Shhhhhh…. Be Vewy Vewy Quiet, I’m Hunting Wedding Venues….

Friday Scope and I were on the hunt for potential wedding venues. Yes, you read that correctly: Wedding. Venues.

That’s right, folks - this is really happening!!

*Squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!*

Seeing as though every place we went to was in full-on Christmas decorating mode, most of the halls we visited looked somewhat like this, with holiday decorations scattered everywhere….


But we got the gist of it. We found one place we loved (not pictured because we were too impressed with its beauty to remember to whip out our cameras – epic bloggy fail. Sorry!) but we still had more places to view later on in the weekend, so our decision was not made. Yet.

Exciting, huh?

Hee hee hee!

Anyway….

For lunch we stopped off at Jimmy Mac’s Roadhouse Grill….



….where we ate off of hubcaps….


*snicker*

….and the waitress told us she’d charge us a dollar if we did NOT throw our peanut shells on the floor….


Mm-kay then.

(Yeah, I don’t get it either, but whatever)

The food was great! And, bonus! - later on I saw the writing on the wall (in the bathroom)….


(Yeah, try giggling and peeing at the same time, I dare you. It ain’t easy.)

(For those of you who don’t know, Scope’s real name is Eric. And the graffiti is right, he is a hottie!!)

(And, yes, I took a picture in the bathroom. I figured since they served me my meal on a hubcap, taking a pic in the stall probably wouldn’t be frowned on!)

Back at my house, I got a call from my five year old nephew. He told me his mom (my sister) is having another baby. When is my sis’s baby due? July, of course - which is the month Scope and I had already picked out for our wedding! Well, GRRRRRR.

(My mom calls this “The Ultimate Sibling Rivalry.”)

(I call it “Little Sister Is Trying To Steal My Thunder. Again.”)

(Just kidding!)

(Kinda.)

Will Scope and I tie the knot before little sis spits out another spawn? Time will tell. In other words: THE RACE IS ON!!

Ohhh yeah.

Friday evening, Scope and I went out to dinner at Red Robin with Callista and her hubby, Mad Dog (who was kind enough to take this picture for us to commemorate in bloggidy goodness)….


The food was fantastic! So was the company! And, hey, I even got to play Wonder Woman at the end of the evening when Callista and Mad Dog’s RAV had a flat tire. Pffffft! Nah, I didn’t FIX THE TIRE, silly! (*cough citygirl cough*) But I found a can of Fix-A-Flat in the trunk of my car which was remedy enough.

So, all in all, not a bad day! :-)
.
[to be continued tomorrow where you'll find me babbling on about doilies, bathroom stalls (again), Christmas lights, a botanical garden, and a shoeless freak in a panda hat....]

© Love Letters By Cora

Kiss My Ass, Death.

Yesterday was a big, BIG red letter day in little ole Land o’ Cora. You see, yesterday was my five year anniversary of defying Death.

Mm-hmm.

I won’t retell the whole lonnnnngggggggg tale here today. I did that last year. (You can catch it HERE if you’re so inclined.) But the gist of it is that I survived a freak, rare, bizarre Neurological emergency in the form of a golf-ball-sized blood clot in my spinal cord which should have either killed me or left me paralyzed. But I walked away from it.

True, I walked away from it with the assistance of a metal walker….


But, still, I walked away.

I eventually ditched the walker for a cane….


And then I ditched even that.

I’m the luckiest person I know. My Neurologist still shakes his head in amazement every time we cross paths.

“Do you know how lucky you are?” he says.

”Absolutely,” I grin back.

”No, really. Do you know how INSANELY LUCKY you are?!” he marvels, gesturing wildly, kinda reminding me of Tigger. *snicker*

”I know,” I breathe, shaking my head too.

”This never happens. NEVER!!” he’ll exclaim, slapping my chart down on the counter top, “I mean, WOW!!”

He once introduced a medical student to me. He introduced me as “a miracle” and told her she’ll never see anyone with my condition – EVER. I’m one of a kind.

Last time I went to the Neurologist he was running behind schedule by about an hour. His assistant told me I’d have to wait. But when my Neurologist heard I was in the office, he immediately took me back and told his assistant, “Cora doesn’t have to wait – she’s famous! In fact, she made ME famous!” and he told us how his saving my life made his career. And because of that I’ll never have to wait. Never.

So, wanna see it? Want to see my blood clot?

Okay!

Here it is. This is the MRI picture taken five years ago….


See the dark spot in my spine there? That’s blood. The blood clot had burst and was leaking in my spinal cord, preventing my brain and body from communicating with each other. I couldn’t control my legs. I had absolutely no balance; I would fall over while sitting or while on my hands and knees. By the time I went into the OR, I couldn’t even lift my legs. I couldn’t roll over. I had no feeling in most of my body from my armpits down. And it took three people to carry me onto the table because my body was violently shaking and I couldn’t stop it.

If you look closely to the right of the dark streak in my spine you can see the blood clot there, like a dark oval. Scary, huh?

Five years ago today I was in the ICU, having survived the surgery on my spine without paralysis. I could wiggle my toes. True, it took all the concentration I could muster to wiggle the toes on my right foot. But, still, I could do it. And the doctors were THRILLED.

