6 Month Milestone

It's been a long 6 months of  surgery, sock photos, more surgery, more sock photos, moving, more sock photos and even more sock photos.  But I think it's time for a photo montage and big reveal!

Before: 

During:

This is the day of the surgery -- and the plastic surgeon actually suggested that I wear the snot-catching nose guard thing 24/7 for the next 2 weeks. Newflash: I didn't.

The morning  after the surgery -- this, by the way, was the day the doctor warned me repeatedly not to have sex...though how he thought Opie could resist my animal magnetism, I'll never know.

A couple weeks in...when the flap was "feeling badly!" 

I, on the other hand, was a beaming ball of sunshine.

The next surgery, aka The Unflapping!

Then slowly on the mend....

Now, six months down the road (drumroll please!):

Lots of scar cream, not a small amount of make up, a new haircut and very forgiving lighting...but looking like me again!

Back Again!

If you’re wondering why I haven’t updated this blog in so long, it’s simple: It has been a CRAZY

year at The Yates Estates!

And not just in a “Kimberly’s Life Is Always Weird Plus She’s Been Known To Exaggerate Ever So Slightly” kind of way.

It’s more like a “Kimberly’s Life Has Slid Off The Rails, Why Does Everything Happen At Once?” situation.

And not just because the Yates have moved their Estate to a whole new location…but I get ahead of myself!

So, to get myself back on track, I will repeat: It’s been a crazy year.

If you know me at all, you know I started the year with skin cancer…not the deadly variety but the one described on far too many websites as able to cause “mutilating disfigurement.”  Which, to be honest, was not a phrase I handled well…though one I did enjoy screaming at Opie with alarming frequency. 

Which means the next few months of the year were spent getting 4 different surgeries to remove the cancer and reconstruct my face.

Then, just to bump things up a notch, in the midst of all this surgery, we moved into a new house.

And you’re probably saying to yourself, “Self,” you are saying “It feels as if Kimberly might be sliding into that exaggeration thing we’ve heard about. After all, LOTS of people move.”

Yes, they do.

However, most of them don’t move while suffering from kidney stones. One of the first days we were moving things over, I had my first attack and had to lie down (while yelling helpful instructions from the floor to Opie about the proper placement of boxes). Then about 2:00 in the morning on the day of the final move, I woke Opie up by stumbling to the bathroom and puking from pain. So, off we went to the Emergency Room, a mere 5 hours before the movers were set to arrive at our old house and pack everything up.

Once there the doctor there asked me a bunch of questions about all the symptoms I had been experiencing in the previous weeks and wondered why in the world I hadn’t come in sooner?! We explained about the move and then I waved a hand at my scar and stitch-filled face and allowed as I’d had a few other things on my mind.

He nodded sympathetically and asked “Burns?”

It is interesting to note that suggesting to a woman who is already self-conscious about her 

Frankenstein Face that it looks she took a header into a firepit is NOT the way to convince her she’s going to be back to her old self soon.

However, to be fair, this can be forgiven if you pump her full of the proper amount of kidney stone pain reducing drugs.

In any case, we spent the rest of that day coordinating trips to the urologist and scheduling a kidney stone surgery in between deliveries of furniture and household goods.

So, as I said, not a normal move.

It’s also not normal to spend the second night in your dream home huddled in the master closet to shelter from the tornado that is ripping through the city. I mean, yes, tornadoes are fairly common in Oklahoma…but not many people have to try to track the path of the tornado on social media (because they don’t have their cable set up yet) as it hurtles toward the old house they haven’t sold as well as the new house they just moved into while also trying to convince an exhausted husband that the threat was real and reassuring 2 frantic dogs that a small, dark windowless room was a fun place to hang out.

(Note to self -- start hiding vodka in the storm shelter).

Luckily, although the tornado did crazy damage throughout both neighborhoods, both our houses were spared. We had one section of fence that was knocked down and lots of limbs in the yard but no major damage.

This is not only proof that God listens to our prayers it also clearly shows that those prayers don’t have to be completely profanity free.

But back to the crazy year!

After the move, I had surgery to break up the kidney stones and we spent the next few months getting the old house ready to sell (Feeling grateful for all our family and friends who went way above the call of duty to help us do so! Special shout out to my mom who not only helped us but did so while healing from a broken collarbone!), getting the new house unpacked, then I accepted a new position at work, and we are FINALLY getting back to some semblance of normalcy.

