#ive spent easily $100 just on wheels

[swagging-back-to]

after buying FOUR SEPARATE mouse wheels i can confidently give my recommendations

ive bought a 10 inch silent spinner

6.5 inch silent spinner

8.5 inch comfort wheel

and an 8.5 busacate wheel

the ten inch was too large and heavy for my mice to even turn it a little bit. it has not been used once and i cannot return it bc amazon is a fucking asshole

the 6.5 inch was incredible for noise and they all loved it, but it caused major wheel tail in all my girlies.

the 8.5 inch comfort wheel is perfect in size, but it is insanely fucking loud. like. unbelievably loud. as in you can hear it all the way across the house. it squeaks unbelievably bad even after i oiled it and it rattles worse than a goddamm freight train. even the tiniest movement causes loud rattling, not because of it hitting the glass but because the wheel and stand attachment is shitty.

and finally, i just purchased a busacate (idk how to spell it tbh) 8.5in. out of all four wheels it's the only one that is completely clear and doesnt have any noxious colors. it's also the only one with height adjustment, which is an absolute must if you have mice that love to bury everything.

Every review so far says it's extremely quiet and produces no noise at all. id honestly take anything at this point lol

[wildroseofarran]

The Accident, Part III || Self Para

Maybe it was because of everything that had happened to him recently, but Pete had expected to feel guilty. After all, if anything was going to inspire guilt, this would be it, right? Indulging a vague feeling that had been caused by an off-handed comment while his family dealt with a crisis. He should be ashamed, or at least a bit embarrassed, that something so small had made him do something so serious.

Anyone else would’ve brushed it off or let it go. Even if they hadn’t, they would’ve probably chosen to forget about it and focus on what was going on, on something that was actually important. Hell, at the very least they would’ve at least compartmentalized and taken the serious steps later.

But Pete and his overabundance of emotion weren’t good at those things. And oddly enough, today he didn’t feel guilty about that.

Why? God only knew.

Which wasn’t to say that waiting for the results of the DNA test while simultaneously waiting for his dad to wake up wasn’t pure fucking hell.

After he’d returned from the doctor’s office he’d resumed his seat by Pete, Sr.’s bed, only to get up two minutes later to pace. His mom had taken position on the opposite side and Luke was slumped forward on the couch with his head in his hands as if trying to will his father awake with the power of his mind.

No one spoke. Only the steady beep of the monitor and the sounds coming from outside the door broke the silence.

“Are you sure this is normal, doctor? Shouldn’t he have woken up by now?”

“I assure you it’s completely normal, Mrs. Graham.” After nearly three hours spent waiting and praying and hoping, Dr. Barnes and a nurse had come in to check on Pete, Sr. They checked his monitors and his IV, made notes on his chart, drew blood, ordered tests. And now Dr. Barnes was reassuring them that everything was fine despite the fact that Pete, Sr. still hadn’t woken up or even twitched.

Pete sure as hell was twitching though. He felt like he was going to jump out of his skin at any moment and at this point he wasn’t sure if it was anxiety over the test, his father’s condition, or the damn urge Guildias had injected into his head.

Lynnie cast a worried look at her husband before turning back to the doctor. “But it’s been so long since his surgery.”

“Your husband sustained considerable trauma, Mrs. Graham. Even though we repaired the damage, his body still has to work on healing itself and that happens through sleep. The longer he sleeps, the more time the medication has to do its job and the more he heals.”

When she still looked unconvinced, the doctor placed a hand on her shoulder. “There really is no reason to worry. We’re going to run these tests and keep checking on him to make sure he remains stable and that no other issues have presented. He’ll wake up when he’s ready.”

Lynnie nodded, giving the doctor a small but grateful smile. “All right. Thank you, doctor.”

“Absolutely.”

With that, Dr. Barnes and the nurse wheeled Pete, Sr. out of the room.

Not five minutes had passed before Luke was groaning and falling back on the couch. “God, this is so much worse than sitting here watching him. It’s too fucking quiet.”

Pete couldn’t agree more.

Lynnie took a seat beside her son and sighed. “I know, baby. But waiting’s all we can do.”

“I hate it. I want to do something. Anything. Sitting here doing nothing is fucking torture.” He turned to his mother. “You hungry? Thirsty?”

“Kinda, yeah. Haven’t eaten anything since dinner last night.”

“Good, excellent. I’m gonna run down to the diner and get you something. You wanna come?” he added to Pete as he stood.

“I don’t want to leave mom alone.”

“Don’t worry about me, honey, I’ll be fine.” Lynnie gave Pete a soft smile and squeezed his hand. “Go on with Luke.”

He gave her an uncertain look. “You sure, Ma?”

“I’m sure. Go with Luke.”

“All right. We won’t be long, promise.” Pete bent to kiss the top of her head and followed Luke out the door.

The relief at being away from the hospital was so great that despite their promise, Pete and Luke made little effort to get back as quickly as humanly possible. The concern over their father was still present, however, so they both made sure to check their phones often for updates from their mother.

