Screwed Up: Surgical Cyber-Chick

2005-11-13T12:34:00.000-08:00

Another: CLICK HERE FOR ANOTHER SCOLIOSIS BLOG!!
I have to promote this blog, especially since we share the bowel issues.

Fellow Blog Junkie

2005-11-13T12:08:00.000-08:00

Moni, another incessant blogster, has sent me a link to her scoliosis blog, so here it is! Moni just had the surgery, and went from 76 to 15 degrees!! How twisted is that? (Pun sincerely intended.)

ALSO: Sarah made me show my scar to everyone at the bachelorette party last night. Talk about a sexy party favor! I'm telling you, it is so unbelievably wicked, people love it. So I have graduated from displaying my body parts via tightly knit shirts and low-slung pants as a twenty-something, to providing shock-humor with flashes of my surgical scar in my thirties. What will the forties bring?

CLICK HERE FOR MONIE'S BLOG!!

The Snake is Back

2005-11-13T10:40:00.000-08:00

AN APOLOGIA: Did I do this already? If so, then disregard. So here I go. I'm sorry. Alright, there you have it. I'm sorry for all these months of swearing into my blog, and subjecting sensitive and younger readers to that language. I guess I just never imagined anyone was reading the darn thing! (See that? I didn't say "damn," which totally changed the tenor of the idea I was trying to express, but that's the new me!) I will cease and desist from now on from any vulgarity in any form, except in gibberish, which I plan to incorporate from here on out. But aside from "A Clockwork Orange," in which the author brilliantly invents an imaginary language used by future psycho-punks, I doubt the use of pretend swear-words have ever had an interesting effect on anything, but I will try. Oh, and mentions of sex will be summarily discontinued as well. I'm turning over a new leaf, my friends!

UPDATE: my nerves are regenerating in my back and growing down my legs at alarming rates! I can scratch my thigh and feel it in my back! Oh bonus! I never knew the body could regenerate in such awkward ways! But it doesn't bother me, as long as I still have control of my internal operations.

ALSO: I'm thinking of getting a shoe lift. You see, you gosh-darned (arrrrgggg) leg is still longer than the other, so I can feel myself hobbling around like a pirate with a sawed off peg. I shall try it and see, although I have absolutely no faith that this contraption will do doodly-squat to enrich my life, but what the heck, miracles happen. You see, I want it because I am having pain recently what with all the work, and work, and work I am doing. Before work, I was FINE!! No pain! But now, some pain (not like before), and usually only because I INSIST on wearing heels.

AND: I am going to see DeWald about doing stretching or PT because the tightness is still there, and EVERYONE ELSE GETS TO DO EXERCISE AND PT, SO WHY NOT ME??????

I always misspell exercise, and it will never change.

RECOMMENDATION: if you have extra time, read "A Clockwork Orange," with all 21 chapters, and you will be amazed at how well this dude can write.

Talk to me, babe!

P.S.: I went to a bachelorette party last night! Woohoo! With heels! And I am not doubled over in pain. Well, not in the back, at least. Unfortunately, what with the newly created self-regulation of bloggery, I am unable to share the events of our bacchanalian affair, lest those sensitive and younger readers be corrupted by life's banalities once again.

Today is my Birthday!

2005-11-01T07:56:00.000-08:00

And if all goes well, I will be home before 6:00 p.m.

I have asked for another dog, but we shall see.

2005-11-01T07:49:00.000-08:00

I have been so busy lately that I haven't kept up on my postings! The blog is like the little mystery baby that I never had: a few people know about it, no one knows what to do with it, and I neglect the hell out of it.

Anyway, some feeling is coming back into my skin on my back, but in patchy different areas, including right above my left buttock, if you will, and when I touch that area, it feels like a hair is touching my leg about 5 inches down. Wierd! So my nerves are reconnecting or something, but at strange new intersections.

I realize that some of my back pain is stress related. Last night, I was working late and my back hurt so bad! It felt like the muscles were lifting off my spine and when I went to bed it was all I could do to log-roll. And I was wearing flats all day. What's up with that? So, I think that some of my pain is stress related. I have heard of bio-feedback for pain therapy, but has anyone tried it? I only get like this when I am really stressed out at work. I have no pain on the weekend, or during normal, non-hectic weeks. And I am off the muscle relaxants, so any night relief is gone. I guess I am just one big ball of stress. Why stress? Because a trial I am helping with started yesterday and I take on more than I should! Ouch!

I Try to Have a Point

2005-10-23T17:25:00.000-07:00

But sometimes I don't. I'll make this short. The only meds I was taking recently was just Flexeril before bed, because the only problem I was having was muscle tightness in the morning. Then, for some unexplained reason, I switched to Valium, and that had the added benefit of making me sleep the entire night, but then I figured out it was the source of my recent lack of peristaltic activity and motion motility, and resulting in cement build-up, making my colon the location of much beaver-dam building, or more like the Hoover Dam, which broke my heart to the enth degree, as I thought that was an issue of the past, having been cured by said surgery, along with all my other ailments. But seriously, it was brought to my attention that Valium, as a muscle-relaxer, was also relaxing my colon muscles, thereby rendering the gastrointestinal system worthless, or nothing but a holding cell for processed, old food. That can't be good for you!

