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Separation Anxiety

Y’all please excuse my lack of updates, as well as the lack of funnies for the last couple of weeks. I haven’t exactly been in a humorous mood lately. I’d like to say that things have gotten better, but in all honesty they haven’t. That which I’ve feared looks to be coming to fruition unless something drastic happens — a separation. I had thought things were getting better because we’d bought my new car, and replaced some large appliances in our kitchen. I thought the latter was a smart move, as it would add value to the house when/if we decided to put it back on the market again. I had thought these things meant that things were slowly progressing towards ‘better.’

Apparently I thought wrong … again.

Jim and I had a talk a couple weeks ago and he told me flatly that he still wanted to separate, and us committing to these things wasn’t because “we” were getting better, but because he thought they would make me happy. I would give everything up in a heartbeat if he asked that of me.

Then last week I brought up counseling again. He still believes that it would not help us, BUT he did agree to think about it. I thought that was a small victory. It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no either. A win, right?

Maybe. Then again, maybe not.

We had a huge fight last weekend. And we had two this past holiday weekend. It seems all we do now is fight. Even Jessie has noticed this. And it’s not over anything big. Each incident has been his overreacting to something, or him acting like a jerk and me calling him on it.

Last night I said something that I hoped I would never have to. I reminded him that he knew where the door was, implying that he was free to leave whenever he wanted to.

The truth is, I don’t want him to leave. But I can’t keep living this way either. I told him that I wasn’t going to let him continue to mistreat or bully me.

We didn’t speak again for the rest of the night, and I was out the door headed to work before he got up this morning.

I’m still really angry. I don’t know what his deal is recently. He’s snippy, always making snide or just plain rude comments. If I call him on it, he flies into asshole mode and we fight. I’m tired of being the first to apologize just to make things easier. But I’m tired of the fights too.

The thing is, if he were always like this … we never would have lasted this long. We’ve only been married three and a half years, but have been together for nearly nine.

A friend of mine advised me to be patient and let him work out his demons on his own; that he doesn’t mean to be taking it out on me. There have been far too many good things between us for me to throw this away, but how much is too much? But how long should I take this before putting my foot down and saying “You’re being a jerk, get your shit together or get out!”

Some days I’m still hopeful and think to myself “Hey, we’ll get through this and everything will be OK!” and others I think “Oh God, help us, I don’t see how this will ever work itself out.”

I just know this: I’m so very tired, and I miss my husband, my best friend, my hero, that sweet strong man that I married. I’m afraid I’ll never have him back.

Tears falling on Alabama

I’d like to start by saying: We’re OK! We really appreciate the emails, texts, Tweets, Facebook messages, and so on. We made it out with little damage and are really counting our blessings. Many in our neighboring communities did not fare so well. My beloved state and home is hurting right now, and there are many who did not make it through the storms. My heart goes out to all affected by yesterday’s destructive weather.

Gardendale made it out OK for the most part. Our sister city, Fultondale, looks like a war zone. Had the tornado that hit Birmingham been just a few miles northward, that would’ve been us. But it wasn’t, I have to keep telling myself. We were really lucky. We have many friends in other affected communities: Cullman, Tuscaloosa, Prattville, Warrior, Huntsville, downtown Birmingham. This particular system hit all the way up and down the state, leaving massive destruction in its wake. We had plenty of warning, but how do you prepare for an F5 tornado?

It just goes to show that no matter how prepared you think you are, it’s never enough. I’ve found that a smart phone is no replacement for a weather radio or battery-operated radio and stock of flashlights. That said, I have to give kudos to ABC33/40 for their nice weather app. I’m a big Fox6 fan, but found 33/40′s easier to use when we lost power. I was able to still get streaming video and weather updates …

… at least until the cell towers died.

