Polly goes out …
Polly goes in …
Polly goes out …
Polly goes in …
If you have gained weight it is a good idea to buy new undies. I guess if you’ve lost weight it is too but I haven’t reached that point. I’ll let you know!
Upsizing your underwear is a horrible experience, but the end result speaks for itself.
I have been struggling with my weight for almost 10 years and I’ve been up and down …mostly up … but I have never upped the size of my undies.
Until last week.
My current stock of underwear was way too small. I kept squeezing into them because I’m stubborn, but when my gut started folding them over and I couldn’t get them to cover my ass anymore I knew it was time.
I went to Amazon because there’s no way I’m shopping for up-sized-undies in the real world.
I shall now re-enact for you, in writing, my underwear adventure:
Hmmm, let’s see … if my current underwear size is REDACTED and it barely covers my arse, then I should probably bump it up to REDACTED just to be on the safe side. They’ll probably be too big, but at least I’ll have a starting point.
**clickity click click*** Underwear has been ordered!
A few days later, the underwear arrives.
**crinkle crinkle crinkle** The package is open.
Jesus these are huge! I could fit two of my asses in here.
**ruffle ruffle ruffle** The underwear is tried on.
I suppose the lesson here is that it’s hard to gauge the size of your own ass?
A few words on these giant undies. I wore a pair to work to test drive them and they are the most comfortable underwear I have ever owned. They’re so big and so all-encompassing that nothing goes where it shouldn’t and everything is covered.
It’s like going commando but without the risk of your pant seams shredding your vulva! Bliss!
These are not sexy undies. These are the Grandma of all Granny Panties. Possibly the Great-Grandma of all Granny Panties. The Alpha and Omega of the G.P. You get the point.
However, it wasn’t particularly sexy bursting out of the undies I was previously wearing that were REDACTED sizes too small. At least I’m comfortable now. I just have to make sure my shirts come down far enough to cover my underpants!
This was on the front door when I got home today. So mysterious!
Jenny from today, while doing her reports and seeing a 429% – “That can’t be right! Jenny from last week was on drugs!”
Jenny from last week, while doing her reports and calculating a 429% – “Jenny from next week won’t believe this shit. I better make sure that bitch knows I ain’t on drugs!”
Jenny from this week, “Oh, there’s a note here!” *click*
This one is harder to write. So hard, in fact, that I put it off and put it off and when I finally wrote something it was like a clinical report of what Nick went through. I then actively avoided it because I realized how difficult it was going to be … but now I’m here. I will pick at the scab and open the wound and remember what it felt like. Because it was worse for him.
When something goes wrong and you end up in the emergency room you have hope that the doctors will figure it out. That’s their job. They make it better.
With Nick, that was not the case. He got worse and it was terrifying and heartbreaking.
When we got to the hospital he was still able to talk, albeit with a slur to his speech. He could tell us what was happening with him. We could reassure each other.
My dad and I reluctantly left Nick on December 27th in the SIMCU. SIMCU is one step down from the ICU. Everyone kept telling us that, which was nice. We didn’t want any of that ICU nonsense.
By the end of the day on December 28th, Nick had been moved to the ICU.
He was losing muscle control and he couldn’t swallow properly. He wasn’t even able to keep his eyes open. He was deteriorating as we watched and there was nothing we could do.
I clung, as I always do, to my sense of humour. When Nurse Dagmar gave Nick his last sip of water and he choked that meant it was time for a feeding tube. They couldn’t risk getting anything in his lungs.
I was not there when they put the feeding tube in but I was able to document the event:Nick’s vision was starting to get very blurred by this point so I’m not sure he ever fully appreciated the awesomeness of that picture.
We had to keep laughing. The moment we stopped laughing we would be finished. As long as we’re laughing, we’re fighting!
During all this, Nick was sent for multiple MRIs and CT Scans. He was losing more control of his limbs, his speech, his vision. His breathing was becoming more laboured.
