I am deformed. The way I stand and walk indicates it, but the X-rays confirm it. I have a deformity of the tibia, at the ankle, rare to North Americans, but more common in Asians. (Mom, is there something you haven't told me?)
I do like India a lot. And I love Indian food. And I love Chinese food. And Thai food. Hey. Hey!?
So, my ankle doc (among the best in Chicago and that would be confirmed by the fact that I had an 11:20 appointment today and saw him for 2.5 minutes at about 2) says I'm deformed, and, on top of that, I have arthritis. To fix my deformity, he would need to lift up my ankles on the outsides with a piece of bone from my hip. He's done it a lot; it's called valgus distal tibial osteotomy, but all I can find on the Web about it is written in doctor speak. And that is not my language.
Anybody ever heard of it? Had it? Want to share about it?
Really, this only confirms that my body parts are nothing more than a warped jigsaw puzzle. (See the post about Mr. Potato Head.) Now if I were older, my treatment would be a snap. Fuse the ankles; walk like a Penguin. But heck, I walk like a Penguin now. Ask Bob. My adoring husband who frequently makes fun of my walk (OK, and I his, but what's his excuse?). Now he will need to find a politically correct name for duck-like walk.
Because it's official. I'm deformed. And you can't call anything by it's real name.
(And the good news: my CEA levels are still normal. Not so sure about my DNA, though.)
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Sunday, October 18, 2009
O Ye Jigs & Juleps! Sacraments
I'm going to read the book O Ye Jigs & Juleps! that Kate gave me for my birthday. In this installment, I read the first chapter, Sacraments. The book is said to be written by 10-year-old Virginia Cary Hudson. According to the book flap, Virginia was 10 in 1904 when she wrote the essays for a "very understanding teacher" in her Episcopal boarding school. The chapters include Sacraments, Etiquette at Church, Gardening, Education, Everlasting Life, Spring, The Library, Personal Appearance, An Afternoon's Stroll, China and Religion.
Because the book is believed to be written by a Southerner, a Southerner should surely read it.
Because the book is believed to be written by a Southerner, a Southerner should surely read it.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Catching up
Tomorrow is my birthday! And really nobody has noticed. I mention it over and over and do get a few takers. Like Kate, my co-worker, who gave me one of her prized possessions, a book: O Ye Jigs & Juleps! by Virginia Cary Hudson, supposedly written in 1904 by a 10-year-old. I have my doubts. But it is still fun. Stay tuned for more later on the book.Audrey rushed out and bought me a bottle of wine yesterday, which I surely appreciate. And will duly drink this weekend. Bob has something up his sleeve because he has suffered the consequences of ignoring my birthday already. Not a peep from my mom, who usually sends me a card a week in advance. Or my older sister, who never sends her cards on time. Or my younger sister, who I know loves me. Or my two brothers, one who used to send everybody cards but got tired of not getting cards in return, so it's understandable, and another who has bigger fish to fry with kids, grandkids, trips, cabins, and on and on.
I would like to point you to my birthday two years ago when my life was hanging in the limbs, and then to last year, which should have alerted me to what was to come.
But I am not bitter. I would rather be ignored than taking a dirt nap (as Val at work's father calls it).
And this is my quick whiny post and now I have other things to do. I hope you have a great day.
(I was going to catch you up on all I had been doing but I got lost in my own misery.)
Friday, September 11, 2009
Livering it up
I walked in the the oncologist office today feeling plump, healthy, and happy. The miniature Asian nurse (who takes my vitals, including weight) and I talk about my fat. "Do you exercise?" she asks. "Yes, almost every day." "Do you eat ice cream late at night?" she asks. "Rarely; almost never" (Bob finishes it off before I can get to it). "I do sneak a Bit o' Honey or two" (probably why I have no teeth). "Do you eat pasta?" she asks. Guilty. I'm a carb freak.
"Well, it gets harder as we get older," she proclaims. So within five minutes of my visit, she has called me fat and old. But I forgive her because she's adorable.
The doctor, also miniature, comes in. He's an old grouch, but I think he likes me so he smiles occasionally in my presence. "How do you feel?" he asks. "Terrific!" I answer truthfully. "Except that your nurse just called me fat and old."
