Randie Thomas' blog

I don't know what came over me but I decided to open my bed to her last night. Maybe I needed the companionship or the warmth, or maybe I was just feeling unusually charitable. I don't know, because it certainly isn't my style and I'm not bi-curious. I almost forgot I'd done it when I woke up this morning.

I rolled over to check the alarm clock and felt a long, lean form in the covers next to me. She let out a gentle sigh and arched her back. The activities of last night came flooding back to me – how I'd agreed to let this happen. I reached over and stroked her silky hair. She stretched again, this time fully, her arms over her head, and she turned and gazed into my eyes.

It was probably her eyes that made me do it. She has golden eyes. I have never seen eyes like hers before, but they melt me whenever I stare too deeply into them. I pushed her long silky locks behind her ears and she cuddled in close to me. It was, well, nice.

She rolled over so her back was to my chest and I pulled her close. Maybe this is all I need. Her. Her love and her golden eyes and silky locks. As I say good morning, she leaned back and kissed my face and then my neck and then she got up on all fours and hit me in square in the face with her paw.  read more »

I had a date the other day with my eye doctor – a tall, dark, handsome man in his mid-40s. He's been my eye doctor ever since I've lived in this small town.

Alright, it wasn't a date, but I flirted shamelessly with him. I always have, but on the "date," I took it up a notch. The weather was cold and dreary and I really felt like just throwing on the same sweat suit I'd worn the day before but decided against it. I didn't overdress for the appointment, but I did put on a cute sweater and jeans.

I figure there's no time like the present to start practicing my flirting skills! I believe the doctor's married, but no ring adorned his finger and I think he was flirting back. Maybe it was just a typical conversation between two 40-somethings. In the end, the doctor got paid and I got a prescription for bifocals! I refused to move into bifocals last year citing I was too young. This year, my arms aren't long enough to hold the paper far enough away from my eyes so I can read it.  read more »

There are many things that can wake me up at 4 a.m. — weird noises, dogs barking, good sex dreams. I don't usually mind. But last night, when I was pulled out of sleep, I minded! I felt like I had just been gang banged by a bunch of sailors who all had the clap. And I hurt. Bad!

I was broad-sided with an urinary tract infection that had me in tears. I briefly thought about heading to the ER, but decided on a couple of painkillers followed by a wine chaser. It held me over until 8 a.m. when the doctors office opened up and I called in for a real prescription.

I'm sure this infection is the work of the catheter or the result of the surgery. I had a staph infection after the last one, so I should have been prepared, but I wasn't. As I stood in line to pick up the pills, trying hard not to dig my crotch until it bled, one thought kept racing through my mind — I wonder if this is going to happen when or if I ever have sex again?

It really is a strange thought for me to be having for several reasons. First, the who surgery means sex is out of the question for a while. It could actually mean sex is out forever, but before that can be determined you actually have to try.  read more »

I was too pissed to sleep, and I wanted to see the kids. I knew both would be up at 5:30 to shower and eat and begin their day of college classes and work.

Since it was already three, I decided sleep could wait and held off popping a sleeping pill. The Dick retreated to RJ's room, where a very lumpy futon reluctantly held his name.

At quarter after five, I boiled water for tea, made eggs and bagels and woke both kids with kisses as I shut of their alarm clocks. We sat down together in a dimly lit dining room, in the dark of the morning, and shared our first meal together in three weeks.

Even though both kids were grumpy, half asleep and didn't talk much, it was wonderful just being together again. After showering and dressing and gathering their books, I sent them off on their way and then realized I still had a bigger problem to deal with.

I stomped up the steps to RJ's room, flipped on the lights and did my best to pick up and then drop one end of the futon. The Dick stirred. A muffled, "What?" was groaned from under the covers.

"I thought you had to get an early start this morning?" I said in my most chipper voice.  read more »

At 9:30 p.m., 38 hours after the original time he gave me, the Dick finally arrived to take me home, a trip that took us five hours and had us on the road until 2:30 a.m. After packing all my stuff into the car and passing out goodbye hugs, the trip began, and no sooner had the wheels begun to spin than the Dick began to rip me apart.

Up to this point, the split has been amicable. As we turned the corner, so did the relationship. I am doing everything wrong. I am not encouraging Jayne enough in her studies. She graduated a year and a half early and at 17 is in her second semester of college. She is contemplating changing majors, and apparently this is my fault. If only I was pushing her harder, if only I was telling her what a good job she was doing ... if only. Oh, and it is also my responsibility to make sure she works no more than 15 hours a work. Says who?

I explain that both Jayne and R.J. are working while attending college to help with the household bills because of a recent decrease in my long-term disability payment. According to the Dick, I should be having no problem making ends meet off what I receive. And at that point, I could contain myself no longer.  read more »

It's finally time to travel home and while I'm packed, The Dick keeps changing the time he will be here. Since the first time he gave me, the estimated time of departure has been delayed thirty two hours.