Or at least what passes for normal at The Yates Estates! Though we’re bringing a new kitty home tomorrow and if history teaches us anything, we can be sure he will be full of attitude and drama and will further increase the mayhem.

But, my point is, I’m finally back! Blogging again—hopefully with more regularity—and getting my Etsy shop up and running again.  I even got a couple new sets of cards created and uploaded featuring some of the few pictures I managed to get out and take during all this crazy business.  I, of course, gave the collections sweet titles like “Pretty In Pink” and “Sights of Spring” but in my heart the real name is “Skin Cancer Can Suck It!”

PS: It is also interesting to note that the first time I got skin cancer, about 15 years ago, it also occurred right as I was buying and moving into my first house. I’m not saying that I’m scared to ever move again but I probably will get a full body scan done while we’re in the planning phase!

Literally Losing It

Here’s an interesting grammar tidbit I learned today:

The definition of the word literally has changed. Historically, literally meant “actually; without exaggeration or inaccuracy:” or “used to emphasize the truth and accuracy of a statement or description.”

But now, because so many people have used it incorrectly for so long, the dictionary has added a new definition: “used for emphasis or to express strong feeling while not being actually true.”

Which means when I say it literally never rains it pours, it’s now unclear if I’m actually being literal or figurative. Which is actually kind of lucky because, in this narrow instance, I'm being both.

Figuratively speaking, I have a lot of rain in my life right now. Skin cancer, moving to a new house, getting the old house ready to put on the market…call me a drama queen but it’s a lot to deal with! Adding kidney stones to that mix is, in my humble opinion, a metaphorical “pouring” of epic proportions.

Particularly since the latest attack came as we were LITERALLY moving. After I got off work Saturday, Opie and I loaded up the car with  boxes and headed over to the new house. Then, when we were about a mile away, I got hit with a pain that was FIGURATIVELY like a small animal had somehow materialized in my guts and was earnestly attempting to eat its way out.

Good times.

Especially for Opie because as soon as we got to the house, I LITERALLY stumbled to the bedroom, shoved a couple pillows together (we hadn't moved the bed yet) and collapsed on the floor...though not before carefully positioning myself near enough the door that I could see what he was carrying in in order to yell encouraging suggestions to him.

This situation was not noticeably enhanced by the fact that the boxes I’d packed and intended to carry were not organized in an Opie-approved fashion. By which I mean, my boxes not only didn’t clearly identify contents but generally also only had things like “upstairs” or “downstairs” written on them

“Where does this go?” Opie would demand.

“It says upstairs,” I’d snap back.

And he’d be all “Where upstairs? Guest room? Office? Exercise room?”

“JUST TAKE IT UPSTAIRS!” I’d shout then. “I’ll figure it out later—UNLESS I FREAKING DIE RIGHT HERE ON THE FLOOR!”

It’s somewhat miraculous his head didn’t pop right off. (Figuratively sneaking of course).

But, speaking literally again, this is when the whole it never rains it pours thing came back into play. Because this was when the gentle rain turned into a torrential downpour. A “The Heavens Opened And We Should Think About Building An Ark” kind of downpour.  Which in its own right would have made moving difficult but was made significantly worse when the tornado sirens went off.

Take a moment and try to picture this moment of marital bliss…I’m lying on the floor, contemplating death, checking weather updates on my phone because we didn’t have television or computers set up yet, screaming at Opie to take shelter, and he is resolutely marching in and out of the house with boxes in his arms, muttering under his breath…no doubt speculating on how boring his life was before I popped into it.

“Twitter says they’re evacuating hospital rooms!” I yelled as he stomped back into the garage. “The weather channel says we need to get to a safe room or a basement!”

(Except, of course, we don’t have a basement. Our storm readiness plan is prayer.)

“Do not go back in that garage!” I yelled as he stomped back by. “I am not emotionally equipped to see you buried in tornado rubble!”

“You’re the one who keeps saying buying this house was fate, that it was meant to be,” he retorted. “If it’s meant to be, it’s not going to be hit by a tornado.”

And even though I really hate it when he uses my own words against me, I guess he was right because both houses survived the storm with no trouble.