So I quit taking Valium at night, and don't take the Flexeril, and am not sleeping, due to the constant movement by my nocturnally active husband, whose every night-time movement is carefully tracked by my ever-alert senses, depriving me of much needed sleep and relaxation.

So I don't sleep and I wake up with a stiff back. What to do? I will ponder that with my legs propped up on pillows tonight.

2005-10-19T10:25:00.000-07:00

This is so, very sad, as it demonstrates the depths of insanity into which I have plunged: the photo is from "Better Homes & Gardens," and it is a sample of what we readers can do with our Halloween pumpkins!! Yay! Now, if ANYONE in the world can manage to carve out a pumpkin that looks like that, I will give them a million bucks! Maybe I am also a retard (I can say that because I am a carrier of the Fragile-X gene, and am, therefore, officially a sort-of retarded person), but whenever I take knife to gourd, it results in frustration and teeters on anger, at not being able to saw the pieces of the damned thing out! Unless you are Ivan the Terrible, I don't know who can get their stupid knives through the things, as the don't want to be carved, obviously, having coated themselves with a hard, impenetrable armor, but year and year, we tempt the emergency room gods with our derring-do, and invite our kids, too! Hey, that rhymed.

ENOUGH OF THE PUMPKIN TALK ALREADY!

Update to curious readers: my husband no longer has to wipe my butt, even though he would love to, as he spends several hours a day down there kissing my ass every day anyway. Just kidding! I had to say that because I found out last night that he READS MY BLOG, oh my god what a shock, I think, because why does he want to read about what I will just tell him later, during one of my rambler-talk-a-thons, which he has described as a ticker-tape processing unit, spewing constant chatter from my mouth, but that is sometimes, and not all the times, for I am also quite demure and charming.

My back hurts today!! When will it not hurt? It has been weeks since it has hurt, but sometimes it still does and it bothers me. Sometimes I fantasize that I did it all for naught. But that's incorrect, because I used to take something like 12 Advils a day, and now I take maybe one Aleve in the morning prophylactically. Will I ever be able to wear heels again? Am I slowly morphing into a soccer-mom, with short hair and a FAT WAIST, sensible shoes and crappy car? That's my life!! I got fat recently, and must hit the bike! I haven't heard from DeWald when I will be able to really give it a vigorous work-out again, not that I would, but hey. In fact, I don't even have a follow-up appointment with him because I like living on the edge, you know?

I got a letter from Blue Cross/Blue Shield recently that said, "We have paid about $156,000, in medical bills to date for your surgery, and have found out that we overpaid by $50.00, so please pay up." What?? Are they kidding? That spit in the bucket? Mother fuck it! (Quote supplied by the transvestite in Garden of Good and Evil)

Otherwise, things are getting back to their usual selves with me: my allergies are back, my crabbiness alive and kicking, my chronic constipation has joined the club and now I can't even get tickets to the World Series! If anyone has two tickets to the World Series and wants to sell them to me for face-value, please let me know. I want to go really, really bad for some reason. Thanks.

p.s.: Fuck and Constipation are not in the spell-check on Blogster, and neither is the word "blog."

I thought I was Dead

2005-10-17T15:32:00.000-07:00

I looked at my blog, and it was so old and moldy, I thought I had died or something! What happened to my manic daily, even hourly, rambling posts? I suppose it had something to do with my job. (Insert large frowny-face here)

So, my back has not hurt in AGES, but that's because I have been a good girl and worn nothing but flat (rhymes with fat) shoes all the time, much to my dismay. Gone are the days of long-legged-ness, of showing the world my lithesome, glittery gams, all long and billowy like the wind... Of course, that can not be further from the truth, but whatever. You learn to live with the hand you are dealt.

ALSO, I have been bad, bad, bad!!!! Very salaciously, saucily bad, indeed! I haven't worn my electro-sphmegmometer in three months! So, guiltily, I wore it last night, tucked into my granny-panties as I vacuumed the house, oblivious to my open curtains, or truly, lack of curtains, daring anyone to be turned on by the sight. I waited and waited and WAITED for the damn beeper to go off, telling me that I can take the cumbersome thing off. I praise highly the engineer who designed this apparatus, excepting for the fact that they designed it for a huge, portly man, and not the real users, which are usually young, slender women. Am I wrong? Aren't most people with scoliosis thinner than normal, and usually young, unless, like me, they wait a million years to have the surgery? If you are aware of the contrary, please drop me a line.

Interesting development: I know I said it before, but I don't feel the urge to imbibe alcohol anymore like I used to! I think it is because I am not in so much searing pain anymore. I used to get home from work feeling like I had broken glass embedded in my body - FOR REAL!! And I know that I am not the only one.

Should we start a "Scoliosis Awareness Society?" Aptly acronymed "SAS"? I would like to be a public speaker, and would like to strip and get naked on stage and show everyone my scar, with a fig-leaf draped over the other parts, of course, in the name of science! OK, not really. More for my own self-aggrandizement. And what, pray, tell, is wrong with that?

Anyone want to join me?