It's okay because I have something to do before I leave. It seems there is somebody in this town who remembers me and has been talking about me, and that makes me curious.

My brother is a personal trainer, and a new client — Dave — keeps talking about me. Apparently, we graduated from high school together. That was many years ago, but Dave remembers me.

I don't remember him, but I'm crashing his training session anyway. At $175 an hour, his focus has been on asking my brother about me, rather than on training tips, so really, what girl wouldn't be interested?

I arrived early and involved myself in a conversation with my soon to be sister-in-law. As I pretended to be there to say goodbye to my brother, I was reintroduced to Dave.

Familiar eyes, but a name I couldn't recall from twenty some years ago. I decided to ask Dave out for a cup of coffee after his training session, since I still had a few hours to wait until The Dick's scheduled arrival. Dave jumped at the chance and agreed to meet me an two hours later.  read more »

Tom and I talked on the phone for about an hour last night, and everything is cool between us. As much as I thought I wanted — and fantasized about — more with him, he just didn't rock my world. I tried. I hoped it would happen. It just didn't.

And I guess it's the same for him. I'm sure the fantasies will still be there, and I'll still share them with him when they wake me up at four in the morning thinking I have just had the greatest sex of my life. Just so long as I don't have to bring them to reality.

I guess I am lucky to have such a great friend. And, as soon as we decided that the kissing just shouldn't of happened, we slipped into conversation about The Dick. Tom is helping me navigate the waterways of separation-land, since he has been treading through it for some time now. Let me tell you, it's comforting to know I have guide for this tour.

The drama is just beginning. On the day The Dick left, he received a fix-it ticket for a broken tail-light. Of course, he failed to fix the problem or pay the fine, and now there is a bench warrant out for his arrest, and his license has been revoked. I'm sure somehow this will all be my fault, and I am bracing myself for the ride back home. As you might of guessed, that's up in the air now.  read more »

I haven't really been feeling well enough to go anywhere or do anything, but that doesn't mean I haven't been able to talk on the phone or check my e-mail. Guess who hasn't made any contact? Dr. Tom!

It's not too atypical for him, but it's far from the typical week.

He knew about the surgery, and was given an update by phone and e-mail afterward. He knows about the results. But he hasn't called or e-mailed, other than to say he had been fighting with his ex all week and was exhausted. Not one word about our date. How do I know if he had a good time or not?

What if he had such a horrible time he wanted to free his eyeballs from their sockets with his fork? I talked with some of my girlfriends who said to give him a few weeks and see what happens. I really find that hard to do. Tom and I have been friends for a long time, and I usually e-mail him every day. I know he reads them, but he usually only e-mails back occasionally, and we talk maybe once a week or once every other week.

I wrote him an e-mail saying I really just want to hear from him, and followed it up with a call to his machine. Finally, his silence broke, in the form of an e-mail.

I knew the teacher/student thing would come into play again. Dr. Tom just can't get over it. He feels like he is betraying a trust since our relationship began with me being a student in his class. Damn.  read more »

It's return to the doctor day. A big day when your dealing with cancer, because you are waiting to hear whether the cancer has been contained or not. Did this surgery take care of it, or will more be necessary?

Vulvar cancer is pretty rare at my age, but RSD screws with the immune system. I have HPV and while I would love to blame The Dick for that, I had it long before I met him. I was sexually molested as a young child, and somewhere along the way I was left with that as a lasting reminder, along with a few mental scars.

The difference between me and some others? I refuse to be a victim — of anything. I bought a new t-shirt to wear to this appointment. A nice butter-cream yellow shirt that says "Cancer..you're messing with the wrong bitch." That's my attitude. Same goes for the RSD. I have it, but it doesn't have me.

Awareness about something like HPV and vulvar cancer is huge — its a deadly cancer. Roughly 3,500 women are diagnosed with vulvar cancer each year, and about a quarter of those women will die. This is not my year! After two surgeries, and having both my left inner and outer labias removed, the pathologist reported complete containment of the cancer!  read more »

Recovery from any surgery is tough. Recovery from surgery on your who is a whole different story.

That's right, I call my private area my who, or sometimes my who-who. Vagina, penis, testicles, clitoris, vulva, labia — all those words just somehow get stuck in my throat. I hate saying those words — and I used to be a biology teacher! So who it will have to be.

Bottom line: my who hurts. Why wouldn't it hurt? They cut half of it off and then stuffed this stupid catheter up me, so I wouldn't have to work to pee. No offense to anyone out there who has to wear a catheter full time, but this thing sucks!

I finally got up the energy to shower, and decided to change the bedside catheter bag I was sent home with to a smaller leg bag, so I could put pants on and move around some. By the time I was done, I was so exhausted I needed a nap.

Mom came to check on me about an hour later, only to find I hadn't closed the drain on the catheter bag and had leaked urine all over the bed. It was soaking wet. Great! I haven't wet the bed in 38 years, but I did it today.  read more »