Porno for Pyros...3rd Degree Burn

I couldn't resist using that title. Sue me if I'm corny.

Anyway, the Hub and I were able to go to the fire show last night. It wasn't a full performance, as the group was asked to do it on somewhat short notice, but it was amazing. I can't wait to see them live when they do a complete show with music and choreography. If I am able to work with them more, the better pictures I think I can get. These were taken without any features or flash; if I use my tripod and burst/framing mode, I can only imagine what the results will be. The burst mode takes a few more moments for my camera to process than I was willing to give up last night, so perhaps I'll take advantage of it when they're doing a longer show. Here's more....

Rats

Okay, here is Sabine and her litter. The picture of the pinkies was taken when they were only about an hour or so old; the last one is of the 9 we're raising after 8 days.

One more....

Here's another photo I've been meaning to post for a while. Took this one back in June, and it's one of my favorites, for some reason. Something about overalls maybe. Enjoy.

On to Brighter Avenues

I see the headlines flashing across the top of my screen here saying, "38 Bodies Recovered After Vietnam Typhoon....Senate Confirms Roberts As Chief Justice...Danish Santa Paid for Reindeer's Death (?)...At Least 60 Dead in Iraq Car Bombings...Five U.S. Soldiers Killed by Roadside Bomb...Static X guitarist guilty of minor sex..." (All of these stories and more can be found on www.earthlink.net) and I feel ridiculous about having personal issues. Nothing like a little news to make you feel like a microbeing in a macrosystem. It's difficult to think that you're at all out of whack when this world is so depraved. Yet I suppose it's all relative.

Like my title says, on to brighter avenues. It's a good day. I was working on some wedding photos I took last month (yes, I know, they're taking me forever to complete) when I heard on the radio that my tattoo artist/friend's fire performing group is doing a show tonight in Kansas City. I've been wanting to see Scary Carrie spin fire for a long time now, and she and I have talked about my photographing them sometime, so I'm wondering if I should try to catch them tonight. Granted, I am still working on the wedding photos, but I don't see why a night out would hurt.
The wedding photos. Let's get to that. The bride: Fair-skinned, natural blonde, blue eyes that are sensitive to flash (read: red-eye in every picture); the groom: medium/dark complected black guy, wore glasses during ceremony and group pictures (read: flash glare in every picture). Groom's family ran late for the wedding, grooms' father was best man, neice was flower girl (read: the wedding had to be held until groom's family arrived). Wedding indoors, in a room that was windows on 3 sides (read: hell of a time with the flash once the sun went down). Groom's family: medium/dark complected; Bride's dress: beaded satin, eggshell white; bridesmaids' dresses: yellow (read: I'm having a really shitty time adjusting the contrast and brightness of each and every photo so that you can see peoples' faces and not burn out the dresses). After cutting down the initial 600-something pictures to just over 500, I'm coming to the conclusion that I need to raise my prices for weddings. Perhaps charging 1500$ or so (photos not included, of course) will deter anyone else from booking me for their lovely matrimonial events. Aware that that's not a nice thing to say (or a very business-like attitude, for that matter), let me say that my session fee for families, kids, and other casual affairs is only $60, which includes my travelling to your location. So there.


These are a couple of my favorite portraits I've done here recently. If they appear crappy when you're viewing, it's b/c I had to reduce the images so much to upload them (dial-up, remember?).














These kinds of photos I have a good time with.
Less stress, less like work.

In any case, it's a hum-drum day and I'm really just taking a break from finishing the wedding pictures. I did, however, want to say that the final count on the ratlings was 14; 5 have been harvested more for Sabine's sake than anything--she doesn't even have 14 nipples, so I can't imagine how haggard she would be after nursing 14 babies for 4-5 weeks. The remaining 9 are up and walking around, clumsily, but don't have their eyes completely open yet. I'll post some pictures of them soon.
Till then....

An Assessment

It's been a rough few days, but I said I'm going to do this come rain or shine.