When he came to the hospital he appeared to be having a stroke and was treated for a stroke in the Emergency Room. Now he was not presenting as a typical stroke patient. Nothing about Nick is “typical” though, so we weren’t really surprised. We just wanted answers.
Years ago my father had Guillane-Barre syndrome and this appeared to be very much like what he went through. Losing control of limbs, inability to swallow. We clung to that as the cause of Nick’s problems because my dad is up and walking and talking with very few side effects of his ordeal.
Still, no one could confirm. More tests were done. So many tests.
All we could do was sit and wait and be there for Nick. He had lost the ability to talk by this point so he had to communicate through blinking. It’s hard when you’re in a totally foreign situation to try to decipher what someone wants when all they can do it blink. It’s hard not to break down. I had one rule: While you’re in the room with Nick, keep it together! I was pretty good at sticking to that rule. There were many nights when I kept it together right up until I left him for the night and then I would cry all the way to the car and all the way home.
I have struggled with depression for many years but this was different. This was despair. Being helpless while someone you love goes through something so awful is panic inducing. There’s sadness and anger and grief and all you can do is try to endure.
Hugs and reassurance were all I could give him.
Nick has had asthma his whole life and he’s never been a champ at breathing. The stroke had taken a toll on his lungs so the doctors decided he needed a breathing tube before things got worse and he got into serious respiratory trouble. I wasn’t there when he was told, but my parents were and they both burst into tears. That was on December 30th.
I showed Nick this picture and he has very little memory of this time. Thank God for small miracles. He was quite drugged up when they put the tube in and they kept him drugged until they were able to replace it with a tube that was inserted into his neck, rather than down his throat. Thank God for good drugs!Also, please notice the arm restraints. It is my opinion that putting arm restraints on a newly paralyzed person is a dick move.
We made it to December 30th but things only got worse for Nick. We had no definitive diagnosis, only questions and fears.
One of the hardest parts for me was that I didn’t have my Nicky to talk to. I already missed him like crazy.
I still have a hard time dealing with the anger and the grief. Sometimes it’s actually a physical feeling. Like there’s someone screaming in my head who is trapped and impotent in the face of all this pain. I want so badly to go back to December 27th and undo all this. To get my Nick back. But I can’t.
It was supposed to be the start of the good part of my Christmas holiday. For someone with mental illness, the holidays tend to be more stressful than enjoyable. But, I had made it through all the gatherings and I had 6 days until I had to go back to work. Awesome right?
Not so much.
Around 9:30 a.m. I was standing in the kitchen when I heard my brother call my name. His voice sounded weird so of course, I made fun of him. Then I walked around the corner and saw him and all thoughts of laughter fled my mind.
Nick was halfway down the hall leaning against the wall. Not right. He told me he didn’t feel good. He sounded drunk. Extremely not right.
I grabbed him and helped him to the couch and then, for some reason, put on my cheerleader’s voice and told Eric to call an ambulance.
“Okay, we’re gonna go sit down on the couch! Eric, please call an ambulance!” Calm soothing tones? Slightly hysterical? It’s hard to remember.
The rest of the day was a nightmare. Certain parts are a blur. Other parts are seared into my brain forever.
Seared Memory: Nick walks down the steps from our porch, with the help of the Paramedics, and onto the gurney. That’s the last time he walked.
When we got to the ER we were left to wait. We didn’t wait long thanks to Nurse Gloria. She had 4 spots left and she picked Nick for one of them. I truly think she saved his life.
I remember Nick telling me to text his girlfriend, Ines, to say he wouldn’t be able to make it to the movies that day but not to say why because he didn’t want to scare her. I am a terrible liar so I told her everything and she came straight away. She is a beautiful person whose heart is bigger than her hair.
Nurse Gloria got us seen to and Nick started getting checked out. Doctors thought it was a stroke. But it was presenting weird. They gave him treatment for a stroke even though they weren’t 100% sure that’s what it was. Better safe than sorry.
At that point, I had to call my parents and tell them what was happening. My mom burst into tears. I kept it together on the phone. Nick said they didn’t need to come and I relayed that message. My dad came anyway. Of course! My mom just had her knee replaced otherwise she would have been there too. For sure!
