when seeing/hearing difficult news or images or facts or whatever, it always helps to be a bit tipsy. unless you're an angry drunk. i'm not the kind of person to punch broken 'ginas, so i figured i was safe.
the story started waaayy before we even heard about the broken 'gina. like two weeks before, when bumble had her baby.
i'm not big on doing stuff after work unless it means buying wine and peanuts (a story for another blog shortly), or doing laundry. what would we talk about? work wife and i have never been pregnant or given birth. we didn't know what the current opinion was on diapers vs -- is there a vs? see? we just didn't know. how long would we be there? would i miss my show? did bumble even want us there? was she inviting us to be nice but hoped we wouldn't show up loud and obnoxious and break lamps and drop things? was she even inviting us? i didn't know she gave birth until mini gia asked two days after the fact. bumble had been pregnant or been trying to get pregnant for almost two years. which in itself should have been enough (besides the fact that we love bumble and she's our friend) to drag our sorry selfish lazy asses to ib.
work wife called bumble on thursday, a week and a few days after she gave birth. no answer. no response, no text, no email, nothing. what, did bumble have more important things to do besides talk to us all day? was she like, trying to keep an entire human alive and nurture it or something? talk about selfish.
i go home, i settle in (running shorts, tank top, and a.c.), and laze about. i get a phone call from an odd number, ignore it, and it left voicemail. someone i hardly ever talk to, but who is the mother figure for the hr department. the top of the phone tree regarding anything that bumble had ever gone through during the past few years. i talked to mama bear, the first thing she said was "bumble's fine, bumble's in the hospital, do you have mini gia's phone number? call dania, she wants to talk to you." sheisten. she was in the hospital and i was skipping hand in hand with work wife down the hot path toward hell. we had front row seats to whatever shows they put on there.
here are the highlights to the conversation with bumble:
4th degree tear while giving birth
stitched up wrong
two areas became one
massive bleeding in all areas crotch related
stitched back up (by same doctor, by the way)
if infected, will have to have stitches removed and area left open for four to six weeks
that sealed the deal. gia and i were definitely going to hell. we're complaining about wanting to go to the pool and watch tv and laze about while bumble had her 'gina in a sling. we promised to show up the next day after work. as a team. because we couldn't see a broken 'gina or hear the horror of it all without the other one.
friday after work i went to this new wine place. tres cute. good wine, good company. i had enough time to go home, change, pick up work wife, and drive to balboa hospital to see bumble.
it helped that i was a little tipsy
her 'gina was in a sling. she looked great, the baby was adorable and squeaky. mr. bumble took the baby to pick someone up at the airport.
it was just me, work wife, and broken 'gina. so what do you do? we pretend everything's fine. we put on a show. we were going to play scrabble, nevermind the iv floating around, the epidural wires, the broken 'gina laying in its sling with nothing separating us from it but a thin hospital gown. we. were. fine with all of it.
do you want to see it? you can look, i don't even care.
i must be drunker than i thought. did she just tell us to look at her vagina?
the nurse will be in here to do my sits bath.
what's sits? what does that stand for? i don't want to know. pretend you're cool with it and it'll be fine.
that's cool! we have sits baths all the time! i just had one this morning.
nurse walks in. only he doesn't look like a nurse. he looks like a seaman off a navy ship. he's wearing work blues, i think they're called. work boots. yeah.
i'm here to do your sits bath.
he just stands there. i start freaking out. does he know what to do? did he wash his hands? does he know he has to wash his hands?
bumble starts giving instructions to the "nurse".
take that bottle put this stuff in it, wash it around, squirt it in there, rinse that off over there, no, i can't stand up because i have an epidural, her voice fades out as i start having a panic attack. could be the wine, could be that she's giving instructions to the "nurse".
i realize i'm grabbing gia's hand when she starts giggling at the look on my face.
we make small talk. the nurse asks for my help. okay, i've done this before, i think. only it didn't involve a third world hospital and i was offered blankets and drinks by the one with the epidural.
i remove rolled up towels from behind bumbles knees. i hold wires and iv lines and i don't see the broken 'gina. i look at the wall. i look at the knees. i look at the wires and iv lines. i don't look at the 'gina. i talk about brangelina and lindsay. i make inappropriate jokes (it helped that i was a little tipsy).
later on, the real nurse comes in. scrubs and badge and gloves and all. relief. i can relax. there's a real nurse who works here. she starts talking about her own broken 'gina.
by the time my third came around, they were walking out of there. it's so broken and busted up. i don't even recognize it. i try to do excersises, but it's not the same. it will never be the same. that's why i'm going to have 'gina reconstruction surgery.
gia and i are texting furiously to our significant others. no broken 'gina for me. you'll have to do it yourself or whore yourself out and make another one or find a surrogate. they're not making a water park out of my 'gina. we decide then and there that we're never having kids.
oh, my boobs are so full! here, come feel.
it helped that i was a little tipsy. sure! wow! they're hot!
feel here, then feel here.
she places my hand on her chest. what do i do when someone offers their boobs for me to feel? a lady would have said no. i'm still working off guilt for not wanting to make the drive. so i had to feel the boobie.
wow! that's so hard! bumble's hand moves her hospital gown down past the swelling boobie. crap, saw the whole thing AND felt her up. gia, is it time to go?
bumble's morphine is kicking in. it's time for sleep. it's about 10pm by this time. another exciting friday night spent out on the town. i'm in shell shock, and not tipsy anymore. time for bed. we say our goodbyes.
gia says "sorry about your broken 'gina," while hugging her.
"that's okay. it's not even a vagina right now. it's just a bunch of sewn together meat and skin."
it helped that i was tipsy.
Imagine me in tears giggling to myself in my office. Alone. Not necessarily silently. It helps that I am constantly drunk on the inside.
Do you wanna hold hands? No? Okay, but what if we were going to hell, would you hold hands with me if we were skipping towards HELL? Yes. Of course. That would be both logical and appropriate.
Oh work-wife I love you. Don't move to OK, okay?
how else do you get to hell? skipping and holding hands, right? maybe one of us should leave breadcrumbs. we'll put breadcrumbs in the handbasket. wait, but if we're in the handbasket, how can we skip? we'll cut holes in the bottom. it will help for dropping breadcrumbs.
you're always laughing in your office. i hope your boobies are put away. i might grab them. which i often do.
Miller, you still doubted my stance that I never saw a thing when I was looking at the ceiling. I hope this finally proves that I really really didn't see anything. I was too busy holding the oxygen mask. Or watching the oxygen mask.
Remember that birthing class? OMG!! That birthing class! I had to rub you!!
"saw the whole thing AND felt her up. gia, is it time to go?"
this part made me hoot with laughter and then feel immediately contrite....kind of like laughing at a funeral...her poor little va-jay-jay.....the horror of it all. When my sister called this weekend to relay the story I had to make her stop several in the middle of telling it so I could rest...it made me HURT to HEAR it.
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