Read My Yadda'ing Lips

Friday, April 9, 2010

Off to the Doctor Again

This time it's not me. Please say a little prayer for my neighbor, Susie. She's 66 years old - same age as my Mom. Yet, I never see her as that age because she's always out and about, walking her two weenie dogs, shuttling her grandkids, taking care of her elderly mom who lives with her.

She take the time to say good morning to the kid and me when we're getting into the jalopy each morning on our way to school. She plays with our dog, Ranger, in the yard while we're at work so that he doesn't get lonely. The whole nine yards. I love this woman.

Last week, while shopping, she fell inside a store, breaking her humerus and dislocating her shoulder. They had to knock her out in order to get the shoulder back in. The break? They don't put a cast on it. You just have to wear a sling until it heals and deal with the pain. While doing a scan in the ER, they found that she has an enlarged aorta. It's not good.

You have surgery to correct this, and it's not a pretty surgery, either.

We cancelled out trip to Williamsburg so we could keep an eye on her and her mom. I wouldn't have been able to ride any of the rides with my shoulder back in my sling anyway. I'm taking her to the doctor today to see about the aorta issue.

So send up a prayer, light a candle, push some white light Susie's way. She's good people. No two ways about it.

On a good note - those of you who aren't Facebooking along with my addicted ass need to hear a good vignette:

Last night, we had a thunderstorm here. The rumbling was greatness. I heard one particular boomer followed by my kid yelling, "Good job, Grandpa!" We have this understanding that thunder is nothing to be afraid of because it's just Grandpa whacking some golf balls up in heaven. I wasn't in the same room, hadn't been talking about him - nothing. Knowing that my kid, who's never met my Dad, has that connection made me feel amazing.

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

Double Down? Or Upchuck?

Oh KFC, why would you make something this vile? Really? The fried chicken is the "bread?"

Readers, let take note of a few things here:

  1. I am a big girl and have always reserved my right to speaketh the truth regarding big peeps since I am one of them. Like it or lump it.
  2. You DO realize that some big peeps are going to see this as "low-carb" eating a la South Beach or Atkins.
  3. Really. #2. Reallllllly.
  4. Double Down? That's what KFC named this behemoth? It sounds like a lame-o porn name. I'm just saying.
  5. The picture above? It packs 540 calories and 32 fucking grams of fat.
  6. As much as I damn love me some friend chicken, I really only eat it two times or less a year.
  7. This sandwich would make me puke. I don't think I'd make it out of the parking lot before upchucking the Down Down.

Monday, March 22, 2010

You're Fucking Kidding Me Here

Those of you who know me in "real life" know that I am not a petite little slip of a chick. I'm a honking, hippy, big chunk of woman.

Which is why I am allowed to make the following statement:

Why the fuck do Big Girl Designers and Stores insist on creating clothing that:

1. Doesn't look good on anyone over a size 2


2. Doesn't look good on ANYONE, much less a big girl.

Let's be honest here, I'm not some cat-walking, trend-setting bitch. But I know enough than to even THINK about wearing much less than WEAR the following items I just ran across on Lane Bryant's website:

First of all, jumpsuity things like this are horrific. The peg leg look only furthers the LARGE aspect of your hips and ass. The spaghetti straps do not encourage you to wear a bra - which you dearly need. And the red shoes? Your "pop of color?" Gimme a break here. Please. You look like a fucking fool, lady.

A romper? Really? Take that shit off and go naked. I beg of you. I have nothing else to say on this vile swath of clothing.

Hello? Braless much? Bad. Mucho bad. Even if you're only a B cup. I have a friend who can get away without a bra - but she barely breaks the B cup. Seriously. We're talking an A. For real.

So...people, heed my fashionista words:
1. no all-over animal prints
2. wear a fucking bra
3. walk away from the jumpsuits and rompers.

You outgrew such things when you were a toddler.
Thank me later.

Sunday, February 14, 2010

10 Things I've Learned

  1. It's ok to take care of myself. There will still be enough time and energy left over to take care of everyone else. If I do it the other way around, there will never be enough for me. And that's not selfish.
  2. There will always be egg and sperm donors who refer to themselves as "mothers and fathers." Just because your egg or sperm created life doesn't necessarily mean that you're a parent. You're just a donor - especially if you had the child only to spite or to control someone - including the child.
  3. Those donors? They're dumbfucks who will undoubtedly have bad karma revisited upon them in numerous ways.
  4. Letting go of vengeful feelings toward people who've hurt me is hard but SO fucking worth it.
  5. I love watching and hearing my son go sleigh riding. His laughter constricts my diaphragm. I honestly cannot breathe when listening to it for fear that I'll miss one giggle.
  6. Being able to life my right was something for which I was never grateful. Now that it's physically taxing to do it, I am grateful for the challenge and lesson that doing the tough stuff is greatness.
  7. I love my physical therapy people more than some people I've known for years. I've been able to let go of so much excess "life baggage" since my rotator cuff injury, and it's a freeing feeling.
  8. Just I relish in my deep friendships and still firmly believe that the small circle of tightly-knit friends I have is absolutely the most amazing group of people ever - being my friend is something you should savor. If you don't feel the same way, we shouldn't be friends. Really.
  9. I need to reevaluate where I am professionally.
  10. Turning 39 this month was an exhilarating experience for me!

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Irony at Work in the World Today

So I have made myself scarce during hall duty so that no one bumps into me.

I've been careful to give kids wide berth even inside my own classroom.

All to no avail.

