THE DAY I HAVE DREADED HAS ARRIVED!

                                                           

The day I have most dreaded for over 10 years has finally come.  

*    I can deal with turning 75…I don’t like it but I can accept it. 

*    I can deal with losing more than winning at pickleball…I don’t like it but I have to accept it.  

*    I can cope with portions of my body sagging and swaying all at the same time…I don’t  like it but I find it amusing…in a tearful sort of way.  

*    I have given up on People Magazine or what I call “Who are These People” Magazine…I don’t like it but I don’t have to read it.  

*    I can deal with political differences…I don’t like it but as long as I know I am right and the other side is wrong….I can handle it.  

BUT, BUT, BUT….there is no turning back from what I have just discovered and I truly can’t, won’t, accept the inevitable.  Ladies, flared pants are back.  I know there is a lot of fake news, but I just saw the recent Banana Republic catalog and there they were…all loose and baggy at the bottom (like I’m not baggy enough there!!).  Why can’t the “Republic” go back to harvesting “Banana(s)” and leave us “well seasoned” ladies to our oversized tops and pants that provide us with some semblance of shapely legs.  It’s a conspiracy I tell ya and I’m not taking it anymore.  I knew this day would come and I am ready to protest.  Are you with me?…...are you there?.....are you taking a nap…or are you out shopping for the latest flare pants? 

Ode To My Aging Body

(Sung to the tune of Alan Sherman's Camp Granada)  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4yFTOvO0utY 

Hello Muddah, hello fadduh

This is Maxine, your youngest daughter

You are gone now, though I have memories

You need know what’s happened since you left me

I got older, but not so wiser

Now my bladder, acts like a geyser

And my body, once trim and fit

Is slowly turning into a pile of shit

My chin’s waddle, has come to roost

And my ass is, getting loose

My eyesight’s dimming, my hearing’s poor

And my hair is grey which, I don’t adore

Now I don’t want to, be complain’n

But my boobs are, not sustaining

Not so perky, sad to say

But that’s a story for another day

 

Why or why can this be true

I’m turning now to both of you

For heavenly answers … you can lie

And say I still  look   fifty-five

 

Whose to blame for this  disaster

Give me answers, that’s what I’m after

All my genes are fading fast

Tell me that my youthful body please will last

 

That’s what’s happened, it’s come to pass

I’m now a senior, and not a lass

I’m embracing, my new life

Turned off newscasts, so there’s no more strife

I’ve decided, no more mirrors

Cause without them, no more tears

Youth is great but, what was I saying

Oh yes, give a cheer for all of us who’re aging!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You Know You've Been Home Bound Too Long

When Disposable Gloves don’t mean you are in for a rectal exam

When discussing Roots is not about the classic book, but is about your classic scalp

When three Squares a day isn’t about meals, but is about the amount of toilet paper you use at each bathroom event

When my credit card bill shows no charges other than groceries

When I see my real fingernails for the first time as they appear from under the remains of my acrylic ones

When you can only appreciate the price of gas from the comfort of your home

When making sure you are protected has nothing to do with sex

When the words “Instacart” and “Zoom” are your mostly commonly used words on Words with Friends

When “Binging” has more to do with TV than drinking ( or not)

When touching your face gets you arrested

When Dr. Faucci is looking kinda sexy

When the phrase “let it all hang out” relates to your bra in the drawer.  (I’m not providing the male version of this phrase!)

When you’re not insulted when your loved ones say “Stay At Home!”

When becoming a vegan is a real possibility

When you’ve worn a trail in your carpet from reaching your 10,000 steps daily

So, grab your gloves, dye your hair while you pull the 3 squares of tp while watching sexy Faucci say “Stay At Home”.  Then eat your beans and walk the carpet trail while fantasizing about pumping cheap gas bra-less.  That’s all for today.  I must get back to “Words with Friends” after I am paroled for touching my face. 

My Grocery Store Check Out Line ROAD RAGE!!

It was a quiet day in the grocery store.  People were seen picking up items they needed for current and future meals. I secured a few things in anticipation of my daughter’s visit over Labor Day weekend.  As I approached the check out line section, I handily avoided my strong desire to grab the cheddar drenched popcorn and barely made it past the candy bars whose wrappers were waving at me.  I had my cloth grocery bag ready to accept the nutritious items in my cart and began searching for the shortest checkout line.  I could have tried standing and waiting for self check out.  But I had already checked myself out in the mirror in the morning and felt two times in one day was overkill.