I Look Like a Skull-Head

2005-09-18T19:29:00.000-07:00

in my "about me" picture. Ah, those were the days, just weeks after surgery and still skinny enough to take pictures of myself! But, as a result of the surgery, I have gained 100 pounds!! Just kidding. I wonder if anyone would believe that? Because before the surgery, I would have believed anything, including that I would be taller as a result, and as it turns out, I am not, and I am still very upset about it!! Well, gee, I grew 1/4 inch. What a rip!

OK, here's the deal. Please email me a picture of yourself with your brace on, or after surgery, or of your scar, or whatever, so I can post it on my blog. First 500 customers will receive a free commemorative 2005 NASCAR Beer Mug!! So keep those pictures and cards rolling, eager beavers!! You ask yourself why I do this? Many reasons, including:

To share the glory of being on my wicked, kick-ass blog;
For my entertainment and to satisfy my curiosity;
So some of my readers know that I don't just write this all for myself;
So I can pretend that I don't just write this blog for myself.

OK! The cat is out of the bean-bag! I have been writing this blog for quite some time now, some may say toooo long, but it is the only creative outlet I have, outside of snake handling. Really, I like to write and this blog at least gives me a reason to do it. I swear that I am A.D.D., because I can't focus on anything for too long, lest something glittery comes flitting by, and therefore this blog forces me to focus on one topic and move on with it. Perhaps in the future I will droll on about some other items on yet another blog, but I don't have a blog idea yet. Suggestions?

And really, I wanted to document my recovery. Because I tend to have a very limited memory and quickly forget things about myself, which is good I suppose, because I can go through life re-doing the same stuff over and over again, like the Chaucer class I took in college, TWICE, and never be bored! Even better: people can tell me the same stories over and over, the same jokes, love poetry, etc., and I am always amused, spell-bound, aghast, whatever.

As for, "is this blog like therapy?" I would have to answer with a resounding "no." (Did that tiny little "no" look resounding? It didn't to me. It looked like it was trying to hide behind all the quotes.)

Argh! I digress!

Point: I danced on Saturday, on my deck and in my house to my Edison phonograph, and it felt so wickedly decadent and goood, that I knew I would pay for it. And so I did. Back hurts. The end.

THIS JUST IN! I just remembered another reason I decided to write this blog. Because I found a dearth of information and personal stories out there on adults who have the surgery. All that is out there, so it seemed, were these dumb little flower-bedecked, starlight-starbright, pink and fluffy web-sites out there from cutey-pies #1, #2 and #3. Really, I don't want to read another young girl's missive concerning whether or not to attend cheerleading practice a month after surgery. Call me a bitch. I probably won't disagree. But I wanted other "adults" to have a resource before their surgeries, or after, even, that is all about being a grown-up, and recovery in real-life.

GET THIS: One young girl actually asked, via message board, HOW MUCH THE TITANIUM RODS WEIGH, because she feared gaining weight. Unbelievable.

P.S. - spell-check doesn't know what "cheerleading" is. What next, a man on the freakin' moon???

P.S.S. - I promise to write something of substance next time.

NO PAIN TODAY, HOT TAMALE

2005-09-10T08:10:00.000-07:00

Ok, if you get that "hot tamale" reference, then you are so cool! That stupid jokey saying, "cold today, hot tamale," is ever-present in the knee-jerk reaction center of my mind; therefore, every time I hear someone say, "gee, it's cold today," which is most of the time in this blasted Windy City, I respond to the comment, in my head, with "hot tamale!!"

"Brrrr, it's cold today," Ingrid shudders, rubbing her mittened hands up
and down her arms.

"Hot tamale!" Responds a horrified Kat, her helpless, mortified tone
is soon supplanted by a swooshing gust of relief, such as one
expresses after expressing something foul or vulgar.

It is so nerve-wracking, yet I can't get it to stop!! Oh, the humanity.....

I have other little ditties like that, which always flower and populate the well-spring of my mind, when triggered by some casual event, but which never fail to have the effect of cats scratching a chalk-board. It dawns on me that I use alot of hyphens - I like them! Please, someone, stop me.

Also, I changed the font colors of my blog today, because I AM SOOOOO SMART and HTML-saavy (hyphen). NOT! I am still trying to figure out where to get a font code for a cooler font for my header, but that information evades me.

The HTML book that I use is a big scam-ola, because it says at the bottom of every page:

Find extra tips, the source code for examples, and more at:
www.ha-ha,suckers!.com

So then I go to the website, being the lab rat that I am, and a bit naive, of course, expecting this nirvana of free codes and promised "tips," other fluff, etc., only to be greeted with a boring ass website hawking (or perhaps "hocking?") more books! What the hell?! How many dollars do I have to fart out my butt before someone can grace me with the promised material? I hate capitalists! Besides myself! Now send me some money!

p.s.: The editor apologizes for the flying flatulence reference, but bodily function humor is always on the map for the author, notwithstanding the fact that the editor is a "humour"-snob, and will emit not the slightest muffled chortle at the country's most beloved sitcom, The Simpsons, nor will the editor suffer a moment of Southpark, being, what the editor believes, to be entertainment lacking in creativity, but genius nevertheless, due to its ability to lull the unthinking masses into believing it represents cutting-edge outlandish humor, when all it really provides is swearing at its worst - believe me, the author loves swearing - but at least use your foul language in a clever, creative way; but the creators of that barrel of swill are not challenged, for to challenge their brains would be to out-smart their audience, and we do need entertainment for the rich underclass, don't we? signed, your editor....

