Sunday, June 3, 2018

D is for . . . Don't Get a D, Dammit

Once our daughter hit middle school and started receiving actual letter grades (instead of the gentler elementary school report card ratings like "meets expectations"), her dad and I shared some expectations with her. Basically, we didn't want to see anything lower than a C. Too much pressure? I don't think so, but I can see how you could make a case for that. In sixth grade (first year of middle school), she had some close calls but managed to complete the school year with A's and B's. Seventh grade has been a much more challenging year.

Apparently, I've now turned into the type of mom who squawks about "unmet potential." And bad decisions. My daughter is very bright. All of her teachers (in elementary and middle school) have assured me that A is 100% capable of doing the work that is assigned to her. What she lacks is . . . oh, what do you call it? Oh yeah - focus. Her grades this year started out great. However, I could tell from the first parent-teacher conference back in the fall that her science teacher was not messing around. She was not swayed by the sheer cuteness of the petite girl with the big curls. Instead, Mrs. F was exasperated by a kid who asked to stay after school to work on extra credit assignments but then ran her mouth with her friends instead. She had little patience for half-completed assignments and the like. You know . . . a lot like the real world?

All year long, I've been riding my daughter about her science grade. She kept assuring me that she'd do some extra credit and improve her grade. Alas, the grade is in and it is final: D+ - which, in my books, is basically a D, which is basically a hair above failure. She current has C's in English and Math as well. Those grades aren't listed as final, but I'm assuming they might be.

I should add that she has lots of good grades on her report card. She's doing well in her electives (like choir), as well as in World Cultures and Spanish. My frustration lies in the fact that the not-so-great grades are in core classes. She has one more year of middle school and then the clock starts ticking with her GPA in high school. Actually, it happens before that because she has signed up to take advanced Algebra next year, as well as a Spanish class that earns high school credit. I don't want to pressure her about college, but five years is not really that far away.

I know she is starting to think about college, though. She's been checking out our state's university system, and making note of which campuses are known to have good music programs. The seventh graders took a "career interest" test back in the fall and not surprisingly, my daughter's potential job titles included: singer, dancer, actor, and - I swear I am not making this up - magician. The seventh graders were split up by career interests and taken on field trips last week. My daughter's group went to a local theater.

I was torn about what to do about her shitty science grade. I decided to do two things: 1. Make her clean her room because it was starting to veer into "the health department will be calling" territory and 2. Make her choose her own consequence for her poor decision-making. After all, she chose not to study for her tests. She chose not to complete her assignments. Those were the decisions that she made. So today she chose her consequence: giving up her computer for a couple weeks. She doesn't need it for homework since this is the last week of school. She mostly only uses the computer to play Roblox while simultaneously watching "Liv and Maddie" reruns on her phone. It's gotten to the point where just hearing a few notes of the theme song sends me into convulsions. "We both know we're better in stereo!"  

So yeah, I've been torn about how to handle this. We set expectations and she didn't fully meet them. What's the right approach? Paying/rewarding for good grades or leveling consequences for disappointing ones? She has one job at this point in her life, which is to be a student. I feel like I would be failing her if I didn't set expectations. At the same time, though, I am immensely proud of my daughter. She's talented and kind and an all-around good person. For all I know, she'd give me a D+ for my parenting skills. I dunno.  :::sigh:::

I am looking forward to the end of the school year so that we can avoid the dreaded morning routine, though. Now that I work from home, I sometimes grab one of the dogs and walk her to the bus stop in the morning. It's nice to have the extra time since I don't have to drive anywhere. Speaking of which, the new job is going pretty well, I think. I've got six weeks under my belt and I'm learning a lot. I sometimes feel like I'm at a movie and everyone else got there before I did. I'm looking at the screen and asking, "Whose car is that? Why did they get pulled over? Is that Gwyneth Paltrow?" I'm not bored, that's for sure.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to inspect a bedroom to make sure that cups filled with fungus and whatnot have been removed.