He ignores this. As he does most things I say. Pity too because I try so hard.
Then I ask him if a lot of his patients die. "Some do. Some don't," he says. (That ole rascal, such an encourager.)
"But you're doing good," he says. I dismiss the compliment. Really, I'm not doing anything. Just staying alive.
Then I ask him some question about cancer returning, etc., etc. The fear all cancer patients live with, at least in the backs of their minds. I feel so good right now, though, the question was really just a flippant, "How 'bout those Sox?"-type question. Nothing serious.
Then he lays it on me. "Well, you've only got two and a half more years before you're clear. Most cancers return by four and a half, five years." I know this, of course, but still, I was thinking I was already in the clear. Not really, but sort of. And I can't help but remember Leroy Sievers who died recently. He had colon cancer, was fine four years, then got brain cancer.
But my doc says, colon cancer, if it comes back, most likely shows up in the liver, which is, I think, the organ that removes all toxins. And wine, I believe, is a toxin.
Or is it? Could it be, a preservative? I should probably find out before the weekend starts.
"Well, it gets harder as we get older," she proclaims. So within five minutes of my visit, she has called me fat and old. But I forgive her because she's adorable.
The doctor, also miniature, comes in. He's an old grouch, but I think he likes me so he smiles occasionally in my presence. "How do you feel?" he asks. "Terrific!" I answer truthfully. "Except that your nurse just called me fat and old."
He ignores this. As he does most things I say. Pity too because I try so hard.
Then I ask him if a lot of his patients die. "Some do. Some don't," he says. (That ole rascal, such an encourager.)
"But you're doing good," he says. I dismiss the compliment. Really, I'm not doing anything. Just staying alive.
Then I ask him some question about cancer returning, etc., etc. The fear all cancer patients live with, at least in the backs of their minds. I feel so good right now, though, the question was really just a flippant, "How 'bout those Sox?"-type question. Nothing serious.
Then he lays it on me. "Well, you've only got two and a half more years before you're clear. Most cancers return by four and a half, five years." I know this, of course, but still, I was thinking I was already in the clear. Not really, but sort of. And I can't help but remember Leroy Sievers who died recently. He had colon cancer, was fine four years, then got brain cancer.
But my doc says, colon cancer, if it comes back, most likely shows up in the liver, which is, I think, the organ that removes all toxins. And wine, I believe, is a toxin.
Or is it? Could it be, a preservative? I should probably find out before the weekend starts.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Dear Nora Ephron
I finally read your book about women and aging, I Feel Bad About My Neck. It's really about you and aging, but that's OK, you have the best perspective. Truth be told, I listened to it. Because I commute to work in the stressful city of Chicago about an hour each day. And I go to the gym. So I have time to listen to books while I'm doing other things.
I laughed out loud a few times; it's been a week or more, so I can't remember exactly what made me laugh. Since then, I've re-"read" the first in the series Barchester Chronicles by Anthony Trollope. And started on Wilkie Collins' The Woman in White. And that, by the way, is thanks to you. I frantically scribbled down some of your favorite books when you talked in your book about how you can lose yourself in books. I was actually surprised that Wilkie Collins was a real person. That doesn't speak well of me I guess, but I thought he was fictional. I finished "reading" a long, long book by Dan Simmons called Drood (I picked that up after "reading" Charles Dickens unfinished book The Mystery of Edwin Drood) and Wilkie Collins was the narrator. But I thought, since Drood is a new book, he was fictional. Wilkie even talked about his book, Woman in White, all through Drood. But for some reason, it didn't hit me that it was a real book and he was a real person.
When you said you loved it, I decided to find it on audio book. It wasn't easy, as it is not available at my local library and I do not want to actually buy audio books. But I found it on Librivox, which offers free audio books in the public domain. I figured if I found you funny, then I would like the books you suggested. The other books you liked which I plan to look into are The Golden Notebook by Doris Lessing, the collected works of Raymond Chandler, John le Carre's Smiley's People (maybe, I'm not big on spy books) and the one you adored The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon.
So, I want to thank you for giving me ideas about books to read. I'm always in search.
