I got 99 problems but a chemo ain't one

Well not yet anyway. While that IS coming in a few short weeks it's not on my
mind or agenda as much. You see because of my reoccurring skin infections/skin not coming together issues I'm pretty busy. I probably should be focusing on that storm coming my way or at very least engaging in wild, carefree last days with hair feeling strong before I head off into that tundra. Storm/tundra=chemo metaphor.

But I'm not and I can't for the fact that the last month and in particular these last few weeks and days are all encompassing laser beam focused on one particular kinda hard to see small patch of skin area. Funny when I think that its in an area where later the war or battle that's occurring is supposed to not be easily found due to fine surgeons using their skilled hands. Unless, of course someone is all up in that funky town. I say with confidence that sure wasn't happening before and it definitely isn't after.

I have always believed pure unabashed total nakedness should come shrouded or cloaked in lots of mystery, very low faint lights (think small candle some 20 feet away) and strategic draping, maybe with some Barry White music. Not at all on the regular, out in the open, in the daytime with harsh non forgiving overhead lighting, take your shirt off and contort body to get a peek way-all the while showing others, over and over. I mean has anyone even been to a nude beach, like in the daytime?!?? Not me, however I feel strongly to my core it's not pretty.

Why do I believe this?? Simple. Because I'm not (and neither are you) a "super model" or this fictional person they call Gisele Bundchen. She doesn't even exist!! She is a made up fake person, who we are led to believe walks around all bronzed, toned and perfect in the daylight-daytime hours. Naked. I never even met someone who said they spoke to her.  Mystery, background music and low lighting is what us real people need. But breast cancer just doesn't allow it.

Lately my favorite part of the "let's have Lolita be really uncomfortable and learn how to practice grace in action" experiment is the constant conversations about it. Yes-oh yes I realize the irony of that statement as I make statements about uh the situation. It's just this is a day in the life now that borders on ridiculousness at times. At least it does to me.

Without fail after the Wednesday surgeries/procedures (3x's and finished counting) I get the Friday call from my surgeon office that starts with a simple Hello Lolita! Hi doctor (or assistant person) I say calmly and nonchalant like I don't know why she is calling. Ok, today is the day I want you to take off the surgical bandages, wash it with soap and water (FYI it-my boob) take a look and gauze it all up, then call me back she firmly instructs me. I act like I forget for minute when all morning I'm saying to myself five more minutes for like 50 minutes. I say to her in a question sorta not all the way convinced voice: ooooh yeaaa, today's the day huh, how about let's not and say we did hehe?? She laughs says you're funny, call me back. Click.

Crap! Of course I know I have to do this and of course I know it's important. It's just I'm bratty, remember? And a scardy cat. No getting around it I realize as I slowly trudge off to the bathroom half dragging, half kicking my fresh nightgown or house dress I'm going to wear after I do "all that stuff". It's always nightgown or house dresses while convalescing as I find with constant constriction tight feeling in your chest the last thing you want to do is constrict your waist area with anything. Not to mention I don't really own sweat pants and T-shirt type clothes. In any case it would make it a little more complicated for constant gauze changing/wound checking that has to happen from wake up to go to bed time.

So these are my days now. It's a full time job lately. I do of course resist saying out loud melodramatically I quit this job!!! Eh, no one will hear and it doesn't matter. I'm at the P.O.N.R. now. The road is way too narrow for turn around and go back. This is my place.

After the latest procedure this last Wednesday a friend messaged me out of concern wanting to help saying "oh my gosh, this is terrible, what can I do to help"? First let me share with you this is hands down the best question to ask a -holding shit sandwich person- by the way. Because it allows them to answer telling you just what really is needed. The answer could be to ask for more prayers, more emotional support, send me funny stuff, or keep in touch. The keeping in touch and funny stuff for me is important as the unexpected procedure after effects have me way more isolated for a longer period of time than I normally am. This is happening during holidays when people are all ready incredibly busy and stressed themselves.

So I told her with frankness and honesty that besides the fact that I'm over myself and I imagine everyone else is too, as in we should be talking about how stupid chemo us, how much that sucks with me blogging chemo can kiss my grits blah blah blah is that I really needed all of those things I listed above. Of course my friend agreed.

This time is a true test of mind over matter. Belief and faith my father told me as he stopped by a few days ago with more healthy healing food. So that's my prescription.

Philippians 4:8

Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.

It's hard to dance with the devil on your back, so shake it off

That's what Florence sings to us in her song Shake it off. I feel like I hit the jackpot each morning when Pandora serves it up to me first thing. Every time I turn it up while drinking my breakfast shake in the sun filled kitchen and try to take it in. You know figuring how to make that feeling last a little longer after it's done.

What's the devil on MY back lately?

This problem left boob skin situation over here. Pointing at it talking in a tone of voice similar to how a stay at home wife tells her husband that "his kids" have attitude problems as soon as he walks in the door. In fact I would like to formally declare my desire to disassociate myself from that leftie right now. Oh that? Yea no that's not my boob if someone asks. Not that anyone has asked in addition to the fact I know that's not possible. It's there all day, every day reminding me. I don't want it to go away, I just want some cooperation.

We are now at prrocceeddurre #4 since the big "get the fu&$@ cancer"out surgery on October 31st. It seems each time I felt a little strength come back or a little better then boom here's a dead rat to park themselves in my bra and everything looks great as I make the doctor rounds then a few days later I start hooting and hollering ooo ooowwwww and there ya go-skin separating.

If you are tired of hearing about it I don't blame you. I am way over my sorry misbehaving boob myself. Oh hey, if your counting how many times I'm gonna say the word boob we are at number #4. Back to the being tired of me not healing right. I get it. Like come on Lolita I've been praying my buttoski off, so have the people up at my church and now I have to ask them agaaiinn!! Or listen girl we mention your name at the dinner table nightly, it's getting repetative!!  Oh yea. I know, I know.

In an effort by my doctors to keep me out of major surgery and away from complete anesthesia the last couple procedures were with local anesthesia and a late night party at my surgeon's office. The first party was last week, Wednesday if you recall and the most recent was again on Wednesday this week. I check in at the surgeons office saying heeeyyyy, it's the problem child. Because the office at this time is closed it's just us girls. On Wednesdays the doctor doesn't go to the office because she is busy in surgery ALL day. Then after her 12 hour day saving lives or changing them she gets to come meet me and get it in some more. In addition if anyone there had plans well that's not happening. No one complains, no one ever gives the idea but I feel terrible.

While waiting for doctor to arrive yesterday I wanted to stay in the waiting room instead of the "other room" a little longer. Mostly so I didn't have a panic attack now that I know what's coming. In the waiting room there happens to be display of the gel fake boobs in various sizes. So because my right side has no issues I quickly looked around and put size number 2 in my shirt. Hmmm. I took a few pictures, sent that out. Put that back and grabbed the next size, more pictures. Of course suddenly someone is behind me and probably still laughing.

