Needy Bitch

I need to gain weight.

(I can't believe I typed that out loud.)

I feel that triple creme brie crepes with apples and mango chutney would be a spectacular way to accomplish this...if I didn't need to put it in the blender so my body could better process it.

I need a better blender.

I need my effing stitches to heal.

(I look like Sally from "The Nightmare Before Christmas"...which means I finally have a pretty kickass Halloween costume this year...for once.)

I need to get stronger...physically.

(Emotionally, I could be softer, but no one's perfect.)

I need to ride my bike.

(Yeah, I do actually...regardless of what all the non-MDs like to imagine is correct in their uneducated minds.)

I need to not race for a couple weekends.

(That sucks, but is the right thing to do...for me.)

I need more nice and less not-nice.

Nice is good. It feels good. I like it. I have an extra closet where I can store extra if one has some.

I need more sleep.

Actual restful sleep that leaves me feeling refreshed and alive instead of sluggish and sort of "undead".

I need to close my ears to secondary victims and refrain from slapping them for their perceived suffering of others' pain.

I need to stay true to myself regardless of how unpopular that concept may be with people whose opinions do not actually matter to me...which eliminates all but 2 people outside myself.

(Holy shit, that was easy!)

I need to wear odd knee socks more often...sometimes while wearing additional clothes as well.

I laughed a lot last night and I need to do that more. It was delightful.

I need to remember how much fun I have sitting back and observing while allowing my eyebrow to dance upon my bemused face.

I need to wear my pretty shoes more often.

A pedicure would be nice, nut not really a need.

...an orgasm would also be nice...but not appropriate at the office, so that will have to go on the "To Do" list...

...dammit!...

I am feeling my acute sense of humor return...and not just when I am naked.

(This pleases me.)

I have embraced the feeling of freedom and it feels fantastical.

I can breathe.

I need to exhale more...and longer.

CrossVegas

We got on the plane and headed to Nevada.
We touched down mid-day and it couldn't have been hotter.

We dined someplace French and ordered some soup.
It was full of salt and tasted like poop.

As we walked in the heat, I could feel myself age.
Holy crap, that hottie on the bike is Jonathan Page!

I thought for a moment about tossing my hair.
I remembered my age and did not dare.

I raised an eyebrow at some hipsters outside...
and snarkily thought, "Yeah, better to smoke than to ride."

We walked through the door and there were the bikes.
I exhaled loudly, "Hell yes, mama likes!"

We picked up our passes and took a quick look around,
then dashed out the door; we were Cross Vegas bound.

As Jay rode the course, I absorbed the sun.
If I could take a nap, tonight would be much more fun.

Looking at 'cross racers makes me excited;
as if it's my birthday and only hotness is invited.

The race goes off and then came the sound.
Hot men are piled on top of the ground.

Some were run over, as some could could not stop.
Over one spandexed ass went a magical bunny hop.

I ran to the sound to see if Jay was OK.
It could not be over; we'd come a long way.

Jay was gone, grinding his tires over grass.
I looked in amazement at the speed of his ass.

This race would be tough; he was racing with Pros.
These weren't his friends. They weren't his bros.

I ran the course with Patrick and Traci.
I'll tell you my friends, this 'cross shit is CRAZY!

My chest filled with envy as I watched them race by.
I didn't even mind when I got dirt in my eye.

I could not believe their ridiculous speed.
When I race my bike, you'd think I smoked weed.

I watched as Jamey dropped the whole damn field...
Then Chris exited the pit without the hint of a yield.

These two leaped barriers like reindeer on crack.
Then easily passed some guys dropped in the back.

As Jay raced by, I felt pride for my team.
I rubbed my kit sleeve and felt myself beam.

Fulcrum Coaching is here and not just part of the crowd.
We're grinding through mud and we're getting quite loud.

Another lap came around and there goes JPow...
The fans go nuts ringing the bells of the cow.

Driscoll beats Jones as if all this was breezy,
but let me assure you dear readers, this 'cross thing ain't easy.

Be ready to suffer and work on your speed.
You better like mud and be ready to bleed.

Cake Batter for the Soul

I stared at the phone as it rang in my hand.

She was calling me.

I was standing next to the Bearcat course at Hermann 'cross race last Sunday.

