Cardiologist convinced it's NOT my heart - YAY?

According to the cardiologist and am in near-perfect heart health.  The chances of me having a heart attack within the next 5 years are almost nil!!  HURRAY!!! HURRAY!!!  According to him, my 5-year history of chest pain is not related to my cardiac health.

 "So Doc, what is causing my chest pain?"

"I have no idea."

"Any idea who might?"

"Maybe you could try a GI specialist."

"I've been to one, it's not GI."

"Then I'm not sure what I can tell you..."

This is where, in my mind, I grab the dude by his oxford shirt collar, pull him to within inches of my now-crazed eyes.

"Then who can?  WHO?!?  'Cause it's not like I can ignore heart attack symptoms.  I'd try, except that  every piece of medical advice says that you shouldn't ignore heart attack symptoms.  So tell me Doc...   Tell me who I can see.  Tell me who will clear up this medical mystery.  TELL ME WHO WILL GIVE ME ANSWERS!!!"

Out loud I say, "Who would you recommend I go to then?"  I am calm.  I am not frothing at the mouth.

"Maybe a physiatrist?"

"A... phy... whatnow??"

"A physiatrist - deals with musculoskeletal issues and chronic pain."

Excellent, I shall see another "ist."   "So could you give me a referral to a physiatrist?"

"You'd have to get that from your GP."

I leave the office, determined not to cry.  This is good news.  I have just heard good news.  It's good news.  Right?  I still have NO FREAKING CLUE what's wrong with me, but this is good news.  I get in the car.    U2's Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For plays on the radio.  I start laughing hysterically.  Driving home, I sing along at the top of my lungs...  laughing...  crying... While stopped at a light, some of the singing morphs into primal screaming with accompanying rhythmic pounding on the steering wheel.  By the time the light is green I have my shit together and logic has re-entered my cranium.  I square off my shoulders and take a deep breath.  Alright.  What's next?

Cool Rissa tricks

"You should feel this Mummy," says Rissa, as she deliberately creases her forehead.  "It gets all lumpy.  It's awesome!"

"I always liked that I could move my scalp back and forth," I reply - taking my fingertips and moving my scalp over my skull and then reaching over and moving hers.

"Wait!  Wait!" she begs.  "I can do this cool thing with my tongue.  I figured it out in my mouth and then when I looked at it in the mirror it was soooooo cool."

"Okay.  Show me."

She screwed up her mouth - eyes bugging out a bit - she started snorting with laughter and showed me her tongue - not doing anything particularly special - not a tunnel, nothing - kind of just lying there.

"Wait!  Wait!!"

"I'm not seeing anything.  You just look like you've tasted something yucky."

"What I'd really like is to be able to make my tongue look like a snake tongue - you know with two parts..."

"Your tongue would have to be cut in two..."

"Yeah!  Like this lady from a Freak Show in New Jersey..."

"New Jersey?"

"Yeah - she could move her tongue in two different directions at the same time!"

"So she could pick both nostrils at once if she really wanted to?"

"EEEEEWW!!  Mummy!  Gross!"

"You're the one who wants a snake tongue - I'm just thinking of the perks."

I never thought that hip-hop would make me cry

 This is the soundtrack to this post:

Driving back from a 13th birthday party.  Rissa and two friends in the backseat near-to-collapsing from an afternoon in the blinding sun - hair still wet from the home made Slip-n-Slide.
"Daddy!  Daddy can you please put it on 'aux'?" 

David changes the stero input.   We close the windows - put on the AC.  The opening strains of  Same Love pipe through the car. 

I wish I'd taped it.  For the first time in my life, I wish I actually used a cell phone that had a video app component and I had taped it.  Then you'd see two adults in the front seat, sharing a look.  Three girls in the backseat doing spoken word with Macklemore and then joining Mary Lambert as the chorus swells.

This song.  This song celebrating love.  Of all kinds.  And these girls - singing with all their hearts.  Pushing mine near to breaking because it's so beautiful.  These just-turned-teenagers know the words, all the words, to this song.   My breath hitches.  Tears come to my eyes - I turn my head because I don't want them to stop - which is what they'll do if they know how hard we're listening to them.  I put my hand on the back of David's neck, reaching out, needing to share this connection.  To acknowledge that this hip-hop groove can change lives, change perceptions, change the world if we let it.  So proud.  So freaking proud of these girls.  Wishing I knew the song well enough so that I could sing along too.

And I can't change
Even if I tried
Even if I wanted to
And I can't change
Even if I try
Even if I wanted to
My love
My love
My love
She keeps me warm
She keeps me warm
She keeps me warm
She keeps me warm

So don't be surprised Macklemore and Ryan Lewis.  Don't be surprised if some random woman - old enough to be your older sister or your mom - stops you, holds you tight and whispers in your ears, "Thank you.  Thank you.  For standing up, for speaking out, for sharing love." 

These thighs are not made for sconce light.

Sconce light and candle light are not the same thing.  We have these wall sconces on either side of the fireplace.  They are adorned with vellum-type shades which cast a nice glow.  The room looks warm and inviting.  My thighs in this light?  Cottage-cheesy and terrifying.

"Don't look!" I tell David.  "DON'T LOOK!"

"Don't look at what?"

"At anything!  Just close your eyes."  I desperately try to pull down my chemise so that it covers me to my knees.  My knees, at least, are pleasing to the eye.  Trouble is, the chemise really doesn't go down to my knees, so I'm now bent over at the waist, shielding the offending thigh region from the unflattering light.

All David can feel is me wriggling.  "What are you doing?"

"NOTHING!  Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain."

His eyes begin to open.

"NOOOOOOOO!!!!!"

"Would you stop?"

"I'm hideous!"

