Protection

Yes, it's me again.  And I'm 5 days away from "going under the knife."  I bet you haven't heard that one in a long time.  I'm trying to fix up the bedroom that will be my prison quarters while I'm recovering.  If I recover.  If I live through the surgery.  You know, I have a bad post op history..... And every now and then I love drama.  Speaking of drama, let me give you some advice.  And let me preface this advice by telling you several things.  First, I know all of you have wonderful mothers.  Mothers who were/are your best friends, mothers who always told/tell you how pretty, intelligent, kind, thoughtful, generous, loving, ambitious, helpful you are.  I don't have that mother.  My mother is most definitely an alien from another planet - the planet where crazy and misery is the norm.  Name the crazy or misery, and I'll tell you a story about my mother.  For the longest time, the sister and I have known she isn't our "real" mother.  Why our real mother left two fabulous children is still mind boggling, but now we're left to deal with the pretend crazy mother. The second thing is this - when you don't get what you need from someone who is needier than a 3 year old, you look to other people.  And we have always done that.  I'm very grateful for good role models all my life.  And that brings me to the second thing I'm telling you.  A woman very dear to me told me when I was a young married woman, "Do not EVER, under any circumstance, take your mother into your home when her health fails.  You will also fail."  Knowing my mother would be hitting the health skids sooner than later, I kept that advice in my very empty brain.   I may disremember loads of things, but I ain't gonna ever forget that.  However, my dear older friend didn't tell me that moving my mother into a facility in my town would also be hell on earth.  In the past, I have told you in our family, lying is our first language and our modus operandi.  At least with the mother.  And, yes, it began with the sister and me so we take full responsibility.  But self preservation takes priority.  I remind you of this because now that my mother is in my town, lying to her has gotten quite intricate.  She knows very little about anything in my life because I cannot handle the intrusive, lengthy, condemning, CRAZEEEEEE questioning.  She shoulda worked for the Nazis.  But with this upcoming surgery, I've had to tell her about it BECAUSE SHE NOW LIVES IN MY TOWN!!!!!  And the hundreds of absurd questions..... I'm not even gonna go into them.  But I am gonna put a limit to the number of times she can call me during this ordeal.  Actually, she is not allowed to call me.  Some member of the family (Bwahahahahaha - suckers!!!!) can call and update her - with lies, if they choose.  Why?  Because she's such a negative person and when you don't feel well, you don't need someone telling you you're never gonna recover.  And don't eat such and such.  And don't do such and such, even if the therapist is telling you to do it.  And why did you blah blah and how much did that surgery cost ($25) and was the physician able to do his job (no, he is an alcoholic and my surgery is his therapy) and when is the last time you had sex?  Yes, that's my mother.  Maybe now you can understand a little bit why I like to make pretty flowers.  And yes, they're weird.  Like my mother.

This Crazy Life

Here I am again.  And, again, it's been quite a while.  I'm getting a little annoyed that sometimes real life takes over my lovely little world and I don't get to play as much.  My lovely little world has been changing over the past year, but I really got socked in November.  I've shared my woes with some of you, and you've been sooooo good to me - listening and comforting and scolding and promising to hide the bodies if it comes to that.  In November, a big fat tumor the size of a lemon was found in my groin.  After 10,000 tests (most of which involved enough radiation to wipe out my end of town), biopsies, consultations, yadda yadda yadda, the tumor was determined to be a pseudotumor - a tumor that is full of stuff like you would find in your vacuum cleaner bag.  Thankfully, not serious, but must come out.  And that's not even the big stuff.  The big stuff is this pseudotumor was created because my 10 year old metal on metal hip implant decided to do a strip tease and throw some trash into another part of my body.  Trash that includes cobalt and chromium.  Hello, poisoned system.  There are some very ugly side effects of cobalt/chromium poisoning.  Like memory loss.  Bwahahahaha - three years ago, I had a surgery and suffered hyponatremia.  That's sodium loss that causes brain injury.  Yep.  That's me.  So I really don't need any more brain loss.  I practically have to be lead around on a leash as it is. Here's the fun part - I have to have hip revision and tumor removal surgery on the 25th.  I can't even begin to tell you my feelings about this, so I'll shut it.  Anyway, the huzbin and then the sister are going to be my nurses for a few weeks.  They'll make recovery fun, because they're fun people and we love to laugh a lot.  Unless, by that time, my brain is totally gone.  Crap.  I know them - they'll still laugh a lot, and they'll laugh at me.  But that's okay because this family operates on humor.  That's how we handle just about everything, including the very bad things.  We're good at approaching and digesting the bad stuff, but then we always seem to find something comical in every single situation.  We've decided it's our healthy way of dealing with crap.  Speaking of crap, I think we need some warm weather.  We don't have that yet in my town, so I made these flowers for you.  When you make flowers, you get to create whatever you want, so deal with it.  If I can deal with this upcoming surgery, you can deal with weird flowers.