Thursday, May 3, 2018

Dear 13

Hey Kid,

Happy 13th birthday! You're finally a teenager!

Sometimes I think about the day you were born, after the dust had settled and the nurses had moved you to the nursery. Your dad and I went to the lobby of the hospital to make some calls. When I walked back to the nursery wing, my heart was racing. I had this terrible fear that I wouldn't remember which one was you, that I wouldn't recognize my new daughter. After all, I didn't carry you in my womb and we had only just met. I remember seeing a row of bassinets, each one containing a newly-arrived human. I nervously scanned the row.

But, I knew you right away. I've always known you, baby girl. I know your tender heart and your crazy curls. I know your green eyes and your fear of spiders. I know your infectious laugh and your insistence on pulling doors that clearly say "push." I know you.

I am so very proud of the young woman you are becoming. I love how you treat other people with kindness and compassion. I love how you keep singing, even when you think no one is listening. I love how you understand my quirky sense of humor so thoroughly that you make jokes that slay me on the spot. I love how you still let me hold you. Please know that you will never be too old for that.

We have running jokes, you and I. "You're my favorite," I say.

"I'm your only," you respond.

And you are, of course. My only. My person.

Happy birthday, Goober.

Love, Mom


Saturday, April 21, 2018

Looking Up!

I don't believe that if you do good, good things will happen. Everything is completely accidental and random. Sometimes bad things happen to very good people and sometimes good things happen to bad people. But at least if you try to do good things, then you're spending your time doing something worthwhile. Helen Mirren
Read more at: https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/helen_mirren_534603?src=t_good_things
I don't believe that if you do good, good things will happen. Everything is completely accidental and random. Sometimes bad things happen to very good people and sometimes good things happen to bad people. But at least if you try to do good things, then you're spending your time doing something worthwhile.  - Helen Mirren

I don't believe that if you do good, good things will happen. Everything is completely accidental and random. Sometimes bad things happen to very good people and sometimes good things happen to bad people. But at least if you try to do good things, then you're spending your time doing something worthwhile. Helen Mirren
Read more at: https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/helen_mirren_534603?src=t_good_things
don't believe that if you do good, good things will happen. Everything is completely accidental and random. Sometimes bad things happen to very good people and sometimes good things happen to bad people. But at least if you try to do good things, then you're spending your time doing something worthwhile. Helen Mirren
Read more at: https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/helen_mirren_534603?src=t_good_things
I don't believe that if you do good, good things will happen. Everything is completely accidental and random. Sometimes bad things happen to very good people and sometimes good things happen to bad people. But at least if you try to do good things, then you're spending your time doing something worthwhile. Helen Mirren
Read more at: https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/helen_mirren_534603?src=t_good_things
The last four months or so have certainly been eventful. In December, I had two car accidents in one day. I'm still dealing with some of the effects from that, including the fact that my neck still hurts every time I turn my head to the right. And yes, I went to a doctor about it. She basically said, "Right, but did you schedule your mammogram?" I think I will need to break up with this doctor because she is always more worried about getting me back for other procedures (get dat revenue!) than she is about why I came in to begin with.

My luck got a little worse in late February, when my appendix decided that 48 years together was more than enough. I recovered from that and then lost my job in April.

When I lost my job, I was touched (truly!) by the sheer volume of friends and family who reached out to me. My friend Jennifer sent me some fancy vegan chocolates to console me. Several people checked the job boards at their places of employment and passed my resume around. A former boss did a lot of networking on my behalf.

I reached out to some of my LinkedIn contacts and just happened to connect with the "right" one, the owner of a technology company in Denver. I'd referred a couple of clients to him in the past. It just so happened that he had a position that would be a good fit for my skills and background. We met at a Starbucks last week when he was in town on business. I was really impressed by his charismatic yet easygoing demeanor, as well as his passion for the work his team is doing for clients.

