Holden on to Catcher in the Rye

I'm a neo crazy cat lady. I'm gathering stray tragic hipsters and storing them in my basement. I shouldn't have read Catcher in the Rye that fifth time. Or maybe I should read it again. It always opened new mental windows every time I revisited. Its maybe been 20 years. I'm going to need to curl up with a bottle of windex.

compiling

I'm compiling. copy and pasting. re-reading. Somethings seem as if I'm reading them for the first time. But its been 1000's. nothing has changed really. I did change for a bit. Seemingly had everything under control. Scratching this scab has opened a wound that never healed properly. I wanted everything to be fine. I wanted to love one man. I wanted his love to be good enough forever. At least that's what I thought I wanted. Then one night I wrote myself a note. It read. "I'm aware that the decisions I'm making are destroying everything I have. But what if I don't want any of it?" So there it is. Three years later. I've built so much. Strived so hard to be everything to everyone. Gone on and on in a romantic-less relationship that I tried too hard to make happen. And in a matter of 3 months - pic axed it to a pile of rubble. If I write this story. Its not going to end well. And I feel like the entire world wants a happy ending. But sometimes you don't find god, some times you don't find love, sometimes you fuck everything up and nothing works out. That's just how some stories go. Breast cancer tales are filled with pink fuzzy ribbons and stronger mother daughter relationships. My story is black and stinks of rotten chicken.

SV's side of the story

"I looked at this very well documented blog and think it should be published. I also want to apologize for not being there for you. I remember pieces of it. I was in plenty of hospitals at the time too. Losing my mind trying to not punch Sanford Brown nurses in the face and learning how to change pee bags. I was constantly around flammable oxygen tanks listening to him say hey, give me a cigarette. I spent many days driving him around the city so he could see it one last time trying not to blow up. Everyday was like go to work, go to hospital, find a bar. My sister only came to visit twice and my brother wore mossy oak camo to the funeral. I had to pay strangers to help me clean out his house because they were so useless. I try to block it out. All I did after was watch the video projector on my new couch and drink white wine. Maybe that is why my writing never makes much since, oh well alcohol only kills the weak brain cells. It was a good idea to move to boring ass South Hampton to get a change of scenery, I have learned to enjoy the buddy walks. I am slowly starting regain consciousnesses. When Joe moves out I think I am turning his room into a herb and orchid laboratory. Those glass brinks are like a huge magnifying glass for sun light. You could take a nap in there and wake up with a tan."

So much for that....

When was april? this year? I don't even remember that month.

I now have a gaggle of friends. "Gaggle" a word I've been using for the past few days is text booked as a "flock of geese". To me it is a group of persistent and aggressive females of mating age who persuade you to do or buy something for your "own good" despite most of your best counter arguments. Thanks to this group of independent, strong and caring to the over baring ladies, I today, have my first appointment with a certified therapist.

It is the same group who convinced me to leave work for several hours to make good on the Victoria Secrets Semi Annual cotton pantie sale. Clearly I must obey.

Points already against this particular mental analyzer, 1. office is in clayton, 2. doesn't take insurance, and 3. appears to have platinum blond hair. But the first session is free so I go today to get the feet wet and shut the group up for a weekend or two. I should make a list. But I don't want to commit to a litany of problems and loose focus.

I wish i had a stenographer to ride in the car with me. All my best sentences are composed and lost at traffic lights.

For the first time

in uncountable months. I read, or re-read or read for the first or second time some of these entries. And I'm ok. composed and unemotional. The numb is in. in deep. so a book in the near future is probable. future entries even more so.

my finger tips are heavy with words and finger limbs loaded with aprehensious. A book. a print. some text. a little type. meaningless words. those are truth, ink and permanent.

when did i become a poet. what book did you read, what songs did you hear, what website did to watch your life on by scrolling down really fast.

Why did that man on the street have a sandwich with bread and boned fried chicken, and why did he just throw that bone in the street when he cleaned all that chicken, and was i supposed to shake his hand and give him my number?

Living with it

This week my main project at work, besides a blues poster, a spoken word event, a failure of a dog event, a couple of business cards, some logo identity projects, a couple of calls for art, and a cupcake fathers day flier was to bid out a 10 foot high roof top signage project. Narcissism might very well be the single most dominate feature in the down fall of america. Maybe not though, since i've never been out the country. (canada and bahamas don't count right?) So these letters are 10 feet high and the two words they spell will stretch some eighty feet 26 stories above the abandoned sky line some of us call downtown. Besides compromising the architectural integrity of this multi million dollar building their total cost will be more than i make on salary for the next 4 years.

Despite all this, in order to maintain my pay check to pay check style of living, I have no choice but to execute this project to the best of my abilities. Which as of late, i'm learning is not that well.

Other activities this week included a insane shopping spree at target. Thats right, i went nuts at a discount store. Raking up some 140 dollars worth of fresh under wear, pants and shorts. A bargain if you consider how much weight i've gained and how much more fabric I had to buy as a result. Fat people get better bargains if you measure clothing pound per pound.

This trip to target allotted me a week of fashion mishaps. And this reconstruction i'm carrying around played the star.

I was excited to find a crisp sage green sun dress for only 24.99! I tried it on the in the fitting room with my six other items. With my back turned away from the mirror i shimmed the dress over my head and once the dress was on I dropped the jeans to my ankles. Oh, how cute. sold.

Fast forward to tuesday afternoon where my signage shopping project got me a round trip all expenses paid trip to Arnold MO to tour a signage plant. Ok a morning not in the office, i'm in, I guess. Ok you're going to drive. fine. So naturally being the fashion guru I am, I woke up Tuesday morning, hung over, fuzzy eyed as usual, and make the decision to break in the green dress. No test runs here, lets see how this think operates.

Well as it turns out, on my drive in I discovered that the full coverage of the front was specifically when standing. Not bending, leaning, turning or moving. Ok. Well today i'll just stay as still as possible. I wore a, what do you call this thing, its like a the-need.... A sweater? Its a loose thing with tiny sleeves. I wore that on top. To ensure myself a false sense of security.

I put on my best business voice and attempted to charm the sales rep on the way there. I think it goes pretty well. I can chat. When i try. Really hard. So we arrive at the plant. Lots of hand shaking. I'm upright with my shoulders back. More hand shaking. Lots of men. There's maybe one chick in this place. Guess what she does. Hint, she was not welding. In the conference room I squash all outside ideas and keep my vision intact. Leaning over the table to point out key elements in the architectural elevations. Here and here. And its is 10.5 in. Made of steel.

The whole time. I'm aware that my "cleavage" might be visible. Rather I know you can see it every time I point to something. At least i can when i look down. Ahh cleavage, I don't mean the luscious space in between my ripe a full breasts. I mean the empty space between two hard silicon orbs that are surrounded by ill placed patched up skin. Skin that wrinkles and crinkles in all the wrong places. Skin that is marked with long visible dark scars. What a triumph to women. Hey there men of the trade, let me show you something. Let me teach you to never look down again. Keep your eyes on mine and the elevation. Look at this mock up I made in photoshop. Be horrified. Be quiet. Be obedient.

Despite this unexpected unveiling, I wore this dress 3 more times this week.
Come on! its St. Louis summer, how can i be asked to avoid sun dresses.
That meeting ended up with a tour of my gallery and free lunch in the west end. Be hold the power of commission!

So is this the end?