I could feel it when they poked me with sharp objects too. True, even sharp jabs with safety pins on my right foot and leg felt like blunt, soft touches with a sponge. But, still, I could feel something. And the doctors were ECSTATIC.

Word spread throughout the hospital of what had happened and I had dozens of doctors and nurses coming in to see if it was true. They were constantly clustered at the foot of my bed asking me to wiggle my toes, then gasping when I did. I was told a hundred times over that I was the luckiest person they’d ever met.

Wow, huh?

Every November 18th since, I celebrate my day. I call it my anniversary and I take the day off work and do whatever the hell I want to. The first anniversary was the day Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire was released in the theater, so I kept my daughter out of school and we went and saw it. Twice.

The second anniversary of it was more emotional, oddly, and I spent the day crying my eyes out remembering how small and scared it felt to be in that hospital before the surgery when they didn’t think they could do anything to save me, and how terrified I was of what would become of my daughter if I died.

Each anniversary has been different. But especially this one. Why? Because I forgot all about it this year. I didn’t remember it until the night before when I was walking on my treadmill and it suddenly hit me. It was too late to ask for the day off, and, honestly, I’ve missed so much work lately due to my tonsillectomy and romping with Scope (wheeeeeee!!) that I wouldn’t have asked for the day off even if I had remembered it. But I honestly can’t believe I forgot about it! I didn’t think it was something I would ever forget – or only remember at the last freaking minute!

Jeez.

But anyway, as typically ends up happening at some point every November 18th over the last five years, in honor of my medical miracle, let’s mock Death, shall we?!

Yes! Let’s!….

.
Ahhh, that was fun. Okay, now let's learn about Neurology with Schoolhouse Rock!

:-)
.


© Love Letters By Cora

Dear November 18th

Dear November 18th,

I love you. You're MY day. (Mine! All mine, dammit!). That's right - I own you. Why? Because you are the anniversary of my own personal major (MAJOR) medical miracle and of my becoming Neurology's own personal Wonder Woman - minus the itchy-looking American flag bathing suit thingy and those red hooker boots. Of course. (Insert The Wonder Woman TV Show Theme Song here). (And dance around to it if you wanna).

Four years ago today, I bitch slapped Paralysis (*KAPOW!*) and gave Death a big ol' atomic wedgie (*YOW!*).

And it was AWESOME!

Here's how it went down:

I collapsed in my hallway. Not good. (And, no, I hadn't been drinking!). I couldn't move my legs and my nerves felt like they were being electrocuted. Not fun. And very (VERY) painful. Think Rhonda when she collapses in Muriel's Wedding. It was a lot like that. Only without the Navy orgy. Unfortunately. Kidding! (Kinda).

I was rushed to the ER where I spent the day deteriorating quickly and baffling doctor after doctor after doctor. No-one knew what was going on. I think they were actually more scared than I was.

Ever scared a bunch of ER doctors with a freaky, unknown, mysterious ailment?

Yeah, don't. It's not fun.

They advised me to write a will on whatever I could find in my purse - the checkbook, tissues, maxi pads, whatever. (Seriously. If I'd died, I would have sooooo come back as a ghost just simply to get to watch my Maxi Pad Will being read!!). (Hee hee!). (Actually, no, it didn't come to that - my Mom brought me paper. Thanks Mom).

They made the Chaplain hang out with me. He was pretty cool. We discussed death (his contribution) and Mounds Bars, cookies and brownies (my contribution - because, hey, they wouldn't let me eat anything in there all day and I was STARVING!). I tried to beg and bribe him into getting me something (ANYTHING) from the vending machine in the lobby, but all he would give me were old Field and Stream Magazines. And, damn, if those fishy pages didn't start looking mighty tasty after about six freaking hours or so!!

No food + frightened and confused ER doctors + hours and hours of nothing to do but worry and suffer in pain = an UN-FUN DAY. Trust me on that.

But (sigh) then *HE* arrived on the scene, bursting through my ER curtain like Tigger on a sugar high; looking like there was nowhere else he would rather be; strutting around the room; making all the other doctors there gaze at him in silent awe; grinning like the Cheshire Cat; cracking jokes; making me laugh; looking sexy; making dares with me; and making me KNOW I was finally in capable hands: Dr. Sexy Neurologist.

(*sigh*)

My fear? Gone.

My boredom? Gone.

My hunger (for food at least)? Gone.

My Field and Stream Magazines? Gone. ('Cuz he ordered the nurse to bring me better magazines!). ('Cuz he's Superman).

He took over. He ran tests. He assured me he would figure my symptoms out. He made me totally want to ask him out, but (bummerifically sad sigh) I didn't. It would have been wrong to, okay? Just wrong. I'm pretty sure I read that in a fortune cookie once: Confucius say, "Paralyzed girl in hospital bed does well not to hit on sexy Neurologist, lest she be taken as an unrealistic hobag by Dr. Sexy. Duh." (It was a big fortune cookie, okay?!)

Anyway....

