Blowin’ the Stink Off

I’ve had a bad case of the winter blues the past few days. Not only has it been cold and rainy and gray here in North Georgia, but something about taking down the Christmas decorations and opening up those post-holiday credit card bills just sucks the will to live right outta me. 

Not only that, but my dear friend Patty just lost her mother to a 22-month battle with pancreatic cancer. Yesterday was the visitation and service and it was just heartbreaking. The service was beautiful though – a true celebration of a wonderful life well-lived. 

I haven’t been to many funerals in my life, kinehora (ya’ll, that is Yiddish for “knock on wood”), but going to one always scrambles my eggs for a few days, and not in a good way. Especially if it is an open casket. Lawd. That always shakes me to the core. Those standardized tests in high school that told me I would be a good mortician were just flat out wrong. 

Coming to grips with our mortality is just hard. Plain and simple. But a good funeral can be just the ticket to get you off your ass and get you on the road to a better life. 

My friend Patty handled her Mom’s passing with such dignity, grace, and love. It was truly an honor to witness. The four grandchildren all made special treasures to place in the casket with her – painted rocks and a signed baseball. Patty even did her Mom’s makeup and hair that morning, herself, because she knew exactly how her Mama would want to look. She was laid to rest in a gorgeous white nightie that she had chosen herself when she knew her time was near. I was just blown away by the love and loss of this great lady. 

It was a very emotionally draining day. But it made me want to come home and live the fullest life I can carve out for myself… to be a better wife, mom, daughter, sister, friend, neighbor, and parishioner. Made me feel grateful for the healthy life I’ve lived so far and made me want to take steps to ensure that I can stay healthy in the years to come. And it made me want to stop watching Bret Michael’s Rock of Love Bus on Sunday nights on VH1. Seeing 20 slutty silicone-augmented women fight over an aging has-been rock star is just not contributing one iota to my goals for leading a fuller life… even if the episode where that skank stuck a shot glass in her vajayjay and then was (surprisingly) not invited to continue on the tour was mildly entertaining in a “I-just-saw-a-train-wreck-and-can’t-avert-my-eyes-from-the-carnage-lying-next-to-the-tracks” kind of way. Ewwww. 

So, yeah. I need to make some changes ’round here if I’m going to break out of this winter funk and live a fuller life.

And that brings me to my tip for the day. It is Tuesday after all and you know I love to share simple advice for better living in my semi-regular “Just the Tip Tuesday” columns. 

My advice today is to go outside and “blow the stink off.” That is what one of my favorite Aunties likes to call the simple act of taking a walk. If you just go outside and take a walk, it is amazing how much better you will feel. It clears your head, gets your heart pumping, releases those feel-good endorphins that help you to keep on keeping-on. It’s all good. 

I just got back from blowing the stink off with Bucket Head and I tell you what, I feel like a million pesos… which is much better than I felt an hour ago. It’s a journey… we’ll work up to a million dollars. One stink at a time.

Supersize THIS!

Don’t you just love a Gyno with a sense of humor?  I had my annual pap smear today, and it was surprisingly not unpleasant. And do you know why?  Because my new midwife Rachel is a hoot!  We spent the first five minutes joking about how totally ineffective super-plus tampons are for women who have cranked out a few kids and have cavernous holes where their vaginas used to be.  At one point, we were laughing so hard, my cheeks started to cramp up (face cheeks, not ass). You know you are damn comfortable with a healthcare provider if you can verbally contemplate the notion of inserting a full roll of paper towels as a tampon. Too bad I would probably still need a pad. Honestly, whoever invented the super-plus size clearly hasn’t had any kids. How ’bout Super-Sizing THAT? Good Lord, women don’t need any more french fries or an extra patty of meat on our burgers!  We need more absorption from our tampons!  And while you’re at it, Super-Sizing Gods, could you please make something larger than a Venti sized latte?  How ’bout a 32 ounce cup-holder shaped vat like the “Big Gulp” at 7-Eleven? Sleep deprived mothers of young children need caffeine and lots of it.  Throw us a bone, dammit.    

So back to me and my legs-in-the-stirrups-laugh-fest today.  While Rachel and I were ranting about our heavy periods, she asked: “Have you considered the NuvaRing?”  

“Huh?  Nuva-what?” 

“NuvaRing!  It’s the best!  It is a plastic ring that you just insert in your vagina once a month. It’s birth control, but it is also great for managing your periods.  You can keep it in for three weeks, take it out for one week, and have a normal period, or you can keep it in all month and skip your period.  That is what I do.” 

“GET OUT!  That sounds FABULOUS!  No period?!  I didn’t know you could do that! Is it like the pill? I can’t do the pill.  Last time I took that shit I gained 10 pounds, got acne, and went on a shooting spree at a playground.  Not good.”

“No, I can’t do the pill either…that’s why I like the NuvaRing.”  Rachel said.  

“But is it like that SNL skit about the birth control where you only get one period a year and have to ‘hold onto your fucking hat!’ because the one period is so bad that anyone who gets in your way dies a violent death?” I pushed.

