smiling on foot

There’s a weird situation going on with the front door of this house. First, a little description for you. The front of this house looks like many old country houses. It is 2 floors with the roof coming to a cute little point at the top. It has a farmer’s porch with four little cement stairs that lead right up to the door. It’s a screen door and then a wooden door with a little window that has a grimy little curtain on it. When you walk into the front door, you see a wee hallway in front of you with a door on the left and a door straight ahead. These 2 doors (I’m assuming) go to the 2 downstairs apartments. On the right wall is a sad little book shelf (perhaps initially for a child) that has some magazines or something on it. Towards your right (but still straight), there’s a set of stairs with an old fashioned banister going up to my penthouse bachelorette suite. These stairs are not as numerous or narrow as the ones in the back, so I primarily used the front stairs for moving. However, the landlords repeatedly told me that no one uses the front door and so I don’t really need a key for it… but I think they said they were going to look into it.

Anyway, there was a weird slamming sound when Mum was here one day waiting for the Verizon guy to show up. Or maybe it was when she was dropping off some of her good finds from the good will. But the next day, I was driving out to go to work and saw the front screen door was being propped open by the sad little book shelf/magazine rack. I wondered if we broke the door when the furniture guys delivered my couches, which would give my neighbors another reason to hate me besides all the noise we’ve been making painting and moving. But when I came home that night the door was back to normal.

I’ve since come home 2 other times to see the door propped open. I don’t know what’s happening with the front of the house but my curiosity has peaked. Tonight, I was doing a little work on the spare bedroom getting furniture and the catbox where I wanted it and saw my neighbor leave and then come back. Someone put all the trash out yesterday (trash doesn’t come until tomorrow morning, but whatever) and this included my many, many broken down cardboard boxes. Well there’s another reason for them to hate me since they had to lug all my cardboard out to the street. I had just changed the catbox and needed to bring this last bag of trash out but waited a while for the neighbor to get into his apartment and stay there. When I went downstairs to bring out the trash, the front door was open and the screen door was not propped by the bookshelf but by the little do-dad mechanism that people use to keep screen doors open. I only heard silence on the other side of the 2 apartment doors and went ahead and threw out my trash. About 10 minutes later, I came back with more items to throw out and the doors was shut. So strange because my door into the stairwell was open. It’s amazing I didn’t hear the door close or anyone come out of their apartments.

I’m starting to think this place is haunted. Of course I do – I think every place is haunted. But that was seriously crazy. Okay, time to call it a night. Later, Bloggos.

I’m writing to you from my brand new pad. It’s true, it’s true: I’ve moved out of my parents’ house and into my very own apartment. This is the first time I’ve ever lived somewhere by myself. With no roommate or boyfriend, I’ve been making all decisions on my own and I have to say… it’s a strange feeling. I can express my own interior designer within (who has very good taste btw) but with no one to consult with… it’s a little overwhelming for someone like me. I’m really used to asking someone “What do you think?” and just doing whatever they want (within reason, of course). And now with so many options, I have been exploring them all via the internet and many local shops. I feel free, I feel like a new girl and I currently feel a little drunk too.

It’s my first night here and I can’t sleep. I’ve actually had trouble sleeping ever since I got the news from my fantastic landlords that I was accepted for this apartment. So I’ve pretty much been exhausted for the last 2 weeks. I drink at least 3 diet mountain dews a day at work and sleep from about midnight to 5 every night. I stay up at night thinking about moving plans mostly. And as soon as my brain starts to wake up at 5, it immediately springs into action and starts thinking about all the things I have to do for this move. I also think about money as well as what will be best for my deteriorating back. I can’t help it and wish I wasn’t so much of a planner.

You see, I’m very organized and slightly insane about it. I coordinated a “gradual move” which involved various nights of helpers. I organized in my mind which things should be packed, purchased, moved and unpacked in the appropriate order that made the most sense. I also took account of “boy help” to prepare for extra heavy belongings to be ready for said boy help. My plans were executed almost flawlessly. I say “almost” because there were certain “wild card” situations that thankfully worked out. In the end, my incessant planning has paid off and it has all worked out wonderfully. Pretty much all my belongings are here, I utilized all my helpers to the fullest and my back seems to be intact. However, my right hip and right leg are throbbing pretty good right now. Hopefully, the beer can take care of that.

