Why do doctors do this?

I'm going to be looking for a different sleep apnea doctor.  I'd sent my current sleep apnea doctor an email saying that I'd been suffering from fatigue (yep, it's still an issue), and that I'd like to at least get my machine checked and perhaps get a new sleep study, since I've lost 145 pounds in the past year.  Now, keep in mind this is Kaiser, so she has access to everything in my chart, and it's been a couple of weeks since I sent the email to her (in her defense, she was on vacation). 

She started off with "sometimes if you don't sleep well at night, it can lead to fatigue".  Right.  I've been dealing with sleep apnea for over 10 years now = when I say fatigue, I'm not talking a little "didn't sleep well, so I'm drowsy".  I'm talking sleeping 12 - 14 hours a day and still being tired.  Which she would know, if she'd look at my chart.  But that's not the big thing that frustrated me.  She closed with "I hope you have undertaken a daily exercise program, as that can be so important to weight loss".  What, 145 pounds in a year wasn't enough for you?  Second, you are not my general practitioner, you're not my nutritionist, you're not involved in my weight loss plan in any way.  Why do you feel it necessary to bring this up in a brief email? 

I've dealt with this all my adult life - going in to a doctor with the flu and having them bring up my weight, generally in a "did you know that weight can affect your immune system?" kind of way.  I suspect people who smoke get the same thing  - oh, you broke your ankle?  Did you know that smoking can decrease your healing potential?  We get it - we've got bad habits, you feel entitled to shame us for them.  But when I'm actively working to cure that bad habit, continuing to shame me is not acceptable.  Sorry, Dr. F, but I'm firing you. 

Frustrations with faith

Genetically, I'm Mormon.  My ancestors pushed everything they owned across the Great Plains to Utah to help found the church - in fact, my ancestors were that special kind of committed Mormons who were told to go down south to the desert and try to grow cotton and didn't respond with "are you kidding?" My family is all Mormon (ok, Mom took a break from the church for about 30 years, but she came back to the faith).  In my soul, most of the beliefs ring true - families are forever to me, we are eternal souls, and this body is just a pitstop on the way to better things, teachings of the church are for everyone to discover and distribute, not just for a priest class to hand down from on high...  I should be one of the faithful. 

But I can't manage to bring myself to do it.  Every time I think that the Church elders are finally going to come to their senses and stop concentrating on homosexuality, some new article in the Ensign or some speaker in Sacrament meeting reminds me that they've only come so far as to acknowledge that homosexuality itself doesn't damn you, only the practical application does.  Oh, they'll say that any sex outside of marriage is a sin, but then they fight tooth and nail (and millions of dollars) to make sure same-sex marriage does not pass.  Why are they concentrating on identifying and trumpeting about that which divides us, rather than that which brings us together?  And with all the science that has proven that sexuality is innate, not taught, why concentrate on this particular trait?  Someone can not be damned for having blue eyes or for being left-handed - why just this one particular set of genetic code?

Speaking of genes...  My mother is one of the most inquisitive, intelligent, thoughtful women I know.  She has immense gravitas and did a spectacular job serving as the officiant for Brigid's wedding - there were a few tears (not just mine).  She would make a fantastic member of the bishopric if it weren't for the lack of that "Y" gene.  She's not alone - many of the women in my family are strong both in their faith and in their talents.  It makes no sense to me for a church to sideline half of its talent this way, or shunt them off to running the Relief Society. 

So, I'm a woman without a country - or at least without a church.  No other church feels right to me, but yet, the LDS church doesn't feel like I'm right for it.  Fortunately for me, my family does not shun me for this - they seem to love me despite my being the neon-pink sheep of the family. 

Observations from the pool

We went swimming again today - note to self, do not go on a weekend.  You can not handle that level of "happy noises of young children" (or as I refer to it, natural birth control).  It was lovely to see how many fathers were there with their kids, though - it was maybe half and half mothers and fathers. 

After slogging around the course for my 16 repetitions (and cursing the obnoxious girl hanging onto a lilypad and splashing/kicking in the current pool - the whole point is you don't have to propel yourself, which means you're just doing this to annoy me, young wench!  And get off my lawn.), we went to warm up in the hot tub.  We ended up sitting between this older couple (maybe late 60s?) and a young couple.  The young guy was giving the girl a bit of a backrub, and it was pretty obvious that they were newly dating - they didn't have the ease of anyone who has actually seen the other one naked.  I was tempted to tell her that backrubs are nice, but look for a guy who's going to be around to help you out of the hot tub when you're my age and don't fit into a bikini, or be willing to trudge around the channel pool, getting splashed by obnoxious children, just to try to get you healthy enough to stay around a few more years.  That's a guy worth keeping.

I'm back and running

Thank goodness for emergency back-up husband #1 (otherwise known as Kevin the computer-whisperer).  Mad as hell at Comcast - they were less than helpful to say the least.  I'm seriously thinking about switching, but the whole objection to DirecTV still exists (I don't want to lose service to rain), but it would still be better than being without internet for 3 days. 

In other news - I'm starting swimming/channel-walking with Mom to try to get in surgery-strength.  I'm upping it by two laps each time - up to 14 now and my legs feel like noodles tonight (that, and the chlorine in the pool dries my skin out to the point where it feels like there are ants running up and down inside my skin.)

Stand back! I think she's going critical!

Today's rant is brought to you courtesy of Comcast and Kaiser Permanente - both lovely companies, I'm sure, but who really don't have a clue when it comes to automated Customer Service. 

First off - Comcast.  I have my phone, internet and cable all bundled through them (I know, I could probably get it cheaper somewhere else, but I tried DirectTV and I kept losing my TV every time there was a heavy rain or it got windy.  I live in Oregon, where the two seasons are the rainy season and July 14th, and I live right off the west end of the Columbia Gorge, better known as the wind tunnel of the great Northwet..  That's a non-starter.) 