While Luke went to the diner to order them lunch, Pete popped over to Callum’s shop. His best friend had already heard about the accident from June and wasted no time in offering his help, his healing, and a floral arrangement for his dad’s hospital room.

Tempted as he was to accept the magical healing, Pete settled for the flowers and support. Hiding his own injuries had been one thing, but there was no way in hell he’d be able to explain a miraculous supernatural recovery to his family, the cops, and the doctor. Better to just let his dad heal on his own.

About an hour later, he and Luke returned to the hospital laden with food, flowers, and a change of clothes for their mother. They were informed that their father was back in his room and that their sister had arrived.

“Did everything go okay?” Luke asked the nurse.

She nodded. “Yes, Mr. Graham. The swelling in his brain has gone down and there’s no sign of any more internal bleeding.”

“Thank god.”

The brothers hadn’t taken two steps when Pete was flagged down by Dr. Barnes. “Mr. Graham. I was just coming to look for you.”

Pete’s stomach immediately seized into knots. There was an envelope in the doctor’s hand. “You go on into dad’s room,” he said to his brother, handing him the flowers. “I’ll be there in a sec.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine. Probably just wants to discuss dad’s tests.” He tried to give Luke a reassuring smile, falling far short of his mark. “Better get that food to mom before it gets cold.”

“Okay…” Luke said slowly, giving Pete a skeptical look before disappearing into their dad’s room.

Pete waited until the door had closed behind him before going over to where Dr. Barnes was waiting. He tried to read the doctor’s expression but it was perfectly neutral, giving him zero indication of what he was about to find out.

“Is that them?” he asked, gesturing toward the envelope.

Dr. Barnes nodded and offered it. “Your results are back.”

It was taken with shaking hands. “Have you seen them?”

Dr. Barnes nodded again, expression still neutral.

Pete took a deep breath. “Well, all right then.”

He opened the envelope.

“Where’s Pete?” Stella wondered as she set Callum’s flowers on the bedside table.

“Talking to the doctor about dad.”

Lynnie frowned around a bite of cheeseburger. “The nurse said the tests went fine.”

“She told us that, too. He probably just wanted to go into detail.”

Stella and Lynnie nodded.

“Is this….is it 100% certain?”

Dr. Barnes nodded. “Yes,” he said softly. He pointed at the paper in Pete’s hands. “That’s his profile and that’s hers.”

“And there’s no way that maybe….?”

“Does Brett Parker know what he was trying avoid hitting?”

“He thinks it might’ve been a hitchhiker,” said Stella.

“A hitchhiker?” Luke repeated. “That’s a weird place for one to be. Were there any animal tracks around?”

“No,” said Dr. Barnes. “It’s impossible.”

Pete closed his eyes. “And it’s all thirteen?”

“All thirteen.”

“Well did they find whoever it was?”

“Not so far. Brett’s hoping they stuck around though, just to make sure no one else was hurt.”

“Guy probably ducked into the woods to avoid the shitstorm he caused,” Luke muttered. “If Beatrice hadn’t slammed the brakes she would’ve ended up in the river just like dad. And if that had happened, God knows how long it would’ve taken someone to come along and call Brett.”

The thought of her husband stuck inside his sinking car for hours made Lynnie shudder. “Don’t even say it, Luke. Whether the person stuck around or not doesn’t matter. Beatrice called Brett and everything turned out as well as anyone could’ve hoped for. She’s okay and your dad’s okay. That’s what counts.”

Luke looked at his father. He was trying so hard not to think about how close he’d come to losing him. “Okay feels like an overstatement right now.”

Lynnie took her son’s hand, squeezing it. “He made it, Luke,” she said gently. “Even after everything that happened to him, he made it. I know it doesn’t seem like things could possibly be worse but they very easily could’ve been.” She kissed his cheek. “No matter how bad things look, this is the best-case scenario.”

“Other than no accident at all, you mean?”

A smile twitched at her lips. “Yeah, other than that.” Lynnie went to reach for her cup of sweet tea when she noticed Pete standing in the doorway. “Hey, sweetie. What’d the doctor say about…..sweetie?”

It suddenly hit her that something about her son’s face looked….off. It was his expression, it…had it ever looked that neutral? That blank? Pete was an emotional man; he could never hide what he was feeling, not even when he was a little boy.

Lynnie got to her feet, concern and fear coiling in the pit of her stomach as she approached him. “Pete? Is everything okay? Did they miss something in the test results?”

He stared at her—through her—for a few long, tense moments. Finally, “Did you know?”

His voice was so soft she almost hadn’t heard him. “Did I know what?” she asked, brow furrowing. “Is something wrong with your dad?”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Did. You. Know?”

“Pete, honey, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Help me out. Did I know what?” Lynnie noticed the paper he had clenched in his hand. “What’s that you’re holding?”

He held it out to her. “See for yourself.”

