There’s Something about Derby…

This is how we do it. Also, not entirely sure my helmet fits.

Roller derby makes me feel like it’s ok to wear an outfit like that horrific ensemble to the left there….and that nobody will laugh at me or make me feel like a whale, or point out that my control top pantyhose is TOTALLY SHOWING or tell me that just because Derby Skinz come in a size XXXL doesn’t mean that I should ACTUALLY WEAR THEM.

It allows a girl like me, who is not model skinny and most of the time is hiding in yoga pants and big baggy sweatshirts and hoping to the good Lord that nobody is looking at my VPL or wondering why I don’t brush my hair more often, to feel like it’s ok to wear whatever the hell I want because everyone else is wearing what they want and I can be confident that despite the fact that those shorts are super tiny, they show that I have the balls to WEAR WHAT I WANT, THANK YOU VERY MUCH.

I wish real life was like that. On our way home last night, I hadn’t bothered to change out of the outfit before we got in the car…and we stopped at a rest stop.

The girl who was standing at the sink while I was washing my hands looked at me like I had lost my damned mind, and said “Why on earth would you wear that?”

I wish my answer had been “Because I don’t care what anyone else thinks and I do what I like and what makes me feel awesomesauce”, but I just looked at her and walked out.

Why can’t I have derby pride in my regular life? I sound all big and bad sometimes, but honestly when confronted, I’d rather just walk away and crawl back into my hole and cry. I need to have balls more often. (hahaha)

ANYWAY! This weekend was totally awesome, and will merit its own post, because that ish was BANANAS.

But this past Thursday, I heard from the Scary Doctor and I AM ALL CLEAN OF CANCER. I won’t have to ever see her again (barring unforeseen circumstances) and I don’t have to have another person poke my girly parts with sharp things for another 6 months! I AM SO EXCITED.

And I lost 8 pounds (down to 246), but that’s not as exciting :)

Not changing the goals this week, going to try and work harder on making the first goals HABITS and then add more next week.

HAPPY MONDAY EVERYBODY!

In Which I Go To the Hospital. 3 Times.

Looney Tunes

Image via Wikipedia

WARNING: This entire post is pretty much TMI. I usually don’t talk about bodily functions (my momma taught me that wasn’t ladylike and for some reason it stuck) but I figured I would make an exception to tell you guys how it goes to have surgery. For me, at least.

For those of you just joining us, Here’s the Cliff Notes:

  • I have cervical cancer. (This, Stage III to be specific. Carcinoma In Situ, I believe the technical term is.)
  • It sucks.
  • I’m just about done with people camping out in my nether regions and making hemming and hawing noises and then giving me bad news.
  • I had one of these on February 1st, and have been informed that I will no longer need to have a hysterectomy, as the biopsy results came back with clean edges. (Translation: all the bad crap is gone.)

The morning of the procedure, I was the tiny dog in the old Looney Tunes commercials, hopping around Chef as he slowly got ready. I had had approximately 3 hours of fitful sleep in our lovely SCCA housing room, as I was battling the tail end of a cold and was super worried I was going to die because they told me the day before in our pre-op appointments that a cough was really bad and I could go into bronchospasms and that would be bad and I usually have all of the bad stuff they describe in the medical journals happen to me.

Plus a dead dismembered bird fell out of the sky on our car the day before surgery and I was pretty sure that was a bad omen.

So I finally get all of our stuff out of the room (hi, chronic over-packer here! Packed a full duffle bag for an overnight for two people!) and into the car and we show up an hour early for my surgery.

So I have plenty of time to talk myself into hysterics that I am going to die and the last thing I had said to my mom may or may not have been rude.

Aside: Chef deserves a party, a parade, the key to the city and possibly his own holiday for putting up with me during this.

So when they finally roll me back into the pre-op rooms, I am in a full-blown panic. Chef’s eyes are permanently stuck up in his skull from rolling them at me for a full hour and I’m pretty sure everyone thinks we’re total freaks because I’m hysterically crying and hyperventilating.

Awesome way to start out.

Luckily, my gyn-oncologist is one of the more patient and amazing people on the planet, and came in within 5 minutes of me getting settled into a bed and told me that they would give me Valium. (They never actually gave me any, unless that came after the mind-erasing drugs.)