Showers take forever. I spend alot of time checking things out. Soaping them up and enjoying the general rockhard-ness of these very strange breasts that have been recreated for my personal piece of mind. Lotioning them in the mirror, nursing the tips of the nips with bactroban, more lotion. They almost look hot, in the dark, when shiny. Further proving the everything looks better shiny theory. I'm very slowly starting to incorporate them back into my intimate life. Add like ten more "very's". Which is strange because for all practical purposes, they really have no feeling, but there still is something grounded in being a women that makes you long for the act. A comforting feeling.

I'm reminded of the skull on the mantel outside the Red Bull's lair entrance. You know through the grandfather clock? Ok, childhood film reference. The skull was a skull and bones, with no tongue to taste. However when he drank the flask of water that he thought was wine, his cheeks burned the pink warmth of a drunken memory.
The skull made the trail, for a fraction of a second. Here's the Trailer I own this on dvd. I might watch it tonight.

Too bad that cartoon/book's popularity was before the dawn of the Red Bull Energy Drink, there was some real potential for cross branding.

A couple more trips to the doctor for check ups. Actually I think the only reason I have to see them again is so they can take a photo for their boob binder. But I guess they deserve that much. No more surgeries. A few more invoices from the surgery centers. But as of now we officially can say the process is complete.

I have many unanswered questions. Like what now. How do you maintain yearly screenings when they can no longer do the regular mammograms. MRI I suppose. The chances of me running to the doctor for one of those is slim. The chances of the oncologist calling me to pressure a follow up appointment, also very slim. They've been non existent since the first round of surgery. And I suppose its now my responsibility. However, I fear there will have to be some sort of catastrophe for me to willingly return to a hospital.
Other random questions:
What if I get in an car accident and a large shard of glass punctures my implants?
What if i gain two hundred lbs, can you imagine how silly that would look?
Can I get these nipps pierced? I don't see why not.
And tattoos.. i wonder how deep the needles go. And how thin the skin is.
And when are these scars going to fade. and whats with this rash. and why does it feel like i'm getting poked with pins from time to time.

one of the strangest things

This most recent surgery is really too bizarre to share. The process itself is mind blowing. The words defining the situation are embarrassing. Fake nipples. Its nearly funny if it weren't burdened with the trouble of truth and necessity. The most memorable or notable detail of this particular operation is the bandages. Once you remove all the padding and stuffing of the first day, you're left with two yellow mounds of gauze. Take one of these lemon butter cookies, sew them to your skin, smash, repeat. Sprinkle with touches of frankenstein. And that's pretty much what I'm working with right now. The "cookies" stick out really far, show through my bulky green hoody, and smell slightly tainted.

More disturbing this week than body part duplication, was a message from my sister on facebook. Because of my issues, she went ahead and got a mammogram, they now want her to come back in for more testing. sick.

icing?

Finally another visit to the plastic surgeons office, might actually get this thing rolling and finish up this "process" in the next two months. Some amendments to the second surgery are needed. And all seem feasible. A little extra skin can be removed here, a scar can be flatted out there. And with skin from my ever expanding mid section new areola can be constructed. See diagram. My doctor refers to this procedure as the icing on the cake.

I originally imagined this procedure to be similar to the score and slick process of pottery. Turns out its a bit different. but similar. Raw skin is applied to raw skin. Now I think of skin like those flaky breakfast biscuits. The ones you can peel off one layer at a time. So the process as I gathered in the conversation with the doctor goes something like this: two circles are cut out of your hips; the lower portion of the body has darker skin that the top, thus allowing for the difference in skin tone. Then, a circular layer of skin is removed from the mound of flesh covering the implant. This skin is used to form the actual raised nipple. Then the circle from the hip is placed over the top of the bump. Gauze for 5 days, unveil, and some ointment application, two weeks later, bam, fake nipples.

Then there is the question of nipple preference. If you had the choice would you want nipples that never got hard? or nipples that were always hard. I honestly have no clue. I'm sure whichever option i go with, I will be dissatisfied and regretful.

I'm hoping that this final surgery will be the tipping point to end this post operative depression. Its really getting out of hand. The anxiety of simple day to day activities is rendering me more or less non-functional. So for the moment, I have one goal that I believe might bestow some sort of happiness back in myself. Loosing the weight gained during this past six months. Its difficult to tell what is really the source of my problems. One, the lack of breasts with nipples, or two the emerging belly that is now protruding well beyond the mark of past breasts. Completely robbing me of any sense of womanhood.

So in response to this annoying consequence I am signed up for caloriecount.com. Eating less than 1500 calories per day. Although I don't expect to reach my goal until mid summer. And in order to really succeed, you have to be strict, every day all the time. No beers every evening, no bagels for breakfast. Spinach salads and carrots and Yoplait. Every day every minute you have to restrain and think hard to make the right choices. To accelerate my success, am seeking a new gym membership. I got on the internet and started downloading all the free passes I could find. Determined to research and make an educated decision. For various reasons gyms have not worked for me in the past. My choice is now between two gyms. One Club Fitness, close enough to my house or to where ever i might move. 19.95 a month. Various classes I will probably have too much social anxiety to attend. Negatives: I've been a member of club fitness before, I tend never to go back to boyfriends or gyms, this ones also in the same location as New Lady Fitness, a gym I also was once a member. And Fitness Club St. Louis or something like that, a few more blocks from my current location, but free tanning (that I probably shouldn't use), 24 hour access, cycling and yoga classes I probably will never attend. Added bonus to this location: firemen, lots of them. Negatives: really bad murals everywhere, little parking, sort of jank, but in a kind of cool underground way. Tried the new YMCA in Carondelet, saw a naked pregnant lady and two naked old people, plus you have to sign up for the machines, which is a huge source of annoyance for me, plus its 46 dollars, and I really realistically won't use the pool. I have another week to make a decision.

Gym/fitness "dating" history:
1. college rec center; great gym! went all the time,
2. bally total fitnes; worked the front desk, free membership, rarely used.
3. YMCA west county; tried swimming, I suck it, and don't like to get all wet everyday in the winter.
4. New Lady fitness, did a lot of aerobic classes, no dudes tons of fat chicks, weird dynamic, went out of business.
5. Shark fitness bootcamp: great, really hard, went with friends from work, was a size 4 at the end, not a realistic commitment at the moment.
6. Club Fitness, during my time here, i was also doing a lot of biking, lost tons of weight, different time in my life.
7. The boxing gym, seems like I gained more weight while taking boxing classes, good work out but not enough cardio machines.
8. St. Louis Workout, was close to work, then i got suspended, ran out of money and canceled, having the gym close to work is nice for working out at lunch, but when you work out at lunch you can only do 30 minutes, and really, I need to be there about 1.5 hours to see results.

Jesus, I'm like a gym membershipaholic.

here i come number 9.

Photos from the Save the Girls Opening

Afterwards

Two months out. I feel no pain. I feel nothing. Physically no harm. I find the words difficult to describe my emotions.

My five week hiatus from work has proved detrimental to my confidence and finances. Now I'm forced to return, or liquidate my belongings and go completely transient.

The lack of nipples is not agreeing with me. On some occasions I argue, the trouble and pain of nipples would be for for men (or more specifically for one man), is it worth the extra surgery to make things right. Just to feel like he has a whole person. will i feel whole enough to justify the efforts?

Why bother apply fake numb nipples?

Would it make me less self conscious?

tank tops, sheet corners, 9 dollar bras, hands cupped over my "breasts", lights off always. The surgeon's binders of photos lied, the healing process prolongs my sanity. everywhere. lined up in pairs, staring at me, taunting me.

