Shelba

By the Power of my Butt

While babysitting a brilliant six year old last night, I took note of one this kid's favorite lines, and I want to share it with all of you.

Whenever he used his booty to knock over one of his sisters or as he fake farted on someone he would scream out, "By the power of my butt!"

I shouldn't have, but I nearly fell over laughing when I heard this. And now I am trying to figure out how to incorporate his line into my repertoire.

Can't Sleep Volume II

Can't sleep again. I slept last night, so I'm not going to complain. Once again, husband and dogs are out cold. Lucky bastards. I'll do some chores and try it again in a bit.

In case I go for the mechanical valve, I'm taking care of any dental work I might need. Coumadin complicates any procedure where blood might flow, so I'm leaving the majority of February open for my dentist. After that, I will turn my body over to my surgeon.

Bravo, Little Big Girl!

Good news, my three year old neighbor is potty trained! And she is so proud of her accomplishment that whenever she drops one in the hoop, she invites everyone in the house to a viewing. Then everyone congratulates her as she triumphantly declares, "I"m a big girl now."

This is a huge step for the three year old, and when her mom told me the news, I failed to ask the Little Big Girl how she felt about her poops, instead I screamed, "Rock on, little one! High five, sister, you're the bomb!" She smiled proudly and said, "I'm a big girl!"

I apologized to the mom and told her that I heard the proper thing to do was to ask the kid how she feels about her poops. Maybe because she is not from this country she claimed to have never heard of that technique, but she did share her potty training secret with me. Candy. The Little Big Girl gets a piece of her favorite candy whenever she "makes." And then the entire family whoops it up to show their support.

Encore, Lil' Big Girl, Encore!

Can't Sleep

I can't sleep again. If I recline....I can't breathe. I can't sleep sitting up. So, I'm forced to wait it out until my shortness of breath leaves. Ray is sleeping. The dogs are sleeping. I am not sleeping. I am tired.

I heard an interesting rumor about heart surgery today. Someone told me that they position your arms behind your back during your surgery. God, I hope this is not true. I'll have to ask my surgeon about this.

This next one is not a rumor. When you wake up from heart surgery, your hands will be tied to the bed. This might be true for a lot of surgeries, I'm not sure. They don't want you pulling any tubes out while you sleep.

My Grandmother called today and told me that my Uncle Larry told her something weird about mechanical heart valves, but she didn't know if she should mention it to me or not. I told her to go ahead. She said that he said that someone told him that when you get a mechanical valve you (and people around you) can hear it clicking inside of you. This is true. I don't think everyone in the room can hear you clicking, but people say that if it is quiet, the clicking can be heard.

What I dread most about surgery? The catheter. This really freaks me out. I've already made sure that I will be knocked out when they put it in me. God, I'd rather wear a diaper.

I also dread waking up and being hooked up to the ventilator. Someone said you just have to breathe along with the machine. Jesus, please make sure they take the damn tube out of my throat as soon as I wake up.

I have surgery on my mind. Can you tell?

A Pervert?

I think someone is hitting on me, but I feel guilty for suspecting this. His intentions could very well be innocent....maybe I'm just a suspicious, antisocial little harpy who doesn't know the difference between someone being friendly and someone being FRIENDLY.

He makes jokes about visiting me at home, but that he wants to know if my husband has a shotgun in case he comes home early.

He always goes on and on about how good he thinks I look.

He hugs me a lot. He helps me carry stuff to my car and then when I'm cornered, he pulls me to him, hugs me, and kisses the top of my head.

He asks me to lunch and takes offense when I say I'm busy. But he won't ask me about lunch in front of anyone else in the office. He will walk out of the room, and motion for me to follow him in the hall, then asks me in a whisper if I'll join him for lunch.

During the holidays, he told me that he wanted to get me something for Christmas. I told him that I appreciated the thought, but that I didn't want anything. He asked me, "How about a massage? Do you like massages?" I freaked out, thinking that he meant HE wanted to give me a massage. I said, "Oh, no, I hate them. Hate people touching me. My husband likes massages though." And he said, "Oh, okay, I thought I'd get you a certificate to one of the day spas."

Well? What do you think? I didn't exaggerate anything, but when I just lay it out like that it sounds pretty shady to me.

Now what if I tell you that this is a 70+ year old man? Because it is. Which is why I feel guilty for letting my little gutter brain think that this old man is a creepy old man. Is it different because of his age? If he were my age, or my father's age....I would have karate chopped his neck a long time ago, but because he is an old man...probably close to 80, I think that maybe he is not a pervert.