After she left came a parade of nurses (one of them was a former roller derby girl!) and 3 anesthesiologists (2 residents and a doctor? It’s a teaching hospital. I had a lot of 12 year olds peeking at my lady parts. Awesome.) and the only part I really remember before we got into the OR was that my drug doctor knew my BFF (they went to school together) and it took SIX STABS to get a freaking IV in.

Also, I would shut up, so they gave me Versed and also I had a spinal block so I wouldn’t go into bronchospasms and die.

Versed is quite lovely. I apparently talked all the way through my surgery, which made my gyn-onc laugh pretty hard.

So after the surgery, Chef and I got to sit around in the post-op area (a bunch of curtained-off rooms) to wait for my spinal to wear off so I could pee and go home. (Those were my word-for-word instructions. Walk, then pee, then we can leave.)

We sat there for SIX HOURS.

I couldn’t have my cell phone in our tiny curtained prison, and Chef had only brought the one book…but at least he could walk out and go get food or play on the computer.

Six hours. And three attempts, one where I took out my tiny nurse who thought I was “not that big”. (Honey, I’m 100 pounds overweight. I’m “that big”.)

So after I wobbled my way to the restroom and did my business, they wheeled my happy butt out to the car for our 2+ hour drive home. I vaguely recall asking Chef to stop at a rest stop so I could stretch my legs and I fell over, but I slept most of the way home.

I was fine (read: stoned on painkillers) for three days, and then I decided to be macho and wean myself off the pills. I even drove myself (PERFECTLY SOBER) to deliver a cake to a friend’s birthday party in Seattle (90 minutes away) while trying to breathe through the pain (and stopping to throw up every 15 minutes).

I am not smart sometimes.

So Wednesday of last week, I had gotten to the point that the painkillers weren’t working. I was lying on the floor in the bathroom, dry heaving on Wednesday morning and Chef crouched down next to me, looked me in the eye and just said “Really?”

So someone (I can’t honestly remember who) drove me to the hospital and they decided that my bleeding (sorry, TMI) was their primary concern. They gave me some Dilaudid, a prescription for more painkillers, and said “Call your gynocologist in the morning”.

So they totally didn’t listen.

The Dialudid helped. Until about 10am the next morning, when I accidentally (read: on purpose, because I am an idiot) skipped a painkiller. And the pain came back and all I could do is speak in beeps, because I’m censoring myself in front of Chuck and try not to curse because I don’t want her doing what Short Stack did and saying “Fuck” in church at the age of 2.

Anyway.

So trip #3 to the hospital. 22 needle sticks later (including one in my THUMB for an IV…you’re welcome for that visual..and one in my NECK for a blood draw), 4 shots of Dilaudid later and one very impatient doctor, who I may/may not have informed I would beat him into submission with the watch he kept checking while I was talking, they finally figured it out.

The headache I assumed was caused by a 4 hour wait (in excruciating pain, not wholly unlike childbirth, except constant, not in waves like contractions) on the hard chairs in the ER waiting room….was actually the key.

I had a spinal fluid leak.

So they pulled some blood from my neck (the only place left they could find a vein) and jabbed it in my back (where the fluid was leaking from the spinal block they gave me for the original surgery) and voila! Less pain.

A LOT less pain. HOORAY!

Then I burned my hand on Valentine’s Day, but that’s a story for another time.

The end is nigh…

Emerald City ComiCon - Atomic Bombshells

Image by heath_bar via Flickr

So tomorrow bright and early, Chef and I will take off for the Emerald City so I can get sliced and diced and poked at again. Because my body is attempting to kill me. For those of you just joining us, that’s not a euphemism for something, I have cancer and it’s been just a pain in my proverbial pants (and sometimes my literal pants) to try and cut this thing out and get done so we can go do something else like bake more cupcakes, or play with the kids or organize our Relay for Life team… Luckily, I won’t have to have the Big Scary Surgery…maybe at all. The follow-up for the Big Scary Surgery and the Tiny Not Even A Surgery was the same, so I wussed out and went with the tiny one. Also, because I’d like to keep all of my body parts if I can. I find that to be an important goal in my life…along with staying alive and well. I’m trying really hard not to be morbid, but in my family, you always plan for the worst and hope for the best. Which is why I always overpack and then end up wearing 1/172 of what I brought. Also why Short Stack never finishes the lunches I pack him. They’re usually pretty epic and enough food for 2 small children who just ran all over the playground for 3 days straight. So, in case I don’t make it back….thanks for reading :)

Merry Christmas! You’re fired.

