I can't remember

a cooler July - and the record book bears me out. It was a cool one, from jeans and jackets on the 4th of July all the way through to today, which is in the 80's after it was 50 something over night.

Okay I think I overdid it. Have some cramping and pulling on my left side after a busy day of laundry and driving on errands. It's so hard to sit. Especially when my own expectations (and Paul's) are high. I'm usually good at being a slug, but only on my own terms - not when it's dictated by my guts (and Doc).

Back to camp. After 4 years at Bar-L, I graduated to a camp my mother and my aunt had attended. Camp Cheley in Estes Park, Colorado was a once in a lifetime experience for me. My buddy Sal and I went in the summer of 1969 - I was 11 going on 12 and a month was a long time to be gone. But I got over my initial homesickness and adjusted to life at camp in week 1.

Sally and I were put into separate cabins. Looking back, I suppose that was best for both of us, to help us branch out and make other friends. We were in Lower Chipeta with girls from around the country our age. One of my cabin-mates from was Hawaii! We all had to help at the lodge at mealtime and there was lots of obnoxious singing of camp songs. Thank God there was no square dancing at this camp!

We got to ride horses, hike, shoot rifles, archery, crafts and camping. We could earn awards by learning names of the mountains in the range near Estes. Or the parts of a saddle and horse. We were constantly challenged physically and mentally, but gently. I became very attached to my cabin counselors Colleen and Nancy and especially liked the overnight we spent somewhere in those mountains. Sally and I would walk up to the canteen at break time for a nice cold Coca Cola and a Snickers bar. We also liked the paddle tether ball game for excitement.

It was exciting when the month was over when my parents and the Rodgers came to pick us up. I felt I had been away from them for a lifetime. I'm sure my folks felt I had grown up some during my time there. I've got many fond memories from my Cheley days.

My cousin's daughter has been there this month - her 4th year at the camp, I believe. I'm glad the family tradition has carried on!

Camp

I'm a little senile, so if I already wrote about this, a thousand pardons. I could look back to see. But why, when it will give me so much joy to write about it?

My first camp was Bar-L Ranch in Guthrie Center. It was the camp of choice for folks from Atlantic, along with Camp Foster, which was the YMCA camp at Okoboji I believe. Bar-L was a horse ranch and I was crazy about horses from an early age.

My sisters went to Bar-L before me, so I remember riding along to drop them off, and getting a ride on their horses. What a thrill. We have home movies of Cindy trying to get on one pony, putting the wrong foot in the stirrup - very confusing for a young kid trying to figure out why she was going to end up sitting backwards on the horse. Ah, the stuff of America's Best Videos.

The year I turned 7, I got to go to camp with Cindy, who by then was a camp veteran at age 11, all knowing of saddles and such. Bar L was run by the Luckinbill family - Harold, who seemed to me to be a large man with a large voice. He was boss. The girls bunkhouse was located above the mess area, with the bathroom below. We all stayed in bunk beds. It was all very big stuff for a youngster.

The first day, Sunday when we got there, we were assigned our ponies. I was the smallest kid, and got one of the smallest ponies - a black one whose name escapes me now. The camp counselors would saddles them up and we would help get the bit in their mouths and away we'd go. I imagine my mother giddy, tears in her eyes thinking "a week with 2 less children!"

Each day would start out with a big breakfast of pancakes and the like. I can't imagine I took many showers that week, but we did go swimming a couple times, perhaps that helped me avoid stiff hair and smelly body. After breakfast, we'd go for a trail ride, and if I was lucky we'd get to canter in a circle at the top of one hill. I was in the group with the smallest ponies.

In the afternoons we did crafts like weaving plastic lanyards, punching leather key rings and making clay ashtrays. Early in the week we did a stint of square dancing - I still know a few beats, heel toe, heel toe. slide slide. I was too young to have sweaty palms about the whole deal. Though I was concerned about sitting by Cindy at mealtime, and when I budged in line I got a swat on the butt by Harold.