Lynnie carefully took the paper, searching his face. The way he was looking at her—so intensely and without a single shred of emotion—was putting her on edge. What was she about to read? Was it somehow worse than everything that had already happened?

She read.

Her face paled.

And that told Pete everything he needed to know.

“You knew,” he accused, anger creeping into his tone, his expression. “Didn’t you?”

Evelyn Graham was feeling panic she hadn’t felt for nearly thirty-three years. She couldn’t see through her tears, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t feel anything but those cold sharp claws scratching at her throat as everything she’d done and every choice she’d made came rushing back to torment her in the form of a single piece of paper. “…W-where…where d-did you….”

Luke and Stella were frozen in place, staring back and forth between their mother and brother with wide-eyes, almost afraid to ask what was doing on.

Pete ignored them. His only focus was his mother. “Dr. Barnes said something very curious yesterday. You see Stella wasn’t the only one that gave blood to dad. I did, too. Or at least I tried to. Turns out they only used her blood. I bet you can guess why.”

Lynnie lifted her head to look at her son. The neutrality had been replaced by anger and a dozen other emotions she couldn’t begin to name. “Pete…” she whispered.

“They couldn’t use my blood because it didn’t match dad’s. And that’s fine, it happens sometimes. Only my blood type is so rare that it prompted Dr. Barnes to say, and I quote, adoptive children rarely have the same blood type as their parents.” Lynnie paled even more. Pete got angrier. “Yeah, Luke didn’t mention that, did he?”

“Pete, please….”

She reached for him but Pete moved away. He didn’t want to be touched. He was feeling familiar panic as well but for him it was accompanied by betrayal and a grief so overwhelming it would’ve cut him down to his knees if fury wasn’t keeping him upright.

“And see that just wouldn’t leave me alone. I kept thinking about it and replaying it in my head over and over and over until I finally had to do something about it. So I went to talk to Dr. Barnes and that—” he pointed at the paper “—is what I found out. And I thought for a split second that maybe, MAYBE, you didn’t know but looking at your face right now…”

Pete shut his eyes and shook his head. “You knew, didn’t you? You’ve known this whole fucking time that I’m not dad’s son!”

The echo of his shout didn’t get a chance to fade when his mother fell into the nearest seat and burst into hysterical sobs. Luke and Stella’s mouths had fallen open and their looks of confusion turned into looks of shock and disbelief. They each seemed to be waging an internal battle between comforting their mother and staring at their brother.

As for Pete, no hint of his earlier neutrality remained. His face was set in mutinous lines and though his eyes were brimming with them, he refused to let the tears fall. He was clinging to his anger with all of his strength because if he gave into grief, he’d never get up again.

He made no move to comfort his mother. He could barely stand to look at her.

“You knew. You’ve known for thirty-two years that I’m not his son and you said nothing! You put his name on my birth certificate and didn’t give it a second fucking thought! You lied to him! You lied to me! And I’m looking at Luke and Stella’s faces and I’m guessing you lied to them too!”

“P-pete, please!” Lynnie cried. “Let me ex—”

“There’s nothing to explain! You lied! You let everyone think I was his! You let him name me after him! You let him give me his bar! God, you let me walk in there every fucking day thinking it really belonged to me!”

“It does! It’s yours!”

“No, Ma, it’s not! It’s not mine! None of it was never meant to be mine because I’m not his! You knew that and you let him give it to me anyway! Did you ever stop to think about how that would make me feel? How it would make him feel?”

He gave a sarcastic chuckle. “No, of course not. Because you never intended for me to find out, did you, Ma? You were gonna take this to your fucking grave and if he hadn’t swerved to avoid hitting that hitchhiker I never would’ve found out. Bet him almost dying really put a wrench in your fucking plans!”

“Peter, stop it!” Having finally found her voice, Lynnie got to her feet and faced her son. “Despite everything I have done I will not allow you stand there and insinuate that I’m anything other than devastated about what happened to your father! You have every right to be angry with me but I’m still your mother and you still owe me your respect!”

“You’re a goddamn liar and I owe you nothing!”

“Peter!”

“No! You don’t get to stand there and tell me to respect you after you lied to your entire family for three fucking decades! Where was your respect for your husband when you decided to sleep with another man? Where was it when the strip on the pregnancy test turned pink? Where was it the day I was born and you put me in his arms? You—”

It was Pete’s turn to pale as the irony and familiarity of this situation finally struck him. He’d been here before. It was a different stage and different players but…no. The players weren’t different. They were exactly the same.

“I did the same thing,” he whispered, eyes saddening and filling with that ever-present, vicious guilt. “I cheated. I cheated on MJ and I lied about it.”

The abrupt change had Lynnie almost flinching before the urge to comfort overtook her. “No, baby,” she said softly, shaking her head. “It’s not the same thing.”

A tear finally spilled, then another. “How is it not? I went behind his back and slept with someone else and didn’t tell him.”

