Why I Enjoy My Job

So, one of the aspects of my job is that occasionally, we have to notify Congress of projects that are about to be awarded.  It might be so that they can take advantage of it in the local press, maybe so that they know our money is being well spent... 

At any rate, out of 25 years, I've only had one action where I got a question back down the line.  And I thought you guys might appreciate the question...  "Are you sure you meant to say "tainter?"  Yep.  Tainter gates.  To quote Wikipedia "the Tainter gate is a type of radial arm floodgate used in dams and canal locks to control water flow. It is named for Wisconsin structural engineer Jeremiah Burnham Tainter."  And don't even get me started on the erecting studs, or the butterfly sexer.

What can I say?  You've got to find your fun where you can.  In September, it's good to remember the little things.

Doctor Visit Result

Not particularly satisfying result...  my weight has gone up some since last time, and my A1C has not gone down enough (it's 8.6, which is down from the 9.4 it was at, but...)  We're going to be talking again in 2 weeks, but we discussed a possible second option (Plan B), which would be taking the tumor out vaginally.  It's not optimal, but if I can't get to the point where they can do the hysterectomy, this is another option.  She's also going to check again with the morbid obesity guys - she put in a request to them 3 months ago, but there doesn't seem to have been any movement on it yet.  I'm feeling a little down, but at least this time it's just a two week wait, rather than another 3 months. 

Slow Fade Into Inward Facing Turtle Stance

I had one of those 3:00 am epiphanies this morning - I've been retreating from life (or at least from my association with it) ever since my diagnoses.  It's taken me a while to realize it, because I've been managing to blame it on pain or embarrassment or laziness, but no.  I'm spending more energy avoiding other people than it would take to just give in and enjoy them (and I used to be incredibly outgoing, so this is a major change for me.) 

The pain thing is real - my arthritis has spread from just my knees to my hips, my spine, my hands... but I'm not bothering to go in and find out if there's something else I can do to actually fix that problem, or at least alleviate the symptoms, so that's not it.

The embarrassment factor - yeah, not being able to go anywhere because I'm not sure when my bladder is going to take over is a bother, but that shouldn't be affecting my on-line presence, and yet, I've been fading away there too. 

I'm scared.  I got a good look at my mortality, and I'm terrified, and my automatic defense mechanism has kicked in - avoidance, slap a brick wall up and run like hell.  But I don't know where to run to, and so it feels like I've just gone into retreat.  Retreat from everything and everybody.  I've built a shell and stuffed myself into it, and the shell is tightening.  So instead of reaching out, or even responding to those people who are reaching in, I've just been hiding, making myself a smaller target for whatever is out there.  This has got to stop.  So, I'm starting with this post - Hi.  I'm Deci. Please forgive me for fading away - I'm going to try to be more present.

Sleep Lab Tomorrow Night

I don't know if I have mentioned it before on the blog, but in addition to everything else (cancer, diabetes, arthritis, ingrown toenails, whatever...) I've also got a bad case of sleep apnea.  Really bad - like I stop breathing 35 to 40 times an hour when I'm sleeping, and my pulse ox dips down into the low 80s.  But since I've lost a bunch of weight since the last time they tested me, they're going to test me tomorrow and make sure that the settings are still right.

So, basically, they hook me up with a bunch of electrodes (including gluing them into my hair - I hate that part), put me in a room with infrared cameras and then tell me to get a good night's sleep.  No husband, no puppies, no water bed, just me alone with my electrodes.  Really not looking forward to this - especially since I've been having an increasing issue with bladder control, thanks to Hank sitting on top of it.  But I figure I can just not drink anything after noon tomorrow, and I should be ok, right?  At any rate, please wish me luck...

Good couple of days

Friday, we got together with Don for breakfast at my place - it was really nice to touch bases with him again.  Don is one of my oldest friends - I think I imprinted on guys wearing flannel shirts because of him, so he may be one of the reasons that Rog and I are together. 

Saturday, we went to the Columbia Helicopter company picnic.  It was an opportunity to introduce the newest member of our family around, and Daisy did very well - even though she's a runner, she only got away once, and she didn't really have her heart in it.  We bought new harnesses for both pups for the occasion - red for Moose, purple for Daisy.  The harness fit Moose much better than Daisy though - it was really more suited for his body type than hers.  The search continues... 