As all this was happening, Nick was getting worse. He was losing the ability to move. His speech was getting worse. His vision was getting blurry.
Seared Memory: Nick starts crying and I hug him. “I’m having a stroke,” he whispers. I don’t know what to say to that, or how to make it okay. I just hug him.
Nick has been my best friend for as long as I can remember. He has been the most constant source of love and friendship in my life. I don’t count cats here; their shorter lifespans give them a disadvantage over amazing brothers.
Whatever has gone wrong, whatever I’ve faced, I have relied on him. Whatever has gone right, whatever I’ve celebrated, I have done so with him.
For some reason, he’s always thought I could do anything and I’ve always tried to make him proud of me.
He has faced medical difficulties his entire life. Hospitalized for months at a time with asthma when he was a kid. Chest surgery. Ear surgeries. Allergic to the entire world. He’s been through so, so much.
Now this. This was bullshit. How was this even happening?! What was it that was happening? Was it a stroke? Was it something else?
We ended that day in a place called SIMCU. “It’s one step down from ICU” they kept telling us and we took solace from that.
My brother, my best friend, started the day off normally; watching TV, eating some toast.
My brother, my rock, ended the day paralyzed and alone in the hospital without any definitive answers as to what was happening.We left the hospital that night scared and confused. Hopefully, the next day would be less scary and we would get some answers.
Email I sent to my co-workers.
Subject line: Incident
I would like to report an accident.
I’m not sure of the correct procedure so I’m starting here.
It appears that this gentleman was carrying a knife when he slipped and fell and lost control of the blade and a bloodbath ensued.
I’m pretty sure he’s beyond helping but I felt it was my duty to report it.
At the very least we should dispose of the body and mop up the blood before someone else gets hurt.
I have been donating my hair for quite a few years now.
I just did it again for the fourth or fifth time. I can’t remember. I’ll have to look for my little certificates.
I grew my hair for 3 years this time and it was almost at bum level!
People always say that it’s so great that I do this, but really, it’s because I am a lazy ass with a good heart. :p
I hate, hate, hate paying $70 to get my hair trimmed. I can’t be bothered dying it. I do nothing with it in the morning besides wash it … most of the time. It spends its time down until it dries and then up it goes into a ponytail or super messy bun-type thing.
Solution: grow it until I can’t stand it and then chop it all off and donate it! BAM!
This is amazing because:
I send my hair to Angel Hair for Kids because they rock.
This is me getting the latest choppy chop!
I grew it extra long this time because last time they had to cut it super short to get the 12″ … I’m talking razor blade short … and the short hairs irritated my neck fat. Never again!
Afterwards I carried this around in my bag for a while. Then I started to feel like a serial killer so I got off my ass and packed it up and mailed it off. Which now that I write that down doesn’t sound any less serial killery. I cut all my hair off and mail it to people because I’m a good person!
There you have it.
If you’re lazy and nice … donate your hair!
I’m hoping to squeeze in one more before I’m too grey to be acceptable.
I was having a loose jeans day on Friday. I was at work and I had to pull my belt to the fourth hole and I thought to myself, Those 4 lunch salads are already paying off! I’ve probably lost 5 pounds through salads alone! Yay for me!
Cut to Saturday. I’m getting dressed to meet my family for lunch. It’s summer, but I’m putting on jeans because I have amazingly white legs and I haven’t shaved them so jeans are safer. For everyone.
I go to do my belt up and I seem to be able to pull it even further than on Friday. Could this be? Could I finally be losing weight magically with no effort like I always wanted?!
I’m still as chubs as I ever was and my belt decided to prove that to me in a decidedly dickbaggish fashion.
I had broken my belt. It was literally hanging on by an effing thread. Okay, two threads, but that’s not much better! What a kick in the vag!
Also, I spent the whole weekend packing, because we’re moving soon, and I didn’t get out to buy a new belt so today is going to consist of me walking around holding my pants up manually. Unless I can find some string, or I tape them to myself somehow.