“The circumstances were—”

He shook his head. “No, mom. Circumstances don’t matter. I made the exact same choice. The only difference is that Fletcher couldn’t get me pregnant.”

“Pete…” Lynnie reached out to her son again, only for him to shake his head and move away from her again.

“Don’t. Just don’t.”

“Baby, it’s okay.”

“None of this is okay. I made the same choice you did. All the same choices.” He moved further away, all but flattening against the door. “I’m just like you.”

There was something in the way Pete said those words that broke Evelyn’s heart more than him yelling at her or calling her a liar. He could’ve hit her and it still wouldn’t have killed her as much as hearing her eldest son, her beautiful baby boy for whom she’d prayed every day for nine months, say he was just like her with such self-loathing and pain and disgust in his voice.

“Honey, please. Let me just…” What? What could she possibly say to him now?

Nothing, apparently. “I have to go.” His voice sounded as broken as he looked. “I can’t…I can’t be here.”

“Pete, wait, you can’t—” It was too late. The door was already closing behind him.

She was just starting to go after him when a soft, raspy call from behind her made her stop dead in her tracks.

“Lynnie?”

She turned.

Her husband was awake.

It was a few days before Pete gathered the courage to return to the hospital. He knew his father was awake (Luke had told him) but he simply couldn’t bring himself to go see him. He wanted to, more than anything, but after everything….he just hadn’t been able to make himself go.

He hadn’t talked about what happened that day in his father’s room. Not to Luke, not to Stella, not to his mother. In fact, he hadn’t talked to her at all. There was nothing she could say that he wanted to hear. There was nothing any of them could say that would get rid of the ache in his chest and he knew that them trying would only make it worse.

Because no matter what they said, Luke and Stella would still only be his half-siblings, and Pete, Sr. would still only be the man who’d been duped into raising a child that wasn’t his. And that hurt more than Pete could possibly bear to think about.

So he stayed away until he couldn’t anymore.

At first, he didn’t even leave his bedroom. He simply burrowed under the covers with his cat, refusing to dress or speak to anyone or go to work and only emerging for food. He could’ve remained that way indefinitely if Luke hadn’t decided enough was enough and staged an intervention.

He went into Pete’s bedroom and told him in no uncertain terms that he didn’t give ‘one shake of a rat’s ass’ what the DNA test results said. They were still brothers and if Pete didn’t come out of his duvet nest, Luke was going to ‘drag him out by his leg hair’.

It wasn’t so much the threat as it was his brother’s reassurance that finally made him come out.

Still, Luke’s reassurance—and later, Stella’s—wasn’t enough to make Pete face his mother. He started getting dressed and going to work again, but her calls, texts, and visits continued to be ignored. He simply had no interest in her explanations.

Just like, he supposed, MJ hadn’t been interested in his.

It was the river that made him go back.

Other than his family it had remained the one constant in his life, all through childhood and adolescence and now adulthood.  Nothing had ever been able to taint it for him. It was his preferred place of contemplation and his favorite source of comfort, and it was where he retreated to soothe the ache he now carried.

He spent every moment he wasn’t at work or at home swimming in it. It didn’t matter that it was February and bitterly cold; Pete needed his solace. When he was beneath the water he could almost forget that his life was toppling like a house of cards, that he’d been the one to do it. For the most part anyway. Some of the blame rested on another’s shoulders.

But the lion’s share rested on his, and after so many weeks spent carrying it all around and having even more piled on at seemingly every turn, he felt completely and utterly lost.

He felt helpless, hopeless, directionless. He was going through the motions of his life without really living it. The only thing he looked forward to anymore was curling up with Midas. He didn’t even speak unless he absolutely had to.

Basically, Pete finally felt like the zombie Guildias thought he was.

Maybe Guildias was really the reason Pete walked back into the hospital that night. Or maybe it was a combination of him and all the time spent letting the river soothe him.

Yeah. That’s probably it, Pete thought as he walked past the nurses’ station. Guildias and the river.

Pete timed his visit so he and his mother wouldn’t run into each other. It was late, and by this time he knew Lynnie would’ve returned home after having spent all evening with her husband. Luke had tried to convince him not to avoid her, but in this instance his reasoning had fallen on deaf ears.

He opened the door quietly so as not to potentially awaken his father. Only half the lights were on, the blinds drawn shut. The TV was on but muted. He was beginning to think his dad really was asleep until he heard a murmured, “Petey? That you?”

Pete froze, clinging to the doorframe like his life depended on it. “….Yeah, Pop. It’s me. You okay?”

“I’m fine.” By now Pete, Sr.’s voice had lost some of its raspiness, but it still sounded weak and tired. “You gonna come in?”

Pete took a deep breath and took a few steps forward, stopping just short of his father’s bed. Even though his cuts and bruises still looked as nasty as ever, they appeared to be healing a bit. He appeared to have fewer heavy bandages too. “Hey,” he said softly.

The elder Pete smiled. “Hey right back, kiddo. You doin’ good?”

