On Second Thought...

Funnel Cloud

Maybe I was wrong about the Oz thing.

This Ain't Oz

Flood

Okay--I'm not going to go into any cliche sayings like "when it rains, it pours," but this shit is ridiculous. We don't have a rain-meter or anything at our house (I don't know what a rain-meter is officially called, but whatever), but as you can tell from the picture, sometimes an exact measurement just doesn't matter.
Trying to drive to work this morning after a not-so-lovely weekend of storms, I was a bit shocked to learn that I was going to have to take a detour. I realized we had had quite a bit of precipitation, but nothing to the extent that would swallow my Honda.
The area pictured is at the end of our road, which joins onto one of the main roads through the back part of the little town in which we live. When they label something "flood plain" in Kansas, you sure as hell better pay attention.
After I tried a couple of different routes to get out to the main road, I found success. And, though I was already a little late for work, I couldn't resist snapping a couple of pictures.
I suggested to the Hub that he and I go snorkeling after work, but no dice. Something about that 25-pound alligator snapping turtle that we found cruising across the yard a week or so ago helped change my mind--not to mention the fact that I now test water samples for a living, and I unfortunately know the kinds of things (besides snapping turtles) that we would inevitably encounter.
Oh, well. {sigh}

Water line

2 of my Boys

Peter and Herbie

I'm stressed at work, apparently for no reason. I don't like having an in-box with things in it, and regardless of how far I move it out of sight, I feel the pressure like a fetter around my throat. After talking to my supervisor, who laughed at me, I realize I'm still getting used to the way things work around here. This time of year, he told me, it's not bad to have two sets of data waiting to be tested. If you're more than 6 weeks behind, then they start worrying.
So the pressure and stress is self-inflicted. That doesn't make things better, really, it just makes me feel like I'm being an idiot for doing this to myself. Time to take a pill....

Anyway, I decided to post this picture because it always makes me smile--two of my favorite boys, checking each other out. Peter is surprisingly good with all of the other creatures. He's more curious than anything, and if given the chance to get up-close to investigate, he stays on his tippy-toes in apprehension of any sudden move. He's relatively comfortable with Herbie now, because they've been out so much together, but he will still keep his distance if Herbie decides to take off across the floor.
In any case, just a tidbit of my everyday life. My family makes me feel better. (:

An Update

(from this post)

Due to unforeseen complications, my surgery has been rescheduled for September 1st, 2005.

The unforeseen complications have to do with work, and work policy, and blah, blah, blah.
To give a background, there is a program at my work that allows people to donate or share their annual and/or sick leave. This shared time goes to someone who is needing to be out of work for a serious problem and won't have enough leave time to cover the time needed off. I talked to someone in the Personnel department here at work today, and he said that the hysterectomy (and the reasons I need one) would be sufficient to approve me for shared leave. The only problem:
I've not been in my current job for 6 months or more.
That little snipit of information had never before been mentioned, and now it seems that I have yet another goddam thing to be stressed out about. If I have to be off of work for 6 weeks to recover from the surgery, off of work 6 weeks without pay, there's no way it could work out. I wouldn't even be eligible for short-term disability because I've not worked here a year.
GODDAMMIT!! GODDAMMIT!! GODDAMMIT!!
Okay, now that that's out of my system, I'll continue. When I got back up to my lab from talking with the Personnel guy, I got on the horn to my Cooterologist's office. I was able to get through to the lady who does scheduling for my doctor, and she understood the predicament. She pulled my file and said that we'd be able to move it back, but not by a long time.
My first day of work here was February 28; that means 6 months would be over on August 28.
"Anything after the 28th of August would be best, if we could make it that late," I told her.
She put me on hold while spoke to my doctor. After a few minutes went by, she said, "We can get you in on September 1st, which is the first Thursday after the 28th of August." (My doctor only does surgeries on Thursdays unless it's a baby being delivered by cesarean.) "The doctor didn't want to go much past that, so is that going to be okay?" she asked.
"Yes, I think that will work," I replied, hoping that I wasn't jumping off the ship before I knew the depth of the water.
So, I went back down to talk to the fellow in Personnel, and he told me that September 1st would be fine. He said that I would be turning in the paperwork before my 6 months had technically passed, but that he would make sure everyone knew that I would have my time in by the date I needed off. He also let me know that if all of my hours were covered by shared time, there would be no repercussions for missing that amount of time because it would have all been paid.
That eases my mind a little. But, to be honest, it's now 3 entire months that I have to be stressing and freaking out. I'm trying not to, and I don't want to think about anything bad happening, financially or medically. As a matter of fact, four separate women I've talked to have said that I'm going to be so glad if I go through with it. Two of them said that it's the best thing that's ever happened to them (medically speaking, I assume).
Oh, well for that. I guess only time will tell now, but I still feel like I'm going FUCKING CRAZY!!

