Quote of the Day

"Hi, Mama!  How's youwr belly feeling?" ~Small Fry (in the most unbelievable chirpy voice), to me, when I came downstairs after my afternoon nap.

Fifteen.

Po would have been 15 today.  I still miss her.

Post-Op Observations

*Sitting up is exhausting work.

*The Weasel is unerringly drawn to my incision sites.

*Small Fry must think that hysterectomy boo-boos are somehow akin to a pregnant belly, because she's offered to let each of our guests take a peek.

*I really need a new pair of glasses. Jester came right out and asked me tonight just how long I'd had them. New specs just moved up on the list.

*Hugs hurt. This is very sad. I have to hug carefully.

*My poor lower back is unhappy with me, because my abdominal muscles don't want to work, so they're picking up the slack.

*I have the emotional stability of jello.

*I really should not watch reruns of "The Nanny" while recovering. Specifically, not the one where they're throwing a surprise 50th birthday party for Fran's mom Sylvia, and Mistah Sheffield comes home unexpectedly and mid-party, where he finds Niles inhaling helium out of a balloon. Niles's greeting was in such a squeaky voice that I couldn't stop the bubble of laughter. My hands were supporting my incisions (I have five) immediately. I think the giggle was worth it, though.

*I love Vicodin.

Overheard

"Deahwr God, please help Mommy's belly to feeywl bettewr. Amen." ~Small Fry

Update

The surgery was successful. I'm still very tired and groggy.

The truly wonderful news is that there was no obvious cancer!

I'm going to doze off again.

Zero Hour Approacheth

I am to report to the hospital at 8:15.

Surgery is scheduled for around 9:45ish.

Hopefully, I can just pass out now so that I actually get some solid sleep tonight.

I'll post here when I'm able, but I'm pretty sure I should be home on Saturday night.

Further bulletins as events warrant.

[M*A*S*H radio crackle]

"This is a recording!"

Fifty-seven Percent

This morning I met with the specialist who'll be doing the major surgery I mentioned last week.

It was both encouraging and discouraging.

I trust the surgeon to do a good job.  He was confident without being arrogant about it. and said he's done lots of these procedures.  And since today was our first meeting, I'm glad Hubby and I walked out assured that the doctor knows what he's doing, and that I'm in good hands.

I'm having a complete hysterectomy.

If that wasn't discouraging enough, there's a rather substantial risk that the precancerous cells found in the testing on the 10th have little cancerous buddies...a 43% chance.

The oncologist used the impressive medical terminology that the slides from my test were "a mess."

This is one of those cases in which impressing your doctor is usually a bad sign.

The treatment, if active cancer is present, is pretty much the same, so there will be a judgment call made at surgery as to whether or not I get to keep my lymph nodes.  And if I don't...well...hopefully the nodes will be clear and the cancer will not have spread.

I'm scared.

If you're of the praying sort, here's what we're most concerned with:

• that I'll be in that 57% that just has angry mutant cells.
• that we'll be able to tell the Fries calmly and reassure them, with minimal trauma.  (They're a bit sensitive to me being hospitalized.)
• that, even if I fall into that 43%, everything is contained and hasn't spread.
• that Hubby and I will be able to sleep this week.
• that the surgeon's scalpel will be true.
• that I will stay healthy this week so that the surgery can proceed on Friday...because Large and Medium picked today to have another stomach bug bite them.  And that Small won't get what they have!

We also accept well-wishes, crossed fingers, good luck, healing thoughts, kitten pictures, and virtual hugs.

I should only be in the hospital overnight.  I'll post an update when I'm able.

Mommy!

Since tomorrow is both my appointment with the specialist AND a school holiday, we tooled on over to Gramma and Boppa's so that Hubby can go with me to my appointment and Mom and Dad can be on Fry Duty.

And since Large Fry has simply not listened (and, in some cases, outright disobeyed despite hearing what she's been told) today, Daddy decreed that she would have to clean the trash out of the van. All three Fries were instrumental in making the mess, so they were going to have to do it together. But Large's actions today stuck her with the job.

Daddy, however, is still at home, since he has S.P.A.M.* night with the youth group kids tonight. Which means...I get to supervise the punishment.

And it's about 40 degrees outside.

