04 November 2009

The Chicken Little of Falling Uteruses

Wow, was it really just 4 days ago that I said I might make my own blog layout, and here I am ONLY ONE BLOG POST LATER and it's DONE?! Normally it's not my style to be so on top of things, but then again it's totally my style to distract myself from Very Important Things (like schoolwork, laundry, ending world hunger) with Not Quite As Important things (like a fancy photoshopped header), so I suppose in amazing myself by not procrastinating, I'm not amazing myself by procrastinating. What a swirling, tangled pretzel of cause and effect that is.

(It's not exactly perfect, this layout, but the imperfections are tiny and something I can live with for now, at least until I have some massive school project that needs immediate attention, in which case you better believe I'll be here tweaking away. By the way, that header is gorgeous, if I do say so myself. And I do. I say it myself, and I say it a lot. Gor-gee-US!)

(Annnnnd, looks like I'll have to add in a word about humility in tonight's prayers.)


Oh, how shall I put this story delicately...? Hmm. Well, this weekend, my dog's lady bits started falling out of her.

I'll give you a minute to let that sentence sink in.

That's right, her lady bits. Falling out. Of her body. I had no idea that could even happen - aren't things, like, attached? Sewn together, maybe? Superglued? I don't know how the good Lord assembled us, but apparently one day her girly parts de-chained themselves and started following the light at the end of the tunnel, if you get my drift. Then my mom had to go and tell me that it can happen in people too! PEOPLE! People like you and me! My vagina could fall out any minute! You might poop a fallopian tube next time you go to the bathroom! Makes you think twice about straining, doesn't it?


Skittles (our dog) had to go in for emergency surgery on Monday, but they might as well have been putting her to sleep for how awful I felt about it. She's a three pound dog who had never even seen the inside of a cage, let alone been forced to stay in one AWAY FROM HER FAMILY overnight and the most part of two days. We were able to take her home late Tuesday afternoon, but they were hesitant to let us because even though the surgery was successful and she didn't seem to be having any complications, they were worried about the fact that she wasn't eating (apparently they offered her every last meal and treat they had, and she wouldn't even sniff a single one of them). We then explained that our poor dog - our baby! - has such awful separation anxiety that she won't eat a single thing if we're not around. We could put an entire t-bone steak on the floor for her to enjoy while we're out of the house, but nope - she'd ignore it and go and lie down (and sob herself to sleep, I'm sure) on some article of clothing of mine I've got strewn about on the floor, just so she could smell me. It really is the most heartbreaking thing I've ever seen. So wouldn't you believe it, the second we get home and try to feed her a milkbone, she's running at it and swallowing it whole like she hasn't eaten in 36 hours. Because she hasn't.

(Pardon me while I break here to cry my guilty little eyes out)

Her stomach is all sliced and stitched and awful-looking, and she smells like vomit, but for the most part she seems normal. Then again, her "normal" has always consisted of sitting on my lap all day long and not moving until I move, so I guess the activity bar is set pretty low. Still, I've seen her jump and run a bit without problem, so I guess I'm more traumatized than she is.

Also, while my mom was getting ready for bed the other night, I heard a loud thump and her scream. I asked her if she was okay, and she just said, all morose-like, "You don't want to know." "Are you sure?" "You really don't want to know." Now this was the same day as Skittles' surgery, and so between having fallen body parts on the mind and being slightly hypochondriac, the only thing that I could think of that I wouldn't "want to know about" would be something that involves more chunks of body falling out of people. So after hearing a thump, a scream, and my mom telling me that I didn't want to know what just happened (and she was in the bathroom, so I couldn't see what was really going on) I - ever so logically - assumed that her uterus had just fallen out and was laying in a bloody puddle on the floor because that is TOTALLY A RATIONAL ASSUMPTION THAT ANY NORMAL BEING WOULD THINK OF, I KNOW. (PLUS! I had just watched another "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant," and every time a woman goes to the bathroom on that show, a BABY falls out of the canal and into a toilet, so my mind was FIXED on body parts falling out of lady parts behind the closed door of a bathroom). Anyway, I urgently asked my mom if I needed to call 911, and she was all, "What? 911...?" And then she came out holding a can of bug spray. Ahh, never mind then - she had seen a cockroach. She didn't lose her uterus, it was COCKROACH. Well, I was close, right? Either way, turns out she was right, though. I really didn't want to know that, either.

Then - and I swear this is true, that I really am this thick - five minutes later, I finally remembered my mom had a hysterectomy 15 years ago. So...definitely no falling uterus from her.

Anyway, welcome back, Skittles. We missed you so much!

(P.S. If you like what you read here, or if you really, really don't but you have a very kind and charitable soul that helps you to see the very-hard-to-spot beauty in people like myself, there are ads on this blog. I'm not supposed to tell you what to do with them, but, well, sometimes when I visit a site I like, I click on stuff. Just once or twice. Nothing fancy. Just to support the cause, you see. I dunno, maybe it's just me. Anyway, I'm just saying that's what I do. You can do what you like. That's all. Love ya.)


  1. I like the nice new layout. And I hope Skittles gets to feeling better soon.

  2. From time to time one comes across a new blog and thinks "Ahhh...a young nerd girl. What a nice change from all the worries and concerns of the day. No reading about economic implosion, or socialist politicians, or corporate bankrupcties".

    ...and then one comes across a phrase like "...her lady bits. Falling out. Of her body...".

    No every day when I get up I'm going to have to (a) tell me dog Ocho to stop pawing me; (b) have some minor degree of concern that her [ non-functioning ] reproductive bits might be doing something too bizarre for words.