Tag Archives: “Old Dog New Tits”

Fun Facts about My Surgery Recuperation


If you lay around in bed and eat nothing but comfort food for weeks, you can in fact somehow lose weight.  Why have I been dieting and exercising all these years?

You shouldn’t address Christmas cards while on strong medication.  Or else some of your friends will get multiple holiday greetings and others will get none.

A Mylar balloon, if well cared for, can last well over two weeks in a good home.  I have received no compensation from balloonplanet.com, birthdayinabox.com or any other balloon purveyors for this endorsement.

Try as you might, even if you unsubscribe to every piece of electronic junk mail you receive, that crap will still follow you.  I guess there’s no escaping the Nigerian millionaire who needs my help in transferring his money or, you know, Lillian Vernon.

I’ve got at least twelve outfits that I can work without a bra.  True, some of them are pajamas, but still. Good to know.

When you haven’t worn make-up for weeks, any amount of it will make you feel like a drag queen.  Yes, I used that joke yesterday.  It’s funny ’cause it’s true.  So, I’m using it again, damn it!

I now have a bit of a phobia of high heels … for fear of a painful spill. It’s Mary Jane flats and (shudder) tennis shoes, all the time.  I must shed this fear before holiday parties.

I haven’t cooked a bite of food since November.  Seriously, there has been enough food delivered to my doorstep to feed an army.  Obviously, I have an amazing support system of friends. Oh, but my family is going to be SO disappointed when the dinner choice returns to El Paso taco kit or Hot Pockets.

The red, very alcohol-y body wash they give you as surgical prep also makes a great leg shaving lubricant.  Although its red pigmentation makes it hard to distinguish from blood and thus to determine if you’ve broken the skin with the razor. Which could be problematic, so it’s a good thing that the solution is “alcohol-y.”

The adhesive used on modern day surgical bandages should be used for brick-laying, dental repair or possibly even advanced rocket construction.  It’s been 14 days and I’m still sporting some of this gunk on my back.

That dry shampoo stuff our grandmothers talked about all this time really does work.  Alright, so I already knew that.  This stuff is great.  I’m gross and I’ve been using it for years!

When I first posted my good news (the benign verdict) on Twitter, I lost 6 followers within 60 seconds. I’m guessing the drama has gone out of my story???

The average rating for my post about my benign verdict was four out of five stars, meaning that some of you rated it three or less.  Okay, now you’re just being mean.

When you don’t do anything meaningful with your hands for two weeks, you realize that your nails have never looked more beautiful.  Of course, the second you’re upright again, they split, crack and fall off your fingertips in sad little shards of their former glory.  So, take pictures!

Sleeping begets more sleeping.  Honestly, if you don’t get your ass up eventually, you might as well commit yourself to a lifetime of taking all your meals and visitors in your bed.  Sure, that sounds good now, but I think most of you would eventually get bored. Most.

A purple pillow pet makes for an excellent coughing-and-protecting-your-gut apparatus.  They’re also excellent listeners and well-skilled in the ancient art of feng shui.  My remote control, Chapstick and Kleenex box have never been in greater harmony with the universe.  (Okay, NOW who’s being mean?)

When you’re confined to your bed, you don’t watch TV nearly as much as you’d think.  I would have expected that it’s all I would have done.  And yet, some days the set didn’t even go on. Pathetic. What was I thinking?!!?

Your cat doesn’t care that you’ve just had surgery and will treat you in the same crappy manner as always.  He thinks his ‘tough love’ method will work but I think it’s put a wall up between us that will be hard to break down.

Narcotic pain medication combined with surgery can wreak havoc on your digestive system, making for a very irregular lifestyle. Don’t you think that’s some information I would like to know???

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From wearing a bra again to remembering to pay it forward, today was a long day


I left the house again today.  This time with a friend … to meet other friends … at a holiday lunch thing for moms who are fool enough to serve as president of their children’s school’s PTA.  If you’ve been paying attention, that fool was me last year, along with my friend, Ashley.  So, this year, we’re Past Presidents of the organization.  And, yes, it is just as glamorous as it sounds.  Sure, we don’t get to live in the palatial estate the school made available to us last year but we do have the protection of secret service agents for ourselves and our families for the rest of our lives.

I knew I needed to look decent today.  Like a girl anyway.  So, I took a shower and did a dry shampoo of my hair.  (Our grandmothers were right, by the way.  That stuff is awesome.  And another whole blog entry topic.) Then, I got dressed, careful to choose an outfit that wasn’t too uncomfortable … considering I’ve been in pajamas, sweats, yoga-wear or anything that could easily cross over to clothing suitable for a nap at a moment’s notice.  And I should point out that I wore not only a bra but also jewelry and even make-up. Truth be told, I’ve become so unaccustomed to dolling up that, when I was done, I felt a bit like a drag queen.