But I do have a bone to pick with you. You are in your mid 60s and say you weigh 126 pounds. How is that possible? Are you short? Say, 4'6" or thereabouts. Don't you know that women get fat in menopause? I have finally come to accept that I'm not going to lose weight unless I eat about 1,000 calories a day, and I do not want to do that. Chicago may be the most stressful city in America, but it also has the best food.
My question to you is, Did you get liposuction? You must have. God knows, you have the money. But the whole point of your book, I thought, was to live with the cards aging hands you. You claim (I'm pretty sure) that you didn't want to have a face lift because you didn't want to look like stretched leather. You would have liked a neck lift, but you would have had to get a face lift to get a neck lift and you didn't want that. Liposuction seems unhealthy or at least risky. But if you weigh 126, you got it.
You feel bad about your neck?? I feel really bad about my stomach.
I laughed out loud a few times; it's been a week or more, so I can't remember exactly what made me laugh. Since then, I've re-"read" the first in the series Barchester Chronicles by Anthony Trollope. And started on Wilkie Collins' The Woman in White. And that, by the way, is thanks to you. I frantically scribbled down some of your favorite books when you talked in your book about how you can lose yourself in books. I was actually surprised that Wilkie Collins was a real person. That doesn't speak well of me I guess, but I thought he was fictional. I finished "reading" a long, long book by Dan Simmons called Drood (I picked that up after "reading" Charles Dickens unfinished book The Mystery of Edwin Drood) and Wilkie Collins was the narrator. But I thought, since Drood is a new book, he was fictional. Wilkie even talked about his book, Woman in White, all through Drood. But for some reason, it didn't hit me that it was a real book and he was a real person.
When you said you loved it, I decided to find it on audio book. It wasn't easy, as it is not available at my local library and I do not want to actually buy audio books. But I found it on Librivox, which offers free audio books in the public domain. I figured if I found you funny, then I would like the books you suggested. The other books you liked which I plan to look into are The Golden Notebook by Doris Lessing, the collected works of Raymond Chandler, John le Carre's Smiley's People (maybe, I'm not big on spy books) and the one you adored The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon.
So, I want to thank you for giving me ideas about books to read. I'm always in search.
But I do have a bone to pick with you. You are in your mid 60s and say you weigh 126 pounds. How is that possible? Are you short? Say, 4'6" or thereabouts. Don't you know that women get fat in menopause? I have finally come to accept that I'm not going to lose weight unless I eat about 1,000 calories a day, and I do not want to do that. Chicago may be the most stressful city in America, but it also has the best food.
My question to you is, Did you get liposuction? You must have. God knows, you have the money. But the whole point of your book, I thought, was to live with the cards aging hands you. You claim (I'm pretty sure) that you didn't want to have a face lift because you didn't want to look like stretched leather. You would have liked a neck lift, but you would have had to get a face lift to get a neck lift and you didn't want that. Liposuction seems unhealthy or at least risky. But if you weigh 126, you got it.
You feel bad about your neck?? I feel really bad about my stomach.
Monday, August 24, 2009
I've discovered I'm just a bunch of parts
Sometime, say in your late 40s, you discover you are made of parts. No longer do you consider your body as one whole piece, like Gumby (but graceful). No, you are more like Mr. Potato Head. With lots of different parts that fracture and break. If you have good health insurance, these parts are replaceable, as are Mr. Potato Head's.
Before 40, more likely in your 20s, you glided. Up stairs, down stairs, through halls and rooms full of other 20-year-olds. You flaunted your wholeness, especially to your elders (the 40 year olds). You felt no pain, no soreness. In the morning, you leaped from the bed and into the shower. And you never had to dry between the rolls of fat.
But, then, as you entered your 40s, and more likely toward the end of those years, parts of your body began to revolt. Your knee would hurt one day, your shoulder another. But they traded off. Never did they attack you on the same day. They still respected your youth.
Then comes your 50s. And the pains begin to orchestrate. They stop being polite, one bowing to the other. They all tune up at once: the knees, the ankles, the shoulders, the back, even the thumbs. The glide you once possessed is now a lumber. You grunt when you stand. Getting up from bed is more of a roll and tumble, then a slow unfurling as you limp toward the bathroom. Toweling off after a shower takes soooo much longer.