But seriously, there’s still a lot of folks sitting in the dark right along with us; or worse, have no home to come back to. Please keep my fellow Alabamians in your thoughts and/or prayers. And for anyone looking for resources to help (or for help), here’s what I’ve found so far:

To donate to disaster victims in Alabama:

• Online: go to www.alredcross.org and click on the “donate now” link on the homepage
• Call: 1-800-RED-CROSS (1-800-733-2767) and you will be prompted to a menu that includes financial donations
• Text: “Red Cross” to 90999. A response will include two options for donations, either to Japan or for Disasters: domestic and spring storms.

To get in touch with local chapters:

• Northern Alabama http://www.redcrossrelief.org/
• Mid-Alabama (Birmingham) http://www.alredcross.org/general.asp?SN=8618&OP=8619&IDCapitulo=DRGYJ0Q5XZ
• Central Alabama (Montgomery) http://www.montgomeryarc.org/
• Southern Alabama http://www.redcrossalcoast.org/

Find a Red Cross shelter near you:

• Visit http://www.redcross.org/nss/

For storm survivors: Register yourself as “Safe and Well:”

• https://safeandwell.communityos.org/cms/index.php

A date which will live in infamy

I wasn’t aware of the date until I’d gotten to work this morning. Had a fight with the husband last night so naturally I’ve had very little sleep and am not quite “all here” today. My apologies for the tardiness of this post.

I’ve spent most of my lunch hour scouring favorite news blogs and local news sites. And honestly, I’m disheartened to see so little mention of today’s anniversary, if any at all. Not even Google has anything up.

I’m very disappointed in you, Google.

On the other hand, Bing has a very nice image of the memorial displayed with interactive tidbits and links. National Geographic also has a nice multimedia medley.

Thankfully, there are a few blogs covering the anniversary of the attack on Pearl Harbor, December 7, 1941:

• Remembering Pearl Harbor: Retired Birmingham doctor honors first black Alabamian to die in WWII
• Pearl Harbor Day to be marked quietly by survivor
• December 7th, 1941, “A Date which will live in Infamy.” “The Song of the Seabee’s”
• Air Raid Pearl Harbor. This Is Not A Drill
• Remembering Pearl Harbor: 69 years
• Morning Cup of Links: Pearl Harbor Day

As I’ve said before, my faith teaches forgiveness, and I am the first to admit that perhaps I need to practice a bit more of that. But forgiving a wrong does not also mean forgetting it altogether. George Santayana said, “Those who cannot learn from history are doomed to repeat it.”

It’s been 69 years, America. Have we learned anything yet?

To those of you reading this: Hug your soldiers and veterans and thank them for us.

Fears

I think I’ve mentioned before that I have irrational fears. Most people I know are afraid of “normal” things … you know, snakes, spiders, clowns, zombies, etc. Me? I get hung up over the intangible, or improbable. Ever since starting this job, one of those irrational fears has become heightened — being trapped in a free-falling elevator. Remember the first Resident Evil movie? Yeah, I always turn my head during that scene.

If I think about it logically, I know that the odds of one of the elevators at work experiencing a major harm-causing malfunction while I happen to be in it are astronomically low. In addition to that, all of the elevators have safety measures in place in the case of an emergency, such as power outage, cable or brake failure, etc. But the thought creeps into my mind every single time I step foot into one of those things.

Once I made the mistake of sharing this with one of my coworkers. Funny enough, she won’t ride in the elevator with me anymore.

So today I had overslept and didn’t have time to make my lunch, forcing me to head down to the mall to grab something from the food court. I boarded one of the elevators just like I do every day — this one happened to be one of the glass elevators (which I hate even more than the others). About halfway down, there was a loud “SNAP!”. The lights went out and the elevator screeched to a halt. “No big deal,” I kept telling myself. They’ve stopped before and would sometimes get “stuck”, sitting on certain floors, so you’d just have to get off and board another one.

But then it dropped. DROPPED! It wasn’t but just a few feet, but it was enough to make my heart skip a beat and suddenly every elevator nightmare I’d had came flooding back in an instant and I panicked.

OK, ‘panicked’ doesn’t even cover it — I. Flipped. My. Shit.

