There must be shoes in Heaven if Andree Gruslin is there

GOOOOOOD MORNING IN-TER-WEBBBBS (in my best Robin Williams voice).

I.  Am.  A Uterus.  Yes – a real, live uterus; don’t let this happen again – though Boss-Lady *did* think your comments were fucking hilarious!

I try.  I really do.  I try to blog and twit-twat and facedeck and all that on a regular basis but the wi-fi is soooo spotty!   If I wasn’t so afraid of getting stuck in a landfill somewhere I’d be tempted to jump out there and experience the world for myself.  But I won’t.

See…. the squatters may have damaged my walls as they were forcibly evicted from the premises, but the memory of them still finds a way to warm the place up.  Even if the repair job *does* gives off a post-modern ambiance that would look way too cool if it was any colour but red.

I’m a damaged one – for sure – but I was made better by the care of a great physician.  Dr Andree Gruslin, High Risk OB/GYN extraordinaire, and her protective veil made sure that I was OK, every step the of the way.

With every grumbling earthquake and painful flash of lightening she hooked me up to things that go bleep and made sure I was OK.  Made sure the Squatter was OK.  Made sure that my connection to the Squatter was stronger than an army of hormones.

Today I am grateful for this wondrous lady, this warrior.  Her research in the link between placental deficiencies and pre-eclampsia will one day lead to a diagnostic tool that will save hundreds of thousands of lives.  If you look closely through the records, you may recognize a snarky bitter subject – yours truly ;).  I must say that I am very, very photogenic and passed every test with flying colors.  A relief, given the disastrous finals in my first go-round.

Between bad lighting and spotty wi-fi I often have to rely on the Boss for my news and just recently heard of her passing.  Her obituary says she’d been battling breast cancer for 10 years.  #fuckyoucancer.  I never would have known!  I mean, I saw her a lot!  She always had on the greatest shoes, her smile was infectious (a hospital being the sterile environment it is, it’s a good thing that smiles aren’t dangerous lol), her wardrobe to die for.

She saved me,  made sure I could keep on doing my job… A sad day for medicine this is, and I mourn her loss alongside my Boss.

She wouldn’t want tears though, which is good ’cause the timing is bad.  In her memory I’m going to attempt to squeeze in the finest white linen suit with a to-die-for pair of Manolos.

I’m going to laugh like no one’s watching (I’d dance…. but that might get awkward even without the shoes) – pun intended – and celebrate each day for the miracle it is.  I’m going to kick the Boss in the arse and get her to do the same. 

Because life is too short to be sad, lonely, and cold.  (wait… what?)  Because I don’t care who’s watching.  Because she shouldn’t either.

Go in peace, Doc, and please tell me there are shoe closets in Heaven. 

OTTAWA, ONT.: MAY 28, 2012 -- Pictures for Annual Report at the Ottawa Hospital, General Campus, on May 28, 2012.

 

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BlogHer14, Selfies, and Captured Moments

Once again the Boss-Lady dragged my ass out to BlogHer’14.  Can you say SAN JOSE, CALIFORNIA?  WHOOOOT!

Whooping and hollering we made like Thelma & Louise and headed west for the vacation of a lifetime.  Well, of the year – maybe; there were no cabana boys – and no beach – but there was a pool!  Does that count?

Anyways.  Like I was saying, BlogHer14.  We met up with her “bestest friend” as Jeanne would say.  It was refreshing to be surrounded (teeheee!) by chronic over-sharers with no sense of filter. Everyone is on some meds or another, they’re all weird or crazy, and they’re all – well, mostly all – absolutely wonderful.

Did you know Boss-Lady was speaking?  She rocked it.  Hard.  We both walked away from that session feeling like rock stars; the feeling continued through the weekend as people kept coming by to gush about her talk and ask more questions. 

There’s something about a being in a room with 4000 other women.  I spied on her while she was people-watching with the girls.  She’s lonely.  I don’t think she knows that I know, but I know. 

She watched as couples danced the night away or joined lively conversations amongst peers and strangers alike.  He’s not big on crowds, Himself is, and he’s not so great at chit-chat either.  She didn’t say it out loud, but I can tell she’s a wee bit jealous.

