6:30: Wake up, shower, eat breakfast, have coffee. Intentionally take only ibuprofen so I can hopefully "pass" my test and get the catheter out TODAY!! The pain is tolerable and I tell myself to take it easy, just do my work and make my way to the appointment relaxed and ready to get rid of this awful thing.
7:20 Pop takes Sammi to school
7:30 I start work
8:30 Bob calls, showing service called for a 12-2 showing. End relaxation.
8:31 until 12:00 work, get ready for doctor visit, and obsess about the cleanliness of the house
8:35 Have Bob Sr. go next door and make sure it's okay to take the dogs there while we go to the urologist.
9:00 get a call from our realtor, who has just gotten off the phone with some buyers who are interested in a second look. Not sure on the time yet, probably later in the afternoon.
Continue to work, worry about everything that needs to be done before the first showing, and get near tears when I see my bloated horrible self in the mirror in the only dress that fits.
11:30 Change to the leg bag catheter and really start to cry.
11:40 Pop takes the dogs taken next door
11:45 See Nick off in his suit for his Senior Boards
11:50 make my way downstairs for the first time and realize the leaf and the extra chairs to the table are still set up from the birthday party. The extra length of the table sticks out almost in front of the stairs. It looks HORRIBLE, no room, cluttered, and we have to leave right then. This sends me over the edge. The pain of all this moving without pain killers, the cleaning, the stress, all of it get swrapped up in that table leaf and chairs and I just lose it.
12:00 to 12:20 excruciating car ride to urologist while I try to hold it together.
12:20 Get to urologist half an hour before appointment. Phone rings. Nick has finished his presentation, has done wonderfully, and wants to know where the credit card is so he can go pick up his tux for prom tomorrow. It's in my purse. With me. Give Nick directions to the office. Find a bathroom. Try not to cry. Get Nick's follow up text that tux pick up doesn't happen until after 3:00, so Nick doesn't have to come. Holding on to phone obsessively to try and not miss a call from the showing service for the second showing time. Pray I can make it back to the house to get my pain medication before they come.
12:30 Fill out ridiculously redundant paperwork
12:50 Get ushered back to the room by the nurse, who says something like, "We'll make this a better day as soon as we get this cath out. . . "
12:55 Surgeon walks in, shakes my hand, and checks the bag. Then says, "well, let's plan on getting that out Monday."
12:55 Tori proceeds to lose it AGAIN, holding on to the chair with white knuckles and strangling out the words, "I don't get it out today?!?"
He wants 10 days for full healing. THEN WHY THE HELL DID MY DISCHARGE ORDERS TELL ME TO MEET WITH YOU ON OR AROUND 4/14????????????????????
He can tell he is dealing with a crazy lady. He gets that look in his eyes, where you can tell he's trying to calculate if I am going to start physically attacking him if he dares to pat me on the shoulder.
I'm quite sure my hormones are completely out of whack since the surgery, and with today's stress of starting back to work, not taking pain meds, cleaning as much as possible for house showings, completely expecting to finally get rid of this damn pee bag, hurting driving across town, only to be told to go back home and wait until Monday? Yeah, I am pretty certain I would have strangled him if he'd touched me.
He wisely did not.
He did say I could remove it myself at home, no problem. He shows me the process, which seems really very easy. I am such a mess I don't think to ask what happens if I take it out and I can't urinate. I guess I'll find out.
They make me an appointment at the front desk for five weeks from now to remove the bladder stint. Goody. More pain.
I realize in the process of the examination the catheter that is hasn't been put back right and I have tubes popping out and bulges all over, and I just don't care anymore. I shuffle out of the office looking like I've just escaped the insane asylum. I can't even talk to Bob Sr. or Nell, just strangle out, "please, let's go" and walk to the elevator.
Still no word about the second showing. For some reason, second only to the table leaves and chairs, this sends me back over the edge. I call Bob as we are driving home, practically screaming. I insisted he go on this conference and here I am screaming at him in Baltimore to find out when the second showing is because not knowing is more than I can possibly handle right now and I am completely incapable to speaking rationally to anyone.
By the time we get home I am doubled over in pain, angry at the world, and impossible to be around.
I throw all these horrible clothes off, change back into the giant catheter bag that I am stuck with for three more days and I crawl into my bed into a fetal position, kick back as much pain medication as I'm allowed, and pull the covers over my head.
I call Mom and vent to her.
I try to answer another call from Bob and my phone has frozen up. I can't do anything with it. I have to take the case apart, take the battery out, restart. . . . call back.
Get back in touch with Bob, who wants to know if I want to cancel ANOTHER showing set for tomorrow from 11-1. Knowing the Sears guy, he'll be back with the oven apart on the floor right about then, too. No, to sell the house we have to show the house. I just need to find my sanity and get these hormones leveled out. By I am saying this between gritted teeth and strangled breaths. He's also gotten the call about the second showing today, between 4:30 and 5:30. It's about 3:00 by now. He decides to tell our realtors this is going to be it for the week. When he gets back we'll start accepting showings again, but today's and tomorrow's (which our realtor got down to a one hour window showing from 11:30-12:30) is IT between now and next Friday.
