[/] [\]
I showed you mine. Now you show me yours.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Monday, February 13, 2012
Do a gal a favor?
My friend Angela is running for Congress. She's already beaten out 4 other men and will be going into the primary unopposed. This means that she will be facing Rep. Bob Latta, voted one of the Worst Enemies of the Environment, for the real election. Latta rode into office on his father's coat tails. He's cut spending to the military, environment, education, poor...
Regardless of where you stand politically, he's not a good guy. He purports family values, but....he also purports community values, but again he's throw us to wolves time and time again.
Anyway, he's a millionaire. His wife moreso. He has the backing of big business, agri-business (which is big here...it's a constant battle against factory dairy farms and franken-soy/corn), lobbyists, etc.
We've never had female representation. We haven't had a democrat represent us sine the 1930s.
Angela is a fiscally conservative, socially progressive bio-mother, adoptive mother, foster mother, college comp instructor, and Lutheran minister. She really needs the $$ she could win here so she can continue to Do The Right Thing. If she can raise enough on her own, other groups will then sponsor her in nationwide campaigns. This race has already been billed as "one of the two to watch."
You can vote even if you are not a registered voter, even if you are in a country other than the USA, even if you are under 18, even if you really don't give a rat's ass about politics.
But dang, you've gotta love a woman from NWOhio who has had positive notice by Huff Po!
So, if you'd be so kind as to go here and vote for her (you can vote more than once from different email addresses), it would be great.
If you've already done this, thank you.
If you have meant to but haven't yet, don't wait. Time is short.
If you are annoyed with me, sorry. At least I'm not whining about cancer tonight.
Thanks,
Dawn
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Angry and Sighing
I wrote this in the midst of waiting to find out if I had metastatic cancer. I saw that damn cancer Care Bear in the side bar on my Facebook page.
Living with, living through, living beyond cancer is the exact opposite of everything that bear evokes, except that in me, that bear evokes anger. Whether it is breast cancer, or pancreatic cancer, or brain cancer, or small cell neuroendocrine cancer, or leukemia, or melanoma...cancer is anything but a cute Care Bear.
I lived through 48 hours of agony, waiting to find out if I was going to have to re-enter treatment and that is worth so much more than a cute cartoon bear. I've watched friends die, witnessed their loved ones mourn, seen people irrevocably changed, watched my own children suffer fear and anger and sadness...none of which is captured in that damn Care Bear.
*********************
And as for the sighing:
I first became aware of this phenomenon when our first baby was stillborn: the overwhelming urge to just sit and sigh, along with a compelling urge to do nothing. Not think. Not move. Not work. Not tend to the basic needs of my family. Nothing.
This wasn't quite so apparent when the second baby was stillborn, but I was busy chasing and tending to a toddler. Or I don't remember it. I do remember after both babies going out late at night, sitting on the wall in front of the house and sitting for the longest time most nights. Doing nothing except wondering why no one else had noticed that the world had tilted off its axis, wondering how others could be going on about their normal business while my world had come to a screeching halt.
Those feelings eventually went away. However, when my mother died, all those symptoms came back full force, along with insomnia, lack of focus, lethargy...a feeling of fragility.
And then they went away.
When the cancer train pulled into my station, I didn't have time to get this battered and beaten feeling, this fragile feeling. No, I take that back. The days and weeks between initial diagnosis and starting treatment were pretty horrible. Yet, once there was a plan of action, the bullet train took off full speed, I was working full time, the only fragile feeling was the true physical frailness of going through chemo.
Today, though, I was a wreck. It took me forever to fully awaken and actually be functional. It took me even longer to function. I was on the couch doing nothing until well after noon, regardless of all of the plans that I had. I had to run out and get cold medicine for all of the kids here who have been felled by virus, and I simply could not choose. I spent a full 30 minutes wandering aimlessly around Walgreens. When I finally got to the gym, I lost 10 minutes just sitting in the parking lot. Doing nothing. Sitting.
By 5 p.m. I'd really done nothing other than work out. Truly, all I'd managed over the course of the entire day was to work out.
I couldn't manage dinner. I stood in front of the fridge, staring at the food. Blank. I left the children to fend for themselves.
All evening, I've been sitting here, in my favorite spot on the couch, reading essays, watching incredibly stupid, mindless television.... embarrassingly stupid and mindless...and sighing. And feeling fragile.
Emotionally fragile.
I don't like feeling emotionally fragile. I feel wiped out. Exhausted. Scattered. Overwhelmed. Incapable. Frozen.
::SIGH::
It took me much more time than it should have to grade a measly eight essays. At this rate, I'll never accomplish all that I need to tomorrow, which includes most of what I needed to do today and didn't do. At this point, I was supposed to have only one set of essays to grade tomorrow. Yet here I sit, unable to grade, with three sets that need to be done tomorrow. Plus the meals for the week, the shopping for which I should have done today. Plus all of my laundry (thank goodness the kids and the man of the house do their own laundry). Plus lunches for the week. Plus a slew of things I know I'm forgetting.
::SIGH::
I can't even stop this blog entry so that I can attempt to sleep. I'm not sleepy at all. Tired, yes. Fatigued, yes. Sleepy, no.
I never expected to react this way. It's not surprising. I'm surprised. Or I would be if I could generate that kind of emotion. But it's not surprising. I feel emotionally battered and bruised. And it was only 48 hours of limbo.
::SIGH::
Living with, living through, living beyond cancer is the exact opposite of everything that bear evokes, except that in me, that bear evokes anger. Whether it is breast cancer, or pancreatic cancer, or brain cancer, or small cell neuroendocrine cancer, or leukemia, or melanoma...cancer is anything but a cute Care Bear.
I lived through 48 hours of agony, waiting to find out if I was going to have to re-enter treatment and that is worth so much more than a cute cartoon bear. I've watched friends die, witnessed their loved ones mourn, seen people irrevocably changed, watched my own children suffer fear and anger and sadness...none of which is captured in that damn Care Bear.
*********************
And as for the sighing:
I first became aware of this phenomenon when our first baby was stillborn: the overwhelming urge to just sit and sigh, along with a compelling urge to do nothing. Not think. Not move. Not work. Not tend to the basic needs of my family. Nothing.
This wasn't quite so apparent when the second baby was stillborn, but I was busy chasing and tending to a toddler. Or I don't remember it. I do remember after both babies going out late at night, sitting on the wall in front of the house and sitting for the longest time most nights. Doing nothing except wondering why no one else had noticed that the world had tilted off its axis, wondering how others could be going on about their normal business while my world had come to a screeching halt.
Those feelings eventually went away. However, when my mother died, all those symptoms came back full force, along with insomnia, lack of focus, lethargy...a feeling of fragility.
And then they went away.
When the cancer train pulled into my station, I didn't have time to get this battered and beaten feeling, this fragile feeling. No, I take that back. The days and weeks between initial diagnosis and starting treatment were pretty horrible. Yet, once there was a plan of action, the bullet train took off full speed, I was working full time, the only fragile feeling was the true physical frailness of going through chemo.