Jealous and lonely she may feel, that did not stop her from laughing.  With an infectious joie-de-vivre she laughed with abandon, not caring what people thought.  Come as you are – the BlogHer community is wonderful for that.  Be yourself.  Celebrate yourself.  Embrace your uniqueness.  I hope she’ll continue to be her exuberant self, no matter who’s watching or what they think.

When she wasn’t Selfibrating with fun selfies she hid behind the camera and captured moments. I’d show you my selfie but I could never get the lighting right. 

So we ride the high’s and brave the low’s, and tomorrow is another day.  Not a BlogHer day, but just another day.  Just another day filled with kiddie laughter and tears, poopy diapers and client letters, and maybe a few discreet selfies.

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It’s About Time

Don’t get cranky on me y’all,  I know you’ve missed me.  I missed you too… Kind of.

I’ve missed you so much I shed tears of blood! Bwhahahahah I couldn’t resist, sorry 😉

But I’m back now, and I’m not going anywhere.  There’s some exciting stuff coming up – it’s almost like a rebirth (ok I’ll stop with the puns – maybe).

Catch you on the inside!

~ Uterus

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When life kicks you in the arse….

I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately.  This precious little thing, so beautiful – so full of life.

Imagine longing and planning for this sweet little pea, falling in love from the moment you saw her in your husband’s eyes.  Knowing that together you were creating a legacy, a life… a family.

Watching her grow – that first smile (or maybe gas? no, that one was definitely a smile…), those big eyes that held the universe and their secrets.

She would have been 2 years old this month.  And I think of her every day. 

I can only begin to imagine how devastated her mother was when she passed unexpectedly – the doctors said 2 in a million.  2 IN A FUCKING MILLION.  And it had to be her.  She was 14 months old.  And I think of her every day.

This sweet thing… she’s my daughter’s sister.  Not my child, but oh – how I loved her. 

I was growing one of my own at the time… my third.  I remember the night Boss-Lady had to break the oldest’s heart, tell her that her sister was gone.

I saw her grow up years beyond her meager six that night.

Boss-Lady always maintained a good (mostly) relationship with her ex and his wife… but I think – that night – they became friends.

But how do you grieve for a child that is not yours?  Months later?  Who do you talk to?  Who can you share with? Because who wants to hear about death and children – in the same sentence?

She’s expecting again.  Another beautiful, sweet, precious little sister for my best girl.  I see it in her eyes – the happiness and the devastation.  The longing and the excitement.  Wrecking havoc on her composure, every minute of every day.

Holding on to those little flutters of new life while grasping at the memory of a loved one lost.

To my dear friend I wish her all the luck in the world – the next few month might be the hardest of them all.

And as I listen to the baby breathe sweet dreams at night while the Boss-Lady sleeps I remember that sweet little monkey – and I miss her too.

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I’m going to #Blogher13 Y’all!

Oh yes, the rumors are true.  I’s a goin’ to that fresh hell called Blogher’13 with 5000 other bitter uteruses (uteries?).  I can just imagine the chatter I’ll hear from an overworked and underpaid bunch (I don’t mean the bloggers – I mean you!).  I’m packing up my droopy self along with a healthy stash of Advil, a good dose of humour and maybe even some business cards!  That’s right – the Boss-Lady has decided that it’s time to start pimping out this blog.

 

Though I’m sure the pay is better than the ravage the 3 squatters left behind the rewards surely won’t be as great.  But still, this is exciting news for us.

She has plans, that woman!  She was talking on the phone the other day, and actually mentioned building this thing up to be a platform for women’s health awareness issues.  So long as they don’t want a most recent picture, I’m game for that!

Change the Cycle is coming back to the expo hall this year and I’m hoping we get a fuzzy uterus to bring home.  Just ’cause.  Last year Boss-Lady met with Vicky Iovine (now there’s someone’s uterus I’d like to have a coffee date with!!!!) of the famed ‘Girlfriend’s Guide to…” series.  I’m hoping she comes back…. And maybe even hoping she’ll agree to lend her uterus a voice.

They’ve promised us wifi – I’m now sure how great the reception will be in here but I’ll be trying!  There has been mention of wine (always a good thing), food (salty, chocolaty, and otherwise sinful please!), fashion (I may need help there…).

