#264 In which our hero is just trying to get through the end of the year.

I am done with 2008.

As we entered the ass-end of the year just about everything became, fittingly enough, shitty.

I turned 40. More on that in later posts. But bigger than that was The Scientist’s looming surgery. You can read all the gory details starting here, but be warned, it’s all about stuff south of the border. And while thinking about my wife’s ass is generally a pleasurable experience, this is anything but.

There was also Christmas shopping which, once again, I promised myself I’d jump on early but, once again, did not. It was a very gift cardy Christmas for my family; which always makes me feel like I made no effort. I guess my sisters actually get to buy whatever they really want, and that’s a good thing, but it seems so lazy.

So, anyway, The Scientist had her surgery and, contrary to all her/my fears ahead of time, went pretty smoothly. Well, if you can call unexpectedly finding a grapefruit sized ovarian cyst smooth. But I guess it could have been a whole lot worse… if the cyst wasn’t found, then she’d have to have surgery all over again, and that would SUCK. But, that’s not the real problem, of course. The real problem, of course, is the butt.

For the first two days all was good. No real pain down there, meds were working, hunky-dory. Then, just about the time The Scientist had a couple of real poops, everything whet to hell. She was in a lot of pain. And not just while she was sitting on the pot, but all the time. The Vicodin constipated her a bit, so she stopped taking it. Instead she took Klonpin, which made her sleepy, but didn’t really touch the pain. She took lots of Motrin which, as it always does, roaches her stomach and makes her feel nauseous. Which all goes back to the puke thing and anxiety and holy shit this year cannot end fast enough.

Christmas day was nice. The girls got lots of good stuff. They seemed satisfied, and there was no belly-aching about not getting what they wanted--which, if you listened to Lily while she watched Cartoon Network commercials, was everything. Lily’s big gift was a Leapster hand-held, which she adored.

Then, a day later, the Leapster’s display stopped working. Customer service instructed us to send it back to Amazon for a replacement. Amazon, in turn, told us they don’t stock that particular hand-held any longer, so they could only refund our money. Then I started to run a low-grade fever, and was still coughing up green glue from my lungs; the antibiotics I was on be damned!

Then mom went home and I was left to entertain these rambunctious children all on my own. Which normally isn’t a problem, but when I was feeling crappy, it was a little challenging.

The house quickly feel into a Lord of the Flies condition.

I tired to keep up with laundry and dishes general keeping shit picked up while answering the every-five-minute calls of “Daddy! Can you help me?” “Daddy, what’s this do?” “Daddy, come look at this!” Oh, and this was also about the time that a tree limb fell in our back yard, knocking our cable/high-speed Internet line off the pole. So no TV or on-line games, my two biggest hold-outs to entertain these children.

And all was going on while I was reassuring The Scientist that all was well, and she needed to stay in bed. It was taxing.

And while this all sounds very ha-ha-stupid-husband-can’t-deal-with-a-little-housework TV sitcom bullshit, the real issue was that my wife was in pain. A lot of pain.

The meds she was on weren’t really doing it, and she was in constant pain all day long. I tired to do what I could but, really, this was nothing I could do. I ran out and got her prune juice and fiber cereal and dried cranberries and Slurpees, but they did nothing at all to really ease her pain.

And that just about brings us up to date. Couple of days ago I woke up at midnight to hear my wife softly weeping next to me in bed. It was heartbreaking. I didn’t have anyone to get pissed at, anyone to demand relief from.

Her first follow-up appointment was with her OBGYN, and I gotta tell you, as the only other man that views my wife's vagina on a regular basis, I like him a lot. He is all business. When he finished with the ablasion, he came out into the waiting room, talked me through what he had done, showed me pictures, explained the entire cyst thing and asked if I had any questions. Total pro. So, anyway, during the follow-up appointment with him, The Scientist mentioned how much pain she was in, and basically how much life sucked, and he told her to find her butt doctor and demand to be seen. Immediately. Fucking-A. This guy's on the right page.

So, she took his advice. The following day, when she knew her doctor would be in the building during surgeries, she came to work, put on scrubs, and confronted her outside the operating theater. Well, confronted is a strong word (that's what I would have done, as in, "Hey, I call your nurse, I page you and you blow me off? What the fuck?!") it was more like she firmly asked to be seen. And she was. Immediately. Which is good.

So, bottom line (for now) is that everything looks fine. She's in pain, especially pooping pain, but that's kinda the deal with this type of surgery. And actually, The Scientist says that it seems to have tapered off a little today. So maybe we're turning a corner. I hope so.

It would be great to start the new year with smiles, and not tears.

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#263 In which our hero takes his oldest to visit an old familiar chair.

In about 20 minutes I’m going to go pick up Lily and head to the dentist. Last week both girls had their six month check-up; which is actually only the second time they’ve ever been to the dentist. Our pediatrician recommended that we start taking Lily to the dentist around age three… but we never did. Not that we were avoiding it, we just never got around to it. And we’re religious about brushing their teeth twice a day, so we weren’t too worried about it. Plus, The Scientist has never had a cavity in her life, so I’m hoping that this uber-enamel has been passed down to our kids.

I had horrible teeth as a kid. Well, that is to say, I had a mouth full of cavities, completely due to my piss-poor brushing habits. I would wet my toothbrush and basically swipe it across my teeth once, and call it done. Dad would even joke about it, calling me “the fastest tooth-brusher in the west.” Dad had complete dentures by the time he was 35, so clearly outstanding oral health wasn’t his top priority.

But I really want to spare my kids the pain of cavities--the pain I'd experienced so often as a kid--so we’ve tried to instill the importance of brushing their teeth. The five fillings in my molars are a great visual aid. And, of course, good oral health also includes going to the dentist, so we finally got off our asses and had our kids teeth looked at a year ago.

They were really good about it… no fussy or freaking out. In fact, they seemed very interested in the process. Which is fantastic… no need to develop a fear of the dentist now.

And there were no cavities! Each kid got to enter their name into the “no cavity club contest” where they could win something or other.

I was so proud.

Flash-forward six months to the check-up last week. Macey was fine, no cavities. But Lily… Lily had a cavity! Right in her farthest back molar! Dammit! That’s the hardest tooth to reach!

And, unfortunately, this isn’t a baby tooth that’s soon to fall out; she’s going to hold on to this one until she’s about 11. So you know what that means. A FILLING.

So that’s where we’re going in this afternoon. I’m really hoping it’s not a horrible experience. I mean, I can’t imagine it’s fun for anyone to get a filling (well, expect this guy) but I’m just hoping there’s not a lot of screaming and crying. The Scientist made it clear early on that there was no way she could witness her child under the drill, and that I’d have to step up.

Here’s hoping for the best.

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