Holy Stoltz, it's been a long time since I last blogged. It's not that I've been lazy, I can assure you of all that.

A couple of months ago, I developed a pain in my back that was higher up and between my shoulder blades. It was like a twisting knife in my spine. I chalked it up to stress, heaven knows there's no shortage of that around here. I had a few Facebook friends recommend that I get my gallbladder checked out. I put it off for a little bit because I thought that was something that happened to older people. Bear in mind, my only prior experience with gallstones was when my aunt had them when I was a kid...and everyone seemed OLDER then!

I went to my regular doctor. He was worried it may be a massive kidney infection. But then decided it might be viral. He pushed around and found a tender spot on my belly. He knew I had the localized back pain. But he sent me to get my kidneys x-rayed.

Well. Everything came back fine. His nurse called me on a Friday to let me know the cultures came back clear. I explained that I was still hurting, but she told me if I had any problems to call Urgent Care. Way to go making your patients feel like you care about them! I decided that was my last dealing with this doctor. He had treated me like a hypochondriac for a couple of years now and I simply got tired of it.

I went to another doctor on the recommendation of another good friend of mine. He concluded it may be musculoskeletal (sp?) and sent me on my way with anti-inflammatory meds and pain pills. But the pain never really went away. I saw him the next day and finally suggested that he check out my gallbladder. I had all of the textbook symptoms. So he sent me to get a scan of my gallbladder.

It was so bad, that I was immediately admitted into the hospital. Once I got into the room, it took 4 nurses to get my IV in because I was so dehydrated from not having any water for about 36 hours. I had two of them tell me my skin is particularly tough and hard to get through. What could I say? I'm an artist, I'm rough on them. I just knew that as long as the IV wasn't in, nothing was happening, so I tried hard not to panic.

The surgery was on the second day. I really do like my surgeon, Dr. Ipapo. I trusted him implicitly. I can remember an injection in my IV, then it was lights out. When I came to, I felt really bad. I reached down and immediately knew that the surgery was not laproscopic, I could feel the big wound left across my abdomen. (And imagine my surprise when one of my nurses asked if I had had a mastectomy! It's like, "Woman, did you READ my chart!?!")

From there it got worse. I realized that had stuck a tube in me to drain bile. Ick. Not fun. Then I was told that because there was so much infection and inflammation, that I would need a stint to make sure the bile goes where it should. The only problem was that it was a bank holiday weekend and no one was around to put in a stint. I was complaining to a nurse about it and she brought this gastrointestinal Dr in to talk (chastise). This Dr explained that my surgeon had called her late the night before trying to set up this stint thingy and that I should be glad that someone who isn't even on call would come in and do it. Yes, thank my lucky stars...and I'm so sorry to inconvenience you. You're a doctor, you save lives, you get calls at all hours...deal with it. She walked out while I was yelling at her.

Around midnight that same night, I got the call that they were ready to put in the stint. I can remember being wheeled down to the ground floor and seeing the stint Dr. As I was wheeled into the operating room, the nurse asked the anesthesiologist how he was. In a very rude manner, he replied that he was tired because he had been there since the morning, blah blah blah. Made me feel like shit. So I told him that I had been trying to think of a way to thank everyone who had helped me, because I had been in so much pain before, then I started crying. He changed his tune then and explained that he was here for me...blah blah.

The bitch about stints is that they have to be removed at some point too.

That procedure went well. And almost every day I was sent to get a CT scan or X-ray. Turns out that I had a LOT of fluid building up on the right side of my body. My diaphragm apparently got punctured during the surgery and I had fluid above it and below it. Guess what, I needed a new drainage tube and bag coming out of me. Wooo. Not. This one was placed while I was in a CT machine and it hurt SO much...like lots of pins and needles. I was convinced when it was over that I had needles in me...it felt so bad.

I can't remember when, but sometime, I got a PICC (peripherally inserted central catheter) in my upper left arm. It had to be done by a cardiologist and it's like a super-IV that goes straight to your heart, but would actually reduce the number of times I'd have to be stuck if I had blood drawn. Blood could be taken directly from the PICC. Meds can also be injected into it like a regular IV. At one point it was scary, I had two IV stands with stuff and sooooo many lines leading into the PICC that I my arm looked like a keychain with too many keys hanging off.

Then there was the fateful night that I had a massive amount of pain that took my breath and jump-started respiratory distress. I was moved to another floor to an intensive care kinda ward. I was there for a week. Had more scans, more x-rays...then it was decided that I needed a lung puncture to drain some fluid out of my right lung. It's called sympathetic fluid, but there's nothing sympathetic about it.

