Imagination, Endometrial Ablation, Rhythm Nation

Before we get started with anything, please know that Fluid Pudding Dot Com is a safe place. I will NOT be talking about Miley Cyrus here. (I WILL be talking about my gynecological issues in a few minutes, and that’s SORT of related, but I see no purpose in trying to link my stuff to the stuff of a twenty year old girl. We all do weird things. Once, when I was twenty, my best friend and I took a midnight stroll from a friend’s house back to my dormitory. It was a super hot night, so we used the heat as an opportunity to be FEMINISTS and why can BOYS walk around without shirts but WE CAN’T?! Suddenly (SUDDENLY!), we each took off our shirts and walked down that back road wearing nothing but our bras and shorts (and shoes, as feet freak me out and feet on streets? stop it.). Because crazy things always happened to us, even though it was the middle of the night, a car pulled up beside us, and the car held two or three of our friends, and they sat there and talked to us for a few minutes as if nothing was out of the ordinary—as if they didn’t even notice that our shirts were wadded up and tucked into our shorts. Anyway, we didn’t have cameras on our phones back then. And thank God for that.

I’ve been wanting to talk to you about endometrial ablation for over a week now. Every time I sit at the computer, I think, “I really want to draw a picture of my uterus being ablated.” And then I grab some paper and draw a tube (my uterus) with something that looks like a curling iron stuck inside of it (the ABLATOR) and something’s not quite right, so I sit back down on the rocking chair and think about life and dinner and how this cardigan is absolutely perfect.

It occurred to me that I’ve ALREADY drawn pictures of my insides, and despite what I’ve been reading from The Bloggers Who Know How to Blog (I hate the word Blog. HATE it.), not every idea needs an accompanying image. I like to think that you are all smart and creative and can see things in your heads with absolutely no Sharpie prompts from me! Anyway. No drawings. Just a lot of words.

(The following few paragraphs are related to the monthly adventures of my insides in regard to the tossing of eggs and the stripping of linings. Proceed gently.)

When I was 18 (here I go again with the stories!), I was in the university marching band. I loved it more than I loved just about anything—not because of the actual MARCHING (I was pretty terrible at marching) but because of my fellow marchers. (I’m in touch with very few people from my university days. All of those people were in the band with me.) Anyway! My uterus! One afternoon I was in a friend’s dorm room after rehearsal, and I was complaining about how miserable I was feeling.

Friend, who was a male, so let’s call him Jason, because that’s his name: What on earth is wrong with you?!

Me: I can’t find it in me to march. I can’t run. Can you please turn down that music?!

Jason: Talk about your troubles.

Me: I don’t want to talk about it. Let me just say that it’s the hottest week of the year and I’m on Day 12 of my monthly lady thing and I’m cramping and…

Jason: YOU’RE ON DAY 12?! Isn’t that supposed to last for just a day or two?

Me: Mine sometimes lasts for more than two weeks. I want ice cream for dinner.

Jason then jumped up, ran to the bathroom, and came back with a lovely toilet paper pageant sash on which he had written Queen of Day 12. And I wore it to dinner, but never told anyone what it meant.

Let’s jump forward 15 years. I’m now 33 and I’m pregnant with Meredith and as much as I didn’t love that pregnancy (I had to have my appendix out at the end of my first trimester, and that really sucked.), I DID love not having my extended monthly adventures. When Meredith was born, I nursed her (which made my periods much lighter because of SCIENCE), and when I stopped nursing her we decided to have a Harper and then Harper was born and she nursed FOREVER, and suddenly I had experienced five years with little to no cramps/migraines/et cetera. I’m now at 773 words. Are you still with me?

Anyway, now that I’m 43 and it’s time to put on some yoga pants and Chaka Khan my way through the rest of my days, I really don’t feel the need to be “forced” into staying at home two days out of the month because of heaviness and cramping and CRAMPING and HEAVINESS. Also, if I still had the banner, I could have worn it earlier this week if you know what I’m saying. And you do. Because you’re smart!

Last week I visited my gynecologist and she said the following words: “I’ve been wanting to do an ablation on you for a long time.” Who am I to stomp on her dreams?! (Although I wasn’t really expecting it, she also asked me to remove my pants. After examining my color, streak, hardness, cleavage, specific gravity, and crystal form like a thorough geologist would, she said, “Your endometriosis is back. I can feel it up in your cul-de-sac. We can take care of that during the ablation.”)

