So I wake up from the surgery and I'm thinking OUCH FUCK THIS HURTS.  Only, I don't want to be a pansy so I quietly say, "owwwwie."  The nurse comes over and gives me some liquid pain meds.  A few minutes pass and I am like uh, this shit still hurts fuckers.  So obviously I say "ouch this kinda hurts." (Although it probably sounded like oumsh fis hur…… drool pass out).  So the doctor gives me some pills to swallow.  Okay are they giving me fucking placebos here or what this HURTS.  Now say a little louder, "wow this sure hurts."  (Yeah I was the super tough girl in surgery…at least on the outside).  At this point they have rolled me into the room and they are like hey I'm going to give you some Demerol.  Okay cool.  

Nurse: Roll over please

Me: Okay

Me again: Wait what ROLL OVER oh shit fuck shes going to stick a needle in my ass NOOOOOOOOOO

POKE!!!!!

The next thing I remember is laughing.  I look up and everyone in the room is laughing.  So I obviously say;

"What, did I fart?"

Never mind the fact that when you just come out of surgery you can't fart.  In fact you can't leave the hospital until you fart.  This only makes everyone laugh harder because I just said FART.  I guess they were laughing because I got the shot and suddenly just stopped talking mid sentence and kinda zonked out.  Barely any time passes and my doctor comes in and asks my pain level and I tell the truth and say it's about an eight.  He is so shocked.  I've got about 11 billion drugs in me.  But then we all remember the time I was on a MASSIVE dose of Lithium and my level should have been 6.0 but it was .01 because that is how quick I burn of meds.  So my doctor gets the bright idea to put me on a dilaudid drip.  Google that.  Basically my doctor put me on a liquid heroin IV. 

WAHOOOOOOOOO.

Some time passes and my legs get itchy.  I scratch my right leg, ooooh that shit feels good.  I scratch my left leg and…..NOTHING.  Uh.  SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH. 

STILL NOTHING.

I do the obvious thing and start poking myself and scratching and punching and I FEEL NOTHING.  The entire upper top of my left leg is numb.

BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ

NURSEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

In comes the nurse.

Me: Um, so my leg is numb

Nurse: Weird

Me: ……….. So it's numb what do we do about that

Nurse: Well this has never happened so uh, lets just wait and see

Me: Uh, okay I guess

I resume poking and scratching and still nothing.  Finally shift change happens and old nurse meets with new nurse and they talk about everything and I'm like UH HEY you forgot to mention the whole MY LEG IS NUMB BIT.

New nurse: Strange I've never heard of that, lets just wait and see.

My doctor comes in the next morning and I get so caught up in him telling me that since I'm a super healer I can totally go home the next day (only three days in the hospital hell yeah) as long as I can fart that I forget about my leg.  He said he will put in orders to have my staples removed and steri strips put on and then its PEACE OUT FOOL!

Lets just stop and point out the obvious.

He just asked me to admit to someone that I farted.  Uh, hello I am a lady I don't fart.  I'm fucked.  I spend the next 20 hours having nurses come in every two hours asking "have you passed gas yet honey."  Uggg kill me.  Finally I decide I've had enough and I say, "yup sure did." (lie lie lie lie lie).  My doctor is gone so the on call doctor comes in.  He decides to over ride my doctors order and tells me he won't remove my staples and I have to go home with them and see my doctor later in the week to have them removed.  

Well that's annoying.

Me: Oh by the way doctor, my leg is numb

Doctor: Weird (pokes my leg with his finger) I've never heard of that.  Why don't you just go home and see what happens.

Fuck me.  How long am I supposed to wait?

The nurse discharges me and gives me these neat little staple remover things to take to my doctor when I see him.

So I get home and I'm grumbling around in pain and my husband is all, "aww babe what's wrong?" To which I reply, "well I kinda lied, I didn't fart and IT HURTS OWIE OWIE OWIE OWWWWWWW."

Can you believe he got mad at me?  Something about how doctors make rules for a reason and I shouldn't have lied blah blah whatever.