One night we got to ride our horses bareback! Wow, that was way different than riding with a western saddle. That ranked right up there with one of the biggest thrills of my life, the night at the bag swing camp. That was an area outside Guthrie where seed corn bags were strung on long ropes from trees. There were cliff and ladder launch areas. It was a thrill and a blast to conquer those bags. Better than Disneyland any day!

At the end of the week, we Catholics were forced to get up, don doilies on our heads and go to church in town. How I longed to be a Protestant on that day. Character building I'm sure. Then our parents would come to get us after lunch. I attended Bar-L some 4 years. One year I went with several Atlantic girls, including Sally, Barbie Gee and Barb Hutchinson. We had fun on a snipe hunt, at Smores and carved our names into the sandy rock above the camp.

My little piece of Americana. Carry on campers. One day, some twenty something years later, I got to take my darlin' girl Amy and niece Leslie to Bar L to spend a week. The circle of life!

The continuing saga

of what happened to my uterus. Hmmm where were we? Oh yes, a few weeks ago I described giving birth (or at least it felt like it) in the bathtub a month ago, and then my doctor's visit where - doo doo doo do (dramatic music) a polyp was discovered in my uterus.

So after much soul searching, I decided my uterus, as good as it's been to me, must go. After all - it (with a little help from Pablo the pool boy and my ovaries) gave me three kids. Surgery was scheduled for yesterday, and we arrived early, as per Dave Bullock rules. Check in was fairly simple, and we were soon shown into pre-op.

The lab/vein/urine (I know there's a better name but can't come up with it) person was right out of Grey's Anatomy. The Sandra Oh character - oriental and stoic. Nice enough, but prim and proper. Anyway, she got the job done, and soon I was naked, save for the nice thick cotton gown that did seem to cover my ass. Plus I got to put on some ted hose - I think that's what they're called. Now I really feel sorry for my friend Vic who, due to a history of blood clots, has to wear those often.

Then we waited for the Doc to finish up with his first date. Yes, there was another uterus before me. He stopped in briefly, told Paul that after surgery I should do no housework for 10 - 15 years. My kind of doc all right! Then off he went and I got a nice shot of Versed in my IV. Minute 1 - I remember thinking - this is like my first lemondrop. Minute 2 - OUT! Paul said I was mumbling. Then I don't remember a thing until post-op. No nausea, coughing etc.

Surgery took longer than expected - due to scar tissue. You may recall I had opted to keep my ovaries if they looked good. Alas - Mr. Lefty was a dud as it had a cyst. So out it went. Let's hope that was the root of all evil and all pain will now be banished - including my shoulder issues. Before I knew it they wheeled me into a room. A private one with no comatose woman in the other bed (memory from my last surgery).

I was hungry (see my blog from Monday). So I ordered pancakes from room service - still jealous from Monday's breakfast with my buddies. They weren't real good but I ate them anyway. I took a peek at my gut - 3 new holes plus my belly button. I got an ice bag to put on them. I told the nurse I hoped to go home that night.

A tech came in to remove my catheter. Yay! Later I got my IV out. Meanwhile Pablo waited patiently. I was feeling pretty good, and the nurse took out my IV and called the Doc to see if checkout was OK. We got out of there around 9, and stopped by Walgreens for meds. Home at 10:3o. Oh sweet home.

I told Deb I feel about as bad as after one of her tough ab workouts. haha. I'm a little sore when I breath deeply - probably due to them pumping me full of gas to separate my organs. I'm wondering what will happen now that I'm down 1 ovary. Don't see the doc for a month. Today I'm taking it easy. Fingers crossed no infection! Feeling thankful for all the good thoughts and prayers. I'm a lucky gal!

It's clear

I've been on clear fluids today in preparation for tomorrow's removal of my uterus. My date with Dr. Dornbier (above). He'll soon know my guts better than I do. Between today's diet and my guts, can I just say "ick!".

One does not realize how important food really is during each day until one (me) doesn't get to have any. I started out this morning with food in my face, by meeting my buddies for breakfast. It was my own fault as I suggested it, but that was before I realized I didn't get to eat today. We ended up at Family Table instead of S&K, because the latter was closed for vacation.

