It's sad that boosies and cancer are all I talk about here on the blog nowadays

Ok.  It's been ages and a decade since I last updated.  Or, a month.  I've been working like a crazy person both at my Mall Job and here at Chez Murphy, where dirty underwears never go away and sewing projects heap up begging for attention.  So sadly, you readery peeps don't get to know what's going on with me.  I know you're crying.

So what's happening, you ask?  Surgery tomorrow morning!  This surgery is called an exchange surgery where I'm swapping out my coconutty expanders for perky and plush silicone implants.  Also, is it weird to anyone else that I just oh, so casually talk about boosies like it's the weather?  Hmm.   Anyhow, I'm told by my nurse that I'll feel heaps better after this surgery and be much more comfortable.  What I was most excited about was buying a normal bra straight off the rack.  I'm practically normal.

Even more normal, my hairs are growing back.  It looks like my head is covered in black duck fuzz.  Also, I had to shave my legs and pits again for the first time in eons.  Sadly, I know that the novelty will wear off this current excitement and I'll again join the ranks of the complaining female masses in regards to shaving woes.  And the metrosexual peeps, too.

So, physically, I'm doing well.  I'm healing up from all the chemo biz, my poison has waned, I feel like myself again.

Intellectually, I feel like the chemo brain blanket that covered my brain synaptic powers is now gone, so I can think again and don't stand there drooling whilst staring off into oblivion.

Emotionally, well, I had a rough few weeks where I finally let all of my circumstances cascade down and I really felt them.  It sucked.  But, I am so grateful to the peeps around me who just sat there and let me go on and on about how lame and lousy things were and just nodded sagely when I said I was in a foul mood.  One friend even was like, "Well it's about time".  And I was like, huh, you're right.  I think I kept a smile on my face just so I could survive all these crazy last few months without going bonkers.  Anyways, now I feel fine.

Spiritually, me and Jesus are BFFs.  So.  All is good there.

And that's it, folks.  Since June, I've been sliced open and drugged and poked and prodded and bandaged and poisoned and encouraged and lectured and scared and hugged and loved on and dealt with this crazy thing called cancer.  It's been a hard but fast ride.  It's been scary.  It's been life changing.  I have scars that will never fade.  Some veins are shot for good.  But, I'm here.  I'm typing this cheesy post with working limbs and a brain and pizza in my belly.  My kids came out of this ok, with helpful teachers and family members who talked to them when they needed it.  My Hubs has coworkers and friends who have checked in with him and let him know we're being thought about.

We made it.

Did I do what I said I would do in June?  Did I "kick cancer's ass"?  Well, maybe for now.  Cancer is a bully, who might come back to push me around again.  My prayer is that all those pink ribbons out there and all those giving folks and all those brilliant scientists and all those cancer foundations find the answer and cure for this scary disease.

I pray that more women kick this straight in the derriere.  That more women will do self breast exams and screenings.  That more women will take the reins in regards to their own health and not wait for something bad to happen.  That more women will be proactive and learn what they can about how to prevent this from happening to them.  And, I pray that once women find themselves a victim of this horrid disease, for a good medical team, for strong supporting community to surround them, for financial blessings to pour in.  For strong families to bind themselves to these women, to hug when they need a hug, to listen when they need to listen, to do when they need to do.

Because, that's what I had this year, and I seriously do not know what I would have done if I hadn't have had that.

I am truly grateful.  I am humbled.  I am amazed.

So.  Tomorrow.  New boosies.  Growing hair.  Leftover birthday cake.

It'll be a good day.

Keyboard Confessions: The Post Chemo I Have My Life Back Edition

I like lists.  So there.

1.  Chemo is finally over.  That tremor you felt was me jumping for joy.

2.  Although, that fact that it's over didn't hit me until today.  Let's throw a party.

3.  My hairs are growing back.  Just a wee bit.  Just enough that when I walk really fast, they kind of blow around.  I feel like I have a Chia Head.

4.  I shall soon be getting rid of these blasted expanders.  I shall not cry when they leave my body.  Nosirree.

5.  For three weeks, my right eye watered constantly.  It was a chemo side effect.  So I rubbed my eye to remove said water.  This means, for three weeks I had no make up on my right eye.

6.  I practically reek of class and sex appeal.

7.  You know the one benefit to chemo?  Besides adding years to my life, of course.  I only had to shave my legs once a month.  I know.  Feel free to be jealous.

8.  I met Kiersten White, author of Paranormalcy last weekend.  She signed on my copy of her book  "You're bleeping awesome", which I'm pretty sure she signed on everyone's copy.  But still.  I felt pretty bleeping awesome.

9.  I have to drive some friends to the airport in a few minutes.  It's very late at night.   And I am var var tired.  Therefore, I shall sing R&B songs var var loudly to stay awake.  I'm feeling the TLC "No Scrubs" vibe tonight.

10.  NaNoWriMo is coming up.  Remember that little novel thingy I'm working on?  Well.  What if I told you I was going to work on it some more.  Would you believe me?  Yeah.  I wouldn't believe me either.  You know me so well, reader.

11.  I've made Christmas presents for almost everyone already.  Keep feeling jealous, people.

12.  I think I need a tattoo.

13.  I discovered this week that the lady at the Chick Fil A drive thru window knows who I am now.  I was like, 70%/30% proud/embarrassed.  Apparently, I eat out a bit too much.

14.  A friend of mine emailed me saying she was going to sing at a fundraiser concert for the Susan G. Komen foundation and wanted to know what songs inspired me whilst I dealt with this cancer biz.  I was like "Paper Planes by MIA?  Pumped Up Kicks by Foster the People?"  Ok, so I admit my musical tastes are lacking in the inspirational department.

15.  I had a milkshake about an hour ago.  Which means in about an hour I am going to be hating life.  Why do I make these choices, I ask you?


I shall go drink some Diet Coke now, lest I fall asleep driving.

Nighty night, my fine readers.

Welp, it's time for another update from yours truly.

You know, let me aside for a moment before I jump into this long overdue post.  "Yours truly".  Just what exactly does that mean?  What if I'm not being true?  "Yours white lyingly"  "Yours just kidding"  "Yours had you going there".

Also, I talk like I'm cranky because I am cranky.  Just call me Cranky McCrankerson.  It's because I've not had a Twizzler in (carries the two, divides by soup cans, multiplies by no cable television) A WHOLE MONTH.

Also, I'm so over all this dumb chemo biz.

So, it's with joy that I announce my last chemo will be this next Tuesday.  Although, it's hard to look forward to Tuesday knowing how lousy I shall feel once Tuesday comes.

I'm over it all.

I'm over heating pad burns on my arms that take weeks to heal.

I'm over having no hair.

I'm over two week long periods because my girly organs are freaking out.

I'm over runny noses, and mouth sores, and feeling like my stomach hates my guts (get it?  hates my guts?).