The ablation will take place during the holiday season. And that’s pretty great because although I know it’s a quick and easy outpatient procedure, I’m now picturing myself like Deborah Kerr on Christmas Eve in An Affair to Remember. I’m in a red robe (I already have one!) on the couch (I have one of those, too!) and Cary Grant lets himself in and I do not move from the couch and suddenly Mr. Grant realizes that I’ve been ablated and THAT’S what has prevented me from meeting him on the top of a building somewhere and we embrace and I say something like, “If you can paint, I can walk; anything can happen, don’t you think?”

And I Will Not Move From The Couch. (Christmas is less than four months away. In other words, less than four Queen of Day 12 banners to go!) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Lottery in June, corn be heavy soon.

This morning after I dropped the girls off at school, I headed straight over to the lake for my third run of this run of running. I parked where I park and I walked to the paved path while fidgeting with my arm thing that holds my iPod, my tissues (because my nose runs when I run), and my keys. Finally, the GPS was on and the START button was pressed, and off we go.

About fifty feet in front of me was an older man hunched over the trail. He was picking up rocks and putting them into a bucket, and he seemed to be concentrating pretty hard on the whole Picking Up Rocks And Putting Them Into a Bucket thing.

As I walked past him, he threw his arms up into the air.

Bucket Man (burning out his fuse out here alone): BOO!!! Ha!!! I scared you, didn’t I, Sweetie?!

Me (scared, and fidgeting with my wires to turn down the volume on You, Sailor, which is my current favorite walking tune): Yes! You did!

Bucket Man: That’s what I WANTED to do!!!

Me (speeding up because Guy With a Bucket of Rocks!): Success!

Bucket Man: Have a nice day!!! BE NICE TO GRANDPAS!!!

Me (slowing down because NICE Guy With a Bucket of Rocks!): YOU TOO AND I WILL!!!

I then clocked my fastest run in eight months, which means absolutely nothing because I’ve run only four times in the past eight months, and the one in January doesn’t count because my heel was broken.

One more thing. I promise that I’ll never be the type of lady who laughs like a maniac at a comedian who’s joking about menopause. Similarly, if a guy with a bucket of rocks ever tells me that I have to either eat an entire cow (cooked or uncooked) or sit through a 90-minute play devoted to funny lady menopause, I will ask him to take that bucket of rocks and call me Tessie Hutchinson, because I can’t make that decision. On a related note, I sort of want to talk about uterine ablation, but I’m not sure this is the time or the place. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Is anxious around others and will bake biscotti for you if you’re interested.

I’ve been listening to a lot of Roderick on the Line. I can’t name more than four people in my life who would enjoy this podcast, but I (mostly) enjoy it a LOT. I’m currently listening to episode 77, and as I drove home from purchasing 272 popsicles at the store this afternoon, I heard John Roderick mention the scene from The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo during which Lisbeth Salander tattoos the sentence “I am a sadist pig and a rapist.” onto Nils Bjurman’s body to warn others of his crimes against her. Roderick goes on to explore the idea of Yelping and/or tattooing people to warn others of their shoddy driving skills and/or character flaws. I LOVE THIS IDEA. (Sort of. Obviously, history has proven that forced tattoos are never a good thing.)

Wouldn’t life be (sort of) easier if, at age 18 and every five to ten years thereafter, we could have descriptive words or phrases UV-tattooed onto our arms/legs/abdomen to allow others to see (if they are willing to haul around a blacklight) what they’re up against? The phrases, obviously, would be submitted by peers (or a public tribunal. I haven’t ironed out the details, because I don’t really believe anyone will make this happen. Please know that I’m willing to toss twenty bucks into a Kickstarter campaign…) and would serve as a warning and/or recommendation to possible employers and/or life partners and/or friends. Think of all the games we would no longer have to play!

In the past few years, I’ve met people who I’m SURE would have phrases such as “champion at lying” and “acts incompetent, but is actually just lazy” placed somewhere on their bodies. I’ve also met folks who should have “selfless” or “drops everything to bring you a pie” or “sacrifices vacations to bottle-feed orphaned puppies” as their character trait tattoo (or CTT, as I will refer to it if *I* start the Kickstarter campaign).

I’ve been thinking about my own CTTs for the past hour, and I’m afraid they’re not all good. (I wonder if we would live our lives differently if CTTs were a thing. I know for a fact that I wouldn’t have indulged in the Pluot PLU Scandal of 1999 if there was a chance that my crap dishonesty would have been documented forever on my abdomen.)

CTT

(In case it’s not clear, my CTTs: Isn’t the best driver, Keeps opinions to self to avoid fights, Pluot PLU scandal 1999, Once pried open a live clam and it probably died 1986, Unhealthy self-image, Gives money to charity, Took standardized test in exchange for money, Adopted sick orphan cat/is allergic to cats, Doesn’t always refrain from gossip, Curses a lot, Raised money for stranger 2012, Not the greatest friend 1989.)