Today, though, I was a wreck. It took me forever to fully awaken and actually be functional. It took me even longer to function. I was on the couch doing nothing until well after noon, regardless of all of the plans that I had. I had to run out and get cold medicine for all of the kids here who have been felled by virus, and I simply could not choose. I spent a full 30 minutes wandering aimlessly around Walgreens. When I finally got to the gym, I lost 10 minutes just sitting in the parking lot. Doing nothing. Sitting.
By 5 p.m. I'd really done nothing other than work out. Truly, all I'd managed over the course of the entire day was to work out.
I couldn't manage dinner. I stood in front of the fridge, staring at the food. Blank. I left the children to fend for themselves.
All evening, I've been sitting here, in my favorite spot on the couch, reading essays, watching incredibly stupid, mindless television.... embarrassingly stupid and mindless...and sighing. And feeling fragile.
Emotionally fragile.
I don't like feeling emotionally fragile. I feel wiped out. Exhausted. Scattered. Overwhelmed. Incapable. Frozen.
::SIGH::
It took me much more time than it should have to grade a measly eight essays. At this rate, I'll never accomplish all that I need to tomorrow, which includes most of what I needed to do today and didn't do. At this point, I was supposed to have only one set of essays to grade tomorrow. Yet here I sit, unable to grade, with three sets that need to be done tomorrow. Plus the meals for the week, the shopping for which I should have done today. Plus all of my laundry (thank goodness the kids and the man of the house do their own laundry). Plus lunches for the week. Plus a slew of things I know I'm forgetting.
::SIGH::
I can't even stop this blog entry so that I can attempt to sleep. I'm not sleepy at all. Tired, yes. Fatigued, yes. Sleepy, no.
I never expected to react this way. It's not surprising. I'm surprised. Or I would be if I could generate that kind of emotion. But it's not surprising. I feel emotionally battered and bruised. And it was only 48 hours of limbo.
::SIGH::
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Yet Another abNormal, Normal Experience after Cancer Diagnosis
As soon as a person is diagnosed with cancer or suspected cancer, this train ride starts. If the diagnosis has been made or seems certain, it's a ride on a bullet train. From the day I first went to the CNM with my suspected lump until I got "the call" and had my pathology read to me, I experienced a mammogram, ultrasound, biopsy, and MRI. Those were 5 expensive days! Within the next two weeks, I'd had a full body CT and MRI, another biopsy, surgery for a port, two appointments with an oncologist, and chemo school.
After those early weeks, though, the train slows down. During active treatment, I guess I felt more like I was on the Little Engine that Could.....
Lots of work to do, lots of diligence, constant struggle. Eighteen weeks of chemo, bilateral mastectomy, 8 more weeks of chemo, 28 radiation treatments, reconstruction, and reconstruction revision. But there was a concrete goal. And that goal was getting through treatment and putting the whole experience behind me.
How naive. In reality, there is no putting the experience behind. In reality, once you get on the cancer train, you are always on the cancer train, at least when the cancer of concern is one without a cure. And there is no cure for breast cancer (among many others). Treatments can leave a person with NED (No Evidence of Disease), but they can't cure them. Some people remain NED. Others don't. And here is no way to tell whom will be whom. Or when one will change from NED to ED.
And that's the class of passenger one becomes after completing active treatment: NED, with a transfer ticket that may or may not get punched.
Waiting to get a hold of that transfer ticket is every medical professional who you come in contact with. My first experience with this was when I was having some knee pain and the professional I had consulted suggested an xray because with my "history, we can't be too cautious." That was a little nerve wracking, but it was over within minutes, before I had a chance to get worked up.
Then late last fall, I began to experience a minor, niggling pain on the side of my right "breast" (which is in quotes because it really isn't a breast, it's a saline filled balloon housed inside a pouch of numb flesh and stitched to periosteum. In clothes, it looks like a breast. Otherwise, not so much. But I digress. I'd felt something similar in the past and that had led to the last surgery I had, the revision. So, off I trooped to my plastic surgeon. Nope. She wasn't so convinced. In fact, she said, "That's not your implant. That's your rib. However, my guess is that since you haven't been exercising--especially doing upper body work (which I hadn't been doing due to a nasty and lingering case of tendinitis of the elbow), that this is lack of muscle tone in the muscle holding the implant in place and that's why you have this little twinge which is ameliorated by wearing a bra....but let's get an xray just in case." And she assured me that she'd call me if there was anything untoward that showed up in the xray.
Not being pleased by the "I'll call you..." part, I did try to call her office three times and never was I able to get past the guardian at the reception desk. Now, this doctor, as wonderful as she is, has a very busy teaching practice at a medical college and sees patients at the medical school/hospital. She is not the "hot robe, spa in the next room" kind of plastic surgeon. She rocks, but her accommodations are not highly luxurious. And she doesn't hire the receptionists. They are hired by the hospital.
Anyway, I couldn't get beyond the wench at the desk, and I'm not a retiring flower. However, I certainly wasn't effective. Regardless, as the weeks went by and I heard nothing, I figured it was nothing. And, the pain didn't get worse and barely even qualified for pain. I had more discomfort in my breasts during my menstrual cycle or while pregnant.
Then, the train pulled into the station again this past Wednesday. Shortly before I was to begin teaching my second class of the day, while I was standing outside my classroom chatting with a few students, my cell phone rang. I saw that the caller ID was my oncologist. How curious. I stepped away, answered, and it was the incredibly nice, super efficient receptionist from the cancer clinic saying that they'd gotten a message to call me to set up an appointment about a questionable chest xray.
"Whaaaaa?" Yes, indeed, here was an area of concern that required further study.
Apparently, the xray from nearly two months previous had been looked at again (I don't know why...I presume since this is a teaching hospital that it was used for teaching?) and a questionable area...again...given my history...was identified.
I was gut punched. My mouth was dry. My heart was pounding.
My onco, the wonderful Dr. Mo, was put on the line and she read me the report...something about an irregular blah blah blah at the junction of blah and T-something or other blah blah blah." She then said that since she'd just seen me (two weeks ago) and I had no symptoms, no pain in my back...um...in my back? No. Never. And this area was where a rib joined my spine....and I had no pain....she wasn't worried, although she did admit, "This is easy for me to say because it's not my xray being discussed."
xray?" I. Don't. Know. Why would I? I know I've had them before. I've had pneumonia several times, but it had been a long, long time.
Since there were no more recent xrays to compare, she suggested I get a bone scan. And then I got to talk to the wonderful Tiffany again, who suggested perhaps I could come in that afternoon. THAT AFTERNOON!!!! I was certain they thought I was riddled with bone cancer. No one gets in for a test within the hour like that. When I had the xray done, I had to wait 1.5 hours. No, that wouldn't work. I had a class to teach, a kid to pick up from school, life...so I did some finagling and called back. It was scheduled for Thursday morning.
I then spent the rest of Wednesday running from class to class. It was an incredibly busy day. Busier than most. I really didn't have to time to process. But by the time I got home, I started falling apart. By the time the kids were in bed, I was sure I was going to find out that I had bone mets. Breast cancer mets typically kills in 2.5 years, give or take. Bone mets is incredibly painful and debilitating. I was a wreck. I was popping Xanax like candy. It wasn't taking the edge off.
