Getting here was the absolute worst. The hubby and I got a little cocky about how much time it would take to get to the airport. So we woke up, worked out, finished packing and got in the car to get to the airport with about 55 minutes b4 the flight. Well… Thanks to a misguiding sky cap, we ended up waiting on a “trouble ticket” line for 40 min (there goes my flight) and had to spend an additional 110 dollars to secure a seat on the next flight out which was a full 6 hours later. After I threw a mental tantrum, I recomposed myself to the notion that now I’d be able to complete all that I’d run out of time to do: manicure / pedicure; shop for white shoes; get my toiletries etc. All the while spending more time with the hubby

So we began towards the city, feeling resolved and comforted that there was a silver lining to all of this. As we waited our turn to pay the toll at the entrance of the Midtown tunnel, an airport transportation van that was directly in front of us fancied himself wanting to just…. Back up. Fast. And onto the bumper and hood of my car. We honked and yelled and couldn’t understand what the hell he was thinking but there we were – in the midsts of a car accident. Luckily, about 6 police officers at the gate were our witnesses so we’re totally not at fault. But it cost us another hour or so to detain the guy (um, yeah, cause he was going to drive away) and write up the report. We still kept a light heart. We got to the city where I luxuriated in my long overdue mani pedi then went shopping for white shoes and a carryon bag to pack add’l items in. By the tinme we were done, it was 1:30. Next flight was at 6, but we flew out anyways. I didn’t want to take any chances. Got to the airport around 2 and checked in and cooled my heels till the flight which left on time, was uneventful and quiet.

Upon arriving at St. Louis, I got a cab and traveled to my hotel. The cabbie was wonderfully pleasant and reminded me of Daddy. He gushed proudly about his two boys who are graduating – one from high school and one from college. He was from a country right in the area of Darfur and was making his life and living with his family in the Lou.

Got to the hotel and sought out my chapter. They were hanging out and cutting it up as I expected which put me at ease. The next day was the first plenary and I was ready.

Now… The post about Boule and all the happenings won’t take place publicly on my blog. All I can and will say is that based on the events of this conference I can submit with all assurance that 1) I will NEVER, as long as it’s in my power, miss another conference. 2) if I can help it – I’ll always be a voting delegate. 3) the happenings in session were worth every penny of the 1600+ dollars it took to get me there (not including the shopping it took to get me looking the part). No one could have EVER narrated with sufficient detail and emotion all that took place over this past week. Worth. Every. Penny.

Unlike past conferences, the prevailing feeling for me in the beginning was lonliness. I spent a LOT of time on my own. I ate breakfast alone every morning. Lunches were usually the same with the exception of a few instances. I remember conference time being very busy with visits and hang outs and suite parties hosted by me and sights to see and folks to visit. But… This one was so quiet. The only people that shook up the alone feeling for me were Sharon and her total willingness to drop everything and cool out with me upon request and an impromtu visit from Tiff who hung out with me and we chatted for hours, then danced and strolled at some parties and then hung out till the wee hours of the morning talking some more, drinking cocktails and eating bad food. In a big way, any other time I had to spend alone didn’t feel so bad after that. Yet again, leave it to my original team mates and true heart sisters to unexpectedly and even unintentionally save my sense of sisterhood and closeness. Thanks, Tiff and Sharon

Well, I’m on the flight home now and I cannot wait. I miss my hubby and his skin. I miss NY water and how it doesn’t completely irritate me. I miss knowing where I want to go and getting there of my own volition. I miss the ability to identify crazy in my own home town (cause crazy does NOT look the same everywhere). I miss my mommy and her pictures so I can stop thinking that BAM resembles her and agonizing over that. I’ve not been so homesick in so long and I really hope I have a while before feeling this way again.