I've been having this intermittent issue where the modem suddenly decides that it can't see my wireless router and I lose internet service (and occasionally my phone line).  It's frustrating, but I've been able to get through by cycling the modem and the router and blahblahblahblah... anyway, today I'd finally had it and wanted to get the darn thing fixed.  So, I break down and call Comcast.  Why did it take me so long to call?  Because I knew what I was going to have to go through to get to a live person.  First off, I'm calling from my home line - the one they provide me with.  They still require me to jump through hoops to get to anyone.  First, I have to provide them with the last four digits of my account number.  Quick, off the top of your head, without being able to access the internet (because it's down, of course), do you know the last four digits of a random utility account number that you autopay every month?  Then, of course, I have to listen to them yammer on about how I can check the status of the internet service by going to comcast.com - yeah, did I mention that I'm calling BECAUSE MY INTERNET DOESN'T WORK?  And it's not like this is a random thing they throw in on every line - this bit doesn't come up until after I tell this computer that my internet isn't working.  Then, of course, because they still don't trust that this person who is calling in on my phone line, which they provided to me, is actually me, I have to give them my home address, the last four numbers of my SSN and the name of my unborn firstborn child. All before I actually talk to someone, who is then going to have to pass me along to the second level customer service because frankly at this point, I know more about my modem than they do.  A second level customer service rep who has to ask me for my name, address and SSN yet again.  This is not customer service.  This is customer prevention.  On the other hand, Matthew (who had a lovely southern accent) was a peach and did his best to fix my problem, then when he realized my modem is possessed by Satan, was happy to set up someone to come out tomorrow.  That part of the customer service was lovely...

As for Kaiser - I can't complain all that much about them, they're keeping me alive.  But considering the fact that they are keeping me alive, and that they know damn well all my medical issues, don't send me a yearly personalized computer letter saying "Do you know you need a pap smear, and that you should have your A1C checked, and that you should get a BMI screening" (seriously, a BMI screening?  I've lost 145 pounds this year - what do they want from me, carving off a couple of butt cheeks?)    Then the computer has the nerve to finish up with "Managing your health is important to us.  This is a personalized summary of your health care needs".  No, it's not a personalized summary - or they would know that I have a form of uterine cancer that isn't detectible by a pap smear, and I had a A1C screening in mid-March.  Kim, who keeps watch on me and cheerleads for me, or my own Dr Wang, who answers my emails even when I'm a little incoherent  - they are personalized care and I love and appreciate them.  A random listing of tests that are not even checked with my chart - that's just an annoyance that's perpetrated so that Kaiser Corporate can cross off some "proactive health agenda" list.  Don't try to think it's customer service - I'm not the one getting served here.

It's not Hollywood romantic

It's not Hollywood romantic, lying here next to you. 
For one thing, there's Moose the weiner-block, shoved up between us, zealously guarding his status as an only child.  And I'm pretty sure that Hollywood would never approve a heroine wearing a breathing-mask that makes her sound like Darth Vader - whooshing breath sounds that are only drowned out by the dual snores coming from both man and Moose. 

But every once in a while, when the alarm blares out, we manage to carve out 9 minutes where we are curled together in a cocoon of warmth, and I can feel our breathing in perfect unison.  Your arm is protective around me, keeping back the horrors of the coming morning, and that... right there.  It's not Hollywood romantic, but it's so much better. 

Not-So-Happy Anniversary, Hank.

It's a year.  It's been an interesting year, but at least I made it through, and I'm intending to keep making it through, so... (close your eyes, family and anyone who still thinks of me as a delicate flower) F you, Hank, and the cancerous cells you rode in on.

Eat hearty, dude - you're going down!

Next step - getting my heart in shape for surgery, finding out what the hell is causing my fatigue and beating that, and trying to get my blood sugar back under control.  Three days with a half-dose of the Megace, and I seem to be ok, so I'm hoping that will help, but I woke up last night around 2:00 with a blood-sugar level of 69, so there's still going to be some fine tuning involved.  My doctor spun this as a positive thing - if Hank is to start growing, at least I'm at the point now where they can get him out, but they just want to optimize my chances of being healthy after the surgery - but I'm still having a hard time getting over the disappointment. But I will. 

Placeholder Post

I'll write more later, but for tonight, I'm emotionally wiped out and heading for bed.  Just wanted to let anyone following along not on facebook know that the Dr. appointment did not quite go the way I hoped it would (still no surgery date), but I'm battling past the disappointment and trying to take this as a good thing.  Basically, right now, since Hank isn't redecorating yet and is choosing to play relatively nice with others, she wants to work on getting me healthier so that I have a better shot at surviving the surgery - work on trying to figure out what's causing this extreme fatigue and see if cutting back on the Megace will help me get my blood sugar under better control.  I'll see her again around the first of June, and we'll see what happens then.

Updatish...

Tomorrow is the day... I'm meeting with Dr. Steiner, and finding out when I will be going under the knife (and which kind of knife it's going to be.)  I'm a tad freaked out tonight - ok, I'm tremendously freaked out.  Spending the last year on knife-edge, waiting... it's not that I don't want to move on, it's just that I've gotten comfortable on this knife-edge.  Well, not exactly comfortable, but I know how to react here, I know where I am, I know this space.  And I really, really hate change. 

On the other hand, I want to get Hank out of me.  I think I hate Hank more than I hate change.  But that's going to be hard, and painful, and involve a lot of change.  It's not like I'm going to not do this, but I'm just feeling scared.  And tired.  But mostly scared.