I told a few close friends. This was all made worse by a very realistic nightmare a month or so ago where nearly the exact same thing happened.
My appointment was at 8:00 am. I met a friend there. I got my radioactive injection. I started itching like I always do when they shoot me full of radioactivity. We ran errands for two hours. I returned for the scan. I was sure I saw areas light up on the scan. I was convinced I was going to get bad news. And I astutely watched the technicians, listening very carefully to all conversations going on around me. The only thing that kept me sane was that, unlike what I'd heard from others about their scans, no one came back and said, "We need to take a look at......again...."
That was one of the longest days of my life. I was on my way home by 11:00 am. Exhausted. Worried. And yet, life just kept going on. I had to go home, run errands, take a kid to the dentist...do normal things.
NORMAL THINGS?!?!?!?!? I was waiting to hear that I was entering the end stage of my life and I was supposed to shop for pop tarts for my son to send to his friend studying overseas and take my 16 year old to the doctor for a check up? I was supposed to plan what to have for dinner and actually execute it?
Yeh, that wasn't happening. I needed to be happy. So I bought myself some age inappropriate Hello Kitty ear phones because for some reason I can't fathom, Hello Kitty makes me happy. Hello Kitty is so not "me" but she makes me happy.
Couldn't face much more after that. Took the boys someplace to eat. I don't even remember what I ate. Came home, ate more Xanax. Sent people to bed. Facebook chatted with friends, wondering how I was going to feel when I got the bad news the next day. How would I tell the boys. How do you face your 11 year old and tell him that mommy probably wouldn't be alive to see him start, let alone finish high school? How would I bear to be bald again? Would I be able to maintain the really super crappy teaching schedule I have this semester and do chemo or rads? Rads?!?!?! My schedule is so chopped up there isn't time for rads. What day would I choose to do chemo? I teach M-F...Friday would be the easiest day schedule-wise, but that would make my crash days at the beginning of the week, when I'm most busy. How can I bear to let my kids see me die the way I've seen my friends die? Will I wear a wig this time? Would I even do treatment since I feel so good now and why would I want to do such a toxic treatment that would make me feel so shitty only to die? Wouldn't I rather go out on top?
Even with Xanax on board, it was a long, long, long mostly sleepless night.
Then I couldn't wake up this morning. Waking up meant facing reality. Reality wasn't what I really wanted to do today.
I did finally manage to get up and get out of the house and make it to the meeting I was obligated to go to. Not that I wanted to be there or that I cared. But I went. Just as the keynote speaker was getting ready to start, my phone rang and it was the oncologists's office.
Good news! The bone scan indicated No Evidence of Disease! My buddy NED is still with me. I made the nurse practitioner read the report to me three times. NED. NED. NED. NED.
Relief. But also guilt. Why am I NED and so many others aren't so lucky?
Now, I just need to keep away from airport security and police for the next day or so since I'm full of radioactive stuff, drink a gallon of fluid each day to flush it, and get on with life. A good night's sleep would be a good place to start.
I will not be able to do this many more times. I simply don't handle hoping for the best and preparing for the worst very well.
Meanwhile, I continue on the train with my traveling companion NED, and I hope NED is with me for a long, long time.
After those early weeks, though, the train slows down. During active treatment, I guess I felt more like I was on the Little Engine that Could.....
Lots of work to do, lots of diligence, constant struggle. Eighteen weeks of chemo, bilateral mastectomy, 8 more weeks of chemo, 28 radiation treatments, reconstruction, and reconstruction revision. But there was a concrete goal. And that goal was getting through treatment and putting the whole experience behind me.
How naive. In reality, there is no putting the experience behind. In reality, once you get on the cancer train, you are always on the cancer train, at least when the cancer of concern is one without a cure. And there is no cure for breast cancer (among many others). Treatments can leave a person with NED (No Evidence of Disease), but they can't cure them. Some people remain NED. Others don't. And here is no way to tell whom will be whom. Or when one will change from NED to ED.
And that's the class of passenger one becomes after completing active treatment: NED, with a transfer ticket that may or may not get punched.
Waiting to get a hold of that transfer ticket is every medical professional who you come in contact with. My first experience with this was when I was having some knee pain and the professional I had consulted suggested an xray because with my "history, we can't be too cautious." That was a little nerve wracking, but it was over within minutes, before I had a chance to get worked up.
Then late last fall, I began to experience a minor, niggling pain on the side of my right "breast" (which is in quotes because it really isn't a breast, it's a saline filled balloon housed inside a pouch of numb flesh and stitched to periosteum. In clothes, it looks like a breast. Otherwise, not so much. But I digress. I'd felt something similar in the past and that had led to the last surgery I had, the revision. So, off I trooped to my plastic surgeon. Nope. She wasn't so convinced. In fact, she said, "That's not your implant. That's your rib. However, my guess is that since you haven't been exercising--especially doing upper body work (which I hadn't been doing due to a nasty and lingering case of tendinitis of the elbow), that this is lack of muscle tone in the muscle holding the implant in place and that's why you have this little twinge which is ameliorated by wearing a bra....but let's get an xray just in case." And she assured me that she'd call me if there was anything untoward that showed up in the xray.
Not being pleased by the "I'll call you..." part, I did try to call her office three times and never was I able to get past the guardian at the reception desk. Now, this doctor, as wonderful as she is, has a very busy teaching practice at a medical college and sees patients at the medical school/hospital. She is not the "hot robe, spa in the next room" kind of plastic surgeon. She rocks, but her accommodations are not highly luxurious. And she doesn't hire the receptionists. They are hired by the hospital.
Anyway, I couldn't get beyond the wench at the desk, and I'm not a retiring flower. However, I certainly wasn't effective. Regardless, as the weeks went by and I heard nothing, I figured it was nothing. And, the pain didn't get worse and barely even qualified for pain. I had more discomfort in my breasts during my menstrual cycle or while pregnant.
Then, the train pulled into the station again this past Wednesday. Shortly before I was to begin teaching my second class of the day, while I was standing outside my classroom chatting with a few students, my cell phone rang. I saw that the caller ID was my oncologist. How curious. I stepped away, answered, and it was the incredibly nice, super efficient receptionist from the cancer clinic saying that they'd gotten a message to call me to set up an appointment about a questionable chest xray.
"Whaaaaa?" Yes, indeed, here was an area of concern that required further study.
Apparently, the xray from nearly two months previous had been looked at again (I don't know why...I presume since this is a teaching hospital that it was used for teaching?) and a questionable area...again...given my history...was identified.
I was gut punched. My mouth was dry. My heart was pounding.
My onco, the wonderful Dr. Mo, was put on the line and she read me the report...something about an irregular blah blah blah at the junction of blah and T-something or other blah blah blah." She then said that since she'd just seen me (two weeks ago) and I had no symptoms, no pain in my back...um...in my back? No. Never. And this area was where a rib joined my spine....and I had no pain....she wasn't worried, although she did admit, "This is easy for me to say because it's not my xray being discussed."
xray?" I. Don't. Know. Why would I? I know I've had them before. I've had pneumonia several times, but it had been a long, long time.