Even from a long distance. those strip club girls are haunting me as my boyfriend enjoys his weekend away bachelor party, who's itinerary i can only imagine involves his beautiful face nose diving head first into nipple latent cleavage.

I see nothing but healthy young breasts all around me. their tight little shirts youthful, carefree, real.

I am drowning in the reality of what has happened. and unable to grasp the necessity for my actions.

unsuccessfully googling breast cancer support groups. . .

Numb

When I was sixteen I had surgery on my kidney. It left a 6 inch incision scar. And took away most of the feeling I had in my left hip area. Still numb. Occasionally still gets a dart of tingle. Nerves are a strange thing. Responsible for feelings. Without them you just don't have any.

In undergrad, during 2D design class right before a final I sliced the top of my right index finger. Ran to campus ER. Stitched it back on, but it shriveled up and fell off anyway. Its pretty much grown back in. But 10 years later, still numb.

And now. Sometimes I lean into things and can't go any further. Don't know why. Then look down and realize I'm pressed against it. But didn't know because there is no feeling.

Mentally, there's been too many emotional lobotomies to even mention.

Lose of sensory perception. . . its starting to worry me. I know I should be feeling something, yet I feel nothing but a memory of what things are supposed to feel like.

today

i'm really just wanting my old boobs back. did we keep them? I'm sure there is a receipt somewhere. I can return these?

As I plan this exhibition, Save the Girls, I hear more stories, discover other "survivors", hear the stories from friends of survivors, and learn more about what it means to be a "cancer survivor". I am not comfortable with that term. And am considering taking it off the press release. I am not a cancer survivor. Some doctors said they found cells that would some day be cancer. So we got rid of them. I never saw cancer. I never felt cancer. What a stupid disease. The suffering seems to come from the cure. But I am a poser. I didn't even get to the cancer part. People say things to me like "3 time cancer survivor" and I'm in disbelief. What? it comes back? How? Why? I thought we got it all. And I wonder if my "getting it all" is the same as those other women who thought they "got it all" not once, not twice, but sometimes three times. Each time, I imagine in most cases there was a radiation/chemo treatment. Something I can't even bring myself to read about, much less comprehend. I've started browsing posts from those who've lived through the process. My mouse automatically click's back as soon as i read the first lines... "the red liquid flows through the iv and into my veins."

By what graces of what god that avoided these situations for me I'm not familiar with.

Who do i thank. What shall i do with this new found longevity?

For the sake of resolving all potential problems I had an iud implanted. I do not recommend this. It hurt. And I've experienced some pain in the past 4 months, this 3 minutes in the gyno was the worst of it all. However, because of the pathology reports I am no longer allowed to take oral or any hormonal birth control. So the "inhumane" paraguard was my only choice. Two days later the pain subsided, but I dread my next "cycle", things are supposed to be more intense with the implant. The price women pay for sex is outrageous.

While i was there I had my doctor do a complete blood test. After a call today from the nurse, I can now proclaim, I have a clean std bill of health. The word is still out on on cervical cancer but I've never had problems with that before. What do they say? "No news is good news."

Post #2 remarks

Its hard to make any rational judgments at this point. If you research post plastic surgery depression there are many stages to go through mentally and physically. I'm trying to stay off my photo albums on facebook. Before photos are a difficult experience at this point. It wasn't that long ago when things were so different.

Here I am with two damned drains again. The complications with fluids forced the surgeon to extend the scars further than anticipated. Each side is about 12 inches. From well past the nipple center line all the way to just centered under the armpit. The lines are thick and red. Rationally I remember from the first surgery, that after the glue is worn off these red lines are faint pinker flat scars. But right now I don't care much for rational thoughts and all i know is what i see. A tattoo design is so fuzzy in my head at the moment but I am certain its in the future more clearly and will cover all evidence.

The only current pain is from the drain sites. The worst of it all actually was my throat after the air tubes and a canker soar that was left on my inner lip from the breathing aids. My range of motion was barely compromised. Over all a much easier surgery than round one.

But "they" don't look even. In the haze after the anesthesia, I remember Maria relaying Gurlie's concern with the left side's tissue and the extensive reconstruction. Parts of the tissue are hard. I'm trying to massage regularly. They feel fake. Like plastic. I was sort of was getting to like the extreme cleavage of the expanders. The implants are softer and lower. Are these terms of reality or just terms of the current stage of recovery. Only time will tell. I'm terribly impatient.

Surgery number 2

Tuesday i went in for my second surgery. No party bus to the center this time. Just me and BW on highway 270 at 8:30 in the morning. He's relatively quiet as usual. I'm starving. And thirsty. When I got dressed in the morning, I said, "I want to look ridiculous" Big sunglasses. A button up long white linen dress. Underneath was very short hot pants, so it basically looked like i forgot my pants. Platform yellow high heels. I mean how seriously can you take these things.

We sat in the waiting room for a while. BW grabbed a newspaper. He read through the vaguely world related articles. My attention was caught only by the obituary for Patrick Swayze. Died at 57. After closing the paper. We look up and see the Today's show on the flat screen, covering the same sad swayze story we'd just read about in the paper.

It didn't take long for them to call me in. I had about 45 minutes before the surgery. BW could have came back with me, had i mentioned that he was supposed to. I like to not tell him things, and then later get annoyed that he didn't just already know what to do. It keeps things interesting. He says awkwardly, "You'll be just fine." sort of pats me on the shoulders.

"Oh god." I should tell him to stay for a while but really, man, just go to work, i got this covered. No mom, no dad, just me in the center with the nurses, and then the anesthesiologist, the surgeon. They wheeled me into the OR. Helped me hop tables. I look up and see two large lamp strobe lights with some red message on the center of them about not covering with plastic. Then they injected the IV and I was out.

I wake up seemlying seconds later. Maria is there. A nurse. Its bright. I'm in and i'm out. Faces flash in front of me. They go away for seemlying seconds and return later. I heard 2:30 from someone over yonder. But it wasn't until about 5 that we left the center. I remembered the nurse boasting "look at my patient!" I was aiming for outrageous. I think I was successful.





For whatever reason I deparately wanted some bread from Viviano's.

Back from KC headed to florida

When I finally get back Lee Summit, I call colleen and suzie over at Gurlie's office. They insist I go back to mo bap to have another doctor look at drain and fluid build up. I'm horrified. Imagining having to go through the drain insertion ordeal all over again, I drive down highway 70 blinded by hysterical outbreaks of tears.

When I get to the hospital, there's some waiting involved. Its late in the day though so I get pushed through the system. End back up on the gurney waiting still for the doctor to come look at me. He finally comes in. Looks at the drain. Leaves the curtained room. Returns two seconds later with a syringe. Unscrews the drain from the tube.

"wait a second. That thing unscrews!"

Then he injects 5 cc's of saline into the tube, and sucks back out 5 cc's. The tube was clogged. He screws the tube back into the bulb, and BAM. Like 25 cc's fill the Pratt. Incredible. Problem more or less fixed in a matter of 3 minutes.

Given permission to detach the drain for a few hours at a time, my trip to florida did not seem so ruined by this medical apparatus. He sent me home with a box full of saline syringes and red caps to close off the tube whilst i frolicked on the beach.


PS Florida was awesome, and i'm not going to tell you about it.

