The good news: I found my calendar!
The bad news: Elisabeth has started to play with her poop.
The good news: My first five children did not play with their poop.
The even better news: When Elisabeth started to play with her poop in church today, Todd was the first one to discover it. I smiled and passed him a diaper and some wipes.
The bad news: I got stuck with the next diaper at home.
I apologize for the lack of posts lately. That calendar I found was packed with things like:
Watching people put make-up on their goats at the county fair. (Seriously!)
Getting a tattoo. (Don’t worry, it was only temporary. But I felt like one bad biker chick while it lasted. Now I need to go get me a Hawg.)
Playing footsie with a future senator. (Not on purpose. Sheesh, people, relax.)
Sending my children off to five different schools. (Yes, I only have four children in school. Sarah is attending three schools this year.)
Canning salsa. Lots and lots of salsa. And also making fresh lasagna sauce, which is SOOOOOOO much better than that store-bought mush we’ve been suffering through for the past several months.
And last but not least (ahem….drum roll please…..)
I GOT RE-EYEBALLED!!!
Okay, so my eyeball was already there, I just couldn’t see it.
But I really missed it. I tend to cock my right eyebrow about a thousand times a day, and I couldn’t do that while my eye was sewn shut, so my kids really missed my “I am so not buying whatever you’re trying to sell me right now” face. However, they totally enjoyed playing “Let’s experiment with Mom’s field of vision.” They also enjoyed calling me a pirate and making fun of me while I was trying to park the suburban with no depth perception.
Anywho, on with the saga.
On the morning of my “Can I please pretty please with sugar on top have my eye back now” appointment with Dr. Crush, I’m pretty sure I broke my nose. I ran into my door frame (HARD!) while I was trying to reach through and turn on the light in the loft so I would have a tiny bit of light to see with while I got dressed without waking up Todd and Bitsy. Picture me hopping up and down naked and dripping wet while simultaneously crying and trying not to swear and praying that the baby would continue with her slumber and avoiding getting blood on the carpet. It hurt. I actually heard the bone crunch. It really hurt. Way more than anything Dr. Crush thought of doing to me. And it kept hurting. It turns out that I wrinkle my nose a lot when I talk. Wrinkling your nose hurts when you have just smashed it against a door frame.
Besides really hurting (because did I mention that it hurt?), it also swelled to twice its normal size (and let’s face it – my nose isn’t exactly petite to begin with) and developed a huge bump right in the middle. Which thankfully is almost gone now. And my nose is only a little bit tender. But wow – did I mention that it hurt?
Anyway, aside from the fact that I had a giant red nose and one eye sewn shut and was running really late and had to drop off both Sarah and Daniel at their respective schools and still manage to make it to Provo by 7:30 am and then Dr. Crush was late because I am reasonably certain that he failed his “How to Tell Time” unit in second grade, the appointment went well. And I got Dr. Crush to tell me a little bit about his Yukon trip (I so want to do that someday), so his lateness was forgiven.
The surgery, part two, was scheduled for 8:00 am on Thursday morning. And then rescheduled for 2:00 pm on Thursday afternoon. And then it was rescheduled for 1:00 pm on Thursday afternoon. But not until 12:00 pm on Thursday afternoon, at which point I was covered in mud and sweat after a morning spent running and working in the garden. So, I took a FAST shower (I really hate taking fast showers), got dressed even faster, actually had to use a blow dryer on my hair (oh, the horror of it all), and arrived at the surgical center 13 minutes early. How did that happen?
I got all checked in, gowned up (why, oh WHY do I have to be a gown when he is only doing a teeny tiny little procedure on my face?) IV’d, and stuck in bed in the teeny tiny cattle car patient waiting room. Todd got to come back to chat with me. And we waited, and waited, and waited some more. And more waiting. And we heard the guy in the bed next to me talking about his experiences in Afghanistan. I believe he was lab tech, but he ended up doing all sorts of cool things like holding onto people’s intestines while they were being operated on. And then we waited some more. The nurse came in to tell us that Dr. Crush was running late (ya think?), but no one knew why. We waited some more. The anesthesiologist came in. He was intimidating. And he wanted to see how wide I could open my mouth. Let’s review: Broken nose, one eye sewn shut, buck naked under a hospital gown, with my mouth wide open. Nope, that wasn’t humiliating at all.