So, it looks like I start on Monday! I'll be working remotely (the owner is sending me a Surface tablet next week). The company isn't set up to have employees in my state so I may have to go the sub-contractor route until that's set up. I never dreamed that my job search would end so quickly. I am beyond grateful. I realize now just how stressful my old job had been. Things were not going well and I felt like I had become a professional apologizer. ("I'm sorry that your site is down. I apologize for the inconvenience . . . ") Now I can look forward to a brighter future and a fresh start. I know it sounds corny but I'm genuinely excited about it.

I've been thinking a lot about luck. I don't know if I really believe in it. I'm also iffy on the phrase "everything happens for a reason." People say it to be reassuring, which I have certainly appreciated. However, when I was younger and suffered four miscarriages, the only way through it was for me to come to an understanding that sometimes terrible things happen for no reason at all. And sometimes, when you least expect it, amazing things happen, too.

Saturday, April 14, 2018

Ch-ch-ch-changes

When I was in my very early 20s, I worked for a German-born retired USAF general who owned a small international marketing company. One time, I left work a few minutes early for an appointment. The next day, I saw a note on his desk that he had written to himself: "Claudia left at 4:56 today." He was probably my weirdest employer. He paid me next to nothing and routinely referred to me as his sexetary. But then he would do outlandishly generous things, like taking me to lunch at a fancy restaurant or buying me crystal for my birthday each year. Thanks to him, I actually own a lead crystal ice bucket - not everyone can say they own one of those.

I've had the good fortune to have some very nice employers over the years. For some reason, though, I keep thinking of a scene from one of my favorite movies, The Muppet Christmas Carol. (Hey, I didn't say that I was a sophisticated movie-goer here!) The bookkeeping rats urge Bob Cratchit (AKA Kermit the Frog) to ask Ebenezer Scrooge if they can have some more coal for the fire. Scrooge flies into a rage and asks the rats if they'd like to be "SUDDENLY UNEMPLOYED!" The rats, in turn, break out into a Caribbean-style dance and start chattering about a heat wave.

Why am I thinking about that goofy scene? Well, because (as of yesterday) I am  . . . SUDDENLY UNEMPLOYED. I am still reeling from the shock of it. My emotions were (and are) all over the map: fear, worry, sadness, and stuff I can't even articulate. I mean, I've always had a job. I have been working steadily since I was a teenager. I think the last time I was unemployed was in 1988 when I was a student at Texas A&M, and then a brief period after the mister and I moved to the Midwest in 1995.

My career path has been interesting. I started as an administrative assistant at a local IT company in 1996. Later, I transitioned to the company's web development department and eventually got into project management. In 2010, the web department (which had been spun off as a separate company by that time) was sold to another local IT company that specialized in web hosting and managed services. Fortunately, I was offered a job by the new company and worked there until 2016, when the owner sold the company to a very large IT company. In 2017, the very large IT company sold the web development division to a small marketing agency. Got all that?

I was excited to get into a new field and to learn about content marketing (in addition to continuing to serve the clients that were part of the acquisition). I did everything I was asked to do. I earned two HubSpot certifications. I wrote blogs to support the company's inbound marketing campaigns. I managed web projects. I trained clients. Plus, I liked my boss and my co-workers (I still do, honestly). And then, suddenly, I was sent packing. I can't say that I took it well. I cried all day and I'm pretty sure I still have more tears to shed. It's hard not to take it as a rejection of me as a person instead of simply "we can't afford to pay you anymore."

Of course, I have to be very careful about what I say next. It's very easy for me to go down a path of being very angry. So, I am trying to stay positive, focus on the future, and hope that a great opportunity comes along. Why was I let go? I was told that the decision was purely financial (my salary was not huge, but I'm assuming that I made a bit more than my much-younger co-workers), so I'm trying to take that at face value. I was told that there was nothing I could have done differently and that I didn't do anything wrong. I keep thinking about how I worked with some of the same clients for a decade or more. I have to think that some of them may wonder where I am. I feel bad about that, like I've let them down in some way. 