I call my doctor and make an appointment to have my staples removed.  But it's me and curiosity is one of my bad qualities and the stupid staple remover won't stop looking at me so I do the obvious:

I pull out a staple.

Well…that was easy.  It just popped right out.  Looky there ANOTHER ONE came out.  The next thing I know all of the staples were gone and my husband walks in. 

(mental uh oh)

Me: Look babe I don't have to go to the doctor tomorrow I took my own staples out

Him: (with angry face) Dammit Shannon you are not a doctor you shouldn't do that

Me: Then why did they send me home with the remover thingy?

Him: TO TAKE TO YOUR DOCTOR

Me: Oh come on they had to know I would want to play with it

Him: SHANNON THAT IS NOT OKAY

Me: Psh, shit I'm fine look there's nothing wrong

Him: Shakes his head and walks of

Me: Stares at my handy work proud of my staple removing.

 

The next morning I call the doctor and let her know I took out my own staples (she was less amused then my husband) but that my leg is still numb.  She tells me to come in so he can look at my leg because maybe I have a blood clot.  So I spend the next 12 hours thinking BLOOD CLOT GOING TO DIE WHAT ABOUT MY KIDS LEG FALLING OFF OMGOMGOMGOGM BLOOD CLOT HELPPPPPPPPP.

I go to the doctor and he looks at my leg and says, "You know, a lot of time the anesthesiologist will give you an epidural similar to a C-section one, but one that is meant to last a while and I'm willing to bet he aimed and hit the wrong nerve."

 

……

Could it really be that easy?  He said that made sense as to why I was in so much pain that day because the epidural went into the wrong spot.  The sad part is that he said it will probably be 6-8 weeks before it goes away.  Then he looks at my chart and starts laughing.

Doctor: You pulled out your own staples?

Me: Yup they gave me the little tool

Doctor: Wait, they didn't take them out?

Me: Nope they said I was getting released to early so I had to come here, then they gave me a little squeezy tool to bring you

Doctor: I SPECIFICALLY TOLD THEM TO TAKE THEM OUT

Me: Well they didn't so I did the obvious thing and took them out myself with the squeezy tool

In the end he just laughed at me.  He said obviously the kind of retards that would send a curious girl home with surgical tools are the same assholes that would say, "huh just wait and see," with out even once LOOKING AT MY LEG.

It's been three weeks and if I really smush hard I can sort of feel my finger nails.  Barely but a little.

Know what feels really weird when your leg is numb? Shaving.  I'm all shave shave, shaving my calves, I totally feel this, la la there's my knee, uh….wtf I know I'm shaving but I feel nothing.  WHAT THE SHIT I CAN'T FEEL MY LEG .  I swear, shaving a numb leg is the weirdest feeling ever.  

If I’m going to eat carbs and butter I would like the chance to eat the WHOLE piece of bread thank you.

I am thinking of coming back….soon.  I’m missing you all.  Look out for me to return.

Do I just throw them all away?  Donate them?  Thats a lot of money sitting there.

To avoid embarrassing anyone I will change the names in this story to Bob and Sue.

Since I’ve had surgery I can’t drive for two weeks. This means people have been taking the boys to school for me.  Yesterday time was running out and the person who usually takes them couldn’t.  So Sue was going to take them.  Only Sue was running late because she was having bathroom issues.  Bob was watching the boys in the car and finally Sue came out and away they went.  This is the conversation that follows:

Brandon: Sue, can I have some of your Hersheys Squirts?

Sue: I don’t have any candy Brandon

Brandon: No, Bob said you have Hersheys Squirts.

So, Sue calls Bob and Bob starts laughing and explains that he didn’t want to tell the boys that Sue couldn’t get off the toilet so instead of saying Sue had the runs he said she had Hersheys Squirts.  Brandon was hell bent on getting some of that candy.  Finally they arrive at school and Sue has to take Brandon to the front office to get a tardy slip.  The secretary asks the boys in front of Brandon why they were late and they explained it was because of the bus.  Then she asked Brandon and he proudly said,

"BECAUSE SUE HAD THE HERSHEYS SQUIRTS."

Sue was mortified.  She tried to explain that she had bathroom troubles.  Luckily the secretary didn’t write that on the tardy slip.  It just says "Sues fault."