Funny bit of serendipity on the way there... we were getting the puppies settled in and trying to convince Moose that he really can't drive so he had to move out of the driver's seat.  Finally got everyone settled in, turned on the car, and the radio had George Thorogood playing "Move It On Over" - Move over, little dog, a big old dog is moving in...

We had a lovely time at the picnic and Daisy was a big hit (Moose is always a big hit).  Funny thing, though - Moose behaved himself like a perfect gentleman, even being calm when Roger introduced him to a bull dog while he was walking around (Moose normally does not do well with big dogs - small dogs, no problem, but big dogs tend to bring out his Napoleonic tendencies).  Unfortunately, when we stopped by on the way out, Moose didn't do so well - possibly because he was on the footboard of my scooter.  He tends to be braver when he's under his Mama's skirts.

On the way out of the park, we turned the corner just in time to have a doe and her two fawns amble their way across the road in front of us.  All in all, a lovely visit.

Thoughts on Suicide

Suicide is popping up again in my lifestream - in addition to my Facebook stream being full of Robin Williams obituaries, one of my cousins' mother-in laws also committed suicide last Friday.  I've lost friends, family, a co-worker...  I was even given several really bad nights by a stranger jumping off of a parking garage in Portland and landing on the street about 8 feet from me. 

I used to find myself being incredibly angry at people who killed themselves - I felt (still feel) that it's one of the most selfish acts a person can commit, leaving a messy life behind for others to have to clean up.  Part of that anger also might have been that I have been on the edge myself - remind me to tell you all about the pickle jar incident sometime - and stepped back, forced myself to go on when I thought there wasn't a way forward, and if I could do it, why couldn't they?

But my struggle was momentary - I'm starting to realize that other people feel that way all the time.  Depression, anger, paranoia, frustration - a life with few highs and incredibly abysmal lows.  If this life is all there is, why continue on with the agony?  Alternately, if there is an afterlife (and considering my current situation, I'm desperately hoping there is) why not go ahead and skip to dessert, or push the reset button, or whatever metaphor applies?

Living your life solely to avoid harming others is a possible reason, but what about those who are hurting so much that they are already taking it out on those around them?  What about those who feel like life is already over but the shell just won't quit?  As a society, maybe we need to find a way to allow death to be a cleaner option for those who just can't continue on. 

There are a lot more thoughts about this, and I find that the older I get, the more my opinion changes, but I'd like to hear other people's thoughts.

Moose is playing his mama like a fiddle again

It's been a busy time for the pups - Daisy had to go to the vet yesterday (she's fine, it was just a well puppy visit), she had a spa day today, and Moose had to go to the dog equivalent of the barber for a nail trim.  They're both looking lovely now (and Moose is a stealth puppy - you no longer here the clickclickclick down the hallway). 

For some reason, though, Moose was acting strange after he got back from Jackie's Clip Joint.  He was hiding off in the Moose Cave (a dog bed we've got stashed under the desk in the other room), wanting to go outside a lot more than usual, just generally being anti-social.  I thought he might be moping about the clip, although normally he's fine with going to Jackie.  He kept going down the hall to the bedroom, and I thought maybe he just needed time by himself, so I left the door open.  I went to check on him a little later... 

Turns out, he was down there chewing on one of Daisy's bones that he'd unearthed from god knows where.  I suspect he's been sneaking around chewing on her bones all day.  Little stinker. 

Ok, this one is political

In a press conference today, President Obama was talking about the declassified report on interrogations that's going to be coming out soon, and one of the things he said was "we tortured some folks".  (The report is about enhanced interrogation techniques, by the way, that he had stopped when he came into office.) 

I was watching Bill Maher later this evening, and there was a Republican strategist on who was offended by the fact that he used the word folks.  Apparently, he felt that the word usage wasn't "presidential".  No.  What was not presidential (in my opinion) was using those techniques (yes, torture) in the first place. I'm a lot more comfortable with my president using colloquialisms than I am with him prosecuting wars based on shaky information. 