While my doctor is doing her work we start to go over all the reasons for this, again I crave or beg for action to do or not do. Although she has never said that this is highly unusual she confirms it when I outright ask her. Yes, people do have to return to surgery to skin snip or infection. It's just very unusual this keeps happening. Excellent. "I'm special". Not in anyway I want to be either. From day 1 of Lolita, you have breast cancer to now. I was perfectly happy to live out my life privately minding my own business with no excessive peeks at my boobs. Well too late for that. We both go over the list again, I confess to every foolish thing I might have done to find blame or the culprit and solve the mystery. She shares with me she has gone over the list several times herself to determine just why this is happening. I fit none of the criteria. So here we are. More stitches, more down time, more unsureness. Lemme tell ya I'm running out of room and skin down there which I was made painfully aware of last night and today.

All this while unfortunate, painful and unexpected causes a bigger issue in a bigger picture of this process. She always quizzes me on my next oncologist visit, what else needs to be done (port placement was put off) and chemo start date (have to be healed for that to start). My surgeon is a plastic surgeon but she specializes in reconstruction so she is well aware of a ticking clock we have going on and a small window of opportunity. Chemo needs to happen within 3 months of removal date of cancer for best results. She knows this and I know this and my family definitely knows this. All hands on deck type thing to keep this moving along.

My parents will arrive tomorrow to smother me with love and concern. My dad is bringing more vitamin packed food although lately he has been focusing in areas of skin and blood thickening foods. This is his area of expertise, in fact my dad could tell you the compounds in any food. When we were very young he banned soda, processed foods, pringles, bacon to name a few and had us eat our wheaties with wheat germ during a time when no one was talking about this. He is on "the job".  My doctor highly approves.

Nurse Muneca's (my momma) concern is more centered around my pain (more severe this time) worrying I'm tense not allowing healing as well the issues I experienced with the narcotic pain med today. I detoxed my body for almost a month only to get back on the prune juice/hydrocodone train again. This time with terrible side effects. As I was severely nauseous all day and could barely move or eat she suggests that maybe she brings some potato to see if she makes me mashed potato with the marijuana butter that I got from the medical dispensary that's been sitting in my fridge.

Although nurse muneca is secretly a very funny and clever person she was in no way shape or form "yoking" as the way she says it. She was serious about wanting to ensure I'm not in pain and can eat. We'll see, we'll see I tell her on the phone while smiling. 

Shake it off-partial lyrics by Florence and the Machines

And I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't

So here's to drinks in the dark at the end of my road

And I'm ready to suffer and I'm ready to hope

It's a shot in the dark aimed right at my throat

Cause looking for heaven found the devil in me

Well what the he@l I'm gonna let it happen to me, yea 

Shake it out, shake it out, shake it out oohh whoa

And it's hard to dance with the devil on your back

So shake him off, oh whoa

So I confessed to Nurse Muneca aka my mama the other day

She called me a few days ago. It was the day after I went to visit my parents unexpectedly. It was a surprise visit. Well a surprise to them not to me. I knew my brother was going to be there. I heard from word on the street there was Puerto Rican food lying around because nurse muneca's sister was visiting. Not one but two!! Two funny, loving, puerto Rican women who replace Y with J and cook in the house??? Oh yea. I picked myself up to get my lame tired ass in the shower, curled my hair (I've been playing with colors/hairstyles when I have energy because it's our last days together) gauzed my incisions up, found a hat and asked Hercules to drive me there.

It was during this visit where I shoveled pasteles, arroz con grandules and hornado in my mouth (somehow I found strength for that huh?) that she asks to see my recent incisions. Off we go to her bathroom for her to check and ask questions. So her call the next day was to continue checking in on me and "the new situation" we are monitoring.

She starts: Hola beauty! Dime como te sientes, mi Nina? Hi beauty, tell me baby girl, how are you feeling?

To take things slow and ease her into my confession I start with "Well, still some discomfort, and I'm nervous about my misbehaving skin section". She calmly tells me I need to keep doing what I'm doing, assures me all will be ok, to be patient and pray.

Weeeeeelllll now here comes the confession. I have to tell nurse muneca that I have def not been behaving, I def have not been patient and the words that tumbled out of me as of late were the farthest from prayers you could get.

Que?! Que paso she asks me?? What?! What happened?? I would like to know that myself I think. Basically to sum it up I had a temper tantrum and behaved like a 2 year old child. Except that innocent children who are two years old don't know the words I used. I'm pretty sure bout that.

It was a simple morning between two people where a plate dropped, a tiny spark that was there (tension) quickly moved into a flame then finally a blazing roaring fire that resulted in me throwing vegetables and baking products with sounds that were similar to @&?! %#€? and things that sounded like shove this sweet potato up your %#€? @&$ And here while you are at it take this stick of butter and $&@? %#€. All resolved in my usual calm manner 20 minutes later where I sincerely apologized and begged forgiveness. I wasn't the only sinner in the room but this is my blog not theirs. In any case all is good. Except for the terrible fact that I'm left with this movie image of myself behaving in a way that I despise playing over and over. It's a bitter pill I've been walking around with for a few days now.   Ay chi wa wa.

I had to think on this real hard if I would blog this story and I def had to breath on it before I told nurse muneca. I am truly embarrassed and ashamed. I really am. I don't think I have done anything remotely close to or in the neighborhood like that in over 15 years. I dislike raised voices. I avoid heated confrontation to a degree I have perfected the art of the peace out/dip out when I see that trouble brewing, including my own. When I described it to a friend later she says (while laughing hard asking me did you reaaally throw that?)  well good, finally you are letting it out! You needed that I think. Maybe it helped you? I tell her in a dry monotone voice that no one ever needs to throw a sweet potato and butter while cursing. Surely we can't be a society of people that do such things. It doesn't have the intended effect, that it borders on ridiculousness, as well the important fact it didn't make me feel better. It made me feel worse. I was shaking for over 3 hours.

You see, I told her then, that I read the fine print on the cancer card. I didn't see anywhere it's says I get to be the meanest, angriest person in the room. That I don't get to misbehave on the regular. And tell people how unfair things are. But in a really, really salty way. And it sure doesn't say I get to throw things around. Good Lord why did I have to throw a stick of butter and a sweet potato?? Really??

But I go on to say it also didn't mention I had to be the MOST positive or uplifted person around. I feel strongly others too must work their brain muscle to be the best person they can as much as they can, situation permitting. This was a big one for me because I tend to think that telling others how to act and behave is an exercise in futility and quite frankly not my job. I say it's just that during this time I know I am weaker mentally and physically, although most times I'm pretty good, I worried out loud my usual strength of tongue holding or being super calm with histrionics happening around me might fail at times. Or worse, just upright leave me for good.

So after I confess to nurse muneca my terrible actions and behavior (leaving out exact words to protect the innocent-she got the idea) I stopped and waited for her to absorb this.

Nurse muneca:  oh my God! Jew did dat?
Me (quietly):       Yes. I did. I'm embarrassed.
Nurse muneca:  jew brat!! Jew better sta praying. (With her accent she rolls the br sounds and makes it sound really really bad)
Me:                    Si, voy a resar (yes I will pray)

These I have handy in my favorites on my phone for occasions like this. 

1 John 4:18

There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear, for fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love. 

1 Peter 4:8

Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins.

Might just be the worst combination of words you can say to me

No, there's nothing you can do.