My body is funny

2005-09-09T10:13:00.000-07:00

Well, aside from funny-looking, my body is funny in the way it does things all by itself. I just had a conversation with Jim the Weatherman, who also had the surgery, and I told him that sometimes I catch myself raising my left shoulder for no reason, which I realized is something I used to do before the surgery! I did it to compensate for my right shoulder, which was raised, and people would always comment on it, so I started the left-shoulder thing to throw them off, and I still do it! Jim said that now when he buttons his shirts, the shirt will be longer on one side, because he is used to his body being lopsided! So he has to rebutton!

When I was a youngster, my aunt used to pick on me because I would stand funny. I would stand with my left leg straight and my right leg wrapped behind it like a snake. She would always tell me to stop, but I always did it, even in adulthood. Now I know that I did it because my hips were uneven, and standing that way felt better. Makes me realize that kids do things for REASONS, not because they are mischievous or jerky or something like that, and I vow to pay more attention to kids when they act wierd. No one is born and decides to affect strange behavior. We do what our bodies tell us to do, whether that be drinking alcohol, standing crooked, crying at sad movies, pressing all the buttons in the elevator, grinding our teeth, whistling - (which I hate more than anything!!), snorting cocaine, etc. Our bodies want one thing and sometimes that isn't good for us, so we have to find a substitute for that need, and that's where our brains come in handy!!!! more on the perverse habit of whistling later....

OUCH THAT SMARTS!

2005-09-08T19:02:00.000-07:00

Wanna hear something really funny? I got into a car accident today! Just what I was the most afraid of! And now I'm feeling sore and want to climb back into bed.

By the way, I heard that people from the Phillippines speak Tagalog. Is that true? I had some excellent Filipino food this weekend and I highly recommend it. Also cool is "bubble tea" at Thai restaurants. Try it, the little Tapioca balls rock!

I can't write any more. I'm tired.

To PT or not to PT?

2005-09-07T08:03:00.000-07:00

I have asked my doctor (through his eminently qualified and distinguished nurse) whether or not I should be doing physical therapy or not, and the answer is always no. Now, I did have physical therapy immediately after my surgery, but that was to re-learn the basics of such rudimentary things as, oh, walking, climbing stairs, standing without falling over, etc. But once I nailed these tasks I was discharged from my PT duties and left to wallow on my own, with no direction, save, "walk alot and don't over-exert yourself."

Well, let me tell you something. Walking in the City is over-rated! I am not interested in walking by my local "Bowser Dog," housing developments and used car lots on a regular basis. Gee whiz, call me loco, but I can't stand the monotony of it! So, that's when I started using my recumbent bike.

Yay! All was well while I was on medical leave, and all I had to do every day was ride my bike (inside my lovely, air-conditionally-challenged house) and make sure I didn't slip in the shower, and the day was won. But when I returned to work, something went bonkers, and I was quickly reminded of just how f#*!ed up my back really was, so I put aside my dreams of working out for when I felt better.

NEWSFLASH!!! It did not get better! Working full time has been nothing less than an awful pain in my back, and I have been popping NSAID's ever since! (although I have a few comments on weekend Flexeril-munching experiences). Aaaarrrggh! It made me so mad that all was flowing along swimmingly in my recovery until work came along and messed it all up! And I have a desk job! Imagine if I actually had to move my carcass around for a living? I would be dead!

Anyway, I hear from other people who email me that they get to do PT, and some do swimming therapy, and it got me so jealous and feeling like I was missing out on something, that I called said nurse back and once again inquired as to the PT, or not to PT? Again, my advances into recovery were rebuffed, and I love my doctor, because he is clearly the best, and I flat-out think he is a man-god, aside from my brother, who ranks higher than any man I have ever met, but I digress, and so back to my original thought, I was rebuffed, and I thought, "doctor knows best," and dropped it like an old hat.

THEN LABOR-DAY WEEKEND CAME. And I, with all my sprightly weekend vigor, got on my real bike and rode it, outside, on a real-life bike-path, with trees and squirrels and monkeys and the whole nine-yards, and pedalled and pedalled like Dorothy in a tornado, except I didn't have my dog with me, and at the end, I emerged triumphant and feeling like half-a-million bucks! What a day!

Then I repeated it again the next day with even better results. The upshot? (I love corporate lingo.) I didn't have pain the next day! There you have it! Mystery solved! Clear as a bell! The next step in my recovery is to get back into shape and do all the cool things I never could do before, like exercise! Outdoors even! Like a real person! Wahoooooooooooo! I may even learn to scuba dive! (That's neither here nor there...)

NOTE: Since the surgery, my desire to drink alcoholic beverages has subsided, much to the confusion and constant bewilderment of my husband, who says that figuring me out is a difficult task, and my response to that is, then quit trying, and just roll with the punches, but on second thought, I wouldn't like to live with an unpredictable person, so who am I kidding, and I must empathize more readily.