A little bit about my new “domicile” (as mum likes to say). It’s unbelievably adorable. It’s the top floor of a really cute old, blue victorian in the north part of “abtown.” I viewed many, many apartments in Weytown and things were just never right. I walked into this place and immediately began hoping that the landlords accepted me as a tenant. The landlords are really nice and actually used to live here for many years before they bought their house in Weytown. They are also Weytown high school graduates and now townies. I like to think that my Weytown status helped me score this super groovy pad. They’ve allowed me to paint the walls to whatever I want. I had some helpers last Sunday paint the living room and my bedroom. It came out fantastic! Downstairs are two units: a 1BR and a studio. My unit is a 2BR. It’s very quiet here, however the commuter rail is close by and I hear that go by every once in a while. I’m also next door to a Baptist Church and look forward to hearing those bells ring tomorrow morning! Across from the church is a pizza place so that’s good – I won’t starve. I’m off of a major route of the south shore and it houses many establishments and gives a  busy little town center feeling (even though it’s not the center of town). I like being walking distance to lots of places… makes me feel like I’m back in the city.

Dad left a Bud Light in my fridge along with 2 blueberry beers of mine that have been hanging out at their house since who knows when. I’ve just drank the 2 blueberry beers in a celebratory 30 minutes. And now the Bud Light. It’s really not so much a “celebration for one,” but more an effort to get myself tired enough to sleep. Tomorrow I food shop and then move the cat children. I’m very concerned for my little girl cat. She’s truly emotionally challenged and I expect lots of howling mewing tomorrow. I just hope there are no bathroom related accidents as a result of her trauma. I also have a fair amount of furniture building to do. I have 3 IKEA pieces that need to be put together this week. However, I enjoy putting together furniture… it’s just getting the time to do it.

I was thinking today as I drove one of my bureaus over to my apartment how proud I am of myself. 2 1/2 years ago, I was newly single, depressed, heavily in debt, in incredible back pain and moving in with my parents because I didn’t have many options. I hated myself, I became a borderline alcoholic and every day was just harder than it ever had been in the history of me. But after many months of wallowing in this misery (a necessary step to get it out of one’s system), I made a plan of how to improve my life and each goal is being executed as planned. As a result, my self confidence is soaring. I’m having so many good times these days and just enjoying it all. Anything is possible if you put your mind to it and try real hard. Okay, time to try to sleep again before I get too drunkin’ stoic on the ol’ bloggo.

July 2nd was my last day at double J and the following week was vacation. I saw 2 sets of fireworks, a Native American Pow Wow and discovered a secret new (free) beach on the cape where the water really doesn’t get past your knees (probably won’t visit again). And that was just the beginning of the week. I then caught up with former co-workers at the Easy place’s cafeteria. It’s been quite some time since I’ve been inside that building. Weird doesn’t even describe it. Furthermore, I haven’t driven down the famed route 9 right down the “Center of the Universe” in quite sometime either. Not since I moved to Weytown – so that’s 2 1/2 years at least! I saw the Tom Cruise movie by myself that afternoon and then dinner at the Chat-a-tat-tat with Xtina and HEKD. It was a full out memory lane trip of my old haunts of 3 years ago. Vacation ended with looking at a bungalow to rent (it was awful) and a B.B. King concert with AMR. He still has a good voice, but his memory of music lyrics is not so good.

The memory lane trip was a kind of nice goodbye. Now that I’ve been hired a P-Lite and am about to complete my first 3 weeks, it’s pretty definite that I’m not leaving the south shore anytime soon. Before scoring this position, I had been entertaining the thought of moving back up to the Watch City where I once lived and visited the Center of the Universe often. Now I know that’s not happening, so goodbye west-of-Boston option. I’ll try to visit when I can. The South Shore isn’t so bad, though. I have friends and family here so it’s a good place for a single girl like myself, just in case I need help with something or perhaps in the mood for company.

