Happy Thanksgiving!


My Reproductive System… O U T ! I’m fine, fit as a fiddle! It’s been 3.5 days since I have been out of the hospital, and I am already on my feet… “On my feet” – ppffft! I was on my feet on day 0.5 and doing a jig and inventing the “Hysterectomy Hula”! Not being able to stand upright due to some GNARLY slices and dices and bruises, instead of walking like an orangutangue, I twisted and shuffled in my footy-pajamas with band-aids! It’s all the rage! Yes, I twisted and I shuffled and I had lovely visitors… and I was bedridden the next day. “Heaven” said she was concerned that I was jumping up and down when she was here visiting. I have no recollection of this alleged “jumping up and down”. BUT I DO have proof that Jesus was on the ceiling of my hospital room. I’ll show you!

Today is Thanksgiving and I was just in the kitchen with “Auntie” and “PB”, as they were making a colorful and marvelous dinner that would bring the Pilgrims and **Indians to their collective bare or knickered knees. I don’t know what that means. I think a lot of things would bring them to their knees. Like marshmallows on candied yams. Like marshmallows period. Like canned cranberries. Like cans. Anyway, my culinary acumen ends at spaghettios and a can opener, so I was/am useless in a kitchen, so instead I was waxing gratitude to them and reminiscing about my life of the past 3.5 days. I was telling them that here I was on a sunny Thanksgiving morning having tea with my loving aunt and uncle, getting texts from my loving friends, surrounded with lovely flowers, and that these past 3.5 days have been the most peaceful 3.5 days of my life in memory. In no particular order, here’s why I am Thankful this year:

* I woke up from anesthesia and in my enormous and posh (who’s behind this?) hospital room were Jesus (in the light fixture) above me, my mom, my Nelissa, my Sheh Nay-nay, and my “Darlie-like-Darling”.

* Auntie and PB have the most bitchen 1950’s museum – yet welcoming and cozy! – home, and this is where I am convalescing. I’m surprised the furniture has not formed a coup and thrown me off the deck and into the Atlantic. (I am also on the beach). I’m far too frizzy and messy. Bad lines. Sock puppet socks don’t cut it here, kid.

* I get to use the word “convalescing”.

* OPI makes a shade of green nail polish that perfectly matches the IV bruise on my hand! You betcha that’s the color I chose!

* The aforementioned flowers are from friends from all eras of my life! Not “just” AA friends (one of whom DID offer me her uterus — thank you, Dandelion! But I think you’ll need it some day — when I asked for lady organ donations, btw) but friends who stuck by me when I was hanging on by a thread. Leads me to believe that I’m not that bad. Leads me to know I am very blessed indeedily-dee.

* I have painkillers because I just had a hysterectomy. I had a hysterectomy and I need painkillers. I hate them both. Nothing more to say about that.

*Speaking of painkillers, this is terribly personal. Seriously, talking about most body functions makes me stutter and blush. I really do not understand how people over the age of four do it.. and some quite comfortably! Must be because I’m Catholic therefore ashamed of having a body in the first place. Did you notice any Quilted Charmin in The Garden of Eden? No. Neither did I. Back to subject, I feel obligated to give an update on something terribly personal. Terribly personal. SOOO many friends and family were very concerned about my bowels.. or as I like to call them “why-do-you-hate-me-so-much-can-we-please-talk-about-something-anything-else”? Everyone straight-faced and with such genuine concern asked me in advance what my plans were for my pain maintenance and for my constipation. The importance of both have been duly-noted and addressed with many thanks. Both are totally fine. Seriously. I’m changing the subject now.

* Well, now I can’t change the fucking subject but now I’ll be convinced that every time you see me you’ll be envisioning me sitting on the toilet reading “Cat Fancy” magazine. Great. How about this? If I catch myself thinking you’re thinking of me sitting on the toilet reading “Cat Fancy” magazine, I’ll starting doing the Hysterectomy Hula! If YOU catch yourself thinking of me sitting on the toilet reading “Cat Fancy” magazine, YOU have to do the Hysterectomy Hula! Yeah. No one reads this. I’ll just sit around looking self-conscious wondering if anyone in the group is constipated.

