Looks like the Twenties are on vacation somewhere. There hasn’t been a vehicle in the carport for days.

Just thought I would do an entry before it’s too noisy to concentrate. Saw Dr. G yesterday, and while I have no problem with her and believe that she’s a knowledgeable doctor, I’ve had enough miscommunication and disorganization with her staff, and I told her so online after I got home and spoke with one of her staff that was at lunch when I was at the office.

First, the folliculitis is improving, but she wants me to continue the steroid gel for three more months, applying it twice a week. She said worst-case scenario – and she didn’t mean to scare me – they could do a biopsy. I told her I already had one done a few years ago and it was determined that I didn’t have cancer.

I showed her the product I got for off days to verify that it was what she wanted me to get, and it was. I also asked her if she thought my periods would stop this year since, as she said, they usually stop at 51. She said she couldn’t say for sure. I asked if it were possible if I could still have periods up to 55 and she said she would be concerned if I did. I told her I’m not of Ashkenazi descent, but as she said, my risk of uterine cancer is still higher because of the DES exposure, which I’m almost sorry I mentioned, LOL. However, she said I have an even higher risk of breast cancer. I got all get cancer anytime soon, though, if ever. Just my gut feeling. She understands that we usually know what’s normal for us and what’s not since we’ve lived in our bodies all our lives.

I know. This is why, as I tried to tell my old team of doctors, the type of anxiety I was experiencing back then was not normal for me. Nonetheless, that womanly intuition of mine says everything down there is just fine. I was, however, willing to compromise and go ahead and have the damn surgery in July, even though she assured me she didn’t want me to feel pressured into doing anything I didn’t want to do. I picked July because I had too many appointments between May 4 and June 12. She said something about dilating the cervix and filling the uterus with fluid and that I may have bleeding for a week, and that I would be given prescription Motrin and even Norco as a backup to deal with any pain. A block would be put on the uterus when the procedure was done, too.

Now here’s where all the confusion begins. I told her my biggest problem was all the damn appointments and co-pays. I’ve had more appointments in the last three years than in half my life. I really want these appointments to slow down. They’re a pain in the ass for me, and while Tom can keep himself entertained on his phone while I’m in with the doctors he drives me to, I’d really like to see him be able to take days off just for him. I didn’t get into that much detail with her, but I got my point across. Enough is enough already! My thyroid is treated, I’m working on my cholesterol, and I do appreciate her giving me the steroid gel because I knew all that burning and itching wasn’t normal. I knew there had to be something better out there than the other stuff that only provided temporary relief. But seriously, I’ve had enough!

So I specifically asked her how many appointments the surgery would spawn. She told me that as long as there were no obvious concerns, we could do a phone follow-up. She said she’s never had to admit anyone to the hospital after this type of surgery so that much was good to hear. Never once did she mention a pre-op appointment.

We finished up and went out to the front desk where she told me she would have one of her staff schedule the surgery, but the person was at lunch. So after we grabbed burgers and fries and decided not to browse Goodwill since it was surprisingly crowded despite being in the middle of a workday, I managed to catch her staff by phone. This is when the woman sprung both a pre-op and a post-op appointment on me, thus one appointment multiplying into three, just as they usually do and just as I feared.

I told her (and the doctor online) that the staff told me one thing after the doctor had told me another and therefore I was declining surgery. This isn’t the first time there’s been miscommunication and disorganization within the staff, and I just don’t think it’s necessary anyway.

The doctor told me she hadn’t had a chance to update the staff member when she called me, and that there are always pre-op appointments to give the patient a chance to ask any questions they may have and to sign a consent form. I was under the understanding that this would be done at the outpatient clinic. According to what Tom heard, though, California doesn’t allow this because then the patient doesn’t have time to think it through. Technically, any kind of surgery can kill you. Not everyone wakes up afterward, so there’d always be the chance of being put under and not coming back.

I have more to update on, but I’m kinda tired now, so I’ll do it later.

Later…

I’ve been dragging all day and I’m not sure why. I certainly couldn’t have used enough of the steroid gel to make me tired. Besides, I woke up tired before I used the stuff. I woke up a few hours into my sleep and couldn’t get back to sleep without lorazepam. But even though I didn’t wake up well-rested, I started to feel really drowsy like I might pass out. Then my face felt a bit flushed and my heart started to race. I lay down for about an hour but didn’t sleep. I never felt anxious, though, so I guess it’s just a “peri fit,” as I call it. After a while, I felt really cold. Initially, I felt almost like I wasn’t getting enough air, but the oxygen meter said I was.