Ashley was gracious enough to do the driving today.  I don’t think she’s interested in serving as my crash test dummy in the early days of my operating heavy machinery again.  And one of the first things she did was to assure me that I didn’t look like a drag queen but rather just more of my old self again. Here’s hoping that’s a good thing.

It was nice catching up in the car.  Girl time. Something I haven’t had much of outside of my meaningful conversations with Lola, my purple pillow pet, the last few weeks.  The lunch was fine.  I even had a glass of wine. And Ashley and I cut out early as sitting in a chair eating lunch in a public place was starting to tire me out.  What a wuss.

And, as we were driving home, we encountered a homeless man (well, I’m assuming he was homeless) waiting at the bottom of an interstate ramp and holding a sign that said ‘Broke for my Birthday.’  I wondered out loud what he was going to do tomorrow when his sign was outdated.  Then I felt bad because, the way the traffic was routed, we weren’t able to help.  Although I don’t really endorse this kind of giving as I’ve had my hand grabbed when handing over money on one of these occasions.  Truly, it was only because the man was grabbing my hand to look deeply into my eyes and tell me ‘Jesus loves me.’ Still, when a man grabs your hanging-out-of-the-car hand at a red light, you take pause and wonder if rolling down your window was really the best idea.

Anyway, before I’ve completely lost your attention (Wake up, you three!), I just wanted to extend a gentle reminder to everyone to do something extraordinary for someone else this season.  By extraordinary, I don’t mean that it has to be overly magnanimous or anything like that.  I simply mean extra ordinary or out of the ordinary. Something you might not have otherwise done for someone this year.

Maybe it’s just letting someone whose needs are more urgent than yours get in front of you in line.  (Isn’t it amazing when someone recognizes that need for you?) Or maybe you could pay for the car behind you at the toll booth.  You’ll be surprised at the reactions.  Sure, sometimes they’ll speed up beside you and look at you like you’re nuts.  But it’s still a good idea.  Try to identify someone in your life that needs you, whether or not you know them personally, and see what you can do for them. It doesn’t actually have to cost a dime.

So, if you see me complaining about a line somewhere or cutting someone off in traffic, you can feel free to tap me on the shoulder.  I’m not perfect but I’m also making my effort to pay it forward this season. I’ve never felt more indebted to the world.  And I’m hoping to spread some of this good karma around.

“That’s what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.”

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Can someone help me back up on the horse, please?


Today is December 13 … which you already know if you own a calendar, a phone, a TV or you even just leave home and drive by an electronic bank marquee once in a while. What today means for me is that it’s been 12 days since my surgery.  And I’m trying to get back into the swing of things and sort of become myself again.  But it’s proving to be a little harder than I expected. My cat got out this weekend and the walk around the block that I took to find him nearly killed me.  And then there was the time I tried to sit straight up (rather than the tuck and roll).  Or my sneezing fit today.  Or every single cough, laugh or deep breath.  Damn, I’m weak. And slow.  And I’m so tired of these deficiencies. Tired being the operative word here.

But I’m trying to come back.  And today, I drove.  I actually drove my car by myself.  I had no destination in mind when I got behind the wheel and I’m still trying to figure out why in the hell I chose to drive to Toys ‘R’ Us.  (Seriously, it’s Christmas … but what was I thinking?) For what was a completely fruitless visit.  But I got out there today.  And I didn’t almost kill anyone.  (Unless you count myself with the sneezing.)

Tomorrow, I think I’ll try wearing a bra again.  Wish me luck.

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An Ironic Picture, considering this kid never thinks inside the box


I found this picture of my daughter on my phone yesterday and wasn’t sure how to include it in As my girl would say, she drums to the march of a different beater. So, I thought I’d save it for today. It’s a few years old … from right after we moved into this house, post-Katrina. I can tell because it was taken before we remodeled that previously hideous bathroom. Plus, the box is from the move. It’s more evidence of her nut jobbery. At age four. And I have no explanation.

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As my girl would say, she drums to the march of a different beater


After re-reading my (sad) post from yesterday, I thought a happier one highlighting the joys of my girl would make for a nice bookend this weekend. Missing her ‘Breakfast with Santa’ yesterday sucked, flat out. Dave & I just didn’t think an event teeming with little people running around wildly in all directions (aka – directly into my gut) was the best place for me to spend my morning. So, I missed the big event, which was the bad part. But I also missed the inevitable spilling of the hot chocolate all over her clothing … before the picture, of course. (And there’s the good part.)

Anyway, if you read the post, you probably remember my plan to “hug the living daylights out of her” when she got home – which I did. We actually spent the rest of the weekend together, goofing off and just lying around reading, playing holiday games on the NORAD site, eating too much sugar and harmonizing to Christmas carols. Badly and loudly. Oh, and we took in A Charlie Brown Christmas and, of course, kept up the annual tradition if mimicking all the character’s different dance moves to the memorable Guaraldi score.