“No, not at all!  It is wonderful. I have no complaints. But do the research and call me. If you want to try it, I can phone one into your pharmacy whenever you want.” 

“So it is birth control, AND period management medication? And it’s safe? And you like it? Oh snap. You mean my husband didn’t have to have that vasectomy after all?”  Ooops. Shhhh. Nobody tell him, k?  

Oh, one more thing Rachel told me about the NuvaRing before she got all up in my goodie basket for a look-see: she said you should probably notify your partner that it is in there because it can just pop right out during sex! OK, that might be a deal breaker. Or not. I don’t know…that might be kinda cool actually. Like the prize in the bottom of the Cracker Jack box. Do a good job and you’ll be rewarded with a surprise! Not that a plastic ring flying out of your hoo-hoo like an alien spacecraft would be the kind of prize most men want. But maybe, if you play it just right, it could be fun, like a ring-toss game! Ooooh, I know… see if you can shoot the ring onto the pole! BONUS ROUND, anyone?!   

But I digress. So the appointment went well. My womanly parts are all functioning as they should. And I came home to research the NuvaRing®.

First I asked a couple of friends. One loved it. The other one said she had a hard time getting it in and keeping it in. And that woman watches Oprah, so I know she is familiar with the difference between a vulva, a vagina, and a very angry A-Hole.  I highly doubt she was putting it in the wrong place, and she’s only had C-Sections, so I would think she’d be able to keep a little plastic doohickey up there (lucky bitch).   

Then I turned to my other best friend… the Internet. Here’s what I found. First off, NuvaRings are pricey: about $45 each. That’s way more money than tampons. In this economy, definitely something to consider. But more importantly, there is a whole salad bar of potential side effects:   

• Vaginal infections and irritation
• Vaginal secretion
• Headache
• Weight gain
• Nausea
• Vomiting
• Change in appetite
• Abdominal cramps and bloating
• Breast tenderness or enlargement
• Irregular vaginal bleeding or spotting
• Changes in menstrual cycle
• Temporary infertility after treatment
• Fluid retention (edema)
• Spotty darkening of the skin, particularly on the face
• Rash
• Weight changes
• Depression
• Intolerance to contact lenses
• Nervousness
• Dizziness
• Loss of scalp hair

Excuse me? Loss of scalp hair? Intolerance to contact lenses? Rash? Vomiting? Weight gain? Headache? Oh…of course! I see. Brilliant. Nobody with any sense would want to ride a fat, bald, rashy, coke-bottle glasses wearing, depressed, nervous, spotty-skinned vomiter. Birth control? Check. (And no wonder I was the only virgin in my incoming college freshman class!…late bloomer.) 

Nope. No can do. I already HAVE depression, nervousness, and spots on my face from my last three pregnancies. I’ll just deal with periods for the next 15 years. Looks like that vasectomy was the right decision after all. Thanks hon! ‘Preciate it.

Oh, THOSE Sexual Side Effects!

Good news/bad news.  The good news is that the cocktail of antidepressants I’ve been on for two weeks seems to be working!  I’m not nearly as negative and overwhelmed as I was a few weeks ago.  Can I get an AMEN?!  The bad news is the cavalcade of side effects.  Apparently that is the big trade off.  Feel better mentally, feel worse physically.  

Well I found out the hard way what all those antidepressant commercials mean by “sexual side effects.”  I always wondered…what is that?  When they say “low risk of sexual side effects,” does that mean you are less likely to start humping inanimate objects or suddenly have a penchant for bestiality?  No – it is nothing like that.  Sexual side effects specifically means loss of libido (so what’s new?), inability to get an erection (men) or attain sufficient lubrication (ladies), and/or an inability to achieve an orgasm.  (Insert sound of screeching tires and crashing car)  Stop right there, Dr. Feelgood.  Excuse me?  If I am gonna clean up my nether-regions, get all sweaty, and soil my sheets, there needs to be some kind of a prize at the end.  This is not a free lunch, dammit.  I’m no psychiatrist, but I’m willing to wager that having orgasms would actually be conducive to treating clinical depression.  And the more the merrier, eh?  So why on God’s green Earth would I want to take away one of the few rays of sunshine in my life?  Talk about depressing.  Sheesh.  This alone may be worth going off the meds.  But wait, there’s more.    

In addition to not being able to reach the top of tingle-mountain, I am also incredibly constipated.  This is a problem.  I’m a big fan of pooping.  I am normally as regular as the pedophiles at church every Sunday.   Missing a chance to drop the kids at the pool each morning is a major drawback.  I am quite fond of my daily release of the hostages, or as my friend JB calls them, Chattahoochee Brown Trout.  And keeping all that stinky poo-poo inside you for so long leads to the next unpleasant side effect: gas.  