Let me take a quick break so I can change my lousy attitude.

brb

Ok.  Just took some happy pills.  Aka, Chewy Chips Ahoy Cookies.  Little discs of chocolately pleasure.  I was going to save them for my husband, but, clearly I needed them more than he did.

Where were we?  Oh yes, all that poison and vitriol spewing from my fingertips.

Tell you what.  Why don't I highlight the good?  Yes?  Ok.

1.  I'm back at work.  This is nice.  My employers work with my crazy, bizarre, erratic chemo schedule.  They're way supportive and encouraging.  And I get paid.  So.  It's awesome.

2.  I had my last expander fill.  I no longer have problems sleeping on my stomach.  It's a wee bit weird when I bend over and the liquid sloshes around, but, whatever.  This is temporary.

3.  I'll have my "exchange" surgery sometime in November.  Switching the expanders for silicone implants.

4.  Pinterest.  The most addictive website ever.  Are you on it?  Are you a Pinterest Addict?

5.  Glee is back on.

6.  I'm sewing again.  Sewing stuff That's Sew Rad.  <--- my future etsy.com shop name is hidden in that sentence.  Betcha can't figure out what it is.  Also, I bet someone steals my uber cool shop name.  Alas.

7.  I'm in love with this song:



Such a nice message this song has.  Seriously.  Yet I lurrrrrve it.

8.  NaNoWriMo is just a couple of months away.  My wee novel is demanding attention.  Remember the excerpt I posted?  Well, I got lots mores to writes, yo.  <--- an excellent example of grammar and elocution.  Is it any wonder I tries to be a writer, yo?

9.  I still have eyebrows.  *High fives*

10.  I've been organizing Chez Murphy.  *Low fives*  Also, ask me how The Hubs feels about me organizing Chez Murphy?  Soon I shall highlight all my mad skillz of organization.  Also, I stole some ideas from Pinterest.  That's the way I roll.

Peace out, people of the innernets.

On losing my hair

So the day appeared.  The day I knew was coming.  The day I'd lose my hair.

It was a Tuesday.  Just a normal Tuesday.  I ran my fingers through my hair and a wad of strands lay in my hand.

It was about durn time. 

Seriously.  From the moment I was unhooked from the chemo needle I've been waiting for this.  I was beginning to think I was an anomaly, that maybe my hair would just stick there.  Because, word, I have got some thick hair.

No really.  I make hairdressers earn their money.  Every single one of them tells me how thick my hair is.

However, thick hair does not mean good hair.

No, it doesn't.

So yesterday morning, whilst showering, I happened to look down at the floor of the tub and saw copious amounts of blackish strands circling the drain.  That's when I knew.  It was time.  Time to shave it off.

I've had some time to think about it.  I admit, I was pretty emotional sitting in the oncologist's office, discussing the effects of chemo and hair loss being the most prominent.  I cried.  I won't lie.  It turns out I am very vain.  And whilst I complain about my ever chronic bad hair days, I had hair.  Hair is normal.  Bad hair is normal.

But then, my Hubs reminded me that I get the very rare opportunity to see myself bald.  I mean, who didn't wonder what they looked like sans hair when Sinead O'Connor came on the scene?  So, in that regard, I'm pretty lucky.  I also know what I look like sans nipples.

But that's another story.

So, here it is, Thursday night, and I'm perched on a chair in the middle of my bathroom, a towel draped around my shoulders to prevent hairs from attaching themselves to me.  Yeah, that really didn't work, but whatever.

My Hubs is sniffling and holding his electric shaver.  My oldest daughter, Emma, perched on the side of the tub to take pictures of me with her Daddy's iPrecious.  (Really, I think she just was there to play on the iPhone, but whatever.  She said supportive and nice things.)  My youngest daughter, Addie, fled the room.  I think watching me being scalped was upsetting to her.  I can't say I blame her.

We got the before picture, good advice from others who went through this process.  Lance discovered soon that my uber thick hair was a true match for his electric razor so he grabbed my good craft scissors and went to work.  Snip snip snip.  Many snips later, he went back to the razor.  Buzz buzz buzz.  Dang, I have a lot of hair, y'all.

Pretty soon, it was done.  There's still stubble up there, in fact, there's quite a bit of it left.  But if I run my hand along my scalp, little stubbles come away with it, so I'm pretty sure in a few weeks, I'll resemble a cue ball.  I think that'll be way better than the rough side of Velcro feel I've got going on right now.

I didn't cry.  I think it's because I did it on *my* terms.  I didn't wait for chemo to snatch my hair out from under me.

This feels empowering.  I can handle it.

And because I know that all of you will wonder what I look like, I'm going to be an awesome friend to you and share with you what I look like now.

 I've even got a wand.

Chemo. The gift that keeps on giving.

So, since so many of you were clamoring for an update on Kearsie Healthwatch 2011, I thought I'd jot down a quick bloggyblog.  Ok, so there was only really one of you clamoring, but I aim to please.  So.

Chemo has begun.  I'm having my "good" week.  Which basically means that this week, all my side effects go away and I feel normal for just long enough to forget how lousy chemo is before I have to start the vicious cycle all over again.  I know.  It's kind of like menstruation.

Chemo is absolutely, 100% no fun.  I've only had one cycle thus far.  My next will be the 23rd.

Here's a quick rundown on what I went through whilst doing chemo:

*I am strapped up to the IV.  Two different nurses have to tackle this because apparently I have super strong veins that don't like to be pierced and as a result of their poking, I still have a bruise.  But that's ok because the other option is to get a port.  Poke away, nurses.  Bruises fade.

*I don't have allergic reaction to the two different chemo drugs selected for my torture:  Taxotere and Cytoxan.  But they go super slow at first, watching to see if I turn bright red or quit breathing.  This means that I sat with an IV for four hours.  No, I'm really not exaggerating.  I am glad I brought a book.

*My mouth tastes funny.  I try chewing gum and sucking on Jolly Ranchers but no dice.  Yep, this is my first side effect- my taste buds rebel against me.  This I will have to endure for 1 and 1/2 weeks.

*I am super tired.  Enter second side effect- extreme fatigue.  I go home and sleep the rest of the day.  And then half of the next day.  I will feel tired for many days.

*Nausea.  Because my name is Kearsie and this is how I roll.  Lots of nausea.  No vomiting, but many days of popping any and all nausea meds given to me in hopes that the stomach roiling goes away.  I will endure this for a week.  But I expected this, so I am not surprised.

*FIERCE HEADACHE.  It feels like ice picks are being driven through my temples.  No pain reliever completely takes it away, but thankfully, the headache fades around day 5 following chemo.  I am tough, I can take this, oh man thiskillswhereisthetylenol.....

*Hunger despite no taste.  Because of the steroids, I am starving.  I am nauseas, and have no taste buds, but I want to eat everything in sight.  Because of this, I gain 5 pounds.  I was told this could happen.  So therefore, I let myself eat ice cream straight from the carton.  The streroids are to keep me from getting a nasty rash on my arms and face.

