Warning - Poetry Alert - read at own risk

Flowers from my Father

I got flowers from my father today.

It's the first time in my life he's ever sent me flowers 

(heck, most years, he didn't send me anything, including child support)

But today he sent me flowers.  

He has been trying to connect with me this past year - I don't know if it was his heart attack or my cancer diagnosis that made him think that perhaps we're running out of time. 

Or maybe it's not me that he's trying to connect to, but memories of who he was when he was still actively my father.  

Anyway, he sent me flowers.  

So, now what do I do?

A Retrospective of the Last Year

So... 49 is officially looming in the windshield.  While my instinct is to floor it and try to run that sucker into the ground, past evidence has shown me that it does no good, so I guess I must check the rear-view instead. 

First, though - my apologies.  The past week has been a busy one, with an out of town visitor and a seasonal depression throwing me off my game.  I'm not promising to never miss a day, but I will try to be significantly more frequent. 

Back to the rear view.  This time last year, I was 145 lbs heavier, Moose was still an only child, Delivered Dish counted me as one of their best customers, Mom was a rancher, Roger didn't have to sneak Dinty Moore, and I'd never heard of ULMS.  This has been the most eventful year I can remember (of course, my long-term memory sucks, but still...) 

It started out horrific - literally horrific, a set out of a horror movie, blood splashing everywhere and me terrified I was going to bleed out before they could stop it.  After 24 hours, an emergency D&C and a couple of pints of blood back in me (along with a bit where my blood pressure dropped down to zombie levels after the surgery), Dr Scott (yes, she really was named Dr Scott) patched me up, sent me home, and I thought we were good to go, until she called me on Saturday afternoon - never good when they call you on a Saturday. 

But there were a lot of good things that came out of the year of the bad plumbing - I've gotten so much closer to my family than I was, and connected with friends I'd lost touch with.  I've also reconnected with parts of my body I'd also lost touch with. It's been a hard journey - boy, has it been hard, but we've made it through.  The year of being patient is almost up... enough of a pause, time to move forward.

So, what's ahead - April 11th, I see Dr. Steiner.  Two days short of a year from when I got that first phone call, I'll find out when we move forward with the surgery.  Here's hoping this coming year is a lot less interesting.

One more stoned Moose post

Our Bark-Box came today - always a great day of the month for the puppies.  Incidentally, if you can afford it and you have puppies, I really recommend Bark-Box - the toys that they send have seams of titanium.  They've managed to survive three of the most determined squeak-destroyers out there - lesser toys have gone down in less than three minutes with these girls.  But I digress...

This is about Moose.  Since the girls get the toys, whenever they send a rawhide chewy or a bull pizzle or whatever, it goes to Moose.  Today, he chewed it sort of half-heartedly, then took it outside to hide (he is not yet totally up to speed on the whole "not an only dog anymore" concept.)  Daisy was watching, of course, and the minute he came back in and wasn't guarding anymore was out the door like a shot and had that chewy in her mouth and made a beeline for her bed.

Flash forward a couple of hours - it's after dinner, Moose has been drugged and is feeling the munchies, and of course, he goes for the chewy.  Poor stoned guy spent a good 15 minutes searching for the chewy, scratching his head and wondering what on earth happened before he finally wandered back in...

I want to be more like Daisy

The dogs all have different techniques for asking for affection - Moose just shoves his way onto your lap, Dancer tends to bounce her way along, Dixie doesn't deign to ask, but if you want to pet her, she won't object, but Daisy... Daisy is an odd duck.  She's a lady - she's not going to come over without an invitation, but she will sit on the floor (or another piece of furniture) and stare at you until you notice her, and give her the sign.  Then, she'll leap up into your lap, confident in the knowledge that of course you'll catch her.  Her leaps are even ladylike, though - she is light as a feather, landing like Olga Korbut looking for a perfect 10. 