Thank goodness I only have to see him one day a week.

Question

Are those home ovulation predictor tests accurate? Do they actually predict if you ovulate? I got to thinking that maybe I should explain why I want to know. The OB I saw suggested I do the ovulation predictor to see if I ovulate. Is this a waste?

Nothing New

I haven't posted in a couple of days, mainly because I don't have much to blog about other than heart valves. I walk around muttering about cow valves and asking myself, "What should I do?"

You're probably saying, "Holy Hogwarts, Michele, choose a valve and be done with it. Move on. We're ready to read about the wires that will hold your rib cage together and the scar....show us the scar!" Okay, okay, I promise, I will take pictures of my scar. And damn it to hell, I really want to make my freakin' mind up, but I just don't know what to do. I'm still counting on my surgeon offering up something that will make me see the light.

I keep thinking if I just get one more opinion, read one more study, talk to one more person who has gone through the surgery that it will help me make up my mind. I've been on a quest for that one right, magical piece of information. I want to know what the right answer is. But I don't think there is one. In the end, it will have to be a leap of faith. I will go with the choice that I feel best about, close my eyes, and hurl myself into the consequences.

Anyone have the name of a reliable pyschic? :)

Who Asks Someone This?

I detest going to the Texaco near my house. Mainly, it is this one guy that works there that makes shopping there miserable. He is rude and intrusive. The sight of his face and the sound of his voice makes me cringe. In the past he has asked me why I don't have children yet. If I have put on weight. And why I'm not wearing makeup. I really wanted a Coke yesterday, so against my better judgement I went in. He asked me, "Are those your real teeth?"

My Husband thinks that this is a compliment. As though my teeth are so nice that they make this idiot wonder if I have faux teeth. I'm not sure I agree with him, but I do know that I'm never going in there again.

Knowledge is Power, Sister!

I saw a high risk OBGYN today. He was positive about pregnancy after valve replacement. He has handled numerous pregnancies of women who have undergone valve replacement. I can't tell you how happy I am that I made an appointment to talk with him, because I almost didn't. After I talked to my gynecologist last week, she scared me so much that I was afraid to even say "pregnancy." Which sucked because I wouldn't mind contributing at least one person to the overpopulation problem. Talking to someone who has hands on experience with the pregnancies of women who have undergone valve replacement was wonderful. He gave me a lot to think about.

He told me that if I went with a mechanical valve and had an unexpected pregnancy, that it didn't mean I would have to abort the pregnancy. I would have to go off of coumadin (coumadin penetrates the placenta barrier) and give myself several daily shots of heparin.

He also likes his tissue valve patients to take on a couple shots of heparin a day four weeks before attempting conception. The good news is the needle is short and tiny. Not every doctor prescribes the heparin shots, but he feels that it is best to be safe.

Do I know what I'm going to do? Nope. I don't. But I no longer feel crazed about making a decision. A week ago, I was frantic trying to figure out what to do. I feel calm about all of this now. I still have my appointment with my surgeon and cardiologist to go over everything, so I'm saving my decision for after those appointments.

When a Poop Is More Than A Poop

Did anyone see T.Berry Brazelton on the Today show this morning? Dr. Brazelton was promoting his new book, Toilet Training, The Brazelton Way.

Brazleton Says that when your kid takes his first poo on the potty, you shouldn't praise him, you should instead ask him how he feels about creating that shit. Interesting. He says that if you celebrate his poops that he will think, "Damn, am I doing this poop for her or for me?" You don't want your pooper pooping for you, you want your pooper pooping for his own pleasure. Interesting, isn't it?

What I learned from Dr. Brazelton is that I have a lot of reading to do before I become a mother because the last thing I would have thought to do was ask my kid what he thinks about his poop. I think my first reaction would be to high five the kid and say, "Right on, kid. Congratulations on your aim. That is an awesome poop." That is when the game show buzzer will go off and child services will step in to confiscate my kid, and from that moment on my child will forever resent me.

"But Your Honor, I didn't know that by praising his first poop on the potty that I was setting in motion a lifelong obsession for my son to please me. What have I done? Dear God, it was just a poop! And I all did was give him a freakin' high five! "

Years later in therapy, my kid will talk about how much he hates me. How I ruined his first potty poop. How he has lived his life only to make me happy and that he is giving up his medical practice to do what makes him happy.....euthanize puppies and kitties at the pound.

And I will say to myself, "Why didn't I read Dr. Brazelton's book?"