Late Night

I had one of those late-night blood sugar drops tonight - woke up with my blood sugar at 64.  It's always a bit unsettling - when I get that low, I start getting a little irrational, and my body goes into a "I'm dizzy, I'm sweaty, I'm going to make you pay for this" dance, which makes me scared, which makes me more irrational.  Fortunately, a little glucose, and I'll be fine... but it does make it hard to get back to sleep. 

On the other hand, sleep may be over-rated.  I'm sitting in my comfy chair, Moose curled up like a comma around my left side, Daisy snugged in tight to my right - there are worse places to be.  I was having a bit of a white night anyway - I've got my "every three month" scan on Friday, and the back of my brain has been fretting about it, so it could just be that this is my body's way of saying "You need a night of reading trashy novels". 

On the other other hand, however, Moose is starting to snore like a sailor after a three-day bender.  Daisy is entirely too dainty to snore, but let's just say her breathing has gotten a lot more... pronounced.  There is nothing more sleep-inducing than a couple of snoozing pups on your lap, and I feel the glucose kicking in, so I guess it may be time to head back for bed after all.  Goodnight.

Work Day Today

I went into the office today (had some stuff that needed to be taken care of in person, rather than over the phone.)  (Well, actually, I thought I had some stuff that had to be taken care of in person, but the person who requested help gave me a "What?  It's not doing it anymore." when I went over to his desk to help him out, so... guess who is going straight to the bottom of my "help him out" list.  Dimbulb).  Anyway, it was nice to get a chance to see everyone again - and at least two-thirds of the office ended up going out to lunch together at a pool hall down the block, so all in all it was a nice change of pace.  I'm definitely ready to drop, though...  I just can't do 12 hours days the way I used to. 

Driving home, I saw several signs of why I love Portland so much, though - we came home down Sandy (because I-84 is the highway of the damned during rush hour).  I saw a hipster bicyclist with his mustaches flapping in the wind at least a foot behind him, a sign in a window front advertising ukelele lessons, another window front with the fugliest naugahyde 50s barstool I've ever seen, and (of course) a martial arts studio straight across the street from an urgent care clinic.  It's my home, and I love it. 

Sick day thoughts

I spent most of today sleeping with my minions - one curled behind my knees, one curled up at the back of my neck.  I've been doing worse lately - having trouble with controlling my bladder, more skin infections and the weird fevers that go with them, etc.  I was hoping that getting my blood sugar back under control would help with the sleepiness, and it seems to be helping some, but every once in a while, I go through periods where I just can't keep my eyes open.  I'm hoping that it's just me and my weird body, not Hank...  fortunately, the next scan is next Friday, so I should know soon, and my blood sugar has gotten back under control, so with any luck, it won't be much longer in the twilight zone. 

The Tyranny of Possessions - Day Two

Miss Daisy is on her second day of guarding her blue bone, and an uneasy truce is still in effect.  (To bring anyone who didn't catch the Facebook post up to speed... I gave both Moose and Daisy a blue dental bone yesterday - Moose ate his immediately, Daisy spent the day curled up around her bone, growling at Moose, Daniel, Roger... pretty much anyone who came within 5 feet of her and her bone.).

I ended up moving it for her last night, putting it up on the table where Moose couldn't get at it so that she could come to bed and get some sleep.  But this morning, she's back curled up around the bone again.  It's odd... she isn't eating it, she's just guarding it.  I gave Moose a new one this morning (he ended up barking at Daisy when she came to investigate - sauce for the goose, I suppose), so she knows that there are more bones to be had, but for some reason, it's this particular bone that has her protective instincts up. 

I've been searching for a life lesson here, but I just can't relate - my method of protecting my groceries has always been to eat them as quickly as possible so that someone else can't sneak in and grab them (I know.  I'm working on it.)  But it seems to be bringing her a perverse amount of satisfaction, so I'm going to let her go with it.  Que cera, cera. 

Thoughts on the undocumented children controversy

Not going to get into the politics of it - except to say that in my opinion, our current system is broken, and rather than just dealing with current undocumented people, we need to completely revise how we let people in. 

My thoughts are mostly for these kids - how incredibly scared they must be, and how incredibly desperate their families must have been to send them.  One of the scariest trips I ever took in my life was one summer when I was in my early teens - I'd been spending the summer with my grandparents down in southern Utah, and Mom called asking them to send me back up to Idaho, because we were moving and she needed me there.  I can't remember why it was a rush - I think we got the message later than we should have because we'd been out camping.  Anyway - grandpa took me down to the Greyhound office (well, the hotel that doubled as a Greyhound office - we're talking St George in the 70s).  The office there wasn't open, so grandpa gave me the price of a ticket and the driver said I could ride to Cedar City and buy a ticket there. 