The day that was scheduled, my nurse had a student nurse at her side the entire shift. The student was so nice that she offered to go with me for the puncture, if it was allowed. She walked by me as I was wheeled to the room where it's done and she stood in front of me as I had to sit upright and held onto me so I wouldn't freak out too much.

At this point I'd like to take a minute to say that I was terrified of having anything done to my lung. I had cartoonish/nightmarish ideas of what could happen and it really messed with me.

They did the puncture on my back and through my ribs. It was kinda high, up towards my shoulder. He injected lidocaine first to numb the area...which is really a joke since it only numbs the surface and does absolutely nothing about the feeling of a foreign object entering your lung. Then the liquid was essentially vacuumed out. Pretty gross. But my student nurse rocked and I don't think it would have gone as smoothly without her.

I kept having spasms around the area where the tube/drain on my side was. It hurt so much and was toe-curling.

After about a week, I was moved back up to the floor I was on before. That was a good sign of improvement. I was on a million antibiotics, IV nutrients, treatment for what may have been a fungal infection, potassium and I had to take meds to try to restore the "good" bacteria that is in the digestive system. It was all so odd and seemed contradictory.

Then there was this horrible day. My Dr told me that there was more fluid in my lung and this time, I needed a chest tube. And it was going to be done right then and there, in my room. I freaked. I was like a wild animal backed into a corner. They ended up giving me 14 units of morphine, but honestly, I didn't feel a bit of the morphine. Adrenaline is powerful stuff.

My bed got raised up very high. I had two nurses at my left side, two at my feet and my surgeon at my right side. There was nothing I could do. Again, wimpy lidocaine was injected to help, but of course it didn't. It was a pain that was like anything I have never experienced before. And then the tube has to be pushed in more...more. Then stitches to keep it there. And this tube is not small...about and inch wide. All I can remember is primal screaming and nurses trying to talk to me and get me to breathe properly. Like I'm going to chit chat after I've been shanked...really?

The chest tube was a whole new beast. I couldn't really walk anywhere because the box the fluid drained into was taped to the floor. Quite handicapping. I guess the tube was in for 2 or 3 days. Then it was time to take it out. Surely it couldn't be worse than putting it in...right? WRONG!! I was told to breathe in...then when I exhaled they yanked it out quite forcefully and threw it on the floor. Then they yanked the drainage tube that was in my belly. That was particularly gross because I could feel it...it was like a worm or a snake was wiggling through my guts. Ick.

I made sure not to look at the stuff they left in my room, including the chest tube. I told a nurse all that stuff had to be gone by the time I got back from getting an x-ray. I just can't believe they left stuff all over.

I am amazed that with technology and all of the advancements in medicine, so many procedures are still so barbaric and brutal.

My days and nights were spent watching CNN and Bravo. I rotted my brain cells on every Housewives show there is. I had to be careful about what I ate and as you can imagine, hospital food isn't always the best. I was in almost constant pain. And about 2 weeks in, I just couldn't get comfortable in those hospital beds. I had many restless nights.

The only thing that ever helped were the shots of dilaudid. I would look forward to my shot every time it was ready. You get a nice fuzzy warm feeling and since it would be injected into my PICC, my heart would be one of the first things to get warm. There was a taste that came along with it, but I cannot describe it. I knew that once I had dilaudid, I would have about 2 hours of peace. Pain meds were administered every 4 hours though, so the pain always came back. But there was a little peace.

Slowly but surely, my Dr got me off my IVs. And then one day, I was deemed healthy enough to go home. Sure, I was going to still have to have a nurse at home...and we had the oxygen delivered in case I needed it, so it wasn't really the same as being at home.

I went through a period where I cried multiple times a day. I feel like I must have something similar to post-traumatic stress syndrome. And I don't know if I'll ever drink Coke, Sprite or ginger ale again.

My other drainage tube got removed about a week after I was released. That was a big relief. Nothing to make you feel like an old fart like a bag of your bodily fluids velcroed to you.

Now, my scars are healing. I can breathe alright...have to slow down a lot if I get winded. But I still have a lot of pain at the chest tube site. It's right at the side of my breast, so my ribs are sore, there is sore breast tissue...my side feels like it's been kicked. I was taken off narcotics, but the new meds don't do anything. I'm picking up something new tonight, so I hope that helps.

So, if you've wondered where I've been or what I've been up to...I spent 3 weeks in the hospital and have been at home, recuperating ever since.

Not a whole lot has happened. I am still having sweats and chills. The place where my back hurts still hurts. (Feels like trapped gas or a place that needs popped but won't pop.) While I am not sore all over from the vomiting anymore, my stomach feels like I've eaten glass since I've eaten so little lately.