Sitting quietly for a second, my mind raced looking for answers:

“What should I do if I can’t get the doors open?”

“Where is the button I press to let someone know I’m trapped?”

“What do I do if it drops again?” Followed immediately by “No, don’t think like that, stupid!”

As if the elevator had read my mind, it dropped again for a few more feet, then opened its doors. Apparently the elevator had only dropped just enough to reach the next level so the doors could open (seeing out the window made it seem worse than it really was). I quickly leapt out of that thing as if my life depended on it. (which, in my panicked state of mind, it did!) I paced for the next minute, trying to calm myself and stop shaking — and trying to squelch the horrific scenarios playing out in my head.

About a minute later, I heard the power flicker back on, once again illuminating the car, and could hear the other cars moving along the levels above and below me. I could also see the other glass elevators moving along just fine … but I didn’t trust the motorized metallic bastard just yet. I decided it was safer to walk the next 9 stories down to the mall level, and kept a close eye on them as I ate my lunch.

Feeling a bit braver after I ate, I took the elevator back up to my floor. Thankfully the ride was uneventful this time, but I’m sure this will make for some more intense nightmares to come.

OK, new item added to the “someday job wishlist” — no elevators!

Where were you?

I stayed home Friday. After having it out with my insurance company over the phone, I broke down and decided that I needed a day off — a “mental health day” as my mother likes to call it. I had been vaguely aware of the date, but honestly I’ve been too busy with work and other things to allow myself to fully fixate and quite honestly part of me didn’t want to remember.

In truth, I didn’t want to feel it at all — any of it. Anger, fear, sadness, outrage, … I’m an empathetic sponge who wanted the whole world to go away and stop reminding me of that horrible day. But I knew I would have to face it sooner or later.

Well I’m doing better this week, and am still trying to catch up on my feeds. I’ve sat and cried to every 9-11 related thing posted on all my favorite sites. Jules at Everyday Mommy asked the question that I’m sure many of us do when this topic comes up in conversation: Where were you?

I remember that morning very clearly. I was at work. It’s not too far from where I’m working now in fact. It was a slow morning, so I had hopped onto IRC and was happily chatting in several of my favorite channels. Someone announced in #phrozencrew that a plane had crashed into one of the World Trade Center buildings. I jumped onto the CNN website because they had live streams on their site, so I could watch the TV feed in realtime.

“Surely it was a mistake,” I remember thinking. “No one would do such a thing on purpose.”

I had just tuned in when the second plane had hit. As tears streamed down my face, I couldn’t believe my eyes. One was a mistake. Two was on purpose. The crash on the Pentagon soon followed. Someone was attacking us. Someone wanted to send us a message. It came through loud and clear. All those innocent people! Who would do such a thing? It would be hours later before we all knew for sure.

At that moment, my mind shifted to loved ones who I knew were in New York that day. One friend, a teacher at NYU, who I knew was located near the Towers couldn’t be reached. Another, who I knew for certain worked in the WTC, and I couldn’t reach either. A handful of other friends I knew were in the area, but not sure of where exactly they were located. I spent a good part of the morning frantically dialing and emailing anyone and everyone I could think of, all the while watching the atrocities unfold live, right before my very eyes. I remember hearing coworkers trying to reach their loved ones. One woman I knew was desperately trying to page her daughter, who was in flight somewhere over the East Coast.

At this point no one could concentrate on work. A TV was rolled into the breakroom and we all huddled around it. We all watched in horror when each tower collapsed, then reports of another plane crash (Flight 93) flashed across the screen. The rest of the day was spent in complete shock. I don’t remember anything else about that week, just that day. As a people, we all embraced and pulled together as one. This was not just a tragedy for New York, it was a tragedy for us all. We were ALL affected.

What worries me is that there is a large number of people now who seem to have forgotten what happened on that day. That number multiplies exponentially with each passing anniversary. Why has complacency set in?