I started to engage check out line #4 but saw that #1 had only 2 people and the last person in line only had one item.  Without signaling, I used my best pickleball moves and scooted into line #1.  Just as I reached the end of the conveyor belt and was ready to place my items on it, the husband of the woman in front of me with one item showed up with full cart in tow.  I wanted to call “no cutsies”, but thought better of it as I am polite.  After removing said items from his cart plus the one item the wife had, he proceeded to keep the empty cart behind him rather in the preferred front position, preventing me from putting my items on the belt.  I took this to be a rather aggressive move, but being the non-confrontational person that I am (along with being polite is a great combo!), I simply reached forward and lightly released my items air born so as to land on the belt and prepare me to be ready for checkout when my time came.  

Without looking backward, “husband” aggressively shoved my items back almost pushing them off the belt.  So much for being polite and non confrontational.  This was grocery store road rage time.  I would have rolled up my sleeves, but I was wearing a short sleeved shirt.  I thought through my strategy of what I could do to retaliate.  I could whip out a banana but that wouldn’t scare him as I only bought over ripe ones for banana muffins.  I could pummel him with the frozen blintzes I bought, but then I might be arrested for assault with a frozen weapon.  I could sushi him to the ground, but then I wouldn’t have food for dinner.  So, instead, I puffed out my chest (and if you have recently seen my chest it really doesn’t make a big impression.  I know that because I did the self check in the morning), took a deep breath and thought nasty things to say….but didn’t say them.  You see, I am an avid Judge Judy watcher and I know that any rage at any time can turn back on you.  So, I gave him my evil eye (but his back was to me so he didn’t see it), but it did scare a few people in self check out #1 & 2 (or perhaps it was my puffed out chest that scared them).  The moral of the story?  Don't buy over ripe bananas!

IS NETFLIX RUINING MY SEX LIFE

I recently read that a survey showed that Netflix is negatively affecting the sex life of its viewers.  It seems that men and women prefer streaming to sex.

I learned about sex in the Fifties from Lucy and Ricky Ricardo.  Sex happens in separate twin beds.  Thus, why it took me so long to find a husband that could fit into my mine.  Once that was accomplished, things went along pretty well for 32 years.  The beds got larger and we streamed 2 daughters. Then 8 years ago I found myself alone and left to my own devices.  I took that to mean electronic devices.  My mix master was too dangerous, my electric knife was a no go, my Keurig was a possibility, and my belt sander was a bit too rough.  So I did what any normal single woman would do…I tried using the vibrating feature on my cell phone…without much success.

Thankfully, someone understood my dilemma and created Netflix.  Now, not only is Netflix NOT ruining my sex life, it is actually my “go to” source for my sex life, along with HBO, The Comedy Channel and National Geographic.  So let me say thank you to all those streaming stations that allow me to feel like a vital woman again.  (And don’t get me started on the “streaming” feature.  My bladder streams all night long).

Forget John Boy.  Give me John Snow!  Bye, bye Lucy.  Hello “Sex Education”  (a UK based Netflix series starring Gillian Anderson).  I still love my twin bed and until something changes, me and my remote control are  sublimely happy together.

IT’S HARD TO SAY GOODBYE

As I face my upcoming significant birthday, I look back on the many things I have had to say goodbye to.  Here is a short list:

1.       Thick hair (on legs, arms, head, and well, you know where)

2.       My waist (we gave it a good run)

3.       High heels (I’m afraid of heights)

4.       Loud music and concerts (I can’t hear you now)

5.       Patience  (I’m sure I had some at one time)

6.       Bikinis (I’ve been asked not to show up wearing one…again)

7.       Toenails that don’t look like they belong to an elephant

8.       My arches (and we’re not talking about McDonalds)

9.       My desire to clean toilets or bathtubs (I can’t even get out of a bathtub, let alone clean one)

I have faced the facts of growing older and have coped well, I believe.  Things happen, things change, things drop, droop, slide, squish and plop.  But today I read an article on elder sexuality that shook me to my core (it’s somewhere where my waist used to be that is now missing).  The one thing that I thought would stay with me through thick glasses and thinning hair I am now told is dying.  I am bereft to learn that at my age, one’s vaginal nerve endings are dying.  I’m sure there is a special prayer for dying vaginal nerve endings, but I am too upset to find it.  Who knew that one’s VNE would one day turn on me like my lactose tolerance did.  Is Russia behind this?  If I knew my VNE were going to abandon me, I would have enjoyed them more when I was using them.  