We all have our words, phrases or ideas that make us chafe and so uncomfortable we don't know what to do with ourselves. And for me it's to be told there is not much or any action for me to do or not do. 

Tuesday night I started to get those pains again. In a certain area in my skin. Like making me exclaim out loud ooooooo eeeeee and other stuff (not all bad). You see at this point in recovery you start to be able to distinguish different pain types. 

Shooting nerve pain is unexpected, it can not be prevented or predicted. My surgeon describes it by asking me "so did that little man with the needles come visit yet"? Of course I laughed said why, yes as a matter of fact many times this week to a degree where I was woken up from my sleep and finally had to go investigate to be sure I didn't have knives or cactus needles in my bra. In an area that was quiet as a mouse for a while. Nope, no, nothing in my clothes. Needle guy.

Pain from after surgery or incision healing pain. That decreases as time goes on and healing occurs. Im ok with this pain. I understand now how it works.

Discomfort and spasms from my chest muscles being stretched out. These poor guys had been lying dormant all their lives minding their own business and suddenly they need to wake up and do work. Well they tend to protest about that. 

The other pain that makes me very nervous is similar to the pain I experienced before the last minute surgery a few weeks ago. No dead rat smell or liquid just that pain in my skin in certain areas. Because I felt the echocardiogram guy on Monday might have been over zealous pressing down on me I thought I was sore?? Until Tuesday night pains. I wake up yesterday morning and see my skin once again is not wanting to heal and come together. That's what it was. How much does that $@&@? @&$??!!? Tons.

After calls, emails and photo for my doctor who was in surgery it was decided I needed to get in there to meet her yesterday afternoon for an in office out local anesthesia skin burning more incisions party. 

Very discouraging and frustrating. I wanted to know if there is something I might be able to do or stop doing. Please anything, give me action. I quizzed my surgeon as she was doing her work. What about this? No. What's about the fact I'm a leftie? Nope. It's that my skin in that area is thin and it needs to decide if it wants to come together and regenerate. It happens and there are other alternatives if this doesn't work. None of which are all that appealing and attractive to me. 

Here I go to talk in song or verse as it seems it's the only thing I can do. That and be still with limited movement from new incisions. 

Jon Bon Jovi. Living on a prayer. (Everybody please raise your lighters and sing it with me)

Whooah, we're halfway there

Living on a prayer

Take my hand and well make it- I swear

Living on a prayer

We've got to hold onto to what we've got

Cause it doesn't make a difference

If we make it or not

We've got each other and that's a lot

For love-we'll give it a shot

So sister innocently asks me the other day

How I'm doing. I tell her oh fine, except for the fact that I received a letter from my insurance company that I call "we are sorry you are now a drug addict and p.s. we have told all your doctors on you, the gig is up" letter.

She cracked up. Noooo, stop narrowing your eyes. My sister isn't laughing at me or the fact I'm now a druggie. I meant for her to laugh. You see when I tell you that I don't pander to anyone on this blog it might be a lil fib. I pander to my sister (who I call sister) because: she gets me and my wacky sense of humor, she has the best laugh, seriously you will make stuff up to hear it too, and she understands how very badly I need to laugh at some ridiculous stuff. She and I are willing participants in the lets step back and look at this from another view point experiment. 

I have talked long enough in this blog about my aversion to narcotics and the facts that my surgeries required them for after care. That if I even tried to test the waters a few days after there I was writhing in pain. Still- I haaaaaaatte them. Besides being highly addictive. Besides the fact that it's toxic for your liver. Besides the fact that they rob me of my true self. Besides the fact the pills made me itch like a loca. And (my goodness I am taking you down this path) besides the fact that each time you are handed the prescription you are reminded to have those stool softeners (eff you hydrocodone) and prune juice handy in front of anyone and everyone. Perfect. I def want to have those conversations. Fun times. Fun times.

So reason #14 why I intensely dislike narcotic medicine is in addition to all I listed above you get a I'm sorry your a druggie letters from your insurance company and please seek alternatives (I asked and begged) and here are links for help. Second page was list of all controlled substances filled in last 3 months, who gave them and how much (looking at it scratching my head-well now that you put it like that) and notice we are mailing out to everyone. Please understand that I understand why it's tracked and why they send this out. There IS an epidemic out there. Just not at Casa de Lolita. 

Because I'm all about the relationship and improving it I wrote a letter back. You know they offer advice, tips and "help" so I wanted to be sure the relationship is balanced and I offer advice, tips and help.

Dear insurance company, 

I received your letter of concern for me regarding my use of narcotics or as you say controlled substance. I thank you very much for thinking of me and your offer to help in my time of need. 

However I'm concerned one department may not be taking to the other? Just a guess. Maybe controlled substance department can partner with the department handling customers who have been given terrible shit sandwiches with multiple surgeries and that type stuff? Surely you have departments like this. I get letters from all of you fine people.

I know, I know what your thinking hehe, I talk a lot of smack about pain meds and marijuana. It's just that-talk. The truth is I chucked the pain pills 6 days ago and didn't tell anyone and I'm just not convinced about the mowie wowie part. I like to say it to tease my almost 80 year old parents (maybe you can offer counseling about that?). Although I admit I kept the prune juice. I have gotten accustomed to the taste. It's because what I'm left after this last surgery is a few new incisions and bruises that are causing discomfort, not outright pain. Not pain that I need to "be high" to forget. As well that nerve pain I say bad words over is going to hang around sometime I'm told and it sticks it's middle finger up at anything I take so why not make peace I say.

Oh hey! Speaking of making peace instead of spending money worrying bout me and sending letters out can you agree to pay for my wigs, hairpieces and all that jazzy stuff? In return I can offer my services to find money to pay for it. I have lots of thinking time on my hands.

Your partner in eradicating addictions and saving money, 
Lolita
P.S. To make you comfortable and regain trust I'm willing to submit to pee tests. A few conditions. You pay for it (I'm good on that getting more bills thing) and just for fun lets say  we ALL do it. $87.23 says I have the cleanest pee around. Seriously let's do that because that's one of my co-pays and I can cross that off my list. 

FAQ section of the blog

Frequently asked questions and answers section of the blog

Q:  Why the blog? Why such a public way to document your personal/private experience with cancer?
A:   Easy way to communicate to a large group. Many who want to know a variety of things especially to answer the "how do you feel" question. Hopefully that you read the blog so on the day I blog on and on about pain and lots of eff words isn't the day you innocently ask-how are you? To protect the innocent I have to fakely answer that question and lie my azz off. I can't add lying on top of cursing to the growing list of transgressions I'm committing. To share what I call moments of-are you friggin kidding meeeee?!!?!?- that happens in the life of a cancer patient. You have an idea, but really you don't. I'm shielding you like a mother hen in my blogging. As explained to a family member, there isn't much privacy I realized early on. That I simply could not go from size va va voom to itty bitty titty committee size (yes, I said that) without way more questions, as well I'll disappear some and sound slurry when I talk. Conspiracy theories would abound.

Oddly lots of questions about my hair even though I'm constantly told it's NO big deal, it'll grow back, you'll be fine, you will look gorgeous. Blah blah blah. Mmmmkay. 