*I break out all over my face.  It's not the rash.  It's just the regular hormones coursing through my body doing their monthly thing, only I seem to be super sensitive and respond by getting fierce acne.  Nice.  I feel 15 again.

*Joint pain, specifically in my lower back and pelvis.  This is because the day after chemo, I get a shot to boost my white blood cell count and it manifests the pain where the most bone marrow is.  I no longer feel 15, instead I feel 85.

And then, by around day 6, I feel better.  Not great, but better.  Soon, the nausea and headache and joint pain become a faded memory, and I do things like put on make up again, and clean my bathroom.  I even begin to cook again.  My face no longer holds my "I feel sick to my stomach" expression and I start walking upright again, not clutching my lower back whilst hobbling around the house.

I feel normal again.

Normal is very nice.

I'm very pleased that my phase of normal fell in the month coinciding with my two girls returning to school.  Today was their first day.  I still have my hair.  I did not stand out amongst the eighty bazillion other mothers there at school today dropping off their kids, meeting their teachers.  I feel very proud of my ability to blend in.

I will lose my hair this week.  It takes somewhere between 10-21 days to lose your hair following chemo.  And both of the medicines I have to take have hair loss as a side effect.  So I bought a hat.  No wig, because I've yet to find a place that my insurance pays for.  But it's hot outside, so maybe I won't want a wig anyway.

I also had a big talk with my girls, explaining to them that some kids might ask them questions why I am bald, or even make fun of me.  I tried to help them know what to think and say.  Here's hoping that was just a precautionary measure that won't be needed.

I was also very pleased that Emma's teacher is a two year cancer survivor, that she understands what our family is going through and will be a source of help for Emma, should she need it.

Survivors?  Are everywhere.  This is pretty cool.

So there you have it.  I'll be doing this chemo biz until mid October and then I'm done.  My IV bruises will fade.  My hair and nails will go back to growing normally.  I'll drink copious amounts of water to flush my kidneys.  I'll be ok.

It's so hot outside, it might be good to lose my hair.

At least it's not the middle of winter, yo.

So.  Chemo starts tomorrow.  I'll have four treatments.  Staggered by three weeks.  So, this sister is going to party down come mid-October.  Like, buy myself a whole bag of caramels and stash them in my underwear drawer so my kids can't have them.  Is that selfish?  Also, I did that last year so it really doesn't matter if it's selfish.  Also, the caramels will be a nice break from all the Twizzlers I've been downing.  Cannot.get.enough.Twizzlers.

My treatments are crazy long.  Like, over two hours long.  So this sister went to the library today and stocked up on young adult literature/romanctic drivels/sci-fi filled books.  Also, when I call myself "sister" I feel nunish.  Nunnish?  Nunlike?  One of those.  But like, the Whoopie Goldburg kind of nun.  As opposed to the "Climb Every Mountain" kind of nun.  Also, I hope I've not offended any nuns.

I got a phone call from an oncology nurse giving me the run down on all that will happen whilst I am on the chemo needle.  Basically?  It's this:

My body will rebel against me and everything that functions normally will not function henceforth normally and my eyesight might get fuzzy and my hearing might go dim and my joints might hurt and there might be fevers and insomnia and nausea out the wahoo and cats and dogs might marry each other and maybe California will, indeed, drop into the Pacific Ocean and maybe the Breaking Dawn movie will be as steamy as the previews go and anyways, I need to drink a lot of water to prevent urinary tract infections.

I know.  I'm so glad she called or else I wouldn't've known what to do when my body fell apart.

Meanwhile, I am applying for small loans to buy school supplies for my kids.  For real, people, as much as I love and adore buying school supplies, I'm pretty sure those kids are eating all those glue sticks for snacks and that's why I have to buy so many.  Also, I recycled that joke.  For all the new people who have just now happened upon me.  All two of you.

The squirrel keeps coming back to mock me.  So I stopped watering my plants just to spite him.  Actually, I stopped watering my plants because it was clear that:

a) these plants are never going to produce anything edible, except to the aphids
b) the squirrel will just eat everything out there and
c) I'm supremely lazy.

Also the squirrel pooped it's little squirrel poops all over my patio.

Not happy.

One might even say, unhappy.

I like not happy better.

That last sentence reads weird.

I did not find a wig yet.  Also, is it just me or is shopping for a wig as bizarre as shopping for, let's say, a new foot?  "Ooh I like this foot, it makes my leg look longer.  Maybe I'll go with the foot with the blue toenail polish.  Blue reminds me of Katy Perry.  But does it make my other foot look funny?  Also, what if it's too hot for this foot?  Alas, maybe I'll just buy a new sock."

And that's why I bought a hat.

I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts...dee del dee dee

Ok.  Mildly inappropriate.  Seeing as how I'm referring to my boosies.

So.  Shall I give you a glimpse into Chez Murphy and all it's glorious goings on?  Well, if you insist...

I shall type it in a list format.  For I miss my lists.

1.  I've had two "fills" in my expanders and it feels like I'm wearing a coconut bra.  Seriously.  These things are hard as rocks.  Well, rocks covered in flesh.  And I still have a billion more fills to go.

2.  A few days ago I discovered how to lay on my side in bed at night.  This was a joyous occasion seeing as how I was using borderline profanity at night, trying to find a comfortable position.  It only takes me five, maybe six pillows.  It's like I made a nest.  But I can sleep, so, I shall nest away.

3.  I amend that previous statement- I can sleep...if I take sleeping pills.  I am beginning to feel like a junkie.

4.  I have to start chemotherapy.  Whoa!  I just dropped that bomb in there!  That's the way I roll here at Chez Murphy.  Dropping bombs.  And participles.

I was unprepared for that little snippet of news.  But, given my age (35) and what they now think is the size of my tumor (2.7 cm), chemo is a no-brainer.  It makes the chance of reoccurrence from being 37% to 13%.  And I'm here to tell you, I will do practically anything to avoid going through this again.

Because my good attitude?  Has practically dried up.  I admit it.  I am borderline surly now.  Thank goodness you only have to read my drivels, let alone sit in the same room as me whilst I stew on my immediate future.

Also, bonus!  I will lose my hair!

Yes, that was said with smidgens of surliness.  I admit it.  I've not come to grips with being bald.  Or being eyebrowless.  Or eyelashless.   Also, my spell checker thingy is hating me.

There is something very strange in knowing you're allowing literal poison into your body, which will kill all fast growing cells, all for the hope that if any remaining cancer lingers in some tiny corner or closet in my liver, it will be killed.  It's a very bizarre reality.

5. We had family here.  There were 12 peoples in my apartment.  I'm happy to say the floor remained intact and didn't cave in on the folks living downstairs.  We had a great time, driving through the national parks of The Coloradoes, eating at just about every restaurant here, watching the five Tim Hawkins videos my besties on FB sent me, to keep me from slitting a wrist whilst recovering from my copious surgeries.  They were excellent therapy.

6.  A squirrel ate my strawberry plant.  We'd only harvested 6 berries from it.  Which means I paid approximately $10 for 6 strawberries.  I pretty much hate any and all squirrels and wish for their immediate death.