P-Lite, so far, has been pretty awesome. They’ve recently combined buildings so everyone is in the newer, nicer building. To commemorate this merge, there was a re-dedication of the building on my 4th day. There was a DJ playing fun music, then a nice speech from the president and then a priest came to the podium to bless the building and everyone in it. Then the real fun began. A man dressed as the wicked witch from wizard of oz began riding around on his bike to the “witch music” from the Wizard of Oz. Glinda was running around too. It was crazy. Then the wizard himself came down the stairs and announced that we were to get into teams and do a set of tasks. Dorothy, the scarecrow, the lion and the tin man were stationed around the building (as well as many delicious food stations) to give us our tasks. They were like team building type games at each station. I didn’t realize, but we were being timed and scored at each task. My team came in last place, but we each received a $25 P-Lite gift certificate for being the “team with the most potential.” :) There were yellow candles lining the atrium area (called the “yellow WICK road”) and we were told to pick up pieces of the road with us to help clean. Every employee also received an item from the new Fall collection so I made out pretty good!

It’s encouraged to burn candles at your desk and to adorn your desk with ridiculous amounts of P-Lite product so I can’t wait to begin collecting! Customer Service conducts auctions here weekly on old product and the $ goes to a good cause so I’ll keep my eye on that. I’ll also be having a P-Lite party this fall and hope to gain some delightful hostess gifts from doing that as well. My guests will have to buy a certain amount in order for me to get the hostess gifts, so bring your checkbooks, ladies! (no pressure) So far, I’m very much enjoying the “start up” nature of my job. I choose imagery myself and write copy myself so I’m doing more creative/merchandising work than I have in the past, in addition to my fun techie projects. Since they just launched their web site last year, there’s LOTS to do. But everyone is so excited about the new technology and really supportive of everything my boss and I are trying to achieve. It’s really a great environment, the people are so nice and very friendly. People stop by my office (I love having an office, btw) all the time just to introduce themselves. So far, so good, P-Lite!  Holla!

No sooner did I write the previous post of the woes of Lappy… the new cord arrived in the mail that very day. And it works! The cord was indeed the problem and the new cord is working just wonderfully. What’s strange is that it’s a 3-pronged plug where the cord that came with my laptop was a 2-prong. But I guess that is not important as long as it works!  And it does! Hooray for happy lappy!

My laptop has been out of commission now for some time. It’s strange not to have a laptop. Of course, my Droid smart phone is an adequate substitute, but it’s tough writing out entire emails and blog entries with your thumbs. Right now, I’m borrowing Dad’s computer while he is out cooling off at his local watering hole. My Dell lappy is only 2 1/2 years old… way too young for issues, right? I’m wondering if it’s all the back and forth I did with it to Double J and to NF’s and to HEKD’s and all the other places I’m constantly taking it to.

You see, about a month ago, I noticed that one of the little lights in the bottom left-hand corner of my Dell Inspirion 1525 was orange and not blue. When I looked closer, it was the light above the little icon of a battery. This seemed odd to me since the lappy was plugged in and should be on full power. So I jiggled the cord and unplugged and plugged back into the wall a few times. This made the light go back to blue and all was saved. But then it happened again a few days later and the plugging and unplugging seemed to only work sometimes. Then one day it was dead so I took out the battery and put it back in (a trick learned from the Droid) and it seemed to revive the lappy. I ordered a new battery on eBay and when it came in, the lappy was still only sporadically charging. I changed the battery and it seemed to change nothing. The light would be blue for days and then suddenly orange and then we were looking at dead lappy again. It’s now been completely dead for 2 weeks. No amount of plugging and unplugging or removing and replacing batteries can revive it. My last hope is maybe it’s the cord that’s not allowing the electricity to get where it’s supposed to in the lappy. I bought one on eBay 15 days ago and it has yet to arrive. I’m getting rather antsy for its arrival. The email said it will take from 12-18 days to arrive via Hong Kong post. If I had read this 18-day-hong-kong nonsense in the eBay posting, I never would have purchased through this merchandiser.