Pinch in the Plans

August opened as a month filled with travel. My first trip was to help JT with two very large murals in Lee's Submit. We headed out of town 4 hours later than planned. And arrived in Lee's Summit well past midnight. U-turn after u-turn finally lead us to JT's cousin's place. A lovely home with fresh tomatoes growing in the back yard, basil, all sorts of other plants and herbs, a well mannered french bulldog named Deja. After 5 hours in the car with JT I needed a stiff drink then headed directly there after to bed.

In the morning, I woke up to a puddle of liquid under my drain site. However the drain was empty, and an embarrassing stain was left on the sheets of my hosts bed linens. I soaked up as much as possible with a towel, took a shower and cleaned up. I was super emotional about it. Whining and moaning in embarrassment. JT told me to shut up and said I was over reacting. He's such a harsh bed partner in the mornings. Knowing it wasn't my fault didn't help, I still got flash backs to bed wetting at slumber parties. I devised a plan. To solve the problem. Which involved turning over the laundry. Another awkward action in need of explanation.

When I finally go up, we raided the kitchen for eggs, coffee, headed to the garden to find a ripe tomato and a sprig of basil. After morning omelets. JT and I headed out to the mural site. I spend the day, taping the wall off, climbing the ladder, filling in the white of the character, and drinking beer out of Styrofoam gas station coffee cups. That evening I came home and in the shower discovered my left "breast" was completely full of water. The drain still very empty, if not totally dry. I massaged the mound of flesh causing the liquid to seep out the drain site. Running in a single drip all the way down to my knees. This was not painful exactly, and I wanted to get the fluid out of me. So after some time in the shower, I get out lay on the bed on my side and continue to collect a towel full of liquid.

This is not good. Something has to be wrong. And I'm in Lee's Summit for two more days. . .

The Past Few Weeks

Things been crazy in the life of Jenn. This process hasn't exactly been smooth sailing. And my inability to chill out and say no has prolonged the process. The second surgery is still scheduled for Tuesday Sept 15th. This one, I can't wait for. I'm going to try and catch up over a few posts.

A turn for the drainy.

I left my office around 9:15 to make it to my appointment with Ramone. He specializes in Lymphatic Massage Basically he was going to massage my implants to get the liquid within the cellular structures to start moving around and out of my healing skin tissue. Everyone was particularly tickled with the statement, I have breast massage appointment with Romane. When I told my grandparents about it, my grandfathers ears perked up, "How do I get Ramone's job?" He says. My grandparents have been particularly enchanted with my after doctors visits. Grandma took a photo of my new tits. Straight up cut off my head in the photo. Seriously.

I head to the appointment with out a care in the world. Looking forward to him working my back as well, because sleeping has been a beast to say the least. And then jetting back to the office to tackle a long day of work. I walked in and was greeted by Andrea as usual, and Suzie. They asked how things were doing. "umm well," I say. "this one is saggy," I point to my left side, "and this one is a little squishy."

This causes a chain reaction. Colleen rounds the corner. She wants to take a look before I meet with Romane. We quickly head back to the examining room. I flash her and Suzie. I'm not sure if she really said "oh shit." I can't remember if I inserted that from her reaction, or if she really cursed. But either way. "oh shit." Bad sign right. The drains all came out last friday. I had a wonderful drain free weekend. Although I didn't get to cash in on my drains out deadline promise with myself and bw, but still it was nice. Colleen says I need to get a drain put back in. And Suzie rushes off to arrange this surprise surgery at Missouri Baptist.

I meet with Ramone anyway for a 30 minute swedish (maybe?) massage. That was wonderful. Relaxed and de-stressed. Its 11:45. Suzie comes back in and says Missouri Baptist can get me in at 12:30. And that I shouldn't eat or drink anything because she doesn't know if they have to put me under or not.

So I head over to mobap.

I've never visited this particular hospital before. It seems strange that its so close to St. John's. I arrive at the patient registration center before they had received the fax from Suzie about the procedure. So it took some calling around for them to figure out what the hell to do with me. After some insurance paper work and waiting, they called me AND this other very old couple up to follow the nurse to the operating waiting area. This was awkward because, I'm a very fast walker, always seem to be headed somewhere in a hurry. And the old couple, well, was much slower. Combined with the fact that to the outside world there really seems to be absolutely nothing wrong with me. So the nurse is in between me and the couple. I have not a clue where I'm headed. And she actually at one moment asked my name again to ensure that I was in fact really supposed to be following her.

We finally round a turn, go through a door way and I'm almost literally dumped into a small curtained room with a bed, some medical machine, a trash can, one of those hospital tables on wheels, and other various stuff attached to the walls. I'm like, "Great, I can lay down," still very relaxed from my massage. I took this photo right before I fell asleep. Its about 12:15.



So I wake up a bit later, check my iphone. Its nearly freakin' 3pm. No one has as much as glanced in my direction. I stumble over to the bathroom, barefoot. Which now, thinking back, super gross! After doing my business, I come out and ask the nurses what the dealio is. They explain that the guy before me has some complications. And that I'd have about 45 minutes longer to wait. So much for going back to work today. I head back to my little room. Ease drop on a few conversations. The guy across the hall is in for a liver biopsy. But his symptom is diarrhea. He doesn't understand what the two have to do with eachother. I feel you man. Nothing worse than being strung through a series of medical tests. Doctors, just in there, rooting around for some clues.

Finally the nurse comes in and gives me some blankets and one of those hospital gowns I love so much. A bit later the doctor came in to tell me something. Then finally, they wheel me into the room.



Its looks very much like a operating room but its actually an xray table. The large box on an arm was the xray, the flat screens display the chest xray. There is also an ultra sound machine, with more screens not in the photo. The nurses take painstaking effects to cover everything in plastic. Which is funny, because as I lay there watching them, I look up and notice blood splattered all over the arm machine. I don't think that's legal... or sterol.

The expanders have two cylinders where the injections happen. One is metal the other is very thick plastic. So when you see the xray of my chest, you see my rib cage, my heart beating, my broken collar bone from age 11, and then these two sets of circles within circles that look just like nipples. Pretty funny. I told this to the nurses as they covered me with blue paper. Then they took scissors can cut a hole out over my left breast.

After several local anesthetic shots, I really couldn't feel anything too painful. But still the sensation of a tube being inserted into your body was quite intense. At one point during the surgery, a nurse popped in and said her goodbyes, chatted for a minute about her vacation to all the other nurses. "Really?" I thought, "I'm like awake, and right here. Get the hell outta here nurse, have a nice damn weekend."

At another point, "Can't get enough of you baby." by Barry White starts playing on the radio. I can't control myself and start laughing and crying at the same time. Startled by my actions, the nurses and doctor ask what is wrong. So i'm forced to explain that this song always makes me think of BW and then cry a little. No clue why. Hormones I blame.

I finally get tied back up, cleaned off and rolled back into the waiting bed area. I tell the nurse I haven't eaten in about 8 hours, and she brings me two tiny tubs of peanut butter, some saltines, and a half sized sprite. I devour every last crumb. Then spill my sprite all over the place. Ahh! I try to clean it up with my hospital gown, its hard to bend over, makes me dizzy. I give up and give the nurses a heads up about the spill and then ask how to get back to the parking lot.

I leave the building and glance up at the sky. Dark clouds, "shit, its going to rain."

I have no clue where my car is. So I wonder around the parking garage hitting my alarm button. Hoping to catch the "beep beep" of my horn. Finally there she is. And as soon as I pull out of the parking lot, yep, down pour. Its 4 o'clock. I have to go back to the office. I have to take 270. In the rain. During rush hour. It takes me about an hour.

So there it is 5pm, back to work soaking wet with a new shiny drain stuffed in my panties.

