A Fan Letter to Andy Cohen

Nope, I have never ever sent a fan letter to anyone; not even my teenage musical love Boyz II Men. Today I did it! However, it wasn't to a singer, actor, or sports image. It was to the affable BRAVO TV executive Andy Cohen, who I have NOTHING in common with except being from Missouri. However he absolutely cracks my shit up with his memoir Most Talkative and his nightly show Watch What Happens Live. Where I literally just watched him try to pair up the NKOTB member to a crouch shot in an On Air game. Most importantly, he is the creator of the very prestigious TV series The Real Housewives of ---------. Andy's smile reminds life is just too short not to laugh and have fun with your surroundings. So here is my first attempt at written adoration (now I do realize he may never get my email or letter):



Andy,

 

I wanted to say thank you for your candor and humor on air and mostly in your book. This Kansas City mom has had a series of unfortunate events the past 3 years. 2 bouts of meningitis, 4 brain surgeries, and a slew of hospital visits have kept me from trolling Target and texting in the school pick-line with other "at home" moms. However, I have been able to adopt a Cohensque comical and sometimes inappropriate view of the whole ordeal. My funny and crass rose-colored glasses were influenced by Most Talkative and how you handled your own life struggles, which have zero relationship to my Catholic, vanilla, and Midwestern problems. You dealt with your sexuality; I dealt with a colorful neurosurgeon who I believe has severe ADHD. You dealt with prejudice; I dealt with shunts (yeah...inappropriate word huh?) You dealt with a Jew fro; I dealt with an unruly patch of shaved hair I named Walter. My odd story propelled me to create an immaturely prepared blog where I could share my improper thoughts (http://clusterofcrap.blogspot.com). And this outlet has been my biggest deterrent from depression; I can't afford a new face like Vicki. Thank you for being transparent and yourself and letting the world love you for who you are! I have gleaned so much from your public narrative!

 

Now I know you said there will never be a RHoSTL(or KC) because Midwestern women are not cray-cray like those in OC or ATL. However, if you want a wholesome Missourian to be a bartender in the clubhouse one night, I will happily ditch my addiction to Old Navy clothes and go get a fancy dress at Macy's ;)

 

Thanks,

April Farmer

9 Day Check Up

Since there is really no cohesive writing format to describe my visits to Dr. Basta's office, I will use the trusted Top Ten approach:

1. During surgery, he puts my head in a three-pronged vice grip. This vice grip puts 60 pounds of pressure on a patient's head (from three angles). Medicine is given to an already unconscious patient to minimize blood pressure spikes when those three prongs CLAMP the head. "Thank God you are under anesthesia" Basta reassured me after saying he wouldn't ever want his head in this contraption.

2. I had over 25 staples plucked from my head, neck, chest, and stomach. Dr. Basta made his nurse do this sadistic task as we heard him laughing in the next exam room. While Lisa was plucking me like a dead chicken, she noted that I had completely ripped two staples out of my scalp and two other staples were only half way in. I then had to fess up to a fight I had with an over-the-head hoodie. I guess the hoodie won. Remember I am numb on my scalp, so I don't feel those mishaps. Now, my tummy staples are a different story, and ironically they stayed neatly intact =)

3. He uses a GPS system to find my ventricle (brain hole) to put the proximal end of the catheter in. I had white radioactive stickers put on my head, then they sent me into a CT Scan. The CT Scan and stickers created a GPS reading for Basta to know where to drill my skull hole. Fascinating...huh?

If you look above my right eye, you can see a scabbed over "hole" from the vice grip.



4. Apparently the Kansas City Public Schools are ranked dead last in a supposed all country ranking poll. When furthered questioned, Basta couldn't recall his source. The district is bad, but it is hard to believe they are the WORST district in all of the US.

5. At his kids' preschool they auction off the closest parking spot. This year it went for $2700. Yep, he lives in Mission Hills, KS.

6. I am healing very well, but still have to take it easy for 8 more weeks. Apparently I am not supposed to be lifting anything heavier than a gallon of milk. It would have been more helpful to tell me that right after surgery. So neither Henry nor an overstuffed footstool get to be carried anymore.

7. I need to get a visual field test done at the eye doctor to see if my peripheral vision is improving. It improved with the last shunt, so the prediction is that is will improve with this one.

8. Lisa, his nurse, has had 11 surgeries on her ear. I immediately stopped complaining about my 4 surgeries.

9. My overall diagnosis has changed. It was once IIH (Idiopathic Intercrainal Hypertension) and now it is Acquired Hydrocephalus. I acquired it from my first bout of viral meningitis almost three years ago. I was told this was actually a good switch for my medical future because other doctors know about  Hydrocephalus and how to treat it, unlike IIH.

10. I was always scared that I was "that patient." You know, that hypochondriac patient that calls ALL THE TIME. Nope, I was reassured that when we call, Lisa knows there is something legit going on. I kinda feel proud of that because that means I can read what my body is saying and get help when it needs it. They have patients that call because the patient is lonely and just wants to talk. One patient apparently called and said her husband was beating her. So believe it or not I am a low drama case. 