Sue called me after that and told me she was never taking Brandon to school again.  But I do know that I will never look at a Hersheys Kiss the same way again.

I have had a lot of surgeries.  Six to be exact.  Three laperoscopys for endometriosis, one gallbladder removal, and two C-sections.  I’ve pretty much breezed through all of them.  When it came time to have my C-section with Codi I got a little nervous.  I had a kid now.  Brandon could lose his mom and even if I died I would still be losing my son.  I had a little relief knowing I wasn’t going under but still, there is that one blog, where is wife died only hours after having a C-section so obviously I was afraid.

So now that I am having a major surgery (hysterectomy) in 5 days I’m a little terrified.  Now I have two kids.  Suddenly it’s hitting me so hard.  If something happened to me I’m leaving my boys behind.  They have four people in their lives.  Mom, dad and my parents.  I’d be taking a quarter of their lives away.  I would be leaving my husband to pack every lunch, handle every bath, every middle of the night wake up call.  I’d be leaving him to deal with ever horrible cry of Codi’s when I’m not there to put him to bed.  He would have no one to load the dishwasher wrong, or leave trash in his car or clothes on the couch.  I know he would miss all of those things.  

My mom would lose her only child.  She would have no one to mess up purchases at work anymore and I know that would make her sad.  But mostly I know the look that never left my grandmas eyes after my birth father died would be stuck in my moms for ever.  My kids would see it, it would effect them.  And not to be conceited but it would really effect the lives around me harshly if something happened to me.

After the shit with my grandpa and his wife (not my grandma) handling his advanced directive I decided I needed to pull the one I got from Rob’s surgery eight months ago out and fill it out.  In it there is a little spot that talks about your wishes. 

There are lots of options i chose two.

1. If I have an incurable or terminal condition or illness and no reasonable hope of long-term recovery or survival, i desire that life-sustaining or prolonged treatments not be used.

2. I do not desire treatment to be provided and/or continued if the burdens of the treatment outweigh expected benefits.  My attorney-in-fact is to consider the relief of the suffering, the preservation or restoration of functioning, and the quality as well as the extent of the possible extension of my life.

What it comes down to is, I don’t want to be a vegetable and I don’t want to be on a ventilator forever.

BUT.

Below that is a space for additional wishes.  I remember from Rob filling his out that they told him he could add more if he needed and write, "see attached." DUH of course I would need a see attached.  I had to again address the things that happened with my grandpa. So I grabbed a notebook and started writing. 

A few inclusions:

If there is a chance I could wake up and live a normal life give me three weeks to do so.  If it is determined I will not regain consciousness and if I did I would no longer lead a desirable life I want my family to wait FIVE full days from the doctors advice to make the decision with my life.

During either of the above times I want baths and I want my teeth brushed.

If the decision to terminate my life is made I want my whole family given notice.  I want a full twenty four hours to pass so that any and all family can make it to say good bye.  If someone important (IE Ginger is stuck in Hawthorne) can’t make it in that time and they want my family to wait THEN WAIT.  Everyone deserves a goodbye.

As much as it would bug some of my family I would want someone to talk to my boys about God, heaven and angels.  No matter what my belief on God has been I’ve always believed in angels and I’ve always believed my grandma was one.  Brandon knows about God, he knows about heaven and if it would make it a little easier for Brandon to cope then I would hope someone (Lisa & Katie) to remind him of where I am.

I want every decision discussed as a family.  Ultimately Rob has the final say but he would never make it a power trip like my grandma did, I know he would listen to everyone.  My family and friends all know me and I know each of them would know what I would truly want.  Ginger and I have discussed this a lot so if she tells you that I said something (like my uncle heard my grandpa say he wanted to live) believe her.  

I want to be buried.  Do not cremate me. I’m sorry but saying your final I love you by burning me to death is not my ideal way of going.  I want an outside funeral.  If you have my funeral in that fucking place my grandma and birth fathers was you can expect the haunting of your life.

Things to consider about reviving me or not:

I like to talk.  A LOT.  If I won’t recover enough to spend two hours bullshitting on the phone with my friends let me go.