Should I answer it?

I really didn't have anything to say.

I really didn't know what to say.

She seemed to have forgotten once again that I existed, so the ring in itself was curious.

Did she need something?

Was she checking to see if I was dead?

Had she finally realized that I had stopped communicating with her?

My birthday had come and gone without acknowledgement from her.

It had been a month.

A lot had happened while she was being her.

For all the shit that I listened to about the pain and agony and time spent pushing me through her birth canal, it seemed slim that she would somehow forget the day.

The entire first 17 years of my life I heard, "Abortion should be retroactive to the age of 21."

I felt like a child as I starred at the phone for what seemed like an eternity but was in reality only 2 rings.

It wasn't about my birthday being missed.

It was about my childhood being lost and the slap in the face that all the repair work we had done over the past 8 or 9 years had been in vain.

I've been there while she needed me.

I didn't need a gift from her. I needed a call. A small and free gesture that after all we have been through, I actually meant something to her.

When I was about to turn 16, my grandfather had gone to her and asked her what she wanted to contribute to my birthday. She handed him a few rolls of quarters.

I didn't get a call that year either.

Nor the year prior or after.

For decades I have simply hated my birthday and then they became somewhat OK again...until this year.

This year flat out sucked on multiple levels...and not getting a call from her put the cherry from hell on it all.

In my juvenile way, I wanted to blame her for the issues that she has brought to the surface for me again.

In reality, I was transported to a little girl who simply did not understand this woman's inability to love selflessly...or at all.

I stood there with Jay's race going on not knowing if I even wanted to hear her voice...today of all days.

It had been 2 weeks since my surgery.

A surgery that she was unaware of.

I had just raced the first 'cross race of my season and I was emotional as it was. I didn't need any bullshit...

...but I also knew I would feel awful if something was wrong and I had ignored her call.

(Dammit!)

I answered.

She was fine.

Calling as if the previous time period with lack of communication had not happened.

She was calling me because she has not heard from me in a while.

(I was always under the impression that phones worked both ways, but in my mother's case that is only true when she either:

• has a personal emergency/drama/meltdown...
• gets a burst of conscience and realizes that she actually gave birth to 2 humans whom she regularly forgets...)

The latter pisses me off because unlike my useless sister, I have actually worked really hard to establish a relationship with this woman...

...and I am a bit jealous that for this reason, she does not have the power to hurt my sister.

I had felt really strong until that phone rang.

I had suffered through my race, feeling the stitches pull with each revolution of the pedals...

I welcomed the stabs of the climbs without the use of my core muscles...

(Note: Climbing hills on a bike with almost flat 'cross tires without the use of stomach muscles is tricky, but good fun that I think all ladies competing in tomorrow's Hermann 'Cross Under the Lights Women's Open race should try...so that we are all having the same super cool level of psychocross fun! It really is better than getting a flaming Dr. Pepper hand-up. Try it!)

I had let out victorious cries as I reached the top of each hill...at least in my mind.

I had been soaked in pain and sweat and was in love with the smell and feel of a race I was told I would likely not make...

I was now reduced to a baby as I listened to her.

I wanted to yell.

I sort of nonchalantly, but with a little bit of a bratty tone mentioned to her that I hadn't called her because she didn't seem to "need" me now that "that other sibling" had moved back in and she had him to talk to.

I matter-of-factually went down the list of things that had been going on in my pretty little world while she was busy, leaving out the fact that she had missed my birthday. (I feel that you shouldn't have to remind people it's your birthday, especially if you exited their personal uterus.)

I did not feel like Molly Fucking Ringwald. I wanted to smack this woman right through the phone. (Ultimately, I am still happy that my mom is a soulless bitch instead one of those Disney moms who sings at you like she had a Prozac martini followed by a bong water chaser when life's issues arise.)

I saved my energy and put on my dead-on-the-inside/passive-aggressive hat and didn't tell her how I felt.

(I have learned that she is the type of person who uses the information that she has the ability to affect you against you like one of Bush 43's famed WMD...)

She let me know that I need to let her know when I have pesky little things like major surgery and I smirked through the phone but put on my most sugary voice and told her that I don't like to upset her and prefer to keep her blanketed and tucked safely in the comfort of omission.

