Starting A New Diet (Again)

I'm working on getting my A1C back under control, so for the next few months, I'm trying (shudder) Jenny Craig.  I know, I know... but it makes sense for me right now to be able to positively track everything I eat, be able to identify exactly what carbs I have and when I have them, not have to think about and plan food - basically, exactly what Jenny Craig was set up for. 

I started today, and so far, it's not nearly as bad as I had feared - the food is edible (ok, the chocolate shake tastes a little like a brown crayon dipped in tepid water, but the chicken fajita bowl was surprisingly good).  Mostly just surprised at the amount of food... they've got me on 2300 calories a day, which seems like a lot more than I was eating, but we'll see how it works out. 

But I'm mostly posting because I've got to brag on our roommate, Daniel.  He's my emergency back-up husband and I figured I was going to need his help to get through this (that, and he really needed to be warned - I am sometimes not a pleasant person to be around when I'm food-deprived.)  At any rate, I hired him to be my diet concierge - do the shopping for me so that I don't have to get close to a grocery store, help me keep track, etc... and he made me the most incredible thing.

Yep.  That's right.  I have a sticker board!  And I've already earned a sticker for going through with this and getting started.  It's no wonder that Mom keeps threatening to steal Daniel and take him away to the wilds of Utah - he's the best Diet Concierge ever! 

Random Updates, Thoughts, And A Rant

I talked with my diabetic nurse yesterday - my A1C has been heading skyward ever since Hank moved in, and my last reading was 10.7 (most people are between 5 and 6, and before Hank showed up, my level was generally in the 7s.)  She wants me to switch over to a new type of insulin that's 5 times more concentrated than the stuff I've been using - it's worth a try (and I'm hoping that if I can get the blood sugar under control, I'll feel much, much better.

Dr Steiner had also ordered an FSH test for me - it's a test that can tell where you are in your ovulation cycle (or if you've gone into menopause.)  The higher you score, the more likely you are menopausal - I scored a 1.  Yep.  1 doesn't even show up on the results sheet - the lowest it goes is 2.  Atypical, yet again.  But apparently, I'm not menopausal yet, so the weird fevers I've been getting aren't hot flashes.  I've got an appointment next Wednesday with Dr. Wang, so...

Now for the rant... First, a little background.  Mornings are not my friend.  I have never in my life been a morning person - I used to be the person in the office that worked the 9 to 5:30 shift (which is odd for a fed - most of them seem to be disgustingly happy being morning people.)  It was nice, though - after 4:00, when the office starts to clear out, you can get a surprising amount of work done.  But then I married Roger, and started carpooling with him.  His office starts work at 7, which means he dropped me off at my office around 6:15 (he works about half an hour south of Portland.)  And he works a 5-4-9 schedule, which means that he gets off work at 4:30, picks me up around 5:30 (half an hour turns into an hour when you're in Portland evening rush hour).  It's part of the reason why I have to telework - I used to be able to do 11 hours in the office, no problem, but not with Hank weighing me down. 

But at any rate... our alarm clock is set for 5:00 am.  Not my choice, you understand, but by necessity.

For the past month and a half, 2 or 3 times a week, I've been getting a call from a fax machine at 4:36.  AM.  I repeat, A freaking M.  Apparently, this particular number (866-324-8417) has been pissing people off since 2007 - there's a 8 year old thread about it on one of the 800 number tracking websites, ascribing the number to various publicity/magazine/info sites.  I also received a call from a non-800 number (same fax machine, same freaking early hour of the morning) registered to Mobius/365 Media, so being the diligent googler than I am, I thought I would do some research and see if I could get off the list.  But it looks like 365 Media (the American part of the "synergistic" merger") has gone bust - all the information on the website leads to either out of service or passed-off phone numbers.  I did identify the American partners, and was really tempted to stalk them, but then I realized I was falling down Alice's rabbit hole, and instead spent 45 minutes talking to CenturyLink and getting them to block the number.  We'll see if it helps..

The Song Of Their People - No Caffeine, No Alcohol

D and I both had doctors' appointments yesterday.  Completely different issues, different body parts acting up, different systems, but the first thing both of them came up with was "no caffeine, no alcohol." 