I am not in my 60s. Or even close. Bob is, and he's doing mostly OK. I do wonder what the 70s and 80s will bring or, I guess I should say, take away.
By then, I suppose I'll be fragile and easily toppled. Like Legos.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
For the Bible tells me so
What do I know about health care reform? Not much. Probably about as much as the average American citizen. I know what my gut tells me (you could even say my heart), and that is that every U.S. citizen should have access to health care. I know that's controversial; and I know if universal health care is realized, it's going to cost me in taxes. But I also know that Jesus did not discriminate when he healed people; often they were poor, blind, a little crazy, and of a different cultural background or race. And he never once asked for an insurance card, though he did require faith.
Two years ago, I went to the doctor's office to have my routine colonoscopy. I turned 50, and I was doing what my doctor told me to do. The exam revealed I had a golf-ball size tumor. Two weeks later, I was in surgery getting seven inches of my descending colon removed. A month after that, I began a six-month regimen of chemotherapy because my tumor was at Stage III; the cancer had seeped into my lymph nodes.
OK, say I lost my job (it's been heard of in this country) and I had no health care. (In reality, I am offered excellent health care through Women of the ELCA.) I would not have known I had cancer until it was far too late because I would not have had a doctor telling me it was time for my colonoscopy. I would have waited until I was doubled over in pain, and then I would have gone to the emergency ward where the hospital would have to treat me at great expense. The financial administrators could try to force me to pay; I could go into deep debt, mortgaging my house, selling my car, forking over my children's college tuition if I had any saved. But in the end, when I just couldn't come up with the $100,000 for surgery and the $22,000 a month for chemotherapy, the hospital is going to pass the expense onto those with insurance. And they are going to pay the bills of the uninsured through higher deductibles or reduced health benefits.
Sen. Teddy Kennedy of Massachusettes, who is wealthy as we all know, wrote a recent Newsweek article about how he has been fighting for universal health care since the 60s. Battling a malignant brain tumor, Kennedy acknowledges that he enjoys the best medical care money and health insurance can buy, but he believes it should be open to everybody. "Quality care shouldn't depend on your financial resources, or the type of job you have, or the medical condition you face. Every American should be able to get the same treatment that U.S. senators are entitled to," he writes in the article.
We, those of us with insurance now, are going to pay anyway. Why not pay up front? The Christian way?
For the Bible tells me so.
(This blog was first posted on the Women of the ELCA blog site.)
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Boo hiss on the blahs
I'm restless. I feel like my life is sitting at a stop light as all other traffic moves around me, rushing and swerving and turning. Going someplace.
It's the end of July and what have I done of consequence this summer? This year? Last year? In 2007, I survived. And I guess, in a sense, I continue to do so. But why do I feel so inert? Is it menopause?
Does menopause manifest itself in malaise just as it shows up as thickness of body?
I'm a fairly happy person, mostly. I looked forward to our recent trip to Milwaukee and Madison. And then it came and went. And my routine returned. Up at six or so, putter till time to leave, drive to work, work at work, drive home from work, go to the gym or ride my bike downstairs or take a walk with the dogs. Off to bed, and it starts all over.
(My blog just posted before I had finished; at least blogger is not inert. Or maybe it was sick of my whining.)
I read this interesting LifeHacker post recently about finding your life's purpose in 20 minutes. A nice drive-through solution. A quick fix for the blahs. I'm sure I'll shake out of this. We all go through this at times; wishing for a more meaningful life, a higher purpose.
I should just be happy with life, period. At least I have it.
(Funny, I just googled blahs and found this: Banish the Blahs. I haven't looked at it, so don't hold me accountable.)
It's the end of July and what have I done of consequence this summer? This year? Last year? In 2007, I survived. And I guess, in a sense, I continue to do so. But why do I feel so inert? Is it menopause?
Does menopause manifest itself in malaise just as it shows up as thickness of body?