If I don’t recover well enough to watch and understand episodes of Top Chef or anything Twilight related that would mean my brain isn’t functioning well, let me go. 

Donate my organs to science, doctors would have a field day with my brain.

If I am still medicated when I went into a coma please keep me medicated.  I think it would help my brain out a little if it didn’t start going bonkers while I was fighting a coma.  I wouldn’t even mind a valium here or there because if my brain is functioning I would need that to help keep me from going crazy listening to all my family go on and on and on while in my room.

Play me music.  Lots of music.  Eminem, Neil Diamond, Miley, Lynryd Skynyrd, etc.  Basically anything on my iPod besides Avril Lavigne because I’m still mad at her for being a cheating little slut.  Play me movies.  The last song, Eclipse, Pretty Woman.  If I can still hear I want to be entertained.

Don’t give in easily.  Try anything to wake me up.  Put some amaretto in my mouth (I swear grandpa responded to the whiskey, keep Salt City grapefruit vanilla candles burning (also those new ones in my kitchen drawer they are delish), keep me covered in Country Apple lotion, and maybe rub some chocolate on my lips.  I have a feeling there are a few things Rob would know to try too…hint:neck.

I want everyone to get along.  I would like it if no one had to be escorted off the property and I want everyone or at least as many people possible to be present when they read the 10 pages of handwritten things I had to say.

I don’t eat fish or meat.  Do not suggest to the doctors that maybe putting fish or chicken in my liquid diet would help.  It won’t it will piss me off.

My letter goes on to discuss what happens if I don’t make it.  My kids STAY in Reno.  If they move the whole family moves.  Moving them from may parents, and losing me would take 3/4 of their life away and that would be stupid.  Play my just in case song at my funeral, plus a few more. Don’t yell at my kids.  I went through a lot with all of my medications to stop yelling at them, thing of my face every time anyone would want to yell at them. Teach my boys to open doors for girls.  Introduce them to all foods.  Take girls on dates to movies.  McDonalds is not a date place.  When they are old enough if they want a tattoo they can have one. I was fifteen when I had my first one, who am I to tell them they can’t have one.  THEY CANNOT pierce their ears, it’s dorky and I’m sorry Rob but it ain’t happening.  No stupid straight leg emo pants either.

This is the point the letter changes.  I discuss everything.  I talk about my head, my crazy, my heart all of it.  Like I said I want everyone to read this.  Make copies, read it allowed, the whole world can read it, it can be retyped here, I want everyone to know what it was like to be me.

I never imagined a little "see attached" blank space could invoke such emotion but it did.  It’s terrified me.  It’s made me hug my boys more, let Brandon listen to Free Falling every single time he is in my car even if it means turning off a Miley song, kiss my husband a little longer and tell Codi how much I love him.

I have gone back and forth with what I should do with my letter.  Where do I put it so I know it is read?  Where do I put it so people know it was written by me, and where do I put it so it never gets "lost" or misplaced?  Then I realized I have a pretty open forum here.  I’m the only one with the password, so clearly anything written here was written by me.  Clearly there is a ton more in the letter but I think I covered the specifics in this post.

I have to ask, am I the only one this detailed or do any of you have special requests for your life?

PS, should anything happen to me, please bury me with my iPhone.

So.  I’m in California with my husband for a wedding. Sunday morning I wake up a little cranky and decide I’m going to hunt down the continental breakfast because nothing says happy vacation like shoving contraband pastries in your purse and running away.  I arrive in the amazing lobby.  The entire lobby faces the ocean and no matter what you get a great view.  I look to my right and spy some pastries.  Only…there isn’t very many and I’m the only one there.  I figure I’m early so I wander around and notice she isn’t putting out anything else.  Then I realize it isn’t continental breakfast it’s a little cafe and you have to pay for breakfast.  Obviously I wouldn’t be cramming any bacon in my purse for Rob’s lunch on the drive home.  I stomp off to the car get my computer and decide I will fiddle fuck around online staring at the ocean.  I get set up and order a cup of coffee from the lady behind the counter.  I have absolutely no idea what transpired but the next thing I know Andrea the coffee lady and I are off and running and having a full on conversation.  Somehow I mention books and I tell her I had been reading Chelsea Handler.

