I like to bake. I like to bake a lot of things for a lot of reasons. Here is where I start a series of lists and explain way too much about baking.
My first line of lists is what makes me want to bake-
1. OBVIOUSLY the first and foremost reason is that I have a joansing for some delightfully chocolatey, sugary, and/or frosting-smothered transporter of what SNL’s version of Paula Deen calls “The Sugars”. Using my impressive knowledge of pop culture, and you know...turning on some type of media outlet, “The Sugars” is actually adult onset type II diabetes. Nothing makes for a night in like a sugar coma via the likes of cupcakes and cookies shaped like animals and such.
2. It’s someone’s birthday. There isn’t much that I like more than birthdays (especially mine). One of the things I DO love more is birthday cake. I love making people’s birthday cakes. It’s kind of ridiculous how much joy I get out of it. My mom used to not let me make my own cake for my birthday and I would be so mad. It’s almost a problem...almost.
3. Boredom. I sometimes bake out of boredom. Some people eat, some people stalk others on facebook, and some just sit and stare at the wall...but I bake. I crank cookies, brownies and multicolored cupcakes shaped like penguins like it’s no one’s g’damn business. I do this in waves, and it gets especially cranking when I am on bed rest and my kidney stones get to kicking.
Secondly, Things I do while I bake-
1. I dance around to a hearty mix of songs. The criteria for such a playlist is simple and finite. I have to know every word to each song, I have to be able to do that ridiculous but awesome “rock” stance/head bang combination, and if that doesn’t apply, I have to be able to convince myself that I know the words to the song which is in a different language. And lastly, the songs cannot be in any way linked to anything other than good times.
2. I like to take pictures of the process and finished product. To me, it says “yeah, I just did that”. It also lets everybody else know because I immediately upload it to the interwebs.
3. I pretend I am a professional singer. But I do that whenever I do almost anything. Homework, driving, showering, and most importantly baking. This brings me to a sublist of songs and genres I enjoy being professional at:
a. Pop/Rap/”hip hop”
b. Broadway showtunes.
c. Alternative Rock, and in some surprising cases screamo.
Third: What baking does to me-
1. It makes me think I am one step closer to having a TLC reality show about all my whacky cupcakes. Yeah right. Not only do I need to have some type of business that is either booming, churns out towering cakes to society’s finest or both, but I also need some measurable talent and or tool-belt of skills as I literally follow pictures and directions.
2. Baking calms me down. It’s no wonder why I get to cranking out baked goods during kidney seasons...it passes the time in a wonderfully delicious-smelling way. My mom, on the contrary, hates it because she claims everyone is going to get fat. It hasn’t happened yet...
3. It gives me joy to watch other people enjoy what I’ve made. Nothing makes you feel high like people makin’ love to your cupcakes. It’s like being the Marilyn Monroe for food...you become a legend!
So in sum, baking is amazing. It tastes even better. You should try it.
Saturday, March 24, 2012
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Families are everywhere
People in day surgery come and go. I, as a joke, in all seriousness should have a bed designated to me, because I am there so much. All previous eight surgeries I was stationed just outside the door leading to the OR. This time, I got stuck in a weird side room that I believe was labeled “Q”. BUT I’m getting ahead of myself.
October 2008- my first attempt at Battle: Kidney Stone, a tall, some could say gangly anesthesiologist introduces himself with a sense that he is REALLY excited. I, being terrified of what is about to happen to me do not pick up on any comfort he is trying to pass along. I didn’t want drugs, I didn’t want a name tag for my stuffed animal, I wanted my clothes and the nearest exit. Unfortunately that was not an option and long story short, I am alive and I made it.
