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.