Just recently I told a friend that after being acquired three times, I sometimes wondered when my luck would run out. I was hired by each company and held onto my job even when others were let go. It's kind of like when my husband hit a deer a few months ago. We live in an area where it happens pretty routinely. His number was just up. It was his turn to mangle a deer. Now, my number is up (not for the deer thing, though, I hope).

We're snowed in (yes, in April - Mother Nature can go suck an egg), so I've been working on my resume and gathering references. One positive thing is that I've managed to build a good network over the past 22 years and am reaching out to people who have offered to help me in my job search. Several have agreed to serve as references. I filed for unemployment this morning (for the first time in my life). As if getting fired isn't enough of a blow to the ol' ego, the unemployment forms just about finished it off. "Were you fired for stealing? Were you fired for drug use?" Geez.

What makes me sad (well, almost as sad as being unemployed) is that it just feels like loyalty doesn't mean anything anymore.  You can check your work emails on nights and weekends. You can beat the drum for the company. You can do everything you've been asked to do and more. But in the end, it won't save your job. And that's a tough lesson to learn.

Telling my daughter that I lost my job was almost as hard as absorbing the news myself. She is a very empathetic kid and I knew it would make her sad to see me down in the dumps. I assured her that it's my job (ouch) to worry about this stuff. I will do my best to make sure that very little changes in her world. I assured her that we'll still have her birthday party as planned. I did her laundry while she was at school yesterday (I normally make her do her own laundry), so that's one little bonus for her. I have more time for her, at least temporarily (I hope).

When I posted a note about my job search on Facebook, my friends were very supportive. According to them, I'm talented and smart and lots of other adjectives, too. You know what? They're right. I may not have tons of confidence when it comes to my appearance. I worry that I'm not a great mom. I certainly have my insecurities. But, I am confident in my ability to do a good job, wherever I land. They say that integrity is what you do when no one is looking. I'd like to think that I have integrity. I'd like to think that I've developed some valuable skills over the years. Plus, there has to be some employer out there who wants to hear my terrible jokes all day long.



Wednesday, April 11, 2018

Middle School Talent Show

My daughter participated in a music gala at her school last night. It was essentially a talent show, with a fundraising component added (raffle, admission, etc.) The show benefited the school's music department.

The kid sang the song "Colorblind" from Glee. Because of time constraints, she was only able to sing one verse. However, she had the opportunity to sing it in its entirety at church a couple weeks ago (see below) and she's sung it for me and her dad about a hundred times, so I think we're all set. She also had a small solo in a number performed by the advanced mixed choir.

I have to say . . . some of the kids really blew me away with their talent. One group of kids performed a step number. It was so much fun to watch. We have a local tribe that's very prominent in our community. Quite a few tribal kids go to my daughter's school. A group of them performed a water song (in the native tongue) and then later they did a smoke dance to a drumming soundtrack. I think I was just extra impressed because I think it takes courage to be in middle school and to proudly wear tribal garb. Middle school is usually more about fitting in than standing out.

One act shattered my heart. The screen came down and the music started. A student named Jocelyn came out and sang a song about her brother. It was a sweet, simple song with lyrics like "I love you to the stars." Meanwhile, on the screen, dozens and dozens of photos of her family flashed by. In each, the focal point was a dark-eyed boy with nasal cannulas sending oxygen into his lungs. He looked happy but there was clearly something wrong, health-wise. I wondered if it might be cystic fibrosis. The photos kept coming and I started to think, "Oh no, I don't think he makes it." Second later, a photo of his headstone appeared. He died in 2017 at the age of 10.

I have no idea how she sang so clearly and beautifully. It's only been a year since she lost her brother. The auditorium, which was packed, was silent. I was crying openly at that point. Oh man, I feel a little weepy just thinking about it now! Brave girl, for sure.