Electronics have been forsaking me lately

Lately, we've been having problems with our cable modem box, so I was excited when I went to log in to work this morning and the internet was doing well - until I went to call my boss and I had no dial tone.  Finally fixed the phone, at which point, the internet buggered off.  Got them both in working order and now my Kindle is freaking out.  Apparently, the Goddess Electronica is not happy with the current sacrifice material - I may need a fresher batch of hamsters.  All in all, good time to go to bed.  Goodnight, all.

Shopping, shopping, shopping

I've finally broke down and started buying new stuff - still not brave enough to try things on in the store, but I found some nice pants (including some bicycle printed jams that may end up replacing my puppy pants), and a couple of really nice printed shirts with purple tones - apparently there's a trend this year for trapeze style shirts, which given my hourglass with the sand ran down figure really work.  And I got it all with a pair of socks for $130, so I'm feeling suave.  I had to go down a size from what I would be comfortable with on a couple of the pants (they were out of my actual size), so I figure I'll shrink into them. 

Quick post tonight

I went into the office today (I've started trying to go in on Fridays - that way I get to touch bases with people, but I still have a couple of days to recover.  So far, it's working well.)    It's amazing seeing the changes in the building every time I come in - they're changing it over from being exclusively Government offices to commercial space, which so far seems to mean retro-fitting the elevators with disco laminate and lighting and putting in a wall full of plants (vertical wall full of plants - I see this lasting about a month before they start dying off...)  Oh, and dynamic fonts on the signage. 

I just hope the upcoming bathroom retrofit means that they'll be getting rid of some of the more annoying aspects.  I don't know who designed the women's bathroom, but I'm pretty sure that it was a guy who was going through a painful divorce.  There's no other reason to put not one, but two metal boxes with sharp edges right at knee level in each of the stalls (thus not only endangering your knees, but reducing spreading capacity), and to make sure that each of the doors are hung so that there is at least half an inch between the door and the wall it's supposed to meet up with.  Oh, and making sure that both of the paper towel holders are located at one end of the long line of sinks, all of which are designed so that they will leak and splash water on the counter right where it will get your shirt wet if you lean over to wash your hands.  Maybe I don't miss going into the office as much as I thought I did.

Things that bring back memories

I saw a picture today of an old plastic clear yellow tumbler - it was exactly like the one that Grandma used to use to cut Parker House Rolls with.  Well, to be more specific, it was exactly like the one that she used to have me cut the rolls with - from the time I was old enough to reach the table the dough was spread out on.  She would knead the dough in her KitchenAid, then I would cut out the rolls, and she would dip them in melted butter and we'd fold them over and bake them up.  Nothing will ever taste as good as those rolls.

Cancer Is A Jerk, Part 324

I'm angry at cancer for a lot of reasons, but this week's pet peeve is a bit of an odd duck.  Let me see if I can put it into words...

Prior to the diagnosis, I felt like the road was fairly sturdy beneath me.  There were a few bumps and bobbles, but in general, life was going forward, I was still relatively immortal, I was secure in the knowledge that women in my family tend to hang in longer than queens of England (to paraphrase Eddie Izzard, she's strapped into that throne and she's not going anywhere).  All the sudden, there was this huge crack in my sidewalk.  Heck, not just my sidewalk, but my mother's sidewalk as well.  While Mom has made it past the crack just fine, and I'm building a bridge to the other side, I'm aware of the cracks now.  I didn't ever see them before, but now I'm having to pay attention to where my feet land, aware that at any moment another crack may open up and swallow me.  I can't skip ahead anymore, I have to deliberately place each step, and it's so much more exhausting to be slow and careful.  I have a residual level of fear in the back of my mind now, and talking to friends who have gone through this and are NED (no evidence of disease or remission), they feel the same way.  Which makes me say, yet again, cancer is a jerk.

Finally - What My Training Has Prepared Me For

My aunt called today - she's in charge of the post office in her very small town, and her post office got it by taggers.  (Quick PSA - Tagging is bad.  Don't tag.  Especially don't tag public buildings - our Government has enough problems with money without having to deal with your jerky boasts about the size of your equipment.  Also, learn how to spell.)

Anyway, Sherri called me to ask what the going rate was for a company to come out and clean graffiti off her walls.  Using my years of training and vast Google-fu, I was able to give her a recommendation on a product that would do the trick, give her approximate pricing for a contractor to come out and pass her the contact info.  And (best part) I learned about Elephant Snot (tm).  It feels good to know I still have the touch - I was worried that going over to the SysAdmin side had dulled my finely honed buyer senses.  (Forget #humblebrag, I'm just going for #straightoutbrag.)

The rest of the day was lovely as well - Mom gave me a lovely new purple ombre' shirt with grey and purple beading, Daniel gave me a lovely purple shirt with neat embroidery, I got another batch of flowers (this time without emotional freight), and I took today as a (Idon'tseeyou) day on my diet and we pigged out on pizza for dinner.  Wonderful day...

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.

Surprising turn of events

Looks like I may be taking over Mom's walker faster than I was expecting - I got a call today from my gynocological oncologist's nurse, and apparently, they've been discussing me behind my back again.  She's sending a referral to the plastic surgery department to discuss me getting a panniculectomy (removing the excess skin left over after losing the weight).  I'm assuming that this is so that they can more easily figure out what Hank is up to and/or make it easier safer to get to him, but I really don't know - this isn't something that's ever been brought up before. 