“Yeah, I uh…I’m okay.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry I haven’t been by, I…I just…”

The smile fell. “I know, sweetheart.”

Pete only managed a jerky nod before his breath hitched on a sob and he was rushing into his father’s embrace, burying his face against the undamaged part of his chest. When he felt Pete, Sr.’s arm wrap around his shoulders he cried harder.

Guildias had called forth a breakdown and after days of waiting, it had finally come.

Weeks of anger and sadness and guilt and grief came pouring out of him with all the force of a tidal wave, relentlessly wracking his shoulders and tearing at his chest. He couldn’t stop. And there was nothing his dad could do but hold him.

Pete, Sr. had pain of his own, physical and otherwise, but that was nothing compared to this. The last time he’d held his son, he’d been trying to soothe a broken heart. Now? Now he was sharing that pain. He was sharing the feeling of having his entire world fall apart and of being helpless to stop it.

Pete hadn’t just lost the man he thought was his father. Pete, Sr. had lost the man he thought was his son.

Pete had no idea how long his supernaturally strong breakdown had taken. Could’ve been twenty minutes or an hour. All he knew was that at some point it had stopped and that it had left him feeling not like an empty shell, but with a strange sense of purpose.

Still, he felt no desire to move. He was afraid that if he did his emotions would flare up again and pitch him into round two. His dad didn’t seem inclined to move either. He did, however, have something to say.

“Petey?”

Pete wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “Yeah?”

“I want you to listen to me. Can you do that?” At his son’s nod, he continued. “Good. I don’t care what that test says. I don’t care that there ain’t a single drop of my blood runnin’ through your veins. You’re still my kid.”

Pete blinked, slowly lifting his head to look at his father. “But…”

“No buts. I got up in the middle of the night to feed you. I heard your first word. I saw your first steps. I walked you to your first day of school. I raised you. That’s what makes me your dad, no matter if some fancy scientific crap on a piece of paper says somethin’ different. I’m your dad, Petey, and the only thing I regret is how you found out we ain’t blood. You understand what I’m sayin’? I’m your dad.”

Pete nodded. “You’re my dad.”

“Damn fuckin’ right.” Sounding satisfied that that had been taken care of, the elder Pete held out an arm. “C’mere.”

Pete managed a small laugh, hugging his father as tightly as he could without hurting him. The pressure that had built in his chest the moment Jeremy Peabody looked at him across the bar and told him his father had had an accident finally started to ease. His life might’ve been fucked six ways to Sunday, but at least he still had what mattered most. He had his dad.

“I love you, Pop.”

“I love you, too, kiddo.”

They stayed like that for a long time before that feeling in Pete’s gut prompted him to speak again. “Hey, Pop?” he began pulling back.

“Yeah?”

“There’s something I’ve got to tell you.” He took a deep breath. “I um…I’ve gotta go away for a little while.”

Pete, Sr. studied his son for a moment. “Where?”

Pete shrugged. “I don’t know. With everything that’s happened I just…I need to take some time. See other people, other things. I need to be somewhere where I’m not just going through the motions. Somewhere where people don’t know me and aren’t calling me Mary Magdalene. I need…I need to feel like I can breathe again and I just....”

“And you can’t do it here,” his father finished for him.

Pete nodded. “Yeah.”

Pete, Sr. reached for his son’s arm, squeezed it. “Then do it. You haven’t been out of this town in a long time. I know you’ve through a lot, even before I ended up in here. I know you’re hurtin’. So if you need to go, Petey, you go.”

“I don’t wanna just leave you. And I won’t, not until you’re better.”

“You do whatcha gotta do, sweetheart.” He gave Pete’s arm another squeeze. “Gonna take a hell of a lot more than a little accident to take me down.”

Pete smiled softly. “I will. When you’re better. And not a second before that. You hear me, Pop? Not one second before.”

Pete, Sr. chuckled. “Yeah, I hear you, kiddo.”

[stopsubstanceabuse1-blog]

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This is my first post in forever. That’s an actual date.

It seemed a small thing (which I suppose by definition isn’t, or at least is not easily attainable, or omg, is this going to be boring to read later, or what) to commit to writing every day JUST WHAT I DID so I could remember. How hard could that be? I did that for a while while I rode the train to and from work. So the date is July 1, 2018. This has been my week.

1. Last Monday, June 25, I was scheduled for THD, or transanal hemorrhoidal dearterialization surgery to get rid of the hemorrhoids I have been suffering from since approximately 2001 and which I decided I wanted to get rid of in preparation for my backpacking adventure with Miles in the Grant Tetons in approximately four weeks.

2. Last Monday, June 25, I arrived at Glenbrook Hospital at 8 am, unprepared for the pain and misery to come. At 9.15 or so, Dr. Spitz walked in just as I was about to walk into the bathroom and said he’d come back, but I said, no, I want to tell you that I have a possible abscess in my tooth and my dentist prescribed antibiotics which I haven’t taken yet, and is that okay? Can we still do the surgery? Also, I’m in a terrible amount of pain. He said it was fine.