There’s this great session called ‘the LIST and how to get on it’ – I may need some help in that department so I’m hoping the Boss makes it.  She’s got an 1-on-1 with Dr. Cutie – um – Dr. Stork from The Doctors and maybe a photo-op?

So long as no ones gets any Poise Cooling Wipes near me…. I think it will be a good time!  I’ll be posting updates on Twitter when I can (seriously, the wifi in hear isn’t that great) but I hope you’ll follow me on this journey!

Are you going?  Wanting to go?  Have gone before?  Tips? Tricks? Survival guides?  Or do you just have #pissyourpantsfunny story to share?  Let’s here it!

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Wife, Mother, Daughter… Woman?

I’m a raging mess of hormones on a good day so after the 2nd squatter left you can imagine just how I felt – never mind what that did to Boss-Lady.  A small bout of post-partum?  Absolutely.  Weird adult acne issues? Definitely.  Throw in a bit of hair loss and a body that doesn’t feel like your own I can see where she may have had a bit of issues.

It’s no secret that pregnancy and birth changes you forever – heck, look at me!  I’m rumpled and dimpled and scarred from 3 of those!  But what happens when those changes conflict with your identity?

What did I do that was so bad you ask?  I gave her straight hair.  Different?  Yes!  She spent her life with big, bold, beautiful curls the likes of Shirley Temple.  Terrible?  I didn’t think so.

But life is funny like that – the smallest little thing can have a huge impact.  Fast-forward through a third pregnancy, ailing parents, the loss of a few loved ones and life… and she just seems a little bit sad all the time.

You can’t see it really: she’s laughing and smiling and rocking out her big personality like she always has.

But I can tell.  I can feel it.

When she looks at an older couple and she can see how beautiful they were in their youth.  When tragedy strikes in the world and her twitter stream lights on fire.  When she looks in the mirror to do her hair.

She picks up the brush, she sighs, and untangles a chevelure that doesn’t feel right in her hands.

Wife, Mother, Daughter, Caregiver, Entrepreneur… all titles she holds.  But what about Woman?

The medication, the therapy… they help.  But still –  Where is that woman that used to look back at her in the mirror?

I overheard her talking on the phone – seems she booked an appointment at the spa.  I’m guessing she’s taking her looks into her own hands and getting her curl back today.

And hopefully when she looks in the mirror tonight, she’ll be just a little less sad.

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Guest Post: Martinis and Sex

I am a used uterus.  Only slightly used, mind you.  I’ve done my job and I think my Boss Lady would give me a glowing recommendation.  We get along pretty well; I try not to cramp her style too much and she doesn’t expect a lot from me, so the relationship works.

I’ve had two tenants in the past 11 years.  The first one accidentally gave me a good punch a few days ago but I just smiled indulgently, remembering when those blows came from the inside instead of the outside.  The latest tenant gave Boss Lady a kiss on the belly just this evening, but I knew it was for me.  I’ll always have a soft, squishy lining for these little people that once called me home.

However, I’m retired.  Not officially, because at 30, Boss Lady could call me back into service for at least another 10 years, but we’ve had a tete-a-tete and have come to the mutual agreement that I can kick back and enjoy the next 50 or so years in peace, just hanging out while my neighbours continue to work day in, day out.  It’s my reward for a job well done.

 

I didn’t give her much trouble in our youth (except for my own rebellious stage when I allowed myself to get pregnant at 19 – oops!), took great care of my first and second tenants, pushed them out into the world with relative ease (although I was not the quickest at it), and have pretty much kept to myself each month, doing what I have to with as little inconvenience to Boss Lady as possible (Clarabelle and Bessie upstairs are a different story though, they’re not always nice to BL, or so I hear).

So now, 5 ½ years after my last tenant, Boss Lady can hold a baby and I don’t even so much as twitch.  I’m just sipping a martini (BL likes Caesars, but I’m a martini kind of gal), reading a trashy romance, and minding my own beeswax.  I even overheard her telling my buddy, ‘The D”, that he could get the big snip if he so desired.  He’s less than keen since my current tenant, Mirena, keeps me out of ‘the family way’, unless someone changes their mind.  Which I doubt.

And speaking of “The D”, maybe I should go pay him a visit.  He’s usually pretty nice to me too.  😉

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Anonymous

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