I'm pretty sure she either did not hear or did not understand this.

I promised that I would call her more regularly and we hung up just as Jay was coming through on a lap...

I felt blank. Empty. And a bit angry that she had tainted my day of 'cross.

Later in the car, I told Jay that she had called.

We spoke about it for a minute and he asked me how I felt. (Methinks someone had too little electrolyte water in his race to be asking such touchy-feely questions, Sir.)

I still felt blank and empty...and that made me sad.

It had been an emotional 2 weeks for me and I didn't want to think about anything.

I just wanted to ride my bike and be left alone.

I think I liked it better before people realized that I had feelings.

However, it was impossible for me to feel like crap.

'Cross season had started that day and I was still a little high.

The sadness didn't stick. Jay and I quickly moved on to discussing our races and plans for the week and this week's badass night race and as The Sass chirped away in the back seat, we drove home pretty happily.

I'll tell ya, people read that "Chicken Soup for the Soul" shit all the time and I have 2 thoughts after that day:

1. I've never seen anyone get all worked up and excited (or even happy) after a cup/bowl of chicken soup. At most, chicken soup is a placebo that temporarily makes you feel better while the high salt content bloats you but keeps the water in.
2. Cake batter is the shit! No matter your age, everyone becomes a kid around cake batter and even after the smallest taste, one will get that self-satisfied smile across their face and everything really is a little easier to deal with.

Cyclocross is cake batter to me.

So if you want to start some shit with me, now until December 6th is the time to do it. After that, you're pretty much screwed.

Up, Spin, Spin, Up, Down, Ouch, Yay!

Well it's been a helluva few days, week, whatever.

We all know I got back on the bike the day after surgery.

All went well.

I got on the trainer on day 2 as well, for a little longer and worked some yoga movements for the arms, as I was not yet able to reach handlebars.

It was tricky, but seemed to really help.

As much as I was making physical progress, there were some emotional setbacks along the way.

I continued to have a meltdown when alone and looking at my bruised and torn body.

Would I ever look human again?

I went back to work that Monday.

That was trickier.

I didn't make it through the entire day and stayed off the bike.

Mentally, I was feeling pretty exhausted.

Tuesday, I attempted to repeat Monday, but felt pretty awful and nauseous.

I went home.

When I got there, I knew I needed Jay's help.

One minute I was talking to him, the next there where paramedics standing over me putting on oxygen mask on my face...

We all vaguely bickered about whether I was or was not going for a ride in the magical bus, and ultimately, I conceded just to shut them up.

I knew I was OK, but stressed.

I needed rest.

It was the reason I left work.

Now I was not getting rest but was being poked and prodded and on my way to a cold and sterile room and being charged for the experience.

Some people may like the whole drama of an ambulance, but I prefer to drive myself places.

I drove myself to the hospital when I was in labor with The Sass (after first going into the office to close out a couple of files).

The bus with the pretty lights just isn't worth it for a non-emergency...but the main dude did not believe that if left to drive myself to the hospital for them to tell me that I was fine, that I would actually go. (He's pretty smart.)

Cristel came to get me (after I let them do an EKG and make sure I wasn't dying) and brought me some shoes, which Jay didn't seem to think I would need.

(Boys!)

I made her take me to a bike shop so I could get my fix.

(Luckily, she had her bike with her and it needed something done to it or they may have thought we were just weird.)

Mostly I simply enjoyed terrorizing the conservative people of Chesterfield with my vial of blood and raised eyebrow like I may or may not be a vampire.

That made me smile a bit more than it should have.

I don't really remember Wednesday, except Kathleen bought my TT bike so that I could buy the new Ridley frame and Cristel took The Sass to the farm.

Thursday, I got my stupid drains and empty pain pump removed.

I looked a little less than alien that day.

I immediately loaded Trent up and took him to Castlewood for an easy spin on the pavement (and away from traffic) while Jay rode his 'cross bike.

I felt pretty great.

I slipped it into the big ring as my iPod played on and life was good for 26 whole minutes!

It was awesome!

Fearing that I might be overdoing it...

*shakes head in amusement*

...I called it a day.

I was feeling pretty darn spunky when we got home and flaunted my tubeless, drainless ass around the bedroom like I was a Victoria's Secret model.