But now I only have regret and a bald spot on the back of my head.  So here I sit, in my bikini, in my bathtub, with my arches (I’m eating a McDonald’s burger), playing loud music, observing my silky no-hair arms, legs and you know what, while I patiently attempt to bend over my gut to cut my elephant toenails that are peaking out of my never worn high heels.  Now can someone call 911 cause I can’t get up!

What is Your Identity Worth?

                                

I just read that you can insure your identity through your homeowner’s or renter’s policy for as little as $25.  So of course I signed up, because there shouldn’t be an insurance policy in existence that I don’t have! 

But the questions that arose after I aroused myself from my slumber, sleep walking, sleep peeing, snoring and thrashing were these.  What is my identity, i.e., WHO AM I?  WHY AM I HERE?  WHERE AM I? WHAT AM I? And most importantly, WHO CARES?  Well, obviously the insurance company cares because they want my $25.  But is my identity worth more than that?

A pickleball friend recently downgraded my nickname from MaxiMillion to MaxiDollar. Was this because he saw my stock market portfolio or was he acutely aware of the true value of my identity?  So I needed to investigate this further by answering the questions that I had to write down so I could remember them to answer them.

First identity question:  WHO AM I?  I look in the mirror, but all I see is my mother’s face looking back at me.  And she looks really, really old…grey hair (thinning), wrinkles (deepening), teeth (losing).  Is this me or a mere reflection of what is to come (or is already here)? 

Next identity question:  WHY AM I HERE?  Well, obviously if I am looking in the mirror, then I am in the bathroom and if I am in the bathroom, then I am here to pee.  And that has great value!

Question #3:  WHERE AM I?  This is a question that is asked every morning when I arouse myself.  And then asked again multiple times during the day.  The problem is I don’t have the correct answer as many times as I ask the questions.  I’m trying to use the Hansel and Gretel method of bread crumbs (or leftover matzo crumbs) but find that I eat more than I drop.

Question #4:  WHAT AM I?  Old lives matter.  That’s what I am and I value what it took to get me here (where am I?  No, problem, I have some bread crumbs leading me back to the bathroom).   I have value and as soon as the stock market rebounds, I will have more value.  Hopefully enough to pay for an Uber to get me home.

Last Question:  WHO CARES?  Answered already which is why my State Farm agent is now my bestie.

WHAT WERE THE WRIGHT BROTHERS THINKING?

I just booked a flight to Florida to get away for a few days and was pleased and surprised to see the many fares from which I could choose (I was a journalism major so I know not to end with a proposition…or is it preposition?)  Here were my choices from most expensive to least expensive:

VIP SEATING (otherwise known as Tax Reform Bill beneficiaries):  You will be warmly welcomed by the airline staff.  Free libations, snacks, blankets, reclining seats, pillows, foot massage, paraffin treatment for your hands, liposuction and early boarding. A limo awaits your arrival.

YOU THINK YOU ARE RICH, BUT YOU’RE NOT SEATING:  (otherwise known as Tax Reform Bill wanna be beneficiaries): Airline staff wave at you upon boarding.  Your seat reclines almost all the way back, but not quite.  Only one foot gets massaged, and one hand gets a paraffin treatment.  No liposuction, but a meat baster is available. A pillow, but BYOB (bring your own blankie). Directions to the cab stand are provided.

UPPER MIDDLE CLASS SEATING: (otherwise known as possible Tax Reform Bill beneficiaries depending on how many children and how many houses you own):  Airline staff smile upon boarding.  Your seat reclines and then pops back up in a secure and upright position.  Anything you want, you can have.  You just have to fork over your 401K to pay for it.  You are allowed to look at your hands and feet but not your ass.  Find your way home.