I remember feeling like that as a kid.  I miss having that perfect knowledge that of course everyone loves me and will catch me if I leap into their arms.  I miss that sense of grace and beauty.  My body has become imperfect and my soul has been wounded through impacts with walls (physical and spiritual).  I think that's the thing that I'm hoping for when I pass from this earth - I'm looking forward to leaving my scars behind and going back to that perfect knowledge that I'm loved and will be caught whenever I leap. 

Moose has decided to get in on the action

Good thing I've got Cheet-Obama hidden away in the closet where Moose can't find him

We had to take Moose over to the vet yesterday - he's been having difficulty getting down from the furniture, and he's been yipping like he's in pain even when no one is touching him, so we wanted to get him checked out to make sure it's nothing serious.  (I love doxies, they're terrific dogs, but they do tend to be higher maintenance, back-wise.)  Fortunately, Moose loves his vet, mostly because of the foam V-block.  They  put him onto the block on his back, in prime belly-rub position, then carry him from room to room like a pasha - he's lobbying for us to get one for here at home.  Have I mentioned lately that I've got a very strange dog?  They even ended up giving him a manicure from the V-block, and he extended his paws out like he was a New York lady-who-lunches... I think he might have been contemplating nail colors, but he was rudely interrupted by Daddy wanting to take him home. 

At any rate - looks like he has some mineral deposits and a slightly enlarged disc.  He's going to be on muscle relaxers and anti-inflammatory drugs for a couple of weeks, and he's not supposed to be jumping off the furniture.  I'm not sure how we're going to manage that last one, but we'll try...  It's rough watching your baby get old, but he's 10 now - heading into senior wiener territory, I'm afraid. 

The only bright side out of this is that Moose is incredibly fun to watch when he's stoned out of his little gourd - like last night.  He was just lying on his back, paws up in the air, ears at full attention, staring up and contemplating the cosmos - or possibly planning a Cheetos hunt and grab.  Could go either way with my boy. 

Update - fun with Dr. Griggs

We're moving down the line of doctors now - the surgeon du jour today was Dr. Griggs, the general surgery guy who they want to bring in to deal with (or possibly not deal with) my hernia. 

So... the options could be a lot worse

Apparently, the hernia was a lot bigger than I had thought it was - he says that looking at the CT/PET scan, it's about 6 cm in diameter, and then the bits that I thought were the actual hernia are just the bits of intestine that have poked through (I know, I know... ewwwww!)  Anyway, because the hysterectomy is not a "clean" operation - they have to cut through the mucous membrane to get to it - he's reluctant to try to repair it, since it would need mesh to hold everything in place, and the mesh tends to attract infection.  So it looks like the plan will be to have him there during the surgery in case they have to take care of it to get the intestines out of the way for the tummy thing and the hysterectomy, but hope like heck that they will be able to cut around it all.  Considering that I've been living with it for 5 or so years now, and it's never given me any trouble, I'm ok with that plan of action.

In other insights... it's just amazing how much nicer doctors treat you when you've lost significant amounts of weight.  Or maybe it's just that I'm not feeling as defensive going into the office as I used to, but either way... so much better of an experience.

Black dog sitting on my shoulder

(And no, I don't mean Moose...)

I'm having one of those days - the kind where you just have a general mad on with the universe.  There's nothing in particular that is causing it,  when this happens it seems more like my chemistry is  out of whack than some event or person is getting to me.  But for some reason, noises tend to make me want to scream, even happy sounds like the puppies playing or the sound of the tv. 

At any rate - I may be going quiet for a day or two until my chemistry gets back in shape. 

One of my high school nightmares came true (not to me, thank goodness)

Sneezing Trombonist

All through Junior High and High School, I played trombone (occasionally tuba or sousaphone, but mostly trombone).  I've been asked before why I played trombone rather than something traditional - might I point out that trombone sections tend to be filled with cute football players and wrestlers during their off-season, while flute sections tend to be filled with blonde cheerleaders.  I leave the rest of the explanation to your imagination.