Q:  Are you sure your hair will fall out? Maybe it won't.
A:  (blankly staring at you blinking my eyes). Listen I have a hard enough time getting myself off the island on the daily, I just don't have time to yank you off the island. You know the island. Fantasy island. (holding your hand now) Honey, that was a show in the 70's, it wasn't a real island where dreams come true. It was fake for tv. No one lives there, not even Tattoo or that guy with the Spanish accent. The type of chemo I am gonna get all of it is gonna drop off of me. Hair on my head, eyelashes, eyebrows the whole thaaaaannnngg.

Q:  Are you bald yet? Or when is your hair coming off? 
A:  This one is mostly for my niece. When my brother and his wife told the kids the news explaining what they would see or experience her main question is-am I bald yet? When she came over during my wig party and we were alone admiring all my lip glosses she tells me she wants to see under my wig to see if my hair is still there. The same another time when I had a hat on. As of today, it's there. Week of Jan 6th it will be gone with first chemo treatment so I'm told.

Q:  Are you going to wear wigs, scarves or rock a bald look? Have you decided yet?
A:  I have no idea really. I think that's why this week I turned my blonde hair (almost 15 years) to the screaming-look at the elephant in the room- purple. Yup purple like. It was to see if I could walk around in the outside world while people looked at and commented (or not but wanted to) on my hair. It wasn't that easy. The second day I wore a hat. Plus I started making "I'm different friends" each place I visited. While all my life I've been used to people, strangers, always striking random conversation or talking to me (new people who hang with me find this interesting and amusing) I'm just not sure I'm all that comfy yet with instant bonding. I like to take things slow. If this confuses you talk to a pregnant women and she will tell you all about it.

Q:  Can't you go on a special diet, or take herbs or xx? My friend did that. (It's always a friend never someone's momma)

A:  Shut your pie hole and go please (pointing at the door) no worries we are still friends but we are on a break.

Q:  What do you do most of the day now?
A:  Lots of doctor/surgeon/test visits. A get up and get out of the house doc visit is an exhausting day. I walk slower so getting around takes up time. I stare at my nails or the walls because staring at the walls didn't make me use my arms causing pain. I focus on healing, how will I handle what's next. Because I doze off when I'm doing this I have to start all over again when I wake up. I take pictures of my dog. I send pictures & emails to friends/family of incredibly stupid silly stuff. Then when they don't respond in 30 seconds I call them to be sure their phone isn't broke. I'm very busy.

Q:  Do you have good insurance or insurance at all?
A:  Yes, Hercules has insurance which covers me. Quite a few places tell me: you have the good insurance. Still it doesn't cover everything and we have 20% co pays for things. I have this process: receive mail, snort sorta maniacally laugh at the figures, fan myself with some, categorize and label: Pay right away category or the special category I call "they will send Carmen and the boys after me" or "kiss my grits till I get to it". It's all fine and I always find my way.

Q:  So you really don't sit around crying?
A:  No I sure don't. Sometimes I think maybe I should because I'm asked so much. Like I worry I'm suppressing deep emotions. So I make a cry face then it doesn't happen then I worry that will cause wrinkles so I stop. What does make me cry at times is when I receive unexpected gifts or unbelievable generosity from the most unlikely sources, sometimes people I don't know or didn't expect to reach out. And just the generosity and spirit of my entire family. That and when my friends or family make me laugh so hard I cry or pee my pantalones.

Q:  So um, what size will your new boobs be?
A:   When you send out the invite to the "let's talk about our boob size and show our boobs party" with accept or decline for me to check either, I shall promptly cross it out and write in--hell naw in bold letters and fedex it back to you. To be sure you get it back as soon as possible.

Q:  Do you really say bad words that much?
A:  During the worst of the nerve pain, after surgery pain time and during the time that infection was brewing (it made sections of my body hurt SO bad)- oh yes, I cussed my tail off. I simply could not help myself and couldn't believe myself. You will be proud to know that my mantra prayer is the Hail Mary. Always has been and runs through my head daily so there are times I yell out---pray for us sinners! Or great balls of fire! Or instead of can of beans just omg BEANS!! I have no idea why on that last part.

Today a friend sent me a message

It was a simple message with a few words of encouragement and wishes. It lifted me up a great deal. I'm always struck and left with the realization we will never ever know just how much tiny gestures we do can mean to another person on any given day. Just how powerful we really are. I've always used a silly phrase: I use my powers for good. Meaning that I put a best foot forward to use my words to or towards another for good. I try this everyday and then reset and then try again. How amazing to get this back to me, unexpectedly. 

Unexpectedly for reasons I have not known this person for very long. What a nice surprise to know they thought of me enough to send a simple message. Also because before I took leave to do my cancer battle with my nunchucks and high heels (as I draw in picture form in my cards I send out) I had a conversation with this person about some tough times they are having in their life as well. We all have something terrible or tough we need to face from time to time. I am so painfully aware of that fact. I guess it's how we face it is the true determining factor how you will get through each day that defines you as a person. And this amazing person spends a great deal of their day laughing and making others do the same just by being themselves. I can testify as the message they promptly sent me back had me indeed laughing out loud, very loudly. Deciding in advance how we will face tough times isn't something we can always plan out. You stumble along, tripping around, somewhat blindly like, hands out in front feeling your way while stubbing your toes on things you didn't foresee. And then finally just figure it out. Sometimes though the stuff keeps coming. In a big dump truck with that loud beep- beep sound you hear as it's backing up at your front door. You hear the truck and the song from that old show Cops starts running through your head. "Whatcha gonna do, whatcha gonna do when they come for you". This figuring out how you are going to behave part starts from the moment they hand you the shit sandwich at the shit sandwich shop. Don't go there on purpose. Ever. Their product is horrible and costly. 

As I go out in public on my little journeys these heal get better soon days I have a new set of eyes. During quick jaunts to the doctors, pharmacy/tests I view people I see out and about differently now. I sometimes wonder which of the people I come across are in crisis, you know "holding the sandwich" or pain that was covered up with a cute hat, lipgloss or in my friends case-laughter. We might never know, will we? 

So besides telling this person how very happy I was to receive their message and how very badly I wished the same they did. To a fervent degree. The wish was that I heal fast and be 100% soon. I also asked them to please take care. To do all they can to be strong in their mind as well as their body for all they must face on a daily basis. It was my wish back and sort of plea. Because I converse in Spanish more often than English with this lovely person our conversation today was in Spanish.

I finished my message with some words I'll share here. 

Cada dia tenemos que ser.......
Positivo
Fuerte
Carinoso
Alegre
Listo 
Lleno de fe y amor
Tambien gracioso o chistosos--- hehe :)

Everyday we must be.....
Positive
Strong
Loving
Cheerful
Ready or clever
Full of faith and love
Also witty and funny :)

Clearly this person needs no lessons from me on that last part.

I start with some borrowed words today

I read something this morning from Dr. Wayne Dyer about happiness. He writes:

St Francis shows us how to be happy. The secret of happiness from St Francis of Assisi

You come into this world with nothing and you leave with nothing. The only thing you can do with your life is give it away. This is the true essence to feeling purposeful.