And so I patiently wait…

On June 24th, I had my uterine surgery and it didn’t go as planned. First, you should know I’ve been born with a defective kidney, bad tonsils, ineffective gall bladder and faulty digestive tract – the first three on this list removed in my first 16 years. I’ve grown slightly resentful of all the healthy people around me who don’t have frequent migraines or a right eye that is bloodshot half the time or mysterious pain in the muscles on the right side of their body. I’ve also grown tired of doctors telling me that they don’t know what to do for me with my various ailments and to just deal with it. And I do deal with it and barely think about these things, except when I get invitations to go hiking or eat Mexican food and I am reminded that I should tip toe around such things. And honestly, that’s fine. But what is slowly chipping away at my morale is the ever present question of, “I wonder what else is faulty that I don’t know about? And could it be fatal?” The words of my chiropractor recite in my head often, “You’ve always had a crooked back, you just recently became too old to compensate and that’s why you feel it so much now.” As I age, what other phantom weakness will become apparent? And will modern medicine be able to compensate for these impending biological issues when my young-person strength fades away over time? I certainly hope so because I am not a fan of pain.

When I stumbled upon this uterine issue of a septum nearly dividing my (tipped, of course) uterus in half, I thought, “Well, at least I can fix this with modern medicine and then I can have one more organ that’s like everyone else’s.” At least a regular tipped uterus is fairly common, unlike one with a piece of dead tissue running through the center. So I said, “yes, doctor, I would like one fairly common uterus please. Then I can be a real girl.” It sounds silly and juvenile, I know. But if I can bring one more organ over to the normal side, it’ll be that much more positivity for my failing morale.

Fast forward to last Thursday, June 24th, when I awoke after the procedure. I asked the nurse if it worked and she said, “the doctor will be in shortly to tell you about it.” I started to cry, which is partly due to the normal effects of the anesthesia and partly due to the overall scared feeling of being there and the uncertainty of what I was about to hear. The doctor came in and explained that the septum was not like a dangley piece of tissue as diagnosed by my MRI report. The bottom of the septum seems to have connected to my uterine wall to act as sort of a divider. I think he needs to get a hold of the end of the septum to start his cutting and since he couldn’t find the “end” the mission was aborted. He even had 4 colleagues brought in to root around in there for about 30 minutes. While removing the camera, he thought he saw a way to the other side of the “wall” but since the camera is not curved, it was tough to get around and he perforated the uterus before calling it a day. So bottom line: even my abnormality is abnormal. I hate you, body. Why do you have to make my life harder than it needs to be? No one else I know deals with repeated abnormal abnormalities that baffles doctors.

The pain on the way home was intense. I don’t know if it was because of the 30 minutes of excavating or the puncture or maybe just normal, expected pain after having instruments repeatedly shoved through your cervix. I couldn’t move any part of my midriff without multiple knife-stabbing pains across my lower abdomen. Every little bump that mum’s ford focus went over on the highway felt like it was shaking the multiple knives in my belly. I clutched my stomach until I got home and then staggered into my air conditioned room. I bellowed out in pain as I tried to get into bed without bending. I keep my heating pad by my bedside for my frequent stomach aches and migraines and immediately turned it on for some relief. Mum brought me a meal shake and one of her vicodins from her knee replacement surgery from last year and it was amazing how good I felt. I didn’t need the heating pad at all and was happily chatting away. I can totally see why people get hooked on these things. Not only did it take the pain away, but my mood was downright cheerful. But like all heavy pain medication, it’s not long before they knock me out and I did a lot of sleeping over the next couple days. Mum filled my percocet prescription and I find that they aren’t so much of a mood enhancer and just a straight pain killer. By Saturday, my insides had healed and now I’m faced with the decision to move forward with more tests and another surgery.

