I've decided I can't have breast cancer because I will be too embarassed to ever discuss it with anyone. Haven't I been through enough medical crap?
Today the hospital called, the registration and billing department this time. She went over my insurance information and I told her that I actually expect to hit the out-of-pocket maximum any day now, if BC/BS would ever finish processing the claims from my last trip to Houston. (Hello, that was August, people!) She was cool and said they wouldn't collect my facility fee up front, then. It wasn't that much money anyway, relatively speaking.
My mom got good news from her doctor today, her heart tests all came back normal. She is too ticked off over not having a diagnosis for her out-of-breath feelings to be happy about her heart! I know the feeling well. Poor thing, now she'll be doing a round of tests on her lungs. I hope she can get them done quickly and get an answer. She's feeling very frustrated.
My procedure tomorrow is at Oh-dark-thirty, so today I ran around like a lunatic and finished the cleaning and shopping I wanted to get done in case I don't feel like moving for the rest of the week. That made today completely insane, because we also had RE classes tonight. So I'm exhausted but also nervous, and who knows if I'll be able to sleep. I'm going to stay up till close to midnight anyway, since after that I can't eat or drink anything. So at 11:58PM I'll chug a bunch of water and hope I won't be too dehydrated for them to give me the IV 6 hours later. Fortunately, tomorrow I can sleep pretty much all day.
I'm still thinking this is a 50-50 thing, it could go either way. I haven't really given any thought at all to what I'll do if it is cancer, because I just don't want to think about it. And maybe, with a bit of luck, I won't have to.
Monday, October 23, 2006
Sunday, October 22, 2006
let's blame the meds
This isn't something I've mentioned at all, but recently I've noticed the scale ticking up, slowly but surely, lately. After spending the last three years hovering around 125 pounds, it feels weird (and squishy) to be closer to 140. More significantly, I'm wondering if I'll fit into any of my cold weather clothes. I am not in the mood to shop these days.
Usually, when I see that little up-tick, I clean up my dietary act and try to move more. I've been doing regular exercises for over a week now, and watching my eating, too. And the scale hasn't budged.
That's just weird, I think. What's up with that? I'm not sitting down with the box of chocolate chip cookies, or eating an entire (large) bag of tortilla chips for lunch. A few -- two or three, not a handful -- dried apricots shouldn't translate into an inch around the hips.
I think I know what's happening, even though it took me a while to figure it out. Friday, the hospital called and we did my pre-surgery interview. The nurse reminded me that I have to discontinue any NSAIDS. I have been taking 4 Aleve a day for about a month now; I have been trying to get a handle on my various chronic pains, and it helps a lot. Plus, with my TMD and related headaches, painkillers have been pretty much mandatory.
So now I'm off the Aleve for the third day, and my head is killing me but everything else is really doing OK, considering. And for some reason, I remember what happened the last time I took Aleve, and why I stopped taking it.
It made me hungry all the time. I don't know whether there's any research on the effect that certain NSAIDs have on the metabolism of people with insulin resistance, but I do know that my Mom said her blood sugar (she has Type II diabetes) went all crazy when she took Aleve.
Of course this doesn't matter for the moment, since I can't take it until after the procedure on Tuesday anyway. But then I'll have to decide: pudgy, or pain-free? By Tuesday, I'll have more data to consider. By then I may even have dropped a couple of these extra pounds. (For the record, I'm aiming for around 132-135; 125 is too skinny.)
Usually, when I see that little up-tick, I clean up my dietary act and try to move more. I've been doing regular exercises for over a week now, and watching my eating, too. And the scale hasn't budged.
That's just weird, I think. What's up with that? I'm not sitting down with the box of chocolate chip cookies, or eating an entire (large) bag of tortilla chips for lunch. A few -- two or three, not a handful -- dried apricots shouldn't translate into an inch around the hips.
I think I know what's happening, even though it took me a while to figure it out. Friday, the hospital called and we did my pre-surgery interview. The nurse reminded me that I have to discontinue any NSAIDS. I have been taking 4 Aleve a day for about a month now; I have been trying to get a handle on my various chronic pains, and it helps a lot. Plus, with my TMD and related headaches, painkillers have been pretty much mandatory.
So now I'm off the Aleve for the third day, and my head is killing me but everything else is really doing OK, considering. And for some reason, I remember what happened the last time I took Aleve, and why I stopped taking it.
It made me hungry all the time. I don't know whether there's any research on the effect that certain NSAIDs have on the metabolism of people with insulin resistance, but I do know that my Mom said her blood sugar (she has Type II diabetes) went all crazy when she took Aleve.
Of course this doesn't matter for the moment, since I can't take it until after the procedure on Tuesday anyway. But then I'll have to decide: pudgy, or pain-free? By Tuesday, I'll have more data to consider. By then I may even have dropped a couple of these extra pounds. (For the record, I'm aiming for around 132-135; 125 is too skinny.)
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Project Runway, finale
I blame Ann Althouse for getting me hooked on Project Runway, Bravo's popular reality show which features fashion designers sketching, sewing, and frantically trying to put their "look" up on the runway on time, and without boring the judges.
It's a tall order.
This season has been replete with melodrama, and I think, like many PR fans, I was more relieved than anything that last night's finale would be the end of it.
The problem with this season of PR is that it took way too long to get to this point. The designers showed at Olympus Fashion Week ages ago, and photos of all the collections have been circulating on the web for just as long.
In the meantime, PR producers have been leaking snippets of gossip, and the last few episodes featured a rather lame melodrama: would Jeffrey be disqualified? Oh, please.
Jeffrey's on-screen rehabilitation took only a couple of episodes. We got to hear his recovery story again, and we got to meet his charming little boy and fierce (in a great way) girlfriend. The editors have been much, much kinder to him, and so you knew what was coming:
Jeffrey won.
He won for being "innovative" and "fresh" and having a signature look that wasn't boring (Laura, Uli), old (Laura), or trashy (Michael)-- as the judges say, "the taste was questionable." I wish they'd come right out and say "tacky" some time.
If you think that skinny jeans with fake holes with top-stitched patches are innovative, more power to you. Like Jeffrey's winning jet-setter outfit:
they are reminiscent of what the Rolling Stones have been wearing since the early 80s:
But someone must actually like them, because Jeffrey's Cosa Nostra line was doing very well even before he debuted on PR.
As for the rest of the collection, Jeffrey's blue dresses were both total misses: hideous. The long, flowing gown was like Uli-gone-wrong, and made me appreciate what she does all the more.
Jeffrey: wrong
Uli: right
And the short blue dress was Laura-gone-wrong! I thought that was pretty funny.
Jeffrey: wrong, again
Laura: proving short and straight doesn't have to mean "boxy and unattractive"
Even the judges agreed that both of these Jeffrey designs were disasterous.
I question Jeffrey's appreciation of the female body, when he puts up a dress like this one:
The model looks like a lollipop, and the dress is so short that anyone walking by at a brisk pace could easily rustle up enough breeze to show off her nethers to the world. But Jeffrey's taste is not "questionable," according to the judges. At least Michael Knight knows how to do a booty dress while keeping the most important bits covered.
While Jeffrey gets the $100K, the Saturn roadster (sweet!), and all the hoo-ha, it's not as if Michael, Laura, and Uli lost. They all have futures in fashion if they want them. I'm glad they all got to show.
Let me address a final note to parents, or parents-to-be, everywhere: do not tattoo the name of your first-born around your neck, unless you are 100% sure you will never have another child. If little Harrison Detroit ever has siblings, they are already doomed to an inferior status, since his dad doesn't have any more neck real estate to devote to them. And Jeffrey can't go and get his scrolling tattoo lasered off, either, because how would that make little Harrison feel? So, parents, at least learn this lesson from Jeffrey Sebelia, and eschew the prominent tattoo.
Many thanks to the stellar staff of Blogging Project Runway, who have fed my addiction in the nicest possible way throughout this season. They are a shining example of the quality that the citizen-journalists of the web can produce. Kudos!
It's a tall order.
This season has been replete with melodrama, and I think, like many PR fans, I was more relieved than anything that last night's finale would be the end of it.
The problem with this season of PR is that it took way too long to get to this point. The designers showed at Olympus Fashion Week ages ago, and photos of all the collections have been circulating on the web for just as long.
In the meantime, PR producers have been leaking snippets of gossip, and the last few episodes featured a rather lame melodrama: would Jeffrey be disqualified? Oh, please.
Jeffrey's on-screen rehabilitation took only a couple of episodes. We got to hear his recovery story again, and we got to meet his charming little boy and fierce (in a great way) girlfriend. The editors have been much, much kinder to him, and so you knew what was coming:
Jeffrey won.
He won for being "innovative" and "fresh" and having a signature look that wasn't boring (Laura, Uli), old (Laura), or trashy (Michael)-- as the judges say, "the taste was questionable." I wish they'd come right out and say "tacky" some time.
If you think that skinny jeans with fake holes with top-stitched patches are innovative, more power to you. Like Jeffrey's winning jet-setter outfit:
they are reminiscent of what the Rolling Stones have been wearing since the early 80s:
But someone must actually like them, because Jeffrey's Cosa Nostra line was doing very well even before he debuted on PR.
As for the rest of the collection, Jeffrey's blue dresses were both total misses: hideous. The long, flowing gown was like Uli-gone-wrong, and made me appreciate what she does all the more.
And the short blue dress was Laura-gone-wrong! I thought that was pretty funny.
Even the judges agreed that both of these Jeffrey designs were disasterous.
I question Jeffrey's appreciation of the female body, when he puts up a dress like this one:
The model looks like a lollipop, and the dress is so short that anyone walking by at a brisk pace could easily rustle up enough breeze to show off her nethers to the world. But Jeffrey's taste is not "questionable," according to the judges. At least Michael Knight knows how to do a booty dress while keeping the most important bits covered.
While Jeffrey gets the $100K, the Saturn roadster (sweet!), and all the hoo-ha, it's not as if Michael, Laura, and Uli lost. They all have futures in fashion if they want them. I'm glad they all got to show.
Let me address a final note to parents, or parents-to-be, everywhere: do not tattoo the name of your first-born around your neck, unless you are 100% sure you will never have another child. If little Harrison Detroit ever has siblings, they are already doomed to an inferior status, since his dad doesn't have any more neck real estate to devote to them. And Jeffrey can't go and get his scrolling tattoo lasered off, either, because how would that make little Harrison feel? So, parents, at least learn this lesson from Jeffrey Sebelia, and eschew the prominent tattoo.
Many thanks to the stellar staff of Blogging Project Runway, who have fed my addiction in the nicest possible way throughout this season. They are a shining example of the quality that the citizen-journalists of the web can produce. Kudos!
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Friday Night Lights
"Wind Sprints"
(spoilers)
I missed saying anything last week because, frankly, I'm barely holding it together here. I'm pretty sure it's OK to self-medicate with a glass of wine with dinner, though, so I'm feeling better at the moment.
Take away line: I'm still in love with this show.
The Big Question: have they sustained the glorious momentum of the pilot episode?
Honestly, no, but that was inherent in the structure of the pilot episode. Jason Street, the Moses who would lead the Panthers to the Promised Land of the State Championship, suffered a fatal injury to his football career. That was the essentially the end of the pilot, and the beginning of the series.
Last week's episode focussed on how the team was coping with the loss of Street, particularly sophomore quarterback Matt Saracen, he of the narrow shoulders and even narrower hips and jawline. At the end of last week's episode, they were poised to take the field for their first game since losing Jason, their second game of the season.
So tonight's episode opens with the game, which heart-breakingly echoed last night's pitiful defeat of the Arizona Cardinals by the still-undefeated Chicago Bears. In a cruel example of art imitating reality, the young quarterback's successful execution of nearly every play doesn't stop the rest of the team from making mistakes that ultimately lead to their defeat.
And in the fictional town of Dillon, TX, the Panthers are not supposed to lose. Of course things get ugly -- but not too ugly, yet -- but they get ugly in interesting ways.
Various team members act up and act out. Saracen shows his stuff in practice again and again -- the kid can put up a beautiful spiral, I'll tell you what. Things really start falling apart until Smash, the star running back, makes the mistake of dissing Coach Taylor on local television, which leads to a late-night practice consisting of running wind sprints, in the pouring rain, across a wash filled with calf-deep water, up and down a hill. If you've seen (the best hockey movie ever) Miracle, you cannot escape recognizing this as the "Again!" scene.
Does it work? By the end of the drill, the team appears to be back on the same page, but since we haven't seen the game yet, we don't know whether "Clear eyes, full hearts, can't lose," is a statement of fact or a just-out-of-reach dream.
But the wind sprints were only a tiny part of the episode; it amazes me how much gets packed into these things. The brief, nasty confrontation between Taylor and a townie when he takes his daughter out for a burger after the loss; a teacher (I think) at the school telling Tami, Coach Taylor's wife and the new school guidance counselor, that the last counselor committed suicide; Lyla's near-delusional faith that Jason can recover, and the concern this causes her parents and the fury it ignites in Jason himself -- these scenes all slip by in seconds, but every one of them adds to the mosaic of impressions that leads to a fantastically complex, compelling picture of a town that is struggling to cope with something that "just happened."
One thing I love is the dynamic between the Coach and Tami. Tami is a counselor; Coach is a coach, and she just doesn't get that. Throughout this episode Tami tosses ideas at Coach: be compassionate, let it go. What I loved is that Coach doesn't take her advice: it would be disasterous for him to let Smash dis him and get away with it. But he does listen to her, because he makes a point of pulling aside Riggins, who has been circling the drain since Street was injured, and forgiving the boy and making sure that he forgives himself. That scene doesn't end with a hug, though: Riggins owes him a practice, and he makes him walk home... at 3AM. "Call it even," he says, leaving Riggins standing there, open-mouthed.
I won't get into the whole Lyla-Jason thing, but I will comment briefly on the Lyla-Riggins thing. In an episode otherwise full of pitch-perfect notes, I'm going to withold judgement on just how unbelievable that was until we find out whether or not she slept with him. I would consider that a betrayal of her character. Someone with that much faith and love doesn't jump into bed with someone else just because her injured boyfriend has a bad night. So, we'll see.