"Lord, make me a channel of thy peace.

...that where there is sadness, I may bring joy"

From the Prayer of St. Francis

I have done lots of reading about and by these two men throughout my life. Both at different times or another have brought me incredible amounts of comfort, peace, self understanding, acceptance and just purpose. In fact the book by Dr. Wayne Dyer called The Power of Intention was practically life changing for me many years ago. I have a worn copy close by that I may open from time to time reading words I know so very well. The same goes for the St. Francis prayers (amazing simple words about love, peace and light). I don't even look, I just open and read whichever or whatever is right in front of me. And sure enough very often happens to be exactly what I very much needed to hear at that exact moment. Coincidence?

Oh that cancer lady is getting weird talking about strange things, I think she's cracking with  the thought of being bald soon or the pills and the cursing!!! (You yell out over your shoulder)

The reasons I wanted to share this with you was in an earlier blog I posted something about thoughts and watching them with care as from thoughts often forms words and then habits. It's why that little snippet from the prayer of St Francis means so much. 

Bring sadness to joy he says. Oh sure sounds easy we snort. But what I know to be true is I'm so lucky to have a lot of that in my life. Especially now. Please hear me that I'm not that person that says false words of I'm soooooo blessed or jeepers imma a lucky gal blah blah blah. Nope neh. Trust me I don't. First off I don't use that word jeepers or shucks. Second point is If I don't tell you your baby is cute it is def cuz I don't think it is. Sorry. The end. Once long ago I told nurse muneca that a baby everyone was saying is cute was ugly and she said oh my goodness jew stop that, jew don't say that, he's cute. I crossed my arms and said well I'm not saying that.

The truth is during times of stress, sadness or struggle I have incredible amounts of joy. It is not a false front presented, then the door closes while I turn around sobbing sliding down with my back to the door. Doesn't happen. 

Is it because I happen to be born into a family and surrounded by fun wisecrackers or people who are funny, ready to laugh? Is it because of my refusal to become totally mature? Is it because I internally process terrible or serious things in the way I do and laugh inappropriately or irreverently? Who knows I shrug. Please note: do NOT take the time to respond below with your thoughts on my immaturity trying to be helpful and answer. These "questions" require NO answers, I repeat NO answers, kindly remove your fingers from the keyboard. 

Then (goodness gracious) I made some coo coo for cocoa puffs decision to actually document thoughts here publicly for all to bear witness? I don't try to write this blog pandering to a supposed reader. Why would I do that?? I say boobs like 10 gajillion times.  How embarrassing. The truth is to get the words out at all and press publish before I delete is I use Jedi mind tricks. Telling myself don't worry Lolita no one is reading, no one will see this girl, go ahead and say that. And it works. Jokes on me when quite a few people or friends message me privately to say girlfriend that entry was killing me! Or omg you are too much! I silently die inside remembering that hehe oh yea I did write that. Woops.

So I will gladly testify that where there is sadness those who bring me joy lift me up. That when you tell me I'm positive, I believe the only thing I'm positive about is when you laugh, I laugh. That and if you fall I'm def laughing (terrible, terrible!!). When you tell me I'm brave the real truth is imma chicken who is scared of the dark, smelly things, and extreme awkwardness to a degree I want to run from it while saying feet don't fail me now. I only borrow my courage from others who I see with real daily struggles. That and I tell myself to get over myself. A lot.

I realize I've been dancing around

A few things these days. Not physically of course. I can't, I'm an invalid. Or that's the phrase I use at the pharmacy when the lady with short arms can't reach over to my car to get my prescriptions nor can I in anyway do that stretch reach thing. Painful and not allowed. I'm sorry, I'm invalid is there someone who can help? It's much easier than to get into the whole long sorry story. Besides a girl has to maintain mystery these days.

The dancing I'm referring to is about the upcoming chemotherapy part. That I hadn't talked about. Until now. I say the word with an extreme look of distaste on my face, a semi frown (I don't ever do full frowns they can cause wrinkles) and a middle finger ready to salute. That's how I feel about that. Well much more but I do try to keep my foot in the may get to heaven someday door.

Each different doctor I bring certain people for a few reasons. Their energy/vibe or humor, their physical ability to keep me from running out the door and the questions they may ask because as we well know I'm not the most focused these days until they start saying the words here's how it will look in the end. So for oncology visits it's always the same. Me, my brother and Hercules.

The after surgery visit to my oncologist is an important one. I had previously been to see Dr. GQ with my crew. (No I'm not trying to rap). That first visit was to review lab results for his thoughts on chemo before surgery or move onto surgery. Cleared for no chemo prior, surgery first.

I say Dr. GQ because thats what my brother calls my oncologist. He is a well respected doctor, a very dignified man with a calm aura, low speaking voice who has been doing what he does for many years. And he wears very nice suits. Because of the way he talks I sometimes expect him to say Lolita San this is what you must do. Lolita San this is why we need to do this. Quite different from my other doctor or hospitals visits where shenanigans may occur.

So here we all are a few weeks after surgery in his patient visiting room. He goes over the pathology report. Clear margins. Good. A couple lymph nodes removed (not all) and nothing there. Ok good. I'm fine, you're fine, we're all fine. Peace out. Drops mic. Buh bye. Not so fast Lolita San.

You see there are a few things I keep being told during all my visits, which has determined my course of action concerning surgery and now my chemo treatment plan. It's the type of cancer I have. Once again please take note: anything medical I say is what I understand that's happening to my body, everyone is different. I have the attention span and maturity of a 14 year old, I take lots of drugs now and soon apparently marijuana so do not repeat what I say medically. You could possibly look like a dum dum and it's not my fault. I have excuses. You don't.

Start at the very beginning. Doctors view pathology reports with several factors. I have what's called invasive ductal carcinoma. Most women who have this terrible disease will get this kind. I have a family history. And I am considered young (stop snickering-seriously I will kick you). I have heard it 10 times now. Once I looked at my brother who is very helpful by reminding me I'm older and said "howdya like that bro she says I'm young". Although I have been a reluctant $& year old for some time (oh woops sorry about that, I'll get my number keys fixed) it's just well the novelty wears off soon about the fact that I'm "young". Apparently not the best thing in this scenario.

Other important part: I have fuck face triple negative cancer (oh dear she's cursing and she used that f word). That my dears is where I might divide in the road with a person's friend, aunt, sister or anyone we know with breast cancer. That they were able to do this or that in their treatment or they did this surgery and they are fine or they take pills or not have to chemo or why do you have to have chemo? Or why aren't you taking those pills? Why can't you eat tumor shrinking food? Or see this healer In Brazil? My loved ones, I say to you with the heaviest heart that you will never ever have any idea how very much I have struggled internally over everything. Grappled with decisions  to move into acceptance and action. And that is why my brother goes with me to oncology visits. To keep me honest. Because in the parking lot after when talking to him I do tap dances. He gently helps me move into reality. He is the face of my family looking at me lovingly telling me I must do all I can do at this moment. Especially chemo, toxic chemo. So of course I wish so very badly any or all of the above could be true. That I would have an easier road that allows me to live in peace, that allows my family peace that we did all we could. That I would not need to look over my shoulder for the next 30-40 years. It is the single most frustrating thing that has ever happened in my life. It can sometime seem I don't get much say in how I would like to move forward.