I can’t be complacent. I can’t help but feel, and remember. I remember the horrors — seeing people jump to their deaths over and over again, the heroes that raced in to help who were never seen again, the bodies pulled from the rubble, the agony of the poor souls still looking for lost loved ones. I remember everything. I still have the nightmares. And every September 11th, I must mentally and emotionally go back there and re-live everything all over again …

… Because to forget would be the greatest tragedy of all.

Dreams are cruel

It’s been a while since I’ve posted “personal stuff”. There are a myriad of reasons, the biggest being that I work for a company that has a huge online presence — including blogging and social networking. Being at UAB, I was always selective with what I shared, but I’ve found that I have to be even more so now.

That … and I tend to go “anti-blog” when there’s a lot of family drama and other things going on.

I had a dream earlier this week that UAB called me and wanted me to come back. The details of the dream are very faint to me now, but I distinctly remember waking up and feeling very down. That feeling has pretty much stuck with me all week. I can’t shake it, and what’s worse, I don’t yet fully understand why it’s bothering me so much.

I once told someone that I didn’t know that I wanted to be a web designer until I was hired there. Sure, there were things that I didn’t like about it. Higher management didn’t think much of my department. The pay wasn’t that great, but the benefits were awesome. It was close to home, and I had a very flexible schedule.

What I loved most about the job: I got to create things. Sure, it wasn’t as often as I’d like, and the majority of what I created I couldn’t show off to anyone … but for me it was just a great feeling being a part of the team. I felt appreciated. My opinion mattered. I loved my coworkers — they’re great people. Some of my “customers” I could have done without, but there were several that I just adored and loved working with.

And before I knew it … all that was gone.

Sure, I like where I am now. The people are nice. The facilities are nice. The pay is great. The benefits are less than UAB’s, but nobody’s perfect. But I miss the creative stuff.

I think that’s what’s eating me up, and I can’t yet let go of it. I mean let’s face it, with the way the economy is right now and the local government’s current financial state being in the toilet, there’s no way I’m going to be hired back. And to be totally honest, I just can’t go back to work under the current administration. My department is full of great people, but the people in charge all the way up the hierarchy don’t appreciate them, and sure as hell didn’t think much of me.

Or, that’s the impression they ALWAYS gave me! Several people have tried to convince me otherwise. It’s hard to listen when their actions tell me something totally different!!

I recently heard from a friend who’s still there, and I’ve been replaced — well, sort of. My actual position still no longer exists, but my duties have been taken over by someone. She was brought in during last year’s “merger” and took over most of my workload when I was laid off. I unwittingly trained my replacement. Thanks to me, she’s got some SharePoint and HTML experience, so she was naturally selected to pick up my stuff.

I don’t think that’s what she wants, but I definitely get the impression that she feels she can’t do anything else there and is just doing what she’s told so she can keep her job. Not that I blame her. She’s a good friend of mine, I love her dearly, and I can’t bring myself to be mad at her. It’s not her fault that I was let go, but I still can’t help feeling like shit when I think about how easily I was replaced.

Thinking about it now, I guess that’s why I’ve been trying like mad to stay preoccupied with new obsessions. They’re distractions to keep me from thinking about how unhappy and useless I feel. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s probably my own for not keeping my options open during my time at UAB. I was so happy to finally be there, that I shied away from any new possibilities because I felt loyal to my employer and refused to hear any offers from anywhere else.

That’s something that keeps biting me in the ass: being loyal to my employer. You’d think I’d have learned by now …

It’s What They Don’t Tell You

Well, it’s been an interesting experience. I learned that no matter how many times you re-read the literature the doctors give you, talk to friends who’ve had a procedure done, or ask questions of anything and everything you can think of … you’ll still learn a few things. If you’ve ever had any kind of surgery done, some of this is nothing new to you, but it was very new to me and I’d like to share a few things I’ve learned from my surgery and the time spent recovering from it, along with a few things nobody told me. (and partly glad they didn’t! LOL!!)