Since there were no more recent xrays to compare, she suggested I get a bone scan. And then I got to talk to the wonderful Tiffany again, who suggested perhaps I could come in that afternoon. THAT AFTERNOON!!!! I was certain they thought I was riddled with bone cancer. No one gets in for a test within the hour like that. When I had the xray done, I had to wait 1.5 hours. No, that wouldn't work. I had a class to teach, a kid to pick up from school, life...so I did some finagling and called back. It was scheduled for Thursday morning.
I then spent the rest of Wednesday running from class to class. It was an incredibly busy day. Busier than most. I really didn't have to time to process. But by the time I got home, I started falling apart. By the time the kids were in bed, I was sure I was going to find out that I had bone mets. Breast cancer mets typically kills in 2.5 years, give or take. Bone mets is incredibly painful and debilitating. I was a wreck. I was popping Xanax like candy. It wasn't taking the edge off.
I told a few close friends. This was all made worse by a very realistic nightmare a month or so ago where nearly the exact same thing happened.
My appointment was at 8:00 am. I met a friend there. I got my radioactive injection. I started itching like I always do when they shoot me full of radioactivity. We ran errands for two hours. I returned for the scan. I was sure I saw areas light up on the scan. I was convinced I was going to get bad news. And I astutely watched the technicians, listening very carefully to all conversations going on around me. The only thing that kept me sane was that, unlike what I'd heard from others about their scans, no one came back and said, "We need to take a look at......again...."
That was one of the longest days of my life. I was on my way home by 11:00 am. Exhausted. Worried. And yet, life just kept going on. I had to go home, run errands, take a kid to the dentist...do normal things.
NORMAL THINGS?!?!?!?!? I was waiting to hear that I was entering the end stage of my life and I was supposed to shop for pop tarts for my son to send to his friend studying overseas and take my 16 year old to the doctor for a check up? I was supposed to plan what to have for dinner and actually execute it?
Yeh, that wasn't happening. I needed to be happy. So I bought myself some age inappropriate Hello Kitty ear phones because for some reason I can't fathom, Hello Kitty makes me happy. Hello Kitty is so not "me" but she makes me happy.
Couldn't face much more after that. Took the boys someplace to eat. I don't even remember what I ate. Came home, ate more Xanax. Sent people to bed. Facebook chatted with friends, wondering how I was going to feel when I got the bad news the next day. How would I tell the boys. How do you face your 11 year old and tell him that mommy probably wouldn't be alive to see him start, let alone finish high school? How would I bear to be bald again? Would I be able to maintain the really super crappy teaching schedule I have this semester and do chemo or rads? Rads?!?!?! My schedule is so chopped up there isn't time for rads. What day would I choose to do chemo? I teach M-F...Friday would be the easiest day schedule-wise, but that would make my crash days at the beginning of the week, when I'm most busy. How can I bear to let my kids see me die the way I've seen my friends die? Will I wear a wig this time? Would I even do treatment since I feel so good now and why would I want to do such a toxic treatment that would make me feel so shitty only to die? Wouldn't I rather go out on top?
Even with Xanax on board, it was a long, long, long mostly sleepless night.
Then I couldn't wake up this morning. Waking up meant facing reality. Reality wasn't what I really wanted to do today.
I did finally manage to get up and get out of the house and make it to the meeting I was obligated to go to. Not that I wanted to be there or that I cared. But I went. Just as the keynote speaker was getting ready to start, my phone rang and it was the oncologists's office.
Good news! The bone scan indicated No Evidence of Disease! My buddy NED is still with me. I made the nurse practitioner read the report to me three times. NED. NED. NED. NED.
Relief. But also guilt. Why am I NED and so many others aren't so lucky?
Now, I just need to keep away from airport security and police for the next day or so since I'm full of radioactive stuff, drink a gallon of fluid each day to flush it, and get on with life. A good night's sleep would be a good place to start.
I will not be able to do this many more times. I simply don't handle hoping for the best and preparing for the worst very well.
Meanwhile, I continue on the train with my traveling companion NED, and I hope NED is with me for a long, long time.
Friday, February 10, 2012
Not sure what to say about this...
Two days ago, two wonderful women of the blogosphere died from metastatic breast cancer. Rachel, at Cancer Culture Chronicles, and Susan (@whymommy), at Toddler Planet , were not the cute, retiring, fluffy, demure Care Bear types. Neither in life, nor in death were they anything like the abomination there to the left.
I'm not even sure what to say about that. The whole image is so damn insulting. For starters, Care Bears are a child's toy. And annoying ones at that. Breast cancer is not child's play.
The body language...awww shucks, look at me, ain't I cute? Shy? Demure? What in the hell? The cute little pink ribbon on its chest. Nothing like the matching scars on my chest. On each breast, six inches vertically bisecting a 7-8 inch scar going horizontally on each side. On "breasts" that aren't breasts. With one topped by the ever so attractive scar from my port. Many of us do have chunky arms like the bear, though. Only instead of looking babyish and cute, ours are due to lymphedema, a chronic condition we have to deal with for the rest of our lives.
ADULT women and men get breast cancer. Again, who in the HELL thought a breast cancer Care Bear was anything but insulting? Imagine being the ONE man who has to go for breast cancer treatment and seeing this in the surgeon''s office, or the onco suite or in some well meaning literature.
What emotion is this stupid bear even supposed to evoke? What is the thinking behind it? I can't even imagine. I mean, "Here...you've had your breasts cut off, you are in loads of pain, you have been poisoned, burned, scared, scarred, mutilated. Have a child's toy. A retro one at that."
Do you see anything resembling a fricking Care Bear here? Or something cute and demure here? Or something cuddly here?
What do you think? What would make a better mascot?
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
The Times They Are A'Changin'
"Come gather 'round people, where ever you roam....."
Yep, that's what it feels like here these days as we approach the Winter Solstice, which for my family is our midwinter holiday.
It's always somewhat of a hassle seeing as my university semester frequently ends less than a week before the solstice. In fact, there have been years when graduation was as late as the 23rd of December. Fortunately, I never have to be involved with graduation, so that's a relief. My official duties regularly end two days prior to graduation.
When the kids were littles, we had a lot more active traditions involving the sun, the science of the sun, the mythology of the sun, and all that jazz. But by now, our observances have mostly turned into the secularized version of the secular Christmas. Generally, we have a "feast" on solstice eve or the evening of the longest night. Typically the food represents dark and light in one way or another (chocolate cake vs. pumpkin pie, beef stew w/sun dried tomatoes, sun flower encrusted bread) and pomegranate (based on the amount of pomegranate seeds my family can consume, the earth will never grow any living thing again and we are all destined to spend eternity in the underworld--which, according to many of our Christian fundamentalist friends is only half wrong). Then the kids and husband go to bed, and I spend the wee hours of the morning wrapping gifts. The next morning (when they were young we'd force march them out of bed and force them to watch the sun rise...as soon as they could see it, they'd run off to open gifts...after all they had to see if they had done a good enough job the previous night using noise makers to remind the sun where to return) we'd open gifts. One year, I even bundled them all into our old station wagon, drove waaaaay out into the country here in desolate, flat NW Ohio, and forced them to watch the sun come up over the flat horizon. After gifts, we eat a yummy breakfast and spend the day doing nothing but enjoying each other and the new gifts.