I don't really understand that part of the medical profession...  I've got an appointment on March 21st (mostly because I insisted), but I haven't actually talked to or seen a doctor since August (and then it was because I insisted as well).  I have an email set up with Kaiser, they've got my phone number, they know how to get hold of me, but instead, every three months, I've had to either call or email to get them to set up scans for me, then after I remind them that I got the scan and need results, I get a call from their nurse (not them) saying that the doctor reviewed the scan and giving me the results.  And then, out of the blue, I get a call (again from the nurse, not the doctor) sending me in a completely new direction.  I know there must be stuff going on behind the scenes, but I never hear about it unless I drag it out by the teeth (that's what it took for me to find out that the Morbid Obesity group had decided that they weren't willing to work with my case back last summer.)  Admittedly, I'm grateful for the way things worked out - Kim and Dr. Craig have been a blessing I never would have gotten, but it would have been nice to have been told what was going on as it was happening. 

So, judging by what Mom's gone through recently, I'm looking at 3 to 5 days in the hospital, a couple of weeks sleeping in the reclining chair, and then about 6 weeks of healing up, and the impossible task of keeping Moose from jumping up and down on my lap.  This... is going to be a challenge.  I'll let you all know more once I hear from the plastic surgeons. 

Following Edward

I know this is going to sound strange, but I've found myself becoming obsessed with dog blogs on Facebook.  Mostly dachshund (I love Crusoe the Celebrity Dachshund), but I've also started following various dogs facing physical challenges - Duncan Lou Who w/legs of two, Super Roo, etc.  The one that got me started, though, was Edward Carter.

Edward is this (forgive me, Edward) so-ugly-he's-cute Chinese Crested looking dog, who was turned in to a shelter with Stage 5 T-Cell Lymphoma.  His foster-mother is the one who posts for him, and she's both an incredible photographer, and a great voice for him - reading his blog makes me smile the way Moose or Daisy make me smile, but with a bit of a tear too.  She's trying to help him fill out his bucket list - getting a whole hamburger to himself, taking a helicopter ride (not my choice, but he seemed to enjoy it)... He doesn't have long, and while they've been trying with various chemos, you can tell he's coming down to the wire.

Not sure why he speaks to me so deeply, other than I've got some empathy for his position.  He's much further down the road than I am, but it both soothes me and pains me to see him (and his foster-mother) handling it with such grace and verve. 

Scan Results

Kind of inconclusive - he's still there, and he hasn't started redecorating any other organs.  I can't tell from the language of the scan whether or not he's grown any, but it doesn't sound like he has - so, I'm taking that as a positive.  Who knew that the whole vegan retarding cancer would work?  I certainly didn't, but it seems to be doing the job. 

I've got an appointment to talk with Dr. Steiner about the results, and where we go next on March 21st.  I really, really want out of the whole limbo gig - it's wearing on me, my family, my work, all you guys who have to read my whinging...  Tomorrow, I'll try to be back to my usual glib self, but for tonight... cancer sucks. 

Sad day...

Found out today that "Dancing with the Stars" fired Brooke Burke-Charvet (no, that's not the sad part!  Don't be silly - the woman had the interviewing skills of a limpet.)  No, the sad part is that apparently last month while no one was watching, they also fired Harold Wheeler and the band.  I'll miss Harold Wheeler, of course - as a former band geek, I always appreciate anyone who hires good musicians, especially trombonists.  But, the most shocking part...  I think they also let go the Romulan Priestess! 

If you watch Dancing with the Stars at all, I'm sure you know who I mean - the zaftig singer with the really interesting headpieces.  Her actual name is Carmen Carter, but I'm always going to remember her as the priestess, and the show just isn't going to be the same without her (not to mention it's going to be a lot harder to get Roger and Kevin to watch without the enticement of seeing her cleavage performance. 

I don't know - first they lost the results show, then the ever excitable Max, now the band is gone... better be one stellar cast this year, or I'm sticking with the Voice on Monday nights.

Thoughts on Family

It's an odd subject for me - more-so than most people, I think.  I started thinking about it because of this Olympic "moment" they had, with a paralympian who was adopted as a baby from Russia because her mother couldn't take care of an amputee baby taking a trip to Russia to meet her birth family. 

I have a number of definitions of "family".  Heck, I even have different versions of my Portland family, but...First off, a little history for those who met me later in life.  I'm my mother's only daughter (She and Dad were married very young - she was 16), had me and then were divorced by the time Mom was 19.  So, I'm an only child... but then my father went and got married again (a lot.  Trust me on this.)  So, I had several step brothers and sisters that I can't really remember that came and went with the various stepmothers, and then I also have several half-brothers that are a little more permanent (I do remember their names, at the very least.)  Dad, incidentally, was also one of 12 kids, some of whom were about as bad at staying married as he was, so there was no chance of me keeping track of my aunts and uncles, let alone any of the over 200 first cousins.  Although he did do me one favor - the last woman he married happens to be my mother's cousin, so that at least cut down on some of the cousin-age.  I can remember at last one of them - technically, I'm my own first cousin once removed.  Of course, Gail also happens to be one of 10 kids, so that's another 18 aunts and uncles to remember.  Anyway, due to various life events, I don't really consider myself a part of the Humphries clan (I'm pretty sure they also don't consider me a part of the clan.)  But I suppose you could call them my blood-kin.

My mom's family are my heart-kin, though.  Grandma and Grandpa helped mom raise me, Aunt Sandy and Aunt Sherri were always part of my life when I was growing up, I know and love them all, but more importantly, they feel like family (even Uncle Jim, who I still haven't forgiven for the water pistol incident.  My memory is long, Uncle Jim.  Very long.  Good thing you love my Aunt Sandy and treat her right.)  But though they are all family, I've always been the neon-pink sheep of the family - not black, per se... just very bright pink.  I'm the one who moved out of Utah and stayed out, I'm the one without children, the non-homemaker.  I know that I belong to them, and they belong to me.  They've never condemned me for who I am, and I'm eternally grateful for that, but I just have felt a little outside.  Perhaps because for so long, it was me and mom, always on the road to the next place.

