Author: wetleatherdog@gmail.com

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Worst. 4th Of July. Ever.

Bow Tie o’ the Day provided my stars-and-stripes on the 4th. The Delta Parade couldn’t be in my hospital room, but Bow Tie did the honors. This was the happiest I looked that day. Later, an hours-long train o’ pain twisted me into the fetal position, where somehow I was both immobilized AND writhing non-stop. The hurt went deeper: I saw Suzanne’s pain, as she watched my pain. She bravely stayed. Finally, I couldn’t watch her watch me anymore. I ordered her home, where Skitter could comfort her. 🗽

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We The Peeps

A week ago was the 4th of July. Being in Huntsman kept us from traditional celebrating. But Bow Tie o’ the Day was patriotic with me in my hospital room. Bow Tie’s fabric print is The Constitution of the United States of America. From the windows on my floor, you could see most of the fireworks displays in the SL valley. We’re returning next year as a kind of “surgi-versarry.” And this time, my butt won’t be hanging out of a hospital gown while I watch the fireworks. 🎆 🎇

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You Show Me Your Pancreas, And I’ll Show You Mine

Bow Tie o’ the Day is ripe with info about my Whipple procedure. During the 5-hour surgery, my duodenum, gall bladder, a gang of Panky stones, and 2/3 of Hanky Panky were removed. Leftover Panky got re-wired. 😱 In elementary school, occasionally some-kid-or-another would bring their recently removed tonsils to Show-and-Tell, in a clear jar. Grossly awesome! Sadly, you can’t keep your removed body parts anymore. I would’ve kept mine, if I could have. And right now, you and the ties would be staring at them– half-gagging, but completely fascinated. 😳

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And Now, Back To Our Regular Programming


I guess I lived. 👍 (Huntsman stories ahead.) Bow Tie o’ the Day presents the jewelry my tummy got in surgery: a mesmerizing 7-inch-long, 16-staple piece o’ bling. It was legendary hospital-wide for its perky perfection. Docs and nurses who weren’t even mine came to gander at its glory. Apparently, my closed incision was the textbook-proper shade of pink, and its precision-spaced staples were to die for. Of course, you and I know it was really Bow Tie’s charisma that kept the medical audience filing past my bed. 📎

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I’m The Bionic Woman. The Really Tired Bionic Woman.

BowTie o’ the Day is feeling groggy and in pain. I was off my mark when I figured I’d be able to post and/or help Suzanne post for me immediately after my operation. I was so wrong. I have hardly felt up to blinking. Surgery went as well as it could have. Kudos to Doc Mulvihill, even though he didn’t let me wear my bow tie during surgery. Suzanne’s taking fine care of me in the aftermath of my Hanky Panky travails. I miss Skitter.

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CTR Always Wins

Not all decisions are difficult. Bow Tie Money Clip o’ the Day looking out for Mom is a no-brainer. I needed Hanky Panky surgery three years ago, but that’s when Mom’s health declined bigly. I had to choose. I spent the next two years mostly in Delta, with Mom. My Hanky Panky had to wait. The SMART choice isn’t always the same as the RIGHT choice. I’ve got no regrets that I chose the RIGHT, instead of the SMART. But Hanky Panky’s got no choices anymore: it needs its turn.⚖

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Packed And Waiting For Uber

A day early, Neckwear o’ the Week-Or-So is packed. Toothbrush, sleep boxers, and socks, too. That’s it.  What else does a girl need to haul with her, to get a few organs/pieces removed? FYI! TIE O’ THE DAY continues. Suzanne’ll aid me in posting. Stay tuned for vacation hijinks (tie-jinks?) from Huntsman Beach, where I’ll lounge on my bow tie beach towel. I’ll build sand ties. I’ll keep my ear buds full o’ vacay tunes, so I can groove to all the bipolar voices singing inside my head. 😹 😺

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I Vote, Therefore I Can Question

Bow Tie o’ the Day and I hauled our civic-minded butts to the nearest polling place to cast our vote. And we didn’t do it just to get this swell sticker to wear around all day. Our other task today was to head to the clinic to get a billion vials of blood drawn. They drew 9 vials, I kid you not. And they also wrapped my wrist with a band I have to wear until I’m discharged from the hospital. BTW The wristband and the VOTED sticker get along fabulously.

 

 

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The Mini-Keg Bone’s Connected To The Wrist Bone

As Tie o’ the Day and I prepare to party at the hospital, a bigly thing occurs to me: I won’t be allowed to hold 100 oz. Mini-Keg for weeks! My surgeon said I shouldn’t lift anything heavier than a couple of pounds while I’m recovering. Until now, I hadn’t that about this directive in terms of Mini-Keg. It’s probably best for Mini-Keg to live in the garage temporarily, so it doesn’t have to watch me cheating on it with cans o’ Diet Coke and Diet Dr. Pepper.