The expander implants.

I promised to post these photos. Will ad more narrative later, but these are things they are injecting with cc's.

60 cc's

Two weeks after surgery, I went back to Gurley's office. This visit was specifically to fill my tissue expanders with 60 more cc's on each side. This photo is pretty graphic. I thought about not posting it. But really I don't care. This is how it happened. This is what it looked like. Deal with it people. This is reality.

Colleen got everything ready for the injection. There was quite a bit of loose skin, and this was going to help fill out the lower "droplet". The expanders (which I promise to photograph on friday) have a hard plastic one way valve at the top center. Some how, with a device that looks very much like a physics pendulum, but was basically a free hanging magnet, Dr. Gurley found the exact point of entry, she then presses down on the device leaving a plus sign. The cross sections pointing to the exact point the 3 inch needled was to be inserted. She does this for each "breast" and then covers the area in iodine, staining the skin the dark orange you see in the photo.

This syringe is large. (just double checked the spelling of syringe, and have to include this definition: A syringe is a simple piston pump consisting of a plunger that fits tightly in a tube.) So its nightmare, horror film, cereal killer huge, right. I'm pretty much phased by nothing at this point so through out the process I was trying to take this photo. Dr. Gurley was a great sport about the photography, she even waited to completely inflate while my I gave my mother a quick tutorial on taking photos with iphones.

I just bought a bra at lunch today, it was a 36C. I'm scheduled for another injection. But really, i'm straight on the 36C. I might just stay here. But I think I can go backwards on the final decision, so we might as well see what another 60 cc's does to my wardrobe.

In this photo, the scars look crazy. But after that week, I started to work at getting the glue off. Yes they glued me shut. As it started to peel off, the red lines turned into faint pink lines. Its only one month out, and when they do surgery number two the craftsmanship will be more end result conscious. I'm starting to think the scarring is going to be minimal to almost nothing.

Jackson Pratt Drains

Its been called to my attention that these drains had a name: Jackson Pratt

A detailed account of this drain process is in order and long over due. The week after surgery I started with six. The rubber tubes are inserted during surgery while everything is open. You can see the tubes snaking under your skin. I've been told that the section of the drain within your body is similar to those garden hoses with holes all along them so that water can sprinkle over a long stretch of your yard. Exactly like that, only opposite. The bulbs create a suction. And the fluid that builds up in your body after surgery is slow sucked through the holes, down the tube, out of your body, down the 2 foot length of the tube and into compressed air tight bulbs. At their exit points, the tubes are sewn to your skin with black thread.

So i started with three on each side, six total. On each side 1, 2, 3 was labeled in permanent marker. For the doctors, the amount and color of the fluid draining is very important. I did my best to document accurately. I even set up an excel spreadsheet so I wouldn't mess up the sum totals. Every morning, lunch, and evening before bed they must be striped, drained and measured. Stripping: starting from the very tender entry point you squeeze the tube all the way down to the bulb, this takes all the fluid in the tube to the bulb. The bulb has a valve closing thingy, once it looks like all the fluid is out of the tube, normally if you did a good job, the tube will be flat from the suction. Then you open the valve, air fills the bulb up so its now an flatted bulb. Then you empty its contents into a small mL/cc measuring cup. Hold the cup up to eye level so you can read the cc number and record it on a form. Also take notice of the color. I had a system 0 being clear and 10 being blood red. It was a more or less subjective observation based mainly on the amount of drugs I was on that day and my particular mood at the time.

In the surgery center, the nurses took care of this process, while staying with my grandmother, my mom did most of the work for the first two days. I remember the first time we drained the left number 2. The pain was indescribable, fluid getting sucked out from the depths of your wounded body. I had to take a oxy and val and sit on the sofa in a haze of pain for at least 40 minutes. In prelude, next time, I took the pain pills and then 30 minutes later I was drugged enough to withstand the draining. Grandma tried to help on the third day, but by that time I was ready to do it myself. And had it down to a very quick system.

The saturday after my Tuesday surgery, I decided to escape family care and pack up and go back to the city. So I made plans to have all my friends meet me at my dad's pool first. Makes perfect sense right. RG picked me up, she didn't have a swim suit so we stopped by the Walmart on Manchester in west county. Did you know that rich people have WAY nicer Walmarts than us middle income city people. We had a shopping spree. I got some booty shorts to double as a swim suite bottom, and a tank top, and a very adorable fluffy skirt (perfect for hiding the drains), I also scored the cutest short sleeve pink cardigan. I spent like 50 dollars. Crazy huh?

RG and I then headed over to my Dad's new bachelor pad. MU and Jeff were already there with a cooler of beer and some mendota sparkling lime water for me. JT showed up shortly after, BW following not too far behind him. In an attempt to "hide" these six drains, I simply gathered them all together in the middle and tucked them under my booty shorts. This created the illusion of me having a giant cock bulge. I can only imagine what the other pool goer's thought, if i even gave a what. But it was pretty hilarious. At least we all thought so. Jenn gets rid of ridiculously big boobs and replaces with giant balls and monster cock. The laughter was a tad painful, but worth it.

As the days passed, the drains came out two at time. Number 1's at first, then a week later they took out number 3. I still have two left. I'm getting creative with wearing baggy skirts and shirts to hide them. sometimes i spread them apart and put one in each pocket, other times i swing them low and center under a skirt.

The final still pumping out about 30 - 50 cc's a day, each! A new antibiotic will hopefully end this flow. But I'm ready for this stage to be over.

Not to mention they are dangerous man leg hair grabbers in bed...

Dr. Gurley's Office

As a non cometic altering citizen my pervious notions of plastic surgeons where based off hit tv shows like Dr. 90210 and Extreme Makeover. Who's that guy on that bev hill show, with the hair... and the muscles, and the wife with the big fake boobs. They keep having kids. He does ty quan doe or something. And has the worst hair. Full circle there.

Gurley's spot is located off highway 40, you exit at timber manner court drivelanelakeway. Follow the outer road through a few stop lights and turn, err veer right, and follow the amusement park of parking lots to the last building. Over the past couple of visits, I've been watching the landscaping crew manicure the parking lot, dividers and mediums. Its developing quite nicely and rivals what i imagine Disney Land is rocking these days. Minus the mouse shaped box wood bushes.

I always check the building doctor directory for the floor button to push in the elevator. I know now its 3, but now it's habit, and I've been showing up with different people each visit so I like to take them through the discovery process I went through on my first, second, third visit.

Enter through sexy frosted glass door, allow man person who drove you to appointment to grab the curved steal rod that opens the heavy glass threshold. Andrea is at the front desk. She has a really fantastic attitude. I'd totally hire her. She juggles looking important and busy with being social and
not overly invasive but skillfully copacetic to whatever situation you have behind your eyes.

Visit one, I drove myself. My mom met me out there to talk one on one with DrJG. Visit two I came on my own. This was a pre-operation meeting with one of DrJG's nurses? assistants? I'm not sure what their titles are. So far I've met Suzie, and Colleen. Suzie's quote of the situation is "Dr. Gurley just makes the most beautiful nipples!" Can you imagine having a job where this is a statement you not only state several times a day, but also have absolute faith in the factorial purity of the declaration.