Luckily, Jay was in the bathroom and missed that.

(That wouldn't be as bad as if he busted me practicing my podium stances...but that's actually funny and my friends know I have done it.)

Hey, a girl has to be prepared for a win, ya know?!?!

So Friday dawned with me feeling not so hot, so I worked remotely and rested for the big night ahead...

The start of the Gateway Cup at Lafayette Square.

Judy and I loaded our bikes thinking we would squeeze in an easy spin after the Women's 3/4 race, but that proved to be pretty funny.

It was a long night and I did well for a good while, but then hit a wall pretty fast.

Something didn't feel right and everything hurt.

I couldn't stand or sit and started to get that slightly panicked feeling.

I texted Jay on my way home, but it seemed I would beat him home by a good bit and was nervous.

When I got home, I noticed that I was retaining fluid at the incision site.

It effing hurt!

I was feverish and sore and went to bed.

The next day, I laid there for a while...but by noon started to wig out and contacted the surgeon's service.

3 and a half hours later...he called me back.

(After 4 calls to the service.)

As you can imagine, I was pretty happy by this point.

He called in a script for antibiotics and said he would aspirate on Tuesday.

TUESDAY!

That was a lot of days away considering how much fluid was filling up.

I imagined myself as Violet Beauregarde from Willy Wonka...

I didn't want to be a big giant bruised ball on Tuesday!!!

Hey mister, I have a boyfriend! There is only so much I can hide from him and turning into a giant fucking blueberry is not one of them!

Sunday I was bigger.

saWEEEEEET!

One thing I always hoped was that I would live a healthy and active lifestyle so that overnight I could look like a Teletubbie and feel like a piece of freshly tenderized veal.

Good times!

I ended up at the ER because the incision site was clearly infected and there was no way I was going to make it until Tuesday to be aspirated...

Turns out it was a "good" thing that I went to the ER, because a CAT scan showed that I have a cyst in one of my ovaries and that a kidney is dilated...

(I was pretty excited about that news myself and can't wait to jump into that nightmare...)

I then took a taxi to another hospital where my surgeon could perform and had agreed to aspirate...

When he saw me, he was glad I had gone in.

Ummmm....DERRRR! That's why I was calling you the day before!

He said, "I should have known something was actually wrong. Someone who gets on their bike the day after surgery generally isn't a complainer."

Ummm...again....DERRRRR!

I said, "Well, if we were dating I would be, but we're not and you charge by the hour, so I'm actually sick."

This was funny.

I asked him if he wanted me to take it easy and lay around for a few days and he said, "NO! You're a clotter. You need to stay active your blood will thicken."

I said, "You had me at 'No!'"

However, I went home and rested.

That had been 7 stressful hours.

Monday was the final day of the Gateway Cup and the start of The Tour of Missouri.

And while I knew I would miss the Women's 3/4 race at 7am, I had to get down there to meet my ex and pick up The Sass.

I made it down right after the Pro Women finished racing.

I found my friends and before I could set my stuff down, my phone rang.

It was Jessi.

Brooke Miller wanted to present me with a jersey and would I be OK with that.

(I love Brooke, so if she wanted to give me a spider tied to a kitten on stage, I'd probably at least accept it and figure it out later.)

*Note: Cory does not like cats or spiders but would never cause harm to either and simply just tries to stay away from them.

Having been out of the loop all weekend, I had not realized that Brooke had swept the series and that she was going to be presenting me THE jersey...

The "Hey look at me kicking your asses, Bitches" jersey...

I think technically it's called the Leader's jersey, but, yep...that's what was going on.

By the time I realized this, I had already said yes and was now nervous as shit and wishing I had:

• not let my hair air dry that morning
• not worn a men's Fruit of the Loom wife beater
• worn my team tank top
• put on mascara

I was a mess.

...and it was hot.

...and there were a LOT of friggin' people there because it was going on during the main race.

Stacie gave me a bottle of ice cold water to put between my legs...

...to cool off.

(Seriously? I know where you went with that for a minute and shame on you!)

Then it happened...

Brooke was given the jersey for winning everything and then (although she said she wouldn't do it) she got me up there with her and made everyone cry.

It was awesome!