* OK, for someone who is mortified by potty humor, I sure am in pain over here. Laughing HURTS. Really, I’m waiting for a gall bladder to fly out of my navel, which incidentally, looks like a worm-hole – “worm-hole” as in “Star Trek,” not as in Oscar the Grouch’s pet “Slimey”. No one mentioned the hazards of laughing or avoiding laughing during recovery, so I guess I’ll carry on on my merry way and not worry about it. DLD did in fact point out the other day that I laugh a lot… wellllll Helllloooo, my funny recovery, how I love thee! But let’s give credit and recognition to some tears of agony for the next few weeks. You say something funny, a stitch screams the sweet scream of joy of freedom from my belly-button!!! “MMOOTTHHERLLLOOOVVEERRRTTHHAATTTSSFFUUNNNNYYYYY!!!!!!” I am so thankful for laughter this year. And always.

* I am thankful for a new understanding of acceptance, a new lesson from my uterus, may she RIP.  Acceptance doesn’t need to be surrender to a beast I can’t conquer. If my life of the past four years had a theme song, it’d be “Baby Mine” by Bette Midler mixed with “Fucking Hostile” by Pantera. I’ve written and talked about my thoughts on possible motherhood so many times, so I’ll keep it brief. When I came into AA 19.29 months ago, I was seething hysteric with one ovary shy of a pair, furiously desperate to reproduce. It was nearly all-consuming and certainly ALL miserable. But over the past 19.29 months, I’ve softened (to put it mildly). I learned or realized that I did not want children for the right reasons, not to be confused with not wanting children. I was gentle with myself (thank you so much, sobriety) and made the decision that I did not in fact want kids. Imagine that! All that in just 590-days’ work! I was at peace, albeit a sad peace, with the decision but there was not much I felt I needed to accept. Barring any of my numerous IBs suddenly deciding they NEEDED my child, it was not going to happen and it was OK. And then I got the sudden news I physically could not have kids. I felt a cornucopia (‘tis the season!) of emotions, but mostly, or finally at least, I feel content. I feel pain – let’s not forget searing pain in my belly-button. But I feel at peace. I accept this Gift, and it is a gift. It’s not surrender I feel, but acceptance and Love. I wanted a kid because I wanted a curly-haired mini-me that I could dress funny and love impossibly and make forever happy. News Flash Thanksgiving 2012 = I have a full-sized curly-haired me already; I do dress funny already; I am learning to Love impossibly and be Happy forever already! And to beat a metaphor to death: I can still play but play in a better playground and with much better playmates… friends, soulmates I believe they’re called. Acceptance of this de-wombing has allowed me to understand this “end” I haven’t been able to articulate. There will be no lasting sadness because this is a very good thing, at very least in the fact that I don’t have cancer. I want to say I’m not sad anymore – because I actually don’t feel sad anymore. But it’s all new and my body still hasn’t realized it’s missing a few parts. “Yooooohooooooo! Cervix!!! Where are yoooooooou???”. I kid. I am happy. Sunny days and lots of friends forever! I can accept that.

* I am thankful I did not just burn down Auntie and PB’s house. I’m sorry, Auntie and PB, I didn’t mean to leave the teapot on so long, and sorry it smells like flaming nail polish remover in here.

Happy Thanksgiving to you all, my darlings!

** “Indians” = “Native Americans”. I have a funny story of my very first days in San Francisco. I was sitting in a bar (go figure) with my friends one afternoon, and this dude walked by with nothing on but a loincloth, war paint, a Mohawk, and a spear. Just walking down the street. No one turned around. Nothing to see here, people. I was like “WHOA! DID YOU GUYS SEE HIM?!?!?!?” And they were like, “Yup! Welcome to Haight Street!”.. and I knew I was home. WELL, I told that story the first time I shared at a meeting and I referred to the guy as an “Indian”. It was the FIRST time I had ever shared and was shaking and terrified. Some PC dickhead in the meeting CORRECTED ME!!!! “Your story about the man dressed as a Native American…”. WHATever! Now I am all self-conscious and worried I am going to offend someone by not being PC. He loses though. Now I am deliberately offensive. Fag.