Depression is different for everyone, it seems. My depression is a virus, lying dormant for random periods of time, then infecting me again if I have a stutter-step or falter. Just as a carrier of a disease, I'm prone to it overtaking me usually when my system is already weakened, and though the treatment and medication may keep it at bay for a while, it looms in the depth of my brain waiting for the moment when it can ravage me again.
In the throws of an almost manic drop, when the virus has consumed me and obliterated my faith, joy, and energy, comes the desperate need for release--release of the venom that stings my veins and blackens my heart. Sometimes screaming, often with tears, I see a woman raging through the house and destroying everything she truly loves. Consequences don't enter the picture when the raging begins--that's what is hardest for people to understand if they've never been infected. Who you're hurting by hurting yourself never comes to mind. The selfishness of the disease is not unlike it's final strike upon the one who it completely overtakes; when I learned of my friend's death in August, knowing his past I immediately assumed it was suicide, and my thoughts were, "how could he do that to us? how will he ever know how much we all loved him?" However, I already know that the sharpest thorn of taking one's own life is that no matter how much you hurt the ones who love you most, you still can't live for everyone else when you're already dying inside.

Profile Pic

I'm trying to add a profile picture (again).

I'm horrible at this stuff, so wish me luck.

Now Infertile, I'm a Grandmother

Doesn't make much sense, does it? Well, since I can officially no longer have human children, I've learned that it has somehow become more widely accepted that I refer to my animals as my kids. Not that I cared if it was accepted or not, because that's what they are, but upon calling them my kids in public, I don't have to explain that they're cats or dogs or lizards or whatever; in addition, if the person I'm conversing with knows I'm referring to the cat or the dog or the lizard whilst saying "my child," they just kind of nod their head and give me what appears to be a sympathetic smile. No need for sympathy here, homey. My kids are great.
In any case, the grandmother part. During my ~3 month blogging hiatus, the Hub and I welcomed some new additions to the home. The first new arrival was a crazy-little-mean-ass female baby bearded dragon. And yes, we're sure it's a female this time. Mabel actually hatched on the Hub's birthday (so will be ready to breed around February or so), and is a beautiful Sunburst Yellow morph (read: bright yellow head and legs with yellow and peach and tan markings on back and tail). But, she's a bitchlette (read: little bitch). Herbie and Floyd are so nice and gentle and easy-going, but Mabel is hell on wheels. She used to bite when we first brought her home, but since she was no larger than my thumb it wasn't a big deal. She still hisses and acts out, but with time and frequent handling has settled down a bit and no longer does bodily harm.
The other three additions came after I stopped by PetCo on my way home from work one evening to get crickets and mealworms for the lizards. Upon checking out, I noticed three aquariums on the back register that had "FREE" written on them in big black letters. Always the sucker for a bargain, I got out of line and asked one of the cashiers what the tanks were holding. Two had litters of baby rats, she told me, and the other had a litter of baby dwarf hamsters. Admittedly, a neon sign reading "Snake Food" went off in my head when she mentioned the dwarf hammies. The baby rats, already weaned, were too big for our snakes, and besides, I love rats. Had one in college that used to roam around my dorm room and eat holes in my blankets. As if she could read my mind, she followed my interest with the disclaimer, "They're not to be feeder rodents, they're only for pets," and I agreed, "Oh, yeah. Of course," and gave her the look like "what kind of cold-hearted person do you think I am? (blink, blink, blink)." I picked up one of the little hamsters, noting it's snake-palatable size, and the little fucker bit me right off the bat. I dropped it, noting that it deserved to be a reptile meal, and turned my attention to the ratlings. They were adorable, and thinking that the only way the Hub would allow me to have more children is if they would grow up and make baby rats of their own that we could feed to our other children, I decided to take home a boy and a girl. Since my friend and tattoo artist Scary Carrie had lost both of her beloved pet rats in the last 8 months, I also picked out a girl for her, which was a sister to my little girl. I went through the adoption forms with the cashier girl, and made my way home with the new kids.