So, even though it literally and figuratively is pouring all over us again right now, things are going pretty well. I had the last of my stitches out this morning and the doc thinks the scars are “coming along nicely.” And the kidney stones suck but they could be worse…like when my brother got them ON HIS HONEYMOON while he and his wife were CAMPING ON A VOLCANO.

Fair warning, though, the news is predicting earth-shattering storms tonight with the high possibility of tornadoes so there's a pretty good chance that I will spend hours and hours sharing hysterical weather alerts and screaming at Opie to take shelter.

And I mean that literally!

World Naked Gardening Day

May 4^th is World Naked Gardening Day.

To answer the questions that I’m sure are in everyone’s minds:

1. Yes, that’s WORLD not National. It’s clearly a big deal.

2. Yes, it’s a real thing. It was started in 2005 by the same naturalists who created the World Naked Bike Ride…which sounds painful in ways I don’t even want to contemplate.

3. No, while I can’t speak definitively for Opie, I really do not think anyone will be cavorting around the gardens here at the Yates Estates in the raw. First of all, we’re moving and don’t have much of a garden this year. Second, I have to go to see my surgeon on Monday for a follow up procedure and if 

I show up with any sign that I’ve been out in the sun, I’m pretty sure his head will pop right off. So, the only way I’m participating in World Naked Gardening Day is if first I slather myself from head to toe with Zinc like an overzealous lifeguard from 1985.

And even then, I’d still have to wear a hat…and not just any hat, one of these over-sized, not at all fashionable of flattering, shades your entire face, kind of hats.

Don’t get me wrong, I love hats.  I wear hats all time, I always have – as evidenced by this photo montage of some of my favorite hats through the years:

 The thing is, these hats don’t give my face the kind of coverage I need – my doctor has told me over and over that if I want my scars to fade, I absolutely can not allow them in direct sunlight. So the other day I ordered THIS hat:

  

Which may not seem completely horrible – even if it does have a brim that is roughly the size of a small country.  But check out the other features:

So your neck—another prime skin cancer danger zone—is fully covered.

And don’t even get me started on the veil-like face covering…

It is interesting to note that, if your significant other is screaming about how the new hat she has to wear is ridiculous, you should NOT try to cheer her up by saying “It looks good…it looks like you’re on safari.” Trust me, she will NOT find this flattering, will definitely respond with offensive profanity and might even cry.

And let me share the other weird thin about this hat – I heard about it from some other ladies who have had this procedure. They said it’s one of the few hats that really makes them feel comfortable being outside and they even sent me a link. Where I learned that this fabulous hat is recommended for shopping, tourism, running – you name the activity, this hat will keep you protected from the sun during it…except, do you notice anything strange about these ads?

                    

Anything?  Anything that seems a bit off??

Like the fact that NO ONE in the ads is actually wearing the hat???  The hat is so freaking ridiculous, they couldn’t get a paid model to slap it on FOR THE AD IN WHICH THEY WERE TRYING TO GET YOU TO BUY IT.

This is what I’ve been reduced to – fashion accessories so objectionable the best advertisement for them is NOT wearing them.

But, as usual, I digress. I was going to talk about World Naked Gardening Day…as I said, it was started in 2005. Why? Because, according to surveys done by a bevy of believers of being in the buff, gardening was second only to swimming as an activity people most enjoyed doing naked.

Which I find mildly horrifying…do these people not have roses and other thorny plants? Are they unaware that the garden can often be filled with insects that sting and bite?

And the original concept of the day was NOT to frolic amongst your own foliage with your fanny free of festive fashion. The original concept was described as kind of “guerilla prankster.” In which you were actually supposed to drive around different neighborhoods, then jump out of the car at random locations and weed, water, or otherwise tend someone else’s garden—NAKED.

Why this never caught on is a mystery for the ages.

In any case, as I said, we have no current plans to participate in this particular holiday. But if you hear a news story in which a slightly chubby middle-aged woman. naked except for a comically large hat and a painted on layer of white zinc, is arrested for drive by gardening, you can be assured that I have, in fact, finally snapped.

Enjoy the holiday everyone but feel free NOT to share pics.

Bad, Mad, and Sad - Next Step in Skin Cancer Recovery!