At the end of the three months of treatment, I’ll contact the GYN to see if she wants to follow up with me on that, and maybe as a pre-op appointment for surgery. I still need to think about it.

I’m learning what they mean about appreciating things with age. Things we often found annoying when we were younger, like people gazing flirtatiously at me and checking me out. I got this all the time when I was younger but never expected people to notice me in my 50s. I know I’m no ugly duckling, but I’m not exactly Angela Jolie either. I don’t have long legs and full lips. I don’t have smooth, flawless skin. But I am petite, my chest is full and perky thanks to years of exercise, and my eyes and hair are pretty decent. My colorful fashions are eye-catching as well, I suppose.

Anyway, it isn’t so much that people are coming up to me and hitting on me or anything like that. They simply notice me, and I notice them noticing. It definitely boosts the spirit, even if you’re not the least bit interested in those giving you the flirty eye.

I was sitting next to Tom at the GYN’s office when a man came in a door straight across from me. I’m guessing he was in his 40s. He must’ve worked in the building because he went through a door that was only authorized for staff. As soon as he entered the waiting room he smiled at me. Not a friendly, polite kind of smile, but one that clearly said, “Well, don’t you look pretty today?”

Then he crossed the room and disappeared through a door by my chair. A few minutes later he returned, and as he was pulling the outer door open, he glanced back at me and gave me another smile before leaving.

I will admit that my new dress definitely made me feel good and I know it looked good on me, too. The dress itself is really rather simple. It’s just a plain solid pale pink dress. It’s how it fits. The style and color are perfect for my muscular yet slightly curvy body shape. I’d wear it to Stacey just to fuck with her if I was mean, LOL. I suppose that would almost be mean for real, too. She wanted me, but she couldn’t have me and we couldn’t even be just friends. I don’t believe she’d want me for a GF/wife if we were single, but if we were both available for just fun, I think that would be different.

Either way, the point is that I’m getting older yet people are still noticing me, and that’s kind of flattering. It’s like when you’re young you’re only flattered when someone you like checks you out. When you’re older and you know your looks aren’t going to last forever, any man or woman checking you out, even if it’s not in a sexual kind of way, is always nice.

The nurse said I looked really ready for spring, LOL, and she loved it. The gold jewelry I wore complimented the dress well. The GYN liked my floral shoes, and even my toes when she was getting ready to examine me. Oh yeah, I’m fancy from my head right down to my toes, haha. Shiny nail polish and fashionable toe rings.

I’m not sure what triggered them, though not every dream is “triggered” or has any real meaning behind them, but I had a couple of dreams involving Andy. In one of them, Tom and I were staying in his place while he was vacationing somewhere.

In another dream he was homeless. He called me and told me his situation, and despite our past differences I didn’t have the heart to leave him on the streets. I told him to come to our place and he said, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I said. “Despite any mean things I may have said to you when I was pissed, I really do.”

I thought about it when I woke up, and yes, I will always cherish the fond memories I have of some of the fun/funny times we shared. And yes, a part of me will always love him and want nothing but the best for him, but I just can’t see us ever being friends again. We’re simply too different. We used to have a lot in common, but we matured and grew at different levels and in different ways as we aged. We are who we are and that’s that. But no, I wouldn’t leave them on the streets if he called and said he was in Sacramento and homeless.

I had some dream about losing weight, though I still don’t ever expect to lose a significant amount. Maybe when I’m old and dying.

Then I had this weird dream. One of those “legal captivity” dreams. The toilets were exposed to other people. There was no privacy at all. The toilets were these little drawer-like things that you pulled out of the wall. I was trying to figure out how to sit on one, but then I realized I could never feel comfortable enough to pee in front of so many people, nor did I see a way to keep the pee from spilling out since the drawer was at an angle.

I had an idea for a sound machine experiment. YouTube has a lot of 10-hour nature sound videos, but I can’t find any nearly that long on Amazon Prime. If I can pick one I think would be suitable enough from YouTube, then record it, then upload it to Alexa, I’d like to see if I can sleep to that. Then I wouldn’t need an alarm clock because I could just ask her what time it was, and she would then stop her sound and tell me. Same with if I needed an alarm; she’ll stop the nature sounds or whatever it is I pick, then sound the alarm.

Tom did a much better job putting cellophane on the face of the alarm clock than the sloppy job I did, but he only put 4 layers on and it’s still too bright.