1. Operation: No More Babies. I had the Essure procedure done on 12/22. The procedure itself was a cake walk. Two hours before, I had to take a Zofran and a Valium. At the appointment, I had to take off my pants and lay down. The end. Seriously, there was nothing to it. I had IV sedation and the procedure was done in a room at my doctor’s office. I woke up 45 minutes later and went home 10 minutes after that. No side effects, no problems whatsoever. In three months I’ll go back for an HSG test to confirm whether or not the ol’ tubes are blocked and then that’s it. Done and done. If you’re thinking about permanent measures of birth control, I can recommend Essure at this point. I’ll report again in three months, of course.

(An aside: I shared this on twitter, but here it is for you, in case you don’t follow me. You really should, you know. Anyhow, the co-director of Maddie’s preschool is the one who told me about Essure when she had it done seven months ago. When the kids went back to school after Christmas break, several teachers asked me if I’d talked to Stephanie yet. I hadn’t, and got Nervous Tummy about it. What in the world could she have to talk to me about that warranted this? Was I in trouble? OMG, I was getting sent to the preschool principal’s office! What she had to tell me was that she was pregnant. Apparently, her insurance company didn’t cover the HSG test after the Essure procedure, so she didn’t have it done. Her doctor said it was no problem, because she’d never heard of it not working. HA HA. She is now pregnant with their SIXTH child. Apparently, one of her fallopian tubes didn’t close all the way and her determined little egg made it’s way through to the Promised Land. After confirming that it wasn’t an ectopic pregnancy, all was declared well and she’s nine weeks along. So, her stupid insurance company that wouldn’t cover the HSG test is now going to have to pay for another pregnancy, birth and subsequent hysterectomy. She has a family history of ovarian cancer, so they’ve decided to just clean out her lady parts altogether. BUT!!! Don’t let this put you off the Essure business. It really is like one in a million that this happened.)

2. I had to go on birth control pills for these three months while the Essure does its magic and I had quite the adverse reaction to them. So, I took them for a week, freaked out, stopped them and got my period a week later. That’s a lot of hormones over the course of two weeks. I have not been the most pleasant person to be around.

3. It’s almost Madie’s fifth birthday and I have made no plans whatsoever.

4. Sam got bronchitis over Christmas and ended up on nebulizer treatments again. This time, he was on Albuterol and Pulmicort and holy moly, was it awful. The combination made him act demon-possessed. He had wild mood swings, manic behavior and threw honest-to-god temper tantrums that lasted FOREVER. He was completely inconsolable and I was completely out of patience. I talked to the doctor yesterday and he’s off the treatments, so hopefully his behavior will even back out over the next couple of days.

5. I’ve been spending some time out of The Boot. My ribs are fine. The hole in the garage ceiling is fixed. The shame from falling through the ceiling lingers.

I’m having a rather strange reaction to the end of my fertile days. I don’t feel bad about it, but I feel bad about not feeling bad. Does that make sense? I sort of feel like I ought to be mourning the loss of babies we’ll never have. Little people whose faces would have lit up at the sight of me. A new person to get to know and love. But I’m not thinking about those things except to realize that I’m not thinking about those things.

At first, I thought maybe there was something wrong with me. That I was cold and unfeeling toward one of the biggest decisions of my life. But the more I think about it, I realize that I’m not indifferent, I’m content. I am so secure in the completeness of my family that I don’t mourn the loss of hypothetical babies. I do not feel any urges to be pregnant again or to have another a baby to snuggle. It’s almost like a switch has been clicked off.

In three months, I will no longer be able to get pregnant. Ever again. And I’m ok with that.

All right. Let’s talk about this week on the OCM.

* I did the OCM five times over the last week.

* In order to combat hormone-related blemishes, I added tea tree oil to my oil mixture.  This, in and of itself wasn’t a bad idea; however, using straight tea tree oil on said blemishes was a Very Bad Idea, indeed. Did you know that you can actually BURN your skin with straight tea tree oil? Because you can. And I did. The whole area around my nose and mouth is now peeling.

* I ended up with two significant zits. On on my lower right chin and one under my left nostril.

* I also got the Herp Lip, which is completely unrelated, but contributes greatly to the horror of that photo. (BTW: Did you know that there are studies that show tea tree oil has antiviral properties? I used it on my herp lip, and the blisters were gone in 36 hours. Just be sure to use a 5% tea tree oil, which won’t burn you.)