I breath a sigh of relief. I needed someone to make that call for me.
I try to get the laptop up and running. The computer will not connect to the internet. REALLY?!?
I call work to check in because I think I'm going to be in trouble for not being back online. Jami is wonderful and tells me to let them handle everything.
While I am on the phone with Jami, Bob Sr. comes in and says, "Need to talk to you." I hold my finger up, since I'm winding down, and he says, "Need to talk to you NOW."
Guess WHAT!! The 12-2 showing DIDN'T COME.
BUT THEY ARE AT MY DOOR NOW!!!!!
Thank God my father in law saw I was completely incapable of speech at that moment. He said, "I am taking care of this. They can see the house, but not the master bedroom." He ushered the dogs and a very confused Nell into my room and shut the door.
Then he went around with the couple, whose flight had been delayed, which is why they were running late, and went into full on realtor mode. He showed them all the features of the house, talked about the good neighbors who took care of the dogs, the whole nine yards.
It turns out Bob had gotten a call about changing the time and had said (post flipped-out Tori call) ABSOLUTELY NOT. Don't know if they didn't get the message or decided to try anyway, but they got to see the house, which Pop says they really seemed to like. The woman said it reminded them of their home now that they didn't want to have to leave.
Somewhere in between all of that craziness, Nick went out and brought back Bluebell Cookies and Cream ice cream for me. Nell made me chicken noodle soup with crackers. I made the decision I was leaving for the 4:30 showing exactly the way I was, in gown and robe, with giant pee bag for an accessory. And that's exactly what I did. The dogs went with us, Sammi, Pop, and Muna went into Target and came out with more pain pills for me, and a new loose comfortable dress. After that, we drove to Chick Fil A to pick up dinner and arrived back at the house at exactly 5:30.
We unload the dogs, get all the sacks, get me hoisted out of the van, walk up to the door and realize: THE PEOPLE ARE STILL INSIDE.
I walk in, wave to the people in my gown and robe and pee bag, and walk upstairs forward, not caring anymore, as I am humiliated, exhausted, swollen, angry at the world, in pain, and knowing full well I will probably be unable to get out of bed in the morning thanks to all of the day's activity.
Sammi joins me on the bed. She's peeking out the window. The realtor and the couple are standing outside, looking at the house, talking, listing things on their fingers. They stay another half an hour. If I weren't so emotionally and physically destroyed by the day, I would want to take this as a good sign. Instead, it's just another opportunity for heartbreak if I let myself hope.
But I do. I hope. And pray. And wish.
Tomorrow is another day.
I'm not going to say it can't get worse.
But I sure am going to hope so.
7:20 Pop takes Sammi to school
7:30 I start work
8:30 Bob calls, showing service called for a 12-2 showing. End relaxation.
8:31 until 12:00 work, get ready for doctor visit, and obsess about the cleanliness of the house
8:35 Have Bob Sr. go next door and make sure it's okay to take the dogs there while we go to the urologist.
9:00 get a call from our realtor, who has just gotten off the phone with some buyers who are interested in a second look. Not sure on the time yet, probably later in the afternoon.
Continue to work, worry about everything that needs to be done before the first showing, and get near tears when I see my bloated horrible self in the mirror in the only dress that fits.
11:30 Change to the leg bag catheter and really start to cry.
11:40 Pop takes the dogs taken next door
11:45 See Nick off in his suit for his Senior Boards
11:50 make my way downstairs for the first time and realize the leaf and the extra chairs to the table are still set up from the birthday party. The extra length of the table sticks out almost in front of the stairs. It looks HORRIBLE, no room, cluttered, and we have to leave right then. This sends me over the edge. The pain of all this moving without pain killers, the cleaning, the stress, all of it get swrapped up in that table leaf and chairs and I just lose it.
12:00 to 12:20 excruciating car ride to urologist while I try to hold it together.
12:20 Get to urologist half an hour before appointment. Phone rings. Nick has finished his presentation, has done wonderfully, and wants to know where the credit card is so he can go pick up his tux for prom tomorrow. It's in my purse. With me. Give Nick directions to the office. Find a bathroom. Try not to cry. Get Nick's follow up text that tux pick up doesn't happen until after 3:00, so Nick doesn't have to come. Holding on to phone obsessively to try and not miss a call from the showing service for the second showing time. Pray I can make it back to the house to get my pain medication before they come.
12:30 Fill out ridiculously redundant paperwork
12:50 Get ushered back to the room by the nurse, who says something like, "We'll make this a better day as soon as we get this cath out. . . "
12:55 Surgeon walks in, shakes my hand, and checks the bag. Then says, "well, let's plan on getting that out Monday."
12:55 Tori proceeds to lose it AGAIN, holding on to the chair with white knuckles and strangling out the words, "I don't get it out today?!?"
He wants 10 days for full healing. THEN WHY THE HELL DID MY DISCHARGE ORDERS TELL ME TO MEET WITH YOU ON OR AROUND 4/14????????????????????