Waiting, and Pre-Op

It doesn’t matter what time you are scheduled to come in and be admitted, you will still sit and wait. And generally, the length of your wait is proportional to how hungry you are. I remember by the time I was taken to Pre-Op, I was absolutely starving; and I happily shared this with anyone that asked. I remember one staffer who kept walking by who smelled of peanut butter — that drove me nuts!

A few minutes later I was presented an odd purple paper gown and some non-slip socks, and was given instructions as to how to strip down and in which bags each article of clothing should go. It’s not rocket science, but my attention span was already significantly lessened due to my anxiety, and was gone altogether once the nurse showed me where to hook up “the hose.”

Get this … they have a warming unit which connects to the gown via a plastic hose. It was pretty neat, though once I got the air going at the temp I wanted, the gown quickly filled up and inflated, making me feel like I was wearing one of those inflatable sumo wrestler suits. Jim snickered and told me that I looked like the blueberry girl from Willy Wonka, and started snapping a few pictures.

Yeah, I was ready for him to go back to the waiting room at that point.

Aggravations aside, I really WAS glad that Jim was there with me. My parents had also shown up (despite my protests against this) and waited patiently out in the main lobby.

Needles!!!

So the time came near to move me to the OR. Another nurse came by to check my blood pressure and pulse again, and was preparing to insert my IV. She commented that my heart rate was “a little high.” I told her that it’s normal, my heart rate has always been “a little high.” She and I go back and forth about this for a little bit until she says, “No, it’s REALLY high!”

My anxiety was already through the roof and at this point, I was nearing panic. The fact that she was holding the really big needle that she was preparing to jab into my arm didn’t help much!

She looks at my face a little funny and asks, “Are you nervous?”

Ding! Ding! Ding! Tell her what she’s won, Bob!

She then pulls out another syringe and tells me that she’s giving me something to “numb” me a bit. It was a much smaller and shorter needle, and honestly after that, I really didn’t care what else she put into me.

Hooray for good drugs!

Not long after I had my IV, my surgeon popped in and asked me if I was ready. At this point, Jim gives me a reassuring arm squeeze and kiss and is directed back to the waiting room. I was wheeled into the operating room and moved from the gurney to the table. A mask was placed over my mouth and someone told me they were giving me “some oxygen.”

And that’s it.

The next thing I know, I’m semi-awake in another room. I remember falling in and out of consciousness and though I can remember seeing a clock, the minutes seemed to pass like seconds. Every time I opened and closed my eyes, 10-15 minutes had passed. Oh, and pretty much everyone that walked by said, “Wake up!”

That got annoying. I really, REALLY wanted to go back to sleep!

I was wheeled into the recovery room and soon after I remember seeing Jim walking down the hallway. I wanted to yell, “Hey baby! Over here! I’m OK!”

All that came out was: “Yeeeep.”

I’m pretty sure I waved at him, but things are a little blurry there. I remember my throat hurting quite a bit. Everyone had told me that I’d have a sore throat when I woke up because they put in a breathing tube. (And I’m thankful it was removed before I woke!)

Tolerate the drink

I’ll say this: once you are in Recovery, you are expected to do only a few things in order to be released:

• Stay awake.
• “Tolerate” liquids. (meaning, keep them down)
• Go pee.

I was having trouble with the first two. There was a monitor hooked up to me so that every time my breathing was shallow (i.e. I was nodding off), it would start beeping really loudly — which scared the ever living shit out of me every damned time!

Secondly, one of the nurses kept shoving a Coke and crackers under my nose, telling me to eat and drink. Despite how hungry I said I was before the operation, I was definitely NOT hungry then! I guzzled the Coke and managed to chew a couple of crackers, which made her very happy. She suggested I try going to the restroom, so I sat up … and then the floor started bobbing and weaving and I turned a little green.

I buzzed the nurse and told her, “I’m feeling very nauseous!” She gave me this really neat thing. I don’t know its official name, but I’ve been calling it the collapsible barf bag, because that’s exactly what it was. I remember thinking, “Hey, I’d like to play with one of these,” when … one of my puny crackers came back to visit.

