In short, I had a REALLY lousy day.

Apparently, one of my coworkers had picked up on this and without a word, walked up to my desk, gingerly laid down a chocolate bar, and slowly backed away. I looked at it, turned to him and before I could snap off a terse “What is THIS for?”, he said, “I live in a household with four women … and you looked like you needed one of these about now.” He smiled and walked away. I stared at the sweet confection for a moment, then proceeded to tear into it like a ravenous five-year-old opening presents on Christmas morning.

OK, so now I feel a little better … but today still sucked (for the most part).

This is a post from Nicki Faulk’s Birthplace of the Process of Illogical Logic

Copyright © Nicki Faulk · All Rights Reserved

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.

This is a post from Nicki Faulk’s Birthplace of the Process of Illogical Logic

Copyright © Nicki Faulk · All Rights Reserved

5 points to whomever gets that reference!

I’ve had a lot going on lately, but honestly hadn’t had the energy or desire to sit down and write — or type, as it were. For anyone who hasn’t been reading/following me for a while, the more crap I have going on the more I unplug.

Not fun, but some of the crap has been kind of funny. I think the best way to sum this up would be in a meme-like format, so here goes:

In the last 30 days …

1. I’ve been called a baby killer.

This one is actually pretty funny now, but at the time it was a bit unnerving. Long story short: a website one of the studies that my department maintains experienced some down time. Because of this, a certain doctor involved in the study completely flips his shit and tells me and everyone else that because the website wasn’t up, a certain drug (which had a 50% chance of being a placebo) they are studying couldn’t be administered to a dying baby. The next day, the baby died (from a cause unrelated to the drug OR the study!), and the doctor implies that because of our “inaction” that we’re at fault. There was much panic about lawsuits, audits, and whether or not some of us would have a job …

Anyways, our boss, his boss, his boss’ boss, and that boss’ boss are all furious and said doctor has had his hide handed to him. One of my coworkers joked, “I haven’t been called a ‘baby killer’ since ‘Nam!”

2. I realized that I had erroneously packed up all available liquor in the house.

Funny enough, while the above-mentioned debacle was going on, I came home one day and realized that I needed a drink in a bad way — and couldn’t find a single drop anywhere! For whatever reason, I must have thought it would be a good idea to pack up all the alcohol and keep it in storage.

Good Lord, what was I thinking?

3. I’ve been turned down for a house loan.

Yeah, we were turned down. We’re not completely out of options, but part of me really wishes we had started trying a year sooner. I’d seen places that were practically giving away loans to anyone and everyone who applied.

*sigh*

Oh well, we’ll keep on plugging and I’ve no doubt that it will all turn out in the end — but the keeping the faith part is always hard.

4. I have been asked by a friend to match him up with a mistress.

Uh … do what?

Definitely one for the “sharing too much” category. I was catching up via email with an old friend. He went into great detail about how unhappy he is in his marriage, about how he wished he had married someone else, and so on. I feel bad for the guy, I really do … but when he suggested that I try to set him up with one of my girlfriends so he could “be happy with an affair”, I (as politely and courteously as I could) declined.

And I haven’t heard from him since.

Yikes … so, um, yeah.

5. I have had a new term suggested for Jim’s ex.

A friend of mine was listening to me rant about the latest drama stirred up by Jim’s ex over Jessie (which of course quickly became over me), she exclaimed, “Of course, she’s your stepwife!”

According to Word Spy, a stepwife is (in my case) the ex-wife of my husband.

Funny, I have plenty of other names to call her … but this is probably the most kid-safe!

She has seemed to have been in an uproar about anything and everything lately though. I was talking to Jim about a rather nasty remark she made to me one night and he replied, “You will always be ‘the other woman’ in her eyes.”

Oh give me a break.

Never mind that they ultimately split because Jim caught her cheating on him — REPEATEDLY! That said, there is some truth in what he said. For whatever reason, she has always seen me as her competition. Even now, despite the fact that I have been in Jessie’s life since she was 4, and the woman has even admitted TO ME that she thinks I’m a good influence on Jessie, she still goes off on this “I’m her mother and I will never let you forget it!” bullshit trip every time she has one of these manic (maniac) moments.

But I digress …

So those are most of the reasons why I’ve been burying my nose in a few fave books, catching up on some DVD’d tv shows, and pretty much avoiding the ‘net in general.

How’re y’all?

Seriously. How’s your day/week/month been?

This is a post from Nicki Faulk’s Birthplace of the Process of Illogical Logic

Copyright © Nicki Faulk · All Rights Reserved

Someone walks by my cubicle while talking on his cell phone and said something that made me look up and in his direction and say “um … WTF?”

I overheard only part of the conversation:

Ok, I got the car insurance quote. I wonder how much a radar gun is around here?

This is a post from Nicki Faulk’s Birthplace of the Process of Illogical Logic

Copyright © Nicki Faulk · All Rights Reserved

The Rules:

1. Link to the person who tagged you.
2. Post the rules on the blog.
3. Write six random things about yourself.
4. Tag six people at the end of your post.
5. Let each person know they have been tagged.
6. Let the tagger know when your entry is up.

Ok, here goes!

1. In junior high school, some friends of mine would hold gross-out contests during lunch. I almost always won. Through those contests, I discovered that I love chili and oreos (yes, together).
2. If I could do anything in this world, I would want to be either an opera singer or a cartoon voice-over artist.
3. Banana Boat and Bath & Body Works products give me a rash.
4. I have a Trapper Keeper that I use to keep my design ideas and notes handy.
5. Artificial sweeteners make my stomach hurt.
6. Canned and bottled sodas taste “funny” to me, but those from a fountain are delish!