*

Truth be told, yesterday was one of those days where I think it might have been altogether better to just stay in bed and opt out. But my sense of obligation propelled me forward. Despite be feeling physically horrid, my mind was racing because hi, have you met me? It’s what MY mind does. I valiantly make it in to work and am in the throes of being productive when I get a phone call from the company mail room informing me that I have a “box”. Oh okay… OHHH… It’s the IVF meds. Okay. According to AG’s description last year… it’s about the size of a duane reade’s shopping bag. So I should be cool to take it home on the train and it’ll be okay. But the mailroom guy is asking me if I wanted to come take a look at it. Sure. Why not. I got to the mail room and there was a box… the size of the kind of box you’d store your Christmas tree in at the end of the season. T’was HUGE. I was stopped dead in my tracks. Because…. WTF?? It wasn’t terribly heavy, but it was cumbersome so I had homeboy wheel it back to my area and he sat it on the floor and I just… stared at it. Hadn’t opened it yet but read and re-read the words “PERISHABLE” “REFRIGERATE UPON ARRIVAL” over and over on the box. Placed a quick call to the med company that sent them to make sure that they’re on ice packs in there so they won’t melt or degrade or whatever it is that these meds do. What to I know of meds??? I don’t take aspirin. As a kid, when I had a tummy ache, mommy boiled some clove tea for me, hung a bulb of garlic around my neck and put one or two in my socks and sent me to bed. I woke up ALWAYS feeling better (smelling pretty rank – but FEELING better). So what do I know of hormones and stimulants and all this kind of stuff??? I could run my own black market with all the prescriptions of morphine and vicodin they’ve prescribed for me in the past that I just didn’t fill because – WHY? If the pain is not mind numbing, why pump myself full of chemicals just to “ignore it” It’s not going to “heal” the pain — just make me oblivious to it. I’ll pass. Save my system for something substantial should it be needed.

Maybe this is it.

I sent a frantic BBM to Aisha with a picture of the box and she talked me off my ledge a little. I admitted that it’s hard for me to not have the first thought out of my head be “why me?” “Why me and how come there are so many people who can do this baby thing EFFORTLESSLY and completely take it for granted – but me who desperately wants a family has to jump through flaming hoops at the mere CHANCE of having one?” It felt very unfair. I updated my FB status to state how I wished that somewhere in the countless dimensions and realities out there that there is a Victoria who is spoiled and over privileged; who never has to “hunker down” or “grit her teeth” or “fight the good fight”. She just gets anything she wants when she wants it and how she wants it. Very much the Paris Hilton of her reality. Knowing she’s out there would give me a sense of balance. Because I’ll do all of this… Pay thousands of dollars… inject myself with more hormones than have EVER been in my body… Go under the knife again

ONLY FOR THE CHANCE — Not even a guarantee that it’ll work. Maybe even an opportunity for my heart to be broken again because it doesn’t take…

But it’s the risk I have to be willing to take and the fear I have to overcome if I’m ever to know if I was supposed to be a mom on this planet.

Please pray for me.

*

I’m standing very alone in a situation that calls for backup. But I don’t have much anymore these days. Just my own heart and mind telling me I can stand strong and be strong. And may be that’s all I need. I need to assert myself against a claim formerly made by Cary that I was not the stuff of marriage material. I AM… I can be. I’m always ascending. And I can prove it. Now if others besides me could just believe it for a moment. I could change the world.

I hope who I speak to on Monday has a heart. And if not … I am ready to appeal to the bottom lines.

Please God. Be on my side for this.

*

I’ve been keeping so much bottled in because I can’t stand the thought of it “getting out”… But you know what – I started this blogging experience way long ago when it was called journaling and i had a paper and pen (found ALL my journals in the excavation of my parent’s old apartment – even from elementary school). Fine – back then there wasn’t a “world audience” – but I truly believe there isn’t one here either. I’m writing to the universe and whoever else would like to chime in. I can’t let this not be my place of solitude. Maybe the time away has turned off some readers and thusly given me less eyes. I can deal with that. So then… a few random thoughts that have been going around in my head for the last few months.