7.  We saw Harry Potter.  My brain was mostly drug free and I didn't trip out, as opposed to seeing the new Transformers right after taking a narcotic.  THAT was a Woodstock experience, I'm pretty sure.  I kept staring at the screen and thinking, is this real?  Trippy.  But back to HP.  There was only one scene that bothered me, which I smugly turned to my Hubs and said haughtily, "THAT'S not in the book."  And he called me out on my book purist pride.  I don't care, I was busy eating my smuggled in Twizzlers.

8.  Someone turned up the thermostat outside.  Hence why I shall not be buying a wig.  It is dadgummed hot outside.

9.  IKEA opens in two days.  We are so there.  If nothing else but for the meatballs.  Because this sister is craving meat.

10.  I did my own laundry the other day.  It felt so normal.  To think I used to complain about doing laundry.  And tonight?  I shall cook my first meal in practically a month.  Normalcy feels very good.

Eat a popsicle for me, so I can feel cool.  Also, that is a double meaning.  Also, I'm pretty sure it's worthless as I had to explain it.  Alas.

A surgery-less Friday is a great Friday, especially when Harry Potter is on the agenda

I've done what I can to prepare myself for the awesome eye-filling wonderous event called Harry Potter.

I plodded through Book 7 this week, despite the copious amounts of narcotics filling my brain.  I watched the DVD, including missing scenes, even tho the DVD makes tiny departures from the actual book.  I've got my movie outfit all lined up.  I might even buy some Twizzlers and smuggle them in.  Because I must have Twizzlers.

Today is also the day when, God willing, I'll get my final set of drains removed and therefore allowed to sleep in a horizontal position for the first time in (carries the one, divides by Ibuprofen, multiplies by bandaids) over two weeks.  Sleeping sitting up is the pits.  I'm fairly certain there's bad grammar in there somewhere.

Speaking of pits, I showered by myself for the first time in two weeks.  My pits?  Might never recover.  I tried to shave them.  But alas, a dull razor and lots of armpit hair are not friendly.  This is more than you want to know, isn't it.  Alas.

I miss my sheets.  I miss my comfy bed.  I even miss the hole in the egg crate pad by my left foot where I tugged on it too hard and ripped a chunk off.

I also aim to fold and put away some laundry and then...wait for it...CLEAN THE BATHROOM.

It's like hiking Mt. Fuji.  Is that a real mountain?  My drugs are meddling with my brain synapses.  That bathroom is so dirty I'm sure one of those TLC programs could come in and film it.  It's sicknasty.

Also, my kitchen counter looks like a pharmacy, so I really must consolidate and put away all those thingies...what are they called?  The things pills come in?

*shakes head to clear the fuzzies*

I also really must apply lotion.  I put the lotion on my skin or else I gets the hose again.

No seriously.  I really need lotion.  I am like, flaking away.  Remember that sunburn I had a few weeks ago.  Well.  No more.

My in-laws drove up to help us and then last week my poor mother in law fell and broke her foot.  Have I mentioned our last name is Murphy and there's a law written about us?  Yes.  So this week I've been on my own.  With my seven year old to take care of me.  She makes a mean pb&j.

I think I shall stop here.  Before The Drugs cause me to say something embarrassing.

Peace out.

Never underestimate the power of poop

Here is yet again, another blog update on My Exciting Summer of Surgeries.

SO.

I'm slotted for surgery again tomorrow at 7:15 a.m.

The skin where my incisions are aren't getting good blood flow.  Which will cause a nasty infection called necrosis and will not help me.  So my doctor wants to be agressive (be be agressive) and get this fixed stat.

So let's do this thing. 

Of course, when he called me and told me this was in the works, I had a very human moment and cussed quite loudly in my head.

Multiple times.

I might have even thrown the universe The Bird.

BUT.  It's fixable.  I'm hoping.  I have copious amounts of belly skin, thanks to my two daughters and their horrid pregnancies, that gives me a bit of extra skin to work with.  So, for the first time in my life, I am praising God for obesity.  Ish.  It's not a true tummy tuck, but, hey, anything will help.

For three days upon returning home from the hospital, I moaned and groaned and fought nausea and vomiting.  Oxycontin does not agree with me.  I cannot fathom why people would choose to take that drug if they had a choice.

Can we say CON-STI-PA-TION?  Ugh.  My belly was like a basketball.

But thank God my Hubs is a mighty awesome man who loves me.  I know he loves me because he gave me an enema.

Did I mention that I'd also started my period?

Yep.

He loves me.

Also, I'm keepin in real here on the blog.

SO.  New meds will be given and I shall hope and pray and ask the universe forgiveness for The Bird in hopes that my plumbing runs like clockwork and that the thought of food doesn't make me want to kiss the toilet.

Here are some things to pray for, should you be so inclined:

1.  Well, the not dying thing.  Obvi.  I'd be lying if I said I wasn't concerned about being put under anesthesia for the THIRD TIME IN LITTLE OVER A MONTH.  YES I'M JUST A WEE BIT FREAKED OUT BY THAT.

2.  I am horridly anemic.  It makes me very weak, and once food became my friend again, I started to crave all sorts of meat.  And because me and my body are simpatico and BFFy and stuff, I am giving it all the meat it can handle.

3.  That this new skin will take.  And there's something they put in called Alliderm.  Which, prepare yourself, is human cadaver skin.  And it's in me.  Yes, I'm just a wee bit grossed out by that.  Anyways, that's gotta have blood flow.  So, pray the blood will flow.  Because, I'm not sure what we'll do next if this surgery doesn't take.


I managed to get out of the house today, and dined with my inlaws and kids at Chick-fil-A.  With my four drainage tubes snaking out of the bottom of my shirt, causing me to look like a freak show, I'm sure.  Thankfully, no one gagged at the sight of me, no one pointed to my hairy legs sticking out of my capris, and no one pointed out the Pepe Le Pew stench fumes wafting from my armpits.

I gave a valiant effort last night in the shower (my first one in a week) but try as I might, I couldn't reach my pits to shave or wash them.  I feel like a T-Rex, trying to wash myself.

Alas.

Thank God I live in the Boulder Valley area, where pit hair is as common as perfume in The South.

So.  That's where we're at, folks.  One day at a time.  One procedure at a time.  One bowel movement at a time.

I'll check in next week, assuming I'm mobile and my brain is drug free.

Where I pimp my friends and say how awesome they are

Three of my friends on the facebooks came up with different fundraisers just to bless our family.  We were so surprised by these unexpected random acts of kindness!  My friends are truly awesome.

It is so very humbling.

But, because I want to share with all you peeps out there that I'm not friends with on the facebooks all these awesome fundraisers, I am writing this post to share with you kind readers.  By the way, why aren't we friends on the facebooks?  We clearly don't spend enough time together.