Until the next place was Portland.  My town.  25 years of running, and then I landed here, and I've stuck here ever since.  Here's where I've built my families - my work family and my family of the soul.  My soul-kin - the ones I've chosen.  Some of them I knew from other times and places (Eugene, Tongue Point, Avatar, Rocky Horror), some of them have moved on to other times and places (Miss you, kiddo...)

And then there's my life-partner - the one who breaths with the same rhythm as I do, and the one who brings yet another family to me.  Gene, who taught my husband to be that kind of man.  Ruth, who I still miss every time something reminds me of her.  The brothers and sisters-in-law that I never thought I'd have - not to imagine the nieces and nephews that are still a surprise to me.

So... any conclusions here?  Not really, although just the realization that I'm very blessed when it comes to family.   

I really have gone over to the veg side...

(Plans for tomorrow.)

It's been a real wench of a week, so since I was having to spend time in the nuclear torture chamber today, I declared this to be a free day, diet-wise.  After I stopped glowing and it was safe to leave, Roger and I stopped by the grocery store, and I went insane (never, ever go food shopping after a fasting procedure.  Definitely not healthy for your wallet, if nothing else.)  Anyway... running wild through the aisles, pushing my scooter to the max, and what did I come out with for lunch and dinner? 

Lunch was some sesame noodles, with Shanghai tofu.  (I did also get a spinach ricotta frittata - palm sized, which I split with my mother, but still - it was semi-naughty at best.)  And for dinner?  I picked up various root veggies (some golden beets, some regular beets, some brussel sprouts) which we roasted up and served alongside the beet greens.  Mind you, this wasn't what I was told to eat, this is what I actually looked at in the entire store and thought "Oh!  That sounds good!"  I fear for my sanity.  It might have been the radiation - maybe I was bitten by a green bean or something while I was stuck in the tube? 

At any rate... the scan went well-ish (hurt like hell, but they gave me warm blankets, and that goes a long way.)  I made it through, but next time, I'm definitely demanding Ativan (that is, if I can figure out who my cancer doctor actually is.  I sent another message today, saying "The lab says the scans will be ready this afternoon, and by the way, am I still supposed to contact Dr. C, or since Dr. S (my first Dr) is back from OB leave, should I be talking to her" and was told my doctor is out of clinic today, and they'll get back to me sometime early next week - and telling me that she's not sure either, but it looks like I talked to Dr C last.  Yeah.  I did.  Back in AUGUST!  I know I don't fit into their protocols, and my other, non-cancer drs have been great, but I really do feel like a red-headed stepchild when it comes to the gyn-onc section.) 

But anyway... early night and late morning, and I'll see if I can finally kick this stupid head-cold out the door. 

Little bit terrified...

I'm scheduled for a PET/CT scan tomorrow.  Assuming it works out, this is a move in a positive direction - we'll be able to get a much better picture of what Hank looks like, and what he's doing in there (stuff we couldn't find out from the initial scans because I couldn't fit on the tables). 

So, why the terror?  Bunch of things could go wrong here - for one thing, I'm right at the limits of the table, and they may decide I can't fit.  I really don't want to go through that special little sort of humiliation yet again.  Also, this is a "don't eat anything for 6 hours before the test.  And don't take your diabetic meds.  Oh, and if your blood sugar level is over 200, we can't do the test."  Right.  I'm an insulin dependent diabetic (my body does not create insulin), with a really strong dawn phenomena (my body puts out a flood of sugar right when I wake up - most people's body does, it's just mine is extra strong.  I can go to bed at 110 and wake up in the morning at 220. And no, I'm not midnight sleep-snacking.) Oh, and I'm on a pill that is trying to keep Hank under control called Megace - two of the side effects are a) it's an appetite enhancer that they give to cancer patients to try to help them gain weight and b) it messes with your blood sugar.  I mean shooting up to 360, then dropping down to 70 in the course of about 45 minutes.  So, trying to guess what the heck my blood sugar is going to be at any particular moment is a little like attempting to plan a luge run on my old red flying saucer after an Olympic Village after-party.  What I'm saying is that precision is not exactly on tap here.

Then, if I do manage to thread the weight and blood-sugar constraints, we get to the fun part of the morning.  They put me in a quiet room, dump radioactive dye into my veins and make me sit quietly, by myself, for 45 to 60 minutes.  I have to sit by myself because at this stage, apparently, I could poison any small children, dogs or husbands who are in the same room with me, just by glowing at them.  Heck, people... I'm a down-winder (well, I'm a down-winder's daughter).  We laugh at radioactivity! Then, they put me on a table, with my hands over my head, and I have to stay like that.  For 2 hours.  Rotator cuff screaming, back aching, muttering vague imprecations about the entire medical profession under my breath - I know, it's not them, it's me.  But I'm the one writing this rant, so I'm going to be complaining loudly. 

Then, Roger gets to take me home, where I can't do the usual "console myself with chocolate" routine (despite when anyone may tell me, broccoli is *not* the same in this instance), and we wait for the results.  I don't know why I schedule these scans on Friday - it just gives me two more days to worry, but that part I will admit fault for. 

It's been almost a year now since the whole Carrie remake that introduced me to Hank.  At the time, the cancer doctor didn't want to make predictions, but didn't sound really positive about me lasting more than a couple of years.  But then again, I don't think she thought I would ever be able to lose anywhere near 140 pounds (heck, I didn't think I would be able to, at the time.)  But I still realize that this is a race, and each time the scan comes up, I'm terrified to look at the scoreboard.  Best case scenario - the sheer volume and variety of veggies has scared Hank into submission, he's retreating, all is good with the world.  Ok scenario - he's stayed stable and I've still got more time to try to beat him.  Worst case - he's growing again.  I don't want to think about worst, but funnily enough, when I'm lying there with my eyes closed, that's about all I can think of.  Maybe now that I've written it out, though, it'll be out of my head and I'll be able to sleep.  Goodnight, all.