At any rate, I wasn't bad - although trombone sections don't tend to get a lot of solos (you really don't ever want to see the sheet music for the trombone part on "Hot Lunch Jam" - something like 128 measures of the same 7 notes repeated), so it wasn't hard to be first or second chair.  But I was terrified that something like this would happen during a concert.  Actually, the thing that really terrified me was the possibility of losing the slide during a quick 1st-7th-1st move, but sneezing came second.

Spring is coming!

We took a family outing to the farmer's market yesterday - it was wonderful!  We took Moose and the girls along as well - Moose did his usual version of a walk (riding on the baseboard of my scooter) and was a perfect gentleman, but the girls were a little edgy around the large crowd (understandably - there were more people there at the market than in the entire town of Whiterocks, I think).  Mom ended up sitting down on one of the benches with them while I went and got lunch for us (Whole Bowl - highly recommended, especially the lemon curry version.) 

While we were sitting, a family with three small girls came along and sat down next to us, and Dixie immediately sensed they had non-vegan food and made a shameless play for their groceries.  Fortunately, the small girls were fascinated with our small girls, and they became fast friends over sandwich meat and ear scritches.  All in all, it was a terrific trip out, and I managed to get some local mushrooms that made a great stroganoff last night - great way to spend the weekend.

Oh, good - it wasn't all in my head!

I heard back from my primary care doctor (who is terrific, by the way) - looks like at least part of the problem was that my vitamin B12 and D levels were both way low (not surprising, as I am part vampire, but good to know that there's a cause other than just having my body screwing with me again.)  My iron levels are on the low side of normal as well, but not to the "calling in a prescription" level, so it looks like I need to concentrate on a lot more dark leafy greens - good thing that Spring is coming back. 

I know, you think I'm joking about the part vampire, but...  skin that's one shade beyond caucasian into the phosphorescent range, I burn if I'm out in the sun for more than 10 minutes at a time, one of my canine teeth is a fang - admittedly, the pups are not precisely a pack of hell-hounds, but they certainly sound like it when the UPS guy arrives.  I don't sparkle, but then again... real vampires don't.  I'm just saying...

Down and out...

I'm not sure what's been going on lately, but for the past two weeks, I've been incredibly tired.  I'm not talking the normal "could use a nap".  This is more like I was before I got my bi-pap machine - the kind of tired where you find yourself falling asleep in the middle of typing a sentence.  I've been sleeping 12 - 14 hours a day, and I'm still having a hard time keeping my eyes open. 

I'm not sure if it's something nutrition related, or Hank acting up, or just needing my bi-pap adjusted (heaven knows, I'm only two-thirds the woman I used to be - there's probably some things that need to change).  I went in today and did some blood tests, so I should find out something tomorrow - part of me is hoping that everything comes back copasetic, but the other part of me would really like to know what the heck is happening.

It could be some stress as well, although I doubt that's the sole reason.  I had originally had appointments set up next Friday with the other two members of my surgical triumvirate (already seen the plastic surgeon), but my gyn/onc had her staff call and reschedule my appointment with her to April 11th.  I'd be ok with that, except... I still haven't actually talked to her (or any other cancer doctor) since last August.  I've heard from her nurse, but I haven't gotten any real details - just "she's referred you to the plastic surgeon for a procedure".  Still don't know for sure if it's all going to be one surgery, or separate surgeries, or even why exactly we're doing this - I am assuming it's so that she can get to Hank more easily, but it would be nice to get information.  I get the idea from other things that have been said that there are discussions going on around me that I don't know about, but I don't know - and I want to know!  But it looks like it's going to be another three weeks.  Maybe my body is just trying to protect me from frustration by shutting down my consciousness. 

Or maybe I'm just not getting enough iron. 

Random thoughts on a news blip

So, there's this news article - I just saw the headline, because I really didn't want to click through an encourage this kind of journalism...  something about a new beauty queen being a "child of rape". 