I tried not to look at my friends' food too closely - cuz it looked pretty yummy. I myself was having lime Jello and coffee with no cream. WTF!?! Who could live like that? Good thing I'm no super model - I could not exist on lettuce leaves. When I got home I had some tea and later splurged on red Jello. For lunch, chicken bouillon with a Popsicle for dessert.

Around 1 PM I began sipping some laxative drink that is like lemon syrup. Yuck. It's making me queasy and I'm sipping slowly. Compared to this slow torture, having my surgery will be an answer to my prayers!

I'm facing a long evening of no food. As I said, I didn't realize how much of my life was spent on the little decisions about what to eat when. It's something we Americans often take for granted. We've got lots of fruit that I'd love to eat. A cheeseburger sounds like heaven. But I'll survive. Next time I check in, I'll be uterus free.

Guy talk

I bet Pablo misses it. Talking 24/7 about sports I mean. Sports talk fills our home when Jud is home. Paul and Jud talk about our beloved ISU Cyclones. Mostly football this time of year. Jud watches all the videos of potential recruits, and pronounces his thoughts on them. Paul asks about position, speed, size etc. Ah the patter of guy talk.

When Amy went to college five years ago, little did I know our home would become a sport stalk mecca. No chick talk at all. Fashion, feelings, emotions - they were all banished. I was living in a house dominated by guys. Basketball, soccer and even baseball talk joined chatter of NFL and NCAA. I can hold my own when it comes to general sports-talk, especially about the Clones.

Sports ran rampant on all TVs in the house too. At times I had to retire to my bedroom just to get a break. I'd read or watch the small TV in there. In the living, when the television did get a break from sports, it was tuned to "Deadliest Catch" or "Dirty Jobs" - shows like that. Though rarely I'd catch Jud watching "Top 100 movies of all time" or but Paul would make up for it by switching to some hunting show, where they whisper a lot and shoot at animals.

So it was always nice when Amy came home and the odds were evened out again. These days it's just Paul and me, and Paul's not much for TV besides Sports Center and games - so I get to be in charge much of the time, except when football starts.

Sometimes I miss the good old days when we argued about the TV.

"Only later did she learn

he kept his best qualities, his wonderful qualities, deeply buried, as if mildly ashamed of them."

Isn't that a great line? It's from the book I just finished - Cemetery Dance, by Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child. It reminds me so much of Paul - at least the Paul I first met, trying to act cool and confident. I believe many people (lot of them men) are guilty of this.

Why is that? Is it not cool in today's America to be kind? It's cool to be a winner. So people are forced to hide their inner good selves in order to come off as a winner.

Ah pretty deep for a Saturday, I know...

My blue heaven

This morning I took a break from my work - yep, workin' at the 'ol home front today. I sat on my deck on a beautiful morning, reading an excellent Douglas Preston, Lincoln Child book. Birds were chirping. A white moth or butterfly fluttered by. Then I heard a hum and looked up to see a female humming bird checking out our flower pots. It must have decided Odie and I looked to iffy and it buzzed off. I don't get that kind of experience at break time during work.

I walked by myself this a.m., cuz we're a car short and I got up to late to ride my bike to walk with my buddies. I thought I'd see them on the walking trail, but I missed 'em somehow. But it gave me a chance to think.

I'm nervous for my upcoming surgery - a hysterectomy schedule for July 28th. I've decided to keep my ovaries - they're still giving it the 'ol college try at pumping out hormones. If they were removed when I have the hysterectomy I would go into immediate menopause. I read about the side effects, and they didn't sound like fun.

Dr. Dornbier, my new gyno/surgeon, asked me (at my pre-surgery meeting) if I was ready for my "date" next Tuesday. I told him it's not a date if I'm unconscious! Unless he's used to slipping roofies to women. He's funny, yet he was very thorough in explaining the risks of this procedure - a Da Vinci Hysterectomy, done by a robot - and the doc of course.

I keep thinking - 1 week from now I'll be on the mend. Fingers crossed.