I'm a fairly happy person, mostly. I looked forward to our recent trip to Milwaukee and Madison. And then it came and went. And my routine returned. Up at six or so, putter till time to leave, drive to work, work at work, drive home from work, go to the gym or ride my bike downstairs or take a walk with the dogs. Off to bed, and it starts all over.(My blog just posted before I had finished; at least blogger is not inert. Or maybe it was sick of my whining.)
I read this interesting LifeHacker post recently about finding your life's purpose in 20 minutes. A nice drive-through solution. A quick fix for the blahs. I'm sure I'll shake out of this. We all go through this at times; wishing for a more meaningful life, a higher purpose.
I should just be happy with life, period. At least I have it.
(Funny, I just googled blahs and found this: Banish the Blahs. I haven't looked at it, so don't hold me accountable.)
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
I'm famous with the Asbestos people
I don't know who or what Asbestos News is, but I'm very proud to be mentioned on their site as one of the top 50 cancer blogs. I wouldn't have known if Dennis, who commented on the previous post hadn't told me. I'm number 10, not a prime number, which I would prefer, but I guess it's a better position than number 11 (or anything after that).
Ironic too because I haven't posted much lately. I hate to just talk and talk without anything to say. I know too many people who do that (and I won't name names, but you probably have some ideas).
I can tell you a couple of things, one related to cancer and the other not.
I had my blood tested earlier this month and my CEA levels are great! (According to my doctor; don't look on the Web to figure out if your CEA levels are good because if you punch your numbers and CEA levels into a search engine, the news may be frightening. The acceptable levels are so different for different types of cancer. I'm just trusting my doc. So far, he's done right by me.)
The other thing is: I'm desperate for a hair cut. I like my hair nice and short. It's so thick that it takes forever to dry, so short hair is best for me. Plus, I acquired a new curl after chemo. One asymmetrical curl--only on one side of my head. So I need short, short, short hair (even with my ears). Whenever I see women with short hair, I think, "Don't they look so cute." Long hair after 40 is out anyway, according to fashion designer Carolina Herrera. If I grew my hair out, I would look a little like a bowling ball. Which has its advantages if you're attracted to bowlers.
Didn't I promise not to ramble? Heavens.
Ironic too because I haven't posted much lately. I hate to just talk and talk without anything to say. I know too many people who do that (and I won't name names, but you probably have some ideas).
I can tell you a couple of things, one related to cancer and the other not.
I had my blood tested earlier this month and my CEA levels are great! (According to my doctor; don't look on the Web to figure out if your CEA levels are good because if you punch your numbers and CEA levels into a search engine, the news may be frightening. The acceptable levels are so different for different types of cancer. I'm just trusting my doc. So far, he's done right by me.)
The other thing is: I'm desperate for a hair cut. I like my hair nice and short. It's so thick that it takes forever to dry, so short hair is best for me. Plus, I acquired a new curl after chemo. One asymmetrical curl--only on one side of my head. So I need short, short, short hair (even with my ears). Whenever I see women with short hair, I think, "Don't they look so cute." Long hair after 40 is out anyway, according to fashion designer Carolina Herrera. If I grew my hair out, I would look a little like a bowling ball. Which has its advantages if you're attracted to bowlers.
Didn't I promise not to ramble? Heavens.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Requiem for a Blue Spruce
This post has nothing to do with cancer or poop, but it does have something to do with death (not that those all go hand in hand). Earlier this spring, we had to cut down a Blue Spruce, and we were very sad about it. I video taped it, but then my camera died and I couldn't get it to my computer. Thanks to a colleague at work (and also the fact that Canon repaired my camera for free), I now have completed my Tree Funeral video. And here it is.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Oink Off
Here's what I think about this (milquetoast) swine flu business:
At this writing, according to the Centers for Disease Control, the swine flu has killed one American and sickened 109. (By the time you read this, the numbers might have increased or decreased).
Guess what? Figures from the American Cancer Society say that in 2008, about 1,437,180 U.S. citizens were expected to get cancer; and more than half a million of those (565,650) were expected to die.
That's 1,500 people a day.
"Cancer is the second most common cause of death in the U.S., exceeded only by heart disease. In the US, cancer accounts for 1 of every 4 deaths." (ACS)
And some other insights? The older you get, the more likely it is that you could develop cancer.