Things You Can Do Without a Uterus


“The Girl with the Uterus Tattoo” hosted a Going-Away Party for my Uterus last night! Perfect, huh? Thank you to those of you who came – it meant a lot to me.  “Cassie” wasn’t able to make it, so instead sent me The.Best.Email.Ever. Here it is!:

“I’ve compiled a brief, not at all comprehensive list of things you can do without a uterus, for inspiration during and after your recovery:

*learn how to pole dance

*marathon America’s Next Top Model/What Not to Wear/trashy TV show of choice

*run an actual marathon, if that’s your idea of fun (it is not mine.)

*build a canoe

*visit the zoo that’s somewhere around here

*become a phone sex person

*continue to have the best sense of personal style I’ve ever seen

*get more tattoos. get a tattoo of a uterus!

*sync Pink Floyd with Wizard of Oz

*be a good cat mamma

*learn French

*learn Elvish

*learn how to swear fluently in sign language

*move to Cambridge

*continue writing your hilarious-but-poignent blog

*become a standup comedian

*write a bestselling humor book. become rich and famous.

*grow tomatoes

*create artwork from items you find in dumpsters

*become a stunt double

*marry a longshoreman

*balance the US budget, eliminate our national debt

*build ships in bottles

*start to build ships in bottles, get frustrated, throw ship-in-bottle kit out of a fifth-story window

*watch Community #sixseasonsandamovie

*create eye-gougingly cheery collages from women’s health magazines

*run naked through the streets

*go to lots of AA meetings!

*run naked through lots of AA meetings!

*start your own business making handmade but affordable cat treats

*go to Disneyland

*go to Disneyworld

*learn the ukulele

*bake a loaf of banana bread

*learn CPR. use CPR skills to save random person on the subway

*laugh at the misfortune of people menstruating

*save tons of money on tampons

*repaint your apartment

*go see a movie

*sponsor someone and relish the power of making someone else make a gratitude list for once!

*start a gang of ovary-less women. get matching t-shirts and leather jackets. roam the streets.

*win the lottery

*lose the lottery

*chair Live and Let Live

*start a new meeting in Davis Square. I am a very lazy woman.

*write, direct, produce, and star in your own dramedy about sobriety

*learn bird calls

*learn whale calls

*learn catcalls

*get coffee with me before a meeting, when we’re both back on our respective feet

*go up the down escalator

*do the gangnam style dance

*floss twice a day.”.


Below is the Second Best Email I have ever received. It is an unfortunate snag in the mild and sublime language barrier:


From: “Kara”

Sent: Thursday, December 29, 2011 6:05 AM

To: “Pim”; “Eliza”
Subject: SKU: DQ1617, MFG#: 4597-00-00F status

Hi, Pim and Eliza!

Our SKU: DQ1617, MFG#: 4597-00-00F has a status of “special order”. This is incorrect – it’s a current product. Can you change this on the site?

Thank you!



From: Eliza

Sent: Thursday, December 29, 2011 10:36 AM
To: Kara; Pim
Subject: RE: SKU: DQ1617, MFG#: 4597-00-00F status

Sure Kara, just give me a moment. I just came on my desk.

Thanks 🙂

Best Regards,



No, no. Thank YOU, Eliza!




Parts 2-7: Lady Parts is Parts is Parts


I intended to have my 2-part then-and-now tragicomical little blog post be about the 2008 presidential election season and my 2008 ovarian cyst – what it was like 4 years ago and how different things are now. But then shit got real: a couple of things stayed the same. The good “same” is that my honest and trustworthy boyfriends got re-elected. The bad “same” is that the gross ovarian blob (now more varieties for the same great price!) of 2008 slithered back into my body. That was totally unexpected. That totally harshed my boner. This past May I was told that there was a 95% chance my cysts would not return. This past Thursday I was told they did and I have to have a hysterectomy. What a mind-fuck!! Well hell, crown me “Miss 5%” and tell the Bearded Lady she’s about to get some competition!


