Bruised, Beaten, Battered and Broke.

by Camille Posted on March 20, 2009

It was a week ago today I went in to have my wisdom teeth removed.

Months before the operation, I was scared.  Days before the operation, I was very scared.  Hours before the operation, I thought I was going to die.

Scared

But I came through it all right.

Well, sort of.

Actually, it really sucked.

I highly don’t recommend having oral surgery if it’s avoidable.

However, a week into the process, I must admit I’m feeling better.  I even forget to take my medicine on a regular basis, because the pain has given way to a dull annoyance.  My jaw is still quite tense, but I’ve worked my way up to opening it two fingers’ width—that’s just enough space for a bean and cheese burrito!  No, not a Taco Bell™ bean and cheese burrito {R.I.P. Taco Bell™}, but a homemade concoction that tastes almost exactly like it.

I’ve overcome my dread of the big, bad oral syringe, because there’s no way I’m going to be stupid and get dry socket if I can help it—I’m following all the rules precisely.  I rinse with the nasty salt water concoction (1 cup warm water + 1 teaspoon salt) after every meal.  I am doing my darndest.

Essentially, I’m conforming.  In every way.  To The Man.  I hate The Man.  The Man deemed it necessary for me to dehydrate myself before surgery, thus making my veins all shriveled up and impossible to needle.

Bruise from General Anesthesia

The Man also decided that sucking on a straw would be forbidden, but, when all I can do is swallow pureed food, a straw would really help to keep particles out of my poor, hollow sockets.

I miss strawsI suspected I’d miss using straws—my suspicion was right.  I’m a regular Sherlock Holmes.

It’s ironic, the way life works out.

I’m supposed to rinse, but not spit—The Man obviously hasn’t ever experienced that uncomfortable feeling of warm salt water dribbling down his drugged-up chin, which is a direct result of spittle prohibition.

I hate The Man.  Or at least my oral surgeon.

Posted in I hate change, It's All Good | Tagged | 11 Comments

I’m a Regular George Orwell (But Without the Smut).

by Camille Posted on March 18, 2009

**This post is a contribution to the weekly Spin Cycle, sponsored by Jen at Sprite’s Keeper.  This week’s topic was creative writing.  Swing by her site for more of the most creative words on the web.**

Question (from Anonymous):

This question is deep, so consider it seriously:  What do you want your life to be like in ten years, or to have accomplished?

Answer (from me):

March 19, 2019

Dear Journal,

**Sigh.**  I know I say it all the time, but it’s true—I can’t help it: I love my life.  I love it—and I don’t use “love” lightly.  Who would’ve thought my life would ever be this fabulous?  {Okay, there was that one blog post I wrote ten years ago, dreaming of this, but that was nothing more than an exercise in Creative Writing.  I never expected it to be fulfilled.}

Poor Kyle is such a gem, even to this day.  He’s 37 now, and his hair is becoming such a distinguished shade of salt-and-pepper, especially around the sideburns.  His Internet Engineering company has really taken off, and it pretty much runs itself these days.  Which is great, because combined with my work as a paid,  professional writer, and best-selling novelist, our schedules allow us to travel quite extensively.  As I write this, we are holidaying at our winter home in Mesa, Arizona—we won’t be back in Canada for at least another month (just in time to kiss winter goodbye and start the vegetable garden).  We own all of our property free and clear, and are completely debt-free.  It’s so liberating to know that, at the end of the day, our only debt is to the Lord.  I’m so lucky to have picked Poor Kyle; we’re on the same page with so many issues.  It’s a joy to be together.

Marriage is such an inspired institution…

wedding ringsIt brings back such sweet memories, looking at our wedding rings.  I never did upgrade mine, and I don’t think I ever will—I’m happy with it how it is.

…Even after 12 years, we still love each other passionately.  We try to keep the fire alive with our regular date nights and holidays.  Our 5th anniversary trip to France was spectacular.

eiffel-tower-bwImage from here.

Of course, it went without a hitch because I am now 100% fluent in French {some say I speak better than the natives!}.  Poor Kyle was hesitant to travel abroad to foreign-language countries, but now he realises how wonderful it can be, with the proper education.  We enjoyed ourselves so much that we took the children back three years later, and let them make use of their immersion-school studies.  (I’m glad Poor Kyle finally saw the light, and agreed that, by studying more than one language, our children would be better than everyone else’s.  Perfection is so…refreshing.)