Seven surgeries later, Dr. Brusseau? (I hope that’s his official name) comes bounding into my curtained off area (which, being in it a total of eight times in three and a half years, I think I deserve a commemorative picture and whatnot above the “TV”) and I honestly could not be more excited to see him. A familiar face. I had such a comforting, even good experience my first kidney surgery, and since this one was not looking to go well, I was excited to see some positive energy. Being a nervous rambler, I had a whole arsenal of questions to delay the IV and the drugs and the “say goodbye to mom” stages. I got to test the waters, via the likes of Rollie was just what the doctor ordered (haw haw haw). He played into all of my nervous humor and made me feel comfortable. Then I met the Christina Yang of Urology. But to keep this on the fun side, we will surpass her.
I also had an OR nurse for surgery number eight that was one of the nicest women I have ever gotten the chance to sing “Man in the Mirror” with. Yes, once the drugs are administered, I sing...and giggle. Seriously, she scrambled to put MJ on Pandora to make sure they put me out as we all bridged into the chorus of “Man in the Mirror”... that is some serious nursing bed-side manner.
5 weeks later....
March 9, 2012
Ninth surgery, ninth day of the month. Three less than twelve...nine. Its a sign, 9 is my new lucky number.
I am lucky for so many reasons on this day.
1. My surgery went successfully, in multiple senses of the word
2. I don’t have to go back for a 10th surgery for reasons pertaining to #1
There are so many reasons but, literally the best reason why I was so lucky today was...
3. I saw familiar faces.
I enter pre-pre-op with my giraffe in hand to a delightful older woman named Erma who I SWEAR I have had every single time I have been there. She calls me “baby-child”, I chuckle, walk inside and stand on the scale. Then, just like the sun after a storm (of nerves) Rollie (Raleigh? Dr. B?) strolls on by saying “welcome back!” with a gleaming smile. As I reply, he then says the words that I was so excited to hear “I will be seeing YOU later!”.
I smile. I gush to my mom about how Rollie is going to be on my service and how I can get to organizing my list of pointless “ice-breaker” questions I have in store for him, as well as anyone else who dare enters room “Q”.
My surgeon comes in, and my first round of questions go successfully. 20 minutes wasted.
Rollie pops in and we reminisce about the last time, I sign papers, we get caught up (just as planned) in questions pertaining to music and ipods and a bunch of other improv’d questions I came up with. He has to go attend to more patients.
The nurse anesthetist comes in and we get to talking about prom (even though mine was like...3 years ago) and she told me that when she works in OBGYN in some other hospitals when she hears the babies cry for the first time after a C-section, she still tears up. She passed my test...she has a heart.
Rollie comes back so I can sign some papers saying if I die, my blood is not on his hands (or something like that) and I told him that I had the Charlie and the Chocolate Factory candy song stuck in my head...and right on queue, the best OR nurse on the face of the Earth pops in and reminds me of five weeks previously and of our duet. That is when Rollie turns to her and says the best thing ever:
“Don’t give her the drugs until I get back, I can’t miss this”
He leaves and comes back, the drugs are given, and according to my mother, a trio of the candy song starts. I of course take the lead and apparently don’t stop laughing and singing until I am out like a light.
After almost a week of recovering and a weird sadness, I realize... this is the last 3 years of my life. I may not be someone who spends months in a hospital getting to know their doctors, but I know these people and they have become my security blankets when I am scared. Yes my mom is holding my hand when they have to stick me with needles, but these people have gotten me through the scariest times I have had in these years. My friends are there for me, but they don’t know what goes on unless I tell them. These doctors and nurses provide support and comfort for when I am signing my life into their hands for the day.
After I wake up and come to, they check on me. When I go home at the end of my recovery period, I go home to my dad, dog and usually sister and boyfriend, but while I’m there, the doctors and nurses are my family.
October 2008- my first attempt at Battle: Kidney Stone, a tall, some could say gangly anesthesiologist introduces himself with a sense that he is REALLY excited. I, being terrified of what is about to happen to me do not pick up on any comfort he is trying to pass along. I didn’t want drugs, I didn’t want a name tag for my stuffed animal, I wanted my clothes and the nearest exit. Unfortunately that was not an option and long story short, I am alive and I made it.