I can’t BELIEVE “we” (meaning my brother) lost our birth home – I keep struggling when I write that last word. It wasn’t a house with a white picket fence and memories on the porch. But we grew up there. It WAS my home. It was where I defaulted to because mom and dad were there. And now I’m positive that strangers live there because shit didn’t work out the way it was supposed to. And now all I have are my watercolored memories of green plush couches and burgundy carpets (horrible, I know… but it’s what mom and dad did with the decor LOL)

I’m completely saddened by the earthquake in Haiti. But it’s opened my eyes to so much. I’ve learned more about my parent’s native country in the last few weeks than I had all my life growing up in a haitian household. I understand now why everyone has professional portraits for pictures and not just regular every day pictures. I mean… these people were EXTRA classy. And I understand better now. But the suffering. And the destruction. And the lack of people I thought who loved me checking in — to see if there was anyone I knew in the earthquake. But all I keep hearing is “I assumed that everyone you knew was up here by now.” My family is huge. There’s no way they could ALL be up here. But I’m supposing that it’s been enough death and destruction from me for a lifetime. It still hurts – total strangers checked in with me. *shaking my damned head* I check in on them when there’s so much as too much extra rain in their parts. But… you know… I shouldn’t be doing that in the hopes that they’ll do that for me. So I’ll get over it.

Work is really painful for me right now. 3 times the workload, 1/2 the recognition. My manager who I adored as the “best manager I’ve ever had” has recently had a change of… everything – heart / disposition / demeanor. Maybe that all comes with the birth of his child and probably having to deal with considerably more bullshit than normal. But he’s not the same and hasn’t been for a long time. Used to be that I could count on him to defend his team; provide guidance for us and LEAD us. But he’s pretty much let us all out to flail on our own lately. I guess it’s sink or swim time. It’s really a gyat damned jungle out there. *smh*

Wedded life is much better. I enjoy being with Earl. I have somehow managed to curb my libido down to a dull roar. Maybe this helps in making us better friends and well, so much for lovers. I’ll get it where I can take it. It’s still hellified painful that my best friend is so apathetic towards him after that incident with the emails. It feels very much like Mom & Nininne, but… angrier. Dad could still hang out with Mom and her and it wasn’t weird. But it’s very weird for me now. And will be weirder still when I have kids. Because I’m sure she’ll want to be a part of their lives… but their lives will be part Earl’s.

Sorority life is good and bad… GREAT new position that I’m enjoying very much! Some new sisters in the fold want to act as if I’m after their prized appointed positions. Truly? I’d been there and am not and all I have to say is – if you’re going to be all about business with me IN A SORORITY? I don’t need you – I have enough co-workers. I joined AKA to have SISTERS. Enough of this backstabbing, looking over your shoulder BULL SHIT. I’m done with those particular “women” – I use that quite loosely and will continue to socialize with the ones who are about fostering a sisterhood with me.

We go for consultations on the IVF on Thursday. I’m excited and yet nervous. I hope I’m ready

Hemorrhoids SUCK. And I better get them taken care of before I get pregnant because I can’t imagine this level of discomfort coupled with THAT level of discomfort.

My feelings turn so quickly these days. One day I’m in love with something – an idea, a painting, a thought, a thing… and the next day I could care less for it. People are beginning to be included.

Money continues to be a feast or famine issue for me. Right now I’m at an intermittent buffet… Not wanting for anything dire, but i could sure use some more.

I am the ultimate creature of comfort lately. I enjoy things that comfort me and make me comfortable. Unfortunately for me… all these things COST. So i either need to be comforted less or find more money.

I feel pretty good writing this stuff down finally. Hopefully I’ll continue to do so and won’t trap myself in my own head.

*

Hi, FB Fam…. we need to talk.

Without getting too technical… we need some space…
But here’s the technical of it, because I know you just said “Why???”

I’ve been journaling since I was about 10 years old. Writing poems. Putting down my personal thoughts. Writing out the going ons of my life since then has always been a freeing experience. Literally. It frees up space in my head for new thoughts to form or for old torturous thoughts to be expelled. It got harder to journal growing older because having all the thoughts in one place, in one notebook… and god forbid I left it somewhere when something amazing would happen. I might forget to write it down at all. LOL

Along came blogging.

I logged my first blog in 2000 via Blogger.com (i’ve since moved to WordPress) which was all the rage back then. And the freedom to blog from any computer at anytime… even from my phone… was intoxicating! I sometimes would blog 3 and 4 times a day. Just to put my thoughts down. I became a “Blogger”. Telling the universe my thoughts and recounting the wild tales of my then youth. I had followers for my blog of similar places in their lives and we exchanged commentary on our crazy stories. Then something crazy happened. I started to grow up. I got engaged. I got married. I lost my parents. I started planning a family. And through all of that, the expectations of what I “should” write, changed.