Like I said before, she really is “the spirit of Christmas in this house.” And I think that’s largely attributed to the fact that she’s a dotty little nut job. She’s always been the kind of kid who tags along to the grocery store wearing a long red cape and rain boots. She once had to get stitches for busting her lip during a game of checkers (altered little girl rules, of course) where she fainted from trying to blow her opponent’s pieces off the board. She even keeps a box of the cat’s whiskers (those that have already fallen off) in her room as a special keepsake of him. And if posts like If Nerds Could be Superheroes, A Halloween Story written BY my daughter FOR this blog. Is that weird? and My Young Daughter’s ‘Ultimate Wedding Dress’ haven’t convinced you of her delightfulness quirkiness, then maybe this picture will.

(And, yes, I have her permission to use it.)

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This is how I found her in the bathtub tonight. On her self-titled “Bubble Adventures!” She reminded me an awful lot of Mary Stuart Masterson’s Joon character in Benny & Joon.

I guess once she learns to make Cap’n Crunch smoothies in the blender and direct traffic with a ping pong paddle, we’ll be all the way there. Never change, my girl. People like me believe the world is round.

People like you believe in making it go round.

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Missing the Santa Visit with my Girl


My daughter went to see Santa today.

I have two kids, the first of whom was born in 1999. That means 2011 marks 13 years of Santa visits.  Except this year, I’m not there. All because of a stupid ping pong ball of fleshy goo that decided to settle in my chest cavity.

Stupid-ping-pong-ball-of-fleshy-goo, we’ve talked a lot in the last two weeks.  I’ve actually even thanked you for a few things.  But today, I’m not thanking you for anything.  Today, I’m pissed that you have me apart from my girl who just left … all ‘cuted’ up with her reindeer antler headband in her little girl purse to wear for the picture.  Before she left, she hugged me and whispered that she wished that I could go with her but that she’s afraid she wouldn’t be able to protect me while I was there.

When did she have to start protecting me???

I love that kid.  She is the spirit of Christmas in this house.  And, at the moment, she’s only five minutes away at her school’s ‘Breakfast with Santa.’ But I miss her right now as much as I ever have.

When she gets home, I’m going to hug the living daylights out of her.  On my good side, of course.  (The left one, in case you encounter me in public these days and feel the need for a hug.)

That’s all for now.  I’m just a little sad.  And had to put it in writing … for my sanity.  And your uncomfortable silence.

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‘Twas a Week since my Surg’ry


‘Twas a week since my surg’ry
To take out the mass
I still can’t believe
It all happened so fast

We started out chatting
And blogging ’bout boobs
Yet somehow this week
We’re onto chest tubes

We’ve learned about mole rats
The kind with no fur
And we’ve all guessed which boobs
Go with him or with her

We’ve met lots of doctors
Who all aim to please
Some say just a lift
Some say double Ds

If you go with an implant
Then, you’ll need to choose
‘Tween saline and silicone
With both you can’t lose

But you’re not done yet
Now you must decide
If it’s under or over
the muscle inside

The scars, anesthesia,
The risks and the price
It all made my head spin
This roll of the dice

And we found a lump
in my breast on the way
But learned it was nothing
Hip-freakin’-hurray!

Then later an x-ray
Revealed a round mass
Attached to my lung
And we struck an impasse

So a CAT scan, a spec’list,
A loud MRI
Soon gave us to know
that a surg’ry was nigh

So I dealt with my fears
And I packed up my stuff
And I went to the hospital
‘Cause I’d had enough!

Through IVs and catheters
Chills and Code Red
I came out of it all
I’m now home in my bed

My right side’s still achy
It hurts when I cough
So I’ll rest, write & e-shop
Hey, look! That’s half-off!

My friends were amazing
My family divine
But the best thing of all
was to hear “It’s benign.”

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Warning – there is a picture of a real, live tumor embedded in this post


Alright, I’m going to stall a bit. Why, you ask? Because when this blog post is opened on your laptops, tablets, smart phones, etc., I need there to be enough text here to fill the screen. I want you to have to scroll down to see the picture below. I don’t want it to pop up unexpectedly and frighten anyone. So, I need to fill a little space here and use long words like “hippopotomonstrosesquipedalian” which, ironically, means of or pertaining to extremely long words … and “floccinaucinihilipilification” which means the estimation of something as valueless, such as this introductory passage. I could even use this opportunity to extol the many virtues of the East African Naked Mole Rat but, after yesterday, we all know where dedicated ODNT follower, El Guapo, stands on these beloved rodents. So, I’ll try to resist the urge.

(A distant voice calls out from offstage. Speaker turns to acknowledges the voice.) What? That’s enough? (Turns back to address the audience) Okay. Well, let’s get on with it then.