A couple of acts were less memorable, but it was obvious that all of the kids had worked hard. My husband felt compelled to whisper his editorial comments throughout the show but I shushed him because you never know when the kid who just performed has family sitting directly behind you. A band performed an original song. P leaned over and asked, "Do you have aspiriiiiiiiiin?"

After the show, the kids who performed were running around, taking selfies. I spotted one girl, an eighth grader who had performed in the step routine. She has vitiligo, made all the more noticeable because she is African-American. She's lost the pigment on her forearms, neck, and hands. Part of me wanted to grab her and take her aside. I wanted to tell her, "You're beautiful, hold your head up, wear sunblock at all times."

However, she was already holding her head up just fine. I noticed her walking confidently across the cafeteria, three friends following a half-step behind her. She was laughing, calling out to other kids. Later, my daughter told me that the girl is one of the most popular kids in the whole school.

I couldn't help but wish I'd been more like her in middle school. I had the same medical condition (plus a couple others, just for extra fun) and my experience was pretty much the exact opposite. I'm still bearing the mental scars from being told that I was ugly, unpopular, and simply "less than." Geez, I think I'm secretly jealous of an 8th grader! Seriously, though, I hope bullying isn't as bad as it used to be.

The talent show was one of the more memorable evenings I've had in recent memory. Say what you want about "kids today" but you know what? I think the kids are alright.


Sunday, April 8, 2018

Because poetry is cheaper than therapy

People tell me all the time, "You're such a great mom!" Memo to those folks: my kid wants to run track at school and I told her that she can do it, but only if she takes the city bus home. I'm pretty sure a great mom would figure out a way to pick her ass up. I sometimes wonder if people believe that an adoptive mom needs extra encouragement. I dunno. I think all moms appreciate hearing that despite all the yelling and all the times we let our children eat doughnuts for dinner . . . we're doing okay.

I haven't been writing a lot of blog posts recently. One reason is that my daughter is getting older (13 in a few weeks!) and I think her privacy is more important now than it was when she was a toddler who pooped her pants on the regular. The other is that I'm finally writing that book that everyone always tells me I should write. I don't know if anything will come of it, but I'm enjoying the challenge.

At my church we have an annual "Poetry Sunday." It's basically just what you think it is - a celebration of poetry. I am a fairly crappy poet. I know I was an English major and all that, but I've never written a lot of poetry. However, I threw together a piece for this year's service and read it to the congregation today. So, here 'tis:

Flutter

Convinced I was carrying a boy, I named him Seth Patrick
Deep brown eyes like his dad, but with my completely reasonable nose
I watched the ultrasound monitor closely, squinting at the foreign images
The room was dark, the paper-covered pillow crinkling beneath my head
The doctor pointed, a tiny flutter. “The heart,” she said, matter-of-factly

Soon, that flickering heartbeat fell silent, my wailing the only sound
We had tried before and would try again, not comprehending the futility
Four tiny spirits tried to break through, each flying away in succession
A cliche, I know, but my arms ached for the infant I would never hold
I gently shook a toy frog in the nursery, a soft chime emanating from its belly

We sat across the desk from the social worker at the adoption agency
“Start with these forms,” she said, sliding them across with a smile
Months were spent with forms, home visits, security checks
I created a photo album about our lives for pregnant women to peruse
I was careful not to make us look too poor, too religious, too anything

“A birthmom wants to meet you!” The social worker was almost breathless
Days later we sat in plastic chairs at the agency, nervous and afraid
Did I have lipstick on my teeth? Did I look like a woman who could care for a baby?
J arrived shortly thereafter, her blue-green eyes and ready smile putting us at ease
“I know your baby will be beautiful,” I remarked, wondering if it was okay to say

I cried at my desk at work when the official word came. We had been chosen
I painted the nursery and confided in the frog with a chime in its belly
Would she change her mind? Would she decide that I wasn’t meant to be a mom after all?
Days clicked by. I stared at my phone around the clock, wondering when labor might begin
The due date passed and an induction was scheduled. The baby was in no hurry