Mathematical Equation of the Millenium: Back pain = Drinking!

Or whatever else you people out there like to do! I have always heard that marijuana (oh! the old Mary-Jane! hee-hee!) was good for pain, but alas, my own pansiness precludes me from engaging in any activity that causes anxiety, for I already seem to engage in quite a bit of anxiety-producing activities, such as living, that I was never able to figure that one out. But I figure that some people with this crazy back-pain have done some crazy things to get rid of it, including drinking, and I bet some of you are reading this going, oh my god! That's me! And the point of that is, not much. Later I will discuss all the things I have done to temper my pain, including one little ditty about my mother and the sparkly slippers.

God bless all of you and if you have scoliosis and hail from Louisiana, I have a room for you.

Peace out! Or whatever it is that these kids say so slangily nowadays!!

Kat

p.s. - I love Kurt Vonnegut

What Works for Me

2005-08-19T09:24:00.000-07:00

My advice on what to do when returning to work after months off recovering from your spinal fusion.

Do not wear high heels. Especially if you are a man. I am addicted to heels, the spikier the better, but they are not addicted to me, and in fact, they are used as instruments of torture in Dedlakistan on women who have just had back surgery. Not natural, babe. Not helpful.
Take an Alleve in the morning, it will make you feel better. And in the afternoon if you need it.
Lay on the floor whenever your back hurts to give it a rest. Be sure not to face the door with your legs, or suffer the embarrassment of a nice, big underwear-shot when the boss barges in.
One time my friends and I were looking at some bras a co-worker had just bought at lunch. We were in my office. We were holding up pretty, lacy things when my boss marched in.
When someone asks how your back feels, lie and say it feels fine. No one cares about your pill-taking regiment, unfortunately.

More later. Rock on!

Real-Time High in RSS Stream

2005-08-16T18:36:00.000-07:00

Wow! I would like to invite you into my personal trip down acid lane, complete with dried-mushroom-cap necklaces and fluffy fandango fairy tales. I am currently under the influence of Norco, the pain killer that used to have me crawling on the floor, searching for another one, because it works so well on my pain.

If I were a teacher, or academic some-such, I would have to break out the gold star and slap it on Mr. Norco the Narcotic's lapel, pat him on the back and holler, "Great job! Stellar! Keep up the good work!" And so on. But unfortunately, the drug is not a sentient being capable of being engaged in conversation (:(), but merely the product of a mad-hatter's economically fulfilling lab experiment. So every time I achieve pain-abatement success, some PhD is cashing another check at the bank, reaping the rewards of his years of back-break and toil, perhaps now manning the bow of his yacht, bubbly beach babes in each arm, googly eye-glasses perched atop his wrinkly nose, sipping vodka-infused prune juice in a tall thermos. One can still manage to be practical while living the high life.

Also, did you notice that my drug guy is old? Well, that's because only old people seem to have all the cool accoutrements of life, in fact, I never see a young "looker" behind the wheel of a Mercedes or wearing the latest in Chanel. Or whatever. Because frankly, I don't even know the names of the most fashionable designers, being a humble working-class citizen in the township of an onion-orchard called Chicago.

Anyhoo, I hate the term "frankly," because it reminds me of my nasally ex-boss, who hired me right out of undergrad, on the basis that I had the same style of shoes that she was wearing, and was a cute dresser, to boot. The bad thing was that I had no experience, and completely sucked at the job I was hired to do, so that fashion sense notwithstanding, I was promptly fired at the end of my 60-day probationary period, much to my dismay, the experience of which sent me to the bathroom a'crying, and resulted in a lifelong disgust for the term "frankly," because it frankly reminds me of that crazy hat-wearing bitch.

(Sub-point: who wears hats to work besides construction workers and sailors? Hmm, both very sexy! Unfortunately, hats don't really have the same effect when worn by women, that is, sending men spinning into the outer limits of animal attraction, for I have never heard a man comment on the size of a woman's rim, or the gauziness of her veil, the ornateness of her hat-pin, etc. Which also leads me to wonder why women wear hats, anyway, even though I am an offender of that same ilk. However, my hats are quite cute and stunning, and should not be categorized as un-sexy, at least not to my face, and anyway, who wears a hat with the sole intent (or any intent, for that matter) of being sexy? I believe that hat wearing signals prudishness in the wearer, unless you are a man, of course, as men only wear hats for utilitarian purposes, except the aforementioned sailor, who dons his tidy white cap for show, as I can not fathom a purpose that may be served by such a jaunty piece of fabric-waste.)

Why is the word "turd" funny? Not to me, of course.

OK! I Give!

2005-08-16T17:59:00.000-07:00

Fine! I have to give in to these god-forsaken pains that I have been having since I started work about a month ago. So I took a day off work today to rest. Rest, I did, with a little nonsense mixed in, such as taking video of my dog with my digital camera! It's, like, the most amazing video of a black lab catching a ball that you have ever seen! Oh! The heavens have opened and provided the world with such unique video footage! And I shall unleash that very footage upon my unsuspecting readers as soon as I figure out how to do it! For now, my lack of computer-savviness has precluded me from sharing said gem, so you will just have to use your imagination. (Ha! As if!)

