Here in Katie’s Head

After sitting at a desk all day, I can no longer bear to come home to sit at a desk for any length of time.

And so I don’t write. Because sitting at a desk and typing is work and I want to come home and do something that isn’t work.

I will find my muse again. But for now, patience.

And randomness.

I’ve been knitting a lot. Knit Picks will make a small fortune off of me and Ravelry will have to buy more bandwidth.

I’ve watched entirely too much HGTV. I moved in with my boyfriend in November and somehow the move from apartment to house flipped the desire-to-watch-HGTV switch on. I hadn’t previously thought that was possible. I’m hoping I outgrow it, but then I’d have to find something else to do with my eyes and ears while my fingers are busy knitting.

I make weekly trips to the grocery store, which is about eight times more often than when I lived alone.

I filled out a FAFSA and that’s all I’m saying about that.

When I was in high school and had stopped growing taller and was stuck at a pathetic 5′2″, I heard a woman say she had a growth spurt in her early twenties. So I hoped and waited, and I’m taller now than in college. I have taken this as irrefutable proof of the power of positive thinking, so I am convinced that I will win the lottery any day now, probably tonight.

I hadn’t been to the dentist since I was 19 or 20, not because I’m afraid of the pain a dentist so loves to inflict, but because I was concerned that all dentists were as worthless as the ones I saw as a child. But I was also convinced that after years of neglect, my teeth were surely rotting out of my head, so I went to the dentist. No cavities. Clearly negative thinking has no impact on outcomes.

Now I just have to survive getting my wisdom teeth out. May 7.

And, as a reminder, I can often be found blathering in short form on Twitter. I am told I am entertaining in 140-character servings.

Posted: 1:26 pm · Category: Random, Status · Comments: 4

My first year at Girl Scout camp, there was a counselor called Hamster. She had short hair and we were all convinced she was a boy. In first grade, we knew no other way to differentiate boys and girls than by hair length.

She was the best counselor, though.

Posted: 7:46 am · Category: Memories, Random · Comments: 3

One procedure left: tattoos. For color-matching reasons. On Tuesday. I’ll skip the details.

My Franken-nipples are now 98% healed. They are marginally less repulsive than when the bandages came off. I still have mixed feelings about the nipple reconstruction procedure.

One, because now they always think it’s cold in here. There is no warming them up.

Two, because reconstructed nipples are to actual nipples as Sesame Street’s Ernie is to an actual man. You see them and you instantly know what they’re supposed to be, but there’s no mistaking them for the real thing. They cartoonish and skewed, a caricature of the real thing. They’re silly.

But over Thanksgiving, I realized where all this started. I wanted a reduction. I wanted no more back pain.

And, whoa, I have that.

I can stand around for hours and not have screaming pain. I can walk to my car at the end of the day and not feel achy. I can run and jump and play like all the other kids.

Also I have this awesome new party trick. Remind me to show you sometime when I’m wearing something low-cut.

Posted: 10:27 am · Category: Health · Comments: 3

Now I know why there aren’t any good euphemisms for nipple reconstruction. There is simply no succinct yet accurate way to label such a grotesque procedure, and the words “nipple reconstruction” are sufficiently horrifying on their own.

The first thing the nurse asked me after I checked in at the surgery center was, “and what are you here for today?” This is, of course, to keep from accidentally confusing me with the patient next to me, who was there to have his adenoids removed and his septum realigned. When I answered the nurse, I heard the father of the patient next to me — the thin curtain between beds affords fantastic privacy — whisper in the most horrified tone, “nipples…???” Yeah, I’d rather have my adenoids out, too.

The surgeon told me that I’d feel no pain at all around my new Franken-nipples. I haven’t felt anything in that vicinity since the mastectomy. And yes, while I continue to feel no pain there, if I accidentally press or tug on the bandages, I faint. So there must be one or two nerves left.

But there is pain elsewhere. Plenty of it.

You see, plastic surgeons can’t make something out of nothing. They scavenge from other body parts to fabricate new parts. So when they need some slightly darker skin to make a vaguely realistic areola, they steal the uniquely-pigmented skin adjacent to the naughty bits.

Whoever invented this procedure deserves to have it done to him. Seriously. Motherfucker. Ow.

And the best part about having a fresh, three-inch incision on the inside of each thigh? There is no position, no clothing configuration, no treatment can make it hurt less.

Although in a moment of pure genius, I bought some boxer briefs so that I don’t have to suffer the panty-leg-on-stitches rubbing. I’m not entirely sure that it made things feel less painful, but I’ve found that thinking I’m doing something to help is a fantastic placebo.

And I have also discovered the awesomeness that is man underwear. I thought girl underwear was, for the most part, pretty comfy. And now I know that it’s just another ridiculous way that women torture themselves. Boxer briefs are awesome. Everyone should have some.

Posted: 7:49 am · Category: Status · Comments: 14

Bobby tagged me.

1. I’m very intently perfecting my all-carb diet.
2. I won’t go to knitting meetups because I can’t stomach having my disastrous technique judged.
3. I have a deep and sincere love of toast. It is my favorite thing.
4. I can sense the exact moment my BMI crosses over from normal to fatass. It involves what I call the Backfat Threshold.
5. Half an hour of Wii Fit a day more than enough to keep the backfat away. Even on the all-carb diet.
6. I watch TV shows for the sidekicks. Sean on Felicity. Batista on Dexter. They give me the warm and fuzzies.

Memes like this give me the squirms. I never fulfilled an identical one last December. After writing my 100 Things (twice!) and Twittering my every inane thought, I’m out of random facts. So I’m not tagging anyone this time — I wouldn’t want to inflict any of my friends with the shame of not being able to come up with a handful of randomness to post on your blog.

Posted: 9:51 pm · Category: Memes · Comments: 3

After four months of crazy-making tissue expanders, I got my new boobs last month. I opted for silicone rather than saline because it’s supposed to feel more like the real thing.

It does not feel like the real thing.

It feels like the superior, man-made answer to the real thing.

So now when my friends ask, “So, uh, how do you like your new, um,” I answer, “THEY ARE SO AWESOME.”

And next Friday, I get — as my plastic surgeon’s nurse says — my “graduation caps.” Apparently there is no good euphemism for nipple reconstruction surgery. On paper, it is “stage three breast reconstruction,” but that phrasing completely fails to capture the absurdity of the procedure.

I found it a bit too absurd for even my taste, but I have been persuaded that I may regret missing my one shot at getting insurance to cover 100% of the cost.

Fine. Bring on the skin grafts and tattoos.

Posted: 7:44 am · Category: Health · Comments: 1