I'm a Bloody Mess (No, really.)

All it needs to look like my body are some little coffee cups floating around in there.

Hey, know what really sucks? Having abdominal surgery.

Know what really, really sucks? Still bleeding from your incision two weeks later.

I really wish there was a good joke in here, but I can't really come up with one. That's the irony of situations like this. They're only comical later.

Two weeks ago, they cut me open. And I had more or less a great recovery for the first week. I came home three days post-op, did a lot of resting, watched a lot of TV, read a lot of trash in novel form. Life was pretty good. And then, on the night of recovery day 6, I got up from reading a book and noshing on popcorn to get dressed in my pajamas: That's when I noticed that I was saturated in blood. Like, totally, from the belly button halfway down my thighs.

It was everywhere - and I mean everywhere. I didn't know what to do. My first thought was that the alien baby they had secretly implanted when they were "fixing my hernia" had quietly clawed its way out while I was licking butter off my fingers. My next thought was that my incision must have opened up despite the clips meant to keep it shut. I yelled for Geekster, shoved a folded up towel under my track pants, and we made our way to the closest emergency room. By the time we arrived, I had soaked through the towel, too.

They took me in right away - probably because I looked a little like a stab victim, and I was sobbing pretty hardcore. (Readers: If you're ever having issues getting through triage and into a room, some red food dye could probably help you out. You might have some explaining to do when you show them a twisted ankle and not a gash in your abdomen, but you can cross that bridge when you get to it. Maven tip #53 to receiving top notch public health care.)

Anyway, the diagnosis from both the ER staff and my own surgeon is that I have a hematoma. Basically, a huge pool of blood is sitting in my belly from the surgery, and is slowly making its way out of my body via the incision site - all day, every day, as soon as I sit or stand up. And that means that the bottom of the incision isn't healing up yet, because it's too busy acting as a drain. "Barf-o-rama, Maven. Thanks for the visual", right? Wrong. Suck it up, princess. It's my blog, and this is what's going on in my world right now, and this is what I'm sharing. It's unpleasant, and somewhat atypical, and annoying - and have I mentioned unpleasant? But this is my reality.

When will the bleeding stop? We have absolutely no idea. It seems to be tapering off, maybe. Sort of. Sometimes. It's more trickle and less "Why hello there, Ellen Ripley."

I'm on a steady regime of iron (for blood loss), vitamin D and zinc (to boost my immune system) and arnica (for bruising). I'm on constant "is this incision getting infected?" watch, but so far, so good. I'm drinking tons of water and getting lots of rest. I have a bag from the hospital that is filled with sterile compresses and adhesive bandages; I go through several each day. And to double up the protection, I'm also using an array of female hygiene products in case there's a breech - and there have been many, believe me.

I see my surgeon next week to assess the situation once again. Hopefully I'll no longer be a fountain of type A negative at that point, but if I am, we're going to have to probably do some tests and see if there's something more ominous going on, like a slow internal bleed, or a rejection of the mesh used to repair my hernia. And those could mean another surgery, so let's pretend I never said that. Denial is sweet.

The thing is, I feel good. Every day, I feel better than the day before. My stomach is shrinking, the top part of my incision is healing up beautifully, I have no signs of infection, and my energy is going up. I'm taking very good care of myself - yes, mom, I really am - and resting a whole lot. So I really do think that this is just part of my somewhat atypical healing process. While the bleeding isn't necessarily abnormal, but the amount and duration is somewhat concerning. I'm taking a wait-and-see approach.

Leave it to me to be a little bit different. I must like the attention.

Anyway, if I sound a little bitter, that's probably because I am. I'm trying hard to stay positive and enjoy the fact that I can't do very much, but it's not always easy to do. I have three kids who are home for the summer. And granted the hubby and boys have been great at cleaning and fetching and doing, but I want to slowly get back into the game, and it's not happening right now. I'm frustrated that I've had this setback, and I'm finding it hard to accept my limitations (there are many).

I had myself a very good cry a couple of days ago and felt a little better after that. There's a certain level of acceptance that's come over me since, but also a determination that I will get better. I'm trying to visualize my own healing, willing myself well, and all that other mind/body connection stuff.

Tonight, I'm stepping out of the house to read at the 3rd annual Blog Out Loud Ottawa. Maybe I should just be staying home and resting, but I need emotional healing, too. I need a mental break from these walls, sometimes. I need to do something other than sit at my computer desk, sit on my bed, or sit in the recliner. Now I can sit in a restaurant and steal an extra chair to put my feet up. I need to get out and see people. I need to laugh a little, smile a lot, and enjoy the company of some amazing local writers and photographers. I need this just as much as I need rest right now, if not more. I'm really excited.

Problem? I'm still rockin' the track pants. Oh, that's right. tonight's ensemble will be stretchy. Those on Twitter have been warned that my sexy shall not extend below the waist. I'm a little bummed about it, but I'll make it work. Awesome is exuded everywhere, not only in the choice - or lack thereof - of pants. And we all know I have a ridiculous amount of awesome.