Plus a good stiff wind.

CHILLY!

Innyhoo, as I'm standing out in the driveway, telling Large to quit dawdling, stop climbing back and forth between the front and the back when she hasn't gotten all the trash picked up from either spot, and to stop just sitting there, Small opens the door to the garage from inside the house.

"Mommy!" she shouted. "Gwramma pulled Medium's loose toof!"

The fun doesn't stop here!



*Soda, Pizza, and A Movie

Twenty Questions

I recently underwent some medical testing.  (I will spare you the gory details.  If you want to know, ask.  My email address is on my profile.)

The results, while not what I would have liked to see, were what I needed: definitive.  There's no real doubt now as to my next course of action.

I'm headed for some pretty major surgery, and with my charming medical history, it's risky.  I don't especially like that, but the risks will be greater the longer I wait.  So I'm not going to be waiting.

Since I learned of the results on Monday afternoon, I've reeled through the initial shock of the diagnosis, and as that faded, I've been trying to come up with intelligent questions to lead the way as I proceed with this new medical adventure.

I am not sure they are intelligent.

I don't have twenty.  Yet.

I'm sure I'll have more as the doctor answers the ones I have.

I'm just waiting now for the doctor to call me back.

Because we're having dinner with my folks tonight, and I know my mother will want details.  Again.

"Daddy, can you smell my butt?"

That line right there, children, spoken by Small Fry, was what made me stop not even halfway up the steps from the kitchen to the main level of the house.

Despite the crankiness in my ankle, my utter exhaustion, and desire to get back into bed, I was waiting to hear how this one would play out.

I could almost see Hubby's Migraine Salute.

"I am not going to smell your butt!  Why do you want me to smell your butt?"

Small Fry said something I didn't hear.

"Oh, your breath?  You want me to smell your breath."

I imagine Small nodded; the only thing missing was the sound of pixie bells, like when Tinker Bell talks to Peter Pan.

That rushing wind you just felt was Hubby's sigh of relief over Small merely wanting him to verify that she'd brushed her teeth.

"Mommy, I have to go potty."

Those are words that can strike fear into the heart of even the bravest mom...especially when she's at McDonald's with her three kids, ALL BY HERSELF.

Do you send your six-year-old to the potty by herself, or do you stay with the other two kids?

Oy.

Since the ladies' room door at our McD's is really heavy and the hydraulics are cranky, I went with Small Fry.

Who insisted I go in the stall with her.

Who then only peed a DROP.

"That's it? You couldn't hold that?!"

Small grinned unrepentantly. "♫ I did a pee drop ♪," she sang.

I faced the stall door and performed a Migraine Salute.

"♪ Mommy loves me ♫," she sang.

"Yeah, and it's a good thing."

"I'm singing a song that you love me. ♫♪ Mommy loves me! I did a pee drop ♪♫!"

Yep, a really good thing. Now go wash your hands, kid, before I lose my grip on what little sanity I have.

The Sweetest Words I've Heard This Week

"Mommy, I feel bettewr!" ~Small Fry, when I went to make sure she was up and getting dressed for school.

I believe...

..this falls solidly under Rule #2.

Highlights from the last 48 Hours

So.

After that lightning-fast trip home to upstate NY for the funeral, I managed to wrench my lower back something awful when I went to change out of my funeral clothes.

Since I could hardly walk, I skipped church on Sunday morning to lay in bed, sleep, and hopefully let the Naprosyn ease up the backache.

However...Hubby wasn't feeling quite right.  See, on New Year's Eve, as he was getting out of our van in my parents' driveway (which is on a pretty steep angle), he conked himself in the left temple with the point of the door.  He thought he had enough clearance to close it...but didn't.

He now thought he had a concussion.

He went to the walk-in clinic and they told him to go straight to the ER.

So that's what we did.

One CT and two and a half hours later, the ER doc stated that Hubby had sinusitis, not a concussion (no signs of trauma on the scan), gave him a script for a Z-pack, and sent him home.

Allrightythen.

Apparently, sinusitis can cause some of the concussion-like symptoms Hubby was having.

I sent my folks a text message to update them on Hubby's condition.  Dad replied back, "Seems he thought it was a concussion, but it'snot."  Hee.