"Anyone can develop cancer. Since the risk of being diagnosed with cancer increases as individuals age, most cases occur in adults who are middle-aged or older. About 77% of all cancers are diagnosed in persons 55 and older."
And if you don't have insurance (like 46 million Americans and that figure is rising steadily because of this crappy economy), you will likely die.
The National Institutes of Health estimate overall costs of cancer in 2007 at $219.2 billion. (How many bail outs is this, I wonder.)
Come on people. Why don't we start harping on the real issues instead of this swine flu silliness?
To the media who are taking us for a ride: Oink Off!
At this writing, according to the Centers for Disease Control, the swine flu has killed one American and sickened 109. (By the time you read this, the numbers might have increased or decreased).
Guess what? Figures from the American Cancer Society say that in 2008, about 1,437,180 U.S. citizens were expected to get cancer; and more than half a million of those (565,650) were expected to die.
That's 1,500 people a day.
"Cancer is the second most common cause of death in the U.S., exceeded only by heart disease. In the US, cancer accounts for 1 of every 4 deaths." (ACS)
And some other insights? The older you get, the more likely it is that you could develop cancer.
"Anyone can develop cancer. Since the risk of being diagnosed with cancer increases as individuals age, most cases occur in adults who are middle-aged or older. About 77% of all cancers are diagnosed in persons 55 and older."
And if you don't have insurance (like 46 million Americans and that figure is rising steadily because of this crappy economy), you will likely die.
The National Institutes of Health estimate overall costs of cancer in 2007 at $219.2 billion. (How many bail outs is this, I wonder.)
Come on people. Why don't we start harping on the real issues instead of this swine flu silliness?
To the media who are taking us for a ride: Oink Off!
Sunday, April 12, 2009
My resurrection
I just got a Google calendar reminder that my surgery for colon cancer was starting on 4-12-2007. Two years ago today, I had seven inches of my large intestine (or my descending colon; are those the same?) cut out. I didn't know what I was in for, really, at that time. I just knew my doctor said it had to be done.
I was due at the hospital around five or six that morning. When I went to the basement to let the dogs out, Louie had pooped all over the floor. Not a good solid poop either. Was this foreshadowing? Bob and I spent valuable time mopping the basement floor. Not a good start.
Surgery happened, and after, the nurses stuck a needle in my spine for the epidural that would dispense pain relief. For a couple of days, any time I was in pain, I just pushed a button and it went away. But eventually they took that needle away. I thought I had a high pain threshold, so I didn't ask for drugs when I felt a little pain. But then it got worse. When the doctors made their rounds to see me one morning (I say doctors because I was in a teaching hospital), I was wailing.
Man, it hurt. Tears still spring to my eyes when I think about it. I don’t really even remember where the pain was. I just remember it was most definitely there. The nurses gave me something. Morphine? And told me not to wait so long next time. After a few seconds, I felt better.
One day, I got out of the hospital bed and walked. The following day, I knew I needed a shower. Then, I pooped, the function necessary for my release. Finally I went home.
Every Easter from now until my death, I will remember what it feels like to be resurrected.
I was due at the hospital around five or six that morning. When I went to the basement to let the dogs out, Louie had pooped all over the floor. Not a good solid poop either. Was this foreshadowing? Bob and I spent valuable time mopping the basement floor. Not a good start.
Surgery happened, and after, the nurses stuck a needle in my spine for the epidural that would dispense pain relief. For a couple of days, any time I was in pain, I just pushed a button and it went away. But eventually they took that needle away. I thought I had a high pain threshold, so I didn't ask for drugs when I felt a little pain. But then it got worse. When the doctors made their rounds to see me one morning (I say doctors because I was in a teaching hospital), I was wailing.
Man, it hurt. Tears still spring to my eyes when I think about it. I don’t really even remember where the pain was. I just remember it was most definitely there. The nurses gave me something. Morphine? And told me not to wait so long next time. After a few seconds, I felt better.
One day, I got out of the hospital bed and walked. The following day, I knew I needed a shower. Then, I pooped, the function necessary for my release. Finally I went home.
Every Easter from now until my death, I will remember what it feels like to be resurrected.