Now, D and I are both insulin dependent diabetics (and I'm genetically Mormon), so neither one of us drink alcohol, and neither one of us like the taste of coffee, so caffeine isn't a big thing with either of us.  But it got me thinking - anytime I go in to a doctor with any complaint, the first thing (well, not the first thing.  The first thing is "did you know you're overweight") but the second thing is "no caffeine, no alcohol." 

Just wondering why those two are singled out - and why, if they're so bad for you, they're even allowed to be sold over the counter?

Memory Well: When Shadow Met Tawny

I went into the office again today - it was the first time since Mom went back to Utah.  Moose was naturally devastated (well, he was devastated between long naps), and he had his normal reaction to being parted from his Mama for more than 5 minutes (even if it's just in sleep) - my normally sedate (to the point of indolence) boy becomes a whirling dervish, determined to hump some body part - any body part.  He settles down fairly quickly, but it reminded me of Shadow.

Shadow in his "I rule this roost" pose - if you look up on Mom's lap, you get a glimpse of Tawny

Shadow was Mom's first dachshund, and I think the reason why we fixated on a) doxies and b) rescue dogs.  He had been found abandoned in a ditch as a tiny pup - half starved and with cracked ribs - and nursed back to health by a wonderful older couple, but they were taking off around the country in a motor home, and Shadow couldn't bring himself to trust the male half of the couple long enough to be lifted up into the home (and the female couldn't lift him.)  So, he came to Mom...  lucky, lucky dog.  Mom loved him like he was my brother - well, for all intents and purposes, he was.  In fact, he chewed up the seatbelts in the back of her new car, and got in less trouble for it than I did when I got into a car accident that was ABSOLUTELY not my fault.  But sibling rivalry issues aside...

Shadow normally was very comfortable living a sensible old man's life.  He had his rounds (the condo Mom lived in had a puppy happy hour every evening, where they would go visiting, collecting snacks from the neighbors), his comfy spots, his routine.  But then he met Tawny. 

I know - Frank from Men in Black, right?  But without the personality.

You know how sometimes they say that pugs are so ugly they are cute?  Tawny never quite made the cute stage.  But to Shadow, she was Botticelli's Venus, rising from the waves.  Apparently, she was in heat when they first met - about to be taken to the vet to take care of that sort of thing - and though Shadow had been... let's say de-interested in that sort of thing as a pup, she brought back species memories in him.  Boy did she bring back species memories.  The problem was that while his body was willing, his mind had no freaking clue about the whole process. 

He would spy Tawny from across the room, lumber over and commence to humping as though his life depended on it.  Now, I'm not saying that he was productively humping - 9 times out of 10, he would come in from the side, or the front, or the bottom, or anyway but standard doggy-style, but he was giving it the old college try.  For about 15 seconds.  Then he would forget what he was doing, wander off to get some kibble, or bask in the sun, or whatever, until 10 or 15 minutes later, he would notice her again, and the whole process repeated. For her part, Tawny mostly just seemed to regard him as a hazard that had to be dealt with in order to visit Mom, who had a superior level of treats.  I'm not sure what this says about the relationship between man and woman (or mutt and bitch, even).  But the memory can still make me giggle, so...

Placeholder/Bathroom Pron

Warning: Disgusting Medical Information Ahead

Time for the quarterly Hank the Tumor update:

So, for ULMS, he's being surprisingly polite - he has yet to start to redecorate any other major organ, and it looks like he hasn't grown much.  Unfortunately, having him hang around in the uterus is causing my cervix to start overgrowing again, which means it's only a matter of time until I recreate the whole Carrie paint-the-walls-red scenario that started this whole thing. Plus, it may help my whole "there's a rock leaning against my bladder" continence issue...