Speaking of awesome, I really need to thank the countless people who have stepped up and done incredible things for us the last several days. Within an hour of being out of recovery, I received the first 2 of many bouquets of flowers given to me over the last 2 weeks. We've been kept happily in coffee deliveries, baked goods, full meals, housekeeping, gardening, babysitting, cheer-up visits and some really great hugs, phone calls, emails and texts. Thank you so much, friends and family. As much as I'm not too happy fighting crime from my couch as the Hemoglobin Heroine these days, I am so, so, so grateful to all of you for being the amazing people you are.

Anyway, I've been feeling very uncreative since coming home. I've tried to blog several times and have always given up by paragraph 2 or 3. I promised myself I'd write something, even if it was whiny and discombobulated and not up to my usual standards. We can blame the blood loss. Oxygen deprivation and all that.

(On the plus side, I'd make a great looking goth queen right now. Maybe I should invest in some black lipstick and start writing some poetry in my own blood. It could work.)

I'm a loser baby, so why don't you hear me?

Last night was the 2nd annual Blog Out Loud Ottawa, or BOLO for short. It was put together by the lovely and talented Lynn of Turtlehead. She had asked me a few weeks ago if I would like to read at this year's event. I had never been to BOLO before, but it didn't scare me. I mean, I've done public speaking in front of much bigger audiences. Besides, I'm The freaking Maven. What's there to be scared of?

In my mind, I was picturing a quiet evening with a handful of pasty-skinned, blurry-eyed people looking over their laptops at each other. When my turn came, I would simply stand up, read a post, get a few golf claps and sit my sizeable ass back down. The end.

I had so many misconceptions about BOLO and Ottawa bloggers in general that I feel the need to confess what I've learned in a post. So here is the point format version in all its embarrassing glory:

1. First of all, BOLO is not some teeny tiny event that takes place around a table. This is a fairly large gathering of local bloggers. There were many tables, and all of them were full. And what was at the very back of the pub? Was that a... a stage? A fucking stage?! With a microphone and speakers and, and... Oh my wordsmith. I had to get up a stage. I don't believe I got that memo or I would have taken off from the blogosphere at a dead run, leaving several half-finished posts in my wake.

2. There are a lot of really gorgeous bloggers. I don't know what I was expecting, exactly, but it wasn't a large gathering of hotties, that's for sure. How on earth are people who sit in front of computer screens and regularly molest the social networking sites so damn beautiful? Apparently, I can no longer use my geeky hobbies as an excuse for cellulite-laden thighs. Damn you all.

3. I'm not nearly as confident as I thought I was. Once I realized I was firmly out of my element, I let the incredible Nat flutter around like the social butterfly she is and sat nervously at our table right in front of the big scary stage, sipping my Diet Coke and unceremoniously shoving fries into my mouth. I did see some familiar faces, like Pauline and XUP, but overall, I was a total BOLO loser. Thankfully, I had a couple of fabulous friends groupies come hold my hand and stop me from crawling out the back door when no one was looking. It's a good thing I brought some of my popularity with me or I might have started crying right there, at my table, into my drink.

4. There are some incredible local bloggers out there. I was completely blown away by the talent we have right here in Ottawa. As one of the last readers, I started panicking about halfway through the night, wondering how on earth I was ever going to top everything from Facebook as an abusive relationship to the great wasp nest fiasco to some truly fried rice to some epic bra flashing. And there were more, but I would be writing all day. Seriously, how on earth could I follow those up with my mediocre writing? And, more importantly, how was I going to duck the beer bottles being thrown at me with that annoying spotlight in my face? Reading alongside these funny, witty, provocative writers was probably a big mistake. I panicked. What was I thinking? I'm not a good writer! After tonight I'll be hitchhiking down the road of spammy SEO content articles at $2 a pop. This is the day I go down in flames. Better order up another Diet Coke and get my nerve up.

5. Too much Diet Coke can lead to a mild hangover-like state in the morning. Ouch.

6. I can make up the steps of a stage and over to a microphone even when my heart is about to explode out of my chest. And, more importantly, I can read something once I'm up there. And make people laugh. And surprisingly enjoy myself very, very much. And, I believe, connect with my audience. I had no idea I had that in me, and it feels good.

7. Was I the best of the night? Absolutely not. Far from from it, actually. But I did hold my own, and I won't lie: I loved every second up on that stage (after my heart started beating again). I felt like an upper class gal in a Prada store. Oh, sure, I still felt like a lost little girl in the loser corner of the schoolyard when I sat back down (ah, memories!), but that's okay. I had my three minutes of fame and I thoroughly enjoyed it. Long live The Maven's ego!

8. Twitter is way more fun when you've met a bunch of the local people you're now following. I foresee myself getting a wee bit addicted. Somebody break out the methadone.

I had an amazing time last night. What a rush! Thanks to everyone who organized the event, who came out to speak and/or to listen, and to those who came and introduced themselves to me afterwards. You made me feel all warm and fuzzy.

Or maybe that was the Diet Coke. Next time, if someone could cut me off after the first glass and steer me toward the pot of decaf, that would be great.