Hitting the Fan.

Well, we’re in it. My little pooper is in the grips (in more ways than one) of what we hope will be his final colon roto-rooter for a while. He’s off the Ibuprofen and is walking around in agony. It makes my own stomach lurch to watch his face all twisted up in pain like that. (I offered to have him rub my feet to take his mind off of it. But he declined. Huh.) At this point, he’d happily chug some holly-go-lightly versus the madness of a Dulcolax and magnesium citrate cocktail. Between the searing ass pain, the trips to the pooper and now the persistent urge to puke, I think he’d opt for some of that anesthesia — STAT. I think the shit has finally, officially, unequivocally HIT THE FAN.

We spent the last couple of days blowing it out with the inlaws. Big feast for the fourth. A night out at Salt for cocktails and then The Kitchen for a last real meal via Community Night. And lots of expensive wine. But now I have this pit in my stomach as I dole out emails like candy and shift off everything work-wise to those around me. The days ahead have blurred together into this fuzzy hole of unknown-ness. It’s real people. My husband has cancer. Here’s what else I know:

1. I know for a fact that he will be okay.
2. I know that I will be okay.
3. I know that I’ve talked about poop more than I ever thought possible.
4. I know that it sucks watching him — with his tremendous love of food — not being able to eat.
5. I know that they’d better freakin’ fix his a-hole pain or I’ll will instantly become a pain in theirs.
6. I know that impending cancer surgery can light a fire under your ass and get you to rearrange the outdoor furniture that you’ve been meaning to for weeks.
7. I know that — regardless of what I may think — my head will most certainly not explode.
8. I know that we may actually get back to life as we once knew it (give or take a few lessons learned) in the not too distant future.
9. I know that my husband is not the boss of me and I WILL SLEEP ON A COT IN HIS ROOM AS LONG AS I WANT TO. Dammit.

So that’s where we are. We head to Lutheran Medical in Wheat Ridge tomorrow morning to check in at 7am. The surgery is scheduled to start at 9. But we now know that an emergency could bump us back. We know a lot now that we didn’t know before. So much wiser. Wise-ass and Smart Ass.

Then the world is our oyster. We could recline in the lap of luxury for almost two weeks or get kicked to the curb in 4 days. It all depends on the pooper’s poop shoot. Will it remember how to shovel out the shit, or will it decide to take a little siesta? I’m assuming you’ll all be on the edge of your seats in anticipation of the outcome. I know I will.

I told the hubby how nice it was of him to arrange this romantic get-away to scenic Wheat Ridge. How can a girl be more lucky? A few nights alone — sans kids — in our own suite with room service, DVD player and Wi-Fi. And someone to change your shit bag. So cool. I never thought my 40th birthday year would be just this special.

And in the meantime, little Lady Lou is pooping up a storm in solidarity since she gets the pooper scope tomorrow. Lucky her. Though I am so sure that if she receives a special invite to the bad room afterwards, she will politely decline. Smart Ass has taught her a thing or two.

The next big thing will be another waiting game. Pathology FUN 101. All I can say is it better come back clear as a bell or I’ll be demanding a refund.

But I’ll be in great hands as I sit and wring my sweaty palms and fan my stinky armpits in the direction of Shan’s nose for entertainment. The g-ps will have the girls until hand-off to the Brents so they can come see their son all doped up. Then Purse Girl will come home from PAR-TAY in O-HI-O in time to spoon me on the cot. It’ll all be right as rain. We’ll even put on some dirty music while the hubby’s still on morphine to see how he reacts. Do you think the doc will agree to a little Luda in the surgery suite?

And I found out this morning that the dog needs surgery too. One at a time. One at a time. Take a number. Seriously.

But now my stomach’s growling and I need to go sneak some food while the hubby’s not watching. Hasta manana.

TODAY’S THEME SONG: I’m Sticking With You. Velvet Underground. I'm sticking with you. 'Cos I'm made out of glue. Anything that you might do. I'm gonna do too.