Here’s the thing about English teachers, even former English teachers, we all have our personal grammar pet peeves. And some of us have A LOT of grammar pet peeves. I, for instance, hate it when people use apostrophes to make a plural, or use the word “myself” when “me” is appropriate or confuse it's and its...

There are more (don't even get me started on there, they're and their) but you probably get the picture.

I’m not saying I always speak perfectly because I don’t. I mix metaphors, I end sentences with prepositions…In fact, I’m frequently guilty of NPR Grammar Hall of Shame’s #1 error (in related news, how dorky is it that I actually know the NPR Grammar Hall of Shame?!) misuse of the words “me” and “I.”  I say things like “This is a picture of Opie and I” instead of “Opie and me” because it somehow sounds better even though it’s wrong. I have to correct myself on this all the time.

And if you think it’s annoying when someone else corrects your grammar, you should think how poor Opie feels when I shout out corrections for both of us.

Friends of ours got me
this bag a few years
 ago and it's so true!

But I digress…

I was going to talk about my personal #1 Grammar Pet Peeve – the misuse of the word “badly.”  Even more specifically, when people say “I feel badly.”

If you say this, please note that “I feel badly” does not describe your emotional state. It actually means there is something wrong with your ability to feel. Like you have nerve damage.

It is interesting to note that I have actually complained about this so much with this exact explanation to Opie that when someone on television says “I feel badly” we now both say “Nerve damage?” at the same time.

Anyway, there’s a whole long grammatical explanation for the “I feel badly” issue that has to do with linking verbs versus action verbs and how adverbs and adjectives work...but if you didn’t pay attention to your English teacher back in high school, you’re probably not that interested in a grammar lesson now.

So, just trust me, “I feel badly” is wrong.

And if you don’t want to take my word for it, think about this: you don’t feel madly, sadly, or gladly do you?!

Of course not, that would be ridiculous.

Anyway, you might be wondering what in the holy heck this has to do with skin cancer recovery. Well, to be fair, I do feel bad, mad, sad and not at all glad that I got skin cancer. But, the thing is....

....Wait for it....

Because of the skin cancer, I also DO feel badly! In the sense that my ability to feel has been compromised! My scalp is still numb where I had a bunch of staples and my nose is numb because it’s new at being a nose and is still getting used to it. But—worst of all—when I touch the flap to clean it or whatever, I don’t feel it on my nose, I FEEL IT ON MY FOREHEAD!

Why?

Because after sustaining all the surgically induced NERVE DAMAGE, the flap feels badly!!!

I’m not going to lie, I tell Opie that with alarming frequency.

But my next surgery is Tuesday. During this one, the doctor is going to cut off the flap to make my forehead and nose separate entities again and all the nerves should start recovering and waking up and I should be on the road to feeling good again (yes, good although well also works when you’re referencing health…but that’s a whole predicate adjective grammar lesson for a different day).

I still won’t be posting pictures of my face for awhile, and I have to have another (more minor) procedure for another spot of cancer on my chin in May which does make me feel bad, mad and sad all over again but I will be able to stop screaming “I FEEL BADLY!” every time I wash my face.

Which will probably be a big relief to Opie.

So, once again, I’d appreciate your thoughts, prayers, positive energy, and cookie donations in lieu of blood sacrifices (I like macarons) while I go under the knife again.

But, whatever you do, don’t feel badly for me because there’s really no need to give yourself nerve damage on my account.

If you want to read more about my skin cancer journey, you can find that info below:

Sunscreen, Skin Cancer and Spiritual Support

Happy Birthday to Me


National Doctors Day

Dogs & Daffodils


And if you want more information on skin cancer in general, check out these articles at the CDC:

CDC - Skin Cancer Information

Dogs and Daffodils

Well, we just hit the two week mark and do you know who is actually excited by the skin cancer and horrifying forehead flap?

The ridiculous dogs.

Well, to be fair, I don't know if they're excited about the skin cancer itself but they have found the recuperation process downright blissful.

See, while the "flap" is still attached like a horrible bridge across my face, there's a danger of infection and rejection. So, I'm not supposed to do anything. Not really walk around, go up and down the steps as seldom as possible, not even walk out into the kitchen and get myself something to drink because I'm not supposed to lift anything heavier than a jug of milk.