A few days ago, I mentioned that I actually had a picture of my old friend, the lung mass, taken during surgery last week. And I decided to let you determine whether or not I would post this picture … in all of its blood-and-gutsy glory … on the blog. And do you know that, despite having featured three prior polls all related to boobs aka the roots if not the backbone of this website, the ‘Wanna see a picture of the tumor?’ poll had the greatest response to date. (I guess I could change the ‘T’ in ODNT to tumor.)

There were three options available in the poll – yes, no and do-whatever-but-warn-me-first. Because the yes vote was so much higher than the no vote, we at ODNT decided to do it … and, per the request of many, we are warning you first.

So, all of that said, I give you … the tumor.

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I’m pretty sure you can identify it (dead center) in this picture but, to give you your bearings, the rings around it that appear on the left are my ribs. Directly beneath it in black is some kind of major artery. And the slightly deflated pink entity below that is my lung. Dave thinks it looks like the top of Patrick’s starfish head. (My daughter watches a lot of SpongeBob.)

Yes, it’s gross. It’s a body’s interior after all. But I’ll add that my family said that the doctors and medical staff couldn’t stop talking about my beautifully pink, healthy insides. I’m blushing.

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Because of the location of my incisions, I cannot wear a bra. Does anyone else find this ironic?


Over the course of the last few weeks, I’ve been asked many times if having this lung surgery would have any impact on whether or not I’d still be pursuing breast surgery in the future.  And, prior to December 1st, my answer was always the same.

I don’t know.  I need to meet the Michele who walks out of that hospital without a lung mass. Then, I’ll let you know.

Geez. What a pretentious ass.  Referring to myself in the third person.  Honestly, sometimes Michele can be such an idiot.

And, now that it’s after December 1st and the infamous lung surgery is behind me, I’m here to tell you that I still don’t know.  Do you ask a crazy-from-sleep-deprivation, postpartum mom with purple bags under her eyes while she’s holding a screaming infant if she wants another baby? No, not unless you enjoy a good flogging. It’s just too soon.

Ironically, my current state of temporary surgery-mandated bralessness serves as a constant reminder of why we all started hanging out together in the first place.  Still, considering that I can’t get up from a reclined position without releasing audible manifestations of my pain, I’m going to stick with “It’s too soon”  for now and focus on healing and getting up to speed with everything again.  And I assure you that you’ll be the first to know when we can get back to our roots.

Until then, I promise not to dwell on Naked Mole Rats too much … but that doesn’t mean we won’t talk about all kinds of other completely meaningless and utterly useless information.  Remember, one man’s mindless drivel is another woman’s blog fodder.

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Prescription Warning: Objects on ceiling are not as mobile as they appear


Originally derived from the Greek word narkō meaning ‘I benumb,’ narcotics is defined a drug that soothes, relieves or lulls. In short, its job is to free me of pain and ease me into a profound sleep. There’s no mention in the definition about the benefit of all-over itchiness it provides. That’s just a little lagniappe.

Anyway, I’m still trucking along, taking my meds but trying to space out the gap between the pills a little more when I can. And, since I’m drifting in and out of lucidity, I’ve had a few amusing moments I’ll share for your enjoyment. Realize that when you laugh here, you’re actually laughing AT me.

(1) I was talking to my dad about my friend, Ashley, and mentioned something about when the two of us were pregnant last year. Of course, the word I was looking for was president … of the parents’ organization. Which would explain my dad’s very confused expression.

(2) When Dave brought my children to the ICU to see me that first night, I apparently was pretty concerned about a yellow folder I was convinced my daughter was hiding behind her back. He gently explained my mistake to me and decided to wrap up the visit before I claimed to see purple monkeys flying around the room.

(3) When drifting in and out of sleep with my mother at my bedside, I was suddenly very apologetic about spilling the syrup. And, no, there wasn’t any syrup or food to be found anywhere. We were just sitting quietly together resting and reading.

(4) On my first night back home, while still reeling from the potent stuff they administered intravenously, I took one of my prescription pills …. which together must have amounted to just a little bit too much. Fortunately, I was coherent enough to recognize that what I saw on my ceiling wasn’t real. Fan blades do not normally sway like sea anemone tentacles and recessed light fixtures do not normally change shape.

(5) My mom came to check on me in my bed not long after we first got home to find me resting peacefully with my eyes closed and petting what I thought was my sweet little cat who I had tucked under my arm. Yeah, it wasn’t the cat.

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I’m thinking Milo’s going to be pretty upset when he learns I mistook this thing for him.

By the way … Thanks, Vanessa, for my awesome purple pillow pet. It’s become my ‘clutch-to-my-chest-when-I-have-to-cough’ pillow which the doctor and nurses recommended. I love him. I’m just not so sure Milo does.

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