Brain Drain
I’m sitting here in Elsa’s room, with deep sleep music playing on the YouTube, about to fall asleep. My brain is so tired it can’t even figure out how to post an entry. I keep thinking I should click a link, but then it just. . . falls away. Obviously I have solved that problem now, but I tell you about it to give you an idea of where my brain is. Will this entry make any sense?
Why am I in Elsa’s room? Why not? She wakes up a lot in the early hours of night and it is easier to sit here and do computer stuff, patting her back down before she fully wakes up. My other option would be to watch my shows in the basement, two floors away from her, and not come to her until she’s in full scream mode (when I start hearing her) and much harder to put back to sleep. Kinda sucks though, since my DVR is filling up. I am going to be really cryin’ tomorrow when I miss the series finale of Fringe! Mike better be prepared for abandonment on Saturday. I’ve got TV shows to watch, gosh darn it! I’m going to get a box of tissue and cry my eyes out while my favorite show ends.
I had my pilar cyst removed today. Joy, joy. My poor head hurts right now. You know one good reason to do home surgery on these things? Sticking an exacto knife in your head may hurt in the moment, but the recovery isn’t as painful (not as deep a cut, I guess? And no stitches?).
I had a different surgeon today, but the same bitchy old lady nurse. I really hate this woman. Every time I’ve been in there she’s had some rude remark about my moles or my cysts or whatever. I think she must be very bitter. She works in a med spa and is very unattractive. That could give an old woman some insecurities, I guess.
She told me she was going to have to shave a huge patch off my head and the doctor got really angry at her. He drew a circle around my cyst (I guess, I couldn’t see) and told her she was only allowed to shave inside the circle. They had a little spat about it, but I assume he won. When he left the room she pretended she didn’t know which cyst she was supposed to shave and kept saying she would just shave them all. You guys would have been proud of me. I got pretty aggressive with her, something I never would have done just a year ago. Damned if this woman was going to shave big patches of my hair for shits and giggles.
I really liked this doctor. I thought he was really young, but he has a 9 year old so he is probably not a whole lot younger than me. Sure, he could have started having kids a lot sooner than me, but I don’t know many doctors who start popping out babies at age 18. Of course, he works in a medspa, so he probably does all kinds of treatments on himself. I really liked that he was joking around, but also understood my concerns. He didn’t talk down to me at all and was telling me stories about other cysts he’s removed. Sounds gross, but there are worse topics. He was really impressed that I had a teratoma. I guess they are pretty rare. I’m nothing if not a medical wonder.
They thought they would have to wrap the wound with a big bandage turban, but it wasn’t bleeding so they taped gauze in my hair. I am glad I didn’t have a head wrap, but the tape is going to be a bitch to get out tomorrow.
They showed me the cyst afterwards and it was pretty bizarre. It looked like a clear, plastic sweet potato (only much smaller, of course. Maybe 2 inches long. He said it was causing me pain because it had ruptured on the bottom and had an infection brewing, so now I have to take antibiotics for 10 days. Ugh. Better than having my head rot off, I guess. The cyst was on the back of my head, so he thought the rupture was caused by normal pressure of sleeping on it and leaning back in chairs.
You know what the best thing was?
I didn’t have to work at finding a babysitter! It is SO NICE to have my social network built up so well that I didn’t even think about finding a sitter when I scheduled the appointment knowing Mike was out of town. I had three people offer to take her before I could even ask anyone. I have at least three other people who probably would have taken her, plus our new babysitting co-op. Life is so much easier with friends.
Ok, I better stop writing and get myself to bed. Elsa has done much better the last two nights, but she still has wake-ups (thankfully no screaming at me, just general screaming.
Last night she woke up moaning and rolling around like a rotisserie chicken (her hair was a nightmare to comb today, even with spray and an ouchless brush). I was patting her and comforting her. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness I saw another person in my bed. I screamed a little and then woke up enough to realize it was Erik. That was all he needed to get going. We were awake, so why weren’t we talking? Chatty Cathy over there wanted to talk about the spots on the ceiling, why colors look different in the dark, why Elsa was so wiggly, yadda yadda yadda. I had to put a pretty firm stop to it. I don’t want a Chatty Cathy in my bed at 2 am.
Speaking of my silly boy, he had his first indoor winter soccer session tonight. I am not around him in big groups of kids all that much anymore so I’ve convinced myself that he is not any more energetic than most children.
Hahahahahahaha.
I wasn’t crazy thinking he was “extra” when he was little. He really WAS that high energy and demanding. He played soccer for 45 minutes. His body never stopped moving. Every time the coach was talking or they were taking a break, he was JUMPING up and down over and over and over and over and over. None of the other kids were doing anything like that. I need to talk Elsa into being so high energy. If I was chasing her all over tarnation I’d be losing a lot of weight.
Erik really is a wonderfully sweet boy and excellent big brother. He has been a big help this week and has been trying so hard to do what I ask him to do. He told me he is going to teach Elsa everything in the whole world and that if she doesn’t understand something he’ll just tell her, “sorry, Elsa, but I’m your brother and if I can learn it you can too.” Love that kid, even when he is driving me completely batty. He is even letting her win some of their silly little competitions and I know that is a huge, huge sacrifice for him because he is Mr. Competitive personified.
Elsa is a sweet one, too. I was really proud of her yesterday. We were at a MOMS Club event and a little 11 month old got in her space. She was so mad that she was shaking in rage and clearly wanted to hit the girl, but she checked herself and didn’t do it. She is also really good about “choosing happiness.” You now that new-old trope that everyone is talking about? You just have to choose to be happy!
There is a lot of truth in that, of course, but it is easier said than done. Elsa cracks me up because she’ll start to cry, then she’ll look at me and say “I’m going to be happy. I won’t cry.” I have no idea where she got it, but I wish she could teach it to me and Erik.