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She was about an inch in size and I decided to name her Gladys.

Issue Date: Monday, May. 15, 2006

Have I told ya’ll about Gladys? No? Well, let me go back a little ways and start this little tale in October of last year.

It was around the18th and I felt like Mister was sitting on my chest. I couldn’t breath and I decided that that was a bad thing so I went to see my general practitioner. His name is Eduardo and he is hot.

Eduardo being hot didn’t help the fact that I couldn’t breath. Let me preface this by saying that I didn’t have a cold, I have never had asthma and I wasn’t smoking. Eduardo took my blood pressure and it was heart attack over aneurysm. Apparently I was having some sort of anxiety attack, but to be sure that I wasn’t having a pulmonary aneurysm (Lord, that sounds so scary) Eduardo sent me to have a CT (cat scan) done with contrast.

The test was completed and the radiologist called Eduardo and let him know I was in the clear. Eduardo called me at the hospital and told me I could leave because I was fine. Cool. Good. That is nice to know because I was leaving for Austin the next day and was planning on lifting many heavy boxes and getting no sleep and helping a coworker out with a conference… and our director was going to be there.

The next day the three of us left for Austin at 6 am. We arrived, had the pre-con meeting, set up the conference and… well, my nose started bleeding… copiously. I was so embarrassed. My blood pressure was up, anxiety was sitting on my shoulders and I was trying not to pay any attention to it… so it decided to make my blood pressure shoot up so high that I got a bloody nose. Gross.

The next two days, while I was trying to register people for the conference, take care of details and make sure things went smoothly; my nose kept on bleeding. I would sneeze and have to run to the restroom all hunched over with Kleenex shoved into my face as not to ruin my little staff shirt, the hotel carpet or an errant Maltese. I think that my red staff shirt still has a little dark spot right between the boobs that I have never been able to get out.

I know you all want me. It’s in your eyes.

I’ve told you all before, it is hard work being this sexy.

So I was fine in the lung department but because my blood pressure was so crazy high and I was anxious enough to warrant some anti-anxiety medication, Eduardo scheduled a stress test for me that following Monday.

Yay, run-walking (they won’t let you jog) on a treadmill that is at like 40 degrees on a Monday morning before I go to work. Just how I want to start my week. But the people were very nice and it turns out my heart is like that of an eighteen year old. Now, if I could just get my ass to be like that of an eighteen year old we’d be in business.

So, what was the deal? Am I just getting older? (Shut up.) Is it my diet? Or lack thereof? My lack of exercise and complete disregard for losing weight? (Again, shut up.) I would have to say yes. Eduardo called me in to go over the test results so he could show me the information that the radiologist found. Oh, I made time for that… in like December or January. Yeah, I was all about this being a big deal. Very Johnny-On-the-Spot and all that.

Eduardo showed me that they had found a little hemangioma on my liver. She was about an inch in size and I decided to name her Gladys. I am not, nor have I been worried about Gladys. A hemangioma; by definition; is a benign tumor or birthmark consisting of a dense, often raised cluster of blood vessels in the skin. Mine, just happens to be in my liver. And Google tells me that she may be making an appearance because of the many years of birth control pills that I have ingested.

Eduardo said that I shouldn’t worry… but then he started wanting me to get scanned every month or so. So I got scanned… well sonogrammed, in March… and I went to get a CT with contrast this morning. So what if I haven’t made it to get scanned every freaking month. Eduardo is hot, yes, and he is sweet, and concerned about Mister and me. But I am busy… what, with all of my sitting around and watching eighteen hours of Grey’s Anatomy… I just couldn’t find time for six freaking cat scans this year.

When I got the ultrasound in March it was nice, I went in on a Saturday and drank six gallons of water so my bladder would be full. The lady who did the test was awesome and very complimentary of my cute little red corduroy jacket. She even tried it on. She also showed me my uterus and my ovaries and all of my business looks like it is in perfect working order… you know, for all of those children I am not having. The test was over quickly and painlessly. Thank God the sonogram(-ist?) person could find all of my business without having to do one of those internal sonograms.

You ladies know what I am talking about. Can I get a what-what?

I didn’t think much when I went in to see Eduardo to go over the sonogram test results… everything appears to be in normal working order and Gladys has… what? She’s gotten bigger? Well, that bitch.

Eduardo asked if I would get another CT done. Because, ya’ll know I have all of this extra cash just lying around in stacks all over the house. The new house… that we just bought and paid a frillion dollars for eleventy inspections, reinspections, movers, the precious, the new living room furniture and a freaking cook top. You know… that extra cash, right?

So, fine… we have to keep an eye on little fatty boombalatty Gladys to make sure she doesn’t get all up in my liver’s grill or anything. So I scheduled a CT scan for this morning. Well, to be honest, Eduardo had this MRI imaging place call me to make an appointment because I am all about “putting off that scan for another week or so.” So, this morning it was.