Friday, March 6, 2009
CAT call
In an effort to be more healthy, I've been eating a lot more fiber lately. In the form of whole grains, vegetables, and fruits. I think we all know what turmoil fiber causes in the gut. I have been having that turmoil. Sharp pains that eventually manifest themselves into various gasses and solids. But not quite quickly enough in my opinion. The week has been rough. This morning I doubled over briefly when a short pang shot through me.
Couple these pains with some of the blogs I've been reading lately about people with Stage III colon cancer and the result is ANXIETY. When you've had cancer, all pain is potentially cancer. A cold is lung cancer; a sore shoulder is bone cancer; fatigue or night sweats mean lymphoma. No matter where the pain is, no matter if there is absolutely no correlation. It *is* cancer. It just is.
So I have been slightly nervous about my upcoming CAT scan. Worried about what it would reveal. But I was also glad to have it, just to get it over with, so I would know and could get on with my life. (Or not.) This morning I had my CAT scan. I drank the murky white liquid at home, the murky berry liquid at the hospital. I think it must be also made of fiber because the results were much the same as if I had eaten a bowl of spinach and nuts.
CAT scans are not painful. I did think carefully about what I would wear. Because they make you strip down to shoes and socks if you have metal on your pants. And unless you wear polyester pull ups, you probably do. So I wore sweat pants and took my work pants, happy that I wouldn't freeze to death in the little waiting room with my black socks and shoes on (and paper-thin hospital gown). But they told me to strip anyway. I pulled up my shirt, showing the nurse I had on sweat pants. She just pointed and said, "Grommet."
Poo. I had thought about my outfit several times during the night when I should have been sleeping.
I figured I wouldn't hear about my CAT scan results until next week during my doctor's appointment. If you get a phone call from the nurse or doctor, it causes fear and trembling.
I got that phone call this afternoon.
The nurse, Pam, said my CAT scan was all clear.
I am not dying, after all.
Couple these pains with some of the blogs I've been reading lately about people with Stage III colon cancer and the result is ANXIETY. When you've had cancer, all pain is potentially cancer. A cold is lung cancer; a sore shoulder is bone cancer; fatigue or night sweats mean lymphoma. No matter where the pain is, no matter if there is absolutely no correlation. It *is* cancer. It just is.
So I have been slightly nervous about my upcoming CAT scan. Worried about what it would reveal. But I was also glad to have it, just to get it over with, so I would know and could get on with my life. (Or not.) This morning I had my CAT scan. I drank the murky white liquid at home, the murky berry liquid at the hospital. I think it must be also made of fiber because the results were much the same as if I had eaten a bowl of spinach and nuts.
CAT scans are not painful. I did think carefully about what I would wear. Because they make you strip down to shoes and socks if you have metal on your pants. And unless you wear polyester pull ups, you probably do. So I wore sweat pants and took my work pants, happy that I wouldn't freeze to death in the little waiting room with my black socks and shoes on (and paper-thin hospital gown). But they told me to strip anyway. I pulled up my shirt, showing the nurse I had on sweat pants. She just pointed and said, "Grommet."
Poo. I had thought about my outfit several times during the night when I should have been sleeping.
I figured I wouldn't hear about my CAT scan results until next week during my doctor's appointment. If you get a phone call from the nurse or doctor, it causes fear and trembling.
I got that phone call this afternoon.
The nurse, Pam, said my CAT scan was all clear.
I am not dying, after all.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Apocalypse now
I have a new apocalypse theory, and here it goes. The world is not going to go out with a big bang, flooded waters, or as a salt lick. We’re going out slowly and painfully. And the downturned economy is going to be our demise. We are going to get poor, then poorer, and finally so deprived that we have nothing. Then we’re going to start killing people for their cars, or their houses, or their wide-screen TVs. Maybe their food. Eventually.
the south of France. They’ll have to sell their cabin resorts all together. And their boats. And their third Humvees. They are going to be in a sorry state.
Just a thought that came to me in the night.
Just a thought that came to me in the night.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Happy 80th Dad!