On May third, Patrick and I stood at the foot of J's hospital bed, making small talk
We endeavored to be respectful, lighthearted, not at all presumptuous
At 5, we retreated to the cafeteria for dinner, though we were not hungry
Suddenly, a rush of excitement. “She wants you in the room!” We scurried to the elevator
At 5:56 PM, a pouty-lipped baby girl made her debut, her tiny red fists punching the air

My arms, all at once, stopped aching. The ache, perhaps, had been passed to J
My soaring joy would be forever tied directly to her abject sorrow, and we both knew it
I caught my breath and then called my mom on her recently-acquired cell phone
I tried to keep my voice steady when she answered.
“Mom,” I said. “Would you like to hear about my daughter?”


Wednesday, February 28, 2018

Spare parts, forcibly removed

Ordinarily, my husband is not the world's most attentive guy. He doesn't notice if I get my hair cut or buy a new sweater. I tell him what I'm making for dinner and five minutes later he asks me what I'm making for dinner.

Last Tuesday, however, he did listen. We had an ice storm and school was canceled. I worked from home. Ever since I had two car accidents in one day back in December, I get a little squirrely about icy conditions. Since my daughter was home, I suggested that she make herself useful and make me some lunch. I handed her a recipe for chickpea salad. She loves chopping stuff and this recipe calls for chopped celery.

I started feeling not-so-great at around 3 or 3:30 that afternoon. I called my husband and suggested that he pick up dinner for the two of them since I didn't think I felt up to cooking. I told him that he'd also need to take the kid to her haircut appointment at 5:45. I worked until about 4:30 and then climbed into bed. For the next three hours, I writhed in a relentless kind of pain that originated in my abdomen and then seemed to take over the world. One minute I was hot, the next minute I was cold. At one point, I tried to make myself vomit in case that might help. I had no idea what was wrong. Had my daughter accidentally poisoned me? Did I just have one of the weird illnesses that have been flying around all winter? I kept waiting to turn a corner on the pain.

Finally, at around 7:30, my husband came in to check on me.  I am normally the decision-maker in our relationship, but I just kept saying, "It hurts. I don't know what to do."

"We're going to the hospital," he said. "Let's go."

We left our daughter (and the dogs) at home and journeyed across town, our car's tires seeming to find every bump along the way. I walked into the emergency room just before 8 p.m. I remember the time clearly because the joint switches from urgent care to straight-up ER at 8. I did my best to sit upright in a chair as I watched the chick flip over the sign in the window. Fortunately, the ER was not crowded and an admissions person came out to fetch me fairly quickly. I told my husband he could just hang out in the main waiting area. I sat on a large chair in a small room while she took my blood pressure, temperature, and whatever the thing she attached to my finger was meant to do. The blood pressure cuff wouldn't work and she had to try a couple of times. I thought I might expire in the meantime. I couldn't stand for anything to be touching me.

Finally, mercifully, she ushered me into an exam room. I all but dove towards the bed and curled up on my right side. After that, everything was pretty much a blur. I remember a nurse named Jesse who struggled to get an IV into my right arm. It wasn't his fault - my veins are generally uncooperative. He had slightly better luck with my left arm and hooked up an IV. However, it didn't work quite right and required almost constant fiddling. "It's positional," I heard him say. He injected morphine into the IV. If my pain dissipated at all, it was not by any measurable amount. I remember peeing in a cup at some point. I remember being given a gown. I remember not caring what parts of me were hanging out of the gown. I heard someone say, "I like your tattoo." I may or may not have said, "Thanks."

I almost forgot one fun detail. A steady stream of people came in and out of the room. I asked one of them, "So, um, if I need to vomit, where would you recommend I do that?" She handed me a puke bag. Not two seconds later, those carefully chopped bits of celery left my stomach at high velocity. Thinking I was done, I handed the bag to a member of the small crowd of medical personnel that had gathered at the door (they were waiting for me to finish, apparently). I quickly realized that I'd been too optimistic in my belief that I was done. I gestured in such a way to indicate that I needed a new bag, and a new bag was promptly delivered. No one flinched during this whole process.