Over all, I’m still really happy with the OCM. I went ahead and made up a larger batch for the next few weeks, making sure to add only a very small amount of tea tree oil. Because I’m not a complete idiot. The next time I need to make up a batch, I’m thinking of trying either avocado or jojoba oil instead of EVOO.

Here are some things you should know about me before we meet at The Blathering this weekend. Or, before we meet in person wherever. It’s pretty much an all-inclusive list.

1. I am loud. I’m super excitable and gregarious and I tend to get LOUD. This is normally not really a problem until it’s combined with #2.

2. I say offensive things. I cuss like a sailor and think EVERYTHING is funny in the right context. I am almost impossible to offend and I forget that other people don’t share that trait. So, here’s your apology in advance. I’m sure I’ll say something that pisses you off at some point.

3. I’m a former fat girl, current chubby girl. I had gastric bypass in 2008. I can’t eat a lot at once and there are things that make me violently ill if I do eat them. I get drunk on 1/2 a drink and am completely sober 30 minutes later. I’m pretty happy with my size now, but for sure I’d like to lose my last 30lbs.

4. I’m a nerd or a geek or whatever you want to call it. I’m proud of this fact and wholeheartedly embrace my nerdiness.

5. I’m not fashionable and I don’t know how to accessorize. I dress purely for comfort and any cuteness that happens is usually accidental.

6. My head is almost completely filled with useless trivia regarding celebrities, movies, and books.

7. I read. A lot. I’d love to hear your book recommendations.

8. I’m a complete ham and will do anything to entertain you. I love to make people laugh.

9. I’m afraid of small things. Small animals, small toys, etc.

10. I’m in love with nail polish and change mine every day or every other day. I’m bringing my supplies to give my roomies manicures, so let me know if you want one, too!

11. I’m a hugger. Tell me if you don’t want one and we’re cool.

12. I want to hear about your kids. I love hearing about your kids. Honestly.

13. I’ll be your friend for life, if you’ll let me.

So yes, I really did keep my pantry that organized. It’ll stay that way for a while and over the next two years will devolve back into a hot mess and will no doubt stay that way until I’m anxiously awaiting news of some sort.

Speaking of, the next update is about the Janky Boob™. Clever segue, right?

It actually took me a while to come to terms with my diagnosis to be able to talk about it. While waiting on the results of the pathology report, I had prepared myself for the worst and hoped for the best. I was in no way prepared for some sort of grey area bullshit. I was going to hear “Yes, you’ve got cancer,” or “You’re all clear!” and life would go on. Instead, what I heard was (LITERALLY) “Well, you don’t have cancer. Yet.”

I have Atypical Ductal Hyperplasia. Oooh, sounds mysterious and serious, right? Don’t get excited. It’s fancy doctor language for “Fucked up shit that might turn into cancer one day. Probably. Maybe.” I’ve never had a pap smear come back with wonky results, but I’m told that women can get “pre-cancerous” cells on their cervix and need to have them removed. That’s pretty much what these cells are. Only in my boob, instead. According to my oncologist, the average woman has between 15 and 20 ducts in each breast and I had ADH in six of mine.

Basically, this means that my chances of getting breast cancer went up yet again. Dr. G said that in her experience, patients who are diagnosed with ADH at such a young age are highly predisposed to getting The Big C. (Side note: The high-risk breast center I go to is in the same hospital as my OB/Gyn. I love how on the 1st floor, I’m SO! YOUNG! and up on the 2nd floor, I’m old enough to have “advanced maternal age” stamped on my file if I were to get pregnant again.) Anyhow, the course of action is to pretty much keep doing what we were doing; exam, mammogram and breast sonogram twice a year, MRI once a year. And she cautioned me to never, ever miss an appointment because my boobs would become riddled with The Cancer and fall the fuck off my body. Or something like that. I’m fuzzy on the details.

So, really, it’s not a bad diagnosis at all. It’s just not what I was expecting. I didn’t know how to handle the news that I would be continuing to live with the black cloud of cancer looming over my head for the rest of my life. Turns out, after my emotions settled down, I don’t even think about it. Except when Janky Boob™ acts up and decides to hurt for no reason whatsoever.

Since I found out that I might have breast cancer and then was diagnosed with basal cell carcinoma within three days of each other, I canceled all my other doctor’s appointments. The last thing I needed to was go to the OB/Gyn and eye doctor to be told I had Vagina Cancer and Eye Cancer. Well, I managed to reschedule my eye exam and can report there’s no eye cancer present! Woo hoo! I still haven’t rescheduled the other because come on. It’s not high on my list of priorities, you know?