Adventures with Tri-Met Lift

I went in to the office today (normally I telework, but we had our monthly All-Hands meeting - last one was in August, I think).  I knew there was no way I could wait around to carpool with Roger - when we carpool, he drops me off about 6:00, and then it's frequently 5:30 or so by the time he picks me up.  I was having a hard time with that when I was healthy - what with Hank's extra ballast and my head having turned into a flaming ball of sinus-snot this week... just not happening. 

Approximation of the inside of my head

But!  I finally got signed up with Tri-Met Lift and thought "Ha!  I'll set it up for them to pick me up at 3:00, get home about 3:30 or so... it'll be great!  Well, not necessarily great - but survivable."Around 3:30, I started getting nervous.  Finally, 3:45, the bus arrived, driven by an arthritic 62-year-old woman (guilt!  guilt!) who proceeded to hit most of the backroads in Portland (and quite a few of the potholes.)  Finally home by 4:45 and went straight to bed with the Moose - didn't come out until Roger made me eat dinner and update the blog, and now I'm heading back to bed.  My boss wants me to start coming in to work more often, and I thought that this would be a great way to do it, but I think this is going to need some refinement.

Incidentally, I'll leave you with a fun homework assignment - google "flaming ball of sinus snot" and switch over to images.  For one thing, it's not a google-nope.  At least one other person has typed in that exact phrase before.  For another, you get some of the oddest random images - a bottle of cocaine, a picture of a golden retriever, Sneezy, something from coveredincathair.com, something called a "baby nasal aid"... very, very random.

Still sort of off-line here - need help with some mojo for Mom, though

She's not feeling as good as she has been - very tired, puffy and her innards are hurting if she moves around much at all.  She saw the doctor today, and they've got her on antibiotics just in case, but she could use some good thoughts.

As for the rest of us, Daniel is starting to feel better, I'm still reduced to being a mouthbreather/dealing with a sinus cold that's got me on the ropes, and Roger is doing well, but avoiding looking at any of us, let alone getting close, I think. 

Had an odd night last night - I was in that sort of Nyquil twilight, and Moose and Daisy kept jockeying for position to see who could sleep closest to my face, while Dancer was down at the bottom of the bed, occasionally letting out this pitiful "meep" - turns out that Mom's door had blown shut, and Dancer had been accidentally locked out overnight.  She was quite upset about the whole thing.

Sorry for the temporary interruption of services - we'll be back

Stole/borrowed/appropriated this one from Facebook (it's from www.robot-hugs.com) - fits my mood today.  I'm still struggling a little with a bit of depression/angry/being worn out, along with a cold that's kind of kicking my butt.  Fortunately, tomorrow is a day off, so I get one more day to hide under my purple furry blanket with a couple of puppies snuggled up close (Moose's standard position is tucked in right behind my knees, head resting on my ankles, Daisy tends to snuggle in on the curve of my neck).  And I had a leftover piece of mom's birthday cake (no worry - it's plant-based.  Chocolate, but plant-based.) so that should go a long way to improving my mood. 

This is the same furry purple blanket I lent to mom when she came home from the hospital.  It was a big hit with her (and with the puppies) - enough so that we ended up getting her one to have permanently.  There's just something about a furry blanket to make you feel like everything is going to eventually be ok, or if not, at least you have a comfortable place to survey the carnage from.  I highly recommend them - Berkeshire makes them, and sells them on QVC for about $35.  (Less than a therapy session - you can't beat that with a stick.)

Valentine's night out

Roger and I went out to the Ambassador (pictures coming of the outfit).  I've been starting to slip into a little bit of a depression (throat was all scratchy, dealing with more humiliation regarding scans, worrying about Mom, reminders of the fact that I've got cancer, etc...) so Roger decided I needed a night out, just the two of us.  It was lovely - I broke training for one night and had a couple of drinks (something called a "Barbie Girl" - yes, it looked and tasted just like a "Barbie Girl".  Pink and plastic, innocuous looking but a serious hazard to your moral character.)

Almost no one was there for the first part of the night, so I got to sing 3 times and Roger got to sing twice - I did my traditional "Whatever Lola Wants" (Sarah Vaughn works well when your voice is gone), and Roger sang "Little Red Riding Hood" to me, and made me melt again.  Almost 19 years together, and he's still the only one I want to go home with... must be love. 

Contrary to Karaoke tradition, there were no old guys singing Frank Sinatra, but there was one old cowboy singing... well, massacring old 80s country songs (what he did to "Living on Love" was a damn shame), and some giggly 20somthings who did things to "Double Vision" that they should be arrested for, but it was a blast.  I'd forgotten how much fun it can be just to lose yourself in singing in a crowd.  At any rate - I'm going to stumble off to bed, after drinking a bunch of water and taking aspirin to try to stave off the coming morning Barbipocolypse.  (Nothing that pink is ever benign - I know I'm going to pay, but it was worth it.)  Happy Valentine's Day, y'all.

***stumbling off to bed humming "you're no exception to the rule.  I'm irresistible, you fool... give in."***

Valentine's Day Tips

I saw a commercial including Valentine's day tips, and while some of their ideas were too bad (if it's next to beef jerky, it's a no - stainless steel is never a good idea, you know...), I thought we could improve on them.  Here's some of mine - please feel free to add or challenge any of these...