Let me side track for a moment (because I can’t stay on course with only one thought at a time).  I’ve started reading biographies.  Why?  I’ve read a lot of books.  A LOT.  I’ve been reading adult level books since I was in 8th grade.  Books are my life. I’ve read thrillers, romances, comedies, drama’s and everything in between.  The problem is, after you have read as many books as me they become predictable.  Every one of them.  That gets boring.  It’s pointless to spend $15.00-$25.00 on a book that you can predict the ending of four pages in.  So I stopped reading.  Then I stumbled upon Jennifer Lancaster.  She was hilarious.  I believe she has out four books and they are all great.  She talks about becoming unemployed, makes fun of herself, discusses having to put deodorant on the small of her back due to back fat sweat.  I could relate to this chick.  So I read every one of her books.  Then a friend recommended Chelsea Handler.  This chick I could really relate to.  An entire book about one night stands, embarrassing moments, making fun of people, and playing hideous pranks on her co workers.  I plowed through her books in no time.  Suddenly I realized the reason I was enjoying these books is that I had no way to predict the ending.  And even if I knew what was currently going on with Jen Lancaster so I technically knew the ending of her last book I had no fucking way of predicting the middles.  Maybe that was part of the draw of reading blogs.  That I had no idea what I would wake up and read today.

Back to the story at hand.  Andrea tells me that one of her favorite biographies was Dennis Rodmans.

 

I was a little shocked.  But she sold me on the book.  So I logged on to Barnes and Noble to discover HE HAS A NEW BOOK OUT.

 

We were equally thrilled.  She made a note to buy it that night and I added it to my shopping cart.  From there she told me that she had LOVED the LL Cool J biography.  It had some pretty serious stuff in it.  It discussed why he always wears a hat (you soooo have to read it to find out).  Click click added to my cart.

But then she lost me.  The next thing Andrea said had me seriously question her judgement.  I imagine you will do the same in about 4 sentences.  Andrea told me that she had SERIOUSLY enjoyed the Tori Spelling books.  I busted out laughing.

I CALL BULLSHIT!

But Andrea stood her ground and told me to look it up.  So I pulled up her first book.

The cover alone made me giggle.  Barnes and Noble allows you to preview the book.  A few sentences in and I was already laughing at her ass. 

FINE.

Andrea told me that I couldn’t just order the book I needed to read it now.  I had a six hour drive ahead of me so I figured, why not?  She gave me directions to the local Borders, refilled my coffee and told me to Google her second book.

I read a little more and agreed to purchase that book too.  Andrea told me that Tori had another book called Mommywood but since she wasn’t a mom she hadn’t read it.  I decided to hold out on that book. 

Somehow while Googling I stumbled upon this:

You bet your ass I preordered that bitch and Andrea quickly  made note to rush home and do the same.  Of course I was going to order my boyfriends book.  Andrea spent the rest of the morning analyzing John Mayers new music video, crying over Taylor Swifts new music video and discussing weather or not Miley butchered her version of "Every rose has it’s thorns," (she did not).  I left excited and happy after my two hour morning with this lady. 

Rob and I went to Borders I bought my two books and 5 hours later I had finished sTori Telling.  It was awesome.  The first book is a little serious but Uncharted TerriTori is hilarious.  HILARIOUS.  I highly recommend these books. 

Don’t laugh.

Seriously STOP.

Donna Martin as it turns out is funny, a great writer and bat shit crazier then me.  She has my fears, has to eat things in twos, makes sure there is equality for all of her stuffed animals, and believes in voodoo and other cosmic things.

Tori and I could be best friends.  I immediately followed her on Twitter (and her son), if I could afford it I would join her fan club and I swear if I ever saw her I would run up and engage in a much needed mutual "I totally understand your crazies and I feel the same" hug.

I ran to Borders today and saw a buy one get one 50% off rack.  The Kathy Griffin book was on the shelf.  I figured, meh why not.

