Wednesday, July 23, 2014

The Evolution of an Appendectomy, Volume 8

...Once they saw I was alive and sufficiently annoyed, Beata and Summer felt safe to go home and get some much needed rest after having been awake for more than 30 hours. My sister Kasey brought a book and sat with me for the rest of the day. I was so touched that somebody was willing to sit there for hours while I basically slept.

Oh, and take pictures and post them to Facebook:

  • Kasey: She was half asleep eating that. And then asleep. That's how she fell asleep with her bowl under her chin. Same profile. The nurse came to check and we laughed that I didn't move the bed down and put the table to the side. I forget to take pictures. I was reading a book because she would fall asleep mid-sentence.
    Kady: I fell asleep eating?!?
  • Kasey: You got what you needed and fell asleep. Like a babe at the teat.
  • Dianne: Yes, except at the teat, her eyes would roll back in her head.
  • Kady: Mom!!! Stop embarrassing me in front of my friends!!

  • Kasey: In her room. In and out of hilarious eye opening. Sometimes just her eyebrows go up, but the eyes remain closed. And her speech is that of a 98-year-old alcoholic who is very tired.

I guess I should have expected that my jerk of a sister Kasey would photograph me and then post to Facebook -- after all she had her gallbladder out last November:

Monday, July 21, 2014

The Evolution of an Appendectomy, Volume 7

...And then they wheeled me in to surgery and all of the sudden I got very scared because SURGERY but it was too late and then I woke up. I remember feeling like I had just had a very vivid dream about work. And then I was glad I wasn't at work, and "oh yeah. surgery." So I was like "oh man you guys I was dreaming about work" but then I got back on my game, and as per usual I took it upon myself to brighten the days of the post-op staff with a little hilarity and, of course, as is so common with me, the oh-so-typical resultant accolades taking the form of laughter.

"WHERE IS MY SON!? I DEMAND TO SEE MY SON! WHERE. IS. MY. SON?!?!!" I screamed, in as dramatic a movie voice as I could muster.

Nobody laughed. You know I think now, after all this, that Doctors and Nurses and Anesthesiologists are more concerned about things like "white cell counts" and "oxygen levels" and "blood pressure" and "are you alive?" and "how do you feel?" than they are about having a good laugh. I guess that's why they studied the sciences and we all studied the arts. I heard my post-op nurse say to somebody walking by, "this one's a jokester", as if to explain why her patient was embarrassing her.

Oh man this guy next to me would NOT SHUT UP. He was talking about all kinds of stuff. And he was all like mad and being mean to the post-op people. It was so clear to me what he was talking about and it was SO ANNOYING. I couldn't WAIT to tell everybody all of the details of absolutely everything he was complaining about. Here's me later, telling that story (in my favorite Summer-Grimes-filmed-appendectomy-video that never fails to make me LOL):

Sunday, July 20, 2014

Sunday Favorites: The Camp Chair

New to A Lady Reveals Nothing? You've missed SO MUCH. Not to worry. Every Sunday, I dig through the archives to repost an old favorite. Mostly because I'm too lazy to come up with new content every single day. Enjoy! This story originally appeared on June 6, 2012:

I was reminded to bring a camp chair to this weekend's MS 150 mile bike ride* from Duluth to Minneapolis by my team leader, Chuck:

"Lawn chair - Very Important - Drop your lawn chair [...] before 3pm on Friday and it'll be waiting for you in Hinckley - if you don't bring a chair, please don't assume that it's okay to sit in other's chairs in Hinckley. Danger!"

Ha! "Danger!"

This reminded me of a story: A few years back a friend of mine went on a huge 15-20 girl hiking trip up to the Superior Hiking Trail. One of the women on the trip was painfully shy and had never been away from her husband of several years, except for going to work and the occasional TWO HOUR MOVIE. Seriously, this was her first girls' trip, and a weekend one at that. 

Everybody was instructed to bring their own camp chair. The first night, as daylight started to dwindle, all the girls moved from picnic tables and smaller groups to one large circular group around the fire. It was noted that there was one chair missing. The picnic table was dragged up to the fire to accommodate everybody, and discussion ensued for some minutes about how one of their chairs must have gotten knocked over and landed in the weeds. Some even started feeling around in the dark to find the missing chair. The search was unsuccessful and it was decided that it was going to have to resume at daylight.

The next day, the chair was nowhere to be found. Speculation regarding it's fate began. Could it be possible that one of the other campers at another site STOLE it? Surely that couldn't be so. The chairs were counted, recounted and counted again. Someone had the bright idea that each woman should stand next to her chair so it could be determined whose was missing. Unfortunately a few of the girls were at the showers at that moment and so it wasn't determined.
The entire weekend went by with plenty of hashing and rehashing what must have happened to the missing chair. And when it was all over and cars were packed and miles were driven back to the city, one of the women dropped the Shy Girl at her home. As she was getting her stuff out of the back, her driver asked, "hey! Where's your chair?", when she breezed by -- briskly walking to the house, whispering over her shoulder: "I didn't bring one."

It must be mentioned that during the entire weekend: the fire the first night, the discussion at the fire, the search the next day, the "stand next to your chair" detective attempt...Miss Shy was always sitting in a chair (or standing next to one), not admitting anything.

Not her chair. She didn't bring one.