You sort of have to go to that link because the story and video are there and it's pretty cool...

Sooooo...

After almost 2 weeks of ups and downs, I hopped on my 'cross bike Tuesday and went to practice.

I rode my road bike yesterday and gently reintroduced myself to some West Co hills...and then got hit in the incision by a giant horse head...

(If you are a dude, this is like a Louisville Slugger to your man junk. It effing SUCKS!)

Today, the Ridley is ready...so I will test it out at practice tonight and see how that all goes...

What I do know, is that it clearly will take more than sawing me in half to keep me down...at least for very long.

Freddy Krueger, you've met your fucking match.

Bring it!

The First 24 Hours

Well, the first hour after I came out of surgery was spent emailing/talking to Dirk at Big Shark to get the new Ridley frame.

(He got it! Mostly because he is one of the super coolest cats on the planet and knows how nuts I am. Dirk just gets it.)

Within 20 minutes of walking through the door at the house, Jay arrived with Barry from Ballwin Cycles who had a pretty fantastic vase of wild flowers for me.

Ballwin Cycles.

Flowers.

All boys in that shop. Dirty, wild mountain bikers. Every one of them.

Who would have thunk it? I mean, they do have chocolate there, so I should have known they'd be sweet. Tee hee.

*big hugs to the guys at Ballwin Cycles*

Then Jessi arrived to pick up The Sass' car seat to pick her up from CCL.

I think Jess was a little wigged that I wasn't lying down.

I couldn't.

Whatever they did to me at the hospital had me peeing every time I stopped peeing.

This was tricky because I have two super hot and sexy drains that I have to deal with every time I use the restroom.

Truly, I should have just hooked the laptop up in the bathroom and called it a day.

On top of maneuvering around these tricky little tubes (while bandaged and bound from my stomach to the top of my chest), I also have to drain the little fuckers...and measure the blood to report it to the doctor.

(I cannot tell you what a fun and thrilling experience this is. I mean, if you are ever feeling that your life is lacking luster and adventure, see what you can do about arranging a day where surgeons slice you up and cut things out and then practice their sewing skills on your person.)

Good times!

The best is that they always tell you that you will be a little (WTF?!?!?!) "uncomfortable" for a few days.

Uncomfortable...?

Well...

I suppose that would be true...if I took the super cool pain killers they gave me. However, I have a pain pump for my stomach and that made parts of my legs numb and I really just didn't want any other side effects...and wanted to make sure I knew what was causing what.

I prefer the discomfort if it means I can talk and play with my kids and friends.

I don't know how I would handle having to have people waiting on me...

I have taken the muscle relaxers twice before bed, but they didn't seem to relax anything.

I have to sleep somewhat upright because the stitches pull on my stomach...

I attempted to lay flatish early this morning and that lasted about 46 seconds.

I cannot cough or blow my nose because it rips at my stitches and clearing my throat (which is still somewhat challenged from the tube) is not fun either.

Yesterday morning, I got on the trainer and rode for 30 easy minutes. Small ring. No sweating. I played Kings of Leon to keep me calm and slow.

(I may have mentioned this before, but I loathe the effing trainer...but it's still better than walking.)

Then I dug out every sundress I could find so that I could venture out with the kiddos to sit in the sun as yesterday was positively beautiful and I was getting in a funk watching the cyclists ride past my window.

This is where the day went downhill pretty fast.

I had to change my padding...which meant I had to see what they did to me.

I nearly lost it.

I know what they did was good...but the youngish woman in me did NOT embrace the Frankenstein which has become my body...even though the oldish woman in me was trying to be practical with comfortable sundresses to cover the drains and pain pump.

Trying to re-wrap and bind the mess was tricky.

I needed range of motion in my arms to pull the binding and hold it in place, yet I had none due to the stitches across my chest. What a fucking mess.

Once I had the wife beater (to cover the breast bandages) and the sundress on, I looked at the freakshow in the mirror and started to sob.

I know it's superficial. I know. Reality is what it is.

Thank goddess for Ty, who always knows how to make me feel better when I am sad over stupid things like this. (Some girl is going to be very lucky, because he has just enough brat to make him not "too nice". lol)

Jessi arrived just then, so she was lucky enough to see the meltdown too. It was pretty fantastic. Initially she assumed I was upset because my dress was an unflattering color of fuchsia. What can I say?

