Anatomy of a Haircut

Nurses are wonderful creatures (for the most part).

But they are not perfect either.

*sigh*

Unfortunately, I recently went under the knife TWICE in the month of June, in the year of our Lord two thousand fourteen.

Wasn't too pleasant on my part.

The first operation was the result of me falling down several times in one week's time. When my oncologist learned of this new "symptom" didn't he send me to directly to the hospital! The nerve of that man. I didn't even get to pass Go or collect any amount of dollars. 

I went DIRECTLY to the hospital (aka Jail).

It was decided after many scans and such that I needed some major fusing in my lumbar vertebrae. 

Whee.

But lo! I recovered well from the operation and was up and walking  (with a walker) in no time. And the cancer pain that was excruciating and also making me fall down?

G.O.N.E.

Yessirree! That hardware stuck in my lower back done did the trick!

Happy happy.

They released me four days after the big operation. 

Happy, happy, joy, joy.

But, something was still amiss because I couldn't function. Oh, I had no more pain, but I was so extremely lethargic and woozy. I couldn't even form sentences without dozing off after the fourth or fifth word. Witnesses claim that my eyes kept rolling into the back of my head and that all I did was sleep. I didn't eat, I pooped a couple of times IN BED, but that was about all I did.

Note to YOU: pooping in bed is NOT highly recommended. EVER.

*sigh*

So my husband knew something was very, very wrong and he called 911.

And then my room was crowded with all these men! Ugh. And they rough-handled me. They put an i.v. in my arm that HURT! And then they shuffled me onto a gurney and into a truck that I don't believe had any shock absorbers. I felt every single bump and bounced along my way back to the hospital, just three measly days since I had been released.

*double sigh*

Now I was so out of it that I truly do not know what all the tests they did this time around, all I knew was that I was out of it.

Majorly.

Anyhoo, apparently in the middle of all my cancer drama another body organ decided she was being ignored and was not going to stand for it anymore.

Whoo-wee.

I had my gall-bladder removed.

Yep. The gall-bladder wench was angry, so she went bah-bye.

I was mad.

No other body parts have my blessing to fall apart on me. I already have metastatic breast cancer. That's enough folks. More than enough. Body? You'd better be listening to me, cuz I mean it dog-gone-it!

Well that was pretty much my month of June, in the year of our Lord two thousand fourteen.

Thank heavens that is over.

But now I'm doing something even scarier (for me).

Chemo.

Yep, the oncologist decided that because the cancer had basically crushed my vertebrae: L3 and L4, which resulted in me needing a back fusion, that we also needed to do something "more."

More equals chemo.

So I've got two doses of chemo under my belt and I'm not too sick! Which is very good news. Which also means I think I just jinxed myself.

Whee.

No this poison should not make me lose my hair nor toss my cookies.

I've only thrown up once.

Yay me!

But the hair.

Oh yeah, back to the hair.

The reason for this long rambling post.

Well. The "second" hospital visit, or as I call it, the gall bladder eviction visit had another serious and horrifying consequence.

Like I said nurses are not perfect.

They do have a lot to do, and a lot to remember to do for a goodly number of patients.

I get it.

I do.

But when a patient is sooo out of it that she (or he) cannot think for herself (or himself)? Then sometimes the nurse needs to THINK for the patient.

And mine didn't.

And I had plenty of nurses coming and going as I spent day after day after day there.

*sigh*

I went into the hospital with long, slightly grey-highlighted, black hair.

I came home with long, slightly grey-highlighted, black, matted hair like a dog.

I kid you not.

I had no clue and I wish that at least a nurse had reminded me: "Oh, have a friend or your husband comb your hair, if you haven't been doing it on your own."

Because I hadn't been doing it on my own.

Not even.

And it was disgusting. I could not believe the number and how huge my matted knots were. How did this happen? How could this have happened?

How could I have let this happen?

I'll tell you how.

I was fuzzy minded to the nth degree. I had a terrible time even forming thoughts during that second visit. The fuzzy just wouldn't go away! Maybe having gone under general anaesthesia THREE times in two weeks time? Maybe that had something to do with it.

Maybe.

My second day home from my final hospital visit, I went to a hair salon and the only solution?

Chop it all off.

And now I am sporting an incredibly short hair style. I haven't had hair this short since I was a young girl!

Oh well.

I'm not angry at the nurses, but so very saddened that this happen.

So that's how Quirky got her hair cut.

The future holds many unexpected things.

Yep.

*sigh*

And evolution? Not all that it's cracked up to be.

I never imagined myself "evolutionizing" into such a short do!

But I do now.

Before Hospitalization

After Hospitalization

If You Insist-eth...

On knowing my bliss....

Sound familiar?

Yes, it's partial lyrics from only the greatest band duo evah! Hall and Oats.

Yep.

You read it here first.

However, what is not "first" is my shock back in the day when I first heard Rich Girl by only the greatest band duo evah! and heard the word b*tch in the lyrics.

Whoa Nellie!

What did he just sing?

Yeah, I was that naive.

Still am.

However, do not paint a picture of a Sandie-face dotted cheeky red in your precious mind.

Oh no.

That did not come until much later.

Much.

And we didn't have Proactive back in those days.

Ahem.