Pray for Kearsie Pink Wristbands

My friend, Allison, ordered a mass quantity of pink silicone wristbands and had them personalized.  On one side, it reads Pray For Kearsie and on the other side it reads Strength.Hope.Faith.

Here is the event page where you can find out ordering info.  

***

Love * Hope * Awareness Stella and Dot Jewelry Event

This is an online jewelry event my friend, Rachel, is hosting through the company Stella and Dot, which sells all types of cool and funky jewelry.  Very fun stuff, guys!! And gals. I shan't exclude anyone.   

Here is the event page to check that out.  There is a link to the online catalog.  

***

Uppercase Living Kearsie Murphy Medical Fundraiser

Uppercase Living is a shop that sells removable vinyl lettering and designs.  So very cool to think of decorating your home with letters and fun designs!  This is hosted by my old high school friend, Karen, who bought me my first Pizzatato.  

Here is the event page to find out that information and how to order.  

I am so extremely blown away by the kindness of these three ladies, and all the people who are ordering from them, all just to help out our family here at Chez Murphy.  I'm so overwhelmed by the generosity of people who are ordering these products, especially during these hard economic times, they are doing what they can to help.  

And I am so very grateful!!!

My next steps

So.  If you're keeping up with this here blog, you know that:

a) I found out almost two weeks ago that I had breast cancer
b) I had an MRI to see if there were still tumahs in za breasts and
c) I was thinking about getting a double mastectomy

What we've found out is this:

a) The MRI was clear.  This isn't 100% b/c MRIs aren't all that dependable, there still could be cancer cells in there somewhere (the Ductal Carcinoma In Situ kind) but still, the MRI was clear.  Ish.
b) I'll meet with an oncologist on Thursday.  She'll be the one to set me up with genetic testing to see if I test positive for the BRCA1 and BRCA2 gene.  Important for both myself and my daughters to know.
c) I'll have the double mastectomy on June 30th.

I will also have reconstructive surgery at the same time.  Right after the general surgeon does his mastectomy thing, the plastic surgeon takes over and does his reconstructive thing.  I sound like a medical journal, huh?  I'm pretty sure they toss about the word "thing" too.

Reconstructive surgery is where the plastic surgeon places these little "expanders" behind my  chest muscles, expanding the skin slowly over time to make room for future implants.  It's a very lengthy process.  The expanders are filled with saline and will have more and more saline injected every week or so.  But, this saves me a whole surgery by combining the two.  I probably won't be ready for the implants for 6 or more months.

As of yet, there is no talk of chemo.  That may change when they start digging around in my lymph nodes and checking for cancer activity.

So, one chunk at a time.  One procedure at a time.  Until then, I'm buying smaller shirts.

P.S.  Let me tell y'all about this awesome thing that my friend, Allison, started.  You know those pink wristbands?  The ones you can personalize?  Well, she ordered a huge quantity and had them personalized to say PRAY FOR KEARSIE on one side and STRENGTH. FAITH. HOPE. along with a little breast cancer ribbon symbol.

ISN'T THAT SO AWESOME!?!?!

Keyboard Confessions: The One Week Crash Course in Cancer Edition

Every week I sit down and write some confessions.  Mostly it's just an excuse to write a list.


Sometimes I write confessions because I feel The Muse.  Today, The Muse has spoken.

1.  So, Breast Cancer is Crazy.

2.  My boosies look awesome.  I'm going to enjoy them while I can.  This is not to be taken in a naughty way.  Also, shame on you for thinking that.

3.  Or maybe you weren't thinking that and now you are thinking that and you're like, dang, why did you have to say that?

4.  Sorry, kind reader.

5.  So, I'm sitting here in my bathing suit.  Why?  Because it fits.  And, it's padded.  hahahaahahaha, still laughing that it's padded.  Also, this is the swimsuit I said eons ago that when I tried it on it was like shoving an apple into a condom.  Remember that?  Well, I'm not hunting for that link.

6.  Man, this post is turning into smut.  Also, for the record, I've never shoved an apple into a condom.

7.  Back on South Beach Diet.  Combining weight I lost in surgery and weight I lost this week, I'm down 10 lbs.  I know, pretty rock star.

8.  I got a free camisole from Nordstrom today because I'm getting a total mastectomy.  Very cool service they provide for us ladies in the need.  This camisole will have little pocket thingies for the drainage tube thingies.  I love the word thingies.

9.  Also?  I'll get my hair washed for free as well after surgery.  That is going to be awesome.  Because before?  My last surgery?  I didn't get to shower for like, 5 days.  It was sicknasty.

10.  I have a date tonight.  Also my kids will be at a sleepover.  Is it too late for me and The Hubs to get passports?

11.  In fact, I need to put on real clothes for said date.  I don't suppose my padded bra swimsuit is good movie theater attire.  This isn't Miami Beach.  Also, for the record, I've never been to Miami Beach.

12.  Today I got a light up Michael Jackson glove in the mail.  I was so excited for it that it made my kids want it.  Too bad, suckas!!

13.  Just kidding.  I'll let them touch my glove a little.  Some day.

14.  I have a big pimple on my chin.  It seems unfair that I must battle acne AND breast cancer.  Can't I catch a break?

15.  I need a haircut.  That is all.

16.  I lied.  I have more to say.  Can I sap out for a moment?  Thank you, kindly.  A huge thank you to any and all people who have been so very encouraging to me during this crazy time.  For you ladies (and my sweet Hubs) who let me blather on about all things BC (Breast Cancer, duh) and all the encompassing worry.  For not lecturing, for not saying inappropriate things**, for saying all the right things...you ladies are awesome.  I hope you know who you are.  I couldn't make it through this without you.

17.  I've also decided to do my best to answer any questions that anyone might have.  So, if you're sitting there, reading this post or past posts and are confused, or full of questions, please feel free to ask me anything.  If you want to remain anonymous, just ask under an anonymous name and I'll do my best to give you the info you need.  So, fire away.

18.  Hmm.  I'm tapped out after this one, I think.  It's been a weird week, so, cut me some slack on my lack of creativity.

Happy weekend!

**such as "I know this lady who died of cancer and if she'd eaten better she'd still be alive so watch what you eat".  Yes, this is inappropriate.  Well meaning, but still inappropriate.  For the record, this really happened.

Update on Kearsie Healthwatch 2011

So since some of you only keep up with me here on the innernets, let me bring you up to speed a bit.

Last Thursday, I dropped the news I had breast cancer.  What followed was a weekend of waiting for a phone call from my doctor on Tuesday with news of what to pursue next.

It was a very long weekend.  I'm sure you can imagine.

Tuesday came and finally around 5:30 the doctor called.  All the doctors were present at the Breast Cancer Conference, all looked over my files, discussed the beast that is breast cancer, etc.

They found my cancer because I had a breast reduction.  Which means that the tissue they removed had tiny clusters of tumors.  The largest mass was 1.2 cm.  That's roughly the size of a blueberry.  But because my tissue is gone, they cannot assess whether or not I have what's called "clean margins".  Meaning, they can't find out whether or not the tissue around where the mass was is clear of cancer.  So my case is really weird.  And a little hard to know how to handle it.