Which means I spend A LOT of time either lying on the couch or lying in bed.

This might sound like a great gig but the first week I felt too sore and tired to really enjoy it and this week, now that I'm feeling worlds better, I'm bored out of my mind.

You know who ISN'T bored and thinks spending the day snuggled on the couch is a mini-version of heaven?

The ridiculous dogs.

In fact, I often wake up to this:

This might seem cute and loving but has caused a situation in which my belly has become the disputed holy grail of canine cuddling. See, Bubba thinks that he, too, is a lap dog. So I also often wake up to this:

at which time Bubba suggests that Sassy needs to take her turn at the end of the couch so he can be the one to perch lovingly on my stomach. I have tried to explain to him that this will result in my slow death by suffocation but he's really committed to his idea of fairness.

The other person who is NOT thrilled with the recuperation process is Opie. Not that he minds helping me--he's been great about that! It was easier when my mom was here but after she left, he worked out a whole system so that before he has to leave for work, I have everything I want/need for the day beside me and anything I might want to eat for lunch or snack on is just a few steps away. He's awesome.

But since I can't do anything around the house, he has to do EVERYTHING while I lie on the couch and call out helpful suggestions on the cooking, cleaning, animal care and, of course, the cutting of daffodils for a festive bouquet.

I'm not going to lie, that last one wasn't on his list of important tasks but I, in my sweet and docile way, explained how it was supposed to freeze and the daffodils were going to be ruined before I could even go outside and enjoy them and would it really kill him to go to the front yard, for the love of heaven, and snip a few stupid daffodils?

He was a pretty good sport about it but considering this was one of the flowers that made it into the vase:

I suspect his heart wasn't really in it.

Luckily, though, we only have to survive one more week. I went to the doctor yesterday and the horrible flap is healing nicely, looks like it's going to be a "100% take", and we're on schedule to have the separation surgery one week from today. After that, I  still won't be able to lift anything heavy for awhile and I'll need to rest for a couple of days but it won't be like this week in which I have to wait for Opie if I so much as drop a Q-Tip on the floor.

And, though he hasn't actually complained at all, I think Opie will be glad to give up his nursing duties...but I don't think he should give up his other day job because he definitely does NOT have a future in flower arrangement:

Thanks again for everyone's thoughts, prayers, and positive energy!

If you want to read more about my skin cancer journey, you can find that info below:

Sunscreen, Skin Cancer and Spiritual Support

Happy Birthday to Me

National Doctors Day

And if you want more information on skin cancer in general, check out these articles at the CDC:

https://www.cdc.gov/cancer/skin/basic_info/index.htm

National Doctors Day

March 30 is National Doctors Day which, for obvious reasons, has been a topic at the top of my consciousness.

Let me say this first: I have a great plastic surgeon. All the nurses, referring docs, and hospital staff have told me he's "amazing" and "an artist" and "a miracle worker."  Which are the exact kind of words you want to hear when you've just had half your nose chopped off and are needing someone to build something to fill the hole in the middle of your face.

Plus, he embraces my paranoid crazy and actually ENCOURAGES me to send him texts with pictures and questions in between appointments so I won't get upset and overwrought and worried that some slight change in the flap means what's left of my nose is going to slide off my face.

Which is not to say that I DON'T get upset and overwrought and worried that some slight change in the graft area means what's left of my nose is going to slide off my face...it just means that when I do start freaking out and referring to myself as "Kimbo No Nose" Opie can say things like "Text the doctor, ask HIM, he's the expert."

And, to date, the doctor has always answered within the hour, usually within 10-15 minutes.

Seriously, he's a rock star.

But at the same time, I occasionally feel like he's a little out of touch with the mysterious ball of emotions that is Kimberly.

Like when he decides that it is somehow critically important for me to understand "the nature of the defect we're correcting." and forces me to not only look at the mangled nose but spends horrifying minutes pointing out what's missing and explaining what we're going to add -- completely ignoring the way I was studying the ceiling and wondering aloud if it was going to hurt to vomit or if the leftover anesthesia from the cancer surgery would dull that pain too.

Ok, this is BEFORE the plastic surgery but
even then I'm not exactly a sexy beast! 

