Sunday, September 27, 2009

And I Quote

One of the best quotes from this week in school, aka The City of Beasts, is from a kid in the 8th grade. I'd never met him before and took him off someone's hands after he was so disruptive in her class that he had to be referred to the office.

I was up there when the referral came in and told the Assistant Boss Lady that I'd take whoever it was since ISS was full of kids and the possibility of getting a hold of the kid's parents was unlikely. (As an aside, get this - with all the shit that's been going down, when we call parents, they REFUSE to pick up their kids. Yeah. What the fuck?)

So the kid's brought to my room which is already filled with 8th graders as I now teach both 6th AND 8th grades. I seated him and told him there was NO WAY he would even consider holding a desk over his head in MY room as he had been doing in his other classroom. I made no bones about it and pointed out several large boys in the room who would beat him down if he acted like a nitwit.

During one of the group activities, I walked past where he was sitting. He asked to see the tattoo on my ankle. I threw my foot on his seat and let him take a gander. He pulled my capris UP looking "for the rest of it." Ha ha ha. He thought I had some sort of leg piece going on.

He then shared one of HIS tattoos. Yes. He has more than one. The one he pointed out was his mom's name on his forearm.

Not five minutes later he said, "Ya know what? I think a neck piece would look good on you! You need to get one."

And he was serious.
And a discussion ensued among the other tattooed children in my room.
And pictures and words were thrown about in an effort to "help" me choose my neck piece.

And then I threw a bucket of cold-ass water on their plans when I explained that neck pieces were frowned upon by higher-ups in education.

That pissed 'em off. They wanted to know who they could speak with to "plead my case."

It was then that I had to tell them that I would NEVER be putting something on my neck. I did temper the news by telling them I'd probably get a tramp stamp though.

But I didn't say tramp.

Friday, September 25, 2009

I Got...


The year has been SOMETHING. So far, September's had chairs thrown in class, desks on top of kids' heads, colors being worn in class, gang signs being thrown anywhere, fights galore.

Add to that - numerous paperwork minutia, meetings, meetings, meetings, phone calls, conferences, more paperwork.

And knowing that I will never see the $9,000 raise I was SUPPOSED to get this year before the district went into an "economic crisis." I worked this long for nothing. No cost-of-living increase. NOTHING. And I will never see that 9 grand either. Ever. Mark my words. I'm glad I've been able to help those in central office balance the budget.

Sunday, September 20, 2009

Things Could Be Worse

I could look like that.

Nah. That would never happen.

But imagine if my enemies had super powers and could turn me into that monstrosity.


Saturday, September 19, 2009

Oh Fer Fuck's Sake

No surgery yet.

I had an appointment on Tuesday with a surgeon in Dr. Young Cute Boy's group because Dr. YCB is on vacation until the end of the month. I'd originally had an appointment with YCB, but my physician wanted me seen earlier because of the CT results, my current pain, and my past history. SHE changed the appointment and communicated the reasons with the OTHER doctor.

Yeah. An hour before my appointment, the idiot's secretary called to tell me that Dr. Fucktard didn't want to see me and thought I should see Dr. YCB. What? Are you fucking serious here? An hour before my fucking appointment? When you fucking office called me not 12 hours prior to CONFIRM the appointment that you are now CANCELLING? And hello? I had to take an entire fucking day off from work for NOTHING?

Fuck you.

I was as pleasant as humanly possible to the twit who gave me this news.
She knew I was pissed and said she would go speak with Dr. Fucktard who was "with a patient at the moment," and would call me back.

My reply, "Does this mean I SHOULD or SHOULD NOT come in? 'Cause now it's 45 MINUTES before I'm supposed to be there."

Mind you, I was in incredi-pain because the drugs I got in the ER are so fucking strong that they make me feel like hammered shit. Hence, I am taking NOTHING stronger than fucking Bufferin. Yeah. Bufferin. It's fucking old peoples' drug. I'm almost embarrassed to admit it here.

Dumb bitch calls me back and says, "Dr. Fucktard says you'll be just fine until the end of the month when Dr. Young Cute Boy returns."

My reply? "Really? I think it's great that he can come to that conclusion without having seen me or discussed this case with me. Fine. Get me an appointment with Dr. YCB. And because of this MESS, you WILL be giving me preferential treatment with regards to the latest appointment possible in the day because I CANNOT TAKE ANOTHER ENTIRE DAY OFF FROM WORK TO FIT YOUR SCHEDULE."