In all, this works out well as a practice as that means we get to mostly ignore Christmas Day (we have a tradition of going to the grandmother's house Christmas Eve), so that's another day to just do nothing and be together until time to meander over to the grandmother's house for Christmas Dinner and movies. I grew up in a tradition of not travelling on Christmas Eve or Day because my father was a minister and my mother found it rough enough (she used to say on us kids, but now as the mother myself I think it was rougher on her) to deal with the stress the services put on my father (one or two Christmas Eve and two Christmas Day, except in the years it fell on a Sunday, in which case there were three services) and unfair to yank us kids away from gifts to travel in the car to visit relatives. So, once my brother and I started having kids, our families would get together on the first weekend after Christmas that he had custody of his boys. That worked well. It's just a day, you know? It's the family gathering that is important.
Anyway, times are changing.
As I just stated, it's just a day. At times in the past, we have had to fudge the solstice a little here and there...do our day early or a little late, depending on when my husband could get a day off. As long as he could be home by sundown on the "eve" we were good and then have the next day off. In general, when we worked at the big box university, that wasn't a problem. Then for the last two years, he wasn't working, and that wasn't a problem.
Now he is working again, and working in very traditional retail. He just started his job this fall, so didn't feel like he should request a day off so soon. Also, commission is involved and it makes no sense to NOT sell during one of the busiest weeks of the year. Fortunately this year, he has the first day of winter off.
And so does The Eldest.
Pell Grant, ultimately, when that refund check will come later in the semester). All he has to do is keep higher than a 3.0 GPA (and if he applies for a book scholarship in time this year that should be taken care of, too). But I digress...
He is not in a position to ask for time off work to do Solstice with his family. I get that having worked similar jobs and having been married to a man who has had jobs without paid time off--and depressingly, at this late stage of the game, he's back to that. The Eldest has Christmas Eve and Christmas Day off--without pay of course. Initially, I thought that now, with girl friends in the picture, the older two boys would be able to benefit from our Solstice observances. Get their family obligations out of the way and that opens up time to devote to the girl friend on the more popular holiday.
But with the convoluted work schedules in our lives now...and my medical appointments...well, let's face it, no one else in the world cares that Thursday is our holiday. The Middle has a baby sitting gig on The First Day of Winter. I have Occupational Therapy at noon that day. The Eldest has to work the night before "until close" which can mean whatever he wants it to me...I have no clue. Plus, he didn't sound too enthusiastic about spending the night here so we could open gifts and sunrise. And what The Middle said about sunrise is probably illegal to print in several more conservative states. However, it must be done. Maybe not sunrise, but morning. Adult morning, not teen morning. By 11 am we all have to be dressed and out of the house and sitting nicely in a local dining establishment to have the annual "lunch with the out of town Aunt" which is a favorite...again, compounded by the need this year of the grandmother to have a constant companion due to her frail health and stroke last summer. Thursday is one day it works, so Thursday it is. I'll have to leave the lunch early (if I even get to eat) to make it to my appointment. The Middle will have to fly off to babysit. So much for a leisurely day chilling as a family.
Now, I'm thinking that maybe we should move our gift opening to Xmas Eve next year to simplify things. Why Xmas Eve? We've now entered that phase where sooner rather than later, my boys will partner off. I'm guessing at least one or more of them will spawn their own offspring (a couple of them talk about it...although those talks tend to include babies left in baskets on my doorstep and twins named Titian and Sophocles and adopting a baby from that Kenyon tribe that produces such fast runners so that one person in the family is athletic...they will mature, I hope), and I really do want to believe that I can be as gracious as my mother was in allowing the spin-off family units to develop their own holiday traditions. Or maybe we should do Xmas day so until then the boys can be certain to be "free" on the Eve to spend time with girl friends.
I just don't know. What I do know is I really didn't see this coming last year or I would have made more of an effort to drive home our traditions.
So, this year, the Feral Third, who has very little memory of the traditions that we had when he was little (because there is no way in hell after a certain age the older two were going to go outside and bang noise makers to tell the sun where to come back or engage in dancing to Celtic music in the dark in the house...i tell him he did these things and maybe, just maybe in that two gallon bag of undeveloped film there is evidence), is starting a new tradition. A weird open house here on The Longest Night. We've invited friends over to a soup and finger food pot luck and game playing, no electric lights other than decorations. I can light with candles but from the years of lighting 365 tea lights on Solstice, I know that drives up the heat index. And we don't have a lot of safe surfaces for candles (I'm more concerned about wax spilling on my floors than burning the house down, to be honest) and there will be young children here, so we will be using batter powered lights for the most part...it's the thought that counts.
Not too long after guests leave, The Eldest should come home from work, although my guess is he'll want to go back to his house, shower, etc. and then have me pick him up (seeing as I was posting to my facebook wall at 4:00 a.m. I'm thinking that his schedule is a little twisted these days). The Man of the House should get home as guests start to arrive. Truthfully, the Feral Third was sure no one would want to come. So we invited a lot of guests. I think it's going to be quite crowded in our little house (especially since only 3.5 rooms are usable entertainment space (no one can function in my husband's office--I don't know how he functions in there). The rest of the house is great for family living, but not so much for entertaining formally. It's great to hold teens and tweens in the back family room, but other spaces are limited. Good thing we like people.
Ultimately, what our observances will change to, is yet unknown. After all, at one point in time, we shopped for family tree ornaments on December 3rd, the anniversary of our first son, born still. That has since moved to "whenever it gets done" to "OMG, don't we have enough ornaments" to this year we are cramming it in to the last hour the store is open tonight because we can all be there, whether people want to go or not. Again, this is very important to The Feral Third. The other boys haven't mentioned it at all. They. Will. Do. It. Graciously. Or. Die.
So, times are changing. This change has taken my by surprise. It might be the first time I've felt nostalgic for the kids' youths. I'm more the "wow, this new stage is great and so much nicer than before" kind of mom. I love my kids' independence. I was happier than The Eldest, I think, when he moved out and then left for a 9 week trip the next day. I was one of the only moms with dry eyes as their buses pulled away.
But this, but at this point, it's time to heed the words of the bard:
Yep, that's what it feels like here these days as we approach the Winter Solstice, which for my family is our midwinter holiday.
It's always somewhat of a hassle seeing as my university semester frequently ends less than a week before the solstice. In fact, there have been years when graduation was as late as the 23rd of December. Fortunately, I never have to be involved with graduation, so that's a relief. My official duties regularly end two days prior to graduation.