1.  I really hope she cleared this with her mother before she put this out on the news - I mean, this is strictly my opinion, but I don't think that this is really her story to tell.  If her mother wanted to come out with it, sure, but still... ick.

2.  Why on earth would you put this on your resume to begin with? It's not a skill like underwater basketweaving, or a personal characteristic like left-handedness.

3.  As a journalist, what would make you think that this was the right lead to the story - enough so that you put it in the headline? 

4.  What do you want the world to do with the information?  (Other than feel pity for your mother?) 

So many questions - but I'm still not going to click on the story. 

Memories of Grandpa

Sadly, it's probably condos at this point, but this is how I remember it

Grandpa was a rancher - a handy man, the kind who could fix anything.  It might not look immaculate after he fixed it, and you probably didn't want to watch while he fixed it, but by god, it would work.  I remember Roger coming up out of the basement at Mom's house, sort of shaken - apparently, Grandpa had bashed the third prong off of an electrical cable since the outlet he was using only had two holes.  He asked what Grandpa had done for a living, I reminded him that Grandpa was a rancher, and he said "Oh.  Right."  I deliberately didn't tell him to count Grandpa's fingers (he had 7 and three halves due to an earlier disagreement with a jig saw).

For his girls, Grandpa was also the local equivalent of Triple A.  All of them had experience with calling Grandpa at various times of the night to come get their cars working again - Mom with her Rambler, Sherri with the International.  (Not sure if Sandy had the same experience - these are only ones that I was present for, but I imagine she probably did.)  But his last intervention is the one I'm the most grateful for.

Grandpa's funeral was an experience - I'm going to have to write about it later.  The entire service was done by his family - from the invocation to the benediction - and the hall had to be opened up as far as possible to try to fit all the people in.  After the service, Roger, Mom, Grandma and I all piled into our Hyundai Santa Fe to drive by the old ranch and show it off to Roger.  We stopped to get pictures of the barn, piled back in, drove about 20 feet and boom - lost the timing belt.

Ok, this doesn't sound like an intervention to you, but...  for one thing, the rest of the family was still there, so we could get Grandma a ride out of there quickly.  Second thing - cell service is often spotty down in the fields, but that day, it was clear as a bell.  Third thing - there are precisely 2 Hyundai dealerships in the entire state of Utah (and we had driven the entire length of the state to get down to Washington).  One in Salt Lake, one just 5 miles from where we broke down in St. George.  Although it was late afternoon on a Saturday, the dealership a) picked us up and towed us there; b) happened to be willing to take our old car in for trade on a new one; c) were able to arrange financing on the spot;  and d) were able to get us back on the road in time to head back to Ogden that night.  If that doesn't sound like Grandpa watching out for us from beyond, you just don't know the man well enough. 

Playing Catch

The hooligans with one of their latest victims

None of my dogs really play catch.  Moose has never learned what a toy is, frankly - I was hoping maybe the girls would be able to teach him, but he just has no interest.  Squeaky toys don't cut it, he doesn't want to tuggy, he's just a simple soul who wants to sit in someone's lap and contemplate the mysteries of the universe.  Generally from the inside of his eyelids. 

The girls do understand the toy concept - especially the squeaky toy concept (or as they think of it "fuzzythingmustdiediedie").  I wanted to branch out, though - see if I could introduce something for psycho puppy hour other than the nightly WWE matches that break out around 9:00 every night.  So, last night, I tried introducing Daisy to the idea of catch.  She has fallen in love with this little purple ball of fluff that Daniel brought home from a gay pride parade last year, so we tried chucking it down the hall.  She ran to get it, and brought it back (success!), I threw it again after giving her lots of positive reinforcement, she brought it back, was about to release it...  and Dancer grabbed it away and ran for a touchdown in the opposite direction.  Apparently, Dancer feels that the game of catch requires a goalie. 