Gerald and I have been together for almost 8 years, so our hypothetical renewal is coming up. Here’s what I’ve got so far:

1. I promise to love you even after I’ve had to pop a zit on your back.
2. It’s 100% your job to remove/kill any parts of nature that come into the house.
3. I will drive the majority of all road trips.
4. I promise to mostly mutter all the mean things I think to say under my breath and not scream them at you.
5. I will half-assedly return all shoulder/foot rubs.
6. It is 100% your job to investigate all strange noises in or around the house, regardless of time of day.
7. You will never have to mop the kitchen floor in your lifetime.
8. I will do 99% of all grocery shopping.
9. You will limit your complaining about the items purchased.
10. When I play with our children, you will find me loud and distracting.
11. When you play with our children, I will find you incredibly desirable.
12. I will never cheat on you because who has time for that shit?
13. I will forgive all your mistakes because I’ve got no room to judge, that’s for sure.
14. I will complain every single day, but I will rarely mean a word of it.

So, how about you? What will be on your list the second time around?

All that is say that I’m going to share an email I sent to Munchkin in regard to the refill bags for their diaper pail. I think it’s awesome, but then again, I would, wouldn’t I? I hope it made the CSR smile this morning when she checked the inbox.

Dear Sir or Madam,

I’m a long-time user of your Arm & Hammer Diaper Pail System. And by long-time, I mean 15 months. Just so we’re clear. 

I used to have a Diaper Genie, and when it went to the Great Landfill in the Sky, I decided to try your product. Until now, I’ve been very happy with it; however, the last batch of Diaper Pail bags I purchased are seriously DEFECTIVE. The bags are splitting down the seam whilst in the diaper pail, unbeknownst to me until I remove the bag. And then, the most horrifying thing happens. All of the old, dirty diapers spill out onto the floor of my son’s room and I lose the will to live.

Now listen, I know you’re going to think that I’m overfilling the bags and causing them to split. But come on. I’m a reasonably intelligent person who knows how to use a diaper pail. Also, this box of bags is has been the only one with which this has happened. And to be doubly sure, I only filled the last bag about half-full and it still happened.

HORRIFYING. 

I’m attaching a picture of the carnage, (Don’t worry. It won’t make you lose the will to live, too.) and a picture of the batch number on the box for your reference/amusement. What I’d like to know is this: have you changed the manufacturing process and this sort of thing is more likely to happen nowadays? Or did I perhaps get a bad batch and my next box will be mercifully horror-free? 

I appreciate your time and attention,
Erica Anderson

I sent the email last night before going to bed and  a reply was waiting for me first thing this morning. In case you’re curious, they’re very sorry for the defect and are sending me a replacement box of bags ASAP. No mention of my supreme awesomeness but it was totally implied.

I don’t read news sites or watch the news or listen to the news on the car radio. I don’t know dick about politics, current events or whether global warming is real or bullshit this month. I’m not worldly, socially relevant, on the cusp, pulse or even the lap. In fact, I’m pretty damn ignorant. I don’t say this like I’m proud of it. More like… resigned. This is the way I’ve always been and I don’t really foresee it changing.

I do, however, love The Daily Mail. I know that it calls itself an online news outlet and pretends really hard to be a news outlet, but COME ON. It’s politically biased, celebrity-stalking trash. BUT WITH A BRITISH ACCENT. Which totally makes it classy. It’s a proven scientific fact.

If they’re not wowing readers with wildly sensational headlines, or scrutinizing every ounce of weight fluctuation within the female celebrity arc, they’re just plain making shit up as they go along and calling it “news.” The fact that they try so hard to pretend to be Real News just makes it better, in my opinion. Also, THERE’S A BRITISH ACCENT.

Check out the index. There’s a U.S. Celebrity page. Don’t bother looking for the U.S. Politics page. There ain’t one. And see what they did with that Femail page? First, they spelled it “femail,” like MAIL to be trendy and cute. And THEN they put all the stories about celebrities, fashion, make-up and sex on one page for us so that “femails” don’t have to get tired of searching the site for the things that are really important to them and maybe risk reading something about the collapse of civilized society in the U.K. or the plummeting stock markets. Stories like this and this are way more entertaining to read, anyway.