When the kids were littles, we had a lot more active traditions involving the sun, the science of the sun, the mythology of the sun, and all that jazz. But by now, our observances have mostly turned into the secularized version of the secular Christmas. Generally, we have a "feast" on solstice eve or the evening of the longest night. Typically the food represents dark and light in one way or another (chocolate cake vs. pumpkin pie, beef stew w/sun dried tomatoes, sun flower encrusted bread) and pomegranate (based on the amount of pomegranate seeds my family can consume, the earth will never grow any living thing again and we are all destined to spend eternity in the underworld--which, according to many of our Christian fundamentalist friends is only half wrong). Then the kids and husband go to bed, and I spend the wee hours of the morning wrapping gifts. The next morning (when they were young we'd force march them out of bed and force them to watch the sun rise...as soon as they could see it, they'd run off to open gifts...after all they had to see if they had done a good enough job the previous night using noise makers to remind the sun where to return) we'd open gifts. One year, I even bundled them all into our old station wagon, drove waaaaay out into the country here in desolate, flat NW Ohio, and forced them to watch the sun come up over the flat horizon. After gifts, we eat a yummy breakfast and spend the day doing nothing but enjoying each other and the new gifts.
In all, this works out well as a practice as that means we get to mostly ignore Christmas Day (we have a tradition of going to the grandmother's house Christmas Eve), so that's another day to just do nothing and be together until time to meander over to the grandmother's house for Christmas Dinner and movies. I grew up in a tradition of not travelling on Christmas Eve or Day because my father was a minister and my mother found it rough enough (she used to say on us kids, but now as the mother myself I think it was rougher on her) to deal with the stress the services put on my father (one or two Christmas Eve and two Christmas Day, except in the years it fell on a Sunday, in which case there were three services) and unfair to yank us kids away from gifts to travel in the car to visit relatives. So, once my brother and I started having kids, our families would get together on the first weekend after Christmas that he had custody of his boys. That worked well. It's just a day, you know? It's the family gathering that is important.
Anyway, times are changing.
As I just stated, it's just a day. At times in the past, we have had to fudge the solstice a little here and there...do our day early or a little late, depending on when my husband could get a day off. As long as he could be home by sundown on the "eve" we were good and then have the next day off. In general, when we worked at the big box university, that wasn't a problem. Then for the last two years, he wasn't working, and that wasn't a problem.
Now he is working again, and working in very traditional retail. He just started his job this fall, so didn't feel like he should request a day off so soon. Also, commission is involved and it makes no sense to NOT sell during one of the busiest weeks of the year. Fortunately this year, he has the first day of winter off.
And so does The Eldest.
Pell Grant, ultimately, when that refund check will come later in the semester). All he has to do is keep higher than a 3.0 GPA (and if he applies for a book scholarship in time this year that should be taken care of, too). But I digress...
He is not in a position to ask for time off work to do Solstice with his family. I get that having worked similar jobs and having been married to a man who has had jobs without paid time off--and depressingly, at this late stage of the game, he's back to that. The Eldest has Christmas Eve and Christmas Day off--without pay of course. Initially, I thought that now, with girl friends in the picture, the older two boys would be able to benefit from our Solstice observances. Get their family obligations out of the way and that opens up time to devote to the girl friend on the more popular holiday.
But with the convoluted work schedules in our lives now...and my medical appointments...well, let's face it, no one else in the world cares that Thursday is our holiday. The Middle has a baby sitting gig on The First Day of Winter. I have Occupational Therapy at noon that day. The Eldest has to work the night before "until close" which can mean whatever he wants it to me...I have no clue. Plus, he didn't sound too enthusiastic about spending the night here so we could open gifts and sunrise. And what The Middle said about sunrise is probably illegal to print in several more conservative states. However, it must be done. Maybe not sunrise, but morning. Adult morning, not teen morning. By 11 am we all have to be dressed and out of the house and sitting nicely in a local dining establishment to have the annual "lunch with the out of town Aunt" which is a favorite...again, compounded by the need this year of the grandmother to have a constant companion due to her frail health and stroke last summer. Thursday is one day it works, so Thursday it is. I'll have to leave the lunch early (if I even get to eat) to make it to my appointment. The Middle will have to fly off to babysit. So much for a leisurely day chilling as a family.
Now, I'm thinking that maybe we should move our gift opening to Xmas Eve next year to simplify things. Why Xmas Eve? We've now entered that phase where sooner rather than later, my boys will partner off. I'm guessing at least one or more of them will spawn their own offspring (a couple of them talk about it...although those talks tend to include babies left in baskets on my doorstep and twins named Titian and Sophocles and adopting a baby from that Kenyon tribe that produces such fast runners so that one person in the family is athletic...they will mature, I hope), and I really do want to believe that I can be as gracious as my mother was in allowing the spin-off family units to develop their own holiday traditions. Or maybe we should do Xmas day so until then the boys can be certain to be "free" on the Eve to spend time with girl friends.
I just don't know. What I do know is I really didn't see this coming last year or I would have made more of an effort to drive home our traditions.
So, this year, the Feral Third, who has very little memory of the traditions that we had when he was little (because there is no way in hell after a certain age the older two were going to go outside and bang noise makers to tell the sun where to come back or engage in dancing to Celtic music in the dark in the house...i tell him he did these things and maybe, just maybe in that two gallon bag of undeveloped film there is evidence), is starting a new tradition. A weird open house here on The Longest Night. We've invited friends over to a soup and finger food pot luck and game playing, no electric lights other than decorations. I can light with candles but from the years of lighting 365 tea lights on Solstice, I know that drives up the heat index. And we don't have a lot of safe surfaces for candles (I'm more concerned about wax spilling on my floors than burning the house down, to be honest) and there will be young children here, so we will be using batter powered lights for the most part...it's the thought that counts.
Not too long after guests leave, The Eldest should come home from work, although my guess is he'll want to go back to his house, shower, etc. and then have me pick him up (seeing as I was posting to my facebook wall at 4:00 a.m. I'm thinking that his schedule is a little twisted these days). The Man of the House should get home as guests start to arrive. Truthfully, the Feral Third was sure no one would want to come. So we invited a lot of guests. I think it's going to be quite crowded in our little house (especially since only 3.5 rooms are usable entertainment space (no one can function in my husband's office--I don't know how he functions in there). The rest of the house is great for family living, but not so much for entertaining formally. It's great to hold teens and tweens in the back family room, but other spaces are limited. Good thing we like people.
Ultimately, what our observances will change to, is yet unknown. After all, at one point in time, we shopped for family tree ornaments on December 3rd, the anniversary of our first son, born still. That has since moved to "whenever it gets done" to "OMG, don't we have enough ornaments" to this year we are cramming it in to the last hour the store is open tonight because we can all be there, whether people want to go or not. Again, this is very important to The Feral Third. The other boys haven't mentioned it at all. They. Will. Do. It. Graciously. Or. Die.
So, times are changing. This change has taken my by surprise. It might be the first time I've felt nostalgic for the kids' youths. I'm more the "wow, this new stage is great and so much nicer than before" kind of mom. I love my kids' independence. I was happier than The Eldest, I think, when he moved out and then left for a 9 week trip the next day. I was one of the only moms with dry eyes as their buses pulled away.