However... when I got to the ticket office, there had been a price increase that we didn't know about, and I didn't have quite enough for a ticket.  I had 30 minutes to have a mini-breakdown and figure out what to do - and no idea who I could call for help.  Considering the panic and desperation I felt - and then multiplying that by the lack of a common language, being shoved into a system that regards them as illegal, the enormity of the difficulties these children are going through...  I can't imagine how they are surviving. 

I eventually got by through the grace of a trucker who took pity on a little girl who was crying in the ticket office (and gave me 5 dollars for breakfast to boot - thank God for truckers with a heart).  And I've been hearing stories of citizens who are trying to help out the kids.  May we always find some grace in our hearts to help as much as we can.

Twilight Musings

Date night out tonight with Roger - driving home, we hit the golden moment.  I love summer twilight, right after the sun has set, but before the light has all faded, when everything is softened from the harshness of the day.  There's a distinct smell to twilight - I think it's the smell of the world starting to cool, sort of sweet and heavy, but lightening up. 

Then there's the anticipation.  Work is done, heat is fading, the night is still full of promise and adventure (or blessed rest - either way).  The most intriguing things always seem to happen right after twilight, and anticipating them is frequently the best part.

Happy Fourth

For the first time in ages, I'm not going to be watching the guys and Brigid set off a few fountains in the driveway to celebrate.  I'm missing it a little - I'm missing the Monkey a lot, but I suppose she has to live her own life.  If she has to.  I guess. 

Part of the decision not to do fireworks this year has to do with Brigid not being here - we can't blame our latent pyromania on her anymore.  But I'm also starting to feel uncomfortable about the whole concept - spending money on something that lasts for 5 minutes at best on sparkly noisy nothing.  The fact that it took me 49 years to grow up that much is a little frightening, but still...

I also have been dealing with Daisy's semi-nervous breakdowns nightly this week - I live in a part of town where idiots start loud aerial fireworks on the first of July and don't stop until the 7th (I hope they stop by then...)  I've been spoiled by Moose, who has always been relatively calm about fireworks - Daisy, on the other hand, has been shaking and rotating enough to start her own little gravitational field.

So instead, we're just getting together and watching a little silly television with friends - I'm still grateful for my country, just a little more quietly grateful.

Wakeup Call

About ten minutes before the radio went off this morning, Daisy crawled up my body and settled in on my chest.  When I didn't immediately start petting, she nuzzled my chin a little - clearly canine-speak for "make with the snuggling, woman!"  I know the next step - licking - and since she not only had dog breath, but morning dog breath, I complied quickly to head off the horror of eyeball-licking.  We had a nice couple of minutes before the radio started blaring and the boys woke up... at which point, Moose went into his patented "Hey, that's my mama!" dance, trying to shove in between me and the rest of the world (especially Daisy).  You know, there are worse ways to wake up.
 

Late night thoughts

Well, not all that late.  But late enough for a schoolnight.  I had my consult with my endocrinologist today, and she gave me some adjustments to my Lantus/Regular regimen.  I also need to adjust my diet - ever since I've been working on plant-based, everything has been working really well, except for my blood sugar.  That has been going through the roof - my last A1C was 9.4.  So, for the next couple of months, I'm going to be concentrating on blood-sugar maintenance and do an intense push to get it back down - that should be the last hoop to jump through before surgery.

I'm a little scared to let go of my plant-based routine (although part of me is also going "bring on the eggs!").  I do think it's helped keep Hank from growing - although I know that's strictly anecdotal, and I'm by no means saying that it would work for everyone.  It's also helped me to feel like I had some measure of control over something that I felt completely overwhelmed by, and we all know how I crave control.  I also want to keep being a rock star in my doctors' eyes - that's been a completely new experience for me, and I liked it! But I think that I can do plant-based plus a little protein here and there - maybe shoot for the vegan before 6:00 thing that Bittman advocates, and still keep the benefits.  We'll see how it goes. 