3. Last Monday, June 25, while I was driving to Glenbrook Hospital, I was distracted by periodic waves of blinding pain alternately emanating from my upper left tooth and my lower left tooth which started out with a yawning acknowledgement of eerie feeling, widened into a small storm brewing and spreading over an unsuspecting piece of airy geography, and then swallowed me whole in a fracturing starbust of pulsating, scorching and piercing pain which stretched across my upper and lower teeth and up along my jawbone, into my ear and finally wisped out over my scalp and into my brain just as I was about to lose my grip on the steering wheel while traveling 50 mph in rush hour traffic.

4. Last Monday, June 25, At about 9.30, Dr. Cochran, the anesthesiologist, walked in and said you have two choices, and I recommend the first one, but I’ll tell you about the second one because people want to know it. So I recommend you get a spinal. We put a needle in your spine and your body under your waist will go to sleep. The alternative, which a guy yesterday just next door took, and I don’t know, because I don’t recommend it, is for me to intubate you and shove a tube down your throat and put you under total general anesthesia, which I don’t recommend.

5. Last Monday, June 25, a nurse came in and said she was the pre-op nurse and asked me some questions that I don’t remember. Maybe all the same things about my medical history. Oh, and everyone who walked into the room asked me my first and last name and my date of birth. Every single person. Every single time. Then she left, and she appears in a strange spot later. Hold on.

6. Last Monday, June 25, another nurse came in and said she was the surgical nurse and would be taking me back to the operating room. Her name was Kelsey and she said people stayed away from her because she was a bad driver, a story she told me as she guided my bed down the hall. (It hadn’t occurred to me yet that I would be wheeled into the operating room at all, let alone on my bed, which I hadn’t realized was mobile). She was also wearing a sweater because she said it was freezing in the operating room, which she also remarked was a good thing because bacteria bred in warm, wet places, and we definitely didn’t want any bacteria breeding in the operating room, did we?

7. Last Monday, June 25, Kelsey brought me into the operating room where Dr. Cochran was waiting, and the pre-op nurse, and they asked me to sit on the side of the bed with my legs hanging over and the pre-op nurse got into front of me and put her hands on my chest (to keep me from falling over? I’m not sure, but it was a very intimate position.) while Kelsey and Dr. Cochran lifted the back of my gown to give me the spinal, which felt exactly like someone inserting a needle into your spine, from the popping sound of the needle piercing the skin and then the force it takes for someone to push the needle into your spine. Kelsey guided the needle into my spine with the help of her sharp fingernails, which she used as pencil lines to mark where she wanted to put the needle into my spine. I wasn’t sure if I was receiving four injections or just one injection four times, but I felt approximately four needles enter my spine. At one point, I heard Dr. Cochran say, well, that would have been difficult for anyone.

8. Last Monday, June 25, Kelsey also said something about putting something in my IV to make me sleepy and then Dr. Spitz was there, and they said they were ready, and then I was waking up with my head on my hands and I was flat on my stomach, and they wheeled me out of the operating room back into my room and I came in, and Laura was there, and her mom, and they rolled me into the new bed. (The old bed? Was I on a stretcher? Maybe I ruined my first bed with operation detritus.)

9. Last Monday, June 25, I’m not really sure if Laura and her mom were there when I got back into the room or not. I think maybe the nurse called them. I had another nurse then, who spent the rest of the day with me, and she was great, but I can’t remember her name right now. She had a white woman’s name. Not Tiffany or Fiona or Jessica or Lisa or Lindsay? Maybe Lindsay? I don’t remember.

10. I’m still on Monday, June 25, and she brought me applesauce (I of course couldn’t eat anything else they were offering -- why is food in hospitals SO BAD?) which I devoured and water (did I mention I couldn’t eat or drink anything from 10 pm the night before) and coffee.

11. My legs were numb, like dead, like no feeling, like trippy, and I could kind of move by lifting my butt but I couldn’t feel my butt and it seemed like I was wearing a lot of stuff on my butt. (This post is largely going to be about my butt from here onwards, FYI). At some point, with everyone in my room, I lifted my sheet to figure out what that thing was on my leg, and it was my penis, which I couldn’t feel. “My penis is numb,” I said, and Laura said, you said that in front of my mother, and I said, but it is. I can’t feel it. My penis is totally numb.

12. Then there was the recovery time, which on the phone the day before with Nurse Nancy (I think) said would be 1-2 hours after surgery. But the day went on and on and on and on and I was in the room with Laura and her mother and they got me crudite and almonds from the hospital cafeteria and coffee and I ate and drank as much as I could, but I was just killing time. I even tried to put the TV on at some point, and I was SO TIRED. There was this whole thing where they said I couldn’t leave until I could walk AND pee. Apparently, my body had peed some in my bed, but that didn’t count as I couldn’t feel it, and it wasn’t measurable, and they had to measure it, because we were in a hospital and it had to be recorded.