Colleen met with me to lay out the deal. She arrived with a Rubermaid container similar to the ones I organize my art supplies in sometimes, only hers was filled with drains, tubes, measurement cups, and pain pumps. She threw a lot of cards on the table. Like the drains. And the pain pump. And the fact that i'd have to actually look at my "breasts." Of all the things she explained to me about what would happen post operation, the single phrase that physcologically changed by fear approaching the situation was the fact that she continued to refer to the post-op scars being "My breasts." At the time, in my mind, my breasts were the ones i was carrying. These new these they were going to build certainly didn't belong to me. Or so i thought. The concept of having breasts made a big dent in the pre-surgery terror meter.

If you google mastectomy you find a lot of photos of lesbian women rocking their flat chested scars and pot bellies. Ok there is one specific one in my mind that came up too often, i think she had a salamander over her nipple. Her left breast was untouched. Her shirt was plaid.

My monday may 29th visit, i asked bw to drive me. We went to the office, then near my dad's west county apartment'd'viva. We drank a couple of New Castles at Harpo's. Which is across the street from Peach Hill, my dad's bachelor pad. Dave was on some sort of business conference call. So we had a few minutes to kill. I like it when I stick to a schedule, but occasionally the schedule allows you to stop and sit out side and enjoy a tasty beer with a good friend. After 3 NC's (combined) we cashed out and my dad rolled up in his SUV of the month. He dropped off a few bags of Vivianos': bread, salami, olive antipasto, cole slaw with red peppers. We do a grab and run and head over to Wildwood. I had intended to shoot a few more photos after lunch with the grandparents with this really heavy shot gun they had in the basement. Turns out my gpa paid like 65 dollars for it. Pound for pound, thats a damn good deal. But I forgot the flash card for the camera. Was totally bummed. BW and I headed back to the city, stopping at the bird mall to fix my refurbished ipod. This took a really long time. I am quite in awe of the patience exhibited by BW during this Apple store visit. I think if he hadn't have been there, i would have just left and fixed noting. Although it was quite fun for at least 30 minutes making a SIMs JT. We really got close to his exact description. I attempted to do some other people i know, but it occurred to me, that there is no one who's descriptive features I'm more familiar with than JT's. We get a lot of face to face time.

16114 Port of Nantucket

The county is the strange place. Everyone religiously takes care of their lawn. There are plenty of lawn novelties, but instead of sunflower wind mills and pink flamingos, you see more boxwood bushes and white birdbath fountains. If you leave your car unlocked, someone will actually come by and armor-all the dash board for you.

My grandparents, Jack and Joe, have been living out in wildwood for nearly ten years. Since they fled from Galaxy Lane, a lovely ranch style north county home on a sort of half circle cul-de-sac I used to ride my tricycle around and around. They also had a crab apple tree. The neighbors kids and I would pull off the apples and pelt each other with them, leaving large red welts on our exposed skin.

Tuesday night was spent in the surgery center. Then around 9 am I headed to my grandparents for what I thought might be two to three weeks. Wednesday I made an appointment with my Grandmother's hair dresser to have my hair washed and blowed dried. My family was extremely helpful caring and supportive. I've never seen people so focused on food in my life. While we eat breakfast (me a protein shake), they talk about what is going to be for lunch. Lunch is at about 11:30. While they make lunch, my grandpa likes to snack on a baloney sandwich, then the homemade chicken soup is finally ready. This was amazing by the way, my grandpa can really made some soup. Then while enjoying the soup we talk about what might be for dinner, pulled pork sandwiches? Stuffed grouper? chicken catatori? And after every meal I was offered cheesecake. I drank alot of iced tea and water. I said no, no, and no. Stuck strictly to my protein, mangos, berries, and veggies. I also found it generally less painful to be sitting up rather or moving around than vegged out on a sofa or bed. Thank goodness for facebook, my macbook, and free wifi.

My mother spent the first night there, then was back and forth from wild wood to pleasantville to take care of Bob.

JT took my car to fenton at night, since he wasn't allowed to spend the night. And came back later in the after noons, where we went to the pool, ate dinner, and watched a Tropic Thunder, Dan in Real Life (really enjoyed that one), something else with that kid who was McLovin in that other movie. I passed out for large portions of most of these. Because valium and oxy are some serious shit. I got off those narcotics asap. The valium however... man... They make EVERYTHING allllriiggght.

Even still, it was hard for me to get to sleep at night. My cognitive theory books where a bit too challenging for my state of mind. And "Youth and Revolt" fell between the bed and the wall on the first night. Plus the words were very fuzzy. So instead, the moments before loosing consciousness I spent texting BW. (Thank god i stopped him from reading those out loud last night. God only knows what I was typing at 3 in the morning with val and darv.)

Recovery Room: a walk in the park.

It turned out, that the surgical recovery center was outfitted with Jim Trotters, fantastical St. Louis monument photography. I believe my room was called "A walk in the park". The photograph in my line of site, was taken on mars. But on mars they built a park. That park was very similar to forest park here in St. Louis. I didn't know that Jim Trotter had a space ship. I hope he made a safe trip back into the earth's atmosphere.

This photo was taken by my father. I think he took about 30 photos. "say cheese" didn't offer the candid response he was looking to accurately depict the situation. I'm not sure exactly what we where smiling about, but I know it was super exciting. Double thumbs up!

I'm in and out of consciousness. Over the next I don't know how many hours.

Things I remember.
My dad went to Kolh's. I told him to go to target. But it turned out ok.

Someone brought me some Edamame (i just spelled that right on the first try! shit yeah magazine) There were also fortune cookies. Mine said "the more you give, the more you will receive." I didn't know confucisous was so into oral sex.

JT slept on the recliner. The recliner was made of wood and hardness. While they where manufacturing this recliner, they called in a focus group. When 10 out of 10 people where extremely uncomfortable. The chair then received high points and was propelled in to production. I personally watched him change positions, upwards of 3 million times over the course of the 8 hour night.

The buttons that are supposed to help you raise and lower your head on the bed. Are strategically placed in the exact spot you will never be able to reach on your own.

I had some yogurt, also a fruit cup.

Jeff, MU, JT, mom and Dave where in and out.

JC was in and out.

We watched the Big Labowski with my mom. She asked what the plot was about. We really couldn't give her an answer.

The next morning, my plastic surgeon came to check on her handycraft. I was standing up, with my arms above my head, trying to pull the knots of of my tangled mane. There was some surprise in her on face at my standing upon her arrival, I knew i was supposed to be laying down, I knew i was supposed to be not brushing my hair. And I was alone for the first time in quite a while, since for some reason my party of seven had dispersed. MU and Jeff and were probably making out somewhere in an unoccupied patient room. Dave and JT were probably outside smoking. My dad probably gave JT another business card. Mom was somewhere in a grey Chevy Malibu.

Ironically, this over night stay in "The Walk In the Park" was just that. Thanks to my friends Jeff and MU, even though those bitches won't give me back my keys right now and are suspect for hair product thief. Their timely arrival on the morning of the surgery, high spirits, energy and support helped to save not only save my sanity, but also save my sanity. I would had been a anxious nervous wreck. I am now in debt a legion of hj's.

I also couldn't have made it through this day/week with out JT. He woke up historically early and stayed close enough to me for the longest periods of time over the course of the day after, night after and days of recovery at gpeeps. JT is the only the person I need to see everyday. He's my ET.

My father jumped through hoops and took lashes to the back side with my drugged out dissatisfaction. But all his efforts were executed perfectly and are appreciated. Sometimes you know, men do the right things, go figure. And as stated above, we have this priceless photo to enjoy.

My mom was there to love me. I love you too mom.

BW. I didn't want to shatter your innocence by having you too close to the situation, but your availability at the right moments was crucial.