We went out to Kaldi's to have a yummy lunch in the warm sun, but I can only do liquids, so that didn't work out as well as I would have preferred, with exception to the conversation...which was pretty awesome.

Next, to the store and the odd looks from people trying to figure out if I was simply pregnant with some weird space baby or if I was "one of those people" who had decided that although I was born a women, now needed testicles.

(*Note: The term "one of those people" would be speaking from the minds of the closed minded majority in conformist Chesterfield and not my own personal opinion on the particular topic. Please also note that word "majority" was used, not "all".)

Walking around the Target looking for sundresses, wife beaters, and boy shorts to help hold in my bandages proved exhausting and more than I should have done physically on my first day...

Plus, I just sort of think Target on a Saturday without surgery is a bit exhausting, so there's that.

When I got home, I agreed to take a muscle relaxer, but not a pain killer and tried to rest.

My mind refused to shut down...until some time after 8, so I got a nap between Jessi leaving and Jay arriving, which Jay estimated to be about 30 mins since I had spoken to him before the nap as he was getting on the highway.

That's not a good nap.

Jay helped prepare pizza for the kids who had had a late lunch and then we all sort of veg'd.

That was pretty much it. It sorta sucked and sorta didn't.

Today, I will attempt a walk with Ty while Sassy goes to play with some friends doing bumper boats and miniature golf.

I have to admit, I'm a little envious.

Random Post-Op Thoughts

My bandages make me look like I have a f.u.p.a....and that pisses me off a little bit. (C'mon...I never pretended to not be a little vain.)

I am a little amazed and disgusted about where they put my drains. (Holy effing hell! Seriously?!?!?)

I hate Jell-O...but know it is currently my salvation.

Words cannot express how much love and admiration I feel for Jay, Dirk, Big Shark, Ballwin cycles for helping me find another Ridley frame. (This will make me cry for a while I think.)

I am still mad at the Audi store for not disclosing that the trailer component for this vehicle was delayed by Audi...even though they market the hell out of this vehicle's towing capacity and is part of the price of the car.

Yep...

Still pissed.

*takes slow and deep breath*

Moving on...

I hate the trainer but know that:

1. my dog would would wreck me if I tried my rollers.
2. I would likely wreck myself and fall off the rollers.
3. I would possibly not wreck on the rollers but would push too hard and set my progress WAY back.

I hate sleeping in a different room than Jay.

Solid foods are evil right now.

Compression socks are ugly, but I will do my best to make them cool and trendy.

*shakes head at the impossible task above*

Riding the trainer while watching the Dark Knight on mute, listening to Kings of Leon and Facebooking all at once is a very odd experience...yet somewhat distracting. (I'm not doing that now. I am torturing my back sitting halfway up with the laptop. Not as fun or easy as the phone.)

I'm a little jealous and impressed that my kids are still sleeping. (Little shits!)

I can't tell if I am smart or stupid for avoiding pain meds...except they make me sick and puking with lots of stitches and drains near one's hoo-ha is pretty fucking painful, yo!

I want to be with my friends in Sedalia and Otterville...with or without my bike...but I think we all know which way I would lean if given the option.

I'm still quite a bit annoyed that one of the doctors yesterday semi-bashed cyclists for riding our bikes on "her road" and let me know that she drives one of the giant SUVs that go zooming past us on Shepard Rd. (Douche bag.)

How can she be proud of that???

Didn't she take an oath to preserve life? WTF?

SOOOOOO happy she wasn't one of my surgeons because I would have "accidentally" kicked her in her coin slot with my bike-tattooed drive foot when I came out of it...

(This same doctor gave me an issue of People magazine and ranted and raved about Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie even though I was clearly reading, "Roadie: The Misunderstood World of a Bike Racer". Interesting, no?)

I am still disturbed that the fact that I have a vajayjay caused this female doctor to assume that I would read People magazine or give a rat's ass about "adorable" Brad and Angie. I might expect that behavior out of a male doctor, but hello? Read Betty Friedan much?!?!

She additionally asked me why I decided against breast implants and wasn't I concerned about my confidence...?

Ummmm, as a matter of fact, no. I'm actually NOT concerned whether people find my breasts sexy or attractive. So glad you spent all that time in medical school to come out pretty stupid.

*throws snarky thumbs up*

I am pretty impressed with my surgeons who treated my like a human and demonstrated that they were on my team. Their attitude was exactly the calming one I needed before they sliced me open. They ROCK!

I also LOVE that they made me feel super confident and enthusiastic post-op with regard to the surgery.

Additionally, my anesthesiologist knocked me out so peacefully that I wasn't even aware she was doing it...and she did it differently than I have ever been put under. I think I LOVE her and wish I could have seen her post-op to tell her.

I was shocked and impressed with how beneficial it was for me to have worked out on the bike the week leading up to the surgery...even though I took it pretty easy.

I hate how little sleep I got last night, but grateful that Raycer decided to not howl at 4:30am and just let me sleep after Jay went to work. (Nice redemption from yesterday's morning nightmare...and the day before.)

I am disappointed in myself for being in a funk and beating myself up this morning regarding the surgery and the pain.

I am more disappointed that I bawled on the phone to Jay like a big giant baby.

Mostly, I am eternally grateful to all of my friends and loved ones and complete strangers who have sent me well wishes and love though all of this...

Extra love to Jay for going to Whole Paycheck and getting me food, Jessi for picking up The Sass, Ty and Sass for being the world's best kids and going shopping with Jessi for other things I needed, Steph who spent a good portion of her day at work trying to update everyone one my status (so please thank her too!), Cristel for all that she does and offers me every day, Dan for not being mad that I rode my trainer today, Ballwin Cycles for the very beautiful wild flowers, and to anyone I may have left out because yesterday was sort of a blur...

OK, that's about all I can manage sitting up. I gotta go. More later, which may be funny because I don't know how long I'll hold off without the meds.

Peace.

*Please excuse any typos in this blog. My eyes are starting to go a little buggy from a lack of sleep. I will do my best to edit typos later...after an attempt at a nap.*

Doctor Dipshit

While I love to receive constructive criticism, I generally am amused and annoyed buy low class fucktards who feel the need to make shitty comments for no reason.

I am more amazed when a comment comes from someone on my list of Facebook friends (yeah, fucker...I know).

I was "lucky" enough to receive last night some medical advice from someone with such strong medical credentials, they posted "anonymously" to my blog. Sadly, in the digital world, the term "anonymous" is misleading.

Anonymous to me: @7:18 PM (12 hours ago)
Anonymous has left a new comment on your post "Wrappin' It Up...":
"would it kill you to get some chemo, oh no, wait, it would probably save your life"

So sweet, yes?

Hey douchebag, while I am sorry that your mother clearly did not breast feed you, I cannot personally offer you my tit as your personal therapy because cancer ate it first. (But I assure you, you need fucking therapy.)

And while I am tempted to take medical advice from some assclown who likely read Lance Armstrong's, "It's Not About the Bike" and therefore considers thyself an expert on cancer, I'm just gonna have to be a stupid bitch and follow the advice of the medical team which has kept me alive for the better part of this decade.

Derrrrrrr!

Not only are people like you assholes for being fucking callous to someone else when they clearly don't need that shit at the precise moment that they don't need it, but you reveal yourself as the uneducated ignoramus you clearly are.

Go read a fucking book, because you sure as shit didn't read my medical chart, mother fucker....and I bet I have been through more hours of chemo than you have spent in a library.

Even Lance isn't "pro-chemo".

He is an advocate for cancer treatment and the search for a cure.

He credits his medical staff for guiding him through the best treatment for HIM.

Guess what...?

Lance didn't have recurrent metastatic breast cancer, so maybe...just maybe...his treatment would likely be different than mine.

*shrugs*

I am surprised that you seemed to miss that Lance DID go under the knife. It's the reason he only has one nut.

Oh, and Doctor Dipshit, I actually do have medical evidence that chemo would likely kill me...It's the inoperable tumor in my brain caused by the lengthy chemo I underwent, so go fuck yourself.

(Poor Lance. Chances are you didn't even read his book but wear your cute yellow bracelet and simply watch ER to become the "expert" you so clearly are. Either way, you're an idiot.)

I'm sending you love, my dim-witted "friend". Someone has to.