Yep, apparently the anesthesia made me very, VERY sick.

It was mostly air though, which was a good thing. (I remember being told that they would fill my tummy with air. Was the Coke really a good idea after that?) Despite being a little embarrassed because I was squawking like a duck, I decided that then was a good time to find the restroom. Jim insisted on helping me walk — which was a good thing because I was surprised to find that my legs just didn’t feel much like cooperating at that time. LOL!

Once in the restroom, after assuring Jim that I could make it to the toilet by myself (after all, the wall was holding me up!), I was delighted to find that I could pee. I remember thinking, “I can go home now. Hooray!” There was no more horking or squawking like a duck after that point, so I was feeling pretty proud of myself. I mostly dressed myself. Jim was such a big help, and I was really grateful to have him there. (even in spite of the jokes)

I was coerced into a wheelchair and taken to the main lobby. Honestly, I had originally protested this, but Heaven only knows how I would have walked there considering that moving at all was a challenge even WITH someone there helping me! LOL

Going home

The trip home was pretty uneventful. I remember talking to Jim about stuff, but have no recollection of what or who we talked about. I vaguely remember picking up my prescription — my surgeon prescribed Percocet for the pain.

Um, yeah. More on that in a sec.

Once again, I was feeling pretty proud of myself; having made it this far without hurling again must mean I was doing well, right? Before we left, I had asked the nurse if I could have another collapsible barf bag to take with me. She thought that was a good idea — I really just wanted to play with it once I felt sober. It turns out, I needed it after all.

We had entered our subdivision and were going slowly through the round-about to the mailbox to grab the mail. We were a whole 15 feet from the house and I lost it. Let’s just say that my stomach was completely empty by the time I was done. Poor Jim was a bit lost and wasn’t sure what I wanted him to do. (Just keep the car still!) I remember being disappointed that I couldn’t play with the collapsible barf bag, but was glad that I had snagged it. (else my car would now be a bit stinky)

We got in and got settled, and I don’t remember much else about that day. I remember being too afraid to eat because of the day’s earlier events and getting up to go to the bathroom was a real adventure (as I was still a bit loopy from the anesthesia and my legs were only semi-cooperating). Jim was a real champ though, anytime I needed anything he got it with no fuss. If I so much as sat up or moved as if I was going to get up, he was quick with a “What are you doing? Where are you going? What do you need?”

It was nice … and obviously a sign that I was still loopy, because any other time I’m all about getting things done myself.

Meds

I took my Percocet like a good girl over the next couple of days and slept pretty much all day Thursday and Friday. I remember the phone ringing a lot. Friends and family called to check on me. (thanks!) I’m pretty sure I was nice to everyone. (sorry if I wasn’t, I blame the drugs! )

I remember speaking to my surgeon’s office and the hospital. I think I told them that everything was “OK” — well, it was sort of. I realized a couple days later that the Percocet really didn’t do anything for my pain. It just made me a little dizzy and REALLY sleepy. Had I been a little more sober, I would have told my doctor this and asked for something better.

My advice to you: be frank with your doctor! If you’re in pain, tell him/her!

It’s not terribly unbearable, but it hurts a bit to bend over or twist. (And getting into the car this morning was interesting. Heh.) I stopped taking my Percocet this weekend and all the grogginess is gone. The pain is still there, but it’s gradually getting better. (and I was told it would gradually go away within the next week or so, so this is not unusual)

I don’t have to do it all myself

Let’s face it, I’m a stubborn woman. I’m all about doing things myself and will only ask for help when absolutely necessary. My husband knows this, and it’s a wonder that he married me anyway. I can honestly say that having Jim home has been a real blessing. He helped me get around when I needed it and took over the household details that I normally handled on the day-to-day. He made sure that Jessie ate good meals, did her chores when needed, and took care of me.

I’m a lucky woman.