I found myself censoring and rewriting and blog editing and finding the process of blogging LESS cathartic than it had always been. I was editing out because of who was looking. So I started blogging less. And folks started following less and that was fine too because I wasn’t saying anything amazing or profound or even interesting.

Then came Facebook and it’s “Notes” functionality which I used primarily to post my crazy FB questionnaires “21 Truths” “Fill in the Answer” type quizzes and what not. And I discovered a functionality to pull my blog into the Notes section through RSS. (technical) But basically when I post to my regular blog at thoughtsdaughter, a mirror of it will appear in my Facebook Notes. I thought, this might be a way to start blogging again and more regularly. Killing 2 birds with one stone – writing in my life journal and keeping my friends updated on FB.

Although it’s had a great effect of reaching people I’d not spoken to in ages and brought them up to speed in life and garnered an amazing amount of support from people during my rough spots and trial times, there were the subtle murmurs from folks who felt I was “living too publicly” or wishing I’d choose my subjects “more carefully” or generally censor myself. MORE.

The fact of the matter is, despite what any preconceived notions of me are that are or might be floating around – I’m human. I’m my very own kind of human. I have really bad days where I don’t WANT to be positive. I have arguments with my husband and there are days I wish I was single. I have long stretches of time where I feel getting married was the very best thing I could have done in my life and the man I chose was exactly right. I have days where I feel that none of my dreams can come true and days where I’m invincible. I curse profoundly. I watch risque programming and find things very interesting (funny, mostly) and like to comment on it. I’m very much a Lady in the street and will be an excellent role model for my children one day. But sometimes I write about things that might color that Lady in a very Pleasantville kind of way. And that’s okay. I have to allow myself to be myself and be okay with who I am. And NOT censor. Or over edit. Or tailor the story of my life to the likings of others. I am no saint. And my marriage / relationship with Earl is no bastion of black love outside of the fact that we’ll always fight to stay together – not because we never have a hiccup or a problem and live in some flawless bubble.

I won’t take the RSS feed off of FB. That’s too harsh. However, I have created a category called TooHotforFB (*chuckle*) that will NOT be posted on the RSS. You’ll only be able to read it from my web page. But I think it’s a good compromise. A compromise for me to remain in touch with you. And better yet… to remain in touch with myself.

So, we’re not breaking up FB… We’re just giving each other the space we need to make sure we can stay together You have the option of reading me uncensored at my blog… or stay and read here, as I’m not in the business of disillusionment. Sometimes, ignorance is bliss – who am I to shake that up?

*

He laid me out on the table and this time let Earl have the birdseye view of what was going on. Usually Dr. K makes Earl stand so he and I are both looking at the same monitor. But this time he had Earl looking at the whole thing from his perspective. Showed us the ovaries which he said look perfect. Earl asked “Are those dark spots eggs?” and the Doctor was like “yep, those are eggs, the little black holes” And Earl proceeded to inform the eggs “You’re coming home with US soon! I see you!!” That made me chuckle. The doctor moved that thingy around in me to reposition for a different view and said he saw 1 submucosal myoma (fancy for fibroid) that he said “it’s no problem, we can remove vaginally” (he has a VERY thick Greek accent). So he asked me to get cleaned up and meet him back in the office. Asked me when my last period was – I told him it had just ended. He expressed it was important to go in and take care of it right away and this was the prime time in my cycle to perform the surgery. So he said “Wednesday?” And I said “… you mean… of THIS week?” He barked an emphatic “YES”. Well… if you’re that excited, I thought to myself… how can I say no. So we scheduled what he referred to as “emergency surgery” for Wednesday the 18th. He assured me it was an outpatient procedure and I’d be back to work the next day. Fine. Let’s get it over with.