So, my doctor wants me to undergo vaginal surgery to remove the overgrowth, which I would be down with except:

a)  The whole sedation thing. Between the cancer, the diabetes, the apnea, the arthritis, the acne (ok, maybe not the acne), but as a whole, my body should have fallen apart 20 years back.  I'm nervous about not waking up, frankly.

b)  I'm two years in now, and the normal survival rate for ULMS is 50% at 2 years (that's with a total hysterectomy as soon as you're diagnosed.  The 5 year survival rate is 20%.)  As my doctor says, I'm atypical.  I'm nervous about poking Hank with a stick - it might wake him up, and I am enjoying the respite I've been given. 

So...  I'm going to go in and discuss it with her, see what she says.  Well, and go through the pre-surgical thing - I'm pretty sure they're going to tell me to go away and come back when I lose a couple of hundred pounds.  I'm ok with that.  But we'll see.

Mom's Left - Again

Since I was two (well, with a brief Bob interlude that we do not discuss), I've been an only child of a single mother.  Trust me, back in 1967 in Utah, we were bleeding edge.  I used to spend some time with Dad (not a lot), more time with Grandma and Grandpa... my point is, there was always leaving (and coming back), and I was generally the one doing the going. 

Then came my twenties and thirties - we lived together for a while, got to know each other as adults.  I learned to truly like her as well as love her - I'm lucky enough to be able to consider my mom one of my best friends, and I know and appreciate how rare that is.  At any rate, I would go visit her as often as we could manage - wherever she was, was home, but again, I'd always have to leave.

Now moving into my 40s - Mom started spending time at my house - at first it was just a couple of months each year, during the winter, but with the advent of Hank, she moved in to help me deal with cancer.  At first, we were afraid it was going to be a "help me die with dignity", but since Hank has been a courtly guest, taking his own time about things, it's kind of evolved into a Persephone-like 6 months with me, 6 months in Utah.  It's turned into her being the one who leaves.

Frankly, being the one left behind, sucks.  I hug her, watch her go, then immediately get dropped back into my life without her - a quieter life, one with less projects, less conversation, less shopping, blander food, less puppies... well, less Mom.  I'll get over it, readjust, get used to having more space - Moose has already gotten over it and is looking forward to being an only child again.  But it's easier to transition when there's movement, and being the one left behind just sucks. 

Guess I'll just have to look forward to November.

Back From The Beach

The family on our balcony

We had a really terrific time at the beach - managed to get four rooms all attached, so we had our own little hallway (which the puppies loved).  I really love going to Seaside - we parked the truck and then didn't see it again until we were ready to go.  Of course, Riley and Cassidy (and Ron) were more adventurous - they went zip lining and over to Fort Clatsop, but Roger and I were fine with just exploring the boardwalk and the beach.

The last night we were there, I was getting ready to go out for dinner, when everyone showed up at my room with a surprise party for me.  Such a wonderful surprise!  Well, for one thing, my birthday was back on April Fools Day, so it follows tradition, but also, I had no freaking idea they were planning anything like this.  We had purple forks, plates, a purple mardi gras boa for me... it was terrific!  Pizza and red velvet cake - you can't beat that.

Moose nervous someone is going to try to dress him in something

 

More tomorrow, but for tonight, I think my own bed is calling me - there's nothing like a hotel bed to make you really appreciate your own king size waterbed.

I Will Not Bow Down To My TurboTax Overlords!

Let's get this out of the way real quick - yes, Mother, I should have filed my taxes much sooner.  You taught me better than this.  I'll do better next year.  That being said...

I went to file my taxes using TurboTax - same as I have done for the past 20 years or so.  I typed in my username and password, same as always - when they come back with something like "For your safety, we need you to verify your identity by either using this old email address that you haven't used since 1995 (seriously, it was an @msn.com address) or answer this random set of questions about your life." 

Well, I didn't have access to the old email address (actually, it doesn't exist anymore - I think it was wiped out by Y2K), so I chose to go with the series of questions - and I failed.  Seriously - I don't know enough about my own freaking life to convince a computer that I'm me.  It doesn't help that I have this weird mental thingy where I can't remember events in my own life unless I'm reminded about them.  It also doesn't help that I've lived in way upwards of 30 different cities, most before I was 25.  I may have lived in Ventura briefly when I was 3 months old (actually, no - three months old, we were living a few blocks outside of Watts when the riots broke out - but I digress).  But mostly, do not try to check me on whether or not I'm related to a Delores Humphries.  Dad is one of 12, Mother is one of 4, they've both been married multiple times - last time I tried to count, I had more than 200 cousins... one of them is bound to be named Delores, I guess. 