The Hub was less than pleased, but I made sure he knew that I was okay with the agreement that they were to be kept as food producers, much like the mice that we had gotten and kept in the recent past. Unfortunately, the mice never had babies (I mean honestly, who can't even get mice to reproduce?), so they eventually became snake food themselves. This wasn't going to be the case with the rats, as they were too large, so I told the Hub that if it didn't work out, I'd sell them as feeders to some python breeders we knew (he knew I was lying, but went along with that part anyway). The three of them huddled in their cage were too cute for me to give up, but I knew that my girl's sister was going to be Scary Carrie's rat, so I didn't immediately get too attached to her.
Upon calling Scary Carrie a few days later, she apologetically declined the little ratling, as she was getting ready for a week-long (or more, if she liked it so much she wanted to stay) Las Vegas vacation and wouldn't have proper time to bond with the little girl before leaving. She thanked me for thinking of her, but noted that she usually got hers in pairs of girls, because they're such social animals and she works long hours (she doesn't get boys because their balls get so big she can feel them dragging on her when she's holding them). Fretting that the Hub was going to be chapped at having 3 rats instead of 2, I just didn't mention it for a while, and then was relieved when Sylvia, the sister to my Sabine, had a litter of rat kittens shortly after I returned from the hospital following my surgery.
Sabine is my favorite. I admit it. I was prepared for her to be mine from the beginning. She's a beautiful blue-silver color with a white splotch on her belly and a white tip to her tail. Her sister, Sylvia, is also very pretty, starting out charcoal gray and now turning more black, with a white belly-splotch and white gloves on her front little feet. While Sabine is calm and sweet, Sylvia is the clown, up and down and searching and investigating all of the time. Sabine will hang out quietly on your shoulder or in your pocket, while Sylvia is into everything. It is physically obvious that the girls are from different litters than Ernest (Ernie), the male. Their coats are smooth and glossy and soft, and they have pointy hamster-like faces with big round ears. Ernie, who is cream-colored with an apricot hood that covers his head and extends down his back in a V, is more of a rat's-rat; his face is more rat-like, and his coat is bushy and more coarse. He has an excellent disposition, and will just curl up and sleep when you're holding him. He's about twice the size of either of the girls, and has ruby eyes to thier black eyes. We call our little trio "the Ratleys," like they're their own little family within ours. Polygamist, maybe, but a little family just the same.
Sylvia's litter had 9 rat kittens, or rat-pups, as the Hub would say. I happened to check on the Ratleys one morning and found them brand-new; they could have only been an hour or so old. With Sylvia's and Ernie's consent, I picked up the newborns, and, judging from the distance of the underdeveloped genitals to the anus, picked out 4 who definitely appeared to be boys. I put the other 5 back in with thier parents, and Sylvia immediately bathed them and moved them to a different part of the nest.
I was a bit surprised to find that rat pinkies are about 3-4 times the size of mice pinkies, and I really wasn't sure if the smallest of our snakes were going to be able to eat them. Thinking of how mad the Hub was going to be if I didn't uphold my end of our aggreement, I went ahead and fed one of the warm squiggly pinkies to Lily, my blue-eyed corn snake (that I got in Nebraska). Startled a bit that it squealed when she struck at it, Lily didn't take long to get her mouth around the rat-pup and make a meal of it; since we normally feed our snakes frozen-thawed prey, the other 3 babies got chucked in a plastic bag and stuck in the freezer. (Yes, right on top of the ice cream and the lean pockets.)
With a bit of sadness in my heart, I told the Hub the news when he returned from work that night. Thinking that he'd be proud of me for harvesting the four, I was a little miffed when he was in fact aggravated that I hadn't harvested all nine; I told him that Scary Carrie was wanting 2 females, and that my friend Linda at work wanted one female--since I wasn't for sure about the sexes just yet, I saved back 5 for them to choose theirs from. He still was not pleased, and I finally submitted and let him pluck the remaining babies from thier mother. All in all, it's for the best. Sylvia is a great rat, but Sabine really has the more docile and friendly personality. The Hub agreed that we could save back some of Sabine's babies whenever she had a litter, so I was content. And Sabine was looking more and more pregnant every day.
The gestation period for a rat is typically 3 weeks, and they go into heat every 5 days. I've been going crazy waiting for my little silver girl to have her ratlings. For the past three days she's been uncomfortable, and she even bit me (though softly) when I stuck my finger in thier cage yesterday. When the Hub checked on them last night, he was sure that we'd have babies when we woke up this morning; however, before he left for work this morning, there was no sign of a new litter.

