I'm a Barbie Girl...

Yesterday I went to the hospital for minor surgery so they could remove a lump in my left thigh. At least that's where the paperwork said it was located. Really it was in my leg pit, my groin or "down there." I can honestly say I wasn't nervous at all, just tired. They brought me back to the operating room without any problems. I soon fell asleep with a quick shot into my IV and before I knew it, I was being wheeled back to recovery. My husband came to be by my side as I dozed on and off. I remember thinking how great it was that it was so quick and I was already back to my normal self; not drugged up at all. In between dozing, my nurse came in, pulled back the sheet, took a look at my stitches and said, "Ohhh, hmmm." I feel a little tug followed by, "Oh no." My first clue that I was still on drugs-I wasn't alarmed at all. A little more tugging then she turned to my husband and told him to come take a look. I know something's going on at this point but I really don't care. Now remember, the stitches are in a spot where a regular bandage wouldn't stay on very well so they did the appropriate thing and covered the wound with liquid bandage. Unfortunately, they didn't let it dry before sending me back to the room. She tugs and pulls a little more, I feel some pain this time but still no worries. Not sure what else to do she leaves to get the doctor. In my drug induced calmness I realize the problem, my leg and hoo haa are now completely glued together. That settles it, I'm not freaking out - I am totally high. Which brings me to the title of this blog, I am no longer anatomically correct-I am a Barbie. The doctor comes in and does a whole lot of ripping ( I did feel the pain but still, didn't care) and pulling and am now back to human with a partial Brazillion on the house. On the bright side - I am thankful that they noticed the mishap before I left and the drugs wore off.

First one...

My first blog. I’ve got to admit, I’m a little nervous. This will set the stage for my entire blogging experience. What if I pick a lame topic? What if I really am as boring as I usually feel? The weight of this decision is quite overwhelming. I’m gonna need a minute.
OK, I’ve decided. I will use this opportunity to share why my husband is a dork.
We had been living together for close to six months at the time of “the incident.” Our little apartment had one tiny, little bathroom. My 5 year old daughter was at school so just the two of us home. I strip down to nothing in preparation of taking a shower, toss my clothes into the hamper then head for the bathroom. As I brush my teeth and wait for the shower to warm up, I sense a presence in the hallway. Out of the corner of my eye I notice him standing there, gazing. I anticipate one of his normal propositions. As he opens his mouth and says “WOW!”, my heart flutters. I smile at him, then he finishes saying what’s on his mind, “Your butt IS getting chunky.” My smile fades. I believe I said something that starts with an F as I slam the door and barricade myself inside. He will soon realize that he will not see my chunky ass again for quite some time. I know what you’re thinking but , no, he is in fact still alive and all of his appendages are still attached
I still bring it up once in a while and he says that I’ll hold it over him until the day he dies. And I will. I’ve already purchased his tombstone.
RIP my beloved Mike
August 1993 he called my butt chunky
He’s lucky he lived this long.