And Gladys? I feel like totally knocking her out.

I fasted because I had to get contrast done. No food or drinks for a million days before you go in for a scan. Fine… FINE. Not even water? No ma’am. But as soon as I got there they handed me a stack of papers to fill out and a cup with liquid in it. The contrast liquid that was mixed with Coca-cola.

You all know that I am mainly a water drinking girl. That milk is a big part of my daily intake and that I hardly drink any sodas. I get all talky speaky with that much sugar and the caffeine is a sure-fire way to keep me awake at night. As a matter of fact on my birthday I had a Dr. Pepper with a piece of birthday cake at work… I was so sick that evening that I almost got ill at the table when Mister took me out to celebrate for my birthday dinner. So when they handed me the contrast liquid mixed with Coke, I asked if it could be mixed with water. “No ma’am” was the reply. But they could mix it with Sprite.

I had to drink two glasses of the cursed stuff so the second one I asked to be mixed with Sprite. Regardless of what it was mixed with, it tasted like confectionary sugar mixed with carbonation. Eeesh.

They asked me to take an hour to drink that mess so when I was finished I got to put on one of those sexy gowns that open up the back. Hotness. Pure hotness.

This lady named Joan took me back to this little room to start the IV for the contrast injection. She gave me this little package with slip proof socks that were gray and I happily put them on as to add to my already attractive outfit.

Joan tied a big flat rubber band around my right arm above the elbow, asked me to squeeze this little foam airplane (with the wings ripped off) and then she started slapping the shit out of my arm. “Take that, you pale round-eye!” She screamed at me. [Smack-Smack-Smack] “I hate you and your stupid veins!”

I watched her try to raise a vein on my arm to no avail.

She tied up the other arm and started to smack it around too. “Aaarrgh! I hate my job and I am going to work my frustrations out on your pale fleshy limb.” [Smack-Smack-Smack] She stuck me with a 22 gauge needle twice; once in each arm; and then called in for reinforcements.

A boy that was so cute that I had trouble looking him directly in the eye entered the little blood-letting cubby hole. “Hi, my name is Scott.” “Sc-Sc-Scott?” I stuttered. Because I am hot like that. “Yes, Scott.” He replied. He took my right arm in his hand and ran the tips of his fingers over the crook of my elbow. “Hmmm, what do we have here?” He muttered to himself while he looked for a vein.

Joan reentered and asked if Scott wanted to use a 24 gauge needle, he agreed and gently tapped my arm looking for a vein. “I would make a poor junky, huh?” I offered cheerfully. My brain screamed at me, “Oh. My. God. What a stupid thing to say! Shut up… Shut up! I know the caffeine and sugar are making you loopy but… for the love of all that is holy, shut up. May I remind you that they have needles?”

Scott decided on a spot that he liked on my right arm and went in for the kill… and then rooted around for about twenty-fourteen minutes. I started to feel a bit sick. Then I started to feel a LOT sick. I was sweating and I asked Scott feebly, “Could we just stop that for a few minutes? I feel really sick… and… Oh Lord, do you have something I could throw up into?”

Scott gave me a trash can but left that damn needle in my arm. He also handed me a tiny little wet wipe thingy soaked in alcohol and asked me to hold it by my nose. I breathed in the abrasive smell of the alcohol while Scott fanned me with a towel. I was sexy enough to dry heave into the trash can not once, not twice…but three times. Ya’ll know Scott was beside himself with yearning for me, my fleshy no-vein-having arms and my dry heaving… oh, and the sweating. Don’t forget the sweating.

I apologized to him and quietly said, “I am so embarrassed.” He was nice enough to say, “Don’t be, it happens all the time.” He said that I probably had some double-v (Vena V---blahblahblah?... anyone? Help?) word that means how my body is responding to shock… with vomiting.

I am a card carrying member of Carter Blood Care ya’ll. I give blood freely. Need blood? Here. I am O+ and I will give you some of my life force. For FREE. Why in the hell was I having such a tough time with this IV? I needed it for the contrast. And the sugary stuff was still making my tummy all wobbly.

Scott tried one more time on my left arm and no luck. They went ahead and did the scan. Why? I don’t know. My liver probably won’t show up without the contrast… but I really don’t want to go back and drink all that shit and dry heave in front of Scott for a second time.

Stupid Gladys.


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To understand this dear reward (above) at all, you must hie thee on and read gatsby’s grape ape entry and my comments.

And because of said comments he sent me my very own dream turtle in an email titled wee gift with these words attached, “my purple monkey is booked solid so i ordered you a tangerine turtle. hope he proves helpful.”

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