*      *      *

Monday morning, Small Fry was in our bed and announced she wasn't feeling well.

Her temp was elevated, but I couldn't exactly call it a fever just yet.  We had her get dressed for school.  My back, while still stiff, was feeling somewhat better, so I was really hoping it was just a case of the sleepy-warms.

No such luck.

Even after getting dressed, she was still too warm...and now officially running a fever.  Large and Medium went to school, and Small stayed home with me.

We laid in bed and watched Disney Junior most of the morning.  I had a hard time getting Small to stay still throughout the day.  Back to school tomorrow, thinks I.

I picked up Medium and Large, and Large told me in her mopey, "poor me" voice that she had gone to the nurse twice that day because her belly hurt.

Huh.  I got no call from the nurse.

Large wasn't running a fever, so clearly she wasn't that bad off.

I had her wait for Hubby to help her with her math homework, though, because I could already tell that I didn't have the necessary patience to help her add three 2-digit numbers.

*      *      *

I went up to CVS to drop off prescriptions for Hubby and Large, and then ran to the grocery store to pick up stuff for dinner.  That's when I noticed a missed call from my dad, and a new voicemail.

Dad had called to check up on Hubby.  I wasn't sure if Dad was still on his way to choir rehearsal or if he would be in rehearsal by then, but I called him back.  I said that Hubby was otherwise fine, but had been falling asleep at his desk at work, so I had taken his script in and was shopping for dinner.  And Cheerios, since Large was saying she wasn't feeling well.  And was apparently having dry heaves.

Or not-so-dry heaves, as it turned out.  Yayness.

I was still in the store when I got a text from Dad.  He said that one of his carpool choir buddies thought that Hubby just didn't want to have to testify about Benghazi. I laughed out loud, right there in the store.

Large was on the floor in the kitchen, right in front of the back door, when I got home from shopping.  When I asked why on earth she was laying right there, she cried that she needed a bowl.  I reminded her that she had one up in her room; she could go get that.  I had to bring in the rest of the groceries.

Then I nuked the steam-in-the-bag corn and the chicken wings and thighs and made dinner plates for the twins.

Medium asked to sit in the middle (no biggie).

Small Fry burst into tears.

Because she didn't feel good.

Despite having apparently swallowed a Mexican jumping bean with her Cheerios earlier in the day.

Okay, fine.  She doesn't have to eat.  (Medium, as it turned out, was happy to eat all of Small's food, which she hadn't even touched.)

Small now insisted that she needed a bowl too, so Hubby liberated our stainless steel bowls from the drawer under the oven.  I went up to check on Large Fry and switched out her bowls.  Large was sound asleep.

I ate dinner and went out to CVS to pick up prescriptions.

*      *      *

Hubby was tucking the twins in when I got home.

When he came downstairs, he told me that Small was very put out that she couldn't stay up and watch Tinker Bell and the Great Fairy Rescue.

We ended up watching several episodes of How I Met Your Mother...and then Large Fry came downstairs about 9:45 or so.

And proceeded to still be ill for the next three hours.

Okay then.  Obviously she wasn't going to school tomorrow.

Since Hubby can operate on less sleep than I can, and since he handles puking children better than I can, and since it looked like I was going to have two sick kids home from school the next day, and since I have a medical procedure scheduled for Thursday afternoon that I really don't want to have to reschedule, and since he really handles puking better than I do, it was decided that he would stay downstairs with Large Fry and I would go up to bed and hopefully get some rest, be ready for tomorrow, and hopefully not get whatever the kids have.

Then I remembered that I needed to tell Dad what Hubby's response to the Benghazi comment was, and I texted him back: "Hubby says he feels a blood clot coming on."

*      *      *

I woke up this morning with Small Fry in bed with me.

Dad responded to my text by saying he sure hoped Hubby didn't go home with Bill.

When we got up to come downstairs—Large Fry had made it through the rest of the night unscathed and now was wanting Cheerios, and Hubby told her she'd have to wait for me—Small Fry made it as far as the foyer on the living room level (seven steps down from the bedroom level) before she puked.

Medium Fry had a crying jag because she had to go to school alone.

*      *      *

So...