I have decided I'm not very thrilled with the response from my Dr. yesterday. A while back he started treating me like a hypochondriac and apparently hasn't stopped. My Mom suggested I come back and the woman I see up here later this week, because she has gone to Africa for some program to help others abroad. I may do that. I really like her, she is no nonsense.

This all really stinks. I need to be at the top of my game this week with Tate starting school. I've had to cancel a couple of business meetings I am trying to reschedule. It's all just very frustrating.

Okay, what's wrong with me? This is not a question that warrants quirky, witty, smartass comments that I would usually find funny. I feel so bad right now, it would most likely upset me.

If you've read my previous blog, you know I've had a trying week. The Dr. was afraid I may have kidney stones, so I got x-rays, no signs of kidney stones.

But my body is still sore all over, I can only guess from all the vomiting I was doing. I am still running a low grade fever and keeping sweats and chills.

I called my Dr. today for more insight, but they said that the urine culture came back clean, yet they still want me to finish the Cipro, just in case. And she said if I got worse, then I should just go to urgent care. I realize it's Friday and all, but this just came across like they are done with me...after all, "the doctor does have you on Cipro, meds for pain, meds for nausea and meds for sleep." What more could a girl ask for? I dunno, perhaps to find out what the cause of all this mess is? Tate starts school next week and I've got to be at the top of my game.

I'm very frustrated and worried...and sweaty.

So, on Monday morning I woke up with a nagging pain between my shoulder blades. It kinda felt like trapped gas or like I needed to pop my back or something. But no matter how I contorted myself, no popping. And I tool Tums and Gas-X for good measure, but no relief there either.

As the evening wore on, the pain grew increasingly worse...to the point it made me nauseated. I couldn't keep anything in my stomach and developed a fever. I didn't measure it, I was just going from the chills and sweats I was having.

I didn't sleep much that night. And Tuesday morning, while dry heaving, I decided to go see the Dr.

So, I went. He said they would check my urine for any signs of a UTI and then they'd do bloodwork if nothing showed up in the urine. The white blood cell count was slightly elevated. But what concerned him more was the amount of blood in it. (I didn't really notice anything out of the ordinary, visually. And no it's not that time in my cycle at the moment, either.) He said that since I had a low-grade fever of 100.6 that he'd go ahead and treat me for a UTI. He prescriped Cipro for that. Vicodin for pain. Phenergan for nausea and Ambien for sleep...Restoril was really not working for me.

He also sent me to get an x-ray because he was concerned I may have kidney stones. But a few hours later, I learned that no stones showed up on the x-ray.

For now, my back still hurts and I am sore all over from the vomiting. It feels like I've eaten glass, so I'm very cautious when I eat. I'm still having sweats and chills.

So, what's your take on this?

Well, it's happened. I'm almost 36 and I've figured out what I want to do with my life.

Sure, I will still pursue make-up and photography, but it's not that easy to make these things a career when it is such a highly competitive field. There's a lot of feast or famine. And I really just need a steady, fulfilling meal. (Of course, after my last blog, I should probably say a low-fat, healthy meal!)

Last weekend, we loaded up the kids and went to Charleston, SC. Dominic had a conference there, so we tagged along. The kids and I went to the aquarium, we all went to the open market, Folly Beach, then on Tuesday we went to the Children's Museum of the Lowcountry. Http://www.explorecml.org

This place ROCKED! It is an educational experience dressed up in the garb of a huge indoor play area! There are themed rooms and it's all designed for kids up through the age of 12. There's an art room with table after table of art supplies to dig into. There's a room that is a castle, complete with stonework, a second level, spiral stairs, dress up stuff, a puppet theater, a medieval kitchen...it was insanely detailed. Publix grocery store sponsors a mini grocery store, complete with check out areas and computers that scan the products. There's a water room with tons of things to do to get nice and messy, fortunately, smocks are provided and there is a set up to show the cycle of water...you know, evaporation to clouds to rain...that sort of thing. I could go on and on about this place. There's an area for toddlers. A big shrimping boat with nets, steering wheels, a mini kitchen and floors that wobble when you walk, to simulate the movement of a boat in the ocean.

For me, it was so exciting to see a place that was completely hands on! There really wasn't much that was off limits for the kids. There were tons of kids running around, using their imaginations...it's such a pleasant change from seeing kids with gameboys securely fastened in their clutches.

So it got me thinking. There really isn't anything like this in Charlotte. There is Discovery Place, which is more scientifically hands on. And there is Imaginon, which combines a public library and the Children's Theater. BUT there is nothing like this.