I saw a general surgeon yesterday afternoon.  He was very aware of my case and told me that I fall into like, 1% of odds and weirdness of getting this cancer.  Yeah, you're telling me, doc.

But, there is some good news, yet again.  I have what's called Invasive Ductal Carcinoma.  Which means that the cancer started in a milk duct and began to spread.  That's where the word "invasive" means.  It's a bit aggressive, which is where all this hoopla began and words like "radical mastectomy" started getting thrown around.  But IDC is the most common type.  If I had to choose which kind to get, it would be this one, because it's so common.  They know how to treat it.

So today I'll have an MRI on my breasts to see if they find any more clusters of tumors.  If you've not had an MRI, it consists of laying on your belly on this table that they insert into a tiny tube for more than half an hour.  Claustrophobia, anyone?  I'm hoping I nap or something.  But the really icky part for me is that I'll have to lay on my belly the whole time, my boosies smooshed up against the table, which is really really painful after having a breast reduction.  I'm just hoping I don't sob too hard.

But, the reality is that the safest and fastest way of taking care of this whole cancer thing is to go ahead with a full mastectomy.  In fact, if I choose that, it will make having this MRI unnecessary.  Which is really lame.

I can even have the mastectomy as early as next week.  Which means I'll have had my perfect, dream boosies for approximately 2 weeks before I look like a boy.

It gets better.

So, when you have BC, they test it for recepters, which helps them to know the cause as well as how to treat it.  I am Estrogen/Progesterone Receptor positive, which means that all the estrogen and progesterone in my body were like fertilizer to my cancer.  So I'll be put on meds that will put me into early menopause.

I didn't take that news so well.  I think I can handle the no-breasts thing.  I think I'm strong enough.  But to be told that not only my breasts would be gone but my life as a young adult woman, taking my...idk, my femaleness away...it was just a little too much to bear at the moment.

Thankfully, I have support all around me.  My Hubs, who has been at my side this entire time, letting me squall on his shoulder, letting me rail and rant and wave my hands, letting me just deal with this...he is so amazing.  My friends and family, who do not cease to send me words of comfort.

And I know that boosies and periods don't make a woman.  But just think, that's all I've ever known.  And I'm being thrust onto this road of the unknown.  And it's dark and scary and out of my control.

But God is still good.  I'm amazed by how fast the doctors are setting up these appointments and procedures.  I'm amazed by how much love everyone is showing me.

But it's still just...lame.  It'll probably take me awhile to really wrap my head around the whole thing.  I feel like I'm about to change.  And change is hard at first, it's not something we really ask for.  We just deal with it when it comes.  This is definitely the biggest thing I've ever been through.  I just hope I'm better for it when it's all said and done.

I've got news. No, I'm not pregnant.

So. Some of you who know me on the facebooks already know the news I'm about to drop here on the innernets.

I got some news.

It's not really good news.

There was breast cancer in the tissue they removed from me last Thursday.

Well, I lied.  There is some good news.  And that's the fact that even though my mammogram didn't detect anything suspicious, all physical exams I've had showed nothing abnormal and all of my blood tests haven't flagged anything weird...I had this surgery and they found it.

Actually, that's great news.

Let me bring you up to speed.

See, I had some stitches removed yesterday.  It was just supposed to be a short visit, getting the stitches removed and then I could carry on with my day.

However, the doctor poked and prodded for about 2.4 seconds and then sat down and said, "I've got some good news and some bad news.  There was breast cancer in the tissue they removed."

And pretty much from there on, my mind was full of bees, buzzing away, my body doing that hot-flash-panic thing, my eyes round as saucers, staring at my husband as the phrase "I have cancer" settled into my mind.

It was a very very surreal moment.

My husband, being the gentleman he is, got up from his chair and came and stood by me, rubbing my back in little circles.  I love that man so much.

I could tell my doctor hated to tell me this.  I mean, I am young folks.  I'm only 35.  There is no history of breast cancer on my mother's side of the family which is what they look at.  My mammogram was clear.

And yet.

And yet.

This is the scary thing about breast cancer.  It is silent.  So very quiet.  Just steadily growing inside, plotting it's takeover.

Cancer is a bitch.

And yet.

And yet.

Here's the awesome part, folks.  For there really is a silver lining in this horrid situation.

See, if I had not had this surgery this year, and waited until next year...it would've been too late.  Because the mass they removed was full of invasive cells.  Meaning they would've done a hostile takeover and it would've been ugly.  If I had had surgery a year ago, they wouldn't've found it.

This, my friends, is kind of a miracle.  Do you understand that?  How perfect timing this is?

So.  Now what?  Well, my doctor was baffled by my predicament.  As he put it, finding cancer in me is as rare as finding teeth on a hen. So he is talking with other doctors and they will present my case this coming Tuesday at a Breast Cancer Conference.  He'll hook me up with an oncologist and a general surgeon and we'll go from there.

What does this mean?  Well, it means a lot of tests. It means possibly an MRI.  It means figuring out if my lymph nodes are affected.  It might even mean they have to take all of my breasts.

I'm not gonna lie- that part has me laughing.  I've lived most of my life with enormous bosoms and it would be JUST.LIKE.ME. to have to live the rest of my life with no bosoms.

But I'm not going to freak out.  Hopefully.

Instead, I'm going to focus on all the positives.  That, for whatever random reason (or divine reason) I had this surgery NOW.  That they found this EARLY.  That my life might be saved because of EARLY DETECTION.

It's scary.  I won't lie about that either.  It's scary because, I think as a society, we're trained to be scared of the words CANCER and DEATH.  Both are uncertain.  Almost entirely out of our hands.  Invisible.  Uncontrollable.

And yet.

And yet.

I believe in a Great Big God.  And I believe that He knows me.  I believe it when I read in the Bible that He knows the very number of hairs on my head.  That He knows when I'll sit down, and when I'll stand.  He's got my life mapped out already and I'm just following along according to His plan.  And He's on my side, folks.

Jesus loves me, this I know.

Some of you might not understand that.  You might not believe like me.  And that's ok.  Because, I believe in Him enough for you.  I think He loves you, too.  So there.

It sucked telling everyone.  It was hard.  Emotional.  I'm not a crier, and yet I cried buckets.  It was especially hard telling my kids.  My kids.  My poor kids, who looked so confused.  Asked hard questions like, "Momma, are you going to die?"

Yeah, I had to leave the room.

But life is so precious.  Each hug they give me is their gift.  They make me gobs of cards.  All with misspellings and hilarious snippets:  "Momma, I'm sad.  Daddy's sad.  Addie's sad but she's not crying."  They are precious to me.

My husband.  My partner.  I shall not take for granted how awesome he is.

My amazing, amazing friends.  All praying.  All supporting.  Offering to watch my kids.  My Bestie is flying down, just to be with me.

I am truly blessed.

