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.

The side effects of cancer recovery

Brings a lot of surprises. I have blogged about some of it.

Overthinking because of time on your hands. Seriously. I'm well on my way to solving world peace
Being so exhausted I have to take a break on the way to the bathroom from my bed and sit on the couch that is mere inches from my bed
Copious amounts of narcotics to take due to pain pain paaaiiinn (singing)
Need to drink prune juice (oh my gosh did I tell you that????-said in a strange high voice)

And now apparently something else, very serious. Sorta of a modified Tourette syndrome. If you don't know what that is please google it. It's terrible and nothing to make light of the people who really have this. I just have no other explination. But it causes people to move their body unexpectedly even if they don't want to and some times shout things out? Please My dear friends, never ever take anything medical I say on this blog and repeat it with any confidence. To anyone. I know just enough to be dangerous and ALL that I know from my entire life fits on the head of a tiny pin. Maybe half. So please don't go having a conversation with someone repeating medical stuff saying...well the other day Lolita said blah blah blah (fainting at the thought). It's why I bring people with me to appointments. I TRY to focus. I really do, it's just all I want to shoutout is ppeerrfecct- just wheeeeennn do we get to the--and now they look pretty and I can stop taking my shirt off constantly-part!!!! But of course I don't shout that. I listen, I nod my head and ask questions then I look at my brother and say ok um Kev? Do you have any questions? Praying to the big man upstairs he does and it's a doozy so we look smart.

Back to the Tourette's issue. You see there is that shooting nerve pain thing you get after surgeries like this. It just comes on sudden and nasty nasty. So there I am sitting around, minding my own business, there it goes POW!! I immediately gasp out----loud. My hands ball up in fists up at the side of my head, then release and of course I say ummm stuff. Really bad stupid stuff that I am trying super duper hard not to say. So when I apply this effort at a time I'm in shocking pain I am truly embarrassed what comes out and the combination of things. I don't even say this stuff on the regular in real life! Hey, do you like how I just tried to act like this time in my life isn't real and pretend (nodding my head-you caught that, right?)? I'll spend some time on a therapy couch somewhere for that. What I'm trying to say is I don't normally say these things. Rather this combination of words. The other day I texted my sister in her room late at night telling her sister if you hear cursing from our room, to not worry my boyfriend and I are not having a fight. It's the shooting nerve pain. She replied. Feel better sister. Sorry and don't worry I won't tell nurse muneca (our momma) you have a mouth like a truck driver. K?

True real life examples. Note: Kids- cover your ears. Religious people-change the channel or clutch your bible to your chest and pray for me. Judgemental people-kiss my grits

Shooting pain #1: gasp fuuuuuck shit balls!! What?? I don't say balls. I hate that word.

Shooting pain #2: gasp oh my god!! fuckin can o beans!!! What! what? I do NOT take The Lords name in vain. I'm teased for saying oh my gosh all the time.

Shooting pain #3: always a loud gasp. ass monkey!! (Silence) I have no words

I have a friend who says What the French Toast?!!!! Great way to not say bad words, classy and cute. I have said it. Awesome. However I'm not able to carry this grace under shooting nerve pain situation.

Shooting pain #4: gasp?!!!! Ooo yyiiiii fuccckk the French toast!!! (Head in my hands)