Friday, July 18, 2014

The Evolution of an Appendectomy, Volume 6

...So maybe I did, and maybe I did not shove a Vicodin pill up my butt somewhere near the border of Wisconsin and Minnesota -- and maybe my butt did and maybe it did not basically grab that Vicodin pill out of my trembling hand and suck it up into oblivion. Maybe I was and maybe I wasn't fascinated by how well my body seemed to accept and in fact welcome it. I'll never tell. Because I'm a lady. Who reveals nothing.

What I will tell you is that Beata drove like a madwoman from Tiny Town Wisconsin to Minneapolis on a straight shot up the I-94 and we made it there in no time. I slept for most of it. My appendix did not burst, thanks goodness and when we peeled into the ER at Abbott Hospital they were primed and ready for us. All credit to the nice folks at the Tiny Town ER, who called ahead and let Abbott know all the details and that I was on my way.

I was admitted immediately into room 12, I believe, but how can one be sure of such minute details when one is under the influence of a Vicodin one may or may not have shoved up their butt?

Everybody at Abbott was great. They agreed with my decision to come back to Minneapolis and almost everybody I spoke with wondered why a relatively young Wisconsin surgeon "didn't do laparoscopic" "appies". The fact that they called it an "appy" made me feel at ease almost immediately. If you know me well you know I like abbreves and especially ones that end in a "y" sound. Also you don't give a pet name to a surgery you're not performing on a daily basis. At least I don't think you do. 

From here things moved pretty quickly and I think basically I just had to sign a bunch of stuff and then my sister Kasey and niece Miyo arrived and Summer's brother Justin and his wife Kassie got there and we all sat around joking while I tried not to think about what was going to happen to me.

One time my gown feel completely off when I tried to get up from my bed to go pee, and the door was open to the whole ER:

OOH, and I always love it when they ask me if I'm married! Rita, the Nurse Anesthesiologist seemed very surprised that nobody loves me and then when I asked her to "find me a good one" she confessed that there weren't that many single people around Abbott. Which is bull crap because Dr. Mumm was pretty adorable and I might have even told him so. I can't remember.

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

The Evolution of an Appendectomy, Volume 5

Where were we?

Yah. Escaping the confusing Emergency Room in Tiny Town Wisconsin and speeding back to Minneapolis without hitting a deer.

I was worried about the three-hour trip. When my morphine ran out a few times in the ER, it was painful. Bad. So I asked the nurse to shoot me up the minute before we left and asked what I should do if I started to feel pain in the car.

"Well, you're not allowed to eat or drink anything before surgery, so I can give you a Vicodin...but..."

"But what?"

"You can't eat or drink anything."

"So how am I gonna?...Where does it...?"

Her face got serious. She handed me a glove, the pill and some lubricant.


Never forget. 

"For all the good it did me, I coulda shoved it up my hind-end." -Hal

Sunday, July 13, 2014

Sunday Favorites: Hilarious. (In My Dreams, Anyway.)

New to A Lady Reveals Nothing? You've missed SO MUCH. Not to worry. Every Sunday, I dig through the archives to repost an old favorite. Mostly because I'm too lazy to come up with new content every single day. Enjoy! This story originally appeared on March 17, 2012:

I was laying in bed with Brad Pitt in my dream last night. You see, I was in the bed because he and Angelina Jolie offered for me to sleep on the fourth floor spiral staircase tower but when I got up there it was only barstools and totally windy I was afraid of heights, so the only other place for me was in the bed next to Brad Pitt, obviously. We were only looking at a photo of him and a bunch of kids lined up on some 1970's basement stairs. In the back, there was a framed picture that said, Minnesota. I was hilarious when I said *out of the side of my mouth, in 1930s-newspaper-worker-accent and with hand up like a mock Vlassic pickle*, "Minnesota? I'm pretty sure I've been in that basement." He laughed.

Angelina Jolie came in the room. She was wearing a very strange outfit. When I saw it, I quipped *out of the side of my mouth, in 1930s-newspaper-worker-accent and with hand up like a mock Vlassic pickle*, "Wow, that outfit is like equal parts Rosie the Riveter, G.I. Joe, and Pippi Longstocking." Of course, she jumped to an incorrect conclusion and slowly and dramatically loaded a double barrel shotgun -- the kind you bend in half to put the shells in -- and I begged her not to shoot me but she did anyway. Right in the shoulder and even in the dream it hurt real bad.

I started to sort of scream and make weird noises (kind of like that news lady who was crushing grapes on YouTube and she fell and started making a weird gurgling throat noise and the whole world laughed at her), and then I decided that I was embarrassing myself and so I cut it out. As I was bleeding to death, I asked them if they didn't mind if I called my mom. I called her, laughing about how I was totally calling from BRAD and ANGELINA's cell phone. I told her I was probably dying from being shot but still cracking jokes about ending up in some gossip magazine like the Star Tribune (even in my dream I realized this was in error) in a weird love triangle that didn't exist. Because NOTHING was going on except me cracking Brad Pitt up over and over, obviously.

Then Angelina Jolie ran outside like a crazy person and threw the shotgun in the snow. I looked at Brad and said, *out of the side of my mouth, in 1930s-newspaper-worker-accent and with hand up like a mock Vlassic pickle* "that's a really bad idea", and we laughed again.

"Kady, you are hiLARious in your dreams."

Thursday, July 10, 2014

A Text From My Sister Keri

'I felt sorry for little Dickie last night and so I didn't put him to bed in his kennel. He was so happy he left me a smiley face to wake up to. (I promise I did not alter it.)"

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