My dear Sabine was just waiting for me to be able to announce: WE HAVE RATLINGS!

When I came downstairs this morning to check my email, I peeped into the Ratleys' cage and didn't see anything, but I heard the tiny squeals and whines of the new babies. Sabine lifted her head out of the bedding and I was able to see some tiny pink squirmies nursing. I still haven't been able to count them all, and I don't want to reach into the cage just yet, but there are more than 4. So, folks, I'm a Grandmother. And this time, since we'll be saving some babies to go to homes that we know, I'm not just a Granny to snake food.

Found this in my garden the other day.

I have a little mint and zinnia patch right off the back patio, and I had a little visitor.

After reducing the image and only 5 minutes or so, I was successful in uploading this picture. I guess dial-up can work, if you're patient.

More later........

So It's Been a While....

Forgive me if I don't add links. In Tonganoxie, Kansas, dial-up is the only option, so it's pretty difficult requesting any more than the most basic computer procedures.
Blogging was restricted from my work computer system a few months back (while I was on my self-inflicted blogging hiatus), but since I'm home-bound on recovery from being spayed, it doesn't matter anyway.

Those notes aside, I said before I'd relay the gory details of my surgery. Considering the hysterectomy is the #1 surgical procedure done on women in the United States, it's nothing earth-shattering, but here are some highlights:

*I was given an epidural in addition to general anethstesia. Not only was the numbness in my legs disconcerting, but the fentanyl made me itch. Badly. When I finally had had enough, the epidural was removed and was to be replaced with a PCA pump (dilaudid). The medicine for the pump didn't come up from the pharmacy for more than 2 hours after the epidural had been removed, and since it was only one day post-surgery, I was not in a good condition to do without pain medicine for that period of time. What can I say? I may be a big wuss, but you try having your abdominal muscles cut open and your insides fished out.
*Flowers. Tons and tons of flowers. Flowers from my Hub, my friend Trish, my in-laws, my Dad, my Great-Grandma (via my Dad), my close friend Abbey from highschool, my Mom's good friends in Kentucky, my friends from my photography business, and from my sister (once I got home). They have been so wonderful--the smell of lilies and roses and the bright faces of sunflowers and daisies all around.
*Catheters suck. I don't think I need to expand on this one.
*Abdominal muscles cut open, lifted apart, and the body cavity inflated with gas underneath. Cut-cut, snip-snip, throw away the bad parts. It hurts. You're in some serious pain for a few days, and then the soreness won't go away. All of these things I understood, but was not really prepared for due to other distracting stressors. One HUGE surprise? The pain associated with peeing, as my bladder is repositioning itself. And, as I mentioned before, the excruciating pain (in my stomach and my lower bowel, not my asshole itself) that accompanies taking a shit. Not many people like to talk about poop, but I don't mind. We all do it. I just can't do it very well anymore. Can't push. Nothing wants to come completely out. It's a sadistic circle--you can't get it all out, so your destined to be back on the pot two hours later, and again two hours after that.

Okay, okay, I hear you groaning. The moral of this story? Be careful what you wish for. For years, I've been saying, "I don't want to have kids...I wish they'd just take all of my junk out so I don't have to explain myself anymore..." Honestly, I don't think I would have ever been able to get pregnant. And truly, I think I've always known that the hysterectomy was inevitable (and have thus been mentally talking myself into it). Let's just say things with my womanly organs have never been quite right. Over the past 5 years I'd grown tired of the poking, the biopsies, and the procedures. Sick of the cramps, the bleeding (or not bleeding), and the doctor's visits. All of that in mind though, I must admit that I never considered the fact that because my uterus had never been used, they'd have to go through my abdominal wall to get to it--it was too high to do the procedure vaginally, and the laparoscopic procedure was also out. So here I sit. Condemned to my house for 4-6 weeks. I was technically able to drive again this past Thursday, but I have no where to go (and no money to spend). Can you say Cabin Fever? Can you say, goddam Dora your poor husband? Thank the gods for the freakin satellite dish. And pardon my verbage. I'm a bit irritable.