She made the appointment and a fatal error. "Ok. You're the latest appointment. Hopefully, all of the earlier times will fill up so that you can keep it."

REALLY? Did you just say that to me? For fucking real? Bitch? Have you ever heard of LYING? Today would have been a great day for you to LIE. You should have called and LIED about Dr. Fucktard being out of the office on an emergency. Barring that, you should have LIED and said NOTHING about the appointment status.

Cause ya see, if I get a cancellation on the September 30 appointment, heads are gonna fucking ROLL in the form of an open letter to the editor with all of the direct quotes I recorded on the morning in question.

*deep cleansing breath*

I also put in a call to my personal physician who returned my call pretty quickly and also threw up a little in her mouth when I explained my dilemma with Dr. Fucktard. I love that she was pissed. I also love that I was able to scream and yell profanities without her thinking that I am a total crackpot. (She loves it when I let loose with some profane statements as much as I love it when she treats me with compassion when I'm sick. It's a win-win, right?)

She made a note in my file that HE cancelled appointment. Her words, "In case anything happens, I am making a note of this so that you have recourse." Of course I have recourse, darling. I know medicine as much as any fucking lay person could. I never entered the hallowed halls of medical school like Dr. Fucktard, but I know my shit. I also know PATIENT RIGHTS. Fucker. The ER people last week asked if I worked in the medical field. Boss Lady and I both laughed hearty and long when the question was posed.

I was fired up on Tuesday and made no bones about it: I was returning to work the next day, come hell or high water.

And I did.

And it hurt.
And I'm tired.
And I'm still not dead so it's worth it.

My kids hated the sub. My coworkers who thought she'd be good thought she was an idiot. She's a nice person but cannot deal with the kids we currently have at my school. (We had a gang fight on Friday. For real. But that's fodder for another post.)

So. I'm back and staying at work until at least September 30. I'm hoping Dr. Young Cute Boy will find a way to let me hold off until Christmas Break so I don't have to take a lot of time off. The kids I have this year will cause many a mental breakdown in various adults if I'm not there on a regular basis. If I spike a fever or have the vomits, I have to (and will) go to the ER. I told my workmates that I would smuggle in beer and margaritas as long as they'd come and stay for the show. I'm pretty entertaining in the hospital. I can do almost anything under the guise of being zooted up on drugs. Greatness, I tell ya.

So. Thanks for the well wishes, concerned emails, phone calls, etc. I'm hanging tough. Nothing like some fucking adrenalin and anger to make the pain fade. I told my doctor that if I could invent some synthetic drug to mimic the adrenalin/anger train I was on Tuesday morning, I could quit teaching and live high on the fucking hog with nary a concern in the world.

Saturday, September 12, 2009

Spigelian Hernia, Anyone?

Come join me again on my fucking hell voyage to Surgery Land again. One would think that I would have already been cut enough times to last a FUCKING LIFETIME. Alas, according to my surgeon, my torso "is swiss cheese" and every time he cuts or attempts to repair something I "bleed." Great. So platelets are in my future as well.

I went to my doc on Thursday because I've been in incredi-pain. For a while now I've felt what can only be described as "stingers" in my right side. I figured I was straining against the mesh that was nailed into my abdominal wall during my last surgery. The machine they use to attach the mesh that was used for my surgery is a Pro-tacker. I read my surgical notes and can clearly remember shuddering because I envisioned something akin to a fucking nail gun inside my belly. My surgeon told me I should feel as though someone had stabbed me repeatedly. I told him he was right on the mark and that I would be happy to be his spokesperson who would be honest with future patients and would explain that the surgery would "hurt like a fucker" rather than the whole "you'll experience some discomfort and pain" line that clearly doesn't do the pain factor justice.

So. My doc spoke with me on Thursday. Before palpating on my abdomen, she said, "I'm going to schedule a CT scan for you in the morning." My response, "You have GOT to be fucking kidding me here. The last time you sent me for one, they cut me. And now it's the THIRD DAY OF FUCKING SCHOOL."

She changed her tune after pushing and prodding. She became very calm- almost serene. I looked at her and said, "Fuck me. You're sending me to the ER, aren't you?" Yup. Of course.

She didn't think I would go and kept badgering my ass.
I told her she would have to give me an hour or so to find my husband and get my kid.
She told me I had to pack a bag because she couldn't guarantee that I'd be sent home.

I had my scan.
Questions, questions, questions.
All the while, the pain increased.

I will be honest with YOU people.
The pain I've been in has been excrucitating.
Wednesday night I took 500mg of Hydrocodone. That shit touched NONE of the pain. THAT is why I made an appointment on Thursday morning.