Augustin Théodule Ribot: The cook and the cat

Image via Wikipedia

So Chef and I knew this was coming….

2 weeks ago, his boss pulled him aside and (totally bawling in a very non-chef like manner) tells him that as of the first of the year, Chef will be “underemployed.”

Definition of underemployed according to Googleemployed only part-time when one needs full-time employment or not making full use of your skills.

Definition of underemployed according to Chef’s boss: not working right now because there are no banquets or business, so maybe in March we’ll revisit the situation and hire you back but then again maybe not, but we really like you and wish we could keep you.

This morning when Chef arrived at work, his boss pulls him aside again and says he (and everyone else that ranks below him in seniority) has been removed from the schedule as of THIS MONDAY.

So Merry Christmas, Chef is fired, and I’m canceling Christmas.

This comes the day after the scary doctor calls and flips out because I am not scheduled for a huge massive life-changing surgery like she recommended. So all in all, it’s been a very interesting day.

I would like to inform the Universe that I have a very low tolerance for any more fuckery during this holiday season. This means there will be a moratorium on the following (and this is by no means a comprehensive list):

  • dying (seriously, if even another of my HOUSEPLANTS dies, I’m going to lose my shit and wander into traffic in my bathrobe with a stewpot on my head.)
  • arrested-ness (no job = no money for bail, people. I’ll come visit you though. You’ll look smashing in drab green or bright orange, depending on where you get locked up.)
  • Christmas trees bursting into face-melting flames (this hasn’t happened. Yet. This Christmas) or falling on small children (again, hasn’t happened)
  • cars getting hit in random snow storms (seriously, the LEAST you can do is write down the license plate and ATTEMPT to apologize for wrecking our car.)
  • getting suspended from school (only 1 more day of school for Short Stack, so I think we’re in the clear on this one…)

So in conclusion, I am tired of Christmas exploding its fake cheer everywhere and crapping all over my house every year.

The End.

Scary Doctor Confuses a Who

IMG_4396

Image by Jack_Herrick via Flickr

So I got a phone call from the scary doctor yesterday. Well, the nurse actually. She was flipping out because I had not scheduled myself in for the Big Scary Surgery that I was under the impression that I did not have to have, due to the very ambiguous voicemail the doctor left 2 months ago, and then never returned my calls to clarify.

Here’s the exact transcript of the voicemail she left me after all of the testing and blood draws and poking and prodding they did in October:

Hi [Mia], this is [scary doctor] calling with your test results. It looks like…um…it looks like everything is clear. I still am recommending [the big scary surgery], but there’s no rush on that. Call my office and we’ll schedule you sometime next year.

So what I got from that was “there’s no need to schedule your surgery right away, relax. The cancer is not going to kill you tomorrow.”

So now they want me to go in for some procedure I don’t really understand, despite Googling the crap out of it. The side effects just sound scary and the greatest part of the whole surgery is that it might not even work and then I’d have to get radiation or possibly chemo and the whole point of having THIS procedure rather than the big scary one is because I don’t want to lose that particular part of my body just yet.

I would also like to point out that this is CANCER which I am under the impression is pretty SERIOUS and TIME-SENSITIVE and I swear to God, if I die, I’m expecting somebody to get pissed on my behalf because at that point, I probably won’t care anymore.

Also, I really hope I don’t have to have chemo because I hear it sucks. (I have nothing witty to say about chemo.)

So for a few days in January, I’ll be in the hospital in Seattle if anyone wants to come visit….and Chef will be hanging out either in the hospital housing or in my room and will probably need a break if anyone wants to steal him.

Merry Christmas, I would like to not have any more stupid things happen, OK???

More Random! (Are you surprised?)

Auberge Nicolas Flamel, oldest restaurant in Paris

Image by Chris Devers via Flickr

Hi! I have been busting my face so hard on cake stuff this weekend that I can’t put two thoughts together to write an actual blog post. SO! Here are a few things on my mind this morning:

1. The lovely lady behind getthewordsout posted some pictures of Alison Sudol of a fine frenzy this morning, and now I am completely obsessed with having redder hair.

2. I outdid myself this weekend with my cakes…one was a Ouija board wedding cake, and I knocked out a Sorting Hat cake in about 90 minutes this morning (construction & frosting, not baking/cooling). I’m pretty convinced this is my thing.