So... I've lost my account - this would be the account that I had the username and password for.  I could get it back by putting in for a change of email, but considering that I've been using my work email with them for upwards of 20 years, and they aren't recognizing it - it's not worth it.  Way to waste 20 years of customer loyalty. 

Just A Quickie

It was a long day today, so Mom finally called it a night about half an hour ago and headed off to bed with Daisy, while Rog and I (and Moose and Dancer) stayed up to watch @Midnight.  (The thrills of being an old married couple never cease.)  Anyway, the MooseMan was acting restless, so I asked him (quietly) if he wanted an "outside".  By the time Roger had the door open, I saw this white flash of fur that I swore beat Moose outside by a good couple of feet - Daisy managed to get from the back of the house faster than Moose got off the couch.  She never passes up a good opportunity to give Roady (the dog next door who I swear has a head bigger than her entire body) a good barking to.  I would say she gets that from me, but let's face it - I come from a long line of mouthy broads. 

In other news, I'm feeling much better (fever finally broke), and I'm now learning how to make yarn baskets along with Mom and Daniel, so there's that.

Rough Day

It's storming, outside and in.  I've got one of those back of the head type headaches - not migraine level, just enough to make me hate most of humanity when I stop to think about it.  The low grade thunder is not helping any.  And while Moose and the girls are doing their best to help, this is more than their abilities can help with.

I've hit the wall when it comes to change. It's not that I can't deal with change - I spent most of my early life being marinated in it. But change can wear you out.  I'm down to the nub right now.  With both of my bosses leaving, and my family coming in to rip out my tub, and retirement heading my way...

Oh, hell.  It's not any of that.  Well, it's some of that.  But mostly, it's Hank.  I'm so damned tired of going around with this grenade inside me, wondering when it's going to burst.  Two years now of balancing between life and death, watching every footstep.  I'm already worn out, and any little thing can push me over the edge, both physically and mentally.  Sleep.  Maybe what I need is sleep.

Yo ho to ho!

I'm working downtown today, rather than teleworking.  I don't do it very often (12 hour days are really not my speed anymore), but I was hoping to track my boss down - of course, he called in sick, but that's life.

Anyway... since I was downtown, I went out to grab lunch from one of the food carts.  Portland has the greatest food carts, in my opinion - unlike most cities, they're generally stationary (mobile-enabled, but stationary), and you can get any cuisine you want as long as you're willing to go looking.  I've seen Ethiopian, Cambodian, a stand devoted to nothing but takomaki... everything.  Several of the parking lots downtown have converted their fringe spaces (the ones next to the sidewalk) to nothing but food carts, and my office is right next to one of the ground-zero areas.

At any rate - I was a woman on a mission (or at least a lunch run.) It being an uncharacteristically nice Portland day (there was an Unidentified Frying Object visible in the heavens), I had on my Terminator Bitch sunglasses.  You know the kind - they cover half your face and make you look surprisingly intimidating.  They would make Mother Theresa look surprisingly intimidating.  I also had my Ipod blasting "The Ride of the Valkyries".  You know, you can make pretty good time on a mobility scooter if you really put your wrist into it.  I had people half a block away getting out of my way.  It felt... empowering. I didn't actually bowl anyone over - in fact, I was very polite as I made my way along, but a little fear in the populace is good for one's soul.

Arrggghhh! It's AARP!

I was going through the mail this morning and there it was.  My AARP application card.

Ok, first off - who snitched?  I still have 3 days to pretend that I'm not 50.  Heck, I've got the rest of my life to pretend I'm not 50 - that's the great thing about being born on April Fool's Day.  I don't have to acknowledge it if I don't want to.

