cleaner suck the cord back up into it's bowels. Inevitably there would be two inches of cord still sticking out of the vacuum's butt, so I would give it another little tug and then have four inches and so it would go until the entire cord was once again pulled out. Pissed off, probably red faced with frustration I would give it one more tug and have the cord retract so violently the plug would try to cut me off at the ankles.

The end of 2013 ran true to form.

First I got Frito blocked. It's kind of like getting cock blocked - only worse. For the longest time plain Frito's have only been available in the full sized bag. For some reason Frito Lay had decreed that the single serving sized bag of Frito's would only be available in barbecue flavor. So I had to resort to buying full sized bags whenever I wanted that greasy fat and salt laden treat. With zero will power of course I ate all the Frito's. Then suddenly the vending machine at work had single serve bags of Frito's. I still ate all the Frito's but only one serving (per day at least). Then came the day I was craving greasy salty goodness and went to the vending machine to find this.

In behind that bag of Hickory Sticks - which are NOT Frito's - is an entire row of single serve bags of Frito's. Plain Frito's in all their salty greasy non-barbecue flavor. That bag of Hickory Sticks mocked me for two fucking weeks and would still be mocking me if the guy who restocks the vending machine hadn't rearranged things.

Then I bought a car. Getting rid of my old car should have put an end to the vehicular mockery. With it went the cracked windshield, the worn out wheel bearings and the bad back brakes.

I was in love and I thought it was mutual, until the first snow arrived. Which is when I discovered that my car is the biggest pussy in the snow ever. It has traction control that seems to help not at all. I do know it pisses me off to see that blinking low traction warning as the front end of my car is trying to hump the curb.

Even worse was my first trip to the grocery store after the snow. The trunk was frozen completely shut, so I had to put my groceries in the back seat while all that lovely "you can fit a dead body in here" trunk space remained empty. With no garage it took a couple of days to thaw out and the car mocked me the entire time.

Don't even get me started on my new DVD player that I can't use until I get a new TV.

Want to be a stripper? Don't worry! Canada's government is looking out for you.

 

When I see a headline that says From strippers to light bulbs: 2014 brings a range of new rules of course I've got to click on that.

That's right - no more foreign stippers.

Effective Dec 31st, 2013 the Canadian government won't approve LMO applications from employers looking to hire temporary foreign workers in the sex trade industry. Employers will have to look to Canadians to fill those jobs.


I'm glad the government is protecting the dreams of little girls everywhere. Can you even imagine how it would be to have a daughter and have to squash her longstanding ambition of twirling around a pole wearing nothing but a smile and a couple of pieces of string because - I'm sorry honey, you've got to be from another country to get one of those jobs.

I'm grateful that my government is protecting my access to those rewarding exotic dancer and massage parlor jobs. I would really hate to have to work in some menial high paying job because my local stripper joint was hiring strippers from overseas. 

Now when those dirty lying politicians brag about the jobs they've created, they can include women who are being exploited by the sex trade along with the minimum wage call centre jobs they're always so proud of.