No, nothing really embarrassed me (or at least nothing I feel like fessing up to) until this....

Pew-Weeeeeee!

Oh, Madonna.

Haven't ye got-eth anything better-eth to do-eth?

Like shave-eth?

Ewwwww-eth!

Oh, the unforgivable loss of innocence!

How it hurt-eth!

Like a bitch-eth.

So....

Vertebroplasties are not all they are "cracked" up to be. Pun intended since cancer has cracked my bone, specifically Lumbar #4. And other unwelcome cancer carbuncles are growing like a grape vine around, above, below and within my Lumbars #3 and #5. Anyhoo, the vertebroplasty was supposed to alleviate my lower back (actually it's BUTT) pain.

Whee.

Bottom (pun intended) line?

I still have pain.

Mucho pain.

So I've got a new doctor to help manage my pain.

And I'm so happy to add another doctor to my already incredibly long list of doctors. Ahem.

Okay, I should be grateful.

And I am.

Sort of.

I'll tell you who is NOT grateful.

My buttocks.

Because it seems as though they think they are rock stars on a tour where they can't wait to show everyone what they got. *cue guitar riff* Welcome to the jungle!

Yeesh.

If I have to show ONE MORE DOCTOR my buttocks? I'm going to have start charging a fee.

Yeesh.

So yesterday, I went for my second shot of steroids to hopefully (keep your fingers crossed) help alleviate this butt/hip scorching pain.

What I didn't count on was hearing his excitement as he told his assistant during the procedure, "See that's the spot where the needle needs to be. Let me dig in there a little bit more."

Yikes.

Then I feel his hand on my buttock pushing and kneading apparently doing the digging. He used a giant ex ray machine so he could see everything as he guided or dug the needle in to my sweet, unyielding flesh. At least that is how I have always envisioned it to be. I don't want to know if he saw it differently. Welcome to the jungle....?

Double yikes.

So they got to where they needed to be finally and injected the precious steroid.

Let's hope shot number two works! Unfortunately, shot number one didn't do diddly squat!

Lately, I've been wishing more and more that I drank alcohol.

I'm pretty sure a tall glass of cold beer would go down ever so sweetly.

I can almost imagine the taste.

But wait.

I've got something better!

My faithful Diet Dr. Pepper.

Ah!

Hey, us Cancer VETS learn not to be choosy.

We'll take what we can get.

*burp*

Cement, Shellac or even Super Glue!

Just do it already.

Apparently, my lumbar #3, not to be confused with lumbar #4 that I got radiated last spring, has decided to become a bugaboo.

Yep, she's done fractured herself on me.

*sigh*

And how did she accomplish such a feat?

Let's just say she had some unwanted and unwelcome company who did the dirty deed. Some "extra" cells that aren't friendly and cause lots of mischief in general aka cancer.

*sigh*

Anyhoo, so the very unwelcome cancer made an unexpected appearance on lumbar #3 and started growing there. Then she got so hungry that she chewed through my bone! Hence, causing a fracture. Hence, pain. Hence, mucho pain.

When the doctor told me, my first thoughts were to damn my boys. Why?

"Don't step on the crack, or you'll break your Mother's back!"

Me thinks they've been step cracking.

A lot.

Well the solution to this problem is cement.

Yes, I will be getting an injection of cement straight to lumbar #3 to fix the fracture.

I don't care what they use: cement, shellac or even super glue.

Just fix me up, baby.

NOW.

please?




B.S. No syringes were harmed during the production of this post.

Nothing to Moo About

You know what?

It's been a really rough year.

And yes, it's barely started.

I want to go back to 2013!

Yeesh.

Long story short: shots in the buttocks have some wicked side effects. Like intense hip, bone, muscle, joint pain by the boatloads.

I thought I had pain before?

Whoo-wee.

I was wrong.

So I've finally given in to the heavy drugs and started taking some. You see I know I have an addictive personality, so I have to be very careful whilst ingesting pain killers.

They might end up being a one-way ticket to La La Land. That would not be a good thing. Or maybe it would. Hmm.

Maybe I should "relax baby, let it happen."

Why is that line so funny to me?

Probably because of the straight shot of joy Percy is giving me.

Oh Percy! (aka Percocet or Percy-kins)

How you make my heart swoon!

And my blood pressure raise slightly, but who's keeping track?

My new relationship with Percocet is still in the beginning stages. We're being cautious. We only show our good sides to each other. And Percy-kins has me floating in the clouds. It's so peaceful! I'm walking on sunshine. Oh yeah, baby. It's delish.

But you know how it goes. After enough time, you start to take each other for granted, you start burping and farting in front of each other and then one day you'll startle yourself and ask: where are the clouds? Where did they go? When did that feeling leave? Because something has changed and I'm not sure I like it anymore. Is Percy-kins getting tired of me? Is he tired of trying? Did he.... find someone else?

*thud*

Say it isn't so!

Because that's spooky and definitely nothing to moo about.

"Moo."

Who did that? Come on now. That was not very nice.

And if you're not nice to me, I'll, I'll, I'll........ yeah, I'll........ you know.... sic 'em...... blub, blub, blub......

*snores*




B.S. No blub, blub, blub, blub, lah-dee-dah-dee-doooooooo...!