Roots Radical

It's funny sometimes what will take you back to your roots. My particular seed sprouted in North Carolina, but my mother was born and raised in western Kentucky, and Kentucky is where I planted most of my roots. Living there for the most impressionable years in my life (from 9th grade to college graduation), it is in Kentucky where I came into my own, and where I consider myself to be "from."
Anyway, my mom comes from a long line of some back-ass-woods country people, too nice to for me to call redneck, but very much the kind who would sport "Aint Skeered" stickers on their old pick-up trucks and give their kids nicknames like "Peanut," "Tojo," "Mary Maggot," and "Fuzzynuts." Yes, that's my family. They're good people, for the most part (of course there the spoons in every family who like to keep the shit stirred), and now that I live almost 600 miles away I can truly enjoy the family get-togethers that I'm able to attend. I cherish the memories of catching lightning bugs with cousins and drinking bottles of Dr. Pepper, which my Grandpa told me was made from prunes, on the front porch swing of his and my Grandma's house. As we've grown up, though, several of the cousins I was closest to have gone different ways than I, and my Grandparents have been dead for nearly a decade.
Having missed my mom's call on Monday, I decided to phone her on my way home from work (yes, I talk while I drive--for fuck's sake, it's an hour commute!). She had gone to her hometown over the weekend to put flowers on her folks' graves for Memorial Day and to see some of her siblings. It's always fun to hear what the relatives are up to nowadays, so I listened intently as she relayed all of the current family gossip. So-and-so is pregnant, so-and-so has three kids now, cousin-blah-blah is working at the Purdue Chicken plant, so-and-so's wife is antisocial, cousin-whatever's kids are completely out of control, etc.
She never mentioned if my sister (older by 17-months) and her husband and their son had gone with her, but considering my mother won't go 15 minutes without talking about my nephew, I figure the family got enough of him at least through conversation. She did say at some point in the day nearly every person had asked her about me giving her some grandkids, which made me laugh. I don't want human children (nor does the Hub), and apparently my mom just told those who asked that my Hub and I aren't planning on having any.
One of my crazy cousins in particular wanted to press the issue, though. She and I were the terrible twosome back in the day, but since she dropped out of school and popped out a couple of kids and took up in a single-wide with some boyfriend and got fired from the Purdue Chicken plant, etc, we really haven't been much in contact (um, we really don't have much in common now, you know?).
But like I was saying, she wouldn't take my mother's "drop the subject" hints.
Let me interject by saying that my mother is not happy about my upcoming hysterectomy. Honestly, she's handling it worse than I am, possibly because I'm in denial and ignorant (for the most part) about what to expect with the surgery. She's worried, as any mom would be, and though she knows that the Hub and I don't want human kids, I think that she's a bit disappointed. I'm not sure why, considering I was her problem child (to say the least), but whatever. She's also concerned about how I'm going to handle the surgery itself--she's had 3 cesarean sections, so she knows almost exactly what's going to be taking place (they're having to do an abdominal hysterectomy on me b/c I haven't had children or been pregnant and thus my uterus is still up high in my body).
That being said, let me also explain that if you ever meet my mother and begin to embark on an issue that she prefers to be left alone, take her hints and change the subject. She will give indications that the conversation is not to her liking--she's got a Southern woman's grace about things and will tend to behave in such a manner right up till the point where she introduces the passive-aggressive bitch that will sit your ass on the sharp side of an up-ended barstool before you feel the breeze go by. I know, because I've seen her do it (and been the recipient more times than I'd like to go into).
Okay, so mood set. She's bristled by my cousin's insistence in talking about why I'm not going to have any kids.
My cousin asked her again, "So when's Dora gonna have you some grandbabies?"
"Well, it's not in her plan," my mom answered (see, Southern grace).
"You mean, she ain't gonna have no younguns? I cain't believe thayut."
I can only imagine my mother's facial expression when she countered, "No. She's not going to have any children. Dora has cervical cancer and will be having a hysterectomy in July."
From what my mom told me, silence fell upon the whole lot of them.
"Dora," my mother laughed over the phone, "You could've knocked 'em over with a feather!"
I was roaring to the point that I noticed I was, ahem, exceeding the speed limit.
"Mom, you're so mean. You know cousin retard doesn't know what a hysterectomy is," I said, trying to breathe.
"Oh, hush," she told me, "It just serves them right for getting into your business."
(Um, okay, like we had not just been gossiping about all of them for the last 20 minutes or more?)
Anyway, it was probably a whole lot funnier with my mom's country drawl and knowing how uppity she can be sometimes. She did make sure to let me know that she did tell them that the Hub and I do have children, just of the creature-sort.
"And I told them how much money you spent on having your lizard's penis fixed," she added.

Oh, for fuck's sake. I wonder what they're saying about me now? The crazy cousin who has to have her lizard's penis lopped off? Sheesh.

{To set the record straight, I don't have cervical cancer right now--leave it to my mother to call in the drama. In 2003, I had to have a procedure done to remove cancer cells and high-grade precancerous cells from my cervix, and after only 3 pap-smears, the abnormality has recurred. This time my doctor said that it's mid-grade precancerous dysplasia, but that abnormal cells were also found in the biopsies that he took from the inner part of my cervix. So, it's invasive this time. Hence, the hysterectomy. Instead of going through more procedures and more pap-smears every 3 or 6 months and more biopsies and poking and prodding and putting my feet in those goddam stirrups, the hysterectomy is really the best option (for both short and long term). I'm still going to have my ovaries, which don't work very much but will hopefully keep me from going through early menopause. And I guess I will have to put my feet in those goddam stirrups still, because they'll have take a small swab of the tissue of my upper vaginal wall for my well-woman exams every year to make sure that the cells around the previously affected area are still okay. But in any case, to my friends who may read this, don't freak out--everything's going to be fine (especially if I can convince myself of that!).}