Remember the campfire scene in Blazing Saddles?  Worse. Way worse.  Lord have mercy!  I’m as gassy as the Alaska pipeline.  You know your farts are lethal when even the dog leaves the room.  And my trusty canine companion usually appreciates the smell of my junk.  But lately he has been steering clear of me and my deadly beef darts.  So sad! These farts are like nothing I have ever smelled before, which is how I know they are a product of the strange chemicals I’m ingesting everyday.  I know, it is truly awkward to hear a lady with such a pretty floral name like Iris discussing her flatulence.  But let’s get one thing clear people: I’m no lady. So back to the paint-peelers.  Even my feisty daughter, who loves a good “pull my finger” joke, won’t play along.  She’s all, “Whoa, Mama…was that YOU?!  I thought maybe the doggie ate another frog. Remember that?  That was double gross.” And my clever 8 year old told me the other day, “Mom, it’s called Beeno. Look into it.”  Seriously, I’ve smelled road-kill more pleasant than these SBDs.  And this brings us back to the issue of sexual side effects…there is nothing that will ruin the mood or spoil your ability to achieve a good old fashioned toe-curler like an unintentional dutch oven.  Sorry about that last one honey…I’ll lay off the cabbage.    

In terms of other unpleasant side effects, there is also dry mouth, dizziness, and headaches.  Is this shit an antidepressant or birth control?  Damn!  ’Cause there is definitely no baby-makin’ goin’ on in my house right now.  I’m also experiencing some ear-clogging when I exercise, but that might just be a hygiene issue. Have I mentioned that I’m a mother of three with very poor time management skills?  

So anyhoooo, now we just have to sit tight and wait.  Will the improved mental health be enough to compensate for all these crazy side effects?  Or will my new sense of optimism be blown asunder by all the wafting?  And will my dog run away in search of a fresher fanny?  You have questions. I have answers. Tune in next time for another riveting episode of The Bearded Iris: Battling Depression from the Bottom Up.  

 

And speaking of farts…this is just pee-your-pants-funny.  
LOVE her honest reaction!  These Canadian Judges are priceless.  
As if Mike Meyers and Seth Rogen aren’t proof enough: Canucks are naturally funny. Must be in the water.  
And that is a good thing, because if McCain wins, we are moving there.

Crazy Magnet

I am a magnet for crazy people.  Today I went to a new dentist for a routine cleaning and checkup.  It was beyond bizarre, even for me.  

Here are the highlights.  After I filled out all the new patient forms and was fully reclined in the coldest room I’ve ever experienced, the hygienist says, “I just want to go over your info with you….it says here that you are not currently taking any medications.”  (Oh crap!  Does she know I’m lying?!)  

So I swallow and very calmly state, “Yes, that’s right, athough I am hoping to start taking some prescription drugs in the very near future.” (yeah! make it a joke – she’ll never see through that!)  

“Really?” (nervous laugh) “Like what?”

“Massive truckloads of anti-depressants,” I reply sarcastically. (phew, I’m in the clear)

“Oh!  I’m on Lexapro!” my hygienist whispers unapologetically, and a little too close for my liking.  ”I had a really hard time getting pregnant and I think it really messed with my hormones, and then one day, I’m at the gyno, and wham-bam, I just start crying!  The next thing I know, she’s handing me all kinds of free samples!  But nothing I’ve tried seems to work, so maybe I should see a psychiatrist.  Is that what you do?  See a psychiatrist?  That’s a really good idea. You know, I’m starting to think that my gyno is probably just handing out whatever the drug reps have recently dropped off and that she doesn’t really know what any of the meds actually do.  Do you know what I mean?  I have a good friend who’s a nurse and she thinks I’m bipolar, but really highly functioning.  One of the meds I tried made me so crazy I didn’t sleep for 6 days!  But by the seventh day I was so tired that I couldn’t take it anymore, so I went off it.  Now I’m on Lexapro, but I don’t think it is working.”  

At this point, my spider senses are tingling and telling me to get the hell out of there, but I’m reclined and covered with a blanket, and a truly captivating segment on The View about Dog Grooming with Joy Behar has me glued to my seat.  So naturally, this is when Heidi Hygienist reaches into a drawer and pulls out a very sharp metal instrument, supposedly for scraping. And I am lying there thinking, do I really want a supposedly-highly-functioning-improperly-medicated-sleep-deprived-bipolar-person-with-hormone-problems hacking away in my mouth with a sharp tool?  No, I do not.  But what can I do?  I am stuck!  She is scraping away and asking me if I drink coffee or red wine. (“Yessh,” I incoherently whimper).  But it doesn’t end there…as she’s working, she stops periodically and just blurts things out like, “GOD!  I feel so stupid!  Of course a gyno doesn’t know anything about brain chemistry!”  (scrape, scrape, scrape) And, “Do you have depression and anxiety?  I do!  I get so mad sometimes I just feel like I’m going to explode.”  (and she makes this rage-face like I do when I catch my five year old coloring the carpet with my new lipstick).  I am scared for my teeth and my life.  

Eons later, the dentist finally appears.  He greets me quickly and peers into my mouth.  Less than two minutes later he leaves and informs the hygienist that he needs me to come back for a longer appointment so he can do some diagnostics.  Looks like a root canal is in my near future…but definitely not at that place. So I’m back to shopping for a new dentist again.  I wonder if I can specify Only hygienists who have passed a rigorous psych screening at 1-800-DENTIST.