Archive for January, 2013

Altered, adjusted, hollowed out. That’s me. I guess that’s me. Maybe it’s who I am today.

Four days ago I got my hysterectomy. Today, my abdominal muscles loathe me.

Every single movement hurts like the devil. Before this, I thought I knew what fatigue was. I didn’t.

Sleep a little pointless sleep. Then move a bit more because it hurts, but you control it.

It’s insane to those from non-surgical realities. For me it’s a prison.

I am so off on several levels. I feel stupid, uneasy and scatterbrain. My memory is unreliable at best.

What is the upside? Love. Lots of love from husband, family and friends.

Everything is brought to me. I want for nothing but the eviction of pain.

I even got 2 dozen roses from sweethearted friend. Still, I want to recover.



I was good today. Well, most of it. I made breakfast and dinner.

Babysat my sister Carmen while my mother and Scott went to Sam’s Club.

She shattered her ankle in 4 places last week and is in a wheelchair now.

I kept it together up until about 30 minutes ago. I had to cry. So I did.

I have to be at the hospital at 10:30 am on Friday. I doubt that I’ll sleep the night before.

And …. It started up again. Damn fibroids always making itself known!

I’m sure an ultra-Christian Republican invented fibroids!


Posted: January 20, 2013 in Bipolar, Life, sex, women
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I’m temporarily back. I was dealing a plethora of minor disasters. My own medical status is one of them.

So the update on me is I am having my pre-op tests tomorrow and on Friday I become a surgical quasi-female.

I will be in the hospital at least overnight and severely missing my DVR and PC. Oh well. Such is life.

I am trying to make light of my hysterectomy. I am to lose my cervix as well as my uterus.

I am 43 years old, bipolar, Latina and will soon be relieved of my womanly organ.  I want this surgery.

I just hate what this surgery means to me. Sounds stupid to me when I say it in my head. Don’t worry. I’ll be okay.

The Bible has had points that I often refer to in my life. Matthew 5:30 currently applies to me.

It reads: And if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away.

It’s not my hand that has caused me sin for over 25 years, in one way or another. It’s what determines my gender.

Today I told my gynecologist to cut it off, once and for all. My reasons for this extreme choice are valid.

In the past 6 to 7 months, I have endured 3 gynecological surgeries. I thought the last one would end it. It didn’t.

This one is sure to end it. A uterus can’t grow back. So that’s it. End of story.

I’ll have my surgery and my life will be great, right ? The answer is yes … but. I feel this pain in the ass void.

I’m 43 years old, childless and seeking physical peace.  I know it sounds like I’m complaining.

Truth is, I don’t want to be pregnant. I don’t think a kid would be happy with crazy me.

I don’t think I have the emotional fortitude to deal with the terrible twos, sullen teenager and possibly a mentally ill child.

I am bipolar and mental illness is hereditary. All are logical points and I accept them.

Still, I am permanently altering my body. I’m killing the child-making variable and deep inside it hurts a little.

In The Mood For …

Posted: January 6, 2013 in America, Life, Society
Tags: , , ,

I’m in the mood for a gastro-philosophic discussion. Sounds interesting, right? Okay, plain English. What kind of donut are you?

As my husband and I were purchasing donuts last night at 1:00 am, I noticed I was married to a ‘plain donut’ kinda guy.

Almost 14 years together and this is the first time I’ve noticed! Terrible, right? Anyway, I also noticed he also picked jelly donuts and an apple fritter.

In contrast, I picked maple and chocolate bars, coconut donut (yes, I see the irony) and glazed w/nuts (yes, because I’m nuts).

Just to let you know, we practically never go out for donuts. So no preachy comments please.

So here’s my theory (based on news, rumors and speculation) about some public figures’ donut orientation:

1. President Obama – Fresh fluffy pristine glazed donut. It’s sensible, indulgent and of high quality.

2. Kathy Griffin – Rainbow sprinkles of course. She’ll cut off one bite and toss the rest to her gays.

3. Donald Trump – (in Trump voice) I will only consume a donut made of gold from Harry Winston or Tiffany’s.

4. Michael Moore – Jelly Donut all the way! Always looking for the goo inside.

5. Lady Gaga – Donut bra made of glazed, maple bar, rainbow sprinkles. She’ll wear it not eat it.

6. Simon Cowell – 1/2 plain donut so that he can fit into his black plain shirts.

7. Courtney Love – Anything she can dunk into her vodka.  My guess is donut holes (her band is called Hole by the way).

Now I want to what kind of donut you are and why. Please indulge me. I am desperate for some comic relief.

My diagnostic exam (i.e. ultrasound) was today. It was awful and painful.

An appointment for my gynecologist to give me the results is set for Monday.

I bounce from feeling hollow to feeling unfettered rage. Don’t worry. This post is my purge.

As I sat in my car for a few minutes, I tried to cry. I couldn’t shed one drop.

When I got home, I took a nap. No tears. Even now, I want to cry. But I can’t cry.

Instead, I’ll wish for a thief to show up. If he’s comes into the house, I can beat him.

I can beat him within an inch of his life. Should I need to shatter glass, crystal or wood, so be it.

I won’t kill him, but I’ll make him wish he was dead. That’s it. My relief is sadistic.

What a lousy Christian I am. To have such a vile wish is disgusting. Still, I have it.

Being a flawed woman is awful. I can’t even fix this myself. My role is to wait and imagine myself fighting.

Fighting home invaders, John Boehner, NRA and the Tea Party  via MMA  (mixed martial arts), furniture, vases and frying pans.

At some point I have to return back to a sweet Latina Lady. Just not right now.

Posted: January 1, 2013 in Uncategorized


Say It Ain't So Already

From The Economist:

Warren Buffett, probably the world’s most successful investor, has said that anything good that happened to him could be traced back to the fact that he was born in the right country, the United States, at the right time (1930). A quarter of a century ago, when The World in 1988 light-heartedly ranked 50 countries according to where would be the best place to be born in 1988, America indeed came top. But which country will be the best for a baby born in 2013?
To answer this, the Economist Intelligence Unit (EIU), a sister company of The Economist, has this time turned deadly serious. It earnestly attempts to measure which country will provide the best opportunities for a healthy, safe and prosperous life in the years ahead.

Its quality-of-life index links the results of subjective life-satisfaction surveys—how happy people say they are—to objective determinants…

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