Saturday, April 16, 2011
Roy is just another one of the many terms for the upcoming Jodes-isms Dictionary. The elusive Jodes-isms Dictionary I keep talking about posting and still haven’t finished. I had gone back to work on my Jodes-isms post and was working on the “Roy” definition when I realized it was one of those definitions that went out in so many different directions it left me scratching my head wondering where I’d even began. Potty (also in the Jodes-ism Dictionary) and I call that…What was the question?
It was years ago and there were a bunch of us gals riding out to Palm Springs for a girls weekend getaway. We were pretty wound up and had the radio blasting. We’ll call a friend we had along, “Mrs. Mom Gone Wild” because she was always the wild and crazy life of the party…forever the one to have us laughing hysterically. Mom Gone Wild was not letting us down either; she was bouncing around to the music and had even flashed a military convoy. This was obviously a Mom who needed a weekend getaway.
Mom Gone Wild, having so much fun, bounced so hard in her seat that when we hit a rut in the road, went crashing down between the seat and the door, landing on something sharp and obviously quite painful. Up she flew, screaming, a hand shoved into the crack in her fanny yelling, “MY ROY, MY ROY, Oh God, MY ROYYYYYYYYY!” Concerned about her screaming, and seeing her hand in her panties, we weren’t really sure what to do. We didn’t know what “My Roy” meant either.
It took a while for her to calm down (ish), and then we had to translate from her thick southern drawl while she was laughing, crying and stammering….. “Ah hay-yave a bee-yahg paaahl of hay-yam-a-royyyyds, a-yand ahh jus layn-ded on a bee-yahg ole paaaahl of em.” Shall I translate? Mom Gone Wild had car danced like a loon, fallen and landed on her Roy’s. Crack Prunes. Hemorrhoids. The Horror! The poor kid. No wonder she was screaming. If you haven’t ever had a visit from Ole Roy and a bunch of his wrinkled up and swollen cousins, you are so lucky. Even better if you haven’t been dancing around in a car and you unexpectedly fall on your pile of Roy’s and they all take a painful stab. It’s all bad. Men can just translate that into a painful fall onto their um, hmmm trouser…. soldiers.
I’ve had my own initiation with Ole Roy and The Gang so I had an idea of the kind of pain she was going through. The thought of car dancing and crashing onto some sharp car part and landing on Ole Roy and The Gang makes me hyperventilate, so I can outright respect Mom Gone Wild’s hysteria and tears that day.
My formal introduction to Ole Roy started with the birth of my first child Stephanie, and I didn’t even know who or what Roy was. Soon after the birth, a nurse came into my room carrying a frozen latex glove. Yes, The Frozen Hand, fingers and all. It kinda scared me. She said, "Honey, you need to use this." Terrified I shrieked, "Whaaaat? Whyy? I jjjjjjust had a baby! That’ll hurt! And where am I supposed to be putting all those frozen fingers?" The nurse was holding The Frozen Hand and rubbing her head in that way you know a person has a headache. I think they were honestly just tired of me; I’d already been there for 3 days due to pregnancy complications. When I had checked in I’d tried to be the first person to give birth without removing my panties or telling anyone my weight. Now I was being told to put The Frozen Hand, WHERE? I thought these people were a bunch of crazed lunatics.
When I’d checked in to the hospital, I was originally in a shared room and labored with quite a few gals before it was my turn to go to the birthing room. One gal was being checked in and being asked her weight. I’ll never forget wanting to jump off my bed, through the curtain and strangle her with my bare hands when she embarrassedly said, "Oh my gosh, I weigh 140 lbs, I am such a cow!!!!!" Yeah? What a total cow! Made a mental note to hate her forever. If you are out there cow person, MOO! 140 pounds on her delivery date? Poor cow person. I think one of my thighs weighed 140 pounds that day.
Anyway, Ole Roy. Sitting there looking at The Frozen Hand really had me scared and Nurse With The Obvious Headache did too. She said my “down there” was a big mess and had I noticed? Had I noticed? Only that sitting was a problem and honestly I was too afraid to look!! She explained I had hemorrhoids (ick!) and episiotomy stitches and lots of swelling and needed to sit on some ice. "So you mean I don't have to stick those frozen fingers……….” I asked in a moment of sheer panic. Suddenly, she wasn’t so grumpy. She started to laugh and said, "No dear, you just need to sit on The Hand.” Only slightly less creepy I decided.
So there we were. Me, my beautiful new baby Stephanie and The Frozen Hand cupping Roy and The Gang and the rest of my “down there’s.” It was weird to think about when people were coming in to visit me. But then, everything was bizarre then. I’d eventually been weighed and very unhappily liberated from my panties. It wasn’t long before another ice toting nurse came into my room (she had normal ice, YAY!). I thought Roy was getting a break from The Hand, but boy was I in for a new surprise. They had a lot of surprises there at Placentia-Linda Hospital, let me tell you. This was a Lactation Nurse and she brings ice to help with breastfeeding. I don’t want to explain where that ice goes. Let me just say OUCH again.
I just kept thinking (& wishing all sorts of bad stuff on) all the people I’d asked about having babies and about all the books I’d read and none of them had warned me properly!! Not a single word about being divested of my panties, nothing about mean Lactation Nurses rubbing ice on the most tender area of my breasts, absolute zero about having to sit on The Frozen Hand, and most definitely…..not one word about the appalling, despicable and agonizingly painful Roy Gang.