Wedding DipWe’ve come so far since that first year of marriage…

Oh, and the children—our sweet little quadruplet boys.  They’re seven now, and they’re perfect darlings.  I always wanted to have four children, all at once, but I never thought I’d be lucky enough to get my wish!  And boys—oh, what a blessing.  They are so much less dramatic than little girls, and for that, I am truly grateful.  When we found out I was expecting, we were just so giddy for the entire 9 months (well, 8 months and 2 weeks, actually—the thoughtful little angels decided to come early!).  Their four grandparents are so doting and generous.  I don’t know if the boys even realise how loved they are.  It took us a while to finally have them, but it was worth the wait—every child deserves to be anticipated anxiously, and welcomed with loving arms.  They’re rambunctious, of course, but I enjoy seeing them active; it reminds me to be thankful for their health and vitality.

They’ve given me so much to write about—my second best-selling series was based loosely on their antics.  In fact, it was shortly after “their” series ended, that Oprah had me on her show (for the first time).  These days, though, I’ve been making far fewer appearances for publicity.  I’ve got all the fame I could possibly want or need, and my priorities lie with my family.  {I do still make time for my old blog, though: archiveslives.com.  It’s been good to me over the years, and I am glad to be able to give back to my readers with giveaways every day.  It’s good.}

Like I said, I love my life.  We have been truly blessed.

—cpsfw

p.s. I almost forgot!  I enjoyed driving the pepper white MINI™ for as long as possible, but it just wasn’t practical anymore after the boys were born.  We’ve since switched to a chic, black, electric-powered Mercedes™ SUV.  [Hybrids are so a decade ago.]  Technology has improved by huge degrees, and Poor Kyle finally realised how brilliant electric energy is for powering vehicles.  (It probably didn’t hurt that electric cars are now faster than gasoline engines ever were, and boast just as much horse-strength and torque as any “regular” SUV used to.)

Posted in ask me anything, introspection, It's All Good, looking back, Married Life, spin cycle | 23 Comments

Sing Along to the Pirate’s Song.

by Camille Posted on March 17, 2009

Believe it or not [and you probably won’t], I actually do try to stay optimistic throughout the hard times of my life.

It isn’t easy, though.

Still, I try.

Despite the fact that I now have holes in four different locations of my jaw.

Despite the fact that there is not a Taco Bell™ within a hundred miles of me right now.

I try, even though all I’ve eaten today has been two pureed bananas and a plate of mashed ‘taters.

I still try.

I’m still trying to be cheerful, even though I don’t get out of school this week.

I’m trying, in spite of the fact that I currently reside in the windiest region of North America.

I’m trying to be positive, even though all I want to do is chew.  That’s it—chew.  Do you all realise how blessed you are to have the ability to chew?  I caught a whiff of popcorn at school today, and it just about killed me.

Anyway, none of that stuff matters, because I’m being cheerful today.  That’s why I give you this:

Coeur de Pirate (Heart of Pirate)

I’d like to think that if I had been a musician, I would’ve been just like this girl.  {I’d need thicker bangs, though—to be a truly good European, one must have top quality thick bangs.}  Her real name is Beatrice Martin {hello, way to take an old-school name and turn it beautiful with your striking good looks, Beatrice!}, and she’s Canadian [I dig those Canadian musicians].  Specifically French Canadian, and there’s nothing I like more than a song sung in French.

I’m probably the last person to blog about her, but when I’m in dire need of cheering up, somehow finishing first just stops being a priority.

Posted in Canada, good tunes, It's All Good, like-it-link-it | Tagged , | 12 Comments

Weight Loss for Dummies

by Camille Posted on March 16, 2009

A lot of people have been commenting on how well I must be doing with my weight-loss plan, since I never feel like swallowing food whole eating anymore.

And guess what? They’re right. I weighed 151 when I went in for surgery, and today, after four days of subsisting almost wholly on apple sauce, yoghurt, chicken broth, and banana smoothies, I’ve lost three more pounds, bringing my weight down to 148.