Now it’s my turn to say, “Tag, you’re it!”

Glas, Zang, Jules, Cookie, Beth, and Conservative Belle.

This is a post from Nicki Faulk’s Birthplace of the Process of Illogical Logic

Copyright © Nicki Faulk · All Rights Reserved

Tailgating Dog

A lady was telling her son the other day that she saw a man driving down I-10 and a dog was hanging on the to the tailgate for dear life. She said if he hadn’t been going so fast in the other direction she would have tried to stop him.

A few weeks later her son saw this truck at the bass pro shop. It’s a taxidermist!

This is in Daphne, Alabama.

I’ve so GOT to find out who that guy is and ask what possessed him to stick his stuffed dog on his truck’s tailgate!

This is a post from Nicki Faulk’s Birthplace of the Process of Illogical Logic

Copyright © Nicki Faulk · All Rights Reserved

I know what you’re thinking, and yes, I know it’s a waste of my time looking at that garbage.

So I’m reading the pamphlet and thinking “Oh yeah sure” to myself, and then I started reading the “Do not take if” section…

WARNING: Do not use if you are pregnant or nursing or at risk of or are being treated for high blood pressure, heart disease, renal disease, hyperthyroidism, spasms, psychiatric medication, suffer from migraines, …

Well, that strikes me out.

Fine. Screw you pill makers, I’ll stick to my pilates and steps, thank you very much.

This is a post from Nicki Faulk’s Birthplace of the Process of Illogical Logic

Copyright © Nicki Faulk · All Rights Reserved

*sigh*

In a way though, I guess this could be a good thing. I had actually been thinking on getting a widescreen LCD and maybe putting it up on the wall behind my desk using one of those flat panel mounts I see all the time in Best Buy. Or maybe a dual monitor set … either way, it’s the waiting part that sucks. ;P

This is a post from Nicki Faulk’s Birthplace of the Process of Illogical Logic

Copyright © Nicki Faulk · All Rights Reserved

Caller: “Yes, this is XXXXX from XXXXXX. I’m calling in regards to your request.”
Me: “Pardon?”
Caller: “You requested some information from us regarding Corpus Christi real estate. Is this a convenient time?”
Me: “I’m sorry, you must have the wrong number.”
Caller: “Um, … *awkward pause* … Oh, my apologies then! Would you like to hear the pitch?”
Me: “Thank you, but no. Sorry. I’m not interested.”
Caller: “It will only take a moment of your time. I–”

~click~

I can forgive wrong number callers, easy peasy. I do it too. No biggie, just hang up and try again — but don’t call me by mistake and then expect me to listen to your sales smack. ;P

This is a post from Nicki Faulk’s Birthplace of the Process of Illogical Logic

Copyright © Nicki Faulk · All Rights Reserved

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight. :roll:

PMS makes us behave in very strange ways. The moody roller coaster from Hades. The bizarre cravings. Crying every time a certain commercial comes on the TV. God help me, I can recall from memory several really bad experiences I’ve had thanks to PMS.

It makes us do really stupid things …

… like me waking my husband up at 3:30 in the morning so I can let him know that I’m still mad at him. :shock:

Ummm, yeah. Sorry ’bout that, Jim. :oops:

This is a post from Nicki Faulk’s Birthplace of the Process of Illogical Logic

Copyright © Nicki Faulk · All Rights Reserved

I came home last night and a wrong number called the house and left a message on the machine. It was from a local insurance office leaving a life insurance quote. I laughed to myself and deleted the message. Part of me wondered for whom the call was really meant — if I knew, I’d let them know that they could probably get a MUCH cheaper rate with my insurance carrier. LOL!

This is a post from Nicki Faulk’s Birthplace of the Process of Illogical Logic

Copyright © Nicki Faulk · All Rights Reserved

Gonahkar‘s comment gave me something new to search on, and I was able to find it mentioned in the WordPress Codex under WordPress Files:

wp-links-opml.php

Produces OPML output of Links that were added to the blog via the WordPress admin menu.

A note at the top of the page states that the file descriptions are for WordPress Version 2.x. I was unable to find this file mentioned anywhere else in the documentation. However, under WordPress Features I stumbled across a reference to the export function:

Exporting

Did we say you can also export an OPML file with your list o’ links?

Very cute, guys … c’mon, where is the rest of the documentation on this? From this point, I clicked through to the section on the Links Manager. The page starts with the following:

WordPress allows you to store a set of external links, also known as your blogroll. These links can be put into categories, imported, exported, added, deleted, and edited.

However, the export feature is not mentioned again on the page, nor any others pertinent to WordPress’ current release. The only other mention that I was able to find was this:

Features

* Plugin architecture
* Custom fields
* Sub-categories
* Thumbnail creation
* OPML import and export

These are from the WordPress 1.2 changelog, which tells me that this ability has most likely been in WordPress a while. It’s highly possible it’s been forgotten, or maybe it’s been left out for a good reason. I can’t but speculate as to its reason … but at least now I know it does exist.

I may revise my plugin in the next few days to include this information and will most likely alter its purpose/function.

This is a post from Nicki Faulk’s Birthplace of the Process of Illogical Logic

Copyright © Nicki Faulk · All Rights Reserved