So here's the deal: my back feels like it's being ripped to shreds while I'm at work. I thought the pain would go away sometime soon if I ignored it, but that strategy doesn't seem to be working. So, I called the doctor, spoke to the nurse, and learned the error of my ways.

It seems that getting down on all fours to vacuum the edges of the floor and behind the toilet are not things to be done 5 months post-surgery. Neither is sweeping, mopping, carrying buckets of water and walking the dog. Who knew??

The nurse told me that some people don't go back to work till 6 months after surgery, and I went like 3 1/2 months afterwards, so that in itself was pushing it to the limit. Grody to the max. I digress. Anyway, she said no way am I supposed to be working full time AND doing housework, so to lay off. Hence the day off work today. Now I have to hire a maid.

HIRING A MAID:
How guilty would I feel paying someone to sweep the tumbleweeds of black fur from my floor? Worse - letting a stranger see all the urine stains beneath my toilet seat?! UGH! That's the kind of work fit only for those who live in such filth! And should therefore not be unleashed upon strangers!

Incidentally, I used to be a maid and janitor, one such denizen of the night. Oh lordy! There are some stories for you! For example, I have cleaned not one, but TWO churches in my life! What a coincidence is that?! I had the luxury of praying to god in private, which is tantamount of having the blessed one on the horn as opposed to conference call. Alas, these magical chat sessions never really scored me something I asked for, such as a straight spine, good grades, a million bucks or a bitchin' Camaro, so I gave it up. But the memories are special nonetheless.

Tell me, those of you over 30, don't you still wish you had one of those light blue, cockroach-styled, bad-as-hell early 80's Camaros? Ah, one can only dream....

Arg, Matey

2005-08-16T17:39:00.000-07:00

I once had a friend who dressed up as a pirate. She wanted to surprise her boyfriend with something new. Apparently, her get-up wasn't complete without the requisite eye-patch, which she was more than happy to wear. With her outfit complete, she opened the bedroom door, shouting, "Aaaargh, matey!" to her man while posing in the doorway. Well, her man was surprised, all right, but so was her dog, Tex, who didn't recognize Ms. Friend with her funky eye-wear. The growling began as soon as she uttered her pirate words. Shocked, my friend tried to calm the German Shepard down by taking off the patch, showing her eye to the dog, hoping to convince him that she was not an intruder. Tex was not impressed by Ms. Friend's uncovered blue eye, and started after her, chasing her back into her room. She had to slam the door shut behind her to save herself from certain doom, and has vowed never to do that again.

The most important question here is: WHO THINKS THAT DRESSING UP AS A PIRATE, COMPLETE WITH EYE-PATCH, IS SEXY?

Poop On A Stick

2005-08-11T20:43:00.000-07:00

I get alot of comments, both on the blog, and as personal emails, from people who are contemplating the surgery, or who have been through it. First of all, I can't believe that so many people read this dumb blog! But I am also being very facetious, because the whole purpose of the blog is to connect with those who are feeling the same way I was before the surgery: scared, alone, freaked out, hopeless. The moments you experience before the surgery will be the most desperate, outlandish moments of your life, for the very reason that you are about to agree to a life or death experience, putting your life into the hands of others, hoping and praying for an outcome of your wildest dreams, knowing that so much worse is possible.

Before the surgery, I told Dr. DeWald that I would rather die than continue life as I knew it. He knew I was serious at that point. There were times before the surgery that I would waver, and be wishy-washy about it, and those were the times that he told me to wait until I knew 100% that it was the right decision.

And I think that all of you who have written me, who are wondering when the right time is, will know the exact moment when you have had enough, and decide that there is no looking back. Because it is no fun living like a handicapped person when you are young. And when you are in your 50's you are young. (Tom, you know I'm talking about you - not my husband, but the other Tom with the pain) Anyhow, whatever your choice is, this year or next, if it is completely your decision and you are sick of living like a crippled person, then believe me, it can only get better. Kat

Doctors are Busy People

2005-08-06T17:46:00.000-07:00

I love my doctor, but I waited at his office for 3 and 1/2 hours yesterday, before getting fed up and leaving and not even seeing him! He had a great reason, of course: emergency surgery that couldn't be avoided. But I was still mad!! He has too many patients because he is so good, but I want him to quit taking so many so he can focus on me!!!

I quit wearing my brace to work and I feel like a million bucks. OK, maybe like 200,000. But I'm getting to the millionaire's circle slowly but surely! I go whole days with no pain, and it still totally trips me out.

WARNING: high heels and dancing are not good combinations for recovery. I learned the hard, hard, hard way. My husband likes to dance (as well as cook, garden and redecorate), so when the opportunity arose during a party last week, I gave in, throwing the dog a bone, so to speak, and enjoying it all the same. My shoes were fabulous and I felt my body move in ways it had not moved since B/S. What a star I was with my backless dress, flower-bedecked stilettos and racing stripe coursing down my spine, spinning, gyrating, obscenely gesticulating, watching myself in the mirror as I mouthed, "you go girl!"

Till the morning.

I couldn't move.

And it got worse.