The lightest I’ve been in my adult life was 149. My goal for June 20th is 140 (my goal was to lose 25 pounds in six months, starting at Christmastime when I weighed 165).

[By the way, are you glad I told you my weight?  I’ve been thinking about doing it for a long time, so as to have some sort of accountability for my weight-loss plan, but I’ve always been too chicken before now.  For some reason, though, I don’t really care anymore—I’m happy with my successes, and I’m motivated to keep working; the whole wide world could know about it, and it wouldn’t change my weight, so why not just be up-front about it?  Yes, I weigh 148.  Yes, it was just a few months ago that I weighed 165.  Yes, I gained 15 pounds after getting married.  It’s in the past.  And at the end of the day, it’s just weight. Y’know?  That was refreshing.]

Today when I got out of bed at—oh, noon—I decided I felt well enough to get dressed (miracle!) and run some errands here in Mayberry.  But, in searching about for something to wear, I realised my only pair of *fitting* jeans were in the washing machine.  Curses.  I couldn’t walk down Main Street completely naked {though according to my list, I would’ve rather done that than had my wisdom teeth out}, so I started pilfering through my closet to see if anything else would do…

…and that’s when I saw them.  My skinny jeans.  No, not those kind of skinny jeans…

skinnyjeans…I could never pull those off…

…But the “bought during a rare time of slim-ness and are practically in mint condition from lack of wear because that slim-ness lasted only a few months” kind of skinny jeans.  The “I’ll still let them hang in the closet even though they’re getting dusty, because you never know“ kind of skinny jeans.  The “oh yeah, I forgot I had those, even though I see them every clothed day of my life” kind of skinny jeans.  In other words, I haven’t worn them in years.

And guess what?  They zip up!

zipped-up skinny jeans

Unfortunately, they’re atrocious.  I don’t know what compelled me to purchase such a light-coloured denim.  They’re practically sandblasted.  Horrors.

Even more unfortunately is that I still have a muffin top when I wear them.

Muffin TopIt’s undeniable.

They aren’t really “workable” unless I wear a baggy sort of hoodie with them (which I’m not above doing, don’t worry).  At any rate, they’ll do, but I’m nevertheless still annoyed with the question of why these jeans give me a muffin top, when I’m supposedly at the skinniest weight of my life.  It’s a mystery.  I’ve thought it over, though, and decided there are three possible reasons for the muffin top:

1.  The jeans never fit properly from the beginning.

2.  The jeans have shriveled up whilst hanging, unused, for over three years, or

3.  All my weight loss has been in my face.

Fat Face

Which is very likely, don’tcha think?

Posted in change, It's All Good, woe is me | Tagged , | 23 Comments

Wisdom Teeth are SO Not My Friends Anymore.

by Camille Posted on March 15, 2009

Remember that last post, how I bravely declared that “they can take my wisdom teeth, but they can’t take my spirit?”

Misery

Lies—my spirit is completely crushed.

Just for the record, I think getting one’s wisdom teeth removed is a very bad idea—especially if there is nothing wrong with them in the first place.  I mean, so what if my teeth were getting crowded and growing crooked?  I could’ve moved to England and fit right in.

As it is, they’re gone—out of my mouth—never to return.  I’m not in horrible pain so much as utter discomfort.  I can’t open my mouth wider than one finger; my breath is atrocious; I’m too scared to wash my face for fear of dislodging the CLOTS (nastiest word of my life), so now I’m breaking out like a teenager; and I smell like an old man.

{Which I can’t figure out, really—I mean, sure, I’m disgusting right now, but I’m not sweaty!  I’m not working out!  Why the BO?  Why do I smell like an old man?  Is it because all I do is lay in bed, and that’s what old men do?  So now I’m becoming an old man?  I took a bath yesterday (I hate baths) and scrubbed those geriatric armpits with all my might (which isn’t really saying much, considering how weak I am right now), and it worked for a while, but today—return of the old man stench.}

Anyway, yeah.  It’s pretty gross around here right now.

Oh, what?  You don’t believe me?  Heh.

Sick NastI’m not kidding.

Poor Kyle thinks it’s grand fun, though—he wishes I’d get teeth pulled every Friday, so he could have long weekends all year ’round!