13. I decided to try to walk and they said I had to be able to swing both my legs over to the side of the bed without holding them up with my hands, but I could only really do my left one, and they said the left side often recovered more quickly than the right side, but they didn’t know why. Anyway, nurse lady Lindsay (not her real name) brought in another nurse lady (Laura wasn’t allowed to help, for professional liability reasons, I imagine, Northshore Hospital thank you very much) and apparently, even though I really wanted to be able to swing my legs over to the side, wanting was not enough, and I cheated by lifting my right leg with my hand and they said fine, okay, and brought a walker over and said can you put your feet on the floor and I could kind of (but not really) and I tried to stand up, but there was no way, so they said I had to get back into bed and they gave me a container to try and pee into. Which is so hard to do at all, but especially in bed, and especially apparently when your penis is numb, or mostly.

14. It’s still Monday, June 25, and I finally was able to walk with help and made it to the bathroom where both nurses helped me sit on the toilet and then stood there and I was like, I can’t pee if you’re watching, and they were like, we’ve seen it all, and I was like, I’m sure, but this is MINE, and I sat and I could feel how fucked up my body was and I peed into the container 100 ml and then 200 ml and I had to really strain, but they finally were satisfied and let me get up and let me stand at the toilet, where I was finally able to pee more, and they let me wash my hands, and finally said I could go home. We were only there for like 8-9 hours (they said it would be 4-5). They took me out in a wheelchair and Laura went and got the car and the nurse stood with me, but wouldn’t let Laura take a picture of us.

15. Driving home was torture. Every bump hurt. Laura had gotten my opiod and stool softener prescriptions from the hospital pharmacy, and I did my best to hold my breath, even though the painkillers were kicking in and I still had a lot of numbness, and I think when we finally got home, Laura helped me into the house, and up the stairs and I got into bed. I also peed in my pants a little on the way home and could only tell because my pants were wet.

Okay, that was Monday. I must have fallen asleep. Laura skipped her meeting because they said I shouldn’t be alone.

Tuesday.

I took a lot of pills and maybe watched some movies. I still had about 8 hours of CLE to finish before Friday, so I watched some CLE videos. My teeth were still rocking the pain out of my whole being, so the painkillers were serving double duty for my teeth and my butt. I tried to heat up some leftovers of soft food and I dropped it all over the kitchen floor, which I then had to clean because we have a mouse and an ant problem, both of which increased in my week of being inept and unconscious.

Wait, now I remember. I woke up really early and went downstairs to the basement and watched Forgetting Sarah Marshall. Later I watched Heat. When Abe got home, I watched Moana with them.

NOTE: ALL I THOUGHT ABOUT THIS WHOLE WEEK WAS PEEING AND POOPING, i.e., CAN I PEE? CAN I POOP? CAN I DO EITHER WITHOUT IT HURTING LIKE A MOTHERFUCKING RAZOR RASH PIZZA CHEESE? IN MY BUTT?

I was sent home from the hospital with a sitz bath, which is a plastic bowl which fits over the toilet and it comes with a IV-like bag with plastic tubing, and you’re supposed to fill the bowl with warm water and fill the bag with warm water so it replenishes the warm water in the bowl (while of course hanging it from your suddenly-present IV rack in your bathroom), and then sit on it on the toilet and the water spills into the toilet and you feel relief. Except that’s a giant big watery mess and the tube sprays water everywhere when you can’t figure out how to clamp it correctly. I tried with no luck and then remembered how nurse with no name said one of her patients said it worked better in the bath (and I admit at first I was wondering if I was supposed to be pooping in this, but the answer to that is no) so I set it up in the bath and it DID bring relief although it FUCKING HURTS the rest of your butt to sit with your butthole in a plastic bowl of hot water because the sides of the plastic bowl are sharp and you have to hold yourself up on the sides of the bathtub. So yes, relief, and what a big pain in the ass, literally, figuratively and every other way. That’s my review.

ALSO don’t forget how much my teeth still hurt.

I didn’t go to the site meeting or to band, my regular Tuesday night haunts.

Wednesday

Oh, we were supposed to host a party on Wednesday. We were going to weed the backyard and clean the house. And I couldn’t walk and I was on massive painkillers. But intrepid Laura went on anyway. She stayed home from school and worked and cooked (and I had the strength and energy to cut up a shit load of crudite and also pack most of the kids’ lunches.) I mostly stayed in the basement sleeping and watching stuff and doing CLE and then people came over and I took a shower (after possibly the first successful sitz bath) and went outside (WALKED!) and took an extra pain pill and tried to be as social as possible, but ended up sitting on the couches with everyone at the end of the night and falling asleep (well, fighting falling asleep which everyone noticed) so everyone went home, and that ended up the only time I saw Cullen and Jason on their big trip here on Searah’s birthday to make up for leaving her on her birthday two years ago, and there was also a lot of kid drama (really, Daphne said he gender identity was a cat, SIGH). And jumping on my couches. And drinking. And lots of pizza.