But this, but at this point, it's time to heed the words of the bard:
Come mothers and fathersThroughout the landAnd don't criticizeWhat you can't understandYour sons and your daughtersAre beyond your commandYour old road isRapidly agin'Please get out of the new oneIf you can't lend your handFor the times they are a-changin'.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
It's so much better in my memory
A long, long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, I was a (much) younger mother of two sons with a husband who worked two jobs. I, also, worked two jobs. I had the same job I have now, only part time, and I babysat for two other little boys, who were, age-wise, on either side of my then youngest child.
In my memory, those were sweet days. I remember giving in gracefully and subsisting on "kid" food. I didn't even bother trying to make adult-like food or meals. I'd get up at 5:00 a.m. to tidy and sweep before the one child care kid was dropped off at 5:45 because my boys didn't go to sleep until after 11:00 p.m. and their father had left for his third shift job so that they could spend time with him. I certainly wasn't going to tidy up at midnight, after nursing the toddler down to sleep.
I remember long winter nights, our house chilly because we were trying to spend as little as possible, snuggled in bed with the the boys...on the futon in the office because daddy was sleeping in the "adult" bed in the other room...reading book after book after book.....yep, we had no TV. I read so many picture books and chapter books out loud, just to keep the kids separated, quiet, not fussing. I suppose at some point, I must have graded essays and planned classes, met with students, and all that jazz....of that I have no memory. I just remember being with young children nearly 24/7.
Until this week, those times were so sweet...in my memory.
However, this week, my husband has been working late, getting home at nearly 11:00 p.m. He now has his own projects going, so he spends his mornings working on them. Our kids are older, too, so this weekend, during the hours he was home, they were asleep. He was out the door by 10:00 am this morning. 11:00 am yesterday. And he left shortly before they got out of school on Friday.
The kids don't demand the constant attention that they did back in the day. In fact, although I'm home alone with two boys right now (only one of which was born in the days of sweet memories...the other came along later and one of the boys from the time of sweetness has since moved out and lives on his own), they are rarely in the same room with me. One is upstairs studying for finals. One is killing zombies online in the family room.
But my goodness, today has been so LONG. Getting these boys to accomplish what I need or want them to accomplish (housework, schoolwork, holiday planning, etc.) is making me remember just how stressful those "sweet" times were. I think I'm having PTSD flashbacks or something.
Here is sit. It's totally dark out. It feels like we should be winding down for bed, but it's really not even 7:00 p.m. There are hours and hours to go before I sleep. I have not been a nice mother today. I just wanted everything done in a timely and smooth manner. How could I have forgotten that no one in my family but me values timeliness and smoothness?
Hopefully those sweet memories will come back when this time also has passed.
Because I sort of miss them. I was much happier in my memories than I think I was during that reality. Hopefully, we'll all create fake memories about the current time which will place us in a happy context because the memories I'm sure I created for these two boys today were certainly not happy.
In my memory, those were sweet days. I remember giving in gracefully and subsisting on "kid" food. I didn't even bother trying to make adult-like food or meals. I'd get up at 5:00 a.m. to tidy and sweep before the one child care kid was dropped off at 5:45 because my boys didn't go to sleep until after 11:00 p.m. and their father had left for his third shift job so that they could spend time with him. I certainly wasn't going to tidy up at midnight, after nursing the toddler down to sleep.
I remember long winter nights, our house chilly because we were trying to spend as little as possible, snuggled in bed with the the boys...on the futon in the office because daddy was sleeping in the "adult" bed in the other room...reading book after book after book.....yep, we had no TV. I read so many picture books and chapter books out loud, just to keep the kids separated, quiet, not fussing. I suppose at some point, I must have graded essays and planned classes, met with students, and all that jazz....of that I have no memory. I just remember being with young children nearly 24/7.
Until this week, those times were so sweet...in my memory.
However, this week, my husband has been working late, getting home at nearly 11:00 p.m. He now has his own projects going, so he spends his mornings working on them. Our kids are older, too, so this weekend, during the hours he was home, they were asleep. He was out the door by 10:00 am this morning. 11:00 am yesterday. And he left shortly before they got out of school on Friday.
The kids don't demand the constant attention that they did back in the day. In fact, although I'm home alone with two boys right now (only one of which was born in the days of sweet memories...the other came along later and one of the boys from the time of sweetness has since moved out and lives on his own), they are rarely in the same room with me. One is upstairs studying for finals. One is killing zombies online in the family room.
But my goodness, today has been so LONG. Getting these boys to accomplish what I need or want them to accomplish (housework, schoolwork, holiday planning, etc.) is making me remember just how stressful those "sweet" times were. I think I'm having PTSD flashbacks or something.
Here is sit. It's totally dark out. It feels like we should be winding down for bed, but it's really not even 7:00 p.m. There are hours and hours to go before I sleep. I have not been a nice mother today. I just wanted everything done in a timely and smooth manner. How could I have forgotten that no one in my family but me values timeliness and smoothness?
Hopefully those sweet memories will come back when this time also has passed.
Because I sort of miss them. I was much happier in my memories than I think I was during that reality. Hopefully, we'll all create fake memories about the current time which will place us in a happy context because the memories I'm sure I created for these two boys today were certainly not happy.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
The Harsh Reality
Many bloggers have caught a lot of flack for not being gung-ho SGK/Pinktober rah-rah.
Part of the problem is that the Pinking of Breast Cancer denies reality for many. Of course, we all want to hear stories about long term survivors and those whose lives weren't drastically changed. Even more, we want to know about people who have survived treatment and then climbed Mt. Everest or sailed around the world in a hand-hewn canoe (obviously a canoe with a sail...you get my drift....no pun intended).
That all can provide inspiration, hope, and by golly it's happy.
But the reality which is denied is much more private. It's where none of us really wants to dwell. Yet, once an endurer ends up in that reality, it's not such a happy place, and it really isn't all that pink implies. It's much more shades of gray. The hard part is, not a single one of us has any way of knowing which reality will be granted to us.
Here's a wonderful blog that shows a different reality. It's loving and touching, and the opposite of the pinkality that is so often portrayed in the media. You should check it out. Angelo and Jen are an amazing couple, full of love and compassion. Angelo's blog shows the gray side of the journey.
Part of the problem is that the Pinking of Breast Cancer denies reality for many. Of course, we all want to hear stories about long term survivors and those whose lives weren't drastically changed. Even more, we want to know about people who have survived treatment and then climbed Mt. Everest or sailed around the world in a hand-hewn canoe (obviously a canoe with a sail...you get my drift....no pun intended).
That all can provide inspiration, hope, and by golly it's happy.
But the reality which is denied is much more private. It's where none of us really wants to dwell. Yet, once an endurer ends up in that reality, it's not such a happy place, and it really isn't all that pink implies. It's much more shades of gray. The hard part is, not a single one of us has any way of knowing which reality will be granted to us.
Here's a wonderful blog that shows a different reality. It's loving and touching, and the opposite of the pinkality that is so often portrayed in the media. You should check it out. Angelo and Jen are an amazing couple, full of love and compassion. Angelo's blog shows the gray side of the journey.