He can tell he is dealing with a crazy lady. He gets that look in his eyes, where you can tell he's trying to calculate if I am going to start physically attacking him if he dares to pat me on the shoulder.
I'm quite sure my hormones are completely out of whack since the surgery, and with today's stress of starting back to work, not taking pain meds, cleaning as much as possible for house showings, completely expecting to finally get rid of this damn pee bag, hurting driving across town, only to be told to go back home and wait until Monday? Yeah, I am pretty certain I would have strangled him if he'd touched me.
He wisely did not.
He did say I could remove it myself at home, no problem. He shows me the process, which seems really very easy. I am such a mess I don't think to ask what happens if I take it out and I can't urinate. I guess I'll find out.
They make me an appointment at the front desk for five weeks from now to remove the bladder stint. Goody. More pain.
I realize in the process of the examination the catheter that is hasn't been put back right and I have tubes popping out and bulges all over, and I just don't care anymore. I shuffle out of the office looking like I've just escaped the insane asylum. I can't even talk to Bob Sr. or Nell, just strangle out, "please, let's go" and walk to the elevator.
Still no word about the second showing. For some reason, second only to the table leaves and chairs, this sends me back over the edge. I call Bob as we are driving home, practically screaming. I insisted he go on this conference and here I am screaming at him in Baltimore to find out when the second showing is because not knowing is more than I can possibly handle right now and I am completely incapable to speaking rationally to anyone.
By the time we get home I am doubled over in pain, angry at the world, and impossible to be around.
I throw all these horrible clothes off, change back into the giant catheter bag that I am stuck with for three more days and I crawl into my bed into a fetal position, kick back as much pain medication as I'm allowed, and pull the covers over my head.
I call Mom and vent to her.
I try to answer another call from Bob and my phone has frozen up. I can't do anything with it. I have to take the case apart, take the battery out, restart. . . . call back.
Get back in touch with Bob, who wants to know if I want to cancel ANOTHER showing set for tomorrow from 11-1. Knowing the Sears guy, he'll be back with the oven apart on the floor right about then, too. No, to sell the house we have to show the house. I just need to find my sanity and get these hormones leveled out. By I am saying this between gritted teeth and strangled breaths. He's also gotten the call about the second showing today, between 4:30 and 5:30. It's about 3:00 by now. He decides to tell our realtors this is going to be it for the week. When he gets back we'll start accepting showings again, but today's and tomorrow's (which our realtor got down to a one hour window showing from 11:30-12:30) is IT between now and next Friday.
I breath a sigh of relief. I needed someone to make that call for me.
I try to get the laptop up and running. The computer will not connect to the internet. REALLY?!?
I call work to check in because I think I'm going to be in trouble for not being back online. Jami is wonderful and tells me to let them handle everything.
While I am on the phone with Jami, Bob Sr. comes in and says, "Need to talk to you." I hold my finger up, since I'm winding down, and he says, "Need to talk to you NOW."
Guess WHAT!! The 12-2 showing DIDN'T COME.
BUT THEY ARE AT MY DOOR NOW!!!!!
Thank God my father in law saw I was completely incapable of speech at that moment. He said, "I am taking care of this. They can see the house, but not the master bedroom." He ushered the dogs and a very confused Nell into my room and shut the door.
Then he went around with the couple, whose flight had been delayed, which is why they were running late, and went into full on realtor mode. He showed them all the features of the house, talked about the good neighbors who took care of the dogs, the whole nine yards.
It turns out Bob had gotten a call about changing the time and had said (post flipped-out Tori call) ABSOLUTELY NOT. Don't know if they didn't get the message or decided to try anyway, but they got to see the house, which Pop says they really seemed to like. The woman said it reminded them of their home now that they didn't want to have to leave.
Somewhere in between all of that craziness, Nick went out and brought back Bluebell Cookies and Cream ice cream for me. Nell made me chicken noodle soup with crackers. I made the decision I was leaving for the 4:30 showing exactly the way I was, in gown and robe, with giant pee bag for an accessory. And that's exactly what I did. The dogs went with us, Sammi, Pop, and Muna went into Target and came out with more pain pills for me, and a new loose comfortable dress. After that, we drove to Chick Fil A to pick up dinner and arrived back at the house at exactly 5:30.
We unload the dogs, get all the sacks, get me hoisted out of the van, walk up to the door and realize: THE PEOPLE ARE STILL INSIDE.
I walk in, wave to the people in my gown and robe and pee bag, and walk upstairs forward, not caring anymore, as I am humiliated, exhausted, swollen, angry at the world, in pain, and knowing full well I will probably be unable to get out of bed in the morning thanks to all of the day's activity.
Sammi joins me on the bed. She's peeking out the window. The realtor and the couple are standing outside, looking at the house, talking, listing things on their fingers. They stay another half an hour. If I weren't so emotionally and physically destroyed by the day, I would want to take this as a good sign. Instead, it's just another opportunity for heartbreak if I let myself hope.
But I do. I hope. And pray. And wish.
Tomorrow is another day.
I'm not going to say it can't get worse.
But I sure am going to hope so.
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