It's My Potty, and I'll Cry if I Want To . . .
10:30 P.M. "After the lovin'..."
I guess it's only reasonable to give y'all an update on how things went. Not bad; just not as well as I'd hoped. The symptoms are beyond those mentioned often in the comments, the "burning" with which you
sluts good people all seem so well-acquainted. The doc recommends a "procedure" which involves the insertion of a camera into a place where no camera was ever supposed to go (insert pathetic whimper here). But that won't happen until January 23rd. So until then, unless parts of me burst and fly around the room, I won't trouble you further with symptomology, because, what IS this, the whiny blog of some middle-aged woman with pee troubles? I think NOT!
I've always been "Ms. I-like-my-privacy" on here, and I must say, I've had moments of regret at having posted what I did today. But dammit, I wanted some wishes, and it would have been disingenuous to just party without letting you know that it's a weird birthday I've got here this time. And maybe more than being about privacy, I want to be about being genuine. PLUS, if I hadn't told you, I wouldn't have gotten those songs, and those wishes, that absolutely made a tough day easier. You are good people. This blogging is a good thing. Thank you for helping me today. I'll let you know what happens after the tests later in the month. Until then, if you think of it, slip my name in your prayers. Thank you again.
Here it is again. A birthday. My birthday!
I know what you're thinking. You're wondering, "Hmmm, how does Susie plan to spend her birthday..." (work with me). Well, I'll tell you. I'm going to do something I've never done before. I, Susie, will be visiting today with a Eurologist. That's right. There is more than a little bit of self-deception at work here (that's nothing new for middle-aged folk and birthdays), because I am choosing to misspell the title of the person with whom I shall be spending the afternoon.
If I call him a Eurologist, I can tell myself that he's someone knowledgeable about Europe; I can pretend that he's sort of a travel agent. Not a thing wrong with visiting a travel agent on one's birthday. If I weren't being delusional-by-choice today, I would leave the "E" off his title, and admit to myself and to you that I'll be spending my birthday afternoon with a . . . come closer, I have to whisper, with a peepeedoc. And surely you agree, there is something very wrong with spending one's birthday in the company of a peepeedoc. (Unless, of course, you ARE a peepeedoc, or your significant other is; in that case, my apologies to you.)
I will not go into detail as to the whys and wherefores of this visit. Suffice it to say that scary and unpleasant symptoms developed during the holidays that could not be diagnosed nor treated by my family docs. Hence, they said, "We must send you off to the Eurologist to determine why you have such trouble when European!" (OK, I'm killin' myself with that one!)
Serious Susie, age 4
Gift certificates for eyebrow waxing will be accepted
Alright, I told y'all that so you would feel sufficiently sorry for me that you would do my bidding today. It is, after all, my birthday, and I believe that gives me the right to be a little bossy (-er than usual). All I want is for you to wish me some wishes. BUT. There's a catch.
I want you to wish me some wishes in the form of song lyrics.
A line, a verse, whatever. Funny, serious, insulting, oldies, newies, original compositions, funk, bluegrass, crap, I don't care. I'm a BIG MEDICAL CHICKEN, and it will help my anxiety about today's goings-on, if y'all will sing to me. AND -- "Happy Birthday to you" does NOT COUNT.
Silly Susie, age 4
Definitely capable of delusions.
Such as, "My jumper is of an acceptable length."
Ready? And a one, and a two . . .
UPDATE: It's August95's birthday, too! Go wish her some wishes, and show her your buttcrack (don't ask me; ask her, I'm not getting involved in that sort of thing).