MIDDLE CLASS SEATING: (otherwise known as thought you were benefiting from the Tax Reform Bill, but you were wrong): Airline staff laugh at you when boarding. You are lucky to have a seat so stop bitching. You get to see pictures of what everyone in the forward cabins are eating and drinking that are not available to you. You can look at your hands, but not your feet and certainly not your ass.  Home?

YOU CALL THIS A SEAT SEATING?  (otherwise known as you get what you pay for):  Airline staff pretend not to notice you.  Your luggage is your seat.  No food, no drinks, no pictures, no windows!  Blinders are available so you don’t have to see others enjoying their flying experience (at a cost). One free potty trip.  You are not allowed to see your hands or your feet, but since your ass is hanging off the back of your luggage seat, they can’t stop you from looking at it.  There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home.

Obviously, I could not afford the first 3 seating classes.  So, I’m checking out my backside as much as possible before my trip so I don’t forget what it looks like.  My campaign slogan for 2018 is Make Airlines Great Again!!

Kids Might Say the Darndest Things, but Look Out for Granny!

                                                                                                         

Children say the “darndest” things.  Well, I’m here to tell you I have been known to say the “damndest” things as I have aged.  Here are a few:

·        Forgive me for I would love to sin again

·        Tell me, does this fat make my butt look big?

·        I’m taking a 12 week online course.  When finished, I should be able to change the channel on my television.

·        Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is …  that looking back at me?

·        When you are young, farting is funny.  When you are old, it’s just a fact of life.

·        I love to play with my 2 year old grandson because I usually win every game.  But not always.

·        Now where did I leave my G Spot?

·        They say “It’s only money”. They say that because they have some.

·        When in Rome, do as the “Roamings” do.  And when you are roaming and can’t find your way home, do as I do… call Uber.

·        I just saw the musical “Anything Goes”.   It made me laugh.  So I went.  Damn that bladder.

·        Rudyard Kipling wrote “never the twain shall meet”.  Well, I met a twain in Cleveland and took it to Denver.  So I don’t know what he was talking about.

·         As a Virgo, I am shy and don’t like being the center of attention.  Huh? 

·        I was recently stopped by a local policeman for a “California Roll” (it’s a traffic violation). Since he mentioned it, I asked if he wanted to go out for sushi.  I was hoping he would frisk me (see the first entry on this list).   I am hoping to be paroled soon.

My Memory Foam Mattress Has Dementia

I am saddened to announce that my Memory Foam Mattress is showing signs of early dementia.  It’s been coming on slowly, but last night when I expected my mattress (I call him Matt) to couch me in sublime comfort, instead Matt seemed confused.  Where I typically sink into the softness, Matt pushed back, dipping where I billow and billowing where I dip. And what’s worse, I count on Matt to be my backup memory on so many things (when you pay big bucks for a memory foam mattress you expect more than just a good night’s sleep).  Like how many times did I get up at night?  How many times did I sweat through my nightie? When did I last wash my sheets?  Did I pee while I was sleeping? How many times did I call out a man’s name, and what was the name of the man...please remember what was the name of the man?

Matt and I have seen some good times….times I don’t remember but expected Matt to remember for me.  But things have changed.  Now I spend my time with Matt doing Fit Brain and other memory-enhancing apps.   I show Matt pictures of when he was just a little bunch of chemicals and when he grew into spongy foam, trying to bring back memories from his inception.   I don’t know if any of my efforts will work, so I’ve had to come up with Plan O.

Plan O stands for my little grandson, Ori.  He, too, is spongy and I love when he sinks into my loving arms.  I am counting on him to remember the sweetest moments we share together, remembering my laughter, my tears of joy, my total and complete love for him.  I can’t wait until he is old enough to spend the night at my house. And hey, if he can remember the names of any of the men I call out at night...any of them at all...then who needs a memory foam anyway?

My Latest Love/Hate Relationship

When was the last time you had one of these?  Well, honestly, I don’t care because this is about me and my latest one.  It’s not about a man or a woman or a child.  It’s not about food or politics or religion.  It’s about something important-- something that is vital to my life (LOVE) but depressing each time it happens (HATE).  Yes, you guessed it.  I have a love/hate relationship with my yoga/pilates class. 