Because some years ago smart people discovered not all breast cancers are the same. Triple negative means I don't have the estrogen or progesterone receptors typically treated with pills. Triple negative likes it's ass to be kicked with chemo. Sometimes a lot. It's a more rare type. Like 1 million women with breast cancer (how terrible, really terrible) only 15% or around 150,000 women have it. It tends to favor African American/Latina women and it likes them young. How nice. Sounds like a real asshole. 

So my cancer is considered an aggressive type cancer with slightly higher chance to return in other ways, like in my bones my liver or my brain. And those Lolita San are not curable my doctor tells me. I know because I asked him. I asked my family to pretend they were not in the room and that I'm joking but what if-WHAT IF I decide not to do chemo doctor?  Doctor seemed ready for my question and calmly listed those reasons I have heard over and over. Because I need numbers, I really do, I ask him to rephrase it for me that way. He again has his homework done and tells me if I choose not to do this treatment plan that it's a 30% chance or likely cancer may return to my body in those uncurable ways. Silence. I'm proud of my brother who held his words until then and finally calmly said, loleets, this is just too high. And if I do the chemo, what then I ask as I pinch the spot between my eyes. Likely to reduce down to 5 to 10%. And that's still too high my brother says.

It happened that I knew before surgery I was stage 2 cancer, grade 2, I knew the tumor size was considered a little bigger. It was a new area of concern not on previous mammograms exams going back over 10 years. I also happen to know and been told several times that Dr Jones, my radiologist saved my life. Had I not followed a sequence of events I did, had she not stopped, and caught it in another year I could have easily been stage 4. Let's take a moment there. It's enough to digest and I know you have to catch up to me as I've been with this in my head and heart for some time, along with some family members.

Stages I'm told aren't as important as size (unless it's stage 4) and then size isn't as important as how it behaves in your body. Like what is it doing and where is it going? Mine was a acting a fool but caught early enough. So the reasons why my chemo recommendations are more and longer than I hoped. Instead of a few rounds and a few months it will be 16 or more rounds and 6 to 8 months if my body allows. Then more surgeries. 

While I may not like or care for all that life has given me from time to time to struggle with. What I have always known is that I'm never alone. None of us are.

Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus.

Thessalonians 5:16-18

When you say you are tired exactly

How tired is tired is the question two of my doctors have asked me this week because that's my main complaint besides some expected discomfort a week out of surgery. Of course we want to ensure I heal quickly and as expected from my second surgery in less than a month. However my energy levels and how tired I am is a big deal to me and to them as it gives indications on how well I really am doing. As such it warrants investigation and at least a few minutes of discussion. People throw that tired word around quite a bit or we tend to say wow I'm so exhausted. We just do. It has become part of our vernacular to a degree that when we really are it could be hard to discern just how tired is tired. Well I usually don't say that and most of the time feel pretty good so when I say I gotta sit down and take a break because I'm standing for 4 minutes or that I have to prop my head up to eat a little something I wasn't even hungry for in the first place or basically my days are spent either sleeping or wanting to sleep after I just slept some. I know that might be something to bring to my doctors attention. Is there something I can do or not do? Or maybe this is something I ride out for x period of time? Either way I want to know. As you read this you might think (in your high sweet voice I always imagine) well that poor cancer lady needs to rest, goodness gracious she should be tired. Sure, I get it and I agree. And also I get that I need some teeny weeny energy to be able to eat or want to eat. I need energy to be able to get up and walk around a little bit to keep blood flowing avoiding further complications with blood clots, and finally I need a lil get up and go to be able to stay somewhat connected and remain sane. 

Basically my loved ones after talking with my doctors it seems I have been handed a straight up "can of azz whuppin". You know that can? The one you got lying around just in case someone is being so ridiculous making you so cranky that you start shaking your arm until someone asks you- what ARE you doing??? And you say oh yea, hold up, I'm shaking up this can of azz whuppin I'm about to lay down. Yup, like that. Like a yea-no, lay down, just where do YOU think YOU goin type of whuppin. Like super duper can of whuppin that I'm slow slurry talking now and I'm not even taking things that would make me do so. It's just my tongue weighs 20 pounds and makes me, well, tiiiiirreeeddd. 

Three surgeries in less than three months, being put under anesthesia each time, pain pills and other pills I have never taken, an infection where my body had to use everything I had to fight off plus throw in some mental processing has led me to have one of the toughest weeks in my life in terms of not being able to move my body a few inches to the right some days. I am not fighting it. So calm yourselves thinking I'm trying to do kungfu fighting moves to get up. Not the case at all. I rest and then I take another rest after that rest. I just want to know how long the rest and rest again thing might last. And what's "normal". Quotation marks for normal because none of this is. At all. 

Because I'm so very lucky and blessed to have loved ones who care and want to know how I am or what's next I'm taking advantage of a moment after a doctor visit where I am upright and ate something to write out what jumbling around in my head and next steps. Thank you to the many who reach out to me personally through calls, texts (I'm never gonna tell you what the doctor said in text, sorry not gonna do it) Facebook messages and emails asking what's next or just to send me silly pictures of animals because they know that makes me laugh. 

First up is get well from all this I got going on (gesturing all around my chest area). These new incisions and bruises must heal. The original healing process has been delayed because of the second surgery. And I must be absolutely clear of any sign of infection and that's not 100% as of today. Once my two surgeons talk this afternoon I'll know if I take oral antibiotic, just slather it right on topically or continue stare at walls and rest thing. We will see. 

The next two or three weeks will be lots of doctors visits (surgeons, oncologist and cardiologist) and back to the hospital. Why? Because after I heal and get better-relatively speaking- I get to look forward and prepare for punk azz bitch face chemo. It seems you must be better before you can have your azz handed back to you in this cray cray cancer world I live in these days. A blog entry right after this one coming about my chemo, my thoughts on it and more exact details. Beware, it's raw. The hospital outpatient procedure is to put a chemo port in me as they don't use IV each time. It's put into my chest by my heart. Mmhmmmm. And we can't do that fun stuff until I do this sleep, heal, sleep some more recover thing.

Because I'm not allowed to take ibuprofen due to upcoming port procedure the only thing for pain I can take is hydrocodone narcotic type stuff or Tylenol. My pain laughs at Tylenol. My nerve pain sticks it butt out and pulls it's pants down at over the counter Tylenol. But take narcotics? Ask me what I think about that and I make a sound that sounds like a fart. No words, just a sound. I usually only take it at night to sleep with less discomfort, even then I forget. Hercules (my boyfriend-please catch up on other blog entries to make me stop saying this word at my age) hears me moving around in the dark all awkward and quietly lovingly asks me if I took anything. I tell him no. Then I offer him a dollar if he can get it for me because It will take me 20 minutes to get back up into sit position, reach to my left to grab one and slurp down some water. No need, he's usually on his way to get it before I'm finished with my pathetic bribe. In any case I told my surgeon today that I don't wish or want anyone else touching me, opening me up putting things in me or taking things outta me until I'm 10000% better and she agreed. So that has to get pushed out some.