So here is my life now.  This blog?  This blog is supposed to be a place for humor.  For the hilarity.  For the random.  I'm not sure how "cancer" fits into that and yet.

And yet.

This is what I will be living with now.  So.

I shall keep za blog updated.  I shall not give up.  I shall kick cancer in the ass.

Thank you for reading this insanely long and intense post, my kind friends.  Pray for me.  And trust in Him.  He's pretty powerful, y'all.

One day this will all just be a distant mammary

Many thanks to my brother in law, Danny, for that little piece of witticism.

Warning:  this post is being written under the influence of narcotics.  Anything I say cannot be held against me.

So the surgery went fine, obvi.  This is not my ghost perched at my computer, my sexy anti-embolism stocking clad feet resting uncomfortably up on my bed, per Nurse Hub's instructions.  He takes those rules the surgery nurses gave him uber seriously.

It's pretty crazy, y'all, because as I was being wheeled to where the surgery would take place and the nurse was setting my IV up with some wonderful drug that made me say out loud "I'm beginning to feel something...zzzzzzz"...

...all of a sudden I woke up in recovery.

Anesthesia.  It's pretty much the bomb.

My eyes were goopy and so heavy it took ages to finally raise, but I noticed a different nurse standing beside my bed.  And Momma didn't raise no impolite fool so I slurred out "We haven't met before, how're you?"

And she had the nerve to laugh at me.  Hmpf.  At lease I know that even in my most druggiest state, I can still be non-wenchy.  Always good to know, that.

So it turns out that they removed 6.25 pounds from my bosomy area.  That's a lot, folks.  You need something to compare it to?  Go to your kitchen pantry and pull out your 5 pound bag of sugar.  I know, that's a lot, huh?

Now I'm all wrapped up in this really sexy ace bandage with crazy long tubes, full of goopy red goo.  I try not to dwell on it's contents.  Neither should you.

Also?  My soft gel laxatives haven't started working yet.  You probably shouldn't dwell on that either.  Perhaps I should avoid talking at all whilst under the influence of Vicatin.

On that TMI note, peace out and have a righteous Friday.

Toooomorrow! Tomorrow! I'll undergo anesthesia, tomorrow! I can throw my old bra awaaaay!! Sing with me, everyone!

Clearly I was meant to write song lyrics.

Yes, my friends.  The time has come.  I shall undergo the Big Scary Knife Or Whatever Doctors Use For Surgical Procedures These Days tomorrow.

Have I mentioned I'm a big fan of Unnecessary Capitalization?

So.  I shan't be on the innernets much in the following days or whatever.  I plan to perch on my sofa with a pile of books and cans of Diet Coke and jars of applesauce as I recover from a boobalactomy.  Nay, that's not the right word, but have I mentioned I am a big fan of Made Uppy Words?

Some of you have asked for before and after pictures.  I gulped quite a few times as I pondered this.  For Me and The Front of the Camera do not play well together.  Because She's Mean.  But I shall think about your kind requests and go through piles of pictures of Before The Knife.  Because I've got years of them, people.  Years.  Have I mentioned I've been wanting this surgery since I was 13?  Nay?  Well.  There you go.  An extra special glimpse into my life.

Wish me luck.  If you're the praying kind of folk, pray that I'm not one of those minute ratio of people who don't do well with anesthesia.  Or you know, die or whatever.  What, have I not mentioned I can be macabre?

Also, who wants to attend my Burn The Giant Brassieres Party?

It's Tuesday, and since we have no cable that means I get to choose between doing laundry or cleaning out my pantry for nighttime entertainment

Why, yes, that is the most obscure and boring title ever.  Thank you for noticing.

SO.

You're all perched anxiously on your seat to know the outcome of my *dum dum dummm* MAMMOSMOOSH.

I would be too, inquisitive reader, especially if I hadn't been through that glamourous experience before.

Well.  Let me just be frank and say-- man, I've never felt sexier.

This was so much worse than that time in 9th grade when my mother shouted to me through the dressing room door how to put on a bra.  It went something like this:  "Bend over and shake them into your bra!  Are you shaking them in?  Are you bent over?  Am I shouting loud enough for you to hear me?" (Why no, I'm not scarred by that experience, why do you ask?)

It was so much worse than the entire school bus turning to stare at my Rocky and Bullwinkle t-shirt after Landon Hessler announced I had big boobs.  So much worse than childbirth, with my legs stuck in stirrups and my mother in law and sister in law in the room, me trying desperately not to cuss out loud.  Also trying not to poop on myself.  

There is nothing, I repeat, NOTHING to make you feel sexier than seeing your own breast smooshed between two pieces of plastic.

Wait.  I take that back.  The last nail in the coffin of unsexyness is when the mammogram tech-person comes over and manhandles your breast until it fits correctly into the mammogram plasticky pieces.  THAT, my friends, is so much fun you'll want to do that every single year.  Just for fun.  Like going to the girly doctor.

So, yeah.  Unsexyness.

But thankfully, nothing abnormal or weird was in my bosomy areas.  So, I really can't complain.

Next week?  Surgery.

*dum dum dummmm*

I am feeling lucky

I've won TWO, count 'em, TWO giveaways this month, as well as Employee of the Month.  So I figure why not go whole hog and enter this smokin awesome giveaway by one of my most favoritist authors ever.  That'd be Maggie Stiefvater, for those who don't know, who don't listen to me yammer on about her all the live long day.

Also, real quick- so I had this dream?  And in it, Maggie S. and her buddy and fellow awesome zombie author, Carrie Ryan, were at my Costco.  Yes, that'd be the Costco in the booming metropolis of Louisville, Colorado.  Yes.  And they were shopping.  Yes.  Just work with me, people.  So, Mags and Carrie are roaming the concrete aisles of Costco when I happen upon them and become completely and utterly uncool and fangirly and swoon over all their oisome books.  And then I tell them all about my teeny work in progress.  Or "WIP", which is the writer's way of sounding all professionalish and importanty whilst talking about their works in progress.  I gotta sound the part, you know.  So I'm going all Swim Fan on them about my WIP and they're just staring at me.  And then Mags goes, "So what's your word count right now?"  And so I tell her.  And she and Carrie sort of glance at each other and give each other this look, which is all fraught with meaning and then Maggie tells me, "You know, I don't think you're cut out for writing."  Maggie and Carrie exit scene.

There you have it.  My dream/nightmare.  Which is what happens when you eat too much pizza before bed.  I am a cautionary tale, my friends.  I'm pretty sure in real life if I happened upon these two awesome ladies, we'd all be best friends and name our kids after each other and I'd be Godmother to at least two of my namesakes.

SO.  I am pining and jonesing to win something from Maggie S. and her newest giveaway which is where this post comes in.  Thank you, persistent reader,  for reading this insanely long giveaway entry thus far.  You are a gentleman and a scholar!