My own little Yin and Yang

While Mom left on Saturday, Daisy Mae has stayed behind - she actually hid outside while the car was being loaded up in her own little "hell, no, I won't go" protest.  So I am the proud mama of two puppies now, and the two of them could not be more different.  Looks - smooth vs fluffy, scrunched nose vs long, long legs vs short; personality - loud and toothless vs silent but deadly; snuggle habits - constant and under a blanket vs when she wants to and very much outside the blanket. 

They've been adjusting to each other, and I think that Daisy is coming out on top, but I think that Moose is still making a run for it - we'll see. 

Finishing off my lost month

What all can I say - it's been a hell of a month.  Moose ended up needing surgery on his neck (he's doing much, much better now, thanks to Doctor Skinner), I spiraled down a little more, Mom has left for Utah for a couple of months, and I'm going to spend the summer trying to get my A1C back under control - without gaining any weight back, hopefully.  I promised Mom that I would blog every day so that she could feel comfortable being gone - so, this is the first one.  I'm hoping future blogs will be more edifying (or at least more fun to read.) 

Coming home from work today

I went into the office today, but ended up having to come home a couple of hours early (for some reason, my temp decided to spike - once it got close to 100, I decided it was time to hit the road.)  Fortunately, though, my trusty steed was fueled up and ready to go, so I was able to take Max and then scooter home. 

Funny thing, though... it was the perfect confluence of ephemera that you rarely get.  Not sure if it was my brain being feverish or what, but - there's a bike path that goes from the Max station to my house, so I was able to just go ahead and open it up and enjoy the ride (I know, opening it up to 4 mph doesn't sound that good, but...)  Chugging along, my sunglasses on, purplish hair flying in the wind, Meatloaf screaming in my headphones - I was feeling cool.  Until, of course, I got home, parked my screaming machine in the garage and went to stand up.  Then, I got reminded that I'm an arthritic old woman.  Damn it.  But still - I had a moment of cool.  That's something.  I'll take it.

Feeling the wind in our hair...

Down day today

Down day today - my body is still giving me mega-grief about Utah (or at least about the airport), I somehow managed to gain 15 pounds (yes, that's 15) over the weekend (I'm thinking it's probably water weight, but we'll see...) and Moose is still not feeling well - or at least, he's not a spring pup.  He might just not have forgiven me yet for leaving him alone - for example, he'll head over to the moosecave, but he keeps looking back every four or five steps, just to make sure that I realize he's not going to be loving on me.  He doesn't seem to be feeling as much pain, but he's still stressed out.

Great Weekend

Although, I'm a little wiped out.  My weekend started out with a half-mile walk through the PDX airport.  Fortunately, I was then rewarded by having the plane half-filled by members of the San Antonio Talons arena football team - mega eye candy, all strolling past my seat in the front of the plane.

The family gathering was Saturday - I'll write more about that when I've had a chance to process it.  It was lovely to see everyone, though and to see how everyone is growing.

Sunday, I got to spent time with two of my favorite guys in the world (Don and Jeff), including a wonderful cheese tasting (if you ever get a chance, check out Uncle Ron's cheese - I really recommend the dill).   

What I wouldn't recommend is the Baymont Inn.  About the best thing you could really say for it is that it was clean, but the beds were basically rocks, things kept breaking down (the ice machine, my hair dryer, all the electric outlets in my room), and there was absolutely no sound baffling at all - Saturday night I was kept up by the people in the room above me practicing what had to have been tantric sex, since it went on for over an hour.  While I admire their stamina, I just wanted to go to sleep.

Getting out of Dodge for the weekend

And feeling really, really conflicted about it. Saturday is Grandma's 96th birthday party, and a family gathering to celebrate her. Roger, Mom and I have tickets and are heading out tomorrow morning at way too freaking early - it's the first trip I've taken since Hank came into my life.  I was already sort of dreading and really looking forward to the trip, but then Moose threw a spanner in the works. 

He's had a couple more of his little spells, and I'm feeling awful about leaving him - but then again, I'm leaving him with his Uncle Daniel, who has a) power of attorney over him with my vet; and b) knowledge of where the sausages are kept, and the ability to run the microwave.  I've talked with the vet, and there's nothing that can be done immediately that we're not already doing, Moose is already going to be seeing the vet Saturday with Daniel for his laser treatment...  but yet, I'm still feeling like my presence is the only thing keeping Moose from keeling over immediately.  I know, stupid thought, but you can't argue with your gut. 