With time.

I broke out the Vicodin.

It wasn't enough.

Consider yourself warned.

Seeing-Eye Dogs

2005-07-19T10:25:00.000-07:00

There's a woman who uses a seeing-eye dog in my office building. I don't know her, but every time I see her dog, he looks so very sad. I don't like seeing dogs used like this, but it seems like there is no other option. What do you think?

DETAILS: THE NUTS AND BOLTS

2005-07-16T14:45:00.000-07:00

I had a section on this blog once that has bullet-point details of my surgery, but somehow it has gotten lost in cyberspace, so I'm doing it again! Lest we forget!

It was a Posterior Spinal Fusion of T-3 to L-3.
It took 8 1/2 hours.
I now have two titanium rods and 16 screws.
I don't set off the metal detector.
When I flew, security checked my brace and hands for explosive material. (Probably just because of my intimidating demeanor.)
I got three units of blood: one of my own (gee, thanks), and two donor units.
Donating blood was the worst part of the whole experience.
No, I'm lying.
I was hospitalized for 9 days. I loved it so much I wanted to stay.
Two days after surgery, the nurses FORCED me to stand at the side of the bed. It was horribly excruciating.
Every day after that I had to try and walk, with a walker.
The first few days after surgery I was so knocked out on Morphine that I can't remember what nonsense I said. I also hallucinated, had conversations with people who weren't there and slept alot.
The morphine was delivered through a patient-controlled pump that injected straight into my vein. I always rolled on top of my dumb button-thing and had to call the nurse over to help me look for it all the time. She would always lift it from behind my head and look at me with aggravation. Lovingly.
The pain was so bad just afterwards that I swore like a truck-driver to myself in bed. I have never felt pain like that, but it was worth it.
When I got home I took showers sitting on a shower chair like an old lady. But it felt so good that I took a million showers a day. Now I am back to none.
I was not allowed to take baths. I was so sad!!
The best part of the surgery was the catheter, which enabled me to forget about the annoying little habit I have of CONSTANTLY peeing, which is at its most active while I'm at work, where I have to run to the bathroom about 10 times a day. I've always been like that. I drink alot of coffee and diet coke. And no, I won't stop. It is NOT bad for you, and if you believe that caffiene is bad for you, I invite you to read this short article by the American Dietetic Association.
If anyone can invent a way for me to pee without getting out of my chair at work, I will give them a Million Bucks.
My spinal processes were removed and ground up, then combined with Allograft, or donor bone, and applied to my new spine, in the hopes that it will get hard and fuse everything all together.
I lost like 15 pounds during the whole ordeal. But really, who cares?
Would I do it again? In a heartbeat!

Rejected Again!

2005-07-15T15:58:00.000-07:00

I called my doctor's nurse this week and asked for a handicapped sticker or something like that. I need to have access to the premium handicapped parking spots now that I am driving into the crusty bowels of the city every day for work. At the grocery store, I wouldn't dream of using a handicapped spot. Pre-surgery, though, I used to dread parking far from the entrace to anything, so much that it would color my decisions on whether or not to go somewhere.

(E.g., concert? Hell no. Baseball game? Gotta be kidding! Disney World? Are you trying to kill me?!)

Anyhow, now that my back feels better, and I don't experience the pain of a twisted rib cage near the end of the day, I park far away from store entrances just to show off my new body, and look down upon all those who scramble for a premium spot in the process! Look at you, lazy, slovenly bane of the earth, you who seeks comfort and ease, while I, superior human being with rods keeping me upright, eschew the leisure that you so eagerly seek! Watch me as I get some exercise while walking the parking lot at Kohl's! Stare in wonderment as I climb the stairs of Marshall Fields!

So I need the handicapped parking permit. By the time I get to the parking garage at work, the only spot I can get is on the tenth or, like today, the eleventh floor. And here's the catch: My psychosis precludes me from entering the garage elevator, due to its Lilliputian nature, leaving me with no choice but to traverse many stairs in an ugly stairwell. ISSUE: this added leg of my daily commute causes me to arrive at work even later, which aggravates me to no end, seeing as how I can't ever make it to work before 9:00 a.m., no matter what. I have woken up at 5:00 a.m. in order to arrive at work on time, but somehow, something delays me (laziness) and I end up at work late.

The obvious solution is to take the god-damned elevator or else leave the house earlier. Not possible. I don't need to get into details, but's let's just say that taking the elevator could very likely cause dramatic changes is my health, including heart attack, hyperventilation or stroke. It may even cause cancer, who knows. But check it out: the elevator is little larger than a breadbox, has no air conditioning and no windows. Commuters are notorious for cramming themselves into elevators to the point of physical intimacy, and the thought of being stuck in a broken elevator the size of a thimble with twelve of my closest friends, with no air conditioning on a hot, muggy Chicago day, is about as terrifying as it gets. Do I exaggerate when I say that you could die???!!! I think not!

SIDE BAR: I had a case where 11 co-workers got into their office elevator, and as it reached the fourth floor, the elevator ran out of gas, so to speak, and it free-fell all the way down. Talk about putting a major glitch in the office work-product! The wierd thing is that one person walked away unscathed, while yet others have experienced painful injuries.