The pace of the last two episodes is not quite as frantic as the pilot's, but that's a good thing. There's a sense of having space to breathe, except in the scenes where we're meant to be breathless (the early game scenes, for example.) The camera work, the quick cuts, the music are all coming together for me as seamlessly beautiful or tragic as they did in the pilot; the acting is outstanding.
Where does it go from here? The introduction of a Katrina refugee quarterback throws an unexpected element into the mix. We close with a scene of Taylor shaking his hand and Saracen wondering what the heck is going to happen to him, now. Taylor is already on record as saying that a starting position has to be earned, so we'll see next week how Katrina boy does on the field during practice. The rest of team looked at him, thinking, WTF? He didn't do no wind sprints in the pouring rain with us, who does he think he is?
But if he can win games for them, you know they'll love him as if he was Dillon born and bred.
(spoilers)
I missed saying anything last week because, frankly, I'm barely holding it together here. I'm pretty sure it's OK to self-medicate with a glass of wine with dinner, though, so I'm feeling better at the moment.
Take away line: I'm still in love with this show.
The Big Question: have they sustained the glorious momentum of the pilot episode?
Honestly, no, but that was inherent in the structure of the pilot episode. Jason Street, the Moses who would lead the Panthers to the Promised Land of the State Championship, suffered a fatal injury to his football career. That was the essentially the end of the pilot, and the beginning of the series.
Last week's episode focussed on how the team was coping with the loss of Street, particularly sophomore quarterback Matt Saracen, he of the narrow shoulders and even narrower hips and jawline. At the end of last week's episode, they were poised to take the field for their first game since losing Jason, their second game of the season.
So tonight's episode opens with the game, which heart-breakingly echoed last night's pitiful defeat of the Arizona Cardinals by the still-undefeated Chicago Bears. In a cruel example of art imitating reality, the young quarterback's successful execution of nearly every play doesn't stop the rest of the team from making mistakes that ultimately lead to their defeat.
And in the fictional town of Dillon, TX, the Panthers are not supposed to lose. Of course things get ugly -- but not too ugly, yet -- but they get ugly in interesting ways.
Various team members act up and act out. Saracen shows his stuff in practice again and again -- the kid can put up a beautiful spiral, I'll tell you what. Things really start falling apart until Smash, the star running back, makes the mistake of dissing Coach Taylor on local television, which leads to a late-night practice consisting of running wind sprints, in the pouring rain, across a wash filled with calf-deep water, up and down a hill. If you've seen (the best hockey movie ever) Miracle, you cannot escape recognizing this as the "Again!" scene.
Does it work? By the end of the drill, the team appears to be back on the same page, but since we haven't seen the game yet, we don't know whether "Clear eyes, full hearts, can't lose," is a statement of fact or a just-out-of-reach dream.
But the wind sprints were only a tiny part of the episode; it amazes me how much gets packed into these things. The brief, nasty confrontation between Taylor and a townie when he takes his daughter out for a burger after the loss; a teacher (I think) at the school telling Tami, Coach Taylor's wife and the new school guidance counselor, that the last counselor committed suicide; Lyla's near-delusional faith that Jason can recover, and the concern this causes her parents and the fury it ignites in Jason himself -- these scenes all slip by in seconds, but every one of them adds to the mosaic of impressions that leads to a fantastically complex, compelling picture of a town that is struggling to cope with something that "just happened."
One thing I love is the dynamic between the Coach and Tami. Tami is a counselor; Coach is a coach, and she just doesn't get that. Throughout this episode Tami tosses ideas at Coach: be compassionate, let it go. What I loved is that Coach doesn't take her advice: it would be disasterous for him to let Smash dis him and get away with it. But he does listen to her, because he makes a point of pulling aside Riggins, who has been circling the drain since Street was injured, and forgiving the boy and making sure that he forgives himself. That scene doesn't end with a hug, though: Riggins owes him a practice, and he makes him walk home... at 3AM. "Call it even," he says, leaving Riggins standing there, open-mouthed.
I won't get into the whole Lyla-Jason thing, but I will comment briefly on the Lyla-Riggins thing. In an episode otherwise full of pitch-perfect notes, I'm going to withold judgement on just how unbelievable that was until we find out whether or not she slept with him. I would consider that a betrayal of her character. Someone with that much faith and love doesn't jump into bed with someone else just because her injured boyfriend has a bad night. So, we'll see.
The pace of the last two episodes is not quite as frantic as the pilot's, but that's a good thing. There's a sense of having space to breathe, except in the scenes where we're meant to be breathless (the early game scenes, for example.) The camera work, the quick cuts, the music are all coming together for me as seamlessly beautiful or tragic as they did in the pilot; the acting is outstanding.
Where does it go from here? The introduction of a Katrina refugee quarterback throws an unexpected element into the mix. We close with a scene of Taylor shaking his hand and Saracen wondering what the heck is going to happen to him, now. Taylor is already on record as saying that a starting position has to be earned, so we'll see next week how Katrina boy does on the field during practice. The rest of team looked at him, thinking, WTF? He didn't do no wind sprints in the pouring rain with us, who does he think he is?
But if he can win games for them, you know they'll love him as if he was Dillon born and bred.
Monday, October 16, 2006
kid and kitten
Today, originally scheduled for nothing, turned into a doctor-ish sort of day.
Cooper, our orange tabby boy kitten, got whacked in the face or something yesterday, and his right eyelid swelled up. It was hard to tell if his eye was scratched or just the area around it, but obviously something -- most likely one of Alice's claws -- had damaged something around there.
Since yesterday was Sunday, though, we just kept an eye on it until today. The difference between an emergency vet visit and a regular vet visit is substantial, and today's visit plus meds still cost over $100. Now he's on antibiotics and getting a steroid ointment in his eye twice a day. Fortunately, the problem is in the conjunctiva, the pink tissue around the eye, not with the eye itself. So he'll be OK.
I knew today would be a vet day, but I wasn't expecting to have to go to the pediatrician's, too. DD woke up with a very sore throat and just feeling miserable. DH thought it might be strep, but I didn't; strep doesn't usually give you a brutal cough like hers. I listened to her lungs and heard squeaking, and that was enough for me to make the call to the doctor.
She has mild, intermittent asthma -- yikes! Once three or four years ago she had a problem like this, but this is the first time since then. She had a breathing treatment in the office and felt immediately better, although the doctor still heard some squeaks. She'll be on the nebulizer every four (waking) hours for the next few days, and also on a short course of steroids. We're all hoping that this was just triggered by the cold she had, and that she won't need daily medicine.
I was worried that it might have something to do with the kittens, but the doctor said the symptoms would have shown up much sooner if that were the case. We'll just have to keep a close eye on her and make sure she's not having chronic problems. There's no reason to think she will, but she is already resistant to the idea of having daily meds and/or also having to change some of the way she lives her life.
She's such a healthy girl now I don't often think of how tiny she was when she was born, and those days when I wondered if she would make it or not because eating seemed like too much bother to her. But today put me in mind of that time, because when she couldn't get enough air she didn't want to eat or drink or even move. I carried her out to the car, hearing the echo of those days.
It's my job to be calm and reassuring, though, so I couldn't let any of those old fears surface. In the process of comforting DD, I consoled myself as well. She'll be fine, even if asthma is a new worry lurking in the shadows. At least we know it's there now, and can deal with it as need be.
Cooper, our orange tabby boy kitten, got whacked in the face or something yesterday, and his right eyelid swelled up. It was hard to tell if his eye was scratched or just the area around it, but obviously something -- most likely one of Alice's claws -- had damaged something around there.
Since yesterday was Sunday, though, we just kept an eye on it until today. The difference between an emergency vet visit and a regular vet visit is substantial, and today's visit plus meds still cost over $100. Now he's on antibiotics and getting a steroid ointment in his eye twice a day. Fortunately, the problem is in the conjunctiva, the pink tissue around the eye, not with the eye itself. So he'll be OK.
I knew today would be a vet day, but I wasn't expecting to have to go to the pediatrician's, too. DD woke up with a very sore throat and just feeling miserable. DH thought it might be strep, but I didn't; strep doesn't usually give you a brutal cough like hers. I listened to her lungs and heard squeaking, and that was enough for me to make the call to the doctor.
She has mild, intermittent asthma -- yikes! Once three or four years ago she had a problem like this, but this is the first time since then. She had a breathing treatment in the office and felt immediately better, although the doctor still heard some squeaks. She'll be on the nebulizer every four (waking) hours for the next few days, and also on a short course of steroids. We're all hoping that this was just triggered by the cold she had, and that she won't need daily medicine.
I was worried that it might have something to do with the kittens, but the doctor said the symptoms would have shown up much sooner if that were the case. We'll just have to keep a close eye on her and make sure she's not having chronic problems. There's no reason to think she will, but she is already resistant to the idea of having daily meds and/or also having to change some of the way she lives her life.
She's such a healthy girl now I don't often think of how tiny she was when she was born, and those days when I wondered if she would make it or not because eating seemed like too much bother to her. But today put me in mind of that time, because when she couldn't get enough air she didn't want to eat or drink or even move. I carried her out to the car, hearing the echo of those days.
It's my job to be calm and reassuring, though, so I couldn't let any of those old fears surface. In the process of comforting DD, I consoled myself as well. She'll be fine, even if asthma is a new worry lurking in the shadows. At least we know it's there now, and can deal with it as need be.
strangely familiar
Today's Bleat pretty much sums up my weekend:
I spent the entire weekend (pretty much) in yoga pants, which do nothing so well as telegraph I give up.
This week will be interesting/torture: the kids are on school break. I'm looking forward to the significant freedom in the schedule, but I'm also wondering how I will pry the children away from their various video-boxes to do something else. I of course haven't even figured out what "something else" is, yet.
I wish I could've scheduled the lumpectomy sooner. It is weighing on me and I can't seem to wiggle out from under the gloom of potential chemo. I just want to get it over with.
Well, that was an odd weekend. Stayed up too late, woke too early, had every attempt at a nap punctured by a domestic fracas, ate leftovers for every meal, and finished nothing I began. No more of those, please.Of course it's not entirely accurate, but close.
I spent the entire weekend (pretty much) in yoga pants, which do nothing so well as telegraph I give up.
This week will be interesting/torture: the kids are on school break. I'm looking forward to the significant freedom in the schedule, but I'm also wondering how I will pry the children away from their various video-boxes to do something else. I of course haven't even figured out what "something else" is, yet.
I wish I could've scheduled the lumpectomy sooner. It is weighing on me and I can't seem to wiggle out from under the gloom of potential chemo. I just want to get it over with.
Saturday, October 14, 2006
the persistence of pain
These past few days I've been working on behavior modification.
I hate, hate, hate the splint. After wearing it for the first time night before last, I woke up with a crashing headache, my mouth glued shut, and my jaw hurting even more than before. By some miracle, though, all of that has literally faded away and today I had hardly a twinge in my jaw, although I did have an early headache. So the early trend is that it's actually working, which is not surprising, I expected it to work. I just didn't expect it to work so quickly.
One reason I am probably feeling much better is because of the aforementioned behavior modification. I used to put my chin in my hand alot. Really, a lot. If I was sitting reading, I'd put the book on the table and lean my head into my hands, of course by the chin. The doctor did not tell me this was a bad idea, but the literature that came with the splint did. (I'm so glad I actually read it!)
It is very hard to break this kind of a habit. I get tired, I want to rest my head, but having my hand up by my temples just isn't that comfortable. I'm just going to give up the head-resting altogether, I suppose. That's OK, giving up excruciating TMD at the same time is a fair trade. It turns out that shoving your lower jaw back into the jaw joints is not a good idea, you know?
More behavior modification: I have sworn off gum. That doesn't sound like a big deal, but I'm very dependent on it because of my damaged salivary glands. A lot of times my saliva production is deficient and my mouth tastes horrible as a result, or sometimes I've got plenty of saliva but it's salty-tasting. When either of these situations comes up, I would pop a piece of gum to get the saliva flowing and get the horrid taste out of my mouth. Now I'll have to rely on either mints or Altoids sours to manage these problems, at least until the greater issue is resolved.
Last but not least, I'm getting back to my physical therapy exercises for my neck, shoulders, hip, and tailbone. I am not put together very well, and I have finally come to accept the fact that the only thing that is going to help me feel better is regular exercise, not the random activity I usually engage in.
I have also decided to take more active steps to squelch pain as much as possible, for a couple of reasons. First, when I'm in pain, my shoulders tense up, which screws up my neck, which gives me that spike-through-the-eye headache. Yuck. Second, if a nerve is irritated long enough, it will forget how to shut itself off. I think that's what's going on with my piriformis and my tailbone. The piriformis stretches out just fine, there's no reason for it to feel as horrid as it does. I think the nerves down there have been registering pain for so long they don't know how to register anything else. So I'm attacking this two ways, with Aleve to tackle inflammation, and with BioFreeze gel as a topical I can rub in whenever I get a twinge that needs calming.
So far I'm not seeing the drastic improvement in the hip/tailbone stuff that I've already seen with the jaw, but I'm hoping it will come with time. It's amazing how long I have put up with this because I didn't feel like dealing with it. Yes, these pains so far have been ignorable, but that doesn't mean they will always be if I just let it go. I believe I've got to chase these pains away, or they will haunt me forever, and I have enough to keep me busy without having to cart these particular, resolvable pains around with me for the rest of my life.
I hate, hate, hate the splint. After wearing it for the first time night before last, I woke up with a crashing headache, my mouth glued shut, and my jaw hurting even more than before. By some miracle, though, all of that has literally faded away and today I had hardly a twinge in my jaw, although I did have an early headache. So the early trend is that it's actually working, which is not surprising, I expected it to work. I just didn't expect it to work so quickly.
One reason I am probably feeling much better is because of the aforementioned behavior modification. I used to put my chin in my hand alot. Really, a lot. If I was sitting reading, I'd put the book on the table and lean my head into my hands, of course by the chin. The doctor did not tell me this was a bad idea, but the literature that came with the splint did. (I'm so glad I actually read it!)