It’s a short story that I will make longer if you don’t mind because I have to fill up the page.  It all started with my breast cancer (HATE).  My daughter who LOVES yoga was here for the surgery (HATE) and I decided I would take her to a yoga/pilates class at my gym.  Being the wonderful mother I am (LOVE), I took the class as well.  I actually really liked the class and realized how good it was for my health (LOVE).  But during these classes, depression sets in.  I could use medication to feel better, but I would rather gripe to you and just list what I HATE.

1)      There are mirrors.  Fine for those who look good but not so good for me who looks like Sponge Bob’s mother.

2)      The Warrior I position reminds me that I haven’t shaved my underarms for a week or more.  You’d think I would take care of that before the next class but you would be wrong because so many of the positions cause the blood to rush to my head and make me dizzy.

3)      The Warrior II position should be called the Chicken as my waddling underarms swing to and fro as I point forwards and backwards throwing me off balance.  Thus why when I put my mat down, no one wants to be near me for fear of a collision or two or three or more.

4)      The Warrior III position….well, I can hardly even talk about this one.  Standing on one foot with your arms out and your leg extended backwards.  I’m sure I saw this position in a Kama Sutra book.  I might have even tried it in my younger days.

5)      The pigeon position is a bunch of poop in my opinion.  You are supposed to bend your knee at an angle that is unnatural and then rest your torso on it.   Once in position, I have to call 911 to get me out of it.  It takes a village.

6)      The fold position is not difficult, just depressing.  You stand with your feel together and then bend forward.  In this position, I am seeing all kinds of things I prefer not to see….sagging knees, ugly veins, misshapen toes, hairy legs (see item #2 for explanation why this continues to be the case) to name a few.

7)      Any position that needs a sense of balance.  The only thing I can balance these days is my checkbook and that only happens occasionally.  And then when you have to balance and then lift one or more appendages off the ground, the thud you hear and occasional cursing is always coming from the very back corner where I am hiding.

8)      The Pilates Bridge position. This is where you lie on your back, bend your knees and hike yourself up onto your shoulders so you can have a perfect view of your breasts falling to each side of your chest.  Yea, can't have enough of that!

9)      The Pilates Happy Baby Pose is where you lie on your back, bend your knees in the air and grab your big toes.  This pose should be called the Happy Husband pose and for sure it is the Kama Sutra Book.

10)  I LOVE All Pilates poses where you have to sit on the floor with your feet in front of you and then ease yourself backwards until you are flat on the floor.  What I HATE is trying to raise yourself up.  That kind of grunting and groaning should be saved for the bathroom.

What I LOVE about yoga/pilates.

1)      Child’s pose.  Easy to get into and out of and you don’t see anything in between.

2)      Final relaxation pose.  I get to close my eyes and not be afraid of toppling over.

3)      Rolling up my mat.

Sadly, this Love/Hate relationship is doomed to continue because the result is better flexibility (LOVE) but the process is depressing (HATE…see above 1-10).  And so it goes.

My NEW Year's Resolutions

2015.  Add the numbers together, subtract 2, add 100, multiply by 4, divide by 8 and you get a number that represents a year in my life I don’t even remember.  Now, take 2014 ….yes, take 2014, take it, take it, take it already.  I am giving it to you because it wasn’t one of my better ones.  So, before starting 2015, in order to make it one to remember, I have decided to share my New Year’s Resolutions so if I forget, at least I can ask you to remind me.  In all sincerity, here they are:

1:            Change my underwear once a week whether I need to or not (let's hear it for
                retirement)

2:            Shave my underarms so the one remaining hair doesn’t extend down my side

3:            Sell my condo…….although I probably have a better chance of selling a condom than my
               condo but a girl can hope and pray and plead and beg and just cry.  To prevent such an
               occurrence, just send me a check for $379,000 and I’ll send you the keys to your dream
               home and I can get rid of my nightmare

4:            Stop backing into cars with mine so as to prevent the continual $250 deductible that
               could buy such things as underarm razors
 

5:            Stop offering to show off my radiated breast which became a daily procedure for 6
               weeks and is now a habit I can't seem to break

6:            Remember things, stuff, people’s names, faces, addresses, pickleball scores, directions,
               appointments, basic things relating to daily living, stuff, people’s names, faces,
               addresses, pickelball scores, direction, appointments…..I really have to work on this one

 7:           Stop reading books I have already read, seem familiar but can’t stop reading until I
                remember who “dun it” which doesn’t occur until the last page at which time I exclaim
                “I knew I read this book before!” and proceed to forget what I just read.