I didn’t go to the board meeting. I didn’t go because of my pain and recovery. I don’t know if I would have gone if it was just the party. I didn’t have the luxury of choice.

Thursday.

I drove Miles to the bus in the morning, which was crazy because I hadn’t driven in days, and hadn’t sat in a car seat in days AND was still on painkillers (AND MY TEETH STILL WERE KILLING ME) and then went home and tried to poop for hours until I went to a CM design meeting and brought a pillow and sat on a chair and talked for 2-3 hours with architects and designers.

Then I went to the store and picked up stuff for dinner and then went home and collapsed. Finished watching CLE videos.

Friday.

I went in for my root canal. I told the dentist that I had been taking the antibiotic since Monday, and I was on painkillers, and my pain was off the charts, but I wasn’t convinced that it was coming from my top or bottom or both OR that the pain was entirely in my head, and he said it wasn’t in my head at all and it sounded like I had an abscess. I was able to sit in the chair for an hour while he and his assistant tortured my teeth because of the painkillers plus the local novocaine anesthetic that he shot me full of.

THIS WAS MY WEEK FOR ANESTHETIC! I forgot to talk about the phone call I had with Dr. Spitze’s nurse about my progress, and I said I was still kind of numb in my perenium area (this was Wednesday, I think) and she said that might have been the lidocaine they injected you with. AREN’T THEY SUPPOSED TO TELL ME THAT BEFORE THEY DO IT?

Laura arranged for her mother to pick me up after my root canal because I didn’t plan for how I would get home (Laura drove me) in my condition. She dropped me off at home. That night, Miles had a sleepover and Abe and Laura went to the beach with Jason and Cullen and Searah and the gang, and I stayed home by my lonesome.

(New theme -- I stayed home by my lonesome A LOT this week. I usually don’t mind that, but this week was particularly difficult.)

I had been going to bed at about 9, which was easy with the painkillers. Tonight Miles kept texting me wanting me to send money to someone on Paypal and then Abe and Laura came home from the beach, but I finally fell asleep.

It’s also been wicked hot here. Like 100 degrees, blazing, oppressive, exhausting heat. In all of this heat, Laura came home with the dogs and a 50 lb bag of dog food, so now the dogs were here too.

Saturday.

My mornings this week, after my excellent opioid fueled sleep, consisted of me waking feeling rested but with tremendous pressure in my bladder and bowels (which this week have felt like all one unified joint bipartisan pressure), and a walk down to the basement to my personal post-THD bathroom where my sitz bath and my witch hazel pads are waiting for me. And then I sit, and it hurts SO MUCH and I can’t really pee, and I definitely can’t poop. I then stand to pee and guess I’m not pooping. Except for some early success on Wednesday, accompanied by earth shattering straining, I have not pooped, even though it’s all I think about. Spoiler alert: today is going to be all about poop.

But first the farmer’s market. Have to pick up our CSA. Then home, and then pick up Miles at his friend’s house. Then get my renewal of my pain prescription. Then finally home, and the decision not to take another pain pills because MAYBE the tooth pain is lessening, and maybe I can do without the pain pills for my butt.

The day bores on, hot and still. Laura and Abe are out at a farm. Miles is home and it set to babysit. He has some emergency about sneakers for which he convinces Laura to take him to Wicker Park and lend him $400. HOW? But all this time, I have been in the BATHROOM! Pooping. With great effort. Standing. Squatting. Squatting ON the toilet. Squatting in the bath. Pushing like my life depended on it. Pushing like my poop baby had to come, that it would die if it didn’t. AND MY POOR TENDER LITTLE SURGERIED BUTTHOLE. I pooped a million times on Saturday. Watched American Honey, a 3 hour movie which took me 6 hours to watch because of poop.

And remember no pain pills!

Sunday. Today.

Same morning. Great pressure. To the basement bathroom. Actually pee and poop. (Interesting note: this week at least, it was really hard for me to fully pee while I was sitting. I’ll just leave that there.)

Then more of this week’s super high fiber diet, which is kind of my normal diet but MORE -- lots of yogurt, oatmeal, fruits, and vegetables. Pears, apples, bananas, pineapple, cherries, raspberries, blueberries, raisins.

I forgot what else I was going to say. They’re all out to dinner and I’m alone. I’ve been pooping approximately every 2-3 hours and then 20 minutes in a sitz bath and then a bath, and man, my legs have never been washed so often.

***

Part of why I don’t do these very often is that they take FOREVER. Which is approximately the date of my next post, and which definitely will not be about poop.

I didn’t even get to today’s worries, which were about mortality and blood pressure. I walked to CVS in the heat to buy a blood pressure monitor and to exercise my legs which felt heavy and bad, but didn’t match up with any of the diseases I researched on the internet that included painful legs because I didn’t have any of the other symptoms.

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