Let’s talk about last week’s regeneration.

This blog reassures me I will be one of those parents who forgets that it’s “Lunch With Your Parents!!!!” day because I took a nap/didn’t care.* I’m sorry about that, blog. I can’t say it won’t happen again, because that’s a lie and you know it.

Let’s talk about last week, shall we? Maybe a little of this week? Probably a lot of this week, particularly today/yesterday since it turned into Thursday while I was writing this. And I will refer to this as my first regeneration because I have this overwhelming need to put Doctor Who in every aspect of my life.

Before we start, let’s talk about how I’ve been starting things with “Let’s talk about…” lately. Apparently this has slipped into my vocabulary, much like that phase in 7th grade where I said “dude” constantly. I’m sure it’ll pass.

So, Monday. The drugs were lovely. I remember taking my pills and watching Martha Bakes, then leaving for the dentist. I sat in a nice, dark, cozy room and snuggled up under the most glorious blanket while I waited for my next two sets of medicine. The only thing I had to do was lie back and start falling asleep. And choose which XM station I wanted to listen to through the procedure. I chose the Elvis station. I don’t know why, either.

I remember getting in a wheel chair, going down a hallway, then sitting in the dentist’s chair. They put my headphones on, stuck a mask on my nose, and told me to breathe. I took two really deep breaths while listening to “Burning Love,” then I was poking at my nose and telling my mother my face was numb. And then I woke up on my couch, still pretty out of it.

And then I couldn’t eat for a week because I had work done on the front and both sides of my mouth. Oh, and I woke up Tuesday morning with the whiniest head cold/allergy thing going on, too. The sick wasn’t whiny. The Sierra was. Just for the record.

Tuesday: Haircut. I’m pleased. I love not spending forever drying it or trying to style it only to stick it in a ponytail. That’s really all that is.

Thursday: My surgery meeting and class went very well. Except that my nose was running constantly during the class and I kept sniffling because I didn’t have a tissue and was sitting in a seat where I had no way to get out without interrupting everything. Basically, I’m the type of person they want to work on (no prior surgeries, pretty healthy) and I just have to get an Upper GI test, a psych evaluation, and meet with my PCP for seven months while consistently losing weight. We’re looking at late-April for a surgery date. Oh boy!

Today: I had my UGI at 8:00 this morning. I have never been so sick at a doctor’s office. Oh, my god. Not only did I have to drop on the deck and flop like a fish/roll over and over and over on a metal bed in a hospital gown several times in front of five people, but this stuff you have to drink. I can’t even. I knew it was going to be bad, but I didn’t realize how bad.

First, I had to do a shot of what were essentially baking soda flavored Pop Rocks and then a shot of water. No burping. I almost threw up. I thought that would be the worst. Nope. They gave me other stuff to drink. I’ve been trying to think of how to describe it all day. The best I can come up with: It tasted like the stick from Fun Dip with the texture of whipped toothpaste with powdered sugar.

I almost yelled, “NO YOU TAKE ANOTHER DRINK AND SWALLOW BITCH” at the doctor, but I’m a classy lady. The worst part was having to chug about eight ounces of it, then try to lay on my stomach and drink another eight ounces, slightly thinned out. I’m getting chills thinking about it.

Slightly gross part:

Every single person I talked to at this office told me, “Oh, drink a lot of water or you’ll never poop again!”

False. I’ve drank about six of my giant water bottle’s worth of water, and I’ve been to the bathroom at least 17 times today. I’ve lost track. This stuff is literally falling out of my ass, and you know I don’t use literally figuratively.

Next week, I have my first appointment with my PCP and the diet officially begins. However, between not being able to eat and living on Sudafed for the past week, I’ve lost five pounds since my surgery appointment. So there’s that.
Hey, here’s a picture! I only do this because I hate how sad pictureless links look on Facebook. Thanks for putting up with me, blog.

I hate yourecards, but this is fact.

*My mom did this to me in first grade. She says she fell asleep watching TV and woke up when I got home, but I think she (rightfully) just didn’t want to go. I ended up standing sadly in the hallway, waiting for her to show up, but she didn’t. I ate with my omgbff and her mother instead. Hmph.


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