1.  About the whole flower thing - while it's romantic and all that, what it really is, is a chance for her to count coup on her office enemies.  Either go really big, or go really obviously sentimental.  One perfect daisy just isn't going to do it unless there's jewelry tied to the stem.  And have it delivered to her at work - preferably early in the day, so that every other woman has to walk past them on her desk and die a little inside.

2.  Pajama-gram is a cruel, cruel trick played on guys.  Ditto with the bear-o-grams.

3.  The right card can make a woman melt for years afterwards, every time she sees it.  (Ask Roger for hints on this one - he's hit me with several that managed to make me cry.  Ok, that's not that high of a bar - I've had country music songs make me cry - but still... it works.)

4.  For certain women (generally my friends), something that beeps is much better than something that gleams.  I'm talking serious electronics here - I'd much rather get a flash drive than a flashy bracelet.

As for guys... no clue.  Still trying to figure out what to give Roger for Valentines - any suggestions, guys?

Ice (machine) Follies

Apparently, the year of bad plumbing is continuing, because our ice machine went on the fritz.  But it did give me a chance to read the oddest instructions I've seen for the new machine...

"Warning:  This appliance is not intended for use by persons (including children) with reduced physical, sensory or mental capabilities, or lack of experience and knowledge, unless they have been given supervision or instruction concerning use of the appliance by a person responsible for their safety."

This, for a machine where the instructions are basically pour the water in, wait, remove the ice.  Trying to figure out whose turn it is to be responsible which day is going to be the hardest part of using this machine.  I call "not it".

Ok, maybe this is a little harder than I thought...

Thank you guys! And a Moose portrait...

I just want to thank those of you reading this blog.  It means a lot to me that you all continue to come back to read my words - it's keeping me writing and thinking and creating, which has kept me from screaming at times the past few weeks. 

But anyway...  I was going to write something deadly serious about how I'm starting to feel like a bit of a Jerry Springer panelist whenever I meet someone new who hears my story and says something like "oh, how awful!  I don't think I could handle that".  But frankly, I just don't have the fortitude for that tonight.  So, instead, you get a word portrait of my boy.

Moose.  My little Teutonic terriorist.  He came into my life 9 or so years ago, smuggled into Oregon from the Utah Dachshund Rescue Society (aka my Aunt Sherri).  He was originally named Peter the Great, Junior (son of Peter the Great and Lady Zelda the III), but really... look at this face:

Not the face of an aristocrat

 So he became Moose.  Our little bruiser (literally - trust me, when he lands on you from full flight, you feel every ounce of that 17 pounds.)

He has certain self-appointed duties, like every dog.  His main job, of course, is to guard the house with ruthless determination and efficiency.  There's not a Fed-Ex or UPS guy in Portland who doesn't know his battle cry (sometimes the battle cry emits from under a blanket on his mom's lap, but it's a battle cry nonetheless).  He's a Hoover like no other - the first human word he recognized was "Ooops".  He also makes laps during the night, just to make sure everything is going smoothly - around midnight (and two, and four), he'll struggle out from under the blankets, roam the house, checking there's no raccoons that have snuck into the house (they're tricky, you know), and then whine at the bottom of the ramp until I move over and let him back up on the bed. 

I'll write more about him later (you really can't stop me - he's my boy!), but for tonight, again, thank you all.  You're helping me with one of my bucket list items, and I appreciate the heck out of it.

Quick update on Mom

She had her checkup appointment today (the one that was delayed from Friday by Snowmageddon), and they removed her drains and staples, so she's appliance free now.  It hurts for today (pulling the drains out is not for wusses, apparently), but it looks like she's healing well - thank you all for the good thoughts/prayers/mojo.  We're even going to try to get out to the group tomorrow - I think it'll be good for both of us to re-ground.

Listicle - why my new stalking obsession is Prince Hubertus Hohenlohe

1.  He's on the Mexican ski team at 55.  Actually, he *is* the Mexican ski team.  And their entire Olympic team. 

2.  This is his 6th Olympics.  That's right, 6th.  You have to admire that kind of stamina.

3.  He used to ski downhill, but apparently that worries his mother, so he's switched to slalom.  I admire a man who listens to his mother (just as long as he has his own castle as well.)

4.  Mariachi-themed sportswear.  That's right. 

5.  Which only slightly beats his previous Olympic outfit - a Pistolero...

6.  When he's not skating, he releases pop albums under the name Andy Himalaya. 

7.  He's the second-oldest male Winter Olympian ever (the record is held by a 58-year-old curler from the 1924 Olympics.)  Reportedly, he's planning on quitting because "oldest Olympian" is not a record he wants.

8.  He can actually ski - his highest Olympic mark was 28th, but he's done better than that in the World Championships.
 
9.  He's got a home in Lichtenstein.  I've always been a little fascinated by Lichtenstein.

10.  I love dreamers - and this is sort of the epitome of dreaming, isn't it?

Not quite the Iditirod

Our Daisy Mae - not quite what Jack London had in mind, but she's just as fearless as those huskies. 

Snow Day Recipes

Our backyard from the last big snow (we haven't got the camera out yet for this one)

We're still surviving Snowmageddon - in fact, we're heading into Snowmageddon 2, Electric Boogaloo - but for some reason, snow days always make me want to cook.  Well, not just cook, experiment.  I saw a recipe that looked interesting, but ended up taking it in a completely different direction, and it turned out really terrific (at least, Mom and I both thought so.  The guys were reluctant to try it.  Their loss.)