8:            Be thankful every day for every day……………………that I can show my radiated breast to
               someone (some habits are hard to break)

9:            Lose weight…………..believe Santa is real, fly away with Peter Pan, invite the boogie man
               under my bed to dinner and other fantasies that are as likely to happen as losing weight

10:          Work on brain exercises so I don’t have to make lists, one of which I have in front of me
                that lists working on brain exercises so I don’t have to make lists but without the list in
                front of me I won’t remember to work on brain exercises. 

11:          Move again  ……hey, it’s been 6 years and the ink is beginning to dry in your address
                book

12:          Tell my friends and family who have supported me these past 3 years since Mark died
                and through the last 5 months of cancer treatments how much I love and cherish them
                with all my heart and with my radiated breast.

 

The list which I am trying not to make any more given my brain exercises which should help me remember not to make lists is done for 2015 or as I like to call it “53”, the year I can’t remember.  So good buy 2014, may you be rear ended by a car (probably mine) and be forgotten, which could happen any minute now.  Happy New Year!

ODE TO MY BOOB

 

 

On September 20^th, my boob (let’s call her Boo) and I will be 66.  It seems like only yesterday when Boo was a simple nub, and I was more interested in my mother’s breast than my own.  In those years Boo and her twin Hoo ran free allowing the wind to cool them in the heat of the Kansas City summer.

Then, as time wore on, mother declared that I had to put a shirt on so as not to entice the neighbor boys.  Mother was a bit premature in that it was MANY MANY MANY MANY years before Boo and Hoo would have any effect on boys.  But I went along with the gag and kept an eye on their development.  At age 11 mom pretended I needed some support, strapping me into a “training bra”.  She simply failed to explain what I was training for.  Then we started with the alphabet going from a size A to a size A to a size A to a size A+. 

High school was a “bust”!!  (Boo made me do it while Hoo objected).  I made it to a size B with a lot of help from Kleenex which wouldn’t have been so bad except I forgot to remove it when I went into the swimming pool.  Try and explain floating soggy pieces of tissue circling you like sharks.  College brought a bit more activity to the scene but Boo and Hoo were still underutilized in my opinion.

After college, things perked up and so did Boo and Hoo.  Finally, there was some enticing going on but also disappointment in that I could have been going shirtless for over 21 years without anyone noticing.  And then there was Mark.  The guy who enticed me!  With the births of Rachel and Ali, Boo and Hoo went into full gear and I declared myself a “Woman”!  What this means is I made it to a size C, at least while I was nursing.  For the first time shirts were tight across my chest and I only needed Kleenex for their true purpose, drying my tears of joy!

Then I hit 40, and then 50 or rather they hit me.  First my waist expanded, then the thighs enlarged, then the underarm flapping began.  I felt like I was a turkey being plumped up for an upcoming holiday. By age 60 I was at my fighting weight…fighting to get below my delivery weight.  Boo and Hoo were thrilled as they had reached their peak of performance.  Sadly, at this age there were no more neighbor boys to entice.  And I’m sure I’m not exaggerating when I say I saw a look of sadness in my GYNO’s eyes when I had my exams. 

A little attention, that’s all B&H needed.  And then I got it!  After many years of clear mammograms, this year’s exam proved to be lethal, but in a good way.  Cancer, the size of a pin head, was detected in Boo and the party began.  I thought for sure Boo and Hoo would explode or pop like pimples from all the compressions they endured.  Mentally I was doing okay but physically….egh…not so much.  Finding a vein for blood draws or IVs was like mining for gold in the desert.  Boo was subjected to a biopsy with little complaint.  Hoo felt bad for Boo but was thrilled she didn’t have to have one.

Except for the EKG coming back as abnormal and being told I had had a heart attack which turned out not to be true nearly giving me a heart attack which would have been true had it been true.  Then the breast MRI came back abnormal in Hoo which took another year off of my life (not to mention what it did to Hoo) which turned out not to be true but I was over having a heart attack had it been true, which it was not. 