Jackson's Come-Hither Look

2005-07-15T15:47:00.000-07:00

I couldn't resist the temptation of putting a picture of my dog on my blog. I tried so very hard and lost at the end, knowing full-well how interesting dog pictures are to people who don't own that particular pet. Kind of like family pictures of a family you don't know, who cares? However, I have also been guilty of posting pictures of my family, but it's a free country, man, so I can do whatever I want!

I am taller than my sisters!! Ha!

2005-07-15T15:07:00.000-07:00

Here is a picture of my sister's wedding in Lake Tahoe. From the left is me, my neice Meryl, sister Delia, friend Leng and sister Hilder. NOTE: my niece is perfect. DOUBLE-NOTE: After many years of seeing each other on a sporadic basis, friend Leng and I have discovered that we share many of the same personality traits, including the ones that make us difficult and/or nutty, and it was great hanging out with a fellow loner. Too bad she lives in Utah, otherwise we would be annoying each other on a daily basis with phone calls, emails, dinners and laughter in general. And who wants that?

2005-07-15T14:25:00.000-07:00

I am a very bad blog-mama. I started work last week, on July 5, about 3 1/2 months after the surgery. My first day I didn't wear my brace, but the next day I started wearing it again because my back was so sore and fatigued. Just sitting at a computer and walking around in work shoes is enough to kill ya! To my surprise, my brace, obscene boob-attention grabber, has been the source of many stares and quiet whispering on the downtown city streets. You thought teenagers were bad?! Try working stiffs who have been locked up in their pathetic little cublicles - these are the ones who are looking for some amusement, and with me they have found it! So I walk around downtown with my brace on, thinking I am cool and/or sexy because I have finally applied some makeup, and around me the suit-coats are snickering and salivating, pulsating with grotesque curiosity, and I can't blame them because I have been there myself.

Interesting: three people cut in front of me in the line at Alonti, which I hate anyway. The brace does not give me preferential treatment or sympathy from strangers. They push me around and clobber me with their elbows on the street just as if I were any other annoying maggot in the way of their journey.

I work in the IBM Building, which will soon be called something else, pursuant to a purchase or lease agreement entered into with the highest bidder. I will always call it the IBM Building. Life is changing so fast around me I can hardly keep up. My dad used to work in this building eons ago as an insurance salesman for Connecticut Life or something like that. I wonder if I have his office.

In any case, my building has only one restaurant in it, which is the above-mentioned Alonti, and I don't care if you are the Queen of England, if I have to eat your food every day I'm going to eventually want to chop your head off! And so this Alonti, with its monopoly on our tastebuds, has done what any good capitalist marketing guerilla would do and upped their prices so that we of little time are forced to pay a king's ransom for a sub-standard sandwich. Who can eat sandwiches every day? Apparently most people who work in the Chicago Loop. What did people eat before sandwiches were invented? Soup in a bag? The hell I live in, the hell.

My back hurts, but not the same way it did before the surgery. I am happy to be back at work, for I was losing my mind spending all those hours alone, with nothing but a computer to entertain me. For some reason, I didn't watch alot of TV during my medical sojourn, which definitely stems from my TV snobbery and general annoyance with anything pop-culture. HYPOCRITE: I choose to look down upon the pop-culture of my choosing, all the while spending all my mad-money on People Magazine and Good Housekeeping. You really know you have hit the old-time when you read Better Homes and Gardens instead of "Self" or "Glamour."

On that topic, the last time I picked up a Glamour Magazine, I was invited to learn exactly what men really want in bed. Sadly, I already knew the answer to that, and was unamused by the information provided inside this silly little excuse for porn. The answer, in case you didn't know is this. What men really want in bed is: A Naked and Willing Woman! The end. Women think that men are running around town, screwing their brains out, and ending up bored with the simple act of fornicating. Wrong, wrong, wrong. I don't know any man in the world, save a few celebrities (and those aren't really people anyway), who has been over-sexed, or out-sexed, and ended up bored by the regularity of his encounters. So why Glamour magazines spend so much time and effort trying to explain what MEN want, why doesn't it explain what WOMEN want in bed, because apparently many of them don't know for sure themselves. Hey, I've been there, so I am not throwing stones.

I came back to work and things had changed so much over the course of 3 1/2 months that I was actually a little wistful and sad. I thought back to the time this lawfirm started, January 2004, and a whole slew of us were hired right away to deal with all the cases that were going to trial, most notably the Yoder trial. Anyway, we were all such good friends, and hung out after work together on a maddeningly frequent basis, and the office was full of familiarity and good humor. Well, that has changed, as more people have been added to the staff and several others have parted ways. I am actually a little shocked and ashamed of myself for feeling so sentimental about my workplace, but when you spend as much time here as I do, and most of the other lawyers do, it sort of becomes home.

How many times have I said, "I gotta get back home," while referring to work? And that was truly by mistake.

Work is good because then you are part of the fabric of society, which can easily pass you by if you let it. Sitting at home is good if you are a great homemaker, always dreaming up new additions to put on your house, desserts to bake, and parties to host. But I am not like that. I love home, but unfortunately, the world doesn't revolve around it.