First things first.  So Maggie (I love how I just toss about her first name like we're all besties) is about to release her third and final installment of the Mercy Falls Trilogy.  Which is about werewolves and kissing.  Which you should clearly already know about or you must live under a rock.  Or we just don't hang out enough.  And so, feast your hungry eyes on this amazing video which is the Forever trailer, put together with the genius hands and brains of Maggie, herself.  It's pretty amazing.



Now, I talk about books quite a bit here on za blog, because they are my cocaine and life and hopefully future career.  This blog is really just to keep my fingers limber.  So let me reiterate.  If you've not read Shiver, Linger and don't know about Forever yet, please locate them henceforth immediately and get your eyeballs to those pages, folks.  They are awesome.  To purchase Forever, head to this link.

Carry on with your days and nights.  I'll be the one with a book in my hand, occasionally thinking about eating a piece of cake.

Happy Wednesday.

Monday is a royal pain. Except this Monday is pretty awesome. So it's like a royal pain that got a massage and is now happy.

So my friends, very little has been happening here at Chez Murphy.  Except for laundry.  That is a virus that never ends.

BUT, in my mind, my little book is slowly unfolding to be this super fun adventure starring a 16 year old girl named Deena.  Would you care to learn more?  Sure you would!  You're such a good sport.  Pull up a chair and I'll tell you more.  Unless you're Kim and have to stand.  More power to you, sister!  Also, I stood in the shower for 15 minutes today and tried to imagine how healthy my body was.  You have to read this to understand what I'm talking about.  Also, I'm sitting as I type this and I actually feel guilty.

Ok, so now that you're sitting/standing, let's get down to it.

So, there's this girl, named Deena and she dreams...

Yep.  That's all I'm going to tell you.  I know, I'm so mean.

Except, I'm going to include this one little scene, just for fun, for your reading enjoyment.  Unless you don't enjoy it and it's like reading punishment.  Either way, here it is:

***

Excerpt of Parasomnia, by Kearsie Murphy

I was heroically trying to cram biology facts into my sluggish brain one Thursday night, planning for an exam the next day when I heard a knock on my bedroom door.

“Yeah, Dad, come on in.”  Who else would it be?  Ed McMahon?  The President?  

He was hanging out by the door, holding onto the doorknob and kicking the doorjamb. An image of a child like version of my dad popped in my head, what he must’ve looked like as a little boy trying to hide the fact he stepped on the cat or broke his grandmother’s cremation urn or something.

“Dad.  You just gonna stand there?”  I sat up on the bed and drew my legs closer to me.  I even patted the bed a bit, like I would to attract a stray cat.

He ambled in slowly and perched on the edge of the bed.  Every few moments he would open his mouth like he was going to say something, only to snap it shut.  Ugh!  It was like having a conversation with a goldfish.

“Can I have a puppy?” I blurted out, just to break the tension.

“Huh, what?” His eyes jerked to mine, finally.  “Deena, honey, I don’t think we can handle the responsibility.  Caring for an animal takes time, a lot of time and--”

“Dude,” I interrupted, my hand outstretched to stop his flow of words.  “It was just to get you talking.  Carry on.”  I made a magnanimous gesture, like a king from his throne.  

“Oh.”  His eyes fell to his feet again.  Silence again.

Geez!  This was so painful.  I was feeling sorry for the guy.  “Sooo, that Ms. Shaddy...she’s pretty awesome, huh?  A hottie, too.”

A flush fell over my dad’s cheeks, making him look about ten years younger.  Full of life.  Kind of cute, in a gross, old man sort of way.

“Dad,” I said more seriously.  “It’s ok.  She’s great.  Mom would’ve liked her.  I like her.  So just go for it.”  

He glanced up at me again, kind of shyly.  “You’re ok with me...um...dating her?”

I shrugged one shoulder, trying to appear indifferent.  “Sure.”  If hanging out with Ms. Shaddy brought my dad a sliver of happiness, what was I going to do?  Stand in his way? 

He sighed with relief and patted my foot before getting to his feet again.  Just before he crossed the threshold I called out, “Just don’t forget to use protection.”

Ha!  The look on his face!

My cell phone rang just as the door shut with a click.  It was Hester.  No doubt calling to ask me something inane like “do you think Ethan and I should run away and elope and change our names to Bernadette and Clarence?”  

“Yo,” I said, tucking my cell phone between my ear and shoulder and propping open my textbook against my raised thighs.  

“Deena!”  She sounded panicked.  As per usual.  “I need a huuuuge favor!”  

Ugh.  The last time Hester needed a “huge favor” it was to drive her to get a bikini wax.  

“What is it?  I’m studying Biology right now.  Every moment I talk to you is one step closer to failing and it'll be all your fault.”  So I was being dramatic.  It was the only language Hester understood.

“It’s about Junior Prom,” she began.  My stomach was already plummeting.  “I’ve got to fly to New York for my great-aunt’s funeral and I’m going to miss Prom!”

“So what does this have to do with me?”  I asked, twirling my pen like a drummer twirls a drumstick.  I narrowed my eyes suspiciously.  I had an idea where this was going.

“I need you to go, of course!  I can’t let a perfectly good formal dress and Prom tickets go to waste!  And Ethan...he’ll be so disappointed to miss it…”

Seriously?  I let my head fall back towards the wall, solid thunk resonating in the room.  “Hess...I don’t want to go to Prom.  I told you that last week.  In fact, I’d rather go see the gynecologist AND get a root canal in the same day than go to Prom.”

“You’re ruining my life!” she wailed.  Melodramatic Female, table for one, I thought, rolling my eyes.  “And stop rolling your eyes!” 

I jerked my head up.  How the heck did she know I was rolling my eyes?  I searched around the room, looking for a nanny cam.  “How did you-”

“Ugh, Deena, you’re so predictable!  Look, I’ll be over in half an hour to drop off my shoes and dress and walk you through the plans, ok?  It’ll be fun!  I promise!  Did I mention you’re the bestest friend and I’ll love you forever and ever?  Bye!”  Hester’s voice turned from accusatory and wheedling to sugary sweetness.  Before I could protest again, she hung up.

I tossed my phone down on the bed and let my head thunk up against the wall again. 

Prom with Ethan.  Dressed up.  With Ethan.  Pictures and dinner.  With Ethan.  Dancing.  With Ethan.

In his arms.  

I tried not to shiver.

***

P.S.  Please don't steal my little excerpt.  Or make complete fun of it.  Or eat the last sleeve of Ritz crackers in my pantry. 

All systems go

You will all be pleased to know that insurance has granted permission for surgery.  I know, you were all perched at the edge of your seat, just waiting for this joyous news.  

We shall pick a surgery date soon.

But first, I must schedule *dum dum dummmm* ... a mammogram.  You know you wish you were me.

Also, before I go, let me share with you one of the funniest spam messages ever.  This came into my inbox from the last post.

You recall what I wrote last past, yes?  All about seeking a breast reduction?  Ok.  Well keep that in mind.  

You've raised two interesting points in this post.

Indeed I have, random spammer.  Indeed I have.  Oh, the irony.

Carry on with your weekend, kind readers.