Wednesday: Earl and I got into to pre-op at 8:30AM waited there till about 10:00 entertaining ourselves on our iTouches with the lovely free flowing Hospital WiFi they had coursing through the air. They came a few times to ask me a million questions I’d answered before about allergies and reactions to anesthesia, etc. Around 9:30 / 10:00 they came in and gave me 2 pills for post-op nausea and 1 antacid. And then we waited some more. We waited a LOT. We waited till 2:30PM when they finally called me in, laid me down, IV’d me up and I woke up 2 hours later in recovery. Feeling very wonky and out of sorts (not my typical reaction to anesthesia). My face was completely swollen and I definitely had some floating going on in my head… felt like my eyes were swimming in their sockets. I found out later that the swelling was due to the extra intravenous fluids to keep my blood pressure from tanking and since the operating table they had me on was tilted so my pelvis was raised, my head was lower than the rest of me… and thusly, the fluids rushed to my face. The nurse in recovery told me that I had a catheter in to help remove the water and that the doctor had given me a Lasix to help with the removal of the fluid from my system. Earl mentioned that the swelling had gone down in my face but my eyes were still puffy. And I went to touch them and they hurt. Hurt like… I’d been crying all day and rubbing the tears away with harsh tissues all night. That RAW feeling. AndI found out later that they had taped my eyes shut to protect from corneal abrasion but I suppose in ripping the tape off, they scarred my eyelids. It was definitely some new kind of anesthesia they gave me because I could taste it in the back of my throat every hour or so… just there and reminding me that I wasn’t 100%. At about 8:00 they told me that I was good enough to go home. So i slowly got out of the bed, assessed my situation, put my contacts back in and started to dress. Got home… showered, noted that the water burned my eyelids and my regular day and night face cream burned it even more. Had a couple of bottles of water and laid still in bed till I fell asleep.

Woke up the next day and my eyes were the size of golf balls. Put in a few calls to the Anesthesiologist who told me all of the above resulted in the swelling of my eyelids (the fluid, the taping). But to monitor it and let them know if it gets any worse (which it hasn’t swelled up again, but I have these really big scars on my eyelids NOT. CUTE.) It really took the full 24 hours to get the anesthesia out of my system. I could taste it in the back of my throat up to yesterday afternoon and the only strange thing about the operation itself is that I’m bleeding more today then I was immediately after the surgery. I haven’t spoken to the Dr. yet about it but suspect I’ll be talking to him today. He showed my husband pictures of the one fibroid that he removed which E described to look like small chicken cutlets before they’ve been cooked. *shrugs* I guess that’s what all muscle / body fiber looks like when you get right down to it. The doctor explained to Earl that this isn’t a new one that grew in… it was one that was “hiding” amidst the swelling and the presence of the 14 others that we were all focused on. But that should be the last one.

I haven’t been in any pain per se – a little short of breath when I’m walking, though. I hope to get more answers soon. Beyond all the minor discomforts, I’m excited to be fibroid free and hope that this clears the way for the baby making

*

I know that I’m supposed to be made of stronger stuff…

And that I can weather situations better than most.

I can even find a perfect silver lining in the worst situations so that I can give myself the inspiration to keep on trucking.

Today?

Not so much.

I talked to a few people (who have been through it successfully and unsuccessfully) about what the IVF procedure really entails… in detail. And I found myself thinking… “Why me?” Why must I take the road less traveled just because I’m stronger.

I want to be weak. Just once, maybe. And have things come easy.

I know. I’ll be all strong again tomorrow and find the bright side of this.

But right now?

GOD it sucks to be me.

*

I don’t even know how to articulate everything that’s happened. I’m not quite sure I remember it all. But I’ll try.

Sunday – Angels of mercy in the form of my friends came by to fete me before I had to fast. Li’l Vic came through with food and hair braiding stylees so I could manage to not have to wash my fro every day. So 6 (Vic, Lisa, Kim, Max, Joelle and I) of us got together and laughed and acted a fool while she lovingly blew out the fro and tressed it into cornrows for me. The afternoon was fun and interesting and the conversations had … will stay in my living room!!!! Nuff said.