Second - this may be the first time I've regretted marrying a younger man.  Ok, he's just one year younger, but still... he does not understand the trauma here.  He's laughing and suggesting we find out which restaurants have senior menus.  It's ok - I'll get my revenge later.  He's a sound sleeper.  Very sound.

Third - I look at AARP kind of like the NRA.  They're an advocacy group, yeah - but they are also like the mafia.  Once you're in, you can't get back out - and the acts committed in your name are not always seemly.

On the other hand - there is that 10% discount...

Yet Another Hank Update (Good News!)

Henry the VIII, aka Hank the tumor, aka Fat Little Lady Killer

I heard back from Naomi (my cancer doctor's nurse) - the pap smear came back negative, and the biopsy on the polyp they found was benign.  So... looks like Hank is sticking to redecorating the uterus, and has not moved on to putting up drapes on the cervix, which is a big relief.  (Surprising as hell, but big relief.)  Apparently, I am maintaining my quirkitude.

Next step is April 18th - I go in for my CT scan (I know, it's a Sunday.  I guess they figure they've got the machine standing around idle, and they might as well make some money with it.)  At that point, we'll be able to tell if he's still just hanging out, or if he's growing inside the uterus. 

Thank you all for the prayers/well wishes/karma sending - I have no idea what is retarding his progress, but I suspect it has something to do with all the mental energy sent his way, and I'm incredibly grateful for all your help.  This latest scare was a real wake-up call for me, though, and I'm talking to Ralph tomorrow about retiring - while I'm proud to have been part of the Corps for the past 25 years, I don't want to spend the rest of my life there.  It's time to move on. Anyone know of a good part-time research librarian position opening up in Portland?

The Failure of Fluff

Dancer AKA Grunk (so named for the only word she utters)

This hair-challenged sweetheart is my sister, Dancer.  She's normally a very sweet dog (well, except for puppy psycho hour, that hour in the evening between 8 and 9 when she randomly attacks everything that moves, like a tiny, crazed, drunken Irishman.)  However, as you can see... she's having a bad hair life.  She's suffering from premature female-pattern baldness, she has a tendency to be very enthusiastic about her food (which, in the case of some leftover Spaghetti-Os the other week left her looking like an Oompa Loompa, orange from ear to ear and from topknot to ladybeard), and what hair she does have tends to go 18 directions at once on a good day. 

But tonight, she managed to top herself.  I don't know how she did it, but she managed to smear feces from one end of her tail to the other and over a significant portion of her backside (and over a portion of the front room through enthusiastic butt-scootching - thank god for hardwood floors).  I ended up having to cut out the worst of it, followed by a (whisper it) B-A-T-H.  She's now wrapped up in a towel on my lap, grunking pitifully every couple of minutes or so about the indignity.  Moose and Daisy have both come up to offer their sympathies (or possibly laugh at her), but she's having none of it...

Hank Update

Spring from the front of my house - I needed something to cheer me up

So... saw Dr Steiner today for what I hoped was just going to be a "you're doing fine, see you in 6 months".  Not so much...  she saw a new polyp that she didn't see before and ended up taking a couple of biopsies, so I'm back in waiting with my fingers crossed mode.  She has a new word for me, though - you survive 2 years of ULMS and they start calling you atypical.  Well, my sarcoma is atypical.  I'm going to prefer to think of it as quirky.  Very, very quirky.

I should have the biopsy results back in a week to 10 days (what a birthday present, hmmm?), and they're scheduling me for another CAT scan up at OHSU sometime in the next week or so, so I'll let you all know when I know.

For Shirley

I first met her in the weekly Cancer Support Group.  Ok, meeting someone at a cancer support group is kind of asking for pain - we're not talking about a group that makes actuaries salivate.  But she had something.

When I met her, she was wearing what I think of as dance-wear - leggings, an oversized sweatshirt with the word "Pink" on it over a black camisole, perfect makeup and a bold pink streak in her steel-gray hair.  She was a broad in the best sense of the word - the kind of woman you know will take no shit from anyone, yet always a lady.  Even though she was in stage 4 of her fight, she still worked as a costumer for local stage shows (I was so envious of her working Evita), and she had also worked as a makeup artist.  I think she had every single shade of eye shadow MAC ever made.