I'm going to try to let go and enjoy the weekend.  For one thing, I need to see my family again (and Mom tells me that they need to see me as well).  At this point, there's no way to reschedule this - that's not an option.  I'm just going to have to let the gut (and the guilt) know it's not going to be running my life (this time.) 

Moose's Bummer Trip

We finally got Moose back in to actually see his veterinarian - turns out I was right to be worried about him.  Looks like while we were getting him treated for the back issues, he either developed a neck issue, or had a minor stroke - his whole right side is not working correctly (his front leg is knuckling, the back leg is dragging, his right eye is drooping slightly. 

They're putting him on a course of Prednisone to see if some of the pressure on the nerves can be reduced, and we'll see what happens - but I could use any mojo you can send my boy's way. 

Adventures in Shoe-Shopping

In yet another of my99th percentile-ism, I hate shoe shopping.  I mean, ever since I started my stint as a professional buyer, the glow of shopping has faded - it's like being a prostitute, once you go pro, the amateur stuff loses its shine - but shoe shopping has always been the worst.  For one thing, my feet are a size 11 double wide, so forget finding some cute little sexy strappy things.  But my feet also tend to inflate and deflate during the day like they were filled with helium. And then there's the sweat - does anyone else have feet that sweat enough to make them embarrassed to let anyone else see them?  Anyway, I don't shoe shop unless forced. 

But we're heading over to the family reunion next weekend, and Kimo spent all that time prettifying my feet (purple toenails and all), so Mom managed to drag me into Jay's Wide Shoes.  Miracle of miracles, we found a good salesguy, and he had us in and out in less than 20 minutes - I found a good pair of sandals, a nice pair of work shoes and a really neat pair of mottled purple and blue sandals.  Much, much easier than I thought it would be - of course, Roger found himself a couple of pair of shoes next door at Pay-Less for about a tenth of what I paid, but on the other hand, I can live with paying the money to get some good shoes and not have to do this again for a couple of years. 

The Sisterhood of Purple

Another adventure at the pool - finished up my 20 channels, got back to the locker room, and this little 3 or 4 year old girl complimented me on my swimsuit ("Purple!  My favorite color!")  She then noticed my toenails (recently lacquered by the amazing Kimo - if you live in Portland, I highly recommend the woman), got even more excited ("More purple!  Look, Mom!").  At that point, she then reached my hair (recently re-purpled by Kerin), and I believe she had a little baby stroke.  I suspect that I made the girl's day, if not year - and may have caused a problem for her parents once she reaches an age where she can reach the hair dye shelves.  My work here is done.

It's been a heck of a week

So far, we've had my scan results (moderately troubling, but not an immediate big deal), and Moose's issues - we've started him on the laser treatments, but he's still hurting.  In fact tonight, he was hurting enough that he was not interested in food - he's really starting to worry me.  Then there was kicking  Comcast to the curb, which involved change (and you all know how I feel about change).  Then we got to Friday.

Friday was going to be a busy day, regardless - Mom wanted us to get prettified before we headed to Utah, and I had an appointment beforehand, but Kimo figured out that if I came in at 12:00 (and she brought a chainsaw) she could get my toes done before Kerin tackled my hair at 1:30, then Mom could get her toes done... which all went out the window when Mom went to her doctor's appointment to consult on the rogue tissue they found last November.  They found a lump, which meant she had to go for an emergency ultrasound and a mammogram (so much for getting her pedicure!)  Fortunately, it was a false positive, but there was a period there where I have to admit to a bit of a freak out.  Frankly, I think Mom needs to stop going to the doctor. 

Things eventually worked out, and we both got spruced for the trip, but it was a long day.  But we figured hey - we'll do a nice brunch for Mother's Day, go out to Old Wives Tale since everyone could stay within dietary restrictions there, decompress...  Got to OWT only to find out that this restaurant that has lasted 34 years in Portland's ever-changing restaurant atmosphere... closed permanently May 5th.  We all took this as God saying that with the week we had, we were allowed to go to Pig 'n' Pancake.  Some weeks, you just gotta have one classic diner meal to restore your sanity.