Then – October / November 2008

So, my last blog and my last blob, where was I? Yes, launching republican Aquarians into outer space, returning from the emergency room to watch Joe and Sarah debate, languishing miserably (but oh so high) at home alone with my big twisty cysty. I had surgery a few days later – they had to take out my poor little right ovary, too, because the cyst was so obnoxious. My recovery from surgery was the happiest time I had had in so so so many years – being all bandaged and balloony, alone, my only job – the only thing I could do – was whimper, stare blankly at the TV, and heal. No one expected anything else from me – I couldn’t let anyone down. And things got even better! I’m not kidding. I got called in early for my follow-up appointment and got the news that my cyst was malignant. WINNING! Seriously, it was as if I won the lottery. God finally threw me a bone, a meaty bone. I’ve written before about my drinking life and the suicidal ideation, and fantasies of martyrdom. Cancer = perfect. Tumors from Heaven! It would be an innocent death! I wouldn’t have to do anything, again, not let anyone down, just hang on and be brave, be brave… be patient – it’ll all be over soon.


I am very lucky that I have never had anyone close to me suffer and die from cancer, but I have seen “Dying Young” a hundred times, so I get the gist, and still that seemed a more appealing fate than carrying on with life the way I was. Quitting drinking was not an option – duh – it wasn’t a problem so why would I stop? Anyway, when my GYN gave me the news, she followed it by saying, “You’re going to die.. but not for a long long time and it’s not going to be from this”.  DISAPPOINTED! So, I got a second opinion. He said the same. DISAPPOINTED! He said I am going to be fine, and I just need to have ultrasounds and blood tests every six months for the rest of my long life. GROSSED OUT AND DISAPPOINTED!


Now, you might think I’d have taken an honest look at things and considered making some changes, like with my health (wanted to die = non-issue), or my lifestyle (why? What’s the problem?). No. I started panicking about my age. I was 36. If I wanted to have kids, which I certainly most assuredly without a doubt did indeed, I’d have to get that party started. “Screen Name: Slushkitty. Likes: Long walks on the beach and dating assholes”. Let on-line dating begin! The on-line dating lasted about 2.5 years until I got sober 1.56 years ago. I got a couple of catastrophic relationships out of it… and a trip to Mexico to play with spider monkeys.. with a closet alcoholic. Despite the infuriation and humiliation, I do believe I had to go through the on-line dating experience, it was on my path. I did after all have a couple of dates with an angel “Bed” – I’ve mentioned him before – who I asked to take me to my first meeting after I hit my bottom with “&^%$#@” who bullied and pushed me screaming over the edge and straight into my moment of grace, into sobriety.


Now – November 2012

For the past four years, quite remarkably, I have been keeping the appointments and having those delightful ultrasounds and blood tests. A couple of times I was hoping for bad (good) news, but mostly I was apathetic. In sobriety, I really haven’t had any emotions around them at all – they’re just routine and everything always comes back pretty and pink. The malignancy I had four years ago was non-invasive and the whole ordeal was over before it started. It was no big whoop. As I mentioned, I went in May for my routine check-up, and my oncologist said everything was just fantastic and there was only a 5% chance of it coming back. Well, I found out Thursday the bitch came back and brought a couple of friends. My Little Ovary That Could can’t anymore, so I have to have a hysterectomy next Saturday. These are my lady parts being bid adieu: ovary, simple appearing ovarian cyst, complex ovarian cyst, endometrioma cyst, uterus, fallopian tube, and cervix. GROSSED OUT AND TERRIFIED!


The shock has sort of worn off, and the nearly paralyzing fear comes and goes in waves. There are so many things to worry about and I’m having more emotions than I can identify. I knew that I would probably get a bucketful of kindness and compassion from my loved ones but Holy Shit, Batman!  I don’t want to get too sappy because I kind of feel like I need to save some material for my speech at my living memorial service (I’m 50% kidding – I’m 100% terrified). The Love that I have been overwhelmed with makes my lady parts want to throw a hoedown, square-dance, and scream “Yeeehaw!” to celebrate their last week on earth! On behalf of my lady parts, I would like to say, “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you for making these past 1.56 years possible and almost impossibly lovely”.

My friend suggested a throw a Going Away Party for my uterus and I think that’s the most brilliant idea I’ve heard in recent memory. What do you say, guys! If I throw it (at someone else’s house), will you come? I think it should be egg-themed. Yeeehaw! (I’m totally serious about the party).