This is a post talking about female parts so all you guys out there can go visit Crotchety Old Man to read about his Brazilian wax job and how he is terrorizing the young nurses. Be sure to contribute to his couch fund. I figure if Dani can talk about her boobs all the time I can talk about the tubal I had yesterday. I also realize I don’t need to feel so guilty about not posting if Chelle, the whip-cracker over at Humor Bloggers dot com is making excuses about not posting during the summer because of such things as having mountains and oceans nearby I can certainly use the old 10,000 lakes excuse.

I have had three surgeries in the past year, all out patient, but all requiring general anesthesia which means I have been administered Propofol three times in the last year. I love this drug. One minute I’m lying on the table exposing my womanly parts and telling the anesthesiologist not to pull a Doc Murray on me and to remind him that I do not need to be kept under for longer than necessary, oh and is he sure he has enough oxygen around just in case, and the next minute, at least to me, I’m in the recovery room trying to get dressed even though I am still dazed an confused. In fact I don’t really remember getting dressed and as I was heading out to ex#2’s car I insisted to him that I needed to go back and get dressed. I was, but it was all a blur.

Ex#2 has been my escort to my surgeries each time. I was hesitant to ask him this time given the procedure and in fact had asked my brother, which was weird since he told me all about his wife’s tubal, but ex#2 called the day before and offered to escort me since it was sort of his area. I didn’t ask which area he meant, my physical part or his driving part. Anyway when we left the hospital and I had cleared my mind a bit I realized that the nurse hadn’t given me any of the pillows they call maxi pads so I asked my ex to stop at Walgreen’s so I could pick them up. I fumbled to get out of my seat belt to go in the store, when he suggested that he do it, which was very nice of him but something I wouldn’t ask even though he has proved in the past that he can and will buy feminine hygiene products for me. It doesn’t matter that he got the teen pads for very long girls. Pads that absorb about a 1/4 tsp of fluid or that he got the store brand which means they are plain looking and have no wings. I’m grateful he did it for me even if he went in the aisle with one hand over his eyes and just grabbed whatever he got his hands on first.

He was also a sweetheart and bought me food since he knew I had not been allowed to eat for nearly 24 hours. He even bought me my favorite snack in the world, Twizzlers, strawberry flavored ones. It didn’t matter that I didn’t have enough saliva to eat them since I hadn’t been allowed liquid for the past ten hours, because I knew when I choked on one he would be there to give me the Heimlich or possibly peel the damn candy off the back of my dry and crusty throat made sore by being intubated. His heart was in the right place.

So I am good to go today. I was a little light headed yesterday and since they filled my abdominal cavity with air, for reasons only they understand, I was a little gassy, the good kind not the rotten egg kind, but I am past that now, I think. I don’t have much of an appetite yet but have been craving a margarita something fierce. Go figure.

I don’t need to worry about getting pregnant ever again even though when I told my mother what I was having done she told me I could always adopt. I wasn’t too worried about becoming pregnant since I had another form of birth control and not really having sex but I have the kind of luck where something like that happens. I begin to see the light at the end of the parenting tunnel, at least having to be around them 24/7 and then bam I pop out another one and start the whole damn 18 year trip over again. I feel liberated to say the least. Twelve more years and I am ready to party.

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