Everybody who came to the party, or gave me a face book "notification", email, text message, cards, flowers, etc. Thank you, I was living for that feedback all week.

Its been one week exactly. I'm already considering popping into work for a few hours, but maybe tomorrow. But tomorrow I'm also going to DELUX meeting, and the Art D member meeting. . .

Whoa.

Breath.

Awakening

In my mind there was two seconds from the time they inserted the iv and the moment i woke up mutilated, immobile, tubes and wires stemming from every wound. I was padded with cotton and this antithesis of sexy tank top bra that Velcro's at the shoulders. So I didn't have that dreaded "oh my god" my tits are gone feeling. Because actually there still are some bumps there.

MU, Jeff, JT, and my Dad where there. I know i was being a bitch. The bed was poorly designed. The buttons where ill placed, and someone made the mistake of giving me a little red button that allowed me to call upon an unsuspecting nurse at my whim. I couldn't do anything on my own. And the drugs make it very difficult to speak clearly. So people say "what?" and you mumble "hand me that please." then they say "what" again. And then you have to be like "god damnit whore give me some fucking water" Ok not really but after the third time, thats pretty much what my tone insinuated.

Behind the Center Doors

I wish i could remember more of the nurses names, but I can't. So I'm going continue to refer to them by description only. The Filipino nurse who called me into the back was the first to spend time with me. Take my blood pressure and all that pre-press bullshit. She set me up on the gurney.

A few things I didn't know they did during surgery:



Those blue things go on your legs. They alternate compression to circulate your blood while you're in the OR. The paper blanket with little gay blue bears on it connects to a hose (the hose previously mentioned in an earlier post I didn't want to imagine its purpose) The blanket fills up with warm air to keep your body temperature slightly higher than usual. Its sort of like a swimming pool raft.

My dad finally came back to stay with me before the hooked up the iv and knocked me out. And yep he had his camera. Starting to realize how very similar we are. In the moments before surgery I told him the story of how i got involved with art in St. Louis. I hadn't really realized how very far removed I've been from my family since my escape to college. This is perhaps the first time they've actually met me. As the me I am now, as a rebellious adult. Rather than a rebellious teenager. I'd like to think I've refined the process just a bit over that last 12 years.

D Day

I woke up around 5am. An hour before MU and Jeff were scheduled to show up and drag me out of bed.
As the day approached I had envisioned Jeff hog tying me, throwing me over his shoulder and dragging me kicking and screaming into the car. But when the witching hour arrived, there wasn't much fight left in me. Fortunately, I have these three friends, who whenever we are together, no matter what we are doing, we are partying. Laughing, screaming, yelling, making obscene jokes, laughing, did i mention making obscene jokes. The middle finger gets flashed a lot. We all find this hilarious. And as if we are going to roll out of town on the road trip of the century MU, Jeff, JT, and I pile in Jeff's car. My car gets loaded with some of the items I had thought to pack. To be picked up later on mission "get jenn to wildwood"

JT and I crash in the back seat, repeatedly singing, T.I.'s "Steady chasing the paper, Oh oh oh oh, just live your life", instead of logical conversation. We make it around the block. I forgot my insurance card. We roll back around one more time, "oh oh oh oh , just live your life...." I jump out and grab my wallet. BW is still pulling away. I press my hand to the glass of the back window, much like those scenes on life time movies, when the girl next door moves away forever from her grade school crush. This is quite possibly the end of all that business, i think, maybe, who knows confusion ensues, but is over shadowed by more important situations. And maybe I'll talk KM into "feelin it" so he can be happy."

The ride there is laced with sexual innuendoes, more laughter. Its quite a drive, mostly because of the 40 shut down. But even still, to us deep city kids, Creve Coeur is straight up out of town. We are little early, so we stop at Starbucks. Of course, I can't have anything. But Jeff and MU needed a little pick me up to make it through the rest the day after I went in, there was still much to be done.

Funny thing about cancer. Is that stereotypically, its for old people. So the waiting room is quiet. Very quiet. Very somber and grave. Until we get there. Still laughing, still joking, still singing that blasted T.I. song (boy are we annoying with that shit). But how can one freak out when they are having a little pre-operation party in the waiting room. Giggling, I approach the counter. Sign here, sign there, pay this, pay that. My father shows up in a suit and tie. With his business leather binder filled with organized information. He joins the party. Probably a little confused as to why we are all having so much fun.

It didn't take long before a tiny Filipino nurse came to the waiting room with a clip board, and my name rolled off her tongue. "Jenn Carter."

"Oh wait, everyone just went outside. I can i go say bye?" I say, as i look at her and then look outside where Jeff and JT went to smoke. They should really quite that shit.

I walk outside, hug JT, tell him I love him, hug Jeff, tell him i want to sleep with him (this is our code for I love you in our little way) I got back in hug MU, hug my father. The three party people have to get going to work and mission stage two. So now its just me. And Dave is left in the waiting room until he's called back.

One of the first things the nurse asks is, "Is this your family?"

MU matter of factly explains, "We're her BFF's"

"Did she really just say that?" JT smirks.

Yeah, so um, they are like my family, labels aren't important. I slip through the swinging door, and everyone but my father heads out the front doors.

Nurse turns to me and says "Is he in a band?"

"Ha, no." I shake my head because this is common misconception. "He should be though, huh, but he's an artist. Similar, but without the band."

JT BW AND JC go to the pool.

I had been trying to go the pool for the past three days. For starters, its hot as bloody hell outside. And for more obviously reasons: I wanted to get wet and bask in the sun one last time. My new fitness center is in the first level of an overpriced apartment complex. There is a quaint but absolutely sufficient outdoor pool. If you go in through the front you can pretty much bring in whoever you want through the back gate.

We all woke up fairly early. Enjoyed some freezer pops. For some reason JT boiled a couple of eggs and pulled out some left over salsa and chips from the party the night before. JR woke up and I was reminded of his burlesque performance just a few hours earlier. For a moment there in my morning haze I had forgotten about it. JT and I polished off the rest of the beer in the fridge. I finished the bottle of wine in the the condiment door rack. JT kept magically coming up with PBR's. (they were in the cooler) And we rocked out to some whitesnake, journey, def lepard, a few other awesomely bad 80's hair bands as we got ready for the pool. BW graciously decided to join us. You never know with him, he's always got to run off and do something less fun than our typical J-days. But, turns out his trunks were in his car. We all three piled in my wagon and headed to the pool. Rocking out to the new Cage album. JT and I pretty much have all the words memorized. So BW was assaulted with our singing as we made the trek to union and lindell. Cage makes me drive fast.

"Are we in some kind of hurry?" BW exclaims in the calmest possible voice.

"Yep. its hot as fuck" JT and JC say in unison. Then go back to screaming "Its like god opened the sky and handed you directly to meeeeeee, i know it sounds crazy but so is life, i'm sinking...."

We enjoy the water, the hot bitches, the happy inner-tubed children as long as we can handle it. Since it was about 2 by this point and no one had really eaten. We decide to get out dry off and go to Guidos, a fantastic spanish italian spot on the shaw in the hill. In no position to be frugal as I assumed over the next couple of weeks I'd probably not be spending much money, we order calamari, caprese salad, vodka tonics, and that that expensive italian beer JT likes to drink. BW got a couple of Heinekens, and more carbohydrates than JT and I had consumed in the last month. We are the only people in the place, so are allowed to wild out as we saw fit.

"You know you have to spend the entire day with us, don't you." We both say to BW.