The doctor wants to do a 3D ultrasound to have a better view of what we’re dealing with. The MRI report was clearly not accurate and I could sense, even through my anesthesia haze, that the doctor was kind of pissed about it. The experience was unexpectedly scary and painful so I’m still a little traumatized to go any further. I’ve never been one of those girls who “can’t wait” to have children or even cared about having them at all. As I type this entry, the little boy next door is alternating between playing some fluted instrument and screaming bloody murder, which further solidifies my lack of desire for a child. :) So the temptation to give up on this uterine rescue mission is strong. But… you never know what path life will take you down. Plus, as my buddy Hope likes it when I say this, it makes me more “marketable.” Most men look for a mate who is pretty, smart, funny and has a functioning uterus, right? :) And then of course there is the bonus of having brought an organ over from the defective team to the normally functioning team. I can do it… I just need time to heal from this last tour of scary surgery. Pray for me, will you, Bloggos?

Mum has abandoned Dad and I for a few days while she hangs on the Cape and thus we are left to fend for ourselves in both the food and conversation categories. I declared yesterday morning before she left that Dad should make us hamburgers on the grill and I’ll heat up some beans (brown ones) because he likes that dinner. When he was a newly divorced bachelor, this was his dinner of choice and I think eating this meal will forever remind him of those couple of years of freedom. However, he was not all that free because he lived with his mother for part of that time and disappointed her with all his all night partying. She even called him an “alley cat” with such disdain that he still talks about the stinging experience today. But don’t be fooled, he really likes it that his mother called him an alley cat. But I digress…

Like a good assistant, Mum took out two hamburgers from the freezer and set them in the fridge so they were defrosted for the grill master to work his magic. We had our brown beans and beef dinner and got to talking about Dad’s parents and their history. Very, very interesting stuff. I had heard a story here and there, but this was an opportunity where my question-asking was on open-fire and I got some real hard-knocks, American history from Dad. And you, fair Bloggy, get to read some of it right here on this ol’ Bloggo.

Dad’s Mother’s Mother:
Her name was Ellen and she was born in England. When she was a little girl, her parents decided they couldn’t afford to raise her and sent her to Ireland to live with her Aunt. Then when she was 14, her Aunt sent her to America to go get a job. So she traveled at the bottom of a horrid ship that was infested with rats and other immigrants until she arrived in Boston. Upon arrival, a tag was put around her neck and she was shipped off to Chestnut Hill to work in the kitchen of some rich family. Somehow, she met her husband whose last name was Roache. He was originally from Newfoundland and came to Boston for work and found her. She had one child (my dad’s mother, Gladys) before Mr. Roache died young. I don’t recall why he died so young. Fortunately, there was a widowed man who lived in the neighborhood with a thick Irish brogue and a son. The community decided to put these two together so it was sort of an arranged marriage. But he bought her a nice house to live in and they lived happily together. Dad called his step grandfather “Pa Denny” and loved him. Pa Denny used to take Dad (a little boy) to the pubs and tell people he was his son. I guess it was to feel young. Dad remembers this with a big smile. He loved Pa Denny even though he wasn’t his biological grandfather. Pa Denny was related to the president of Jordan Marsh so when the depression hit and Gladys needed a job, her step father was able to get her a coveted spot at Jordan Marsh. Pa Denny rescued first Ellen and then Gladys. :) Dad knows a lot about Ellen because she lived with him when he was young. His childhood house in South Boston was crowded and he slept on the couch.

Dad’s Father’s Father:
Dad comes from 2 generations of Boston police officers. He, of course, broke the chain and became a printer. :) Officer Kelly does have a nice ring to it, don’t you think? His grandfather was a policeman in the early part of the century and fathered 7 children (my dad’s dad was the oldest). Dad didn’t tell me much of his Father’s mother, since he never met her as she died at a young age. At the time of her death, dad’s dad was a young college student in NYC. Upon hearing of her death, my dad’s dad dropped out of school and moved back to Boston to help out at home. I asked what was wrong with dad’s grandfather that he couldn’t effectively be a single parent and dad said very matter-of-factly, “Well, he was a drunk.” And as a result, my dad’s dad never touched alcohol and was a responsible hard-working man who took care of his 6 sibling. My dad’s grandfather sounds like a free spirit. He would go fishing and on his way back, he’d give away most of his fish to the neighbors before coming home with nearly nothing. And as mentioned, he was also a fan of the drink. When all the policemen went on strike in 1919, he was fired straightaway and got a new job as a bell hop at a fancy hotel. This allowed for his playboy behavior of meeting women at the hotels and bringing them home with him. Yes, this plural amount of women would be brought home to the place that housed his 7 children. Dad’s dad ended up kicking out his father to go live with the Auntie who lived in Randolph. Dad says this Auntie was a strong woman and could keep her playboy brother in check.