I waited until the first load of bus kids were dismissed today before walking out of the library with the remainder of my kids and going downstairs to my classroom. I didn't make it any farther than the lobby when an exchange student decided to dance backward and ram into my freaking shoulder with his freaking backpack.

Yeah. Thanks for fucking nothing. And the adult who watched the whole thing and did nothing? You're worthless.

I am icing my shoulder and will take a nice pill in a moment.

And will be seeing my surgeon on Friday. Cannot wait.

So much for being fucking careful.

Sunday, January 24, 2010

Back from the Depths



Let's just say I haven't found the past six months to be kind to me. I'm done wallowing in exhaustion and depression. I'm hoping the bloggy will serve me well in documenting the rise. I'm a fucking phoenix, baby.

So I had the surgery to repair my rotator cuff.
Was denied by workers' comp.
Hired an attorney to represent my case.
Figured out that my personal life is so much more important than my work one. (Why am I learning that damn lesson all the fucking time? Let's just be done it, woman!)
Was schooled by the world of pain.

If you ever have to have your rotator cuff repaired, just know that it's a bunch of hellish pain. Worse than labor. Worse than gastric bypass. Worse than hernia and adhesion repair. For real.

I'm almost 6 weeks post-op and am still taking pain meds. I go back to work tomorrow, and to be honest, I'm fucking afraid. I know I'm still exhausted by normal everyday activities. I've missed a ton of instruction with my students. We have the 8th grade direct writing and multiple choice writing tests coming up in about a month. I still have physical therapy three times a week for at least another two months.

What the hell? And I'm scared shitless that some kid is going to bump into me and tear out the work my surgeon did.

Here's the skinny on that. I finally understand what he did. Took me long enough.

  • opened me up
  • ground down a bone spur from my upper arm
  • drilled holes into my bone
  • reattached the four muscles that create the rotator cuff (I always thought the cuff was just a tendon or ligament.)
  • reattached the muscles to the tendon that had been ripped off
  • sewed the tendon (pulling the muscles along with it) into the holes drilled into the bone. Get it? It's like a sewing thing. Weaving the tendon through the holes.
  • Then the tendon eventually becomes reattached to my bone - grafted so to speak.

Yeah. And my stupid ass truly thought I'd have the surgery and be back to work after a four-day weekend. Seriously. That's what I thought. My PCP and surgeon looked at me like I was a psych patient on weekend leave telling them I'd won the Nobel Peace Prize when I explained that I'd only be missing two days of work.

I had the surgery December 17 and will be back tomorrow for "light duty" (what the fuck is that when you're a teacher?), January 25. My doc wanted me out through February 11, but I've already had to take weeks without pay because my sick days are LONG gone. I have to go back. My PT folks don't like it either. So be it.

I went into work recently to fax some paperwork for my return to work. One of my big 8th grade boys gave me a hug? Me? Started crying. I can't be hugged. Can't have my shoulder jostled or touched. Don't think about a massage. Blah.

One of my sisters bought me a gift certificate for a massage for Christmas - I'm not scheduling that until I can ENJOY a massage, people! No no no!

Good Stuff?

  • Buddha is thriving in preschool.
  • I'm menu planning so I can feel like I've got a handle at home.
  • I'm back to creating recipes now that I can sort of cook with one hand. No bread for now, but I'm in the middle of a citrus chicken recipe with quinoa. I'm hoping it will be as good as I think and can post it to the food blog.
  • I've decided that I will use the textbook to teach - no more creating the wheel stuff. If the book was good enough to be adopted, I'm using it. This means I will become a member of the Pocketbook Club. I will arrive early each day because I have to drop off Buddha next door for preschool. He begins about an hour before my kids arrive. I will leave ON TIME because I have PT and I am no longer married to a job that obviously doesn't give a shit about me. I'm pretty bitter about the way my district treated me after this injury. No more giving everything. I and my family deserve that.

Very disjointed post here.
That's the pseudo update for now.
Lighter topics forthcoming.

Sunday, November 8, 2009

Ahhh All That is Beauty

Thought I'd suck your ass in with this on. I guess in a manner of speaking, this IS a beauty, but I want it to be someone else's beauty.

Dr. Quack who said I was bruised and needed to exercise my shoulder should be shot at a firing line. I should be the one with the pistola.

I went to see the competent doctor yesterday and was shown how my cuff is not only torn but has a fucking hole in it. A bone PUNCTURED it. Yeah.

1. I felt pissed and scared all at the same time because now I know there will be more hoops through which I will have to jump in order to get this covered by workman's comp.
2. And relieved because I was beginning to think I was Miss Hypochondriac in a Sling. It's been almost a freaking month that I've been walking around in this thing, and I've started to feel like a freak show.

I will find out when the surgery is tomorrow. The surgical office through which my surgeon works was closed on Saturday. I'm looking at about three weeks out of work, three months in a sling, and physical therapy to get back to a semi-normal condition.

I didn't tell the good doctor that I'd seen the bad one until yesterday. After he went through he MRI results with me and explained that there was no other way to attempt to fix my shoulder, I enlightened him. I explained how the idiot had told me that I merely had a bruise and needed to exercise the shoulder to gain my mobility back. The good doctor's face got all red and puffy. I almost cracked up.

I think what he was feeling was what good teachers feel when people tell them about BAD teachers. We're sorta lumped into the same category no matter how good or bad, ya know?

He told me it was ridiculous, that I still need to be in the sling, that surgery is the only option, and that it doesn't really matter what the idiot said, I will get the care that I need.

You said it, mister.

And off to make my appointment with the superintendent to ask her how she's going to fix THIS.

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