The day of surgery arrived.  With Ali and 2 friends in tow, we marched into the hospital at 6:45 a.m. I had to get the worst part over quickly, having my weight taken.  After that trauma, I asked for a sedative as I had 4 hours of procedures to endure before the actual surgery.  I was told I had to be awake which caused B&H to head for the exit with me following close behind.  To no avail, we headed for the first procedure…putting a wire in Boo to identify where the last of the cancer was hiding after the biopsy disintegrated the tumor.  I swear I could hear Sirius radio stations coming out of that wire which was quite calming.  It was playing my favorite music…Queen.  I actually gave the royal wave as I was being rolled from procedure to procedure.

Next up was the radiation room.  When I was told Boo was going to get 6 needle injections of radioactive dye, Boo and Hoo were actually BooHooing.  But a boob has to do what a boob has to do.  Once the screaming subsided, I was glowing….literally glowing!  The best part was that after the injections, Boo had to be massaged for 15 seconds every 15 minutes.  I tried to convince the good looking resident to help me accomplish this task, but I couldn’t entice him.  Perhaps I should have called one of the boys from the old neighborhood that mother thought was enticeable.

Finally the time came for surgery.  And would you believe it….that is when they gave me the sedative….minutes before I was rolled into the operating room to be given a general anesthetic.  I apologized up front for anything I might say due to the effects of the Versed.  I’m told I said, “This is no way to spend my birthday”, “Tell them I have a small throat”, and “Who is going to make me my pineapple upside down cake for my birthday”.  Luckily I had nothing to apologize for which was a concern.

Surgery only took 45 minutes.  But recovery, due to the double whammy of Versed and the general took another 5 hours before I could return home.  Boo is doing quite well, and the results are all good.  More fun is to come in terms of radiation and such.  Boo has had enough attention to cover another 66 years. And I am working with Hoo trying to explain that she is just as good as Boo but has her own talent and shouldn’t compare herself to Boo. 

Going forward, Boo and Hoo and I will be just fine.  The BooHooing is over as is the glowing.  Damn.  Life is good and the future is bright….but no glowing.  Damn.  The many prayers and positive energy (but no glowing. Damn) made a difference and continues to shine a light (but no glowing.  Damn) on me.  Today is the best day of my life.  I’m still a size C and ready for enticing!  Call in the neighbor boys!

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Eyes Have It!

                                             

I recently had an eye exam and was told I needed to change the way I perceive things.  So I decided to rid myself of contacts and go back to glasses.  With this change I decided I wouldn’t see things as black or white, good or bad, high or low, in or out, perfect or….well, I think I can make an exception as to how I perceive myself on that one.

So, with this new outlook, I started looking around and wanted to share my new view of my world.  Because when you change your perception, you can change the outcome.  Here’s my list:

Item                                                      Old Perception                                 New Perception

Flood in Davenport                            Disaster                                              Front and backyard pool

My Body                                              Droopy Everything                           Proving Gravity Exists

Political Ads                                         Shoot Me                                           Paying for a DVR is great

Mammograms                                    Discomfort                                         Reminds me how I love
                                                                                                                           pancakes

                                                                                                                    
Children                                               I take care of them                          They will take care of me

Pickleball                                             Great exercise                                   A way to pop a tendon

Sex                                                        Great exercise                                  Female.  What you check on
                                                                                                                          forms.

Parking Lots                                        Place to park your car                      Great exercise looking for
                                                                                                                           said car
 

Airplane Travel                                   Irritable Bowel Syndrome               AMTRAK is my friend

Sleep                                                     What I used to get                           Chance to eat 3 more times

Crocheting Doilies                              What old people do                         What vibrant age advancing
                                                                                                                            people do

AARP                                                     What me?                                          Me

Words with Friends                           Good Challenge                                 Losing is Fun….sure!

Losing Body Hair                                OMG!                                                   Ooh La La

Going Gray                                          Getting Old Sucks                              Blondes have more fun. 
                                                                                                                           When?

Forgetfulness                                     Fear of Dementia                               Great excuse for
                                                                                                                            EVERYTHING!!

And the list goes on, but I don’t.  The point is, I am trying to see the world in a new way.  The world as a beautiful place, filled with beautiful people loving and laughing, helping one another, doing no harm, working together as one people, no preconceived notions, no disease and no hatred.  I think they call that smoking weed.  And since I don’t live in a state where that is legal, I’ll just have to wear my new glasses and do what I can to make MY world a better place.  Join me?