I plan on touring some of the other Children's Museums around. There is one in Winston-Salem, Wilmington and Myrtle Beach. I've been going over their websites comparing and contrasting with the one in Charleston.

The wheels are turning! I am fortunate enough to know lots of creative people and many teachers who can provide input. And my husband has a good idea of who I need to plan to talk to about sponsorships. But there is so much to do. I need a lawyer who specializes in non-profit organizations. I need to really research these other museums and the demographics of Charlotte. When I think about all I need to do, it's very scary. This is a huge project I never would've dreamed of undertaking. But it combines my love of kids and art and I can't help but think that it wouldn't be anything but completely worth it and totally gratifying.

Let me preface this blog by saying that I will be speaking very frankly. I may even be considered offensive by some. I apologize if this is the case, but I'm a fat chick and I am allowed to be blunt, honest and realistic about it. I'm not condoning being ultra-thin or skinny. I am condoning being healthy.

I'd also like to add that I am not fishing for compliments. People tell me I am pretty and I appreciate that, I really do. But I can look in a mirror...I can see what I look like. I know that if I were more healthy I could feel and look better than I ever have.

On my vacation in the wild west, I got a wild hair when I was at the Ubehebe volcanic crater in Death Valley and decided to take the vertical 1/2 mile hike up to the smaller crater on the side of the volcano, called Little Hebe. It was very tough. It didn't help that I had on hiking sandals and not closed toe shoes, rocks were all in them. But I huffed and puffed and felt my heart beating out of my chest like it was going to pop...on more than one occasion. I stopped at two different points and almost decided to quit. I can remember calling down to my husband and kids saying that I just didn't know if I could do it. I was really scared I was going to have a heart attack or something.

I persevered and finally made it to the top. I was very surprised to find that I was so overwhelmed that I burst into tears. Part of that was because I got to the top. Most of it was that I didn't die in the process.

I had the very stark realization that I am seriously unhealthy and out of shape. I weigh less than I did when I had my kids, but not by much. To be completely honest and open, I am at 217 lbs.

I've been wearing size 16 jeans for a while now. But when I recently picked up some capri pants and bermuda shorts for the trip, they were 18 and 20. The shorts were a little big, but they didn't have an 18. Holy shit...that was a wake up call.

I am not going to have loads of lame excuses. I've not treated myself well over the past couple of years. Late night snacking and soft drinks are my worst vices. I put on 60 lbs in the past year alone when I was in my own apartment, feeling depressed and sorry for myself. I didn't care about much of anything.

But now I do care. I don't even look like myself anymore. I'm shocked that I've not had people ask me when my baby is due. The only thin parts on my body are my wrists and my ankles. I don't see the point in being fashion forward when I feel like everything I wear makes me look frumpy. So, I live in American Apparel deep-V tee shirts because the v-neck is flattering and the sleeves come down just above my elbow and cover my upper arms. I usually stick to jeans that fall at the waist. I had stayed away from shorts because I hate the thought that they may creep up my thighs and do that icky bunching thing you see from time to time. The thoughts of that just makes me shudder.

I have no idea what to do with my hair. I feel like trying to have a trendy shorter cut is a joke, I'm still overweight and far from fashionable. But having it long makes me feel really dowdy and frumpy.

I suppose I simply cannot pretend to be okay with who I am right now. That's why I can't attempt to dress myself up like it's fine and I'm the norm. The only thing that can make me appear thinner is to diet in a healthy way and exercise regularly. Sure, America is a heavier nation in general. But that doesn't make it okay and we are kidding ourselves if we think it's more acceptable because overweight people are growing in numbers every day.

I now worry about my blood pressure and the possibility of diabetes if I do not get myself under control. Both conditions run in my family.

I want to teach my kids that I can be healthy and look and feel better. I want to set an example for them. My daughter has only seen me at a healthy weight in photos.

I'm not going to go on any wacky crash diets or get myself an eating disorder. I need to change the way I think and the habits that I have. I'm not afraid of the hard work it is going to take. I just wasn't ready before. Food was way too comforting. Being asleep most of the day was the only relief I had from the depression that plagued (and still does to an extent) me. I have no plans to fit back into my pre-baby size 4 clothes. Ideally I'd like to be a size 8. I think anything smaller is unrealistic and would be too thin for me.

I know I've made false promises to myself in the past about my weight. But I plan on going back to that volcano and kicking it's ass next year...without all the huffing, puffing and bursting heart.

Later today, I am taking the first big step and talking to my doctor about my concerns. I'll keep you posted.