Trust me, though: It’s no walk in the park.

So far, I have consumed:

-5 cups apple sauce
-2 cups soup
-1 wheat cracker (dissolved in 2nd cup of soup)
-1 cup mashed potatoes/gravy
-1 glass apple juice
-1 sugar-free fudgecicle (removed from stick and eaten by spoon out of a bowl, which is no way to eat a fudgecicle, if you ask me)
-lots of water

That is my total food intake, swallowed whole, as of Thursday at 7:30 p.m.  For three days’ worth of consumption, I don’t think it’s a very healthy sum of calories, but I can’t even fathom eating any more, or anything different.  All you folks who were eating burgers and fries the day you got your wisdom teeth removed—you’re either lying, or I’m a big wuss.  It’s Sunday, and I’m already dreading school on Tuesday.  How do people get this procedure done and get right back to work?

So far, the worst part of my ordeal was last night (End of Day 2), when I knew I had to eat to take my medicine, but I had no appetite whatsoever.  I forced myself to eat a cup of applesauce with my pill, but when I rinsed with salt water afterward, I very nearly threw it all up.  I was so nauseated last night that I started to cry, because 1) I hate throwing up,  2) I didn’t think I’d be able to open my mouth wide enough for the vomit to come out, and 3) I just knew that throwing up would give me dry socket [and dry socket gives me nightmares].

Thankfully, the Good Lord saw fit to answer my prayers, and I did not throw up.

But seriously, the salt water rinses are nasty.  I gag every time.

I’ve attempted brushing my teeth twice now, and both times have been pretty much fruitless.  I am too timid to venture back very far to the teeth that are closest to my wounds, which are the most important areas to keep clean.  Hopefully tomorrow will be better—who’d’ve thought I’d ever be complaining about not being able to brush my teeth?

But then, isn’t that how it always goes?  “Don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone.”

Anyway, maybe someday I’ll be able to overcome the discomfort and write about something other than how miserable my wisdom teeth have made me, but…for now…

…it’s all I’ve got.

p.s.  A huge thank you to everyone who sent uplifting thoughts, comments, and prayers my way this weekend!  They’ve helped—if nothing else, they remind me that lots of you have gone through this before, and I can survive.  RatalieNose sent out a call for prayers, and my friend Christal even brought me treats and a magazine to help buoy my spirits.  You guys are the best.

Posted in mondays suck, what a nightmare, woe is me | Tagged | 21 Comments

You Can Take My Wisdom Teeth, But You Can’t Take My Spirit.

by Camille Posted on March 13, 2009

My wisdom teeth removal went…as well as could be expected.  I’m alive, anyway.  That’s good.  Poor Kyle’s been a darling.

The Run-Down:

Woke up 6 a.m..  Showered.

Hair Braided for Surgery

Dried hair; braided (most conducive style for laying on one’s deathbed).  Arrived 7:30.  Surgeried 8:15.  Home by 9:30.  Only given prescription for IBUPROFEN (had been totally for Vicoden, so I could say crazy things on blog).  Vegged.  I’m not in a ton of pain (knock on wood), but one thing I’ve noticed is that my wrists feel really weak—can’t quite support my hands.  Is that normal?  Anyway, more details of the day to come.  Later.

I was super incoherent when I first came to, and I’m sure it would have been hilarious for me to have answered the questions then and there (as per the plan), but I wasn’t counting on not being able to talk on account of gauze, blood, mucous, and a dry, dry mouth/throat.  Sorry.

Wisdom Teeth Removal

I tried to be funny with my answers anyway.  (I try really hard, actually.)

Deathbed Questions

1. How did you know PK was the one?
Lucky guess.

2. What made you decide to change your major to English?
Purely mercenary. Figured I could make more money writing than working in a (basically nonexistent, up here) museum. I miss Art History dreadfully, though.

3. Which is better–Heroes or 24?
24, simply because it’s the one I’ve kept up with best. When Heroes goes off the air, though, I fully intend to watch every season of it on DVD as quickly as possible.

4. Did you ever cut your sister’s hair while she was sleeping? Tell the truth!!!
YOU’RE ABSURD. I NEVER CUT YOUR HAIR WHILE YOU WERE SLEEPING. I don’t know how that happened.