But my favorite doctor/patient moment came the day after the surgery when I was sitting in my hospital room, hoping to go home.  My entire face hurt, I had two black eyes, stitch marks the entire width of my forehead and down the side of my face reminiscent of Frankenstein's monster, what looked like a giant finger sewn onto the mess that used to be a nose and I was constantly wiping up uncontrollable globs of bloody snot...and the doctor, very seriously, told me I SHOULDN'T BE HAVING SEX. This was repeated in the written after-care instructions, basically shouted in bold all caps.

I mean, maybe I should be flattered that my raw animal magnetism is so primal and powerful that it transcends physical appearance...or maybe I should be worried that he thinks Opie is some strange, snot-obsessed, zombie-loving pervert.

Or maybe this was just a ploy to distract me from my own troubles...which was actually fairly effective because I have spent a disturbing amount of time wondering if he's issuing this warning based on some prior patient's post-operative problems and imagining all the horrifying things that could have happened.

But the fact is, none of that really matters. What matters is, as I said above, he's supposed to be a genius and he's eventually going to give me my face back.  So I hope he's having a great National Doctors Day and, to help facilitate that, I'm going to hold in all my questions and texts and pictures and let him enjoy the day in peace.

Which could make it a loooonnnngggg day for Opie!

Happy Birthday To Me

Yesterday was my birthday. Which, if you know me, is always a big deal because I have a love/hate relationship with birthdays.

(Wore my FANCY slippers to celebrate!)

I hate the thought of getting older (which is why I stay 28 year after endless year) but I love having a day that’s all mine. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love Christmas and Thanksgiving and Easter and all other days that bring the family together to celebrate…But, call me selfish, my birthday is all about me. We eat what I want, where I want, people send me cards to make me laugh and tell me they love me, and there’s ALWAYS chocolate cake involved.

Perfection.

Which might make you think that, since I’m recovering from the horrible skin cancer surgery this year, that it’s the worst birthday ever.

You would, in fact, be wrong.

First of all, friends of mine had an early party and gave me a crown to wear, the following weekend Opie and I went to the Melting Pot for brunch and bottomless mimosas, plus (more on this later!) he agreed to buy this house we’ve had our eye on for years!

So, if you think about it, I’m getting a new house to go with my new face this year – pretty hard to call that a bad birthday.

No, as a matter of fact, this isn't a picture of Jared with his first fish.
 It's not even a picture of Jared. It's me with my other brother, Tim,
 on a totally different fishing trip. Why would I reward Jared's blatant
thunder theft with even the smallest modicum of attention?!

Besides, the worst birthday ever was when I was about 8 and my birthday fell over Easter Break so the whole family went on a camping and fishing trip. And my brother Jared, who was 6 at the time, selfishly stole my thunder by catching his first fish ON MY BIRTHDAY! I’m sure I still got presents and cake and everything else but fishing was a big sport in my family and what I really remember was a lot of oohing and aahhing and picture taking over my brother’s accomplishment.

Jared tries to act like this was all happenstance, like his six-year-old self had no control over the fickle fancies of fish but I’d like to mention that even now, 20 some years later, he hasn’t really apologized.

I’m not going to say that I scheduled the forehead flap surgery for HIS birthday this year just to get back at him…but it’s interesting to note that karma has a long memory.

I should also note that my mom was here for my birthday this year and she and Opie didn’t let the actual day pass without some special attention. I had gifts and cards…Opie stopped on his way home from work to get some delicious cupcakes and, even though he has the whole “I bought you a HOUSE for the love of God” argument in his back pocket, he got me a Cancer Survivor charm for my charm bracelet.

So, in short, cancer can suck it. The healing is continuing, my face still looks REALLY bad but my spirits are pretty good, I’ve got the best friends and family in the world, and any day with chocolate cake is a good day.

Plus there’s really nothing like skin cancer to put that whole “first fish” thing in perspective.

Sunscreen, Skin Cancer, & Spiritual Support

Here’s the thing: I always wear sunscreen.

I mean, I ALWAYS wear sunscreen.

I wear sunscreen in the snow, I wear sunscreen on the go, I wear sunscreen in the rain, I wear so much sunscreen it’s insane!.

Sorry, that’s my Dr. Seuss version of the sunscreen saga…which probably shows that I’m losing it a little but seriously, This is a picture of me last July after 10 days in Hawaii:

 Do I look tan? No. You know why?