Springing forward (well, shambling forward)

Not coming out until you humans make up your mind on what time it is!

When I was younger, I resented the hell out of daylight savings time - losing an entire hour of sleep in the spring frustrated me, and in the fall, it just hastened the amount of time I spent going to work in the dark and coming home in the dark. There are a lot of things to love about Portland, but winter daylight is not one of them.  Winter solstice, we get 8 hours, 42 minutes of daylight - and when I was working in cubicle-land without a window, I saw none of it.  When DST ends, we go from sundown at 5:52 to sunset at 4:54 - and my last chance of seeing the sun disappears until springs rolls around.

Of course, the other side of that is that in June, you get 15 hours, 41 minutes of sunshine - long, lazy summer afternoons that last until after 9:00 pm.  There's something about a summer late afternoon - you can sit on the back porch and I swear you smell that sweet new mown grass aroma even when there's no grass within 5 city blocks of you.  Maybe it's worth it...  nah.  Still hate DST.

Time for something a lot less dire

My complaint of the week:  I really hate the direction that male Country singers have been going lately.  Frat bro country is what it sounds like to me - all about drinking and hooking up, with no thought to women as actual people.  The latest phrase that's really got me hot and bothered (and not in a good way) is "shaking that moneymaker".  I've heard it in several songs - is it just me, or is that about the most demeaning thing you could say about a woman without facing FCC indecency complaints? 

You're singing this song to impress her, right?  Trying to tell her that she's Ms Right (or at least Ms Tonight), complimenting her hair, her skin, her fashion sense - ok, you're obviously not commenting on her wit or knowledge or kindness, but I get it, it's a first date, appearances are all you have to go on.  So why on earth would you even be mentioning her nether regions, let along accuse her of using them to pay off her rent and utilities?  And girls, why on earth would you consider this guy as anything other than a pervert, let alone listen to the song enough to get it into the top ten? 

Just musing on a Friday night... and trying not to read anything into the fact that Roger and my song is "When you say nothing at all..."

Much more romantic, trust me

Lessons Learned from Hank

I had someone ask me today if I'd be willing to talk to a woman who is basically in the same situation I was in last April - uterine cancer, high enough BMI that surgery is not an option, panicked out of my freaking mind, etc... of course I said yes, but it got me to thinking.  If I could give advice to my old self, what would I tell her?  What have I learned?

1.  (Most important) You can do this.  I know, you've tried dieting before, it's never really worked, you know it's not going to happen.  But you've never had this kind of motivation before.  It's not going to be easy - ignore all that nonsense that ads peddle about it being simple and pain free and breezy.  Hell, ignore any non-health professional with a BMI of less than 40 - their bodies do not work the same as yours does.  They don't gain weight on a diet of less than 1200 calories a day.  You do.  Live with it, learn to live longer with it, and eat your veggies and suck it up.  You're in this for the long haul.

2.  You're going to be angry.  You're going to be angry at your doctors for saying No, you're going to be angry at yourself, you're going to be angry at your family, you're going to be angry at Sara Lee, for god's sake.  You're going to be angry.  Don't let that anger make you give up.  Use that anger to power you through.  I thought in my heart of hearts that my cancer doctors didn't think I could lose the weight, and that they just told me to do it to make me go away and stop bothering them.  (I was a little bit paranoid at that point.)  Every time I went down another 10 pounds on the scale, I pictured my doctor being shocked.  It was petty, admittedly, but it helped... but remember - what you're really angry at is cancer.  Cancer is a jerk.  Don't let it screw up your relationship with other people

3.  Speaking of your relationships with other people...  get to the Cancer group.  Trust me.  You are going to need them (or someone like them) to get through this.  They know what you're going through, they know what you will go through, they're people you can be honest in front of without feeling like a big, fat idiot.