5. What will you write your first (published) book about?
A little girl whose name starts with D, and her sister A, and their exploits in the desert. It’s all in the works.

6. Is married life really worth it?
Totally overrated. Steer clear.  But when it comes to having surgery, it’s nice to have a friendly face there when you wake up.  I’m just sayin’.

7. Was taking a year off of school as nice as it sounds?
It was the most peaceful, relaxed year of my life (not working and being child-less may have contributed to that). I’m glad I can say, with full surety, that I enjoyed it to its fullest (while it lasted). And I mourned the loss of that year when it was over. I’m still mourning it.

8. Why is ASU horrid in your mind (I have my own reasons)?
Those bastards. The higher-ups at ASU are totally driven by money. They view the students as nothing more than sheep—herd ’em in, herd ’em out. The bureaucracy and general “red tape-ness” of it makes me ill, and not just because I had surgery today. It was nice of them to give me a scholarship, but losing it was probably the best thing I’ve ever done for myself.

9. When did you know we were going to be best friends?  (This from Chelise.)
When you made me that pillow for my stand in band.  When we sang “Hey, Nunny Nunny” for hours at our hotel during the Disneyland Band Trip of 2003.  When we ditched school to go buy fabric for my cloak so I could look amazing at LOTR, and then ditched more to go eat at Matta’s (RIP, Matta’s).

10. Are you over me calling you green with envy? (Again, from Chelsie.)
I will always love you, but I will never get over that.

11. I would like to know why you got married at such a young age (I’m not American, I’m Dutch, so maybe it has to do with the cultural difference that I don’t seem to get it). So many people fall in love with different persons during their twenties (and later on in their lives). If I would have married my first or second (or third) boyfriend I would be divorced right now…
Hello Dutch Friend!  I am a huge fan of your country!  This question deserves an entire post, and it will get one soon.  Super-short version: I always swore I’d never get married before 25.  I got married at 21.  I think it is partly American and partly Mormon culture.  I’ll explain it all another time.  But Poor Kyle wasn’t my second or third boyfriend—he was my fifth.  I always swore I would never marry the first/only guy I ever dated—at least in that, I stuck to my guns.  :  )

12. What’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever done?
Gotten my wisdom teeth removed when they were perfectly fine where they were.

13. How far did you get in the backward count after the needle?
He didn’t ask me to count.  I was crying, and he just kept talking to me, and finally he said, “Are you starting to feel it?  I can tell by your crazy cross-eyes that you are.”  I started laughing, and that was it.

14.  Are you all whiney right now?
Would I be me if I wasn’t whining?

15. What’s the smartest thing you’ve ever done?
Ummm…   That’s a hard one; I do so few smart things in my life…  I’d say it’s a toss-up between “lived in Europe before getting married,” and “came home from Europe to marry Poor Kyle.”

16. Are you going to milk this for all it’s worth? (as if that one’s not rhetorical).
Rhetorical is right—you bet I am.

17. When the drugs wear off, are you going to heave at the taste of blood?
Am I going to?  No.  Am I already doing it?  Yes.  It’s nasty.

18. Or have you already done so?
Ha!  See above.

19. Has PK laughed at, oops, with you yet?
As a matter of fact, he has.  On our drive home, he asked how I was feeling and I said, “I whunna hughfld uh mwhoonie.” I was trying to say “I wanna hock a loogie,” or in other words, “There seems to be a buildup of phlegm at the back of my throat that will neither come up nor go down, and it is causing me minor discomfort.”  I sounded so ridiculous that even I was laughing at myself, but Poor Kyle couldn’t tell if I was laughing or sobbing.  To his credit, he only started laughing once he was sure I was laughing, and not, in fact, bawling.  The loogie’s still there—I’m forbidden to spit for two months.

20. Did you leave the place on your own two feet?
How do you mean?  I got into the wheelchair with my own two feet, and left the wheelchair for the truck with my own two feet.

21. What’s the first thing you intend to ingest? Or already did?
Drugs.  Water.  1 cup of apple sauce.

22. What colour was the horse that kicked you in the face? J/k.
Ummm…huh?

23. If you’re dead, does your mouth still hurt?
Yes.

24. Who gets your MacBook?
Poor Kyle, but only until he buys his own (which might happen sooner than later).  After that, he can donate it to charity.  Or give it to my sister.  Everyone else I know already has a laptop.