It is very hard to break this kind of a habit. I get tired, I want to rest my head, but having my hand up by my temples just isn't that comfortable. I'm just going to give up the head-resting altogether, I suppose. That's OK, giving up excruciating TMD at the same time is a fair trade. It turns out that shoving your lower jaw back into the jaw joints is not a good idea, you know?
More behavior modification: I have sworn off gum. That doesn't sound like a big deal, but I'm very dependent on it because of my damaged salivary glands. A lot of times my saliva production is deficient and my mouth tastes horrible as a result, or sometimes I've got plenty of saliva but it's salty-tasting. When either of these situations comes up, I would pop a piece of gum to get the saliva flowing and get the horrid taste out of my mouth. Now I'll have to rely on either mints or Altoids sours to manage these problems, at least until the greater issue is resolved.
Last but not least, I'm getting back to my physical therapy exercises for my neck, shoulders, hip, and tailbone. I am not put together very well, and I have finally come to accept the fact that the only thing that is going to help me feel better is regular exercise, not the random activity I usually engage in.
I have also decided to take more active steps to squelch pain as much as possible, for a couple of reasons. First, when I'm in pain, my shoulders tense up, which screws up my neck, which gives me that spike-through-the-eye headache. Yuck. Second, if a nerve is irritated long enough, it will forget how to shut itself off. I think that's what's going on with my piriformis and my tailbone. The piriformis stretches out just fine, there's no reason for it to feel as horrid as it does. I think the nerves down there have been registering pain for so long they don't know how to register anything else. So I'm attacking this two ways, with Aleve to tackle inflammation, and with BioFreeze gel as a topical I can rub in whenever I get a twinge that needs calming.
So far I'm not seeing the drastic improvement in the hip/tailbone stuff that I've already seen with the jaw, but I'm hoping it will come with time. It's amazing how long I have put up with this because I didn't feel like dealing with it. Yes, these pains so far have been ignorable, but that doesn't mean they will always be if I just let it go. I believe I've got to chase these pains away, or they will haunt me forever, and I have enough to keep me busy without having to cart these particular, resolvable pains around with me for the rest of my life.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
got nothin'
The biopsy was non-diagnostic. In other words, there wasn't enough material in the sample for the cytologist to make any kind of a determination.
Basically, I know as much as I did before the biopsy, which is to say, nothing. The definitive answer will come after the lumpectomy on the 24th.
Basically, I know as much as I did before the biopsy, which is to say, nothing. The definitive answer will come after the lumpectomy on the 24th.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
splint
I still haven't heard the results from the breast-lump biopsy. At this point, I'm actively avoiding thinking about it.
I spent almost 2 hours this morning being fitted for my new appliance, a splint. It looks like a clear plastic retainer with a flange at the front. The effect of this thing is to force my lower jaw forward. It's bizarre, and very tight, and not easy to put in without pinching the insides of my cheeks. I felt sympathy for the technician who worked for at least an hour customizing the fit, but she was good-natured about it. I suppose she has to be, it's her job.
So I wear the splint and my lower retainer whenever I'm sleeping. It's good that I don't have to wear it any other time because I literally can not talk with the thing in my mouth. I mean, I can, it's just very difficult because my tongue can't go anywhere because of the flange.
In addition to wearing this, I have to do DPAs - daily pain assessments. The thought of DPA depresses me (not hyperbole), because the problem is, of course, that every D there is plenty of P to A. In my experience, the act of thinking about pain makes the pain worse. This is probably not accurate; it's more likely that by thinking about pain in an attempt to assess it, what I'm doing is removing the layers of suppression that I have deployed at all times. But the net effect is the same: I hurt more, because I'm thinking about it (or allowing myself to feel it.) These DPAs will be limited to head, jaw, and ear pain, so I have some hope that we'll see a gradually improving trend.
In reality, I'm already a lot better than I was before my first appointment. The doc told me that my headaches were caused by muscle problems in my neck (and probably shoulders, too), and so I have been stretching them and doing some of my physical therapy exercises. I have had very few headaches since, and that's a blessing.
I spent almost 2 hours this morning being fitted for my new appliance, a splint. It looks like a clear plastic retainer with a flange at the front. The effect of this thing is to force my lower jaw forward. It's bizarre, and very tight, and not easy to put in without pinching the insides of my cheeks. I felt sympathy for the technician who worked for at least an hour customizing the fit, but she was good-natured about it. I suppose she has to be, it's her job.
So I wear the splint and my lower retainer whenever I'm sleeping. It's good that I don't have to wear it any other time because I literally can not talk with the thing in my mouth. I mean, I can, it's just very difficult because my tongue can't go anywhere because of the flange.
In addition to wearing this, I have to do DPAs - daily pain assessments. The thought of DPA depresses me (not hyperbole), because the problem is, of course, that every D there is plenty of P to A. In my experience, the act of thinking about pain makes the pain worse. This is probably not accurate; it's more likely that by thinking about pain in an attempt to assess it, what I'm doing is removing the layers of suppression that I have deployed at all times. But the net effect is the same: I hurt more, because I'm thinking about it (or allowing myself to feel it.) These DPAs will be limited to head, jaw, and ear pain, so I have some hope that we'll see a gradually improving trend.
In reality, I'm already a lot better than I was before my first appointment. The doc told me that my headaches were caused by muscle problems in my neck (and probably shoulders, too), and so I have been stretching them and doing some of my physical therapy exercises. I have had very few headaches since, and that's a blessing.
Monday, October 09, 2006
still no news
The mind reels with possibilities.
1. The biopsy results have not been returned to the surgeon's office yet. -Unlikely, since he expected them before the end of last week.
The surgeon is out of town, and his staff lady told me that he calls in every day to discuss test results and other business. Which presents these possibilities:
2. The surgeon didn't call in today. - No way.
3. The staff lady didn't get a chance to discuss my results with the surgeon, either because he was pressed for time or because they came in after he called. - Possible, but not likely.
The nice staff lady told me that she specifically cannot release test results unless the doctor explicitly gives her permission to do so. In other words, if there's some discussion that needs to take place, the doctor is going to make the call himself. That presents:
4. They discussed my results but she forgot to ask about calling me to so I could get them asap. - No way. She razzed me about freaking out, and then assured me she would do what she could so I could settle down all the anxious family.
5. They discussed my results and the doctor wants to talk them over with me himself, which means I have to wait for him to get back. - A definite possibility.
Of course, #5 means bad news.
Unfortunately I have no idea when the doctor is getting back. All I can do is wait. (But in an effort not to drive myself crazy thinking about this today, I did a ton of errands all day and then cooked all evening. I'm doing OK.)
A thought flashed just now, Won't I feel silly if/when I get a call telling me that the biopsy was negative? No, I won't. This is something that could go either way. The recommendation on the mammogram/ultrasound report was "BI-RADS: 4 - suspicious abnormality - biopsy should be considered." That doesn't sound too bad, until you look at the recommendation hierarchy, and see that the only thing worse is BI-RADS 5. A 4 indicates "a finding has a definite probability of being malignant," whereas 5 is used when "a finding has a high probability of being cancerous." What's the difference between "definite" and "high"?
Big enough; "definite" gives me a lot more room for hope.
1. The biopsy results have not been returned to the surgeon's office yet. -Unlikely, since he expected them before the end of last week.
The surgeon is out of town, and his staff lady told me that he calls in every day to discuss test results and other business. Which presents these possibilities:
2. The surgeon didn't call in today. - No way.
3. The staff lady didn't get a chance to discuss my results with the surgeon, either because he was pressed for time or because they came in after he called. - Possible, but not likely.
The nice staff lady told me that she specifically cannot release test results unless the doctor explicitly gives her permission to do so. In other words, if there's some discussion that needs to take place, the doctor is going to make the call himself. That presents:
4. They discussed my results but she forgot to ask about calling me to so I could get them asap. - No way. She razzed me about freaking out, and then assured me she would do what she could so I could settle down all the anxious family.
5. They discussed my results and the doctor wants to talk them over with me himself, which means I have to wait for him to get back. - A definite possibility.
Of course, #5 means bad news.
Unfortunately I have no idea when the doctor is getting back. All I can do is wait. (But in an effort not to drive myself crazy thinking about this today, I did a ton of errands all day and then cooked all evening. I'm doing OK.)
A thought flashed just now, Won't I feel silly if/when I get a call telling me that the biopsy was negative? No, I won't. This is something that could go either way. The recommendation on the mammogram/ultrasound report was "BI-RADS: 4 - suspicious abnormality - biopsy should be considered." That doesn't sound too bad, until you look at the recommendation hierarchy, and see that the only thing worse is BI-RADS 5. A 4 indicates "a finding has a definite probability of being malignant," whereas 5 is used when "a finding has a high probability of being cancerous." What's the difference between "definite" and "high"?
Big enough; "definite" gives me a lot more room for hope.
Friday, October 06, 2006
no news
So I called my surgeon's office today to find out if they would be open on Monday. What with it being Columbus Day and all, I'm never sure when doctors in private practice decide to take a day off.
The staffwoman I spoke to told me that the office would be open on Monday but that the doctor is out of town. I told her I was just wondering if there was a chance I could get the biopsy results on Monday.
You're not freaking out on me, are you? she asked.
I almost laughed. Well, yeah, I thought, it's kinda hard not to freak out with the specter of another cancer hanging over my head, but I'm doing OK all things considered... but I didn't say any of that.
I just told her that I have family calling me for news.
She promised to speak to the doctor when the results come in and get back to me asap. So Monday will be the earliest I'll hear, and it may even be later.
The only real news today is that my surgery is scheduled for 7:30AM so I have to arrive at the surgical center at 6AM which is damn early.
The rest of the day was really busy. I need a vacation. Lucky for me, only one more week of school and then the kids have fall break, but I have no idea what we're going to do that week. I'm too fried to think about it.
The staffwoman I spoke to told me that the office would be open on Monday but that the doctor is out of town. I told her I was just wondering if there was a chance I could get the biopsy results on Monday.
You're not freaking out on me, are you? she asked.
I almost laughed. Well, yeah, I thought, it's kinda hard not to freak out with the specter of another cancer hanging over my head, but I'm doing OK all things considered... but I didn't say any of that.
I just told her that I have family calling me for news.
She promised to speak to the doctor when the results come in and get back to me asap. So Monday will be the earliest I'll hear, and it may even be later.
The only real news today is that my surgery is scheduled for 7:30AM so I have to arrive at the surgical center at 6AM which is damn early.
The rest of the day was really busy. I need a vacation. Lucky for me, only one more week of school and then the kids have fall break, but I have no idea what we're going to do that week. I'm too fried to think about it.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Lost, 3.1
It is a tale
Told by an idiot
full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing."
-- Macbeth
So, there's Jack, and he's just wrecked, and there's his pretty jailer with the big fat folder, telling him that his ex-wife is happy.
Here's my question: why would Jack, or anyone, ever believe anything an Other says to them?
Also, the implication that it was Jack's fault that his father started drinking again, that Jack's downward spiral and attack on Christian led to him picking up the bottle again -- sorry, not buying it, and I can't believe Jack would, either. If Christian wasn't talking to Sarah, why not show Jack the cellphone and prove it? It makes much more sense that he would hit the bottle out of guilt if he was banging his son's wife, and how exactly would that be Jack's fault? Anyway: ick.
Show makes me crazy. Next week, we'll get to see more characters, including the ones that actually have brains and use them, like Sayid and Sun. I'm not sure how much more of this idiocy I can take. The writers are treating the audience the way the Others treat the Losties. I can enjoy good psych drama and mysteries when they're fictional, but I've always detested headgames in real life. We're only one episode in and I'm already tired of being jerked around.
The quote, "sound and fury, signifying nothing"? That was last night's episode. It was well-paced, beautifully shot, had nicely balanced tensions, the unsettling random explosions of violence, some very nice performances from Matthew Fox, and Evangeline Lily actually acted in a scene or two, which was a nice surprise. Overall, you could say it was good, but I won't, because all it did was dump a whole new set of questions on us without ever answering any of the old ones.
the person I want to be
Before I had kids, I wanted to be the kind of mother who never got angry or yelled or lost it in any way. I wanted to be the infinitely patient, caring mom who answered all the questions and dealt with everything fairly and never spoke to her children in a horrid, tight voice.
I didn't know if I could be that kind of person, but I did know that back then, I wasn't.
What I found, when the babies came along and grew and grew and grew, is that I am not that person, but that's OK. I realized that no one can be that person. Everyone makes mistakes, especially during 24/7 kid duty, but as long we own up to it, there's no harm done.
Lately I've noticed that I may not be infinitely patient, but I do answer all the questions, even when I don't want to. I recently fielded an intense discussion on whether or not silicone could really be a basis for life (thank you, classic Star Trek), which led to a discussion of the periodic table of elements with a 9-year-old. And later, I had to talk about why there are oil rigs out in the ocean and how did that oil get there, anyway? One kid learned about grafting for plant propagation in school so we looked up fruit salad trees on the web. I am a walking dictionary/encyclopedia, and I love it.
I am a caring mom, too, even though I yell at my kids from time to time. Stuff happens, we have to deal with it, sometimes at loud volumes. I very clearly wanted to be the kind of mother who talked to her kids with respect and kindness, and for the most part, I am. I don't nag, thanks to countless tutorials in parenting books and mags. I say things like, "I see shoes in the middle of the floor," or sometimes, just "shoes!" which inspires the kid to put the shoes away without me having to screech. In fact, I pretty much avoid screeching at all times, these days. Tone of voice is nearly everything, and through long practice, I've mastered the ability to say just about anything to my kids in the tone that I want. There's nothing worse than slamming a kid with a nasty-sounding question just because I'm tired; that's so not fair. So I don't do it. Did you finish your homework? can be a pleasant, give-me-a-status-report request, or it can be an accusation you throw at your kids to beat them down. It's your choice, and I've made mine.
If you ask me, that's a miracle, since I used to be a shrew. Is it my husband's good influence? the kids? my own desperate need to change? the cumulative impact of all the medical stuff? eight+ years of practice? I don't know, I'm just happy about it. I'm glad I can look at a situation that 10 years ago would've made me freak out and come up with Well, that wasn't what I expected, before moving right along to fixing whatever it is that needs fixing. Someone has to make things work, and as Dr. Seuss would say, Someone is me. (If not me, who? What, I'm going to wait for DH to get home from work to deal with every petty crisis? No way.)