"You're not hideous.  You're badly lit."  He then gets up and turned off the sconces.  By the light of the tv my legs are spectacular!

Kick-Ass Uses for Crafting Supplies!!

Too much?

I've got boobs.  Largish ones.  On occasion, there'll be a day where I'll get dressed for work and as I'm walking to the office, I'll notice that my attire for the day is a little more low-cut than I had originally thought.  I'm not talking porn low-cut, but enough that as I'm looking down, even I get the urge to motor boat.  You know... 'cause they do look so inviting.  It's the kind of low-cut where it takes every iota of focus for David to have a conversation with me.

Sure, I do my best to make the outfit more public-appropriate.  I play around with the shoulder seams to get the neckline as far back as possible - make sure that my posture is overly straight - all the tricks so that I my co-workers don't get distracticated 'cause let's face it, even in an office full of women - 'out there' boobs can cause some commotion.

Yesterday, I thought I'd try using scotch tape to secure the edges of the neckline to my decolletage.  To no avail.  No matter how tightly you make your tape loop.  You really need double-sided clothing tape - or... OR... those super adhesive dots that you use in scrapbooking or card making!!!  I could have one of those dispenser thingies in my desk and just pop out a line of adhesive dots when a cleavage emergency arises and I'd be good to go! KICK-ASS USES FOR CRAFTING SUPPLIES!!!  Send along your own quick fixes!

What would you pay for this cat?

His name is Steve.  He's an orange tabby.  Sure, exceptionally affectionate and purrs up a storm, but really your typical tom cat.  If I were to put him up on Ebay, or Kijiji - what do you think he'd go for?  Any guesses?   $100?  $500?  How about $1000?  This cat must have freakin' gold in his faulty kidneys, because as of last night, Steve is worth $1232.38.  One Thousand, Two Hundred, Thirty-Two dollars and 38 cents. 

He's supposed to be dead.  If we'd done what we'd said we were going to do, we'd have had the vet call our animal care proxy, and Steve would now be dead on account of the fact that he's past the $500 mark.  Once it gets to $500 we're supposed to get the vet to call our friend Narda and she's supposed to say "Kill it," when we can't.  (She's also our medical proxy in the event that someone has to pull the plug on us; with the proviso that she has to laugh maniacally and say "Revenge is mine!" after we've been declared dead.)

I know, I know, you don't want to put a monetary value on your love for a treasured pet... but for a cat we got FOR FREE... $1200 freaking dollars?  Steve went in to the vet's on Thursday night - and by Friday when I thought to inquire as to the balance, we were at $800 and change.  Which is why Narda didn't get a call 'cause it was already past the $500 mark.  And now we're into increments.

"Okay, we'll do the x-rays to see if he has stones in his bladder, but if he has stones, we're not operating."  (Suitably heartless gesture of  fingers slicing across the jugular, with accompanying gurgling/choking noise).

"Okay, we'll let you 'relax' him so that you can express his bladder, but if you have to catheterize again, he's done."  (Again with the heartless gesture.)

Treating a cat with a bladder infection is kind of like being a compulsive gambler or playing the stock market.  If I play one more round, just one more round, if I make this one last investment, I'll make my money back, except you won't - what you get in the end might be a healthy cat.  Or you might not.  But now, after having poured so much money into the cat, if we stop treatment - we have literally just wasted all of that money.

We could still lose this sucker all on account of the fact that animals are poorly engineered and can't talk.  They can't say "Ummmmm, excuse me?  It's hurts when I pee."  Cats are healthy, healthy, healthy... until they're NOT.  Until they almost drop dead.  That seems like a pretty big evolutionary flaw to me.  You get this close to death from a bladder infection? What the hell is that? 

So that means, as of today, Steve is worth about $3.37 a day over 365 days.  And I think he's worth that.  For the sheer joy that he gives me, when he demands to snuggle down under the blankets at bedtime and curls into the crook of my arm.  Now, if that were to be $13.69 a day?  Not so sure.  We don't have that spare money just sitting around.  The last time one of our cats got really sick, David had just received an inheritance.  We couldn't say we couldn't afford to treat the cat, because at that time?  We could.

Now?  We need to re-roof our house - we're going to have to do that on a payment plan.  I just spent my entire month's wages on possibly fixing a cat.  I had to move money around from our already overly-extended credit line to make sure there was room on my Visa.

There are those who will think that I'm stupid for putting that kind of money into an animal.  There are those who think I'm heartless for even contemplating having him put down, when just another $1000 or $2000 would ensure his health.  I'm driven by guilt and finances and... love.  LOVE.  For this stupid cat who couldn't tell me before he was at death's door that it hurt when he peed.

Trying to love my turkey bum...

WARNING: There is Too Much Information in this post

After the second baby, I ended up with a turkey bum.  The midwifery student was given the chance to practice her stitchery on me after the episiotomy.  I think it might have been her first.  She fucked it up.  I have this extra piece of skin, that, were I a roasting fowl, would be considered a delicacy.   This extra flap - between the IN and OUT doors.  A place that I could maybe hide extra subway tokens in. 

We, as women, are encouraged to accept ourselves.  We are encouraged to revel in what makes us unique, what separates us from the flock as it were.  I find it hard to revel in my lady bits when they resemble the ass-end of a  Christmas dinner.

Is it wrong of me to wonder what would happen if I just wrapped this "Pope's Nose" really tightly with an elastic band... Would the blood flow  be cut off to such an extent that the offending skin might just fall off?  I've read that this can work for hemorrhoids.

Or wait, maybe I could vajazzle it!!!  Little bit of bling on my special thing?  Hold up now!  I'm sure there's a kink out there for this sort of thing.  There are kinks for everything.  This will be my path to making millions!  Who's with me ladies?