Some one on my Facebook asked why I didn't just report the big bad doctors for being meanies to me. Like it would really be that simple. Like car shopping without a penis is quick, cheap and painless! (And anyone with breasts will know exactly the tone of sarcasm that the previous sentence should be read with.)
In case you aren't on my Facebook friends list or just don't actually know me in person yet or are just tuning in (HI! Welcome!) I have been beeping for a week. Yup. You read that right. Beeping. My boobie alarm has been going off at 5:11 and 11:11 both AM and PM. I say boobie, but it is really in my left chest muscle. And since my tatas resemble cantaloupes in socks when not in a bra, and have a close personal relationship with my bellybutton, it is located far above my left breast.
The beeping is a warning from my implanted cardiac defibrillator or ICD. It seems the sucker has had enough and the batteries are dying on me. The powers that be just decided a nice death warble at 5AM was going to be oh so funny and timely at letting me know it was time for a change. The bad part is, to change the batteries, you have to remove the whole unit. Which involves slicing my skin and muscle tissue open and going digging around in my chest cavity with a set of salad tongs looking for the little fucker. Ahh...fun times!
I don't want anymore surgery. I would be happy just to let the little thing die a slow death in my body and sit there defunct for the rest of my life. When I said as much to the nurse today in the cardiologist's office she looked at me like I just asked her if it was alright for me to set myself aflame right there in the office and take everyone working there with me. Seriously. Aww, horror and disbelief across this woman's face in a priceless expression! If I had a camera with me it would have been a great shot! I went on to tell her that I just didn't want the thing in my chest and would only agree to surgery if it was removed entirely an not put back. I then got a very audible, "Blink-blinkblink--blink." Like the thought of not having a toaster in my tit was unheard of!
Needless to say...lots actually going on here. Went to Disney for my birthday and had a good time, then got back home long enough to grab my kid and drive to Georgia for a less than 24 hour visit with my 70 year old aunt for her birthday. That whirlwind trip got me sick. So I was in bed last week nursing myself back to health. Took me days to figure out that the beeping wasn't the computer, TV or phone, but actually me. Weirded me out at first. Just glad the sucker didn't start glowing. I also got in touch with a long lost friend this past week and had a 3 hour phone conversation with her. It was nice hearing from her and catching up.
FCB actually remembered to get the Punk and I something for Valentine's Day. I got the big box of Whitman's (my favorite) and Punk got a little heart box of chocolates and a kissing Mickey Mouse. (Seriously, the sound this thing makes is supposed to be kissing but after about the 300th time the sound just makes you want to gag a little.) FCB got a Fillet Mignon dinner and the promise to make fall off the bone ribs on his first day off. Oh yeah, and a card from Punk and one from me. The card Punk picked out was $8. Yeah. That wasn't a typo. It lights up though, and hopefully one of these days, earn its keep by doing the dishes. The one I gave him had a Wookie on it, so it's all good.
When FCB gave Punk her Valentine's gift, she busted out with a, "Oh my gosh! For me? Dayuhdee that is sooo sweet of you!" I swear I not only have no clue where she gets this stuff, but will one day earn an Oscar for it.
Punk had her annual check up last week and they had to prick two fingers to get blood out of her to check her iron and sugar levels. It was like trying to put a sweater on a feral cat. She screamed and squirmed and I got so fed up from trying to hold her down to get the blood out of her that I told her that either I can keep fighting her or she can grow up a little and do it herself.
I found the magic phrase.
She stood up straight, stifled the tears and gave the nurse the bird and said, "Here! Take it!"
I love that kid.
FCB had an outpatient procedure last Friday. While he was being worked on in the back she asked me if Daddy was sick. I told her no, that this was just a check up like she had and he was fine. She got this look on her face and said, "Uh-oh. That's not good."
I asked her, "What's wrong, baby?"
"Daddy's so big, he's gonna bleed ALOT!"
Did I mention that I LOVE that kid?
So please excuse my unblogginess as my life has been hectic and a bit snotty as of late. Have an early morning appointment with my regular cardiologist to discuss my surgical options. I am dreading it as much as a Walmart mirror dreads bathing suit season. Hopefully no one loses an eye with all the expected blinking that will be going on. I'll keep y'all updated....
The Power Of Words
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