Dr. Sexy Neurologist found the problem: a golf ball-sized blood clot in my spinal cord. Eww. It had ruptured and was bleeding, destroying my spinal cord and nerves, and preventing my brain and body from communicating with each other. Ewwwww.

The more it bled, the worse my symptoms got.

By the time the blood clot was discovered, I couldn't move my legs at all, I was having trouble moving my arms, I was shaking like I was having a seizure, and I could no longer sit or roll over (Sorry, Porno for Pyros, I woulda made one crappy-ass pet!).

Everyone was talking to me in hushed voices. They told me I was going to bleed to death without surgery, and that with surgery there were two possible outcomes: death or total paralysis (think Christopher Reeve). OMG.

I had to say goodbye to everyone. I had to say goodbye to my daughter and hug her for what was likely the very last time ever. I can't even begin to describe how hard that was. What do you say to an eight year old? I honestly don't even remember what I said, just that I managed somehow not to cry because I didn't want her last memory of me to be me bawling!

I had to go into surgery knowing I'd either come out in a wheelchair or a casket.

But.... No.

No-one can explain to me why or how, but I escaped paralysis completely. (Yeah, and death too, for any clowns who are wondering). By all neurological rules, that's impossible. But it happened.

The doctors still shake their heads in confused amazement whenever they see me. I'm their Wonder Woman, like I said. (Insert theme music here once more). (And rock out!)

Not that there wasn't damage. I had to live in the hospital for awhile, where my world was a cocktail of pain meds, physical therapy, bad TV, and bizarre scenarios - like showering with the hospital nurses!: Zibbs, this confession is for you, as I promised: I was buck naked (intrigued?), sitting on a chair in the shower, being soaped up by the nurses (good so far?) since I was still having trouble moving my arms and couldn't do it myself (I swear!).

The first time we did this, I looked down through all the bubbles and made a joke about turning into a werewolf because I hadn't been able to shave my legs or, umm, other areas (still with me, Zibbs?) in awhile. The ridiculousness of the situation hit me and I started laughing. I'm a laughter. I can't help it. And it's contagious. The nurse in the water with me started laughing too. And we couldn't stop. It was a shower full of bubbles, steam, giggles and skin (picturing it okay, Zibbs?).

And then it got better.

Oh yes.

There was a knock at the door.

I kid you not.

It was the cute daytime-duty doctor (aka Dr. Flirty) checking to see if we were okay because of all the noises he could hear through the door. I swear this is true. I said, "Oh my God, we're in a cheesy porno!" and the nurse and I looked at each other as she was rinsing the soap from my shoulders (happy, Zibbs?) and we started laughing again so hard that we were crying! Dr. Flirty left at that point (ahh, sorry, Zibbs. Disappointing, I know!), but I'm pretty sure he wished he hadn't. The next morning he came into my room, sat on my bed (mm-hmm) and told me I could have anything I wanted for breakfast, whether it was on the menu or not.

Oh yeah, Dr. Flirty?!

I said I wanted "the world's biggest piece of chocolate cake." And that is exactly what he brought me. It was like the size of a shoebox!! Hmmm.... And here I thought doctors had better things to do than sit on my bed and hand-deliver me cake! Go figure.

(Satisfied, Zibbs?! Cool. Now you can go back to ignoring me and my little blog as usual. I'm gonna go check out your other readers. I hear at least one of 'em wants my number. (wink wink). (And P.S., Zibbs - I want my panties back when you're done with them). (Actually on second thought, never mind, keep 'em).

Anyway, back on track:

I spent months in physical therapy with a big metal walker, re-learning how to do everything: walk, get in and out of a chair, get dressed, tie my shoes, etc.

I had to have a constant babysitter. (Thank you to my mom, dad, daughter, brother, sister, brother-in-law, brother-in-law's mom, Callista, and Callista's mom for that! I owe you one). (Or one freaking million!).

It's been four years today. And I'm doing great.

I'm walking, working, driving, and everything again. Even showering by myself. (Sorry, Zibbs).

Is there lasting damage? You bet! But it's not all bad.

The cons:

*I have tingling numbness on one-half of my body from the armpit down.

*My right elbow has major nerve damage so it hurts like hell whenever anything touches it. Anything. Sleeves are my mortal enemy and the bane of my existence! If I could be a nudist, I totally would!

*I walk with a sway like a drunk. Oh well. People think I'm having fun anyway!

The pros:

*I still get to see Dr. Sexy Neurologist. :-)

*I have a ready-made excuse to get me out of anything stupid that people want me to do: "Oh, sorry. Can't. I'm a gimp."

*I didn't lose my Twister Skillz!! I'm still Twister Champ!! (Don't mess with me!!)

*I've been on my deathbed. I know without a doubt what is important to me. And what is not.

So, yep, today is MY day.

Mine.

And my to-do list today? Ah, let's see:

*Take the day off of work. (check!)

*Eat pecan pie for breakfast. (check!)

*Mock Death with the help of Bill and Ted's Bogus Journey ("Melvin!") (check!)

*Anything else I freaking decide I wanna do!! (checkaroo!)

:-)

Love,

Neurology's Wonder Woman,

Cora