Heal and wait is the short answer if you were smart to just skip to the bottom. :)

I'm pretty sure your lovey isn't like my lovey

The Lovey in question here is my daughter. That's what I call her because I'm her mama and allowed to make up names she might not like so much.

Yesterday for "operation get dead rats outta my left boob side" lovey was right there. To help me out the door (member I'm slow) waiting for me to take selfies. To accompany me making sure I don't flee the scene, to stick around for hours in a boring hospital waiting, to reassure me many times in her calm lovey voice that I don't stink like a dead rat. This she reassured me of several times. I know because I would open up my shirt or if I happened to even move my head in that direction I would yell out to say urrgghhh or bleeee or dee sgusting!!! Then ask each time lovey! are YOU sure lovey??!!

Yes, mama I'm sure she would reply. No, mama you don't smell or no, mom you don't smell like a dead rat. That last reassurance was because I asked her to be specific. She has a special voice for me when I ask her things. Some serious, silly or downright childish entirely due to who I am and always have been as a person. It's the voice I'm perfectly aware she will use when I'm old, at the sunny shades nursing home and I tell her that Bertha down the hall is stealing my chocolate that I don't like Bertha because she's smelly and I'm sure she doesn't brush her teeth. She will use that kind loving patient voice then as she does now.

Before we went off we stayed a moment in the parked car. I looked at her to ask her to make some promises to her mama. Because I wanted to be absolute sure about viral videos or repeating silly stories of me loopy I tell her: lovey no videos right? She laughs. no mama no videos. For added emphasis I touch her arm gently, pat it and say: we must be united in this front my daughter. ( ya know in case she forgets I'm her mama) or if the situation is so daing funny all bets are off with me yelling dead rats dead rats after surgery and she needs proof it happened. Again she reassured me.

Oh my gosh, why would that lovey girl or anyone in her family do that to this poor women with "the cancer"??? I imagine you saying in your high very sweet all naive voice as you read this.

Well my folks its because I have been laughing my ass off for over 20 years when:  people's pants fall down accidentally (yea right), when they fall or smack into doors or glass doors or just trip over stuff. I beg and implore those whom I love dearly to never ever do stuff like that or fall around me. I am that person who will laugh, I am that person who might or might not even try to hide the terrible fact I am laughing, then straight up do a sorta snort laugh cough while asking are (laugh) you (snort laugh) ok?!? I may even have told a few stories of when lovey came out of sedation about things she said. I'm just an inappropriate laugher, one day I shall pay dearly for it but am hoping it wouldn't be day of surgery. Hence my need for reassurances.

Once when a family member walked into a glass door I laughed for like an hour, I wasn't alone in laughing though but I'm sure I was alone in the fact that days later I would recall the image and bust again laughing. Yuuup, write that down people. Lolita swears like a sailor/truck driver and laughs when people could be hurt. I'm not proud of this I'm just saying and helping you understand where my concerns are coming from.

Well my Lovey my dear daughter true to the wonderful person she is never once did any such thing and or even hinted at it.

With nurses checking me in, noting my vitals it got pretty silly, you see I have been at that surgery center more than a few times now, I have some gals who enjoy me and we laugh and laugh while they do their Lolita check in. During serious question part I see a handsome very well dressed man in a suit walk by I interrupt nurse to ask...oh my who is that?! The nurse 2 who attempting an IV insertion at that time said who who??! While she pushes curtains back to look. Nurse 1 without missing a beat says out loud oh Doctor such and such, my patient would like to meet you. Delicious man in suit comes over to meet me, shake my hand while I say wow you look like you smell good. He laughs and says what do you need done, I'll do it looking me up and down joking. He's a plastic surgeon so nurse 2 says oh I'm sure we will think of something. Meanwhile at nurse station behind him gathers a crowd to peer over at this scene. When he leaves I say to nurse 1 really? You stinker. She cracks up at me saying to him that he must smell good and there it goes for the hour they finish checking me in. Patients and nurse or assistants peer over often to look at what is so daing funny in our little bay.

Soon my lovey is allowed to join the party and come sit with me. Doctor anesthesiologist comes in to tell me his part, asks more questions to get ready for surgery. Any questions? Yes I do, I think now would be a good time for me to make one last trip to restroom and then I'm ready to get it on. Can I do that? Off he goes to find me an open bathroom, comes back to help me and my IV bag up all the while listening to me telling him the rules. Doc no one gets to see my ass, you gotta pay for that shit. He laughs saying its good, walks me to the bathroom holding me closed while carrying my IV bag. Apparently this never happens because when we walk by the nurse station several necks crane over. A few say out loud well I'll be! Nurse 2 says girl how'd you do that? Looking at the doctor and another man waiting to hold door open for me. Nurse (waving her away) I'm good I'm good I got a few cutie men helping me. I see that and there's a first for everything is her honest funny reply.
At one point nurse 1 says to lovey something like your mama is a hoot, too funny.

Calm patient lovey nonplused says oh yes, this is how my mama rolls and the way she is every day. I'm used to it by now.

See? I told you that I bet your lovey isn't like my lovey. She gets me. She really does.

And so it appears I go back

For more surgery. A mini one, but like tomorrow afternoon.

The "situation" as I have been calling it was my left breast just wasn't healing as it should. Not real bad but not cooperating and the source of a lot pain among other things.

It has been my entire focus these last few weeks besides "operation get the drains out me" was to do all I could following orders to ensure I don't get infections. And many think that means lie in bed and do nothing. Believe it or not moving in careful ways as instructed is good. Note: get medical advice from your own doctor and heed my previous warning about repeating medical things I say with any confidence to anyone else. I'm taking narcotics for the first time in 15 years people! 

The idea is to ensure blood flow and oxygen moves back to areas that were well -how to say this, how to say this- sliced and diced some. It's a common after breast cancer surgery issue and concern. Manage pain and heal. If not, more surgeries to fix the problem thus delaying recoveries, with more time added onto the sentence (sorry that's how I see it now) to get to the end result. Which to me is get back to my regularly scheduled life.

For about a week now I kept referring to the situation (trust me you don't want the whole thing described in detail) as the dead rat in the left side of my bra. Now here's the thing, I have been to both surgeons and my regular physician in the last week alone. You just make the rounds during recovery from cancer surgery. First weekly then maybe every 2 weeks, that's in addition to the oncologist and now it seems a cardiologist to prep for chemo. I told you I was busy. I tossed my primary care doctor in the mix for a few reasons. Im off work with time to do it and extremely important with so many doctors to have that one doctor that has all my information, all the medicines I'm taking (very very important) and when all is said and done she will be the person I continue on with monitoring my health.

In these 3-4 doctors visits during the last week or so glances and exams were done to see how healing was coming along. Yes count with me, person number 73 who has seen me without shirt in last month (I had to add all the lovely hospital people that's why it jumped from 52). All agreed the skin was the color it needed to be. Fine. Ok.