Monday – was pretty uneventful. Had to stay home to do the “clear liquid diet” purge thingy. Which I HATE. And still do. So it was basically just running from the computer as I worked from home to the bathroom as the saline solution cleaned me out from the rooter to the tooter. The nerves really began on Monday. The anticipation of what was coming. What happened if something went drastically wrong and they had to do hysterectomy…. All the “what-ifs” came rushing in and I was quietly panicking under the guise of staying busy. I surfed the Inquisitive Geek with Fibroids site all afternoon looking for stuff to take with me to the hospital and then provided the list to Earl to be sure that I had all the most detrimental supplies at hand. Primarily Gas-X…

Tuesday – we got to the hospital right on time and they put me in a room in a purple gown with purple footies and I removed my contacts and rocked my Jimmy Choo frames (really? it’s the only Jimmy Choo anything umma own…) and I waited. Tante Sisi, David and Domi showed up to wait with me. They came and poked me a few times… fed me some pills for which the reasoning behind them now escapes me (nausea and something else), and then around 9:30 they called me in. I hugged everyone and kissed them and made my way to the OR.

IN OR – things were moving quickly but slowly all at once. It seemed that they were running behind time and Dr. Kofinas likes to be ON TIME, so they were all scrambling to get things together. About 10 different people moving around the room all stopping by to ask me questions. The anesthesiologist stayed around me the most trying to comfort me by talking to me in her Eastern European accent and while I appreciated her efforts, I wished very much that she’d just put the mask on me and knock me out already. That would have been THE most calming thing for me right then. But no. One of the assisting doctors came to me and lifted up my gown to examine my pelvis and decided she wanted to give me a bikini trim right then… so she pulled out a little electric razor and just went to shavin around. Tickled like crazy. Then she grabbed a long piece of surgical tape and dabbed it around that area, to snatch up the stray hairs I imagine. I heard them chattering amongst each other. “Which one is Dr. Kofinas” one asked. “You’ll know him when he comes in,” another reassured. It comforted me to know that he had that kind of presence. I can’t stand bland doctors. And on cue he came into the room “Hello, Hello, Hello!!! Are we READY, c’mon, c’mon we’re running behind!” his voice boomed through the room. Before speaking to anyone else he came and pinched my cheek and in his heavy Greek accent, “Hello, baby! Are you ready?” and I replied “Yes, doctor. thank you.” He makes you feel like he’s your uncle or something. It’s very nice. He smiled and walked to talk to the other doctors. He was introduced to another assisting doctor who I suppose was doing his residency and was asking him about what specialization he wanted to take up and I heard him say “OHH! So you want to be a GYN and be broke like me, huh?” and patted him hard on the shoulders. After a little more questioning about where my blood units were and counting of utensils I heard him say, alright to the anesthesiologist and the mask came over my face. I made a concerted effort to say “Good Luck everyone” before I was out completely.

IN RECOVERY – I came out of the anesthesia slowly and the regaining of my awareness was also the realization of how much pain I was in. I found myself saying “please…. please…. it hurts so much… please… help….” Folks were taking vitals of me for a few rounds before I saw my husbands familiar and smiling face. I was happy he was there but so unable to articulate anything. My mouth was cottony and my mind and mouth were disjointed. They had me on a morphine drip that had a button on it to give myself more if I wanted. I found that hard to fathom, but they did. And I clicked that little thing as often as I could. I think I was relegated to every 10 minutes or so and therefore, my body began clocking what 10 minutes was. But there was pain coming from a number of places I couldn’t understand… My abdomen… yes… that was the main source of pain… but… the first 3 fingers on my left hand…. were dead. Completely numb and tingling like they’d fallen asleep. And it took me so long to connect where I’d felt such excruciating numbness before… Carpal Tunnel? Can’t be. My line sister and my baby Tish came and sat quietly with me while I mumbled on and on about nothing. My aunt and cousin came in to check on me too… They had been waiting a long time. I went in at 9:30 and didn’t come out until 5:30 or so and I don’t believe that they let anyone come out to hang with me until 6 or so. So when they finally did get a chance to see that I was doing well, they did just that and let Earl be the one to let them know when I got a room. He sat by my bed patiently and either held my hand and looked at me sleep or was playing pac man on his cellphone. After administering 2 units of plasma to me and running 3 blood tests to make sure that my hemoglobin levels had indeed stabalized they finally moved me to a room upstairs at about 11:00 PM.

