Surgery, schmurgery

Anesthesia is so weird. One second you're all, "Hey doc, love the new clogs," and then next, you're like, "Where am I?" "Why am I not wearing a bra?"

And it's so nauseating to try and get conscious. Usually I'm happy to tune out of life or discussions about other people's vacations, but when you want to tune in, it can hurt. Focus. Focus. Oops, sleeping again. Talk to the nurse so she thinks you're a brave little girl. Crap, you just closed your eyes halfway through something about her son and a missing pancake.

In fact, I'm getting nauseous just remembering the experience, which I've had way too many times in my (not as) young (as it used to be) life.

But the good news is I'm OK. The even better news is I didn't really need the surgery as the problem apparently resolved itself in the two months between discovery and waking up at 5 a.m. to go to the hospital. (Am I being too vague? I had a mass in my uterus that was causing me excruciating pain, probably related to my molar pregnancy. Still confused? A uterus is where a baby grows. Ask your mom how it got in there.)

This is not the first time I've had an unnecessary procedure. There was the time on my LDS mission when I had my appendix taken out for fun. Just imagine coming out of anesthesia to have a doctor tell you in Spanish that the appendix was extraordinarily long but fine, and that he "poked" around in other areas that looked "strange," but resisted the urge to operate on them.

For the record, I never went back to that doctor and removed the stitches myself. See, I am a brave little girl.

Anyway, I still have a bad case of the cramps, but it's nothing a few hundred Advil can't cure. (That was for my mom. She thinks everyone is addicted to drugs, including vitamins. But seriously, 8-9 Advil do the trick.)

How many Advil do you take?

Finally, a good excuse to get gangrene

You might not know this about me, but I'm obsessed with Target.

(I'll pause while you all absorb that shocking revelation.)

Another fun fact is that I have to take medication every day to stay alive, in addition to the other medications I take every day just 'cause. As a result, I frequent the pharmacy A LOT.

Yet, despite the terrible service and anti-social staff at my local grocery story pharmacy, I only recently made the connection that I could combine my love of Target with my prescription needs. And so it was with great glee that I switched my pharmacy to my local Super Target.

You might think I've been pleasantly surprised by the service, and you'd be wrong. The service is so freakafantastabulous that my quality of life has been improved tenfold.

First, the staff is nice. Like, I think they might actually like their jobs, rather than my other pharmacists who probably stole narcotics to make it through the day. They are fast, friendly and informed. And they're happy to fill the prescription while you're waiting. With a smile. I think it has something to do with the lighting.

Second, the bottles are cool. They have this cool inverted design and color rings you can request to help differentiate between your myriad of medicines. Miss Dub recently had an ear infection and got a liquid prescription, which has a small opening that you insert the syringe into so there's no mess or awkward measuring.

Third, I have no third, but I just really, really like Target. Although, I must confess that I said to my friend the other day, "I think I'm getting bored of Target." And it's not that I want a new lover or anything, it's just that I need a second refuge from the cold and snow when the Miss and I get bored. I mean, I think I've bought every piece of costume jewelry on their clearance rack by now.

But I digress.

The moral of this story is that you should change your pharmacy to Target. Don't have any prescriptions right now? Go lick some dirt or infect a small wound. It's worth it.



p.s. I just got a call from the pharmacy asking how Miss Dub is feeling. Bonus points!

The good, the bad and the possibly painful

The good news: The baby is doing great and measuring right-on for a 4th o' July delivery. Pass the sparklers!

The bad news: I have a low-lying placenta, which probably caused my bleeding and pain the other night. Oh, and NINE cysts in my left ovary and one in my right.

No word on what any of this means, but my doc left me a message yesterday saying that "things are obviously much better than we had originally thought."

Funny, I was kind of thinking the whole NINE cysts thing was pretty bad.

Does this mean I can whine more? 'Cause as I've said, I have a high tolerance for pain but a low tolerance for discomfort.

Speaking of that, any Zofran users out there? I'm thinking of upgrading my nausea meds.

Cough - Fever = Alive

I’d like to dispel a vicious rumor that is circulating out there.

I should know. I started it.

A couple weeks ago I contracted some sort of illness that can only be described as, “the Death Cough.” A hack so deep, intense and suffocatingly phlegm-y that even strangers winced every time I coughed. And cough I did – all day long! Throw in a few sneeze attacks, extreme fatigue and poor makeup application and you can envision my recent state.

The illness had me so ravaged that Mr. Dub began to fret about my possible demise. But I refused to see the doctor under this premise: No one has ever died from a cough without getting a fever first. And while the symptoms of the Death Cough are extensive and painful, a fever is not one of them.

So I continued my blissful ignorance and told myself it was my attitude that was keeping me coughing, not a lack of medicine. But I just kept coughing more and more. But no fever, so no doctor. After all, no one has ever died from an cough without getting a fever first, right?

This saying began to bother Mr. Dub. He insisted that someone in history had died from a cough without having a fever first and that I was sure to be the next one. He was confident I was dying, and, to be honest, I had to agree with him. But since I had no fever, I just couldn’t bring myself to go to the doctor.

It turned into a family debate. A toe-may-toe, toe-mah-toe sort of tiff. But I assured Mr. Dub that if he was indeed right, he could save many people through my death by implementing a public service campaign entitled, “No Fever Means Nothing.” So I wouldn’t have died in vain, just stubbornness.

But even I back down sometimes. Especially after a horrible night of rest where I felt like my chest might actually cave in.

When I got to the doctor, she asked how I’d been feeling. “Not too hot,” I admitted, but fearing I might sound like a paranoid hypochondriac, I added, “But I don’t have a fever or anything.”

As she examined me (with Miss Dub on my lap), I broke into a cough attack.

The doctor gave me one look and said, “You need some antibiotics now! This is a serious infection.”

To which I added, “Well, I figured no one has ever died from a cough without getting a fever first.”

“Yes they have,” she said.

And like that, my well-crafted rumor went from urban legend to malarkey. And my street cred with Mr. Dub plummeted.

But what’s the worst illness you’ve ever had?

Because this isn’t even close to my bag of weird, obscure illnesses I’ve contracted over the years. Valley Fever in sixth grade probably takes the cake. It’s a fungus that grows in your lung and leads to severe pneumonia in rare cases, like mine, and sometimes death. Ouch!

I might add it’s accompanied by a fever. So there.