With the puking out of the way, the doctor proceeded to examine me and ask me some questions. Blood in the urine? Nope. Back pain? Nope. She thumped on my back and listed to my lungs. Then she applied pressure to my abdomen. I thought the pain was coming from, you know, everywhere, but when she pressed on the right side, it intensified significantly. "That's your appendix," she said. She indicated that a CT scan would be needed to confirm the tentative diagnosis of acute appendicitis. At about this time, I asked a nurse to fetch my husband from the waiting room. I didn't think he should miss out on all the fun.

Soon, a technician came to wheel me down the hall for a CT scan, where she was joined by a second person. They moved me to the CT bed and then they injected dye or something or other into the IV. "You'll feel like you've peed yourself," she told me. "But don't worry, you won't actually have peed yourself." Sure enough, I felt oddly warm. The bed was more like a conveyor belt, moving me in and out of the big vertical doughnut.

I was transferred back to the wheelie bed and taken back to my room. I was still in pain and received a merciful dose of Dilaudid in my IV. Before long, the doctor came back to confirm the diagnosis: acute appendicitis. She explained that I would need surgery right away. I didn't bat an eye. I was just glad to know that the pain would be gone soon. They were welcome to cut me open and take whatever they wanted. I didn't even care. The good news was that my appendix had not yet burst (props to my guy for getting me to the hospital so quickly!) The doctor told me that they were just waiting for an operating room to be available and then I'd be in surgery. I know people complain about doctors and hospitals and waiting, but I have to say that things moved along pretty efficiently. A steady stream of people came in and introduced themselves. I met the surgeon, the anesthesiologist, and a series of nurses.

By around 11:00, I was wheeled down the hall and into an operating room. I think the nurse who was pushing the bed said something about the room being "cold and bright." I shifted to the operating table and my arms were placed at right angles to my body. My brain developed a half-formed thought about a crucifixion. Someone said that they were going to ditch the not-quite-right IV in my left arm and put one in my right hand instead. Warm blankets were laid across my legs. A mask appeared over my face. That's about all I remember.

What's weird about general anesthesia is that when you wake up, the time is simply gone. It's not like waking up from a nap and having a rough idea of how much time has passed. Anesthesia just removes that chunk of time from your personal clock altogether. When I woke up in the recovery area, two nurses were tending to me. My husband was there. I feel like I was probably asked a lot of questions, but I don't remember much.

Within an hour or so, I was discharged from the hospital. I could have stayed overnight, but my husband had to go home either way.  We could not leave our daughter home alone overnight. So, once I could stand upright, I left. They gave me a morphine tablet for the road. After dropping me off at home, my husband found an all-night pharmacy and filled all of my prescriptions. For the next few days, I was supposed to alternate between ibuprofen, acetaminophen, and morphine. I was given ice packs for my swollen abdomen (which now had three glued-together incisions). My husband took the next day off so that he could take care of me. He made a schedule for my meds and handed me everything right on time. Since narcotics sometimes cause constipation, I had a prescription for a remedy for that, too. In our nearly 26 years together, I don't think my guy has ever said anything quite so sexy as this: "Hey babe, it's time for your stool softener."

A week has now passed since my surgery. I went back to work on Monday. It hasn't been smooth sailing. I am not a "take it easy" kind of person. I am letting stuff go as much as I can. The pain has been worse than I expected. The morphine makes me feel all oogy so I only take it at night. I have been wearing stuff like yoga pants to work because my mid-section is not interested in having contact with denim or any restrictive garments of any kind.

So, that's the news from here.

Keep your appendix if you can. If I had to give appendicitis a Google review, it would be looking at one star. "Would not recommend."

Heavily medicated? Napping a lot? These two will console you by taking up the whole bed.