An Explanation

I am a bad blogger.
Yes, I am aware of the fact that it has been a really, really long time since I last posted. As most of my friends know and/or have figured out, when it starts raining poop, I usually try to hole up somewhere by myself until the skies clear. It's likely not the best option, since I'm lucky enough to have several wonderful friends who would like to help me through the rough times, but it's just the way that I've always coped. So, much as I withdraw from my friends, I have withdrawn from my blog and other (written) journals, for fear that I might one day go back and revisit the times and experiences that cause me pain. I am conscious of the fact that one of the benefits of writing, journaling, blogging, (communicating with friends even), is just that--going back and looking at both good times and bad and learning from either, so I can't explain why I do what I do. All I can do is explain what I do. And I'm doing that now.
Three months or so ago is when a lot of my mess began. Problems with the husband, mainly, and within a month or so problems elsewhere. Thankfully by the time things got really crazy the hub and I had begun to rebuild (yes, things were momentarily that bad, as I tend to act radically according to emotional situations), so I had his support when I really needed it. The first week of August I learned that my request for shared medical leave, the only medical leave plan that would allow me to take the necessary time off for recovery following my hysterectomy, had been denied. The very next day, I received a phone call informing me that one of my closest friends from back home in Kentucky had died--assumed initially to have been a suicide. As the weeks followed, I couldn't take off work to attend his funeral services, and I was losing all that was left of my sanity, trying to cope with the loss of such a wonderful person, preparing my appeal for the medical leave, getting my regular work load done, and then taking care of things at home. Way too much going on.
Things started looking a little less bleak when I learned that the medical examiner had ruled my friend's death a drowning instead of a suicide or drug overdose. At least I found some peace in that, so I quit asking questions about the details and have decided that I'm going to believe what I read in the ME's report instead of assumptions and inside stories. Ignorance is more comfortable still, and I'm able to sit here with my cat on my lap and write this without tears, so I'll just stick to the story I read in the news. However, just as I thought things were going to start turning around, the Hub and I learned that his mother was going to have to have surgery to remove a tumor on her thyroid. Her surgery was scheduled for August 30th, two days before mine, and although the initial biopsies lended that the tumor was benign, the doctors/pathologists wouldn't know anything until the whole thing could be removed and analyzed. So, in effect, her throat would be sliced open and the doctors would have to cut out both her thyroid gland and the tumor that was attached to it, and hope they didn't sever any nerves or anything else in the process. Not a pleasant thought.
It was only a few days later when we found out that my appeal for the medical leave was denied yet again. I was left wondering how the Husband and I were going to be able to afford for me to be off of work without pay for 6-weeks (especially after the 200$ copay and everything else), but thankfully, throughout all of this mess, my supervisor and my two closest friends at work were vigilantly by my side. My supervisor was irate about the injustice of the "Shared Leave Committee"(the group of individuals responsible for granting or denying the leave), as they were known for giving the shared medical leave to women having c-sections, yet they were refusing it to me, stating that my surgery was what they deemed "preventive care." He and I talked to the Director of the Laboratories, who then appealed our (my) case to the Secretary of the department.
Two days before my scheduled surgery we finally had some good news. On one front, my mother-in-law's surgery had come through without complication, and the attending pathologist didn't seem to see anything that worried him. More tests would have to be run, but all of the doctors were optimistic. And, yes, finally, the Secretary approved my medical leave, so I was almost covered. I say "almost" because although I had been approved for the medical leave, it was only the beginning--once I had permission to receive shared hours, fellow State employees then would have to donate hours to me in order for me to be able to have the time off with pay. All in all, the shared leave system is a great program, beyond the fact that the Board in charge of awarding it is completely arbitrary and has no idea what preventive medicine can do. When you take into consideration that the workers who would actually have enough hours to give to me make a lot more money than I do, it actually saves the state money by paying me my hourly rate instead of the 30+ year employees their hourly rate; also, I work for the Department of Health and Environment--everything we do is about preventative care. Why do we test the public water systems? So that people are not ingesting carcinogens. Why do we care if people are ingesting carcinogens? Because we don't want them to get cancer. Why is Dora having this surgery? So that I don't get cancer. Do you see any parallel here?
I can talk more about the actual surgery and hospital experience later, and you know I will, but I'll skip to a day about 5 days following my surgery. Phone call #1: my mother-in-law. The test results were back, and the tumor was benign. Besides obvious recovery from such a stressful surgery, she was going to be okay. Phone call #2: my dear friend "Saint Francis" from work. It had been confirmed that people had donated me so many hours that I was going to be able to be off of work for the entire 6-weeks post-operative recovery period. With tears in my eyes (from joy and gratitude), I told my Hub and my mother, who was out here from Kentucky helping us, and a wave of shock and relief rushed over us all.
The moral to this story: I'm a stubborn, difficult, emotional human being. In a matter of three months, my life has changed dramatically (not only because I was spayed, but mainly because of how much I've learned). I look back on all of my other blog entries, and most of them are superficial, day-to-day ramblings; I promise to try to dig deeper, regardless of what well of tears I may strike along the way. It was while I was in the hospital that the levies broke in New Orleans. If that doesn't put you in check, I'm not sure you're worth checking. I try to be light-hearted and fun, and that's usually all I allow people to see of me. I'm not saying that's going to stop, but I'm going to do my best to be real with the people who actually read this to keep in touch with me. If you want to know why I haven't called in a while, you can probably find it here (from now on). I love you guys, and I thank you for emailing me and writing me and calling me, checking up on my progress and seeing how I'm doing. All is on the upswing now (I hope), though my gut hurts and I can't take a crap (no freaking abdominal muscles!). How's that for real? (=