I was talking to my middle sister the other day about all these health issues I've endured, and it occurred to me then that, even though they can be really annoying, not one of them has changed the way I live my life in any meaningful way. I do what I want to do, and having thyroid cancer or rheumatoid arthritis or fibromyalgia or TMD or atypical moles or sciatica or whatever (because that's not even the whole list, you don't want to know) -- having these things does not prevent me from doing a single thing that I want to do.
Daily meds
Sure, sure, I have to take meds, I have to wear appliances to bed at night so I don't grind my teeth, I have to juggle many different doctors and pay attention to a lot of different things about my body that most people never even think about. But that's not my life, and I don't let all those things dictate my life, over the long term. There are shorter terms, like now, when I'm waiting on a diagnosis, and often these represent lulls where I feel like I can't do anything, but in this particular lull I can't stall out because I have commitments and I'm going to keep them -- there is no reason why I shouldn't.
I can do things like take my kids to the beach for the whole summer, and manage that just fine. I can walk around Disneyland for 3 days straight bracketed by two long days of driving. I can read to a handful of kids in a noisy school room, or entertain 20 toddlers and their parents in a bookstore. I can cook and shop and clean and write.
My mom said to me, about the lump, and worrying about the lump while having to wait for test results, and all that: There's no point, because there's not a damn thing you can do about it. Of course she's right. But it also occurred to me that even if this is cancer (I'm thinking it's about a 50-50 chance), it's not going to kill me. Some things will be more difficult for a while, but I'll get through it, and I'll go back to doing what I want to do. Somehow that certainty -- this isn't going to kill me -- expanded into the realization that none of my conditions is likely to kill me -- heck, they're not even getting in my way. (Yes, there were times when they did, but right now? They're not.)
Finally, at 43, I am (mostly) the person I want to be. There is a not-small number of things I still need to work on, of course. That's OK, there's time.
I didn't know if I could be that kind of person, but I did know that back then, I wasn't.
What I found, when the babies came along and grew and grew and grew, is that I am not that person, but that's OK. I realized that no one can be that person. Everyone makes mistakes, especially during 24/7 kid duty, but as long we own up to it, there's no harm done.
Lately I've noticed that I may not be infinitely patient, but I do answer all the questions, even when I don't want to. I recently fielded an intense discussion on whether or not silicone could really be a basis for life (thank you, classic Star Trek), which led to a discussion of the periodic table of elements with a 9-year-old. And later, I had to talk about why there are oil rigs out in the ocean and how did that oil get there, anyway? One kid learned about grafting for plant propagation in school so we looked up fruit salad trees on the web. I am a walking dictionary/encyclopedia, and I love it.
I am a caring mom, too, even though I yell at my kids from time to time. Stuff happens, we have to deal with it, sometimes at loud volumes. I very clearly wanted to be the kind of mother who talked to her kids with respect and kindness, and for the most part, I am. I don't nag, thanks to countless tutorials in parenting books and mags. I say things like, "I see shoes in the middle of the floor," or sometimes, just "shoes!" which inspires the kid to put the shoes away without me having to screech. In fact, I pretty much avoid screeching at all times, these days. Tone of voice is nearly everything, and through long practice, I've mastered the ability to say just about anything to my kids in the tone that I want. There's nothing worse than slamming a kid with a nasty-sounding question just because I'm tired; that's so not fair. So I don't do it. Did you finish your homework? can be a pleasant, give-me-a-status-report request, or it can be an accusation you throw at your kids to beat them down. It's your choice, and I've made mine.
If you ask me, that's a miracle, since I used to be a shrew. Is it my husband's good influence? the kids? my own desperate need to change? the cumulative impact of all the medical stuff? eight+ years of practice? I don't know, I'm just happy about it. I'm glad I can look at a situation that 10 years ago would've made me freak out and come up with Well, that wasn't what I expected, before moving right along to fixing whatever it is that needs fixing. Someone has to make things work, and as Dr. Seuss would say, Someone is me. (If not me, who? What, I'm going to wait for DH to get home from work to deal with every petty crisis? No way.)
I was talking to my middle sister the other day about all these health issues I've endured, and it occurred to me then that, even though they can be really annoying, not one of them has changed the way I live my life in any meaningful way. I do what I want to do, and having thyroid cancer or rheumatoid arthritis or fibromyalgia or TMD or atypical moles or sciatica or whatever (because that's not even the whole list, you don't want to know) -- having these things does not prevent me from doing a single thing that I want to do.
Sure, sure, I have to take meds, I have to wear appliances to bed at night so I don't grind my teeth, I have to juggle many different doctors and pay attention to a lot of different things about my body that most people never even think about. But that's not my life, and I don't let all those things dictate my life, over the long term. There are shorter terms, like now, when I'm waiting on a diagnosis, and often these represent lulls where I feel like I can't do anything, but in this particular lull I can't stall out because I have commitments and I'm going to keep them -- there is no reason why I shouldn't.
I can do things like take my kids to the beach for the whole summer, and manage that just fine. I can walk around Disneyland for 3 days straight bracketed by two long days of driving. I can read to a handful of kids in a noisy school room, or entertain 20 toddlers and their parents in a bookstore. I can cook and shop and clean and write.
My mom said to me, about the lump, and worrying about the lump while having to wait for test results, and all that: There's no point, because there's not a damn thing you can do about it. Of course she's right. But it also occurred to me that even if this is cancer (I'm thinking it's about a 50-50 chance), it's not going to kill me. Some things will be more difficult for a while, but I'll get through it, and I'll go back to doing what I want to do. Somehow that certainty -- this isn't going to kill me -- expanded into the realization that none of my conditions is likely to kill me -- heck, they're not even getting in my way. (Yes, there were times when they did, but right now? They're not.)
Finally, at 43, I am (mostly) the person I want to be. There is a not-small number of things I still need to work on, of course. That's OK, there's time.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
arrangements
The surgeon's office called today; we're on for the lumpectomy on the 24th. I have to be way the heck up in Phoenix at oh-dark-thirty (not really, but close), so I called one of my girlfriends to see if she could drive me up. She said yes, of course, after getting over the initial shock of the news.
Telling people about this is getting harder and harder. I've just had too much stuff happen to me. At a certain point, it approaches embarassing, and I'm just about there.
I've told two of the three teachers that need to know just in case the kids get freaked out a bit, although I'm hopeful that they won't. Horrifically, they are used to Mom going for procedures and stuff, so this shouldn't be a big deal to them. At least I'm trying to keep it low key.
I've found the best way to get the news out -- because there is no good way to say it -- is to answer the usual social-noise "How are you?" with a "Not so good," or maybe just "Eh." That opens the door to the actual news, which is the pending lumpectomy.
And whenever I tell anyone, they are always uniformly sweet and kind and supportive, and that always makes me want to cry.
I wish I could just sleep until it's time to go, and sleep until I'm healed. Then I could wake up feeling terrific and ready to get on with life. But there's no sense in arguing with Reality, so I won't.
(Will the biopsy report come tomorrow? I don't even know if I want to know. It's benign, it's benign, it's benign...please?)
Telling people about this is getting harder and harder. I've just had too much stuff happen to me. At a certain point, it approaches embarassing, and I'm just about there.
I've told two of the three teachers that need to know just in case the kids get freaked out a bit, although I'm hopeful that they won't. Horrifically, they are used to Mom going for procedures and stuff, so this shouldn't be a big deal to them. At least I'm trying to keep it low key.
I've found the best way to get the news out -- because there is no good way to say it -- is to answer the usual social-noise "How are you?" with a "Not so good," or maybe just "Eh." That opens the door to the actual news, which is the pending lumpectomy.
And whenever I tell anyone, they are always uniformly sweet and kind and supportive, and that always makes me want to cry.
I wish I could just sleep until it's time to go, and sleep until I'm healed. Then I could wake up feeling terrific and ready to get on with life. But there's no sense in arguing with Reality, so I won't.
(Will the biopsy report come tomorrow? I don't even know if I want to know. It's benign, it's benign, it's benign...please?)
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
being sick is expensive
Yesterday I laughed about getting a bill from MDA for $29 and change. It was only that low because nearly everything was "pending insurance."
Today, I got another "statement of benefits" from BCBS, which gives me a head's up on what they're paying and what I'll owe. Needless to say, the new total for MDA will be well into 4 figures.
DH ran a report (we use Quicken, love it) to tally up the nearly unfathomable amount on medical expenses this year. Between my stuff and the two boys' tonsillectomies and all the other incidentals, the word "hemorrhage" comes to mind. Now I've got the lumpectomy coming up and that will be close to a 4-figure bill. And Christmas is coming, too. (Confession: I have already started my shopping.)
We're fortunate we've got the money. It's nothing to do with luck, really: we live well within our means, so we have the money. I don't need to worry about money, and that's good. But it upsets me that we've had to spend so much on so many different illnesses and conditions, and now we're going to have spend even more.
Can I catch a break, please? In the meantime: eating at home (except for Friday lunch dates with DH) has become my daily challenge. No matter how wretched I feel, I come up with something for dinner so we don't have to get the much-more-expensive takeout. It's one small area of our lives where I can have a direct impact on the budget. Even though it's tiny, it lets me think At least I'm doing something to control our spending!
Today, I got another "statement of benefits" from BCBS, which gives me a head's up on what they're paying and what I'll owe. Needless to say, the new total for MDA will be well into 4 figures.
DH ran a report (we use Quicken, love it) to tally up the nearly unfathomable amount on medical expenses this year. Between my stuff and the two boys' tonsillectomies and all the other incidentals, the word "hemorrhage" comes to mind. Now I've got the lumpectomy coming up and that will be close to a 4-figure bill. And Christmas is coming, too. (Confession: I have already started my shopping.)
We're fortunate we've got the money. It's nothing to do with luck, really: we live well within our means, so we have the money. I don't need to worry about money, and that's good. But it upsets me that we've had to spend so much on so many different illnesses and conditions, and now we're going to have spend even more.
Can I catch a break, please? In the meantime: eating at home (except for Friday lunch dates with DH) has become my daily challenge. No matter how wretched I feel, I come up with something for dinner so we don't have to get the much-more-expensive takeout. It's one small area of our lives where I can have a direct impact on the budget. Even though it's tiny, it lets me think At least I'm doing something to control our spending!
Friday Night Lights
Pilot
(spoilers)
I can't recall the last time a series had this much hype in front of it that didn't have anything to do with solving mysteries (medical, crime-related, or otherwise) or running from toasters-turned-sexpots.
So, expectations set to "failed to live up to the pre-release press," I fired up the TiVO this evening after putting the kids to bed and brushing the cats. And then I sat riveted for the next 42-odd minutes.
Damn, this was a fantastic episode. Yes, yes, the ending was rushed, but not to the point where you couldn't follow what was happening. By the time the Panthers won, I was completely sucked in, enjoying the fact that I wasn't sure if they would win, and even remarking to DH that I actually wanted them to win. In the space of less than 40 minutes, Friday Night Lights got me to care about its humongous cast and the town that seems to rely on football for hope and joy and all that is good in life.
I can well imagine some people will not like the style of this show, with its swirling, dipping camera work, and its quick cuts and fragmented dialog, but I loved it. It felt like a documentary, only with much better music. The emotions we saw were genuine, but best of all, the town was presented without editorial comment: we report, you decide, applied to a prime-time drama. Who would have thought it possible? Certainly not me.
Clearly, the writers not only understand but respect their characters, or at least they did here. There wasn't a hint of cynicism or snark in either the dialog or the direction. When the quarterback said, "Let's pray," it was clearly the most natural thing in the world to him, no matter how alien we may imagine that concept would be to the kind of people who typically write, produce, and star in television shows.
The question remains whether they can sustain this level of brutal narrative honesty and the twirling dance through all the many relationships without breaking down into parody or chaos. The task is to continue to reveal these characters and deepen their relationships without losing the respect that has already been established, and without betraying the characters as they have already been defined, even by the briefest scenes in this pilot.
I tuned in partly because of Kyle Chandler, and partly because of the good reviews. As of now, I'm in, and hoping they can sustain the level of brilliance we saw tonight. Because this show is a rarity -- perhaps becoming less so in this new era of well-made television, but still something worth noting: not only does it respect its characters, it respects its audience, too.
(If you missed it, you can watch the entire episode over at NBC.com; click on the link above.)
(spoilers)
I can't recall the last time a series had this much hype in front of it that didn't have anything to do with solving mysteries (medical, crime-related, or otherwise) or running from toasters-turned-sexpots.
So, expectations set to "failed to live up to the pre-release press," I fired up the TiVO this evening after putting the kids to bed and brushing the cats. And then I sat riveted for the next 42-odd minutes.
Damn, this was a fantastic episode. Yes, yes, the ending was rushed, but not to the point where you couldn't follow what was happening. By the time the Panthers won, I was completely sucked in, enjoying the fact that I wasn't sure if they would win, and even remarking to DH that I actually wanted them to win. In the space of less than 40 minutes, Friday Night Lights got me to care about its humongous cast and the town that seems to rely on football for hope and joy and all that is good in life.
I can well imagine some people will not like the style of this show, with its swirling, dipping camera work, and its quick cuts and fragmented dialog, but I loved it. It felt like a documentary, only with much better music. The emotions we saw were genuine, but best of all, the town was presented without editorial comment: we report, you decide, applied to a prime-time drama. Who would have thought it possible? Certainly not me.
Clearly, the writers not only understand but respect their characters, or at least they did here. There wasn't a hint of cynicism or snark in either the dialog or the direction. When the quarterback said, "Let's pray," it was clearly the most natural thing in the world to him, no matter how alien we may imagine that concept would be to the kind of people who typically write, produce, and star in television shows.
The question remains whether they can sustain this level of brutal narrative honesty and the twirling dance through all the many relationships without breaking down into parody or chaos. The task is to continue to reveal these characters and deepen their relationships without losing the respect that has already been established, and without betraying the characters as they have already been defined, even by the briefest scenes in this pilot.