Seven surgeries later, Dr. Brusseau? (I hope that’s his official name) comes bounding into my curtained off area (which, being in it a total of eight times in three and a half years, I think I deserve a commemorative picture and whatnot above the “TV”) and I honestly could not be more excited to see him. A familiar face. I had such a comforting, even good experience my first kidney surgery, and since this one was not looking to go well, I was excited to see some positive energy. Being a nervous rambler, I had a whole arsenal of questions to delay the IV and the drugs and the “say goodbye to mom” stages. I got to test the waters, via the likes of Rollie was just what the doctor ordered (haw haw haw). He played into all of my nervous humor and made me feel comfortable. Then I met the Christina Yang of Urology. But to keep this on the fun side, we will surpass her.
I also had an OR nurse for surgery number eight that was one of the nicest women I have ever gotten the chance to sing “Man in the Mirror” with. Yes, once the drugs are administered, I sing...and giggle. Seriously, she scrambled to put MJ on Pandora to make sure they put me out as we all bridged into the chorus of “Man in the Mirror”... that is some serious nursing bed-side manner.
5 weeks later....
March 9, 2012
Ninth surgery, ninth day of the month. Three less than twelve...nine. Its a sign, 9 is my new lucky number.
I am lucky for so many reasons on this day.
1. My surgery went successfully, in multiple senses of the word
2. I don’t have to go back for a 10th surgery for reasons pertaining to #1
There are so many reasons but, literally the best reason why I was so lucky today was...
3. I saw familiar faces.
I enter pre-pre-op with my giraffe in hand to a delightful older woman named Erma who I SWEAR I have had every single time I have been there. She calls me “baby-child”, I chuckle, walk inside and stand on the scale. Then, just like the sun after a storm (of nerves) Rollie (Raleigh? Dr. B?) strolls on by saying “welcome back!” with a gleaming smile. As I reply, he then says the words that I was so excited to hear “I will be seeing YOU later!”.
I smile. I gush to my mom about how Rollie is going to be on my service and how I can get to organizing my list of pointless “ice-breaker” questions I have in store for him, as well as anyone else who dare enters room “Q”.
My surgeon comes in, and my first round of questions go successfully. 20 minutes wasted.
Rollie pops in and we reminisce about the last time, I sign papers, we get caught up (just as planned) in questions pertaining to music and ipods and a bunch of other improv’d questions I came up with. He has to go attend to more patients.
The nurse anesthetist comes in and we get to talking about prom (even though mine was like...3 years ago) and she told me that when she works in OBGYN in some other hospitals when she hears the babies cry for the first time after a C-section, she still tears up. She passed my test...she has a heart.
Rollie comes back so I can sign some papers saying if I die, my blood is not on his hands (or something like that) and I told him that I had the Charlie and the Chocolate Factory candy song stuck in my head...and right on queue, the best OR nurse on the face of the Earth pops in and reminds me of five weeks previously and of our duet. That is when Rollie turns to her and says the best thing ever:
“Don’t give her the drugs until I get back, I can’t miss this”
He leaves and comes back, the drugs are given, and according to my mother, a trio of the candy song starts. I of course take the lead and apparently don’t stop laughing and singing until I am out like a light.
After almost a week of recovering and a weird sadness, I realize... this is the last 3 years of my life. I may not be someone who spends months in a hospital getting to know their doctors, but I know these people and they have become my security blankets when I am scared. Yes my mom is holding my hand when they have to stick me with needles, but these people have gotten me through the scariest times I have had in these years. My friends are there for me, but they don’t know what goes on unless I tell them. These doctors and nurses provide support and comfort for when I am signing my life into their hands for the day.
After I wake up and come to, they check on me. When I go home at the end of my recovery period, I go home to my dad, dog and usually sister and boyfriend, but while I’m there, the doctors and nurses are my family.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)