Dad’s Father:
His name was Joseph, of which is dad’s middle name. While taking care of his 6 siblings, he met Gladys and eventually married her. He had been driving coal for the coal company to try and support the family but needed a better job. Dad was born in 1935 and a couple of years later, he joined the police force in Charlestown. This was the location of many sea men on the various ships in the harbor and they also liked the drink. When the bars got out at night, Joseph would be on call to break up fights and riots over nothing. He broke his arm twice during this period and a very young dad would often be carted out to the hospital in the night with his mum to see how beaten Joseph was. He also got a second job working with the pipes on the ships. When the war broke out in 1941, he would often be taken off the police force and sleep on the ships for up to 2 weeks to get a badly wounded ship back up and running asap. Dad remembers his dad pointing at the giant smoke stack of a war ship and saying that he was at the very top of it doing some fixing. Unfortunately, the asbestos that he applied to the pipes eventually gave him cancer and he died when dad was a young man. Dad’s dad wasn’t particularly proud of the way my dad turned out since he obviously took after his party fun grandfather rather than his responsible father. But one thing I reminded dad of his how much of hard worker he is and that is clearly an influence from his dad. When he died, his last words to dad was “Don’t let your mother move in with any of you kids. Take care of your mother.” Apparently, it was a hardship on him to have his mother-in-law live with them. And when dad was divorced, he did live with his mum and looked after her but it was short-lived. My dad’s sister (named Ellen after their grandmother) offered to have their mother live with her and away she went. So he wasn’t able fulfill his dad’s last wishes and feels guilty about it. I have Gladys’s bedroom set in the basement (covered in mold and damaged from the flood) and will hold on to it as long as I can since I didn’t get to meet Joseph or Gladys.

I’ve said it before, but I’ll try and mean it this time. I’m going to be better about posting blog entries. I don’t know what’s come over me with this blog. Back in the day, I would blog daily – sometimes multiple times in one day with images, video, funny jokes and above all: personal stories. Now, it’s like I’ve forgotten I even have one. In my defense, I have certainly been busy. And often too tired to sit here and type up li’l diddies for the bloggos. But I think a major part of the problem is that it’s public. I might think of something that would be funny to blog about, but realize that some people might find it inappropriate. I’m also hesitant to over-share my personal life in case someone I know but don’t really “know” finds it. For example, I’d maybe want to blog about my recent interviews and then realize I can’t in case a co-worker sees it. For a while now, this new job thing has dominated my thoughts and if I couldn’t blog about that, I couldn’t blog about anything. (Bratty, I know. Like I said, I will be better about making the effort.) But now the secret is out. I gave my notice at Double J last week and I will start working at P-Lite on July 12th as eComm Mktg Manager. I’m psyched! Not only am I psyched for my new opportunity, but I really feel like this is the beginning of a fantastic, new chapter for myself. The next step is to get my own place. I’m still planning on September 1st and am now considering moving a bit more south from city than I ever thought I’d live. But if that means being closer to work (and my sister as a bonus), I think I might be okay with that. For right now, I’m going to write out some blog entry ideas.

Better late than never. Here is a quick recap of how I did on my April initiatives:

1) I consider myself pretty damn successful in refraining from consuming diet mt. dew. In 30 days, I succumbed to the dew exactly 3 times. Once was before I was visiting my old co-worker and was tired so I needed the pick-me-up. Another similar time was before I was visiting my friends DS and LOS in “Rozzie Village” and was tired so I needed the pick-me-up. And the last time was on the last day of April. I had gone out with some co-workers the night before as part of a goodbye party and enjoyed in 3 beers with no dinner and felt a smidgen tired/hungover the next morning so I brought one to work. I was meeting HEKD, AMR, AD and a couple of other chicks at a MSPCA fundraiser that night and figured the Dew would be needed before the travel to Lawrence. So now I’m quite caffeine free. I don’t drink caffeine at all at work anymore, which is crazy since I was drinking 1 or 2 cans of dew a day for the past 10 years. However, I don’t see how I could overcome a “real” hangover without it. But I’ll deal with that later.