At any rate... this one is dead simple.  It does have avocado, so it's definitely a snow-day kind of food, although I think it also might be my next pot-luck contribution - really, it's that good.  Take a can of chickpeas (drained and rinsed), mash them up with a fork (we're looking for rustic here, not completely pulverized), add a can of mild roasted green chilies (or whatever heat quotient you're comfortable with - I'm a bit of a wuss), and mash in one avocado.  Add a couple of teaspoons of lime juice, salt and pepper to taste, and you're good to go.  Works as a sandwich filling, would be terrific with sliced cucumbers/carrots/peppers as a dip... if people weren't watching, I'd be willing to just scoop it into my mouth, but that would not be polite. 

Last night, we did up a basic potato/leek/mushroom soup - also turned out good, but next time, I think I might want to add a little barley or something - needed some textural interest.

Tonight, we're going to make up a good vegan chili -  http://blog.fatfreevegan.com/2012/01/healthy-super-bowl-party-chili.html is the base, although Roger adds a little Snappy Tom mix to give it a bit more kick - and use it on some oven-baked fries for vegan chili fries.  We're watching the Opening Night Ceremonies for the Olympics, and this seems to fit the theme. 

So, what food do you turn to on snow days?  Is soup your style?  Pizza?  Grilled cheese and tomato soup used to be my go-to, but I have yet to find a good cheese substitute for melting cheese - although we have found a reasonable tasting Mac'n'Cheez that has Daniel search everywhere for the cheese-bag (he refuses to believe it's vegan.) 

Defending my home city

Mom has been over in the chair next to me, disparaging Portland's tendency to freak out when it snows. Ok, so she has a reason to disparage - her doctor called and cancelled her follow-up appointment for today at 2:00 because a snowstorm has been predicted for this afternoon (actual line from the conversation - "How's your bandage doing" "It's starting to come apart" "Well, abdominal bandages do that - don't worry about it".) 

Don't worry about her, everyone - the doctor was very careful to check, and she hasn't been running a fever, her drainage is almost non-existent, she's been able to get up and around a bit more - she's doing ok, and she has another follow-up scheduled for Monday.  But being a Utahn, she doesn't realize how the sight of white, flake stuff fascinates and appalls us here. 

It only happens once or twice a year at most - some years we get zero snow at all.  In fact, we even have a website - isitsnowinginpdx.com (it's currently wrong, but still...) And this particular snow event is supposed to be a doozy - it's coming up from the south, and there's already been a 20-car pileup down between Albany and Salem.  Plus, Portland snow is just weird.  The wind effects from the Gorge are currently making the snow outside my window fall up. 

But more importantly - we know how to act when it snows.  First, the night before, you stock up on toilet paper, milk and bread.  Second, while the freeways may be clear, you don't stand a chance of making it to the freeways unless you live on a main artery, so you stay off the road (and you make fun of the idiots who are sliding down the hill in their car.)   Third, you have to appreciate it while it's here.  Being Portland, it never stays around - by Sunday, it'll be raining again. 

Mom's back

It's so great to have her back home again, but I find myself thinking "but, things were supposed to be back to normal".  Never mind the fact that the woman just went through a couple of surgeries, some transfusions, being sawed in half with the staples still holding her together...  Normality is going to be a while.  Actually, I think I realized this before she did (have I mentioned our genetic ability to brick wall anything we don't want to acknowledge?)  She's probably going to be sleeping out in the living room for a while - we've got a wonder recliner that's much more comfortable at this point than her bed. 

The puppies were very happy and a little clingy at first.  Ok, very clingy.  I don't think Dancer moved for about 3 hours straight.  But apparently, they've bounced back - it's currently Psycho Puppy Hour, and the blondes are tearing up the living room, while Mom, Roger, Moose, Dixie and I just try to stay out of the way as much as possible.  When PPH hits, there's nothing to do but hold on and try to ride it out. 

So, schedule for the rest of the week - I'm going to be back at work tomorrow (thank god for teleworking), and Roger is likewise returning to work.  I don't think Mom is going to be up for group tomorrow.   I've got to try to get my 3-month scan scheduled (I'm hoping for Friday, Roger's Friday off), and then Mom has a return checkup Thursday.  At some point in there, we need to fix the ramp for my scooter on the back of the Element (did I happen to mention that it broke down just as Roger was pulling up to the hospital Wednesday?  Have I mentioned how much I am ready for this year to be over with?  We're really hoping that it was going on a Lunar new year, so starting up again Saturday.  I'm really tired of living in interesting times.)  Mom's birthday is coming up on the 15th, Brigid's wedding is in April, various other social events...  Other than that, smooth sailing ahead  .

Still gloating - but I can multitask and update at the same time.

Ok, Mom kicked me out of the hospital room and sent me home for excessive gloating. (Not really - but she might have thought about it. She's a Broncos fan.) At any rate, she's doing well, just ready to shut down and be quiet for the night. Still hoping she gets to come home tomorrow - she's able to walk around, just getting tired easily.

As for the more important part of the day (the commercials) - my favorite was the Silverado "I Believe In Miracles" ad.  Although the Doritos ad was cute as well...

Update again

Today was not quite as good as yesterday, although not horrible.  Good news - the doctors are still thinking that she might be able to come home tomorrow, which would be wonderful.  Daniel has her room all ready for her, fresh fluffy sheets on the bed, a stereo moved in so that she can rock out (judiciously, of course - no head banging the first week), the puppies are more than ready...

But she had to have a transfusion of a couple of pints of O-neg, and she's feeling pretty punk at this point.  Understandably - it's been a long week, but I still worry.  Her skin is looking a lot better, though, and the nurse did say that the second day after surgery is frequently the worst - it's been two days since they had to go back in to fix the hematoma.  I'm choosing to focus on the good news, and ignore the worrying news at this point.  I took my laptop in to the hospital, and we watched a couple of vintage '80s Jeopardy episodes, but most of the time, she was pretty twilighted, so mostly I just crocheted.  I did get a doggie-pad finished, though, so that's sort of productive.