She also was one of the best advocates for making doctors pay attention to you that I've ever met.  She guided me to the point where I was able to get a discussion going with my doctor (after way too long on hold), and she was a fighter for everyone in the meetings.  Even days when she was down, she was still able to cut through bullshit.  And she gave great hugs...

I wasn't the most constant attender of the meetings - people started dying and I had a really hard time handling it.  Have I ever mentioned just how much I detest change?  Never mind, that should really be between me and my psychologist.  But I didn't show - sometimes for a couple of months.  When I showed up in December, I couldn't recognize her at first, until I realized that the much shorter woman in the pirate shirt and headscarf had to be Shirley.  Especially when she hugged me - that was definitely Shirley. 

She passed away Monday... and I'm sitting here crying over someone I didn't really know nearly as well as I wanted to.  I'll miss you, Shirley.

One from the Vault

Freedom

I felt his hand on my thigh, 

My hand caressing the stick shift.

I rammed the shaft into fifth gear and

Finally achieved freeway.

The sun-roof open, 

My hair flowed straight up into the wind.

The sunlight gleamed from his smile

And the sound of some testosterone-based

Heavy-metal, brain-numbing, emotion-altering

Paeon to youth and beauty and the American automobile

Screamed in our ears

As we bellowed along with it - 

Scaring cattle all along  

A 25-mile stretch of asphalt.

I knew that we were cruising

Along a path that led to his bedroom

But I felt secure enough to take my time.

For once, I didn't feel I needed to rush to get there

In case the winds changed.

We climbed along the back road up out of the gorge,

Feeling the smooth kick-out of the car

As I caressed it through the curves,

And landed at the pinnacle at twilight.

Just in time to stand there, at Vista Point,

Feeling his strong arms around me, 

As the sun disappeared below the horizon.

My Son Has Become A Morning Person

Where did I go wrong?  For most of my life, I was a night owl.  Well, ok, I could be considered a morning person, if you stretch the definition to early morning, as in going out for coffee at 2am morning person.  But waking up anytime before 8, I don't want to think about. 

And I know what I'm missing - for several years there, because I carpooled to work with Roger, I had to be out the door by 6 am.  It was my own little version of hell.  Sure, it was nice to be at the office with no one around to bug me as I sullenly slid into my work routine, but it wasn't worth missing the velvety embrace of Morpheus another couple of hours.

But now - my little Teutonic terriorist has decreed that he likes mornings.  And it's not enough for him to be up...  his mama must be up.  He's gone so far as to go wake up my mother, so that she can come wake me up.  His father can be up and around and perfectly willing to snuggle/feed/play with him, but that's not enough - he's still going to be stalking up and down the length of the bed, whining at me, and occasionally climbing Mt Midori-mama just to get me up and dressed and out into the living room where he can climb back into my lap... and fall asleep. 

Has anyone found the location of the snooze button on a miniature dachshund?  Let me know if you have...

Memory Well: Mother/Daughter Dynamic

Just saw a Red Carpet interview with Dakota Johnson and Melanie Griffith - of course, the interviewer went there and asked M about whether or not she had seen 50 Shades of Gray, and there was much discomfort... 

Reminded me of many years back.  A good friend of mine was into photography, and managed to convince several of us to dress up in elaborate garden party hats and jewelry (and nothing else) and have Victorian high tea in a cedar hot tub (complete with Davey in a tux jacket and speedo as the butler.)  They were lovely pictures - sepia toned, nothing explicit, and I was proud of my part in them.  For Mother's Day, I gave Mother a nicely framed shot, along with the hat.

She looked at it, and didn't say much, other than "Is that you?"   Until about 15 minutes later, when she popped up with "You know, if you were anyone but my daughter, I would love this."  Somehow, I think that's probably where Melanie Griffith is at. 

Incidentally, my friend went on to put his pictures up on the web on his website - and well he should,they were lovely and very artistic - but that's just another reason why I couldn't run for President - naked pictures of me exist somewhere on the internet.  What can I say, I was a trailblazer.