Then I had to find a second book to get my 50% off.  Guess what I saw when I rounded the corner!!!!!

I snapped that bitch up so fast and practically ran to the counter so I could buy it and rush home to read it. 

 

With that I will leave you so I can hurry up and read.  My other books haven’t made it here in the mail which gives me time to finish Tori’s last book.

So there you have it.  My summer reading recommendation is rushing out to buy all three of Donna Martin’s books.  Then come back and thank me after you changed your panties from laughing so hard.

 

 

*I have provided links to each persons book section.

I call this the moment before the OH SHITTTTTTTTTTTT!

 Monterey CA & Carmel CA

• Their toys are smarter them me:  Bakugan’s are Brandon’s new favorite toy.  I don’t even know what the damn things do but I having a feeling the reason he loves them so much is just because they make me so totally crazy.  Little pieces that have to fold up, tuck in, twist this way then that, and then if you don’t put it down with a feather light touch the mother fucker comes all apart again and my kids just crack up and make me do it again.
• Anything Transformers.  I really thought Brandon turning five would be the big breaking point.  I thought by by Transformers.  Fuck I’d even be nicer about Iron man.  BUT NO!!!! He got older and now he likes them more.  Transformers are smarter then me.  I have yet to meet a Transformer I can figure out. Even Codi’s just for two year old Transformers that My seventy three year old grandma could probably put together out smart me.  Seriously, I tried to play with one and couldn’t figure it out and my husband just shook his head and called me his "special little girl."  Not to mention the boys always ask me to play Transformers.  HOW DO YOU PLAY TRANSFORMERS?  I can play Barbies, I’ll outplay anyone in Barbies.  I can play dress up, play house, pretend I’m Bob Ross and paint a happy little tree but for the life of me I don’t know how to play Transformers.
• Attitude.  Brandon is in Kindergarten now which means he goes to school with a bunch of kids who have older siblings.  This means his friends pass on their siblings bad attitude and Brandon just loves to come home and try it out on me.  Both of my boys have perfected the STOMP.  Brandon can stomp from one room, up the stairs, up another flight of stairs, to his room and back down the stairs and never miss a beat.  Codi, whoah Codi can stand still and stomp his little feet so bad that I swear I give him anything just to make him stop before he busts a hole in the floor.
• They get all brave and shit.  Brandon decided he’s old enough to go to the bigger kids in the after school program and teach them the word FUCK.  Yes.  Codi isn’t that brave yet but I guess turning five makes my son put on his big boy pants and go teaching ten year olds the word FUCK.
• I have to shop over on the older boys section now.  I’m not okay with that.  Pants cost more, shirts are edgier, old lunch boxes are suddenly just not cool enough and now I have to buy special boxer briefs with certain designs because people are going to see them under his clothes??????  
• Brandon knows about money now.  The after school program allows them to bring money for snacks and suddenly every 3 days he wants money because he NEEEEEEEDS popcorn at this place or extra  money to play games.  Because he will just die if I don’t give him $5.00 to spend winning a .30 toy.
• They just look old.  Codi is the age Brandon was when he was born.  Brandon might as well be in high school he looks so old.  Kid is breaking my heart.  Every day when I pick him up he is 5" taller and 3 years older.  I don’t like it.  Why is it when I was 18 all I wanted was time to speed up so I could be 21.  When I was 15 it felt like 16 was four years away.  But now, I just finish cleaning up after a 4th birthday party and suddenly it’s time for a 5th birthday party.  I DON’T LIKE IT.  I like watching Wubzy.  I don’t like watching the big kid channel.  I don’t like them being to cool for Elmo. Fuck I don’t like them being too cool for me.  Brandon already doesn’t want to hug me bye in front of his friends.  Codi already tells me to get out of his room and that I can’t cuddle anymore.  What the fuck, I need like five more years of cuddling and these little shits are already daddies boys who are totally over mom.

Open note to time,

Go ahead and slow down please, I need another year of cuddles, another year of hugs, and another 3 years of having kids who don’t go to school and teach everyone the word FUCK!

How many tattoos do I have now?

 

(Facebook friends no cheating)