4.  It's a marathon.  This is going to be long, and hard, and tedious.  But there are mileposts along the way.  Celebrate the milestones.  And just because it's a marathon, doesn't mean you can't do a sprint or two along the way.  I'm going to be sprinting for the next couple of weeks - I want to hit a certain milestone by the time I turn 49 in 3 weeks, but that's a temporary thing.

More to come as I think about it, but that's a start...

Clothing Optional

Or maybe clothing options - one or the other.  Anyway, I was talking with Mom today about a mutual friend, who has an impeccable sense of style - one of those women who can wear bib overalls and a sailor hat and look saucy and fresh, rather than slubbish, which is what that outfit would turn into on me.  I've been thinking a lot about clothing (having to replace your entire wardrobe will do that to you), and where I want to end up eventually. 

I suspect I'll end up with some version of boho chic, although I may have to alter it a little if I don't manage to get rid of my scooter.  It's very hard to look airy and fey if your 120" around pirate skirt is tangled up in your wheels and ripping all to heck.  But there's one outfit that I'm holding on to until it's pried out of my hands and/or off my body. 

I think every woman has a version of this outfit - it's not something you would ever wear outside the house, but when it's cold out, and the world hates you, and chocolate is calling your name like a lover with a guitar outside your balcony...  You've got to put on the one outfit that makes everything feel better.  For some women, it's oversized sweats, some others swear by a ratty nightgown, but for me, it's a pair of puppy-printed cotton capris and an old blue t-shirt that reaches down to my knees and could easily fit both Roger and I together.  It's stained, it's huge, but when I put it on, I feel comforted, and small, and warm, and in control of my own little portion of the universe. 

Longer Update (where we're at now...)

Things are moving quicker than I thought - Friday morning, I got a call from the plastic surgery department, who had an opening and saw me that afternoon.  She thinks I'm a good candidate for the panniculectomy (basically, taking the excess flesh from below my belly button to my groin out - after 140 lbs, there's a lot of excess flesh there, which is one of the reasons why it's so hard for them to get an absolute idea of what Hank is up to, I think).  I'm still not sure whether they're going to try to do the hysterectomy at the same time, or if it's going to be two different surgeries, but at least we're moving forward. 

Due to the position of my hernia, she wants to have a general surgeon available in case it's involved.  So, I'm going to be seeing my gyn/onc on March 21st at 8:00, and then I've got an appointment with the general surgeon at 10:15, so I'm hoping to have a better idea of time frame/what's involved after that.  (More to come...)

It was kind of funny - she started out with "Now, I'm sure you don't know much about a panniculectomy", at which point I said "No, we're pretty familiar with this procedure - we've already had a dry run" (although mom insists there was nothing dry about it.)

The timing could be better here - I've got my goddaughter's wedding on April 12th and my grandmother's 96th birthday party May 13th that I was hoping to go to, but it's not looking good to be able to make both of them.  (Still holding out hope for the wedding though - I don't think things are going to be moving that fast, but then again, I'm still in whiplash from coming out of limbo that quickly.) 

Quick Post-Oscar Post

We had a nice evening tonight - got together with K & R and watched the Oscars, with a lovely salad and vegan chili.  I'm seriously tired, though - I'll post more tomorrow. 

One reason I love this man

Well, two reasons - this was a poker party last year.  And yes, that's Roger letting Moose kibitz (Moose may have been momentarily distracted by Daniel and the snack potential therein, but before that, I believe that Moose was mentally projecting "wait for the river!  Wait for the river!")  How could I not love a man who's willing to let his fur-son sit in with him?

But tonight - we're watching an old Jeopardy episode, and there was a "How Do You" category.  One of the clues was answered by "How do you build an arc?"  Immediately, he popped up with "Right... What's an arc?", just as I was coming up with "What's a cubit?  Wait a minute, I used to know that one.. never mind."  Eighteen and a half years together - we've got a lot of inside jokes under our belts.  And I wouldn't have it any other way. 

As the tile he gave me said, every once in a blue moon, a decent wolf does come along - love you, my

Werepuppy.