BECAUSE I ALWAYS WEAR SUNSCREEN!

In fact, I wear so much freaking sunscreen that I literally have a vitamin D deficiency and have to take a supplement every day.

Which is why I find the fact that I have skin cancer more than a little irritating. This is not noticeably helped by the fact that, since I’m not in a life or death melanoma struggle, many people act like I’m being overdramatic.

“It’s only basal cell,” they say. “I’ve had that. It’s no big deal.”

It’s really all I can do not to whip out my phone, call up a few pictures of the horrifying forehead flap procedure (seriously, do NOT Google it!), and scream “REALLY? You’ve had THIS? And you didn’t think it was a BIG DEAL? Because call me a drama queen but I think TURNING THE TOP OF MY FACE INSIDE OUT IS A BIG FREAKING DEAL.”

I think it’s safe to say I’ve been handling this entire skin cancer saga with my trademark stoicism.

Although here's a tip should you ever be diagnosed with the no big deal basal cell carcinoma…if, when you’re getting the original biopsy, before the dermatologist even has your test results confirming that you have the dreaded skin cancer, she suggests that you should not get treatment in your home city but should instead drive an hour and a half to a specialist, it is NOT a good sign.

Furthermore, if your husband offers to take off work and drive the hour and a half to the initial consult with the specialist, you should probably say to yourself, “Self,” you should say. “I suspect there's a reason the dermatologist wants me to go so far away. This is probably going to be a little more than your standard procedure.” And let him come with you.

Because when you get to the specialist and he explains to you that he's going to basically cut off your nose and then do this weird procedure in which he turns the top of your face inside out to fix the missing nose, it is rather disconcerting for your husband to get a call at work in which you are hyperventilating and unable to speak.

It is equally is disconcerting for your mother when, as you think you have yourself under control, you hang up and call her and have hysterics all over again.

Speaking of hysterics, you would think that a plastic surgeon who specializes in the whole face inside out technique mentioned above would be used to people freaking out in his office. I mean, I can’t imagine most people greet this news with jokes and laughter. However, my plastic surgeon seems to think I'm crazy. Apparently, when he—without warning--shoves a video of the inside out procedure into people’s faces, most do not respond by saying “Oh, F*** me!” and showing the iPad away. Most people, according to the young whippersnapper, fifteen year old Dougie Houser doctor,  feel better when they're educated about the procedure.

And, while I have always believed in the power of education, there are some instances when ignorance is, in fact, bliss.

In any case, hour doctor/patient relationship didn’t noticeably improve when he switched tactics and earnestly explained to me that I need to remember that his number one priority is to ensure my nose is reconstructed for maximum breathing potential. “Breathing is the most important thing. It’s number one,” he said. “Appearance is number two.”

When I allowed as how those were equally important issues in my mind, he interrupted me and said “No, no, no!” in a slightly irritated voice. “You have to understand this.  Breathing is one, appearance is two.”

“No, no, no.” I responded in the exact same tone. “You have to understand this: I can already breathe through my mouth.”

Pretty sure neither of us left that conversation feeling really heard.

Anyway, I’ve largely avoided talking about the surgery on my blog but the procedures start Monday so it’s getting to be unavoidable. And I’ll be honest, the next 2 months are going to suck out loud…I have 2 surgeries this week, 1 in April, and, since they just found another spot of skin cancer on my chin, probably a 4^th in May.

I say again, it’s going to suck out loud. And I could definitely use some spiritual support to get through it all. In addition, Opie could use some spiritual support to deal with me as I have not exactly been a ray of sunshine.

So, Catholic friends, we would love it if you could join us in an appeal to St. Peregrine, the patron saint of cancer patients. Muslim, Protestant and Jewish friends, I concede that this could be seen as blasphemous idolatry so would appreciate it if you could look past that and join us in praying for swift healing. Atheist, agnostic, and pagan friends, when you’re done shaking your heads at our superstitious nature, we’d appreciate if you’d send positive thoughts and good energy to strengthen us in the weeks ahead. As I’ve said before, I don’t think we have any Satanist friends but if we do, even though I understand that this surgery could be a great blood sacrifice to your dark lord, maybe you could still sit this one out and, oh, I don’t know, send cookies instead. (I like macarons.)