IN-ROOM – The room was a private one (hallelujah) and was nicer than some apartments that you can rent in nyc. Hard wood floors and marble in the bathroom LOL. Was VERY nice but small… but that was fine. What did I need gaping room for? I was just going to be laying there. In summation, I was there for the next three days which went fairly quickly. The nights were the hardest. Being there alone, one night being completely disconnected as AT&T was too damned impatient with there bill mongering to wait one more day, it was hard when I’d wake up in pain and know that the next pain med dose couldn’t come for another 2 hours. Biding my time in my mind was extremely difficult. I’d answer emails or check fb. Staring out the window was a downer because it was usually raining. One night, I’d reached the bottom. My stomach had bloated up to it’s fullest and gas was NOT coming out. Actually? NOTHING was coming out besides urine which was uncomfortable to pass. The pain meds were NOT taking… I was trying to find a way to cheat the system and have the Ultram (which is supposed to be Tylenol Extra EXTRA strength) and the Tylenol ES alternate so I could have less time in between them. Then the nurse came in and announced that I had a FEVER fever. Not the low grade that they were expecting and vehemently fighting off with a vengeance… but 101.6. Background – these kinds of procedures have a likely hood of a low grade fever involved because of the inflammatory nature of the tissues post-op. So you’re not actually infected – just inflamed. Normally, they would give you Motrin from the offset to PREVENT the fever from every cropping up to begin with. Unfortunately, I have negative reactions to Motrin or Ibuprofen at all. So we had to go the long route to Mordor. Over the course of the 3 days, Dr. Kofinas, Dr. Montez and Dr. Sullivan came in to regularly ask me a million questions, take close looks at the staples and assess where I was and how close I was to going home. On the day I thought I’d go home was the day I cropped up with the 101.6 fever and excessive bloating. Yet another angel, in the form of the Nurse assigned to my room during the day Vina, said, “Enough” and came in to the room and presented me with the Tylenol ES AND the Ultram, Mylicon for the gas and a suppository. Wait…. a what? A suppository. Yep. If it wasn’t going to come out on it’s own, we were going to make it do what we wanted to. I turned over and she did what she needed to do and told me to clench and wait. I’d know when it took effect. Man… after that??? My system flushed out and I felt like a new person. It’s amazing how that bloating can have you feel so down. I was light and bouncing around and ready to go home! But no… now I had to stay over night once more for them to observe.

By Friday morning, fever or no, I was fighting to go home. Earl showed up at 8:30 and tossed my bag of “going home clothing” on my bed and announced that we were going home NOW. Of course this was before paperwork was signed and vitals were checked one last time. LOL. But by 12 noon, we were driving slowly down the streets of brooklyn. A ride that normally takes 15 minutes took us about 45 to ease around potholes and let impatient drivers by. My trip up the stairs took about 10 minutes. Taking each step on its own and stopping to make sure that everything was doing fine in between.

And I’ve been here ever since. So considerably dealing with a touch of cabin fever, but visits from numerous friends and confidants have passed the time as I anxiously await Tuesday when they’ll take these staples out.

More to come… think that’s enough for now…
*

Time will bring the real end of our trial
The day there’ll be no remnants
No trace no residual of feelings within ya
The day you won’t remember me

Your face will be the reason I smile
But I will not see what I can not have forever
I’ll always love ya I hope u feel the same

Woh oooh you played me dirty your game was so bad
You toyed with my affliction had to fill out my prescription
Found the remedy I had to set u free

Away from me
To see clearly the way that love can be
When you are not with me
I had to leave, I have to live
I had to lead, I had to live

Chorus
If I can’t have you let love set you free
To fly your pretty wings around
Pretty wings your pretty wings
Your pretty wings your pretty wings around

I came wrong You were right
Transformed your love into light
Baby believe me I’m sorry I told you lies
I turned day into night
Sleep till I died a thousand times
I should’ve showed you
Better nights better times better Days
I miss you more and more

Repeat Chorus

Pretty Wings Pretty Wings
Pretty Wings Pretty Wings
Pretty Wings Pretty Wings
Pretty Wings Pretty Wings

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When I was a kid, the Christian (Roman Catholic) church I attended was in a residential area… as most are. It had a big church, chapel and 2 school buildings that occupied a city block. Most folks walked to church. Some drove. Those that drove had to bust out early so they could attempt to find parking that was nearby because there was no communal parking for the church which seems to be a standard downfall for church participation. But folks did it. Because that’s what they needed to do to obey the law AND be good followers of the Word.

