On day 5 of March, I turned to the recycle/reuse cabinet of my kitchen. And what did I find there? Plastics. Plenty of plain, plastic repositories for putting away paltry paraphernalia. Plastics.
Side note, the tall container was the jug I mixed the nasty liquid laxative in preparation for a colonoscopy I had several years ago. What kind of person saves her colonoscopy prep bottle? Don’t answer that.
Normally I’m a Pollyanna sort, but the events of this past week have me feeling more like Maleficent. Let me count the ways:
My car window was smashed in while I was swimming at a local park.
My favorite handbag, the one I bargained for entirely in Spanish on my visit to a mercado in La Antigua de Guatemala, was stolen.
My credit cards were used in questionable locations. At least the thieves are interesting.
My passport is gone, along with my driver’s license, insurance, and prescription cards, etc.
I’ve made more phone calls in the past four days to take care of this stuff than I’ve had to make in the last four years. I could have built and furnished a three story treehouse in the time I’ve spent on hold.
I had day surgery which, while not related to the robbery, sure didn’t make me feel like a princess.
I have enough intestinal gas to power a small fleet of cars.
My completed “buy ten massages, get one free” card was in my stolen handbag. This might piss me off more than all the other losses combined. I NEED that massage.
I just dropped a 32 oz. diet Dr. Pepper in the driver’s side floor of Studly Doright’s pickup truck. He’s already angry at me for the loss of my purse, so I need to go and clean up my mess.
I know Pollyanna is still in here somewhere, but I might need to exorcise the villain first.
I was shocked and a little disappointed that no one attended my colonoscopy party this morning. Studly Doright reminded me that I didn’t actually put a date, time, or location on my invitation, though, so I suppose I only have myself to blame.
With no one but Studly by my side I checked into a local surgical center at the crack of dawn for the procedure that was scheduled to begin at 5:45 a.m. Apparently half of the 55 and older population of Tallahassee and surrounding counties were having procedures at the same time and place, for the waiting area filled quickly.
Studly made me refrain from asking if they were there to celebrate with me. Sometimes he can be such a fuddy duddy.
My name was called right on time and along with Studly I was escorted to a tiny curtained cubicle. Apparently privacy isn’t a concern in this center for we could hear every word of conversation from both sides, including the woman who kept asking loudly if she could use, and I quote, “the shitter.”
That’s why, when the nurse asked me if Studly was my husband, I answered in an exaggerated whisper, “Oh, he’s not my husband. He’s my lover.”
Instantly there was silence all around us. The nurse took down the rest of my information warily. I behaved, though, knowing that soon she’d be inserting a needle for my I.V.
My veins are incredibly small. Normally I remember to caution nurses that baby-sized needles work best on me. Unfortunately after two nights of little sleep and paltry nourishment I forgot to mention that little tidbit that might’ve saved me ten minutes of agony as she poked and prodded my right arm in search of a vein.
Finally a savior in the form of Nurse “K” floated in, declared I needed a smaller needle and quickly had me ready to roll. They wheeled me into a surgical suite where I listened to the nurses gossip as they awaited the doctor’s arrival.
Part of me wanted to tell them I found their babble terribly unprofessional while another part of me knew they’d soon be controlling and monitoring my vital functions. I kept my mouth shut.
Once the doctor came in drugs were administered and I was out. I vaguely remember some pressure and movement, but other than that I knew nothing until around noon, even though Studly took me to eat around 8:30 a.m. because I’d told him I was ravenous. Apparently I had French toast and bacon. I sure hope it was good.
I’ve slept on and off throughout the day. My stomach is tender, and I don’t know how to phrase this delicately, but I’ve farted like a constipated rhinoceros all afternoon.
Apparently the doctor removed a small polyp to be sent away for analysis. He even sent me home with a photo of it. Should I frame it? Display it with the photos of the grandkids? I’d have bid polyp adieu if I’d been conscious. It had better behave itself out in the lab.
I’m tired now, having been awake for more than ten consecutive minutes. Please don’t feel guilty about missing the shindig. Chances are I wouldn’t have known you were here.
We humans celebrate the milestones in our lives and in the lives of those closest to us: first steps, birthdays, first dates, etc. As we age those milestones become ever so much more important to honor.
Since I live far away from most of my family and friends I consider my blog followers to fall under this umbrella of camaraderie.
Therefore, I invite you all to celebrate an upcoming milestone with me:
To get this party started there’ll be plenty of clear liquids and balloons, Popsicles and party hats. I’ve booked a four-piece heavy metal band, The Raging Duodenum to play well into the night. They aren’t all that great, but they’ll play loudly enough to cover the sounds emanating from my intestines.
We’ll play games, too, like “Spin the Bottle of Magnesium Citrate” and “Pin the Tail.”
Once the festivities are over I’ll send my guests home with a complimentary tube of Preparation H and the softest baby wipes on the market. It’s going to be the social event of the season.
Prepping has begun! Let the festivities commence! R.S.V.P. ASAP. It’ll be a blast.
As children we mark our years through milestones: Losing a tooth, growing an inch, learning to ride a bike, getting a driver’s license.
Adults, especially older ones, measure ours in appointments: Colonoscopy, mammogram, dental, vision, etc.
Mine all seem to pop up at the same time of year. It’s as if I’ve designated spring as appointment time. March is chock full of fun.
However, I also have some great things on the calendar in March and April! Two of my good friends from Illinois are coming to stay with me over their spring break. I was afraid to jinx it by writing about their visit, but now their plans are made, and I am so excited to show them a side of Florida that I hope they’ll love. And close on the heels of that visit is my trip to Antigua, Guatemala.
So maybe the milestones aren’t quite as fun now that I’m decidedly over the hill. The pleasures, though, are outstanding. Look ma! No hands!