"Huh?" as if he didn't know.

"Yep." another unison JT JC response.

BW sighs.... But submits to our day of fun.

One hundred dollars later, and a twenty dollar tip, I sign my name, and declare that having to bf's is fucking expensive. A joke that is funny because its true.

We head to the apartment. Where JT takes his mid J-day nap. And BW and I decide to go take care of a few things in his new shit hole apartment. (ok actually its really really nice, my jealously is through the roof, and I can't move in to the extra units, one because JT won't move to cherokee, and two because then i'd feel way on the stalker side.)

Big skip in the details here.....

Fast forward to us hearing his neighbors rocking out on drums and guitars. BW's neighbors are the two hottest lesbian chicks. Period. In all the world. LS is an amazing painter (with work in LAIC) and her partner stephanie rocks it on the drums, but also the guitar. They switch on and off. Just moved in from Chicago. Knowing I wasn't going to be able to hang with them and forge our new lifelong friendship for a few months, I immediately pounded on the door. They offered us wine and a little bit of green party favors. And we hang out long enough to convince them to rock it out again for a few. "We haven't played in month's, we're just warming up." LS modestly says. Shut up bitch you know you kick ass. Damn.

Some how we convince them to come back to my place because i've got a friend stopping by and they were out of cigarettes. So we caravan to QT, BW grabs some keystone (asshole) and we show up at my place to find my friend SV whining on the deck with JT. I spend some time feeling up SV's rack, she pisses off the chicks, which was actually quite hilarious, and as 11:59 approaches (my expiration date) I put down my last beer for a month. Say bye to the ladies, and pull BW to bed, leaving JT alone to see if he couldn't tap SV's ass. (he didn't by the way, she's impossible to penetrate).

The last Harrah.

Grammar disclaimer: I'm on valium and davarset. So this is a bit difficult.

I'm writing this post operation since the last week has been a crazy whirl wind of activity and emotion. The morning started with me waking up extremely angry at BW. I Told him to get the fuck out of my house, then had a panic attack on the back deck, then laid down in the shower for ten minutes. Then regaining my sanity sightly I burst into JT's room. "Get up!" I scream, "We're going to breakfast." He moans and turns back over. "Get up we are going to Rooster they have over 20 types of bloody marys." Boy do I know how to get that dude out of bed. So after some stumbling and grumbling we both drag ourselves out to my car and headed to Locust street where i had planned to meet several of my college Lacrosse team mates.

Knowing you're going to be down and out for several months is a great incentive to do all those things you say you'll do but don't always follow through with. So when a few of my colleges buds showed up to the Large and In Charge and we said we should go the the park and throw around, damn it we were going to the park. And when I found out Julie Whitman was in town and that we should all go to breakfast, damn it, we were getting up and going to breakfast. Even if it was at 9 in the morning and I was having a party in a couple of hours.

So Rooster on Locust is a cool spot, there are cocks everywhere. Right up my alley. Unfortunately, I was terribly hungover. And after a bloody that i loaded up with tobasco and rooster sauce, I threw up at the table. I was really subtle about it and no one noticed. JT even yelled at me for stealing his napkin. So breakfast was not so good, but it was good to see some old friends. Next headed to the store to haphazardly throw some food and beer into the cart at a puling attempt to feed the party goers. Cantaloupe, watermelon, chips and salsa, colt forty five (because it works every time), a thirty pack of highlife (because its the champaign of beers), and a pinky swear not to buy any hard liquor, and a giant bag of ice.

After we got back the crazy J's, jt and jc started the party. A couple of hours later some people showed up. Aliah and Eddie Holman, my gansta "boss" coworker and her recently obtained husband (the luckiest man on the planet in my own opinion) show up with a big brown bag of wing stop. Followed by the Weavers. And then Emily, a beloved ex co-worker now with child who husband just made it into the FBI. She'll be leaving town soon. After the early arrivals, I sort of lost track. The main high light of the evening was JR's lap dance in stripped man panties. I don't have any photos of that. And didn't remember until i was reminded in the morning while enjoying a mid-morning freezer pop.

I tried to burn my bras. But bras of these days are made out of synthetic materials. So they don't really burn. They just sort of melt. Which doesn't really have the same feminist impact. I just ended up ruining my favorite popcorn bowl.

There's many more photos of the party. Most of them involve boobs. Go fucking figure huh. They aren't on my camera. We'll post those later, when I get back home.

Xrays and Blood work

Woke up this morning at the regular time. Sat half way up and squinted towards the alarm clock. A floating red blur gradually sharpened into fuzzy numbers. 6:57. boo. I drag myself out of bed. Say "bye." And head down Kingshighway, the only road I ever drive all the way from Page to Gravois, back and fourth over and over.

This habitual journey switches my brain into auto pilot. I got home, got dressed, brushed my teeth, let the the dog out on the back porch, yelled box a hundred times, until balla scurried into my room jumped on bed, shut the door to my bedroom, and headed down the stairs to my car. Just like every morning I pulled out of my parking spot, turned left on to klemm, right on magnolia, right on tower grove, veer right on to vandevender. I see my boss on the way in at the high way left turn lane. Sometimes I stop here to get on the high way. But since she was there, and i was headed straight to work, I thought I'd use this opportunity to see which direction was faster. I get stuck at quite a few lights and behind a few left hand turners. But still get there right as AH is dropped her heeled foot to the cracked and littered asphalt. Pretty much a tie. I head to the elevator, hit 3, say hi t to the receptionist, to stacy, to Ah, sit down, start my computer, eat a granola bar, check my email, open this blog to proof read last nights entry, and then look up at the calender.

Xrays and blood work, eight thirty. Oh. yeah. woops. Call my favorite surgery scheduling nurse, Jackie, "Hey, Jackie, Jenn Carter, here, so i totally flaked on the appointment, can you fit me in?"

Drugs and medical apparatuses

6 drains that get emptied, measured and recorded 3 times a day.
pain pump (3 days)
Ibuprofen
Valium (fuck yeah)
Dramamine
Peri Colace (so you can poop on all these drugs)
Darvaocet N100
Percocet (oxycodone)
Amoxicillin Clavulanate (antibacterial)
Mupirocin (Ointment)

Ten Minutes Ago at Home: a tiny slice of j3

“Yeah that could be,” Jeremy says as he paces through the hallway.
“well.” He pivots and races back through to the kitchen.
“yeah” stands still in front of the tv and scratches his head
“your right.”
Pause while other is talking....
“But by far no arrests have been made.”
another long pause with lots of pacing.
“ok “
Word from the speaker.
“Alright thanks dana.”

Click on the phone.

With out missing a beat “well dana tells me that they got a call from some black guy, wrong number. Dana was thinking maybe they got the number from my laptop. I don’t know what would a bunch of seventeen to twenty two year old guys do with a computer that only had half a cord.” Pondering on that for a moment, then continues, “The enterprising criminal would have tried to extract some information.” And making one more pass to the hallway and back. “Who knows maybe they are sitting on it.”

“Yeah sure,” I say as I look up, its hard to type he’s talking so damned fast, I wonder if should ask him to repeat the last line, so i could be sure get it right. But I didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that i was typing his words.

“If you're a pawn shop owner and some kids bring you a lap top and they give them a certain amount. Have you ever been to a pawn shop? I wonder if they do sell lap tops at these places? The motivation is to acquire something valuable for no work.” Jeremy then enters the bathroom.

Beautiful, calm, silence falls over the apartment.
I can hear the birds outside and my own thoughts in my head again.