Any idea what your CTT would say? (If the tattooing consortium (or TC) would show up at my house right now, they would add “Throws stink eye to anyone blasting Bruno Mars songs in the elementary school pick-up line” to the left side of my neck, and balance it with “Helped lady who knocked shoestring display to the floor pick up ALL of the shoestrings” on the right.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Proof is twice the percentage of ABV.

The following things happened in the period of time between the last time we spoke and right now.

Inspired by Karen (as always), I attended a henna party at my cousin’s house.

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As a result, I now have a tree growing on my left arm.

Tree on the sheets...

I waved goodbye to my kids as they jumped out of the car to embark on the types of adventures that third and fifth graders tend to embark on. (You know, the types on which they tend to embark? On which! And Onward!)

3rd grade!

5th grade!

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After spending the summer not going to the lake and not running, this morning I went to the lake and ran.

Egrets? I had a few.

I then went to the grocery store and purchased green onions, avocados, graham crackers, and chocolate icing. I have no photo to prove this to you, so please enjoy Meredith’s new shoes. It’s her final year in elementary school, and anything goes.

Sparkle Chucks ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Spinning my wheel of life! My WHEEL of LIFE!!!

Please be warned that I’ve once again been looking at myself from the inside out. Are you wearing a slicker? You might want to put on a slicker. (I’m not completely sure what a slicker is, but I know a few people who fit the description.)

My self-evaluation always happens in August when the summer is winding down and school activities are starting to pop up and I’m faced with having weekdays filled with silence that is broken only by dogs who have learned to knock on the door when they want in or out.

Do you remember when I was talking/fretting about getting a job outside of the house? After sitting down with a notebook and pen, I’ve finally ironed out a plan which is more of a non-plan than an actual plan. For now, I’m NOT going to work outside of the home. For now, I’m going to try my damndest to turn up the freelance so that I’m working at least four hours each day. I’m also going to try to volunteer a little at the girls’ school if anyone will have me. (Some teachers dig having volunteers and some don’t. Some people play soccer and some people run. Jeff doesn’t like tacos. I don’t like seeing dead armadillos on the side of the road. We all have our stuff, and that’s what makes the world what it is.)

Anyway. Yes. I will be working from home. Still. And the good thing? After making this decision, I scored two freelance jobs with the possibility of two more BIGGER jobs coming my way soon. I’m manifesting my dream board and building it so they will come.

Okay. That covers the career. What about the other stuff on my wheel of life? (Seven people just clicked away because I said Wheel of Life. Quitters.)

Friends and Family: The girls and my mom and I visited my sister and her family last weekend, and it was the best weekend I’ve had in quite some time. I have no complaints about my family. The girls are gems. I enjoy spending time with my parents. My sister is my hero. Friends? I’ve got them, and the good ones understand my quirks and still choose to hang out with me. I’m currently on the (seemingly neverending) path of eliminating drama and gossip and similarly toxic behaviors. Bonus: I used to have to do a toxic flush of friends every decade or so. Lately, the toxic people are flushing ME instead of me having to flush them. It’s a good feeling that I’m sure is akin to wearing purple when I am an old woman.

Health: I still have my headaches, and they pretty much suck. I won’t bore you. When the kids go back to school, I’m going back to the J for Pilates.

Finances: Well, that’s not really any of your business, is it? (I always Prefer Not to Answer when I’m filling out questionnaires, which isn’t often.) We’re fine.

Core Relationships: Jeff is the greatest person on this planet, so I’ll be keeping him for as long as he’ll have me, which I hope is DEATH.

Personal and Spiritual Growth: I’m not at 100% with living the life that I want to be living, but I’m working on it. My latest thing? Meditation. Mainly for health reasons at this point, but I also feel like it’s the start of something bigger. I’m hoping it will eventually force my ears to let go of my shoulders. Also, God and I are cool.

Fun, Recreation, and Creativity: I knit, I spin, I write in a journal with a fountain pen. I read, I see my friends fairly often, and I hug my dogs at least three times a day. I wish I had a creative project, but I can’t really put my finger on what I mean by that.

Physical Environment: While we were gone last weekend, Jeff painted the house yellow, and it makes me happy every time I pull up the driveway. Next week I’m going to start tackling little projects to get our house ready to sell. Our goal? Sell in three years. Having more than 1,000 days is a good thing, unless it’s a bad thing.

What they say is true. Dogs and their people really DO start to favor one another. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>