At first, I was replacing my Dew addiction with a jelly bean addiction, but that faded away. I have since been purchasing Clementines and anytime I’m craving something sweet, I eat a Clementine or chew some gum. Occasionally, I will go to the vending machine and buy some Starbursts for some sugar… but I’m really proud of myself for not needing the Dew every day now!

2) I arrived at work before or by 9 a.m. exactly twice in the month of April. I consider this immense failure. However, I almost always arrived before or by 9:15 a.m. so I’m taking this as progress.

3) In the 5 weeks I decided that I would go to the gym twice a week, I did it 3 of the weeks. The last 2 weeks, I was only able to go once. But it was not out of laziness, I truly had a lot of things going on those weeks! Really, I did. With my late-night work hours, my weekly Lost party with the Z’s and my bad allergies, it was really, really hard to make it twice a week. I find Saturday morning is a good solid time to go, but the 2nd time is pretty unpredictable.

So… my hopes for April were not entirely successful. I wanted to have zero acid reflux as a result from refraining from my Dt. Mt. Dew – and that pretty much happened for me after about a week so 1 for LK. I wanted to get to work on time, and that just didn’t happen. I wanted to lose weight as a result of my more frequent gym visits and low quantities of soda, but I haven’t lost a pound. However, I know I’m more in shape because I have gradually worked my way back up to 30 minutes on the Precor AMT 100i. I’m also doing well on the arm weight machine I use, but still not a W on this mark. Attaining false hope that I’m important also didn’t happen, as well as my initiative to get a fake tan. I went tanning with AMR for a few weeks and it really wasn’t doing too much. I went to the beach last Saturday and felt I got some color with my SPF15 so I think I’m going to stick with the real sun.

May Initiatives:

1) Continue with the little to no mt. dew initiative. Who knows, maybe I can rid myself of soda all together? (Um, yeah)

2) Continue achieving twice a week gym visits and perhaps lose some of this extra weight.

3) A new one: showering at night. I’m hoping that by showering at night vs. the morning, I will arrive to work on time and thus possessing the false sense of importance discussed in the Happy April post. This starts as of tonight, May 5th.  It has also come to my attention that I’ve never developed a skin care plan. Many girls have told me that going to bed with the day’s makeup on is bad. Not just bad, but BAD. I’ve probably washed my face before bed a total of 4 times since Jr. High (when I started wearing makeup) and never had a thought about it. Apparently, this is not the commonplace and no one shared the face cleaning memo with me.  By showering at night, I will have a clean face and oodles of time in the morning to get to work on time. Woop Woop!

First, I went to the dentist last month. And if you recall from last September’s horrifying Gum Repair post, I’ve had a fair amount of dental work done. Power cleaning, gum surgery and crown replacement rounded out 2009 for ol’ LK. And every 3 months since, I have to go back for cleanings. I went to my recent appt. and low and behold, I have a cavity! Not only this, but my dentist says that my “pockets” along my gums in the top left quadrant are still at #4/#5 and if they get to #6 they will be beyond help and guess who’ll have to endure gum surgery in their top left quadrant? Ugh. He asked me how my crown was doing and I told him that I think it’s shape might be wrong because tons of food gets caught in front and back of it. He took a look and says, “We’ll have to replace that.” Oh good, because I was hoping I could get 3 crowns for the same spot. Fast forward to my follow-up appointment, which was a new-crown-and-cavity-filling combo visit, and he says I don’t need a new crown after all. The food catching issue is due to how low my gums are in that quadrant after last fall’s gum surgery. The gums should build back up in the next 6 months and he totally forgot that this would be the reason the last time we met. Then he goes to shake my hand goodbye and I ask, “What about my cavity?” He said he almost forgot about that too and sat down to whip up a honkin’ novocain needle to stab the back of my mouth with. The novocain didn’t work so good, but I have a high threshold for pain and really a cavity is child’s play next to what I put up with last fall… so there’s that.