Overall I am doing very well. I have a virus or something right now, but I am sure that will be short lived. Once again we appreciate all the comments, visits, and prayers. And the food! My goodness the food. We have been blessed with friends, neighbors, and family who keep our bellies very full with healthy food. For the first time in weeks, my kids ate a Happy Meal Saturday as a simple reward for good behavior, not because their parents were too worn out to cook. Thank you so much!

Your Effin' Bladder

Everything in the surgery went as expected. This was my first morning surgery, and I may only schedule morning surgeries from now on. Pre-op nurses are more chipper, you don't have to starve all day, and you go "under" near the scheduled surgery time. I spent 4 hours in recovery where I listened in on a lot of other patient's stories. The pain killer they give me right out of surgery takes the pain away, but does not let me sleep like most people. The gal next me had a hip replaced and was hallucinating on her painkillers. She kept calling our female nurse Ted. That's the kind of pain killer I want!!!!

And I am not sure, but I think the gentleman across the aisle was knocking on death's door. He left Recovery to go back into surgery...maybe? It's not as if I could really see these people, so I had to infer a lot. For some reason, I inferred death. Morbid much?

My post op nurse was very diligent, but not too talkative, so I asked if Kyle could come back and entertain me. Nope! Recovery was too crowded (and full of inferred death) to have extra patrons around (one draw back of a normally timed surgery).

I even got back to my room before dark, so I chit chatted with my parents for a bit. I had insisted that Kyle not spend the night with me, but luckily he didn't listen and ordered a cot for the room. Needless to say, we knew the routine at Research Medical Center since this was my 4th surgery in 15 months. I even fell asleep for the presumable night by 10pm. We were tucked all in and then my bladder started screaming.

Kyle dutifully helped me sit up (which was challenging being I had a head, neck, chest, and stomach incision) and roll my IV into the bathroom. Nothing came out. So we wheeled back to the bed. 5 minuets later came, I could not take it any longer and had to try again. Kyle, again with a smile on his face, rolled me to the bathroom. Nothing! This was our pattern every 10-20 min throughout the ENTIRE night. Yes, the ENTIRE night. The only difference was Kyle's smile transitioned into a grin, then to smirk, then a frown, and finally a "you have got to be kidding me" scowl. I am not sure how he didn't just say "NO, April...you can't pee...deal with it."

Around 6 am, I finally asked Estella, my very efficient Jamaican nurse, if there was something wrong with me. She retrieved a machine (a Doppler...I think) that was able to measure the amount of liquid in my bladder. Who knew such a machine existed? My instincts were right, it was full. I guess with the previously removed catheter and general anesthesia, things slow down in the pee area. I finally had some success later that morning, but poor Kyle was too tired to celebrate with me. His loyalty was solidified that night with all the fruitless trips to the bathroom. Of course, that's what he gets for waking me up with his snoring for the last 9 years. Payback is a bitch, Farmer!



The Cleaning Monster

It has been a little over 2 weeks since I got a call on a Thursday saying my new VP shunt would be placed in three days on the following Monday. With my last placement, I had about 4 weeks to plan, but this time...3 days. When his nurse called and said Monday I giggled and asked her "you mean in 3 days?" She earnestly said yes. Two reasons why the plumbing had to be installed quickly (1) damage to my peripheral vision was already happening and (2) I needed to be completely healed in time for the kids to be out of school. He said I needed 8 full weeks to heal, so time was running out.

From that call on I was possessed with the nesting monster that often occurs in late stage pregnancy. And Kyle was completely helpless against this cleaning bitch; he was to do whatever the bitch said and God forbid he try to sit down to rest. Meals were prepared, "sub plans" for the kids were made, and Henry's early birthday and scrapbook were completed.

The mad-person cleaning is what bothered Kyle the most. He thought I should be resting, but I reassured him that I would have plenty of time to rest. I carried a plastic bucket supplied with Oxy Clean, Pledge, Windex, Scrubbing Bubbles, and rags. I scoured showers, floorboards, windows, counters, cabinets, absolutely everything. Kyle did not know how to handle this because I had never cleaned like this before (except in a freak moment three hours before my water broke with Moe). However he sensed that if he made me stopped, I would be flooded with overwhelming thoughts and my anxiety would get the best of me. All he could do was count down the days until I was immobilized and live with the smell of bleach pouring out of the bathrooms.

 

 

In my warped mind I was thinking EVERYTHING had to be perfect for the grandparents to take over the household even though they didn't need the floorboards sparkling. But the crazy cleaning kept me from losing my mind. Oh yeah, all three kids managed to get sick in those three days too, so stress was high. From my last placement I was expecting to be in the hospital for 4 days, missing Henry's real birthday, Franki and Moe's Grandparent's Day, Mystery Reader, and all the other activities that happen in a week. This house was going to be clean, and I wasn't going to let the fact that my nostrils were suffering chemical burn from the cleaning supplies stand in my way!