I tuned in partly because of Kyle Chandler, and partly because of the good reviews. As of now, I'm in, and hoping they can sustain the level of brilliance we saw tonight. Because this show is a rarity -- perhaps becoming less so in this new era of well-made television, but still something worth noting: not only does it respect its characters, it respects its audience, too.
(If you missed it, you can watch the entire episode over at NBC.com; click on the link above.)
October's column
Chocolate Crinkle Cookies are featured in this month's edition of the Low Carb Luxury online magazine.
Even the kids liked these cookies, and liked them enough to ask me to make them again -- which doesn't happen often with my picky crew.
I've been wanting to make carrot cake lately -- especially since finding out that a cup of grated carrots has only 8 grams of carbohydrates, net of fiber. That's a bargain in my book. Also, any excuse for cream cheese frosting should be welcomed at all times.
Now if only I could work up the oomph to get into the kitchen and make it.
Monday, October 02, 2006
42 cookies later
(They were small cookies.) (Plus, that's just an estimate. It could've been less. Or more.)
I saw the surgeon today. He specializes in breast surgery so he did his own ultrasound and I got a better look at the lump consequently. It's 2cm+, which is close to an inch.
I went through the whole history with him, and he agrees it should come out. But even though we're taking it out, he did a needle biopsy anyway, using the ultrasound for guidance. It took about 5 seconds all told, which, given my past biopsy experiences, qualifies as miraculous, even though I am still a little sore.
Cytology (aka pathology) report should be back by the end of the week, he said. I don't believe it for a minute -- I believe he believes it, but I've never had a path report come back so quickly.
Surgery will be outpatient, and the whole thing, from admission to release, will take about four hours, sometime the week of October 23.
I called my mom to give her the update and we reviewed the cancer history in her family. Four of her sisters had breast cancer, and one had ovarian cancer. She herself didn't have cancer, but did have a precancerous mass removed which led to her getting her masectomy. It was one of those "given your history" decisions, much like the one I've made here.
The rest of the day is blur of children - homework - RE - dinner - homework - bedtime. I spent the last hour watching the pilot of Six Feet Under, which I had never seen before, on Bravo. Everyone seems almost normal in this episode, just wrecked because of Nate Sr's death. It's very cool to see the beginning already knowing the end.
Oh, yes: the cookies. They seemed to go well with 6FU and a cup of tea. Now this; bed soon, and more days and weeks of that dreadful treading water feeling, just trying to keep afloat here in the flow of life. I just want to get this particular medical episode defined: short term (lumpectomy, done), or longer term (lumpectomy, cancer, chemo-radiation-what?). It's not going to kill me, either way. It's the not-knowing that gets old very quickly.
Laugh of the day: got a bill from MDA for $29 and change. I'm sure there's another one coming, but it was sort of hilarious to get such a tiny bill for all the stuff they did to me last time I was there.
I saw the surgeon today. He specializes in breast surgery so he did his own ultrasound and I got a better look at the lump consequently. It's 2cm+, which is close to an inch.
I went through the whole history with him, and he agrees it should come out. But even though we're taking it out, he did a needle biopsy anyway, using the ultrasound for guidance. It took about 5 seconds all told, which, given my past biopsy experiences, qualifies as miraculous, even though I am still a little sore.
Cytology (aka pathology) report should be back by the end of the week, he said. I don't believe it for a minute -- I believe he believes it, but I've never had a path report come back so quickly.
Surgery will be outpatient, and the whole thing, from admission to release, will take about four hours, sometime the week of October 23.
I called my mom to give her the update and we reviewed the cancer history in her family. Four of her sisters had breast cancer, and one had ovarian cancer. She herself didn't have cancer, but did have a precancerous mass removed which led to her getting her masectomy. It was one of those "given your history" decisions, much like the one I've made here.
The rest of the day is blur of children - homework - RE - dinner - homework - bedtime. I spent the last hour watching the pilot of Six Feet Under, which I had never seen before, on Bravo. Everyone seems almost normal in this episode, just wrecked because of Nate Sr's death. It's very cool to see the beginning already knowing the end.
Oh, yes: the cookies. They seemed to go well with 6FU and a cup of tea. Now this; bed soon, and more days and weeks of that dreadful treading water feeling, just trying to keep afloat here in the flow of life. I just want to get this particular medical episode defined: short term (lumpectomy, done), or longer term (lumpectomy, cancer, chemo-radiation-what?). It's not going to kill me, either way. It's the not-knowing that gets old very quickly.
Laugh of the day: got a bill from MDA for $29 and change. I'm sure there's another one coming, but it was sort of hilarious to get such a tiny bill for all the stuff they did to me last time I was there.
fits and starts
That about sums it up, lately. I'm better than I was when I wrote that last post, but it comes and goes. On at least two occasions I have actually burst into tears but at least they're not the kind that I can't stop. (I hate that.)
I know I'm better because I cleaned the house today, things I had put off for way too long, that I am actually embarassed to admit how long they had been left undone. But now they're done and not weighing me down further, so that's good.
Friday typified the see-saw my life resembles lately. I had arranged to pick up my films (for my Monday morning appointment with the surgeon) at a local office. I called to confirm they had been sent; the local office didn't have them. I called the central office, and she swore they had been sent, but to the mammography center, which is a different office. That's OK.
I spent the afternoon over at school, and when we left, we headed over to the mammography center to pick up the films, but they were closed. Who closes at 3:00pm? OK, who that is not a bank? Please. Why did I not know they closed early? Fortunately they open at the crack of dawn so I can run over there early tomorrow and get the films, if they haven't sent them back because I failed to pick them up on Friday. (As you can see, I have a vivid imagination regarding potential screw ups.)
The whole day was like that: near-misses, things I forgot, things I should have known, things not being where they were supposed to be. But on the very same day I had a nice lunch with DH (I finally told him about the near-depression thing), and a nice outing with the kids to Borders, and the book I had ordered came in... for every thing that irked or irritated there was some upside. Nothing like getting jerked around all day... I didn't get anything done.
DS1 complained of headache Friday afternoon and by the evening was running a fever. That was the downside, the upside was discovering my pediatrician's office has Saturday and evening hours that I never knew about, so we were able to get the boy in on Saturday morning and onto an antibiotic (sinus infection, poor guy.) That was Saturday.
Today was a blur that started with making a big breakfast and then taking the boys for much-needed haircuts,and then later taking DD to buy shoes, which was a disaster. She hates everything, and wants pink shoes! Our problems are made worse by her very narrow feet; there are many styles which she literally cannot wear. I think the experience with her ("Never again," I vowed, "next time you're going shopping with Daddy.") gave me some energy because when DH took all three of them to buy cleats for soccer, I did not, for once, laze around doing nothing: I cleaned the house and started the laundry and all that.
And now I'm waiting for the last of the laundry to be out of the dryer, which is acting up again, but still works well for the most part. I'm happy for that. The past few months' medical expenses would've paid for a new washer and dryer -- it's a very good thing we don't need them.
I know I'm better because I cleaned the house today, things I had put off for way too long, that I am actually embarassed to admit how long they had been left undone. But now they're done and not weighing me down further, so that's good.
Friday typified the see-saw my life resembles lately. I had arranged to pick up my films (for my Monday morning appointment with the surgeon) at a local office. I called to confirm they had been sent; the local office didn't have them. I called the central office, and she swore they had been sent, but to the mammography center, which is a different office. That's OK.
I spent the afternoon over at school, and when we left, we headed over to the mammography center to pick up the films, but they were closed. Who closes at 3:00pm? OK, who that is not a bank? Please. Why did I not know they closed early? Fortunately they open at the crack of dawn so I can run over there early tomorrow and get the films, if they haven't sent them back because I failed to pick them up on Friday. (As you can see, I have a vivid imagination regarding potential screw ups.)
The whole day was like that: near-misses, things I forgot, things I should have known, things not being where they were supposed to be. But on the very same day I had a nice lunch with DH (I finally told him about the near-depression thing), and a nice outing with the kids to Borders, and the book I had ordered came in... for every thing that irked or irritated there was some upside. Nothing like getting jerked around all day... I didn't get anything done.
DS1 complained of headache Friday afternoon and by the evening was running a fever. That was the downside, the upside was discovering my pediatrician's office has Saturday and evening hours that I never knew about, so we were able to get the boy in on Saturday morning and onto an antibiotic (sinus infection, poor guy.) That was Saturday.
Today was a blur that started with making a big breakfast and then taking the boys for much-needed haircuts,and then later taking DD to buy shoes, which was a disaster. She hates everything, and wants pink shoes! Our problems are made worse by her very narrow feet; there are many styles which she literally cannot wear. I think the experience with her ("Never again," I vowed, "next time you're going shopping with Daddy.") gave me some energy because when DH took all three of them to buy cleats for soccer, I did not, for once, laze around doing nothing: I cleaned the house and started the laundry and all that.
And now I'm waiting for the last of the laundry to be out of the dryer, which is acting up again, but still works well for the most part. I'm happy for that. The past few months' medical expenses would've paid for a new washer and dryer -- it's a very good thing we don't need them.
Friday, September 29, 2006
by the skin of my teeth
Is there such a state as nearly depressed?
I feel like crying all the time, but so far haven't.
I feel like staying in bed all day, but so far I keep getting up.
I think, It will be nice when I'm dead and don't have to deal with this [censored] body anymore. But I know I'm not ready to give up yet, and I'll be damned if I'll let anyone else raise my kids, or leave it all for my husband to do himself. He's a good man, he deserves more than that.
I'm doing a good job faking it so far. Last night I tried to crawl out of the doldrums by crawling into the kitchen, and I made "a feast!" for dinner. Lots of things that everyone loves, which meant two hours of prep, which was fine. Keeping the hands busy helps a little. Keeping the brain busy (driving, reading) helps too.
But when I stop, it's still there and I wish there was a happy pill I could take to make it go away.
Too much pain (real physical pain that the Aleve takes the edge off but doesn't quite kill). And too many questions, some will be answered on Monday when I meet with the surgeon. Until then I'm just hanging on.
I feel like crying all the time, but so far haven't.
I feel like staying in bed all day, but so far I keep getting up.
I think, It will be nice when I'm dead and don't have to deal with this [censored] body anymore. But I know I'm not ready to give up yet, and I'll be damned if I'll let anyone else raise my kids, or leave it all for my husband to do himself. He's a good man, he deserves more than that.
I'm doing a good job faking it so far. Last night I tried to crawl out of the doldrums by crawling into the kitchen, and I made "a feast!" for dinner. Lots of things that everyone loves, which meant two hours of prep, which was fine. Keeping the hands busy helps a little. Keeping the brain busy (driving, reading) helps too.
But when I stop, it's still there and I wish there was a happy pill I could take to make it go away.
Too much pain (real physical pain that the Aleve takes the edge off but doesn't quite kill). And too many questions, some will be answered on Monday when I meet with the surgeon. Until then I'm just hanging on.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
miles upon miles
I spent a lot of time driving today. The new doctor, the TMD -- tempero-mandibular disorder, thankyouverymuch, not TMJ -- doc, was all the way up in Cave Creek which is about 40 miles away. And this evening's thyca support group meeting was in its usual digs up past Shea Blvd, which is about 25 miles away. Plus, a trip to school to get the boys, ferry the boys to the Y, get DD from dance class, and then an extra trip to get DD's left-behind school clothes. Man, that was a lot of driving.
Today's advice: Do not get orthodontia when you have TMD-induced headaches.
I assured Dr. C that I wouldn't do that, since my teeth are fine. He scoffed at my retainer's ability to stave off TMD: So much for this as a bite guard. But it is a good retainer, though.
No, really, he said that. He also explained that for many people, wearing a retainer like mine is enough to get them to stop the clenching/grinding behavior that leads to TMD. For others, like me, the effect is temporary and they can return to their previous destructive behaviors. Well, mine lasted about 7 years, so I guess I oughtn't complain.
Dr. C is making an appliance for me to wear at night to keep me from grinding, I'll get it on Oct 11. Until then: heat, NSAIDS, and this nifty trick he showed me to fix the dislocation of the pad in my right jaw joint. Oh, and a return to my physical therapy exercises for my neck, since whacked muscles in my right neck (which I can't feel because of the nerve damage that occurred during my dissection surgery) are one of the main causes of all this... I should just resign myself to the fact that PT is for life.
I ran the Thyca support group tonight and it went well. We had 3 new people and plenty of time to hear their stories and answer their questions. I think I helped. I certainly talked a lot, but there was a lot of information to convey to the newbies. It surprised me how much I actually knew when I needed to talk about different topics -- and I was happy because we covered just about everything a newbie would want to know.
Finally got through to the GYN and discussed what's next re:the lump. They would've been OK with a core biopsy but when I said I wanted the lumpectomy they said OK. I called Dr. D's office and he can do it, I have an appointment Monday morning, and all the paperwork transfer is all set up for it. Here we go again?
I hope not.
Monday, September 25, 2006
next?
I'm spending most of tomorrow with a new doctor, one who will spend three hours -- his standard initial exam -- in diagnosing my TMJ.
Dr. O, my brilliant ENT, discovered the TMJ when I went to see him for what I thought was a persistent sinus infection. No, those headaches weren't sinus related, they were from the TMJ. And I thought my face was hurting because my salivary glands had gone haywire again. They had -- in fact, they are still misbehaving -- but the facial pain wasn't just because of whacked salivaries, this time.
The new doctor's office is the better part of an hour away, and I have to get there at least a half-hour early to complete the 15-page (!!!) medical history beforehand. I know that is pointless because I will spend a lot of time filling out a form and no one will read it; I will be forced to re-iterate every damn thing on it to the doctor, frittering away the first 15 minutes of the appointment. Personally, I can't listen faster than I can read, so why doctors always start out with "Tell me what's going on," when they already have the answer on paper in front of them, is beyond me. But that's the way it always seems to go, so I will be surprised if it goes otherwise. Perhaps I will rebel and say, Read the history, it'll be quicker, I'll wait until you're ready. There's an idea.
I'm not exactly afraid of this appointment, I just don't want him to find anything dreadful. I'm hoping for something on the order of Stop chewing gum and wear your retainer during the day until this settles down. I'm not sure exactly how I'll take it if he diagnoses me with some condition that needs invasive procedures to correct. I'm under attack from enough angles already.