Update - Scan Results - Puppy Palette Cleanser

It's never good when you get a call from your nurse saying "Now, this is probably nothing to worry about..." Apparently, this last scan, there was some metabolic activity seen in the osseous structures of the pelvis and spine - (basically, Hank may be spreading to the bone).  However, since there weren't any cancerous lesions seen in those areas, they think that this is just an incidental thing, not important or significant, just something we need to keep an eye on.  I'm not worrying (like fun, I'm not worrying - my head isn't worried.  My spleen, on the other hand, is fretting to beat the band.)

So...  there's that.  On the other hand, there's Moose, who went through the first of his "cold laser" treatments for his back, and has been stoned out of his freaking gourd all day.  Not too stoned to bark his head off at the cable guy, you understand - but stoned enough that he preferred to bark from the safety of his mother's lap.  Dixie was trying to take up the slack, but she would bark some, forget what it was that she was barking about, then 5 minutes later remember that there was an intruder, bark a little more (wash, rinse, repeat) - she just doesn't have the dedication necessary. 

Group thoughts

I haven't been going to group lately, a fact that Mom has been happy to point out to me.  I, of course, maintained firmly that I've just been busy, things to do, nothing big, it hasn't been that long... you know, the usual Cleopatra, queen of denial.  The fact that given the choice I went swimming rather than face the group should have been a clue for me.  But no, I refused to look, until I heard that there were rumors that I had gone off my diet and was too embarrassed to show my face made me exam why I was avoiding the group (no, it's not the diet thing!)

I realized I had not gone back to group since Larry died, almost a month ago.  It's not that Larry was a good friend of mine - he was a good man, a loving husband, a solid, steady presence, but not a close friend.  So it wasn't mourning him that was keeping me away - it was my fear of change.  I can't stand it when people around me change, especially those who feel like father figures.  Larry felt very much like a patriarch to me - the first day we met, I mentioned that I was reading Zealot by Reza Aslan (it's a book examining the life of Jesus), and the next week, he brought me a copy of the New Testament, because he was worried about my soul.  I felt like going to group and sitting there without him across from me would cement the fact that he's gone.  More than that, it would send home the fact that this is the nature of the group - this isn't a book club.  These are all people (including me) with a potential death sentence, and Larry is just the first.  I know, life itself comes with a death sentence, but for us, it's been firmed down a little. 

Kicking Comcast to the curb

Just letting everyone know that my phone number is going to be changing tomorrow (family, you can always leave a message on Mom's phone, and I'll try to send out an email blast to everyone once I know the digits). Two months of  having to reset the modem every other minute has finally gotten to me, and since Comcast's response has been to blame my router, rather than figure it out, I'm going back to *gag* CenturyLink. 

Part of me wishes I could keep the old number, but I'm also hoping like hell that I get out from under the computer-generated "This is XXXX with card services calling with an important announcement about your current credit cards".  I get one of them at least every other day, and they spoof the phone numbers, so I can't just not pick up the phone.  There should be a special place in hell for the guys who think up these scams (note, I'm not saying the people working the phones - in this economy, I can understand being desperate, but their bosses need punishment badly.)

More observations from the pool

I'm up to 20 laps of the channel now - 16 forward, 4 back (those back ones - the ones against the current - kick my butt.)  The thing that I love the most, though, is watching the little toddlers with their parents.  Somehow, I don't think that I'm going to be able to convince Mom to stand in the water and let me jump into the pool on her, though.  Every once in a while, they break off and the whole class comes and floats around the channel for a couple of laps - it's kind of the equivalent of an obstacle course for the pool.

The dressing room is always an education in the diversity of the human body - on one side of me is this young woman who could be starring in a Zumba infomercial pulling on her Victoria Secret thong, and then on the other side of me is an 85 year old grandmother picking her breasts up off her navel to stuff them into her orthopedic bra.  Then, there's the 50ish woman sitting absolutely starkers on the bench on her cell phone talking about a real estate deal she's working.  I am truly grateful for the technical advances we've made this past 50 years - heck, it's kept me alive, but that offends my sense of propriety.  You should not be able to transact any business that would require a bank loan without having to put a minimal amount of clothing on. 

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.