My issue with my bionic nose is I started to smell something not so nice. I named it the dead rat. I'm that person. Yes, the one that smells everything about half a day before anyone else, and it's annoying. Each visit I ask: so everything looks good right? Answer each time: yes so far. And then: well what about that smell? Answer: What smell? Once when one of my docs leaned in to try to smell more while declaring it slightly weird out loud I resisted the urge to pull my camera phone out and snap a pic. Yes, I'm immature. No one agreed with me on the dead rat smell situation.

This morning with a call to my surgeon office, the email exchange and photos it was decided to have me come in. The Doctor assistant calls and said doc is in surgery, she reviewed email, photos and wants to know if you can come in. Can you do that? I said girl I have been waiting in my kitchen with my purse in my hands all afternoon ready. 

In the doctors office I dramatically warn them to hold their nose during the reveal. It wasn't as bad as I describe I'm told but the result is I go tomorrow for outpatient skin trimming clean it up type mini surgery thing. For me to be comfortable and to not feel pain you get twilight anesthesia. I think two things: first is punch me out or hit me with a frying pan I don't care but no more pain and the other is please don't let me be like that girl who was hysterical over her murdered wisdom teeth after anesthesia which was videotaped by her "loved ones" and went viral on the internet. I start my mental work on detaching from anything coming off of me so that doesn't happen.

Prayers and thoughts are appreciated for a speedy recovery my dear family and friends as well-no internet videos. All are equally important.

There are just going to be times

When you feel like no one could possibly understand the struggle, the pain or frustration you are going through except for maybe a song sung by one of your favorites.

For those reasons I haven't blogged much in a week or so for some very important reasons:

1. Pretty busy processing news I'm not happy about, the next steps and kickin rocks like a little kid with my hands in my pocket because I have to do things I don't want to do- I move slower these days so that takes up a lot of time

2. Still pain and more terrible curse words so I hang out with foul mouf people to feel more normal and better about myself

3. Operation get the drains outta me required me to not move my arms, point a lot and only when absolutely needed. The report to that story is the mutha fuggan drains are out

4. Lots of doctor visits (I have 5 now)- each visit bring homework or prep and sometimes more kickin rocks

4. Monitoring a possible infection situation that was making me distracted and nervous-after calls with my doctor, email and photo exchange of my boob I was promptly seen

5. Very busy checking that I could have sent pictures of my boob to my entire email address book and need to double check my sent emails twice to be sure. Ok ok three times. We are ok, email sent to proper recipient

The reality is some days are good, some are meh and some are just a straight up country song. One thing after another it seems. No different than any other time in our life with just different content. So while sitting more still than I ever have or at least in a long time listening to some soul music (i like to toss it up) I heard some words In a song that hit me hard. You know that feeling? Similar to like when you are in church and the preacher or priest is doing their thing and you feel without a doubt that the sermon that day was wrote and meant entirely for you. Surely when this happens it's no accident. We are meant to see or hear things at the times when we need.

So here I am in my house just feeling those words, and I gotta tell you I may or may not have said in a louder than normal voice or well just shouted: amen or can I get a witness?! Like I said May or May not. There's only myself and my dog to tell the tale of what really went down.

Partial lyrics to song sung by Anthony Hamilton, Jaheim, Musiq soulchild

Struggle no more..................................

Lately It’s been hard times
I’m talking about them
Financial ones aside
And they say when it rains it pours
Well it’s running at my door
If it ain’t one thang (one thang) it’s another
And I’m so glad that we got each other
I’m so sick and tired of being stressed out
Lord please help me from this mess I’m in

Lord lift me over the hurt and pain
Deliver me from the rain
See I don’t wanna stress over stress no more
I don’t wanna strug-gle no more
So lift me up over the hurt and pain
Deliver me from the rain
See I don’t wanna stress over stress no more
I don’t wanna strug-gle no more

The things a girl gotta do

To get stuff done. Last week I had several doctors appointments. The first one to visit my surgeon checking how everything looks and if my drains could come out. These days while I may not have much to do except heal I still make daily goals. So my goal before the visit besides drink more water and try to make it from bed to bathroom without taking a break was to do all I can to get drains removed during this visit. They don't usually stay in this long but it's different for everyone. 

I talked about the drains before, they are stitched into the side of my body with long tubes that empty into these grenade type things. They need stripping, recording and emptying and stripping and recording and well you get the idea. Annoying. Not to mention messes with my fashion choice when I leave the house. I need to be super creative hiding them. I don't wear or own tent like shirts so that rules that out. I thought I scored and found a shirt that hides them well enough only to look in the mirror to see that tucking the drains in made it looked like I had droopy boobs (big sigh), and I mean droopy, like down to my waist droopy. Yea no, def not the look I'm going for. Ever. 

I waited holding my breath while they read the drain report card. She laughed a little. Not because this is a laughing matter. It's you record the times next to entry and one day I woke up late, at like 10am, and I wrote don't judge me next to it. Anyway she said nope not ready, stop using your arms so much. For sure I don't mop, vacuum or do dishes, everyone in a 10 mile radius knows I don't do this. Well, what else are you doing she asks? I suddenly remembered doing lots of cleaning counters and picking things up. I might have even swept the floor because I couldn't take it anymore. I felt the dust would move into one whole piece and attack me or something. So of course she advised well stop doing it, if you want them out don't use arms repeatedly. 

So I go home to tell my housemates the news and ask for a game plan. I live with cooperative helpful lovely people. They really are. The issue is me. You see my boyfriend isn't a messy man it's just he doesn't see anything wrong at all with 8 shoes piling up at the bottom of the stairs, clothes on the floor in our room or his shirts on chairs in the kitchen. Clearly it doesn't bother him. Once I came downstairs and his military bag was on the floor about half a foot from the kitchen, next to it were his pants still with the leg holes outlined like he dropped them and just stepped out of them. I never said a word. Why? Because it's my issue and not his. So I pick it up and shut up. I long ago came to the reality that if things bother me about cleanliness I need to make choices. Shut up and pick it up or leave it. I want peace always. Besides there's bigger things we can discuss nor do I want to constantly complain to a sweet cute man. It's unattractive. While in my career often times I have been "the boss" at home however I just want to be a sassy little kitty who twirls her hairs, smells good and wears lipgloss. But I got goals. So I have to employ methods to accomplish the mission.

Me: my handsome man, there's something really scary in our room. I can't go in there. I'm afraid. (Meaning his underwear and tshirt is on the floor)
Him: oh shucks sweetie, I'm sorry. lemme go pick it up.

Yes, yes of course I happen to live with a southern man who never raises his voice to me, says things like shucks and doesn't curse. Excellent! Truck driver Lolita tossing out cuss words left and right with nerve pain. I apologize constantly.

Me: Hercules (one of my names for him) I think there's spiders in the bathroom on the floor. I think they gonna bite me. 
Him: ok ok mami lemme go sweep while kisses me

Him: here my love here's your morning shake, how does it taste?
Me: oh goodness it's great! I bet you looked real cute making it (he def forgot a few key ingredients and I never once held my nose or grimaced while drinking it down) 

As for his shoes pileup? I haven't found anything to say for that so each time I go upstairs I wear one and kick them off into his closet so I'm not using my arms. 

Don't worry folks. Operation get the friggin drains outta Lolita or she gonna go loco well under way. Mission soon to be accomplished.