25. You’re not really giving your RED Kitchenaid to your MIL, are you? Hint.
Actually it’s black, and it WOULD be a toss-up between you and my MIL (although she doesn’t like Kitchenaids™—she’s a Bosch person), but my sister was the one who bought it for me, and her own is like 50 years old, so she should probably get mine as an upgrade.  Seems fair.  Sorry!

26. Can you see the vultures swarming?
No, why?  Can you?

27. Have any pretty young things come to the door to console PK, oops, You yet?
No, but if they do I’ll spit mucous-y blood on them—oh, I am not allowed to spit.  I’ll throw my bloody tissues in their faces, then.  I hate them.

28. What inspirational thought have you learned thus far from the MAJOR surgery?
I would be so embarrassed to die from getting my wisdom teeth out—I’ve learned that I want to die nobly, for a cause, and not lying on a stinking table with my mouth pried open.

29. Would you rather have stuck a needle and/or scalpels and various other devices in your eye?
If the recovery time was shorter and allowed me to spit afterwards?  Yes.

30. What do you want to be when you grow up? That is, of course, assuming you’ll live through this and actually have the opportunity to grow up.
A paid, professional blogger.

31. Who to you hate most in your life?
Satan.  He sucks.

32. Who is your favorite person?
Jesus, by the same token.  And Poor Kyle.

33.  Who is your all time favorite blogger and why?
You.

34. How old were you when you got your period?
12 or 13.  I hated womanhood then, and I hate it now.

35. What size of bra do you wear?
Ask Victoria.  No, really.  I haven’t been fitted for a bra since around my wedding, and I’ve since gained and lost some weight.  Last I checked I was in the 30s (heh.) and my cup size rhymed with “Z.”

36. Do you REALLY hate Walmart?
I REALLY do.  Passionately.  Haven’t returned since October, and I never will.

37. What is your favorite “position?”
I can’t imagine what you mean.  Right now, I’m sitting up with my head elevated.  :  )

38. I want to know why you chose to be affiliated with your chosen political party.
Obama’s dashing.

Posted in ask me anything, blogger finger, oh brother what next, woe is me | 24 Comments

My Last Will and Testament…

by Camille Posted on March 12, 2009

{I know you’re all thinking, “Seriously?  How much momentum can one girl get out of one tiny surgery?” The answer to that question is STICK AROUND; YOU AIN’T SEEN NOTHIN’ YET.}

Inasmuch as I’m undergoing major surgery tomorrow {or today [or right this minute depending on when you’re reading this]}, I thought I’d open up the polls to see if any of you have any final burning questions for me. Normally, I take reader questions and dedicate entire posts to just one answer, but tomorrow we’re going to do it a little differently.

Note: This is an idea I completely ripped off from my good blog-friend who had an even more major surgery {if such a thing is possible} not long ago.

Here’s the idea:  You may take this opportunity to ask me any juicy question you have, and Poor Kyle will ask me all of them, in rapid succession, as soon as I am out of surgery (should I make it through alive), yet still doped up on sleepy-drugs.  I’m a ticking time bomb of words on a normal day—imagine the answers I might have when I’m completely incoherent! So ask away; any query your heart may have, I will answer.  In one massive post.  Whilst high on drugs.  And possibly grouchy and bloody, too.  It could get interesting.

Wish me luck.  If you don’t hear from me before Monday, you’ll know I’ve died.  Pray for my soul if I do die; I’d like to make it somewhere near Heaven, if at all possible.

Oh, and one more thing:  If I die, I want to leave all of my fines and debts, incurred at the Mesa Public Library, to my brother-in-law, Flint.  I believe it’s upward of several hundred dollars.  This is my final will and testament.

Oh, and another thing:  Family?  Friends?  I love you.

Oh, and one more “one more thing:”  If Poor Kyle remarries, I’m not kidding: I’ll be really really mad.  Especially if she’s skinny.  I hate her.

How’s that for a deathbed sentiment?

Posted in ask me anything, woe is me | 22 Comments