Today is my dad's 80th birthday. A mile-marker I hope to reach and exceed. For his birthday, all of us kids, grandkids, and great-grandkids got together to make him a birthday video. Well, we didn't get together, but everybody sent clips to me and I put it together. In lieu of us not getting to converge on him in his Florida home, which he would most surely hate, though my mother would most surely love. But it is his birthday after all. Not hers.
The full video is far too big to post to You Tube, this blog, Facebook, or any of the other free social media tools. But I can give you a preview. Featuring, of course, me!
Here you go.
The full video is far too big to post to You Tube, this blog, Facebook, or any of the other free social media tools. But I can give you a preview. Featuring, of course, me!
Here you go.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Hunger pangs
The new year is here and I vow to live a healthier life. No. Really. Last year I ate anything I wanted because I was so relieved I could taste. Chemo clouds taste buds. This year I must watch what I put into my mouth. Considering. Some "foods" could even be dangerous for me.
I have a bunch of candy-loving colleagues. But we are all going to do better. In mid-month, my fellow employees and I are going to begin studying the book, Your Whole Life, ("Don't think thin, think whole . . .") and learn how to live healthily and happily. Certainly we can do both.
I know a big cookie or giant candy bar can be happiness food. But not healthy. A big slab of char-broiled red meat makes me happy, but not healthy. Cheese makes me dance with delight. Wine makes me dance, period. But I'm getting old. And I gotta watch what I put in my mouth. It slides straight down to my hips and thighs. I know living right is about more than just my weight and gait (placing one foot in front of the other instead of lumbering side to side). "Don't think thin, think whole..."
I have been going to the gym since 1993, so I'm doing my exercises. But I can't pop a miniature Three Musketeers bar in my mouth when my brain starts crying, "Chocolate. Chocolate!" And when I'm hungry, I need to reach for something healthy (what!?), not sugary, or cheesy, or wine-y.
I just read an article on Cafe about breaking bad habits. It takes 28 days. (That seems like a long time to crave a Three Musketeers.) I read somewhere else, and I can't remember where, that you just have to have hunger pangs for awhile. Three days maybe. Before your stomach figures out it is not getting food everytime it screams for it.
It is now time to climb into bed and I want food. My head hurts 'cause I feel hungry. But I must think of all the starving children in China. And Sudan. And Darfur. And India, And East Tennessee and downtown Chicago. And be glad I have a bed. A refrigerator. A house. And wait three days until the hunger pangs subside.
I have a bunch of candy-loving colleagues. But we are all going to do better. In mid-month, my fellow employees and I are going to begin studying the book, Your Whole Life, ("Don't think thin, think whole . . .") and learn how to live healthily and happily. Certainly we can do both.
I know a big cookie or giant candy bar can be happiness food. But not healthy. A big slab of char-broiled red meat makes me happy, but not healthy. Cheese makes me dance with delight. Wine makes me dance, period. But I'm getting old. And I gotta watch what I put in my mouth. It slides straight down to my hips and thighs. I know living right is about more than just my weight and gait (placing one foot in front of the other instead of lumbering side to side). "Don't think thin, think whole..."
I have been going to the gym since 1993, so I'm doing my exercises. But I can't pop a miniature Three Musketeers bar in my mouth when my brain starts crying, "Chocolate. Chocolate!" And when I'm hungry, I need to reach for something healthy (what!?), not sugary, or cheesy, or wine-y.
I just read an article on Cafe about breaking bad habits. It takes 28 days. (That seems like a long time to crave a Three Musketeers.) I read somewhere else, and I can't remember where, that you just have to have hunger pangs for awhile. Three days maybe. Before your stomach figures out it is not getting food everytime it screams for it.
It is now time to climb into bed and I want food. My head hurts 'cause I feel hungry. But I must think of all the starving children in China. And Sudan. And Darfur. And India, And East Tennessee and downtown Chicago. And be glad I have a bed. A refrigerator. A house. And wait three days until the hunger pangs subside.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Snore blog
It's 1:12 p.m. on Tuesday, Dec. 22, and we've been told to go home because of the terrible weather. So sad. I took public transportation, so I'm about to pull on my snow boots and walk to the Blue Line, then transfer to the Metra and go home! I might have a nap, read a book, celebrate my upcoming holiday.
We have plans to go to Nashville and see family for a couple of days, not long, just