Second, there’s my uterus. Probably about three years ago, I had an appt. with my Waltham gyno to investigate a weird pressure that I have on my right side around where the ovaries are. Some doctors say it might be a digestive issue, other say a female organ issue so I started an investigation. The ultrasound my Waltham gyno performed showed a weird dual uterus. But you can’t really see in ultrasounds so I was going to schedule an MRI, but then she moved to Texas and I never did it. Fast forward 2 years later and I tell my Quincy gyno the story and she is enthralled with the possibility that I might have a bicornuate uterus. She wants me to contact an IVF place for further investigation. I never did it. Fast forward to last January. She insists that I call the same IVF place and get to the bottom of this anomaly. So I did call the IVF place and had a consultation with a man physician to talk at length about my uterus. He signed me up for a pelvic MRI at an MRI location of my choice. I think the receptionist was a little surprised that I actually do have a favorite MRI place in Weytown. I’ve been to this place for both digestive issues and migraine issues so lucky me. Since I am a pro at MRIs, I enjoyed the rest in the body tube and grooved to the classic rock satellite tunes the ladies turned on for me. I asked to see my pictures and they burned me a CD to take home with me. Of course, I can barely make heads or tails of what is going on in these x-rays, but it’s still pretty cool to look at. I’ve offered my co-workers, friends and family to see my uterus and no one seems to be overly excited about this opportunity. Does no one find biology interesting anymore?

So I had my follow-up today. The good news is, I don’t have a bicornuate uterus. Bicornuate is not really fixable. The bad news is, I have a septate and need to have surgery to fix it. I studied and studied the CD that the MRI people gave me and searched through all shots at all angles and I think I found it. What do you think?

But back to my follow-up appointment today. I found the exact image online that the IVF physician has shown me during both visits to illustrate, as seen on the right above. Click to see larger. Pay no attention to that middle uterus in the diagram as it was never discussed. The Bicornuate on the right is what my Waltham gyno originally thought I possessed. The whole uterus is shaped nearly in two, which would be impossible to unite. The Septate on the left shows a septum that has formed down the center of a properly shaped uterus. What makes my septate anomaly especially odd is that my septum goes all the way down to the cervix, creating almost 2 uteri. Fortunately, the septum is just extra tissue, like scar tissue, and can be cut away. Because there’s no life force (i.e. blood) within this septum, if I were to get pregnant, the egg wouldn’t find any “nutrients” to draw from as there is in the actual lining of the uterus and the pregnancy would terminate itself. Hopefully, I haven’t grossed you out too much but I find this stuff very interesting! My IVF doctor also finds my situation a little odd that I have no plans to get pregnant yet here I am at an IVF clinic having pelvic MRIs and blood tests to check my ovaries. (My ovarian scores were stellar, btw.) I told him that I happen to stumble on this one and if there’s something broke, I feel compelled to fix it. Who knows, perhaps it will fix that pressure I have on my right side that started this whole thing?

The IVF doc also spoke more today about how I was born with a defective kidney and the kidney and uterus are created in the same phase of development when I was in the womb. I asked if gall bladder was included in this phase and he said no. The fact that I had this organ removed was a separate medical marvel I can add to my list. I asked if this was a birth defect caused by… say… I don’t know… a couple of boozehound parents in the 70s? A 41-year old sperm? Genetics in general? He said there’s no telling, but he’s pretty sure that if my mother drank and smoke during pregnancy that would not have created this abnormality. He went on to explain the extremely scientific-and-way-over-my-head goings on with cells that create the uterus. Then he asked if I had any back problems. Why, yes, I actually have mild scoliosis. He said he wasn’t surprised as that is also related to this phase and I’m lucky that it’s only mild. Then we had a big discussion about our back problems and whether or not he should see a chiropractor.

So surgery it is… sometime in June. Ironically, the IVF doctor does his surgeries in Waltham of all places.