NOW…

In Brooklyn – at the very least on this block – but I KNOW it happens in other areas… the followers? are BUCK WILD when it comes to what they have to do to get in the building to praise and worship. They go all the way to the right with Bloomberg’s “pay to pray” ruling where the meters are free on Sundays. And I get that. It makes sense. But around here? YOU. BETTA. RECOGNIZE. I live next door to Mount Lebanon Baptist Church. When you come out of the Utica Avenue Station on the A, there’s a SIGN that directs you to Decatur street so you can attend. You can only imagine what the congregation size might be. And every sunday – you need to KNOW what side of the street to park on if you’d like to have a life and go out of this neighborhood before 4 PM (or later, pending on the occasion). They double park on my side of the street from corner to corner… blocking everyone else in. Just like that. And if you couldn’t find a parking on the other side… TOO DAMNED BAD FOR YOU.

I’ve had a number of incidents with this church blocking me in not just on a Sunday… but on a Tuesday… a Thursday … and even an occasional Saturday. Several times where I needed to get my car out so I could rush to my mother’s side when she was sick and dying and wherein every minute was precious, I had to bargain with the ushers in the vestibule to please NOT MAKE ME WAIT UNTIL THE OFFERING WAS OVER to go get the person who blocked me in. Several times, I had to drive my car up on the sidewalk because no one was responsive to wanting to move their cars to let me out of my LEGAL parking space so I could go on about MY LIFE and MY world. On New Year’s Eve once, I was blocked in by a very shiny, very new, very expensive blue JAG YOO ARE and when I went in to request being set free so I could ring in the new year with my best friend, I learned it was the Pastor’s car. When he came out to move it… he didn’t even acknowledge me… not a nod of his head, not a mouthing “Excuse me, sister” for blocking me in or even… (this is a stretch) wishing me a Happy New Year. His attitude pushed past me and angrily moved his ILLEGALLY PARKED CAR to the side so I could be let out. Had I EVER… EVER… EVER had an aspiration to join that congregation out of pure convenience of it being next door? It died that night. In a different neighborhood, the double parkers scratched a pattern into my driver side door because of their lack of parking / driving acumen and didn’t leave word as to who did it… not an apology… NOTHING. And forget about coming home while their hoot’n'a’hollerin in the church. You MUST WAIT – not only till the service is completed… but till they’ve done “catching up” with one another on the sidewalk so they can move their cars and go back to their neighborhoods, thus freeing up the parkings on the block near your building of residence. This? goes on till 10 or 11 PM at times. *glancing at the clock to see that it’s 9:00 and they’re still yelling across the street at one another*

Tonight (it is THURSDAY NIGHT) they are double parked on my block for as far as the eye can see and they are not even IN THE CHURCH. They are all posted up on the block … talking AS LOUDLY AS THEY CAN so that me on the 3rd floor of the walk up I live on can hear every fucking word of their banter. I’m so much a part of their lives right now? It’s NOT EVEN FUNNY.

How is this Christian behaviour? They’re not showing me or any residents of this block who own cars LOVE. I’m positive if the shoe were on the other foot they’d NOT want to be treated as such. What happened to “do unto others?” Their Christianity lasts as long as they need it to to find the double park opportunity and make it into the doors of their church (or not, in tonight’s case) to praise and worship with their brethren. It makes me SICK and puts ONE MORE feather in my cap of non-religiousness, pro spirituality so that I don’t have to brush shoulders with the likes of THAT kind of hypocrisy.

SO…
if this is YOU… who randomly does this just to be on time for worship… please – think about the next christian that you may be blocking in… inconveniencing or generally COMPLETELY TURNING OFF to the idea of worshiping in a building with you or the likes of you. It’s distasteful. It’s disrespectful. It’s UNLAWFUL and gosh golly darnit… it’s JUST NOT NICE.

*descends from her pulpit*

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