Large Fry is clearly feeling better and has kept down diluted juice and Cheerios all day.

Small Fry was crying that she was thirsty and wanted juice...each time within minutes of throwing up.

Large Fry went to refill her juice in the kitchen around 11:30.

She took a suspiciously long time, so I called out to her.  "Where are you?"

"In the kitchen."

"What are you doing?"

No answer.

That's never a good sign.  "Large, what are you doing?"  I got up and went to check.

She met me in the entryway to the den.  With chocolate on her lips, her breath, and her nightgown.

"Did you have chocolate?!?"

Large slowly nodded.

"Where did you get chocolate?"

She led me back into the kitchen, and indicated a bag of leftover Hershey's Baking Melts, which had somehow fallen onto the floor—maybe...they were suspiciously unmelted, and we have radiant heat in our floors, which tends to melt things like chocolate—and didn't stay in the baking goodies bin when it got put back in the pantry.  Or she'd scaled the pantry shelves.

"How many did you have?" I demanded.

She held up her index finger.

"You can't have chocolate!  You're sick!"

*facepalm*

*      *      *

Yeeeeeep, it's been one of those days.

Hubby needs prayers....

Tomorrow, after the kids go to school, Hubby will drive me about half an hour north to meet up with my folks.  He'll come home without me, and I will journey with them to the town where I spent most of my growing-up years.

And on Saturday, we'll all be going to a funeral for a dear teacher and friend, who was my fourth grade teacher, my 7th- and 8th-grade social studies teacher, the faculty advisor for the JV cheerleading squad that I was on for several years, and the teacher who threw a bridal shower for me before I got married.

In other words, Mrs. R was more than just a teacher.

I went to a very small, private, Christian school from second grade all the way through high school graduation, and Mrs. R was there every year that I was...and then some.  She taught for the school for 30 years before retiring.

I explained this to the Fries tonight.

Well, the travelling part.  Not so much the funeral, although I did use that word, and I explained it was kind of like a church service.  I didn't elaborate on precisely what a funeral is.

You would think that I was abandoning them to the wolves, rather than leaving them with Daddy.

"But no one will be hewre with us!  We'll be alone!" they wailed.

"Daddy will be here.  He'll pick you up from school tomorrow."

"You'll be alone!"

"No, I'll have Gramma and Boppa with me."

"I'll be so sad!" This, from Small Fry.

"I know, honey, and I'll miss you, too.  But I'll have my cell phone, and Daddy can call me so that you can talk to me."

"Who will you stay with?" Medium asked.

"We'll be staying with Mrs. H, who is a very nice lady.  She used to teach with Gramma, and so I've known her a long time."

"Awre you never coming back?"  Small again.

"No, honey!  I'll be back on Saturday night, probably after bedtime."

I hugged Medium's long, skinny doggie and smooched it as well, so she can get hugs and kisses from me through her doggie while I'm away.  I did the same thing for Small's rainbow bunny.

"I want to go with you!"  Large Fry, who became inconsolable.

"No, honey, you have to stay here."

"Will you be taking your computer?"  Tears glittered on Large Fry's long lashes and she sniffled.

"No, but I'll have my tablet, and we'll see if I can't find a way to Skype with that."

"I want to see pictures of where you're going."

Hmmm.  Wonder if Flat Stanley is coming with us. "I'll have my cell phone.  I can take pictures and send them to Daddy's phone.  Will that work?"

Large nodded, and used my shirt to wipe her eyes and nose.  She said she wanted a shirt of mine rather than have me hug a stuffed friend for her.

Rule #3.

Ultimately, Large was so upset about me being gone that I had to tuck her into my bed.

I heard the twins giggling and stage-whispering as I mostly closed the door to our room, and went down to check on them and remind them that bedtime means they're supposed to have their eyes closed and be QUIET.  I found that Small had moved over to Medium's bed, where before they were tucked into their own beds.

I know Hubby went up and talked to them, to reassure them, after he got home.

Given that Large just came downstairs, mangling my stuffed doggie that was on my end table, and said she couldn't sleep because she's scared and wants someone to sleep with her, I'm thinking Hubby is going to need some divine help.

Yes, horizontal.

Small's wiggliest tooth.

This tooth is as stubborn as its owner.