3. I recently discovered Bakerella and her Cake Pop Revolution, and I am FLOORED that I have not known about this whole idea before. I have massive amounts of leftover cake from all of the carving I did this weekend, so I will be making epic amounts of cake pops this afternoon.

4. A few of you mentioned a few things you’d like to see Chef teach you. In his teaching queue is how to slice a pomegranate and how to make a hollandaise (Without breaking it). Anyone else? Otherwise, we’ll just start doing a bunch of kitchen basics. Maybe we should do a “how to put out a fire” segment.

5. For those of you who don’t know, I have a Facebook fan page for my cake/cupcake business. Running a contest over there right now, with some pretty awesome prizes!

6. I still need to post about Chuck’s birthday because I have a related giveaway and I’d like you guys to have the prize before it gets lost in my kitchen or used up. I need to find my camera cord or my card reader.

7. OMGWTFLOLBBQLMNOP. When the hell is my doctor going to call with the results from my damned “are my girl parts trying to kill me or not” test??? Seriously, it’s been 2 weeks and I’m afraid my inner workings are rebelling and trying to murder me quicker than scheduled. And I’m not cool with that.

ANYWAY! Hope you are all having a fantabulous Monday, and I will try to gather brain cells to write an actual blog post and maybe post a recipe and a review like I’ve been promising to do FOREVER. xo!

ps – for those of you just joining the party, that restaurant has nothing to do with anything specific. It’s some random picture that WordPress thought I would enjoy with my post, and I usually pick the one that has the least to do with the post :) You’re welcome.

Captain Question

Today was a hard day.

I’ve been researching the hell out of this microinvasion cervical cancer thing, because I feel knowledge is the best weapon in cases like this. The internet is a great resource, and after a morning of surfing while Chuck played with the remote, I felt better.

My doctor meant well enough, in trying to inform me the best he could. But for a man who delivers babies and usually gives good news, having to tell someone their reproduction had come to an end because their baby cooker has gone haywire must be uncomfortable.

If someone reading this ever has a similar problem, my one piece of advice is to ask questions. Lots of questions. And don’t be afraid to ask what you might think is a dumb question, because you need that information so you’re not shocked by things like the fact that you can’t have nail polish on when you go in to get a hysterectomy, or that you’ll have to have radiation afterwards.

Ask questions until you’re sated. Then ask one more. Then make sure you have a number where the doctor can be reached when you have some more questions.

I’m carrying a spiral reporter-style notebook around and writing down questions if I’m not near a computer. I just want to be well-informed when I get to the oncologist.

It pays to learn…cuz knowledge is power! (what’s that from??)

Fuck Cancer. For serious.

For those of you not following my incessant babbling on twitter, I found out today that I have cancer.

it was kind of an odd experience…me, sitting there pants-less with a piece of wax paper stuck to my butt, covering my bits with a sheet that has the transparency of tracing paper while my nerdy doctor tells me that my baby-making equipment has malfunctioned and is trying to kill me.

the conversation went something like this:

me: so what was the result of the pathology thingy?

doc: uh…..well….

me: I have cancer, don’t I.

doc: well, we removed the [medical terminology I don't remember], but the pathologist found a [more medical crap I don't recall, that included the term "micro cell invasion"].

me: the army is marching through my cervix?

doc: [trying to be serious] the cells are…

me: (totally interrupting) I have cancer.

doc: yeah.

me: (giggling uncontrollably) ok, so now what?

doc: [lots of words I wasn't listening to] and in 2 wks when the 2nd opinion comes back, we’ll send you to the oncologist, and she’ll most likely recommend a hysterectomy.

me: ……

doc: so let’s take a look.

I’ll spare you the rest.

So i told Chef, and he switched into Super Helpful mode and spent most of today distracting me and making me laugh. which is awesome.

I tell Mommy Dearest, and she gets mad at me. My family is so messed up. She is under the impression that somehow this is my fault.

Bizarre.

And then she proceeds to tell me that I shouldn’t tell anyone but my closest friends about this and that I need to take down the facebook post because her FRIENDS can SEE IT and that is not something they need to know, for god’s sake!

so I deleted it, AND all of her friends :)

question for today: would you tell your internet friends if you had cancer? would you be ok with your kids telling theirs (after they told you, of course)?

All images, ideas and text here is property of Mia Cupcake/Bruises in the Frosting, unless otherwise noted. Please do not copy without express permission from blog author.
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