Anyway, thanks everyone and I’ll keep you updated when I’m up on my feet again.

National English Toffee Day

One of my New Year’s Resolutions was to start writing on this blog again. I got so focused on my Etsy Shop that I only wrote 4 posts last year! And I even came up with a new theme to keep me motivated: A Year of Living Joyously – Celebrating all the wacky but fun national days and holidays that permeate our calendar.

I was planning to jump right in on Jan 1st with National Bloody Mary Day, but to be honest, it’s been a rough start to the year.

To make a long, upsetting story short, I have skin cancer again.

Some of you may remember the last time I had skin cancer, back in 2004. And if you do, you probably remember that I didn’t handle it well.  Not because it was life-threatening or anything so serious but because the cancer was on my face and I made one of the colossal blunders:

I researched skin cancer on the Internet.

And the Internet, surprisingly, is NOT filled with pictures of people who come out of skin cancer surgery looking like supermodels. The Internet tends to focus on more shocking imagery and bombards the innocent searcher with photos of people who have had their noses removed.

If you are one of the people that I called after that unfortunate research decision, I should probably take this time to apologize again for screaming “Mutilating Disfigurement!” and hanging up. I’m sure that was a little disconcerting for you.

In any case, the cancer is back. And, although it's still not life threatening, it's on my face again in 2 different spots. Plus it’s worse than it was last time. And, once again, I'm not handling it all that well. Especially this week when I found out I have to have a horrible procedure known as a "forehead flap." I actually can’t bear to get into too many of the details now but trust me when I say you should NOT Google “Forehead flap" unless you’re prepared for some really horrifying imagery that might cause you to call your family and friends screaming about mutilating disfigurement.

We should all probably take a moment to feel a little sorry for Opie who can’t just hang up and get away from the disfigurement shouting and is instead forced to answer questions like “Be honest, do you think I’m going to look more like a troll or a zombie?” and “Are you still going to love me when I’m wandering around here WITHOUT A NOSE?!”

So, as you can see, I haven’t exactly been in a blog-writing mood.

But as luck would have it, today January 8^th is National English Toffee Day. And my mom makes the absolute best English Toffee in the world.

I make her recipe sometimes and it’s good when I do it but not as good as hers. I’m not so secretly convinced that this is because she hasn’t given me the REAL recipe. I think that at some point she sneaks a healthy dose of black tar heroin into the mix and that’s why I can’t stop eating it. Once, years ago, she gave me this huge container of her homemade deliciousness to take home after Thanksgiving, so I could serve it at a Christmas party. But it didn't make it to the party. In fact, it didn't even survive November. My friend Eric and I ate through the entire batch in one afternoon…and I mean we chowed on it until we were lying on the couch, sick to our stomachs, muttering “This is my last piece, I mean it this time."

It’s probably hard to see the connection between toffee and skin cancer. And I admit it is a bit tenuous until you realize that I've been reading back through my old emails and blog posts from the last time I had skin cancer. I was single then and my mom was with me through it all (and you can see how amazing she was here) A few minutes after that, I saw something online about it being English Toffee Day. Which made me think of my resolution...I decided that I’m going to try to be strong too.  The surgery isn't until March and in the meantime, I’m going to celebrate all the things I can and laugh as much as possible…I'm probably still going to bombard Opie with awkward questions and brief bouts of hysteria but I'm also going to shove English Toffee in my face with reckless abandon.

So, in the spirit of this determination and in honor of National English Toffee Day, here is my mom’s recipe for English Toffee (minus the black tar heroin!)

Ingredients:

2 sticks of salted butter

1 cup sugar

2 tablespoons of water

½ tsp. baking soda

1 tsp vanilla

3 Hershey Bars

Put the butter, sugar and water in a saucepan and slowly bring to a boil over low to medium heat. Stir often until the mixture reaches the hard crack stage (approximately 300 degrees). Remove from heat an stir in baking soda and vanilla (be careful as this sometimes splatters). Pour into a cake pan –use a thin sheet cake for thinner pieces or an 9x13 for thicker.  Put the candy bars on top of the candy while it’s still hot and spread to cover.

It won't be as good as when my mom makes it but I bet it's still pretty good!

x