Friday, December 2, 2011
Slip, Sliding Away, redux
About 11 months ago, I wrote this.
The past few days, I've been having some odd twinges, feeling swollen, weird PMS-like pains on the same right side. I really feel like something is off on my right side.
Having been sidelined by foot problems and elbow problems for the past several months, and coupled with dealing with the declining daylight, end of the term stress, and financial woes very inappropriately (can you say fat, salt, and carbs?) during that same period of time, I have laid down a really nice layer of fat.
I've poked and prodded the right side of my chest quite extensively, and it just feels different than it did a while back. It also feels like there is tension pulling from left to right (like a bra that isn't adjusted quite right).
After a long look in the mirror and a similarly long look in a skin tight shirt, it is very apparent that my right side is quite different than it used to be. Almost exactly like it was 11 months ago, only this time over to the right, more toward my arm pit than before where it was lower on my chest.
So, I have an appointment with my plastic surgeon a week from Tuesday.
If something needs to be readjusted, I'd so much like to have it done before Dec. 31, which is highly improbable, so that it falls under this year's insurance. I am seriously considering asking to have it down with just a local anesthetic, too.
Gak!
Even more stressful, my husband's new employer is not cooperating with returning some insurance form that must be returned to BGSU by 12/9. If it isn't returned, he will not be able to be covered by my insurance and will, as of 12/31, be uninsured.
Our truck is--for all intents and purposes--dead. We will find out more about it within days. If it is, indeed, irreparable, we will have to purchase a new (to us) vehicle ASAP. It will be nearly impossible for me to make the doctor's and OT appointments on top of my school obligations next week **and** figure out how to get him to work. As it is, there is at least one day that he'll have to be dropped off at work about 4 hours before he starts so that I can have the car to do what else needs to be done.
I hope the rest of you are having a happier December than I am right now.
I'd like to say there is nowhere to go but up, but, alas, I fear I am too jaded to buy into that right now.
The past few days, I've been having some odd twinges, feeling swollen, weird PMS-like pains on the same right side. I really feel like something is off on my right side.
Having been sidelined by foot problems and elbow problems for the past several months, and coupled with dealing with the declining daylight, end of the term stress, and financial woes very inappropriately (can you say fat, salt, and carbs?) during that same period of time, I have laid down a really nice layer of fat.
I've poked and prodded the right side of my chest quite extensively, and it just feels different than it did a while back. It also feels like there is tension pulling from left to right (like a bra that isn't adjusted quite right).
After a long look in the mirror and a similarly long look in a skin tight shirt, it is very apparent that my right side is quite different than it used to be. Almost exactly like it was 11 months ago, only this time over to the right, more toward my arm pit than before where it was lower on my chest.
So, I have an appointment with my plastic surgeon a week from Tuesday.
If something needs to be readjusted, I'd so much like to have it done before Dec. 31, which is highly improbable, so that it falls under this year's insurance. I am seriously considering asking to have it down with just a local anesthetic, too.
Gak!
Even more stressful, my husband's new employer is not cooperating with returning some insurance form that must be returned to BGSU by 12/9. If it isn't returned, he will not be able to be covered by my insurance and will, as of 12/31, be uninsured.
Our truck is--for all intents and purposes--dead. We will find out more about it within days. If it is, indeed, irreparable, we will have to purchase a new (to us) vehicle ASAP. It will be nearly impossible for me to make the doctor's and OT appointments on top of my school obligations next week **and** figure out how to get him to work. As it is, there is at least one day that he'll have to be dropped off at work about 4 hours before he starts so that I can have the car to do what else needs to be done.
I hope the rest of you are having a happier December than I am right now.
I'd like to say there is nowhere to go but up, but, alas, I fear I am too jaded to buy into that right now.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Thankfuls Nov. 14-20, 2011
14. I'm thankful for Smartwool socks. They are just about all I wear. They are clearly worth the investment. I'm also thankful that I am able to find them at greatly reduced prices. They are incredibly comfortable on my chemo-ruined, always cold feet.
15. I'm thankful for weekends away, even though I rarely go far, even if they would be seen as many as mundane. There's nothing quite like a weekend when I don't have any real responsibilities other than making sure I have on pajamas and have good, fun food. This past weekend, that all involved Hello Kitty pajama pants, steak, brie, jambalaya, and lobster bisque.
16. I'm thankful for flat screen tv (did I mention this one before?). They are so much more attractive than the older, big bodied boxy televisions.
17. I'm thankful for Facebook. I have an essay brewing in me, have for years, about how Facebook--with all it's problems and weaknesses--is sort of like the backyard fence of days gone by. I have much better friendships with local friends because of Facebook. And that's just a beginning. Overall, there are more positives to Facebook than negatives in my life.
18. I'm thankful for prescription strength pain relief. I'm not sure if what I've taken to ease the pain of my (possibly) broken toe makes the pain less or makes me just not care enough to notice it fully. It doesn't really matter, it works.
19. I'm thankful for short work weeks. This is perhaps my favorite week of all semester: two days and then Thanksgiving Break. I <3 Wednesday and Friday of this week. No obligations.
20. I'm thankful for our DVR. As I work to understand my "new" brain, I've come to the realization that I can focus much better when I grade essays with mindless tv running. Criminal Minds and NCIS are a perfect backdrop to freshmen compositions. Their formulaic stories can occupy that portion of my brain that keeps me unfocused, that portion that wants to make lists or plan days or listen to what others are doing in the house or focus on worries or balance checkbooks or plan classes when I'm really needing to give essays my full focus. I'm thankful that I can watch whatever, whenever.
15. I'm thankful for weekends away, even though I rarely go far, even if they would be seen as many as mundane. There's nothing quite like a weekend when I don't have any real responsibilities other than making sure I have on pajamas and have good, fun food. This past weekend, that all involved Hello Kitty pajama pants, steak, brie, jambalaya, and lobster bisque.
16. I'm thankful for flat screen tv (did I mention this one before?). They are so much more attractive than the older, big bodied boxy televisions.
17. I'm thankful for Facebook. I have an essay brewing in me, have for years, about how Facebook--with all it's problems and weaknesses--is sort of like the backyard fence of days gone by. I have much better friendships with local friends because of Facebook. And that's just a beginning. Overall, there are more positives to Facebook than negatives in my life.
18. I'm thankful for prescription strength pain relief. I'm not sure if what I've taken to ease the pain of my (possibly) broken toe makes the pain less or makes me just not care enough to notice it fully. It doesn't really matter, it works.
19. I'm thankful for short work weeks. This is perhaps my favorite week of all semester: two days and then Thanksgiving Break. I <3 Wednesday and Friday of this week. No obligations.
20. I'm thankful for our DVR. As I work to understand my "new" brain, I've come to the realization that I can focus much better when I grade essays with mindless tv running. Criminal Minds and NCIS are a perfect backdrop to freshmen compositions. Their formulaic stories can occupy that portion of my brain that keeps me unfocused, that portion that wants to make lists or plan days or listen to what others are doing in the house or focus on worries or balance checkbooks or plan classes when I'm really needing to give essays my full focus. I'm thankful that I can watch whatever, whenever.
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