Then we waited some more. And some more. The anesthesiologist had left my charts on my bed. I took a peek. I found a very interesting sentence: “Patient requests that all remaining moles be removed during the procedure.” Um, Dr. Crush? “Patient requests?” “Patient requests?” I don’t think so. That was all you, babe. You were salivating at the thought of removing those moles from the moment you laid eyes on me. Don’t think I didn’t notice. And while I did request for another doctor to remove them several years ago, it wasn’t you and he wouldn’t do it. All you got was a begrudging, “Yeah, yeah” after about the zillionth time you pestered me about letting you remove them. Because really, haven’t you already done enough cutting on me? “Patient requests,” my eye. (Hey, that’s kind of funny!) I put the chart back down.
And then we waited some more. The surgical nurse came in. Her eyes got very wide when she saw me. “How did this happen?” I’m so glad that I can shock and horrify medical personnel. But then she wrote the name of the book I was reading on her leg, which is something I would also do, so she was cool.
And then finally, finally, Dr. Crush arrived. It was time for action.
The nurse wheeled me through the surgical center maze. We passed Dr. Crush, who was giving Botox advice to another doctor. No, the doctor didn’t want Botox. It was for a patient. But now I’m wondering if all of the doctors get together and have Botox parties. It would certainly explain Dr. Crush’s youthful appearance.
Dr. Crush came into the room. He totally bypassed me and headed over to the medical team. “Oh man, you should have seen the tumor I just took out of a patient. It was huge!” I’m glad he enjoys his work.
I have no idea how the surgery went. I was kind of unconscious. Which I HATE. Again I say – I am way too much of a control freak to be put under. HATE HATE HATE. And I totally want to come out the anesthesia like Jack Bauer and be already for action, but instead I’m much more like, “Just five more minutes, Mom.” HATE.
But eventually I woke up and got to go home.
And now, it’s time to mock the “What to Expect After Eyelid Surgery” sheet that Dr. Crush gives to all of his patients.
First of all, you should know that he really has a thing for ointment. At every appointment, I would be asked, “Are you using your ointment? Do you have enough ointment? How often do you use it? Are you keeping it in a safe place? Do you need more ointment?” And just what is this ointment? Think of it as the stinging Vaseline of death. And Dr. Crush’s instruction sheet goes into intricate detail about how to squish it into your eye. Three times daily. It even includes pictures. Although that person’s eye looks way better than my eye.
After smushing the stinging ointment of death into your eye, the instruction sheet then goes on to tell you to use a cold compress on your eye for the first 48 hours. Okay, that’s not so bad.
But then, then, you are instructed to use heat for the next several days. And not just any heat – Dr. Crush wants you to stick a hard boiled egg on your eye. Or a baked potato. Seriously. I’m thinking that he just might attach hidden cameras to his patients, just to see what they look like with boiled eggs stuck to their faces. The man has a seriously sick sense of humor. Or maybe I do.
Anyway. I did not stick a boiled egg on my eye. Instead, I made a teeny tiny rice sock. Much less embarrassing. And also less stinky. And also less messy. If Dr. Crush had a suggestion box, I would totally suggest rice socks instead of boiled eggs. I would also advise him to get a digital watch. I hear they’re easier to tell time with.
Oh, and about those moles that I requested he remove. He took a “scorched earth” policy with my face. There were blue stitches everywhere. Which immediately prompted my children to start calling me “Bluebeard.” They’re so funny! Apparently, he wanted the stitches to stay in for 10 – 14 days. I don’t think so. I pulled them out last week. I have to say, I kind of like having a mole-free face. But I did not request it.
So now, I just look like I have a little blister under my eye. Which I’m not sure is right. But I really hope it is. I have another (please say final) appointment with Dr. Crush this week, and even though he just may be the coolest, most adorable surgeon on the planet, I really, really hope that I never have to see him again.
Dear Dr. Crush,
It’s not you, it’s me. But thank you for fixing my eye.