Post-op diet

A quick word on this. All of the literature I had received beforehand told me that I needed to be on a liquid diet, moving to soft foods after a week or so. I didn’t care too much for this because let’s face it, the only thing “liquid” that I could have that I enjoyed was jell-o, and even that gets old after one or two meals. I had asked my surgeon during Pre-Op about this and felt pretty smug when he told me that I could eat whatever I “felt up to.”

After I got home, I realized why the literature and everyone else had recommended a liquid diet. When your guts hurt so bad that even moving is too much to handle, you don’t even want to THINK about having to go to the bathroom and do ANYTHING but pee!

Let’s just say that my meal choices became very “selective” after this realization.

Recovering, and thank God for drugs!

Welp, I made it through the surgery OK. My stint in the recovery room took a little longer than expected because the anesthesia made me sick, so they wouldn’t let me leave until I felt that I could keep the coke and crackers they kept shoving under my nose down. (and I almost made it home … incidentally, their collapsible barf bags are neat!) They gave me Percocet, so as long as I keep taking a couple every few hours, I don’t really feel too much pain. Though for some unGodly reason, I thought I could work from home today and tomorrow — what was I thinking? LOL! It hurts to sit up, so I’m taking today off too, and maybe tomorrow, we’ll have to see. Jim was nice enough to set my laptop up by our bed, so I can lay here and surf and type during my “awake times”, hehehe.

So, yeah, I’m doing OK. Moving around hurts like hell, so I’m pretty much just staying in bed (though getting up to go to the bathroom is an adventure, LOL!). The Percocet makes me a little dizzy, so Jim won’t let me walk anywhere or do anything by myself … which suits me just fine, for now.

Thank you all for the warm wishes. With any luck I’ll be up and about in a few days.

Love!

Nicki

Surgery is next week!

I saw my surgeon yesterday — well, actually I saw tons of people. My surgery is scheduled for next Wednesday morning. I’ve already had my pre-admission blood-work done, talked to the anesthesiologist, spoke with several hospital staff who were going to be involved in various things. I’ve been given a list of medications that I can’t take over the next week — but my daily medications have been OK’d, as well as my migraine pain meds. (which I was worried about because I get a headache when I’m stressed and I’m sure I’ll be a bundle of frayed nerves that day)

I was given a pamphlet called “Understanding Laparoscopic Gallbladder Surgery” … it’s on the gallbladder, what causes gallstones, and what will happen during the surgery, that sort of thing. (and I can’t get over how cartoony this thing is!) I’ve got one of those breathing things (called an Incentive Spirometer) that I’m supposed to start using next week, leading up to the day of the surgery and afterwards. Jim had one when he was in the hospital but had forgotten to bring it home with us.

He wants me to keep mine after the surgery so he can play with it.

I’ve been given some funny looking stuff (chlorhexidine gluconate?) to wash my tummy and surrounding areas with the night before. I have several long lists of things not to do or wear the day of the surgery — no makeup, no jewelry, no bra even! (oh yeah, this is going to be fun) Plus Jim is threatening to bring the video camera just in case the anesthesia makes me loopy. He’s heard stories of how entertaining I was when I had my wisdom teeth cut out and thinks I’ll be “hilarious”. (at this rate, I’m going to leave him at home!)

The surgery I’m having is called a laparoscopic cholecystectomy (removing my gallbladder). It’s an outpatient procedure, so if there are no complications I’ll go home that afternoon.

Thank you all for your advice, warm wishes, and prayers. I really appreciate it.

Update on my health …

I just got off the phone with my doctor’s office, they finally received my test results — I have gall stones, and will need to have them removed. They’ll be referring me to a surgeon, I requested Brookwood Hospital because they took care of Jim when he was there. So I’ll be having surgery, and it’s been recommended that I have it soon.

Not that I want to put it off and risk another attack like last week’s!

Thank you to all who’ve sent warm wishes and prayers. Please continue to keep my family in your thoughts and prayers as well … because Lord help me, I’m about to choke my husband!

Nicki

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