I was the hit of the surgical team - two peeps came to see me. One of them was handsome yet smug. The other? Overeager and ready to dig her hands into my stomach.

Handsome boy asked me what I thought it was and followed up with, "I KNOW what it is." Then just fucking tell me, asshole. I'm not on some game show here. And I want to go HOME.

Overeager girl was so excited because she'd never seen this type of hernia. It's evidently quite rare. Whatever. I want to be the middle of the road hernia girl. This is one I'd prefer to not have. It's rare and much more painful than the run-of-the-mill ones.

Handsome boy wanted to "reduce it" back into the hole after explaining what it was. Yeah. Hello? That took 100 micrograms of fentanyl on top of I have no idea how much morphine they'd already shot into my arm. Overeager one was so excited to feel the belly and push, push. push. I wanted to push my knee into her face. Handsome boy, while smug, was informative and a nice piece of Latin eye candy. He could have stayed all night. Boss Lady was there with me so that my Pack Mule could be home with Butter. She had a great view of his ass. Had she been wise enough to take a picture, I would have posted it here.

Here's some linkage in case you want to know what this shit is. I can't take the time to fully explain this particular type of hernia that sounds like spaghetti but is so NOT the case.

So. More stories will be forthcoming regarding my evening in the ER. It topped almost any Jerry Springer fest I've ever seen. At least I got some good bloggy material out of this.

The good news is that it's not appendicitis or an ectopic pregnancy, which are two of the possibilities the docs were looking at. The bad news is that I'm heading BACK INTO THE FUCKING OR sooner rather than later. I have an appointment with a guy in my surgical group on Tuesday morning and will know more then.

I was planning on going to work on Monday but was told by Boss Lady that I wasn't allowed back. Huh? Did I miss being banned at work? Evidently so. She said Handsome and another ER doctor said I shouldn't return until I was seen by my surgeon. Hello? I must have missed that on all of the drugs pumped into my system.

This is also probably due to the fact that I had a severe panic attack after the "reduction" completed by Handsome.

I didn't say a word but got really antsy, wanting to get out of bed, change positions, etc. I didn't want to admit that I felt like I was having a heart attack. It wrapped around my shoulder and upper back. I honest to God could NOT breathe. I calmly asked Boss Lady to get my nurse and was quickly hooked up to O2, a heart monitor, and then, an EKG. The entire experience was fucking humiliating. I do not EVER lose my shit.

I'm hear to tell the tale: I lost my shit in the ER.

They shot Ativan into my IV. I felt NO effect whatsoever. What the hell?

Yeah. So the morphine and fentanyl also restricted my ability to breathe well, but I'm readily admitting that the complete loss of control over a situation involving my health caused me to spiral into panic mode. Christ. I hate this shit.

More later.
Think good thoughts.

Sunday, September 6, 2009


October holds a great deal for me. I'm focusing on that month with fervor right now.

The one thing in particular that's holding my attention is the first weekend in October. I'm heading to Raleigh to see U2. They were my first concert ever. I was in 7th grade. I went with a girl from my middle school and my Dad. He drove us there and back to the Meadowlands in Jersey. He paid for the tickets. He sucked up the pot-laden air. And never made a complaint.

I've seen them since then, but this time I'm going with a dear friend from high school - someone who found me 20 years after the fact. I had no idea she'd been searching for me. I'm just freaking grateful for Facebook because that's how my Siouxie found me! Love you, woman!

And Lara is now coming along as well! She just paid for her ticket and will be flying down. We're having a girlie weekend of amazing escapades.

I seriously don't think there are many people in the world who are blessed with the kind of friends I have.

Even if you aren't Siouxie or Lara, know that I appreciate your words, smiles, support, and laughter. Most importantly, I value what you offer to the sisterhood we share!

Tuesday, September 1, 2009


While I love the color green, for the time being it will only evoke a very fresh memory from my family.

The other night, I was getting Butter into the shower. He was chewing gum, and without being prompted, bent over the bathroom trashcan as if to spit it out. I was proud; beaming even. What kid willingly spits out gum?

Then I was kicked in my proverbial balls when I realized the green was not in fact gum; he's been chewing the cud that was formerly known as the PEAS I served for dinner for at least 15 minutes.

Just waiting.
For an opportunity to SPIT THEM OUT rather than swallow them.

And couldn't understand my disbelief and sputtering words.

I believe this is what we call "premeditation."

I am so fucked when he gets older.

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