Given a choice between surgery or living with my popping jaw-joints, I'd choose the popping jaw-joints, unless given a really, really compelling reason. I'm doing OK, my current status is quite manageable. So what horrible thing is going to happen if I don't aggressively treat this? Because aggressive treatment is right out... at least right now.
Sunday, September 24, 2006
rethink
My ISP has been having trouble with the server on which my account is hosted, so I was unable to post anything for several days. That's why Friday's post didn't show up until this morning. There's nothing like having news and not being able to put it up to foster frustration.
Friday, the lump news more or less bounced off me: That lump has been there forever. The radiologist said it looks "very benign."
But... Saturday I had a long talk with my older sister, who has experienced the dreaded lump herself (benign, thank God). When she heard it was solid, her take was: It needs to come out.
When she said it, I realized she was right. Why screw around with a needle biopsy?
Perhaps my doctors will think differently, but even though it's a more invasive procedure, it will give me a 100% certain answer as to what's going on in there, something a negative biopsy can never do. If it's negative, that just means there wasn't any cancer in the sample, which may or may not be representative of the whole.
There doesn't seem to be much information out there on distinguishing benign lumps from malignant lumps. I found information so general it approached vague, but I didn't find any stats for comfort. With thyroid cancer, you have happy little numbers like "more than 95% of all thyroid nodules are benign." On the breast cancer information pages I found, no such stats. Is it because they don't exist or because people don't want to talk about them?
Generally they all talk about diagnostic options -- mammogram, ultrasound, MRI, and the various types of biopsies. More general information: solid lumps are bad; big lumps are worse than small lumps; lumps that are afixed to bone or muscle are suspect; lumps with irregular borders are bad, too.
I was looking right at the ultrasound monitor when the radiologist zoomed in on the lump to measure it, but I didn't see how big it is -- 1 cm would not surprise me. It seemed to have smooth borders, but I can't remember how it looked on the zoomed-in image. And it was completely black: totally solid. That was odd to see. I've seen a lot of nodes on my thyroid u/s, and never seen anything like that solid black lump.
There wasn't any vascularization under the Doppler, but the radiologist told me that it is not dispositive in viewing breast tissue the way it is in viewing structures in the neck, because the structure of the tissue is so different.
I have some of the other indicators of something-going-on, too: change in the shape and size of my breast, and changes in the nipple area, too. Nothing too startling, in fact quite subtle and I'm probably the only one who would be able to tell, but there they are.
The happy-think from Friday -- It looks really benign -- is being spun through the "Well, of course she'd say that, I told her it had been there forever" routine, along with Maybe this hasn't been there forever, after all. Now, the thought is not so happy.
I don't feel like I'm freaking out, but my TMJ is still killing me. I ran out of Prilosec late last week and thought I'd see how I did without it. The Aleve I was taking for the TMJ, combined with the stress and lack of acid-reducer, chewed a hole in my stomach on Friday and everything has been off since.
Tomorrow I get my permanent filling for the root canal, and Tuesday I see the TMJ doctor. Sometime soon I need to talk to my GYN and decide what to do about the lump, and figure out when to do it.
I had a feeling, some years ago, very similar to the experience I had before my uterine prolapse (I'll never use all these up when stocking up on menstrual supplies -- I was right, I didn't.) One day when I was annoyed about something breast-related (most likely the difficulty in finding a decent comfortable bra), the thought was just there: It will be so much easier when I don't have to deal with these anymore. Not "this," as in shopping for a bra, but "these", as in the breasts themselves.
At the time I shook it off, and even now I don't put any stock in it at all. But at the same time it wouldn't surprise me if I did lose them.
When I talked to my sister, we had some very good laughs (because if you don't laugh, you'll cry) -- she thought my "warranty expired on my 39th birthday" line was a great one, and we both laughed at my vanity when I told her I was really enjoying my long hair now, and if I have to have chemo and my hair falls out, I will be really ticked off. You see? Already, I'm steeling myself for that particular journey. I don't know whether that's pathetic or what.
Hope for the best, prepare for the worst -- avoid surprises.
We haven't said a word to the kids about this. I'm hoping there won't be anything to tell in the long run. And if there is, if I do have another cancer and need more treatment, then these last days of carefree bliss are a gift I wish I could give to myself.
Friday, the lump news more or less bounced off me: That lump has been there forever. The radiologist said it looks "very benign."
But... Saturday I had a long talk with my older sister, who has experienced the dreaded lump herself (benign, thank God). When she heard it was solid, her take was: It needs to come out.
When she said it, I realized she was right. Why screw around with a needle biopsy?
Perhaps my doctors will think differently, but even though it's a more invasive procedure, it will give me a 100% certain answer as to what's going on in there, something a negative biopsy can never do. If it's negative, that just means there wasn't any cancer in the sample, which may or may not be representative of the whole.
There doesn't seem to be much information out there on distinguishing benign lumps from malignant lumps. I found information so general it approached vague, but I didn't find any stats for comfort. With thyroid cancer, you have happy little numbers like "more than 95% of all thyroid nodules are benign." On the breast cancer information pages I found, no such stats. Is it because they don't exist or because people don't want to talk about them?
Generally they all talk about diagnostic options -- mammogram, ultrasound, MRI, and the various types of biopsies. More general information: solid lumps are bad; big lumps are worse than small lumps; lumps that are afixed to bone or muscle are suspect; lumps with irregular borders are bad, too.
I was looking right at the ultrasound monitor when the radiologist zoomed in on the lump to measure it, but I didn't see how big it is -- 1 cm would not surprise me. It seemed to have smooth borders, but I can't remember how it looked on the zoomed-in image. And it was completely black: totally solid. That was odd to see. I've seen a lot of nodes on my thyroid u/s, and never seen anything like that solid black lump.
There wasn't any vascularization under the Doppler, but the radiologist told me that it is not dispositive in viewing breast tissue the way it is in viewing structures in the neck, because the structure of the tissue is so different.
I have some of the other indicators of something-going-on, too: change in the shape and size of my breast, and changes in the nipple area, too. Nothing too startling, in fact quite subtle and I'm probably the only one who would be able to tell, but there they are.
The happy-think from Friday -- It looks really benign -- is being spun through the "Well, of course she'd say that, I told her it had been there forever" routine, along with Maybe this hasn't been there forever, after all. Now, the thought is not so happy.
I don't feel like I'm freaking out, but my TMJ is still killing me. I ran out of Prilosec late last week and thought I'd see how I did without it. The Aleve I was taking for the TMJ, combined with the stress and lack of acid-reducer, chewed a hole in my stomach on Friday and everything has been off since.
Tomorrow I get my permanent filling for the root canal, and Tuesday I see the TMJ doctor. Sometime soon I need to talk to my GYN and decide what to do about the lump, and figure out when to do it.
I had a feeling, some years ago, very similar to the experience I had before my uterine prolapse (I'll never use all these up when stocking up on menstrual supplies -- I was right, I didn't.) One day when I was annoyed about something breast-related (most likely the difficulty in finding a decent comfortable bra), the thought was just there: It will be so much easier when I don't have to deal with these anymore. Not "this," as in shopping for a bra, but "these", as in the breasts themselves.
At the time I shook it off, and even now I don't put any stock in it at all. But at the same time it wouldn't surprise me if I did lose them.
When I talked to my sister, we had some very good laughs (because if you don't laugh, you'll cry) -- she thought my "warranty expired on my 39th birthday" line was a great one, and we both laughed at my vanity when I told her I was really enjoying my long hair now, and if I have to have chemo and my hair falls out, I will be really ticked off. You see? Already, I'm steeling myself for that particular journey. I don't know whether that's pathetic or what.
Hope for the best, prepare for the worst -- avoid surprises.
We haven't said a word to the kids about this. I'm hoping there won't be anything to tell in the long run. And if there is, if I do have another cancer and need more treatment, then these last days of carefree bliss are a gift I wish I could give to myself.
Friday, September 22, 2006
lump
I had my first-ever diagnostic mammogram today. Apparently this involves both the squishy-squashy x-rays of the breasts, flattened like last season's discarded purses, in a machine that is simultaneously ripping the tissue from armpit and ribcage, and breast ultrasound.
The x-rays were unremarkable and show no changes from my previous mammograms. That's good.
During the ultrasound, the radiologist found a lump. I knew it was there, it has been there forever, and no doctor has ever remarked on it during an exam, and it has never shown up on a mammogram. I figured it was just part of my usual lumpy-tissued breast.
On the u/s, though, it showed up quite definitely as a dense mass, quite solid, and not tiny, either. Hmmm.
The radiologist said it wouldn't show up on an x-ray because it's in the midst of some very dense tissue. She recommended either a u/s guided needle biopsy (I think this is the same as a core biopsy), lumpectomy, or diagnostic u/s every 6 months for the next 2 years. Given my thyroid cancer history, she recommends having it biopsied, so I'll schedule that when the doctor's office gets back to me with a reference.
I suppose I should be freaking out about this, but I have worry fatigue. I've spent too much time worrying about too many things, and frankly, my life is great even if I have had to deal with a lot of health issues -- so you know what? I'm not flipping out about this (at least, not now). The radiologist said it looked benign, so we'll go with that for now.
The biopsy will hurt, and then I'll wait around for a week or so with a weight on me, until the results come back, and then I'll either relax or gear up for another long slog through medical hell. Whatever. I'm too busy to curl up and whimper about yet-another-thing going wrong with my body, which apparently took my lame jokes about my warranty expiring on my 39th birthday quite seriously.
It was supposed to be a joke...
The x-rays were unremarkable and show no changes from my previous mammograms. That's good.
During the ultrasound, the radiologist found a lump. I knew it was there, it has been there forever, and no doctor has ever remarked on it during an exam, and it has never shown up on a mammogram. I figured it was just part of my usual lumpy-tissued breast.
On the u/s, though, it showed up quite definitely as a dense mass, quite solid, and not tiny, either. Hmmm.
The radiologist said it wouldn't show up on an x-ray because it's in the midst of some very dense tissue. She recommended either a u/s guided needle biopsy (I think this is the same as a core biopsy), lumpectomy, or diagnostic u/s every 6 months for the next 2 years. Given my thyroid cancer history, she recommends having it biopsied, so I'll schedule that when the doctor's office gets back to me with a reference.
I suppose I should be freaking out about this, but I have worry fatigue. I've spent too much time worrying about too many things, and frankly, my life is great even if I have had to deal with a lot of health issues -- so you know what? I'm not flipping out about this (at least, not now). The radiologist said it looked benign, so we'll go with that for now.
The biopsy will hurt, and then I'll wait around for a week or so with a weight on me, until the results come back, and then I'll either relax or gear up for another long slog through medical hell. Whatever. I'm too busy to curl up and whimper about yet-another-thing going wrong with my body, which apparently took my lame jokes about my warranty expiring on my 39th birthday quite seriously.
It was supposed to be a joke...
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
buckle up
I had a root canal this morning. My one remaining intact anterior (front) lower incisor, seen above surrounded by its fallen comrades, finally gave up the ghost.
Anyone accustomed to seeing a mouth like this will immediately recognize what's going on here. For those not so accustomed, let me aquaint you with the long-term effects of trauma.
A bit more than thirty years ago, I was in a car accident. Since the early 1970s was in The Time Before Seatbelts, I was a 10-year-old girl sitting, without any kind of restraint, in the front passenger seat during a moderate-to-low speed collision. (Looking back, I'd say we couldn't have been going even 30MPH.) I don't really remember it, although reportedly, I screamed a lot afterwards.
Personally, I think I had good reason to scream, since my head cracked the windshield, and my chin made a dent in the dashboard. I'd had braces for less than a year at that point. I recall a bruise the size of an Italian plum on my jaw. The only treatment I recall is getting some ice to put on that bruise. (Again, a trautamized 10-year-old is not the most reliable witness, so it's possible that medical people did all kinds of tests on me and I just don't remember.)
Later, my dentist x-rayed my lower jaw and saw that there was a hairline crack right in front. Since I already had braces, there wasn't any need to do anything else -- the braces kept everything locked in position, and everything seemed OK.
Until about 20 years ago, when the first tooth died, and I needed a root canal. My dentist asked me about trauma, since there was no sign of neglect or decay. I was ready to deny it when I remembered the car accident; I was in my mid-twenties at the time and had not thought about it for years -- there wasn't any reason to. I'm sure that's it, the dentist said. He warned me that there was a good chance the teeth would all die eventually.
I wanted to brush this warning off as alarmist nonsense (not to mention the hope of snagging more business from me), but Dr W was a fantastic dentist, and he wouldn't manipulate me like that.
It became apparent that he was right when the second tooth died not long after. We attempted another root canal but couldn't do it because there was too much calcification, so I ended up having an apeco -- that's gum surgery, that little bright spot below the tooth on the left.
I can't really remember when the third tooth went, but it was sometime in the last 10 years -- but for the past 20 I've been alert to twinges in the area, and my dentist takes a good long look at that area every year. For the longest time, everything held steady, and I thought we were done.
No such luck -- the last tooth kicked off, and kicked up. It tough when you have TMJ to determine if the tooth ache is a real tooth ache or an artifact of the TMJ-producing teeth grinding. Alas, this was a real tooth ache, and now all my lower incisors are dead.
There is an upside here: I've been able to keep the teeth, and because there was no decay or bone infections, I haven't even needed crowns. They are very tiny teeth, so a filling suffices. I know, this seems like grasping at straws, but these are not insignificant factors. The root canal procedure was over $600, and I'm not sure how much the permanent filling is going to cost me (the endodontist just put in a temporary one.) A crown or cap wouldn't be cheap, I know.
The other upside is that root canal tech has shown tremendous advances in the past 20 years. My endodontist today, working under a microscope,identified a second nerve channel that needed to be cleaned out. His facility also had the most kick-ass digital dental x-ray system I've ever seen. That gadget alone saved us at least 30 minutes today, as x-rays are taken before, during, and after the procedure to make sure that the doc "got it all."
The only unpleasant parts were the anesthesia, not because it hurt going in (it does sting a little), but because it left me strangely shaky for about 15 minutes, and the horrid smell of tooth and bone being ground away. The doc assured me that my reaction to the anesthesia is not uncommon, so I didn't worry about it, and it did dissipate eventually. The grinding bone smell was over quickly, and the assistant was fabulous with the vaccuum so debris didn't go flying all over the place.
I'm glad it's done, and I think my canines will be spared, but who knows? I thought after more than 30 years if anything was going to happen, it would have happened already. I was wrong.
So do yourself a favor and wear your seatbelt, OK? Nobody needs root canals.
Monday, September 18, 2006
once again, classic sf provides a solution
Via Assymetrical Information comes this Discover article on just how Earth-bound we may be as a species, because of the damage caused by cosmic rays.
Planetside, here, we're protected by the Earth's magnetic field, but out in space, we don't have that gigantic damping field. Metal shields made of lead or iron turn out to make the problem worse, because when cosmic rays collide with them, they release a cascade of charged particles that can cause the same kind of damage as the cosmic rays themselves.
In 1950, brilliant science fiction writer Cordwainer Smith wrote a haunting short story, Scanners Live in Vain, which all hinged on the fact that traveling through space caused irreversible dementia -- much like the kind of brain damage the article discusses as a distinct possibility.
I wonder if Adam Stone's solution to the problem in "Scanners" could work for us? It's certainly worth looking into. I'm sure the oysters won't mind.
Planetside, here, we're protected by the Earth's magnetic field, but out in space, we don't have that gigantic damping field. Metal shields made of lead or iron turn out to make the problem worse, because when cosmic rays collide with them, they release a cascade of charged particles that can cause the same kind of damage as the cosmic rays themselves.
In 1950, brilliant science fiction writer Cordwainer Smith wrote a haunting short story, Scanners Live in Vain, which all hinged on the fact that traveling through space caused irreversible dementia -- much like the kind of brain damage the article discusses as a distinct possibility.
I wonder if Adam Stone's solution to the problem in "Scanners" could work for us? It's certainly worth looking into. I'm sure the oysters won't mind.
tu quoque, eh?
Every so often, an obscure, rarely-heard expression appears in a prominent blog, and then suddenly, it's everywhere.
This week's example, tu quoque. I'm not sure whether I saw it first over on Althouse in comments, or somewhere else, but it's certainly making the rounds -- I even heard it on Rush this morning.
It's a useful expression, but not one I remember hearing before this past week. In online discussions, you'll often see tu quoque arguments lobbed when one party is pressing for a reasoned answer, and the other party has none: Well, you don't have any right to accuse me of X, because you've done Y!
Tu quoque arguments are more subtle than ad hominem attacks, because usually the target feels compelled to defend himself either against the charge that he's done Y, or whether Y is even anything to be ashamed of. The best thing to do if you find yourself in a tu quoque confrontration is to call attention to it: quit trying to change the subject!
This week's example, tu quoque. I'm not sure whether I saw it first over on Althouse in comments, or somewhere else, but it's certainly making the rounds -- I even heard it on Rush this morning.
It's a useful expression, but not one I remember hearing before this past week. In online discussions, you'll often see tu quoque arguments lobbed when one party is pressing for a reasoned answer, and the other party has none: Well, you don't have any right to accuse me of X, because you've done Y!
Tu quoque arguments are more subtle than ad hominem attacks, because usually the target feels compelled to defend himself either against the charge that he's done Y, or whether Y is even anything to be ashamed of. The best thing to do if you find yourself in a tu quoque confrontration is to call attention to it: quit trying to change the subject!
Friday, September 15, 2006
the lure of the dark side
One of my daily routines is checking several online job-hunting sites for suitable freelance opportunities -- it's easy in Firefox, I have a "job search" folder that I open in tabs, and I scan any new jobs that have been posted since I last checked. One site I particularly like is SheKnows.com, which has tools for slicing and dicing the search results in different ways.
Generally I search for writing jobs, or I just look in the "writing/editing" section of the site. Even though I have 15 years of experience in software applications development, I don't look at the software jobs. I have said, as recently as this week, that no one could pay me enough to get back into that world of socially dysfunctional types who still order their personal lives along the lines we all used in junior high school.
For some reason, I clicked on the "development" link in SheKnows and saw an ad for Visual Basic programmer, contract basis, paying $35-$40 per hour.
Now that is a boatload of money. Of course I haven't worked in VB for many years, but that language is a piece of cake. I'm thinking, Hmmmm, maybe I could take a refresher course in VB and then get a part-time contract, maybe that wouldn't be so bad, and I'd be making really good money..."
Aaaauuuggghhhhh!
I love, love, love working with the kids at school. But the reality is, if I work as a substitute, I'd earn at most $100/day, clearing significantly less than that after taxes. If I got a job as a part-time teacher's aide, I'd probably make on the order of $10-12K per year. Frankly, that's pathetic. To make the jump to full-fledged teacher, I'd have to spend at least a year and significant money to get my teacher's certification and/or education degree. And being a teacher myself, I wouldn't have any flexibility at all: the school determines the work schedule, whether or not the kids get sick. I don't think that's a viable option for now. Elementary school children will reliably get stay-at-home-for-a-week sick at least a couple of times per year.
Way back when, I enjoyed writing code. But I found that writing code depleted my creative energies. When I did it full time, I had nothing left over for writing or cooking or anything else, really. Clearly I couldn't do that again. I'd only want to work at most 20 hours a week, and I want flexibility to be a regular presence in the kids' classrooms, and to go on field trips and stuff like that. The thing is, I think there may be jobs out there like this. I obviously won't take a job that doesn't work for me, no matter how good the money is.
These aren't the only two choices, obviously. I have a significant body of writing that needs organization and publication, but I'm cowed by the sheer volume of it all. I'm afraid to even start it because before I even begin, I'm already in the weeds, and having a hard time seeing my way out. I know if I made plan, it would help, but I don't even have the motivation to do that, mostly because my confidence in my work is at an ebb right now, so I'm thinking, what's the point?
Anyway, the thought of making really good money doing something it's possible to enjoy is appealing. The money would definitely help the family, it would be wonderful to pay off the mortgage a little more quickly, or put in those hardwood floors we'd like. But I know in the long run that the only contribution I'm making when I'm writing code is economic, and I've already felt how much more satisfying it is to do something that directly and positively impacts others. How do I weigh the benefits to my family against the benefits to all the children I can help at school? Yes, my family is more important to me, and there's no pressure on me to bring in any money at all... but there's a moral component to this question that I need to mull.
The Dark Side is calling... but I haven't decided whether or not I'll even pick up the phone.
Generally I search for writing jobs, or I just look in the "writing/editing" section of the site. Even though I have 15 years of experience in software applications development, I don't look at the software jobs. I have said, as recently as this week, that no one could pay me enough to get back into that world of socially dysfunctional types who still order their personal lives along the lines we all used in junior high school.
For some reason, I clicked on the "development" link in SheKnows and saw an ad for Visual Basic programmer, contract basis, paying $35-$40 per hour.
Now that is a boatload of money. Of course I haven't worked in VB for many years, but that language is a piece of cake. I'm thinking, Hmmmm, maybe I could take a refresher course in VB and then get a part-time contract, maybe that wouldn't be so bad, and I'd be making really good money..."
Aaaauuuggghhhhh!
I love, love, love working with the kids at school. But the reality is, if I work as a substitute, I'd earn at most $100/day, clearing significantly less than that after taxes. If I got a job as a part-time teacher's aide, I'd probably make on the order of $10-12K per year. Frankly, that's pathetic. To make the jump to full-fledged teacher, I'd have to spend at least a year and significant money to get my teacher's certification and/or education degree. And being a teacher myself, I wouldn't have any flexibility at all: the school determines the work schedule, whether or not the kids get sick. I don't think that's a viable option for now. Elementary school children will reliably get stay-at-home-for-a-week sick at least a couple of times per year.
Way back when, I enjoyed writing code. But I found that writing code depleted my creative energies. When I did it full time, I had nothing left over for writing or cooking or anything else, really. Clearly I couldn't do that again. I'd only want to work at most 20 hours a week, and I want flexibility to be a regular presence in the kids' classrooms, and to go on field trips and stuff like that. The thing is, I think there may be jobs out there like this. I obviously won't take a job that doesn't work for me, no matter how good the money is.
These aren't the only two choices, obviously. I have a significant body of writing that needs organization and publication, but I'm cowed by the sheer volume of it all. I'm afraid to even start it because before I even begin, I'm already in the weeds, and having a hard time seeing my way out. I know if I made plan, it would help, but I don't even have the motivation to do that, mostly because my confidence in my work is at an ebb right now, so I'm thinking, what's the point?
Anyway, the thought of making really good money doing something it's possible to enjoy is appealing. The money would definitely help the family, it would be wonderful to pay off the mortgage a little more quickly, or put in those hardwood floors we'd like. But I know in the long run that the only contribution I'm making when I'm writing code is economic, and I've already felt how much more satisfying it is to do something that directly and positively impacts others. How do I weigh the benefits to my family against the benefits to all the children I can help at school? Yes, my family is more important to me, and there's no pressure on me to bring in any money at all... but there's a moral component to this question that I need to mull.
The Dark Side is calling... but I haven't decided whether or not I'll even pick up the phone.
a glimpse of greatness?
Ah, the cruel excitement of possibility...
Via an item on AICN (I won't bother linking to the actual item, it was incoherent) comes a link to the trailer for Eragon (audio at link), due out at Christmas.
I've read the books, and they were OK, not great, but not horrible either. That said, the potential for cinematic glory is huge here. From the trailer, the look of this thing is spot-on, and it appears that John Malkovich will make the evil of Galbatorix more palpable throughout the film -- in the books, his influence comes and goes. In the visual medium, you can convey the sense of constant oppression more easily, I think. (Prose tends to bog down when you have to keep reminding the reader just how horrible the times are.)
I'll remain positive about this, and will in fact go see it even if it gets mediocre reviews. I just want it to work for the sheer joy of it. For now, even the potential it's showing is enough to give this day a boost.
Via an item on AICN (I won't bother linking to the actual item, it was incoherent) comes a link to the trailer for Eragon (audio at link), due out at Christmas.
I've read the books, and they were OK, not great, but not horrible either. That said, the potential for cinematic glory is huge here. From the trailer, the look of this thing is spot-on, and it appears that John Malkovich will make the evil of Galbatorix more palpable throughout the film -- in the books, his influence comes and goes. In the visual medium, you can convey the sense of constant oppression more easily, I think. (Prose tends to bog down when you have to keep reminding the reader just how horrible the times are.)
I'll remain positive about this, and will in fact go see it even if it gets mediocre reviews. I just want it to work for the sheer joy of it. For now, even the potential it's showing is enough to give this day a boost.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
the swirling vortex of medical care
Ah, September, when the kids are in school and I spend the month in doctor's offices. Just when I want to kick back and relax, I am sucked back into MedWorld by having to run the annual cancer test gauntlet.
This year, the thyroid cancer checkup was a little earlier, and in Houston. Both the ultrasound and the nuclear scan were negative, but my tumor marker, Thyroglublin (Tg), did uptick a bit -- so we'll keep an eye on it. Amusingly, I just received my schedule for appointments in August 2007. Efficient!
I had my dilated eye exam, which went fine as usual. (The idea of developing melanoma behind an eye is really too creepy to contemplate.) My eye doctor was as shocked as I was that an entire year had gone by. He was happy to hear I was just there for a checkup and not for a problem -- "Why is she back so soon, didn't I just see her?" My eyes continue to perform better-than-average, which is such a blessing.
Next up, I saw Dr. T, my dermatologist, who didn't find any spots that needed biopsy or even extra monitoring -- don't have to see him for another six months. He didn't chide me for being tan, either.
The only remaining test is my mammogram. I had my annual GYN exam this week and complained about my breasts feeling pre-menstrual all the time, for a good six weeks now. I expected to hear, "Oh, that's hormonal, and normal at this phase of your life." Well, I did hear that, but with regard to the inordinate amount of hair I seem to be losing these days. Shedding, I am, but apparently, that's normal.
Apparently it's not-so-normal to have PMS breasts for six weeks running, and with my family history (not to mention being left-handed and having thyroid cancer), the doc ordered up a diagnostic mammagram wherein they take a lot more pictures. Oh, joy. Even better? The facility couldn't schedule me for the test until November 2, which means I get to walk around wondering what's going on there. One possibility is fibrocystic breast condition, which at least one of my sisters has (I think, I have to call and ask.)
But that's not all... I dragged myself to the dentist yesterday because one of my lower incisors has been nagging me for a while. I'm scheduled for a cleaning in a couple of weeks, but I didn't want to wait that long. It wasn't just the tooth that's bothering me, either: I saw Dr. O, my ENT, last week for the persistent sinus infection/sinus headaches I've been having. Lo and behold, I've got a pretty severe case of TMJ which may be causing both the tooth pain and the headaches. (Two nights ago, I felt like someone was driving a nail into my skull at the point between my right eye and the bridge of my nose.) Dentist confirms there's something going on there with the tooth, so I'm scheduled for a root canal next week with the fancy-schmancy endodontist. And the week after that, I get to see the TMJ specialist guy.
The TMJ pain was hard for me to recognize as joint pain, because my salivary glands have been acting up: my face hurts, and it's not easy to tell whether it's the salivaries that are swollen and clogged, or the jaw muscles right behind them that have stiffened up. I wear my retainer, which has a bite guard in it, every single night, so I don't know how I ended up in this condition. (I had it once in college, and I had it again before DD was born, which led me to getting braces - again - and now having the retainer.) I wonder if the whackiness of the salivary glands is contributing to the TMJ pain. I doubt there is any way to get an answer to this question.
Last: poor Alice has been coughing and sneezing, and Cooper needed his vaccinations, so we took both kittens to the vet yesterday. Now Alice is on anti-biotics. How odd that all three females in the house would be on anti-biotics at the same time for more or less the same thing.
This looks a lot worse in print than it is in reality. Yes, my face hurts a little (about 4 on that 1-10 pain scale), and my tooth is about a 2-3, but I'm used to that level of pain and have been dealing with it. The breasts are about a 3, also. So you see, none of this is remotely disabling. It's all just annoying and a little tiring. Fortunately, the mega dose of naproxen sodium that Dr. O prescribed for me is doing a good job of keeping the pain, if not completely manageable, at least at a level I can ignore most of the time.
In the meantime, I just pretend that it's not there. I've spent a lot of time over at the school helping out, and I love it. I finally have my stuff together to get my fingerprint card (getting my fingerprints taken was interesting), but I haven't mailed it in yet . The process of getting certified as a substitute teacher is a bit unweildy, but I'm procrastinating nevertheless. I uncertain I could last a whole school day, managing a class full of kids I don't know. One reason I've been spending so much time over at the school is I'm trying to build up my stamina. It's time to get back in shape.
This year, the thyroid cancer checkup was a little earlier, and in Houston. Both the ultrasound and the nuclear scan were negative, but my tumor marker, Thyroglublin (Tg), did uptick a bit -- so we'll keep an eye on it. Amusingly, I just received my schedule for appointments in August 2007. Efficient!
I had my dilated eye exam, which went fine as usual. (The idea of developing melanoma behind an eye is really too creepy to contemplate.) My eye doctor was as shocked as I was that an entire year had gone by. He was happy to hear I was just there for a checkup and not for a problem -- "Why is she back so soon, didn't I just see her?" My eyes continue to perform better-than-average, which is such a blessing.
Next up, I saw Dr. T, my dermatologist, who didn't find any spots that needed biopsy or even extra monitoring -- don't have to see him for another six months. He didn't chide me for being tan, either.
The only remaining test is my mammogram. I had my annual GYN exam this week and complained about my breasts feeling pre-menstrual all the time, for a good six weeks now. I expected to hear, "Oh, that's hormonal, and normal at this phase of your life." Well, I did hear that, but with regard to the inordinate amount of hair I seem to be losing these days. Shedding, I am, but apparently, that's normal.
Apparently it's not-so-normal to have PMS breasts for six weeks running, and with my family history (not to mention being left-handed and having thyroid cancer), the doc ordered up a diagnostic mammagram wherein they take a lot more pictures. Oh, joy. Even better? The facility couldn't schedule me for the test until November 2, which means I get to walk around wondering what's going on there. One possibility is fibrocystic breast condition, which at least one of my sisters has (I think, I have to call and ask.)
But that's not all... I dragged myself to the dentist yesterday because one of my lower incisors has been nagging me for a while. I'm scheduled for a cleaning in a couple of weeks, but I didn't want to wait that long. It wasn't just the tooth that's bothering me, either: I saw Dr. O, my ENT, last week for the persistent sinus infection/sinus headaches I've been having. Lo and behold, I've got a pretty severe case of TMJ which may be causing both the tooth pain and the headaches. (Two nights ago, I felt like someone was driving a nail into my skull at the point between my right eye and the bridge of my nose.) Dentist confirms there's something going on there with the tooth, so I'm scheduled for a root canal next week with the fancy-schmancy endodontist. And the week after that, I get to see the TMJ specialist guy.
The TMJ pain was hard for me to recognize as joint pain, because my salivary glands have been acting up: my face hurts, and it's not easy to tell whether it's the salivaries that are swollen and clogged, or the jaw muscles right behind them that have stiffened up. I wear my retainer, which has a bite guard in it, every single night, so I don't know how I ended up in this condition. (I had it once in college, and I had it again before DD was born, which led me to getting braces - again - and now having the retainer.) I wonder if the whackiness of the salivary glands is contributing to the TMJ pain. I doubt there is any way to get an answer to this question.
Last: poor Alice has been coughing and sneezing, and Cooper needed his vaccinations, so we took both kittens to the vet yesterday. Now Alice is on anti-biotics. How odd that all three females in the house would be on anti-biotics at the same time for more or less the same thing.
This looks a lot worse in print than it is in reality. Yes, my face hurts a little (about 4 on that 1-10 pain scale), and my tooth is about a 2-3, but I'm used to that level of pain and have been dealing with it. The breasts are about a 3, also. So you see, none of this is remotely disabling. It's all just annoying and a little tiring. Fortunately, the mega dose of naproxen sodium that Dr. O prescribed for me is doing a good job of keeping the pain, if not completely manageable, at least at a level I can ignore most of the time.
In the meantime, I just pretend that it's not there. I've spent a lot of time over at the school helping out, and I love it. I finally have my stuff together to get my fingerprint card (getting my fingerprints taken was interesting), but I haven't mailed it in yet . The process of getting certified as a substitute teacher is a bit unweildy, but I'm procrastinating nevertheless. I uncertain I could last a whole school day, managing a class full of kids I don't know. One reason I've been spending so much time over at the school is I'm trying to build up my stamina. It's time to get back in shape.
Monday, September 11, 2006
kittens: four state machines
How do kittens spend their days?
Occasionally, they play, with each other, or with a human:
About 2% of the time
Another favorite activity is lounging:
Surprisingly, they often lounge together
This chair provides an excellent vantage point from which to keep an eye on the computer... and me.
Then, there's cuddling.
Alice likes to snuggle face-to-face.
Yes, two kittens fit in one lap.
Cooper stakes out some Mom real estate, too.
Mostly, they sleep... a lot. I'd estimate about 80% of the time, no joke.
Alice likes the tangle of wires behind the computer.
Cooper favors the crow's nest of the kitty condo by the window.
Occasionally, they play, with each other, or with a human:
About 2% of the timeAnother favorite activity is lounging:
Surprisingly, they often lounge together
This chair provides an excellent vantage point from which to keep an eye on the computer... and me.Then, there's cuddling.
Alice likes to snuggle face-to-face.
Yes, two kittens fit in one lap.
Cooper stakes out some Mom real estate, too.Mostly, they sleep... a lot. I'd estimate about 80% of the time, no joke.
Alice likes the tangle of wires behind the computer.
Cooper favors the crow's nest of the kitty condo by the window.
what am I doing?
That business about time flying, having fun, etc? I don't think it's true. Time flies, faster and faster, the older you get, whether or not you're having fun.
Anyway, since we brought the kittens home, my time has been consumed with a million things. I've volunteered to help out at the kids' R/E on Monday nights, and I've agreed to chair the next thyca support meeting since our facilitator will be out of town. And I've been helping out at school, too: DS2's teacher is out for a couple of weeks, and the sub can use all the help she can get. Add in the usual groceries, laundry, and housekeeping -- not to mention time spent socializing the kittens -- and there you have it.
It's not that nothing "bloggable" has happend, it's that too much has happened, and so I let it go without writing about it. But we're getting into the school-year groove, so eventually I should find a regular time to write.
Anyway, since we brought the kittens home, my time has been consumed with a million things. I've volunteered to help out at the kids' R/E on Monday nights, and I've agreed to chair the next thyca support meeting since our facilitator will be out of town. And I've been helping out at school, too: DS2's teacher is out for a couple of weeks, and the sub can use all the help she can get. Add in the usual groceries, laundry, and housekeeping -- not to mention time spent socializing the kittens -- and there you have it.
It's not that nothing "bloggable" has happend, it's that too much has happened, and so I let it go without writing about it. But we're getting into the school-year groove, so eventually I should find a regular time to write.
Saturday, September 02, 2006
Car Trek: The Quest for Kittens
Scene: airport, baggage claim area, very crowded.
Mom is met by Dad, DS1, DD, and DS2. The children all hug Mom, who leans over to get a kiss from Dad.
MOM: Oh, it's so good to see you!
DS1: Mom, are we going to get kittens now?
(end scene)
*~*~*
That was Wednesday afternoon. Thursday I researched and found out that Saturday mornings are prime time, in some cases the only time, for pet adoptions.
We wanted two kittens so they could keep each other company during the day when we're out and about, not to mention when we're traveling back East over the summer. One person I spoke to at an adoption center said we should get two kittens from the same litter, otherwise we'd have to keep the kittens separated for two weeks to prevent possible disease transmission from one to the other.
We visited the closest adoption center and they only had older cats. There was one a lot closer that had kittens, but no siblings, so we ended up driving all the way up to Tatum & Bell Rds, on the strength of extremely bad directions from the pet store's website, to where the Citizens for Scottsdale Strays were having their adoptions. The drive was long and made longer by the fact that we didn't really know where we were going; the map was too low resolution to be helpful, and the directions were just wrong. We persevered and found the place, finally, but the kids were edging towards grumpy when we arrived.
They had many, many kittens, and some were from the same litter -- but the adoption director quickly dismissed the issue with having to keep the kittens separated; they were all in the same cage anyway, so they'd all been exposed to everything. We were first charmed by a gray-and-white brother and sister, but they were a little older than we wanted, more than 6 months. Still adorable, and very nice, but we wanted younger. We next auditioned totally adorable 2-month-old gray tabby boys, but they were long-haired, and we really didn't want two boys. Then I spotted a little tortoise-shell sweetie in the big cage, and she came out to cuddle on me, purring immediately. We all loved her, but who would be her companion?
The little orange tabby, same age, just a little bit bigger, sweet as can be and a little more frisky than the tortoise.
After paperwork, a quick run to the bank by DH (we forgot to bring the checkbook), a quick shopping trip for necessities, we were the proud owners of then-named Tortie and George. We had great fun all the way home thinking up new names for them, since Tortie just wouldn't do for such a sweet, delicate little girl, and George, while nice, was "too common" for DH's taste.
Cooper
Alice
Alice and Cooper spent their first 2 or 3 hours at home running around at high speed, investigating everything, including each other. Hockey is definitely Cooper's favorite sport, but he's a champion leaper as well. Alice is a bit more shy but she gets around, and she seems to always outwit Cooper just when he's ready to pounce on her.
Like all siblings, they have their moments:
They do seem to get along very well, so far. Both are very loving and cuddly; DS2 has adopted Cooper as his favorite fashion accessory:
A boy and his cat
Alice was vaccinated today, and the shots have just wiped her out. She has spent most of the evening sleeping. She should be feeling much better tomorrow.
Knocked out
It's extraordinarily difficult to photograph kittens; they are both small and quick! I have several shots of each kitten's tail, snapped as they left the frame. Well, now that I have two at home, I hope to improve. Alice is very hard to shoot since her coloration is very dark with lighter spots; she ends up looking a bit more freaky than she is in real life. Cooper, of course, is just gorgeous, but he's such a dear he doesn't know it yet. He's a bit of a baby, too, and he'll meow piteously when he wants some cuddling.
I wonder how this first night will go. Will Cooper cry all night? Will he nibble our toes? Will Alice, now up from her 3-hour nap, be bouncing off the walls? Will they chew through our cable wires overnight? (Unlikely, they're still in their protective sheaths from when we had Rosie.)
Who knows what tomorrow will bring. Today brought kittens, and that's splendid.
Mom is met by Dad, DS1, DD, and DS2. The children all hug Mom, who leans over to get a kiss from Dad.
MOM: Oh, it's so good to see you!
DS1: Mom, are we going to get kittens now?
(end scene)
That was Wednesday afternoon. Thursday I researched and found out that Saturday mornings are prime time, in some cases the only time, for pet adoptions.
We wanted two kittens so they could keep each other company during the day when we're out and about, not to mention when we're traveling back East over the summer. One person I spoke to at an adoption center said we should get two kittens from the same litter, otherwise we'd have to keep the kittens separated for two weeks to prevent possible disease transmission from one to the other.
We visited the closest adoption center and they only had older cats. There was one a lot closer that had kittens, but no siblings, so we ended up driving all the way up to Tatum & Bell Rds, on the strength of extremely bad directions from the pet store's website, to where the Citizens for Scottsdale Strays were having their adoptions. The drive was long and made longer by the fact that we didn't really know where we were going; the map was too low resolution to be helpful, and the directions were just wrong. We persevered and found the place, finally, but the kids were edging towards grumpy when we arrived.
They had many, many kittens, and some were from the same litter -- but the adoption director quickly dismissed the issue with having to keep the kittens separated; they were all in the same cage anyway, so they'd all been exposed to everything. We were first charmed by a gray-and-white brother and sister, but they were a little older than we wanted, more than 6 months. Still adorable, and very nice, but we wanted younger. We next auditioned totally adorable 2-month-old gray tabby boys, but they were long-haired, and we really didn't want two boys. Then I spotted a little tortoise-shell sweetie in the big cage, and she came out to cuddle on me, purring immediately. We all loved her, but who would be her companion?
The little orange tabby, same age, just a little bit bigger, sweet as can be and a little more frisky than the tortoise.
After paperwork, a quick run to the bank by DH (we forgot to bring the checkbook), a quick shopping trip for necessities, we were the proud owners of then-named Tortie and George. We had great fun all the way home thinking up new names for them, since Tortie just wouldn't do for such a sweet, delicate little girl, and George, while nice, was "too common" for DH's taste.
Alice and Cooper spent their first 2 or 3 hours at home running around at high speed, investigating everything, including each other. Hockey is definitely Cooper's favorite sport, but he's a champion leaper as well. Alice is a bit more shy but she gets around, and she seems to always outwit Cooper just when he's ready to pounce on her.
Like all siblings, they have their moments:
They do seem to get along very well, so far. Both are very loving and cuddly; DS2 has adopted Cooper as his favorite fashion accessory:
Alice was vaccinated today, and the shots have just wiped her out. She has spent most of the evening sleeping. She should be feeling much better tomorrow.
It's extraordinarily difficult to photograph kittens; they are both small and quick! I have several shots of each kitten's tail, snapped as they left the frame. Well, now that I have two at home, I hope to improve. Alice is very hard to shoot since her coloration is very dark with lighter spots; she ends up looking a bit more freaky than she is in real life. Cooper, of course, is just gorgeous, but he's such a dear he doesn't know it yet. He's a bit of a baby, too, and he'll meow piteously when he wants some cuddling.
I wonder how this first night will go. Will Cooper cry all night? Will he nibble our toes? Will Alice, now up from her 3-hour nap, be bouncing off the walls? Will they chew through our cable wires overnight? (Unlikely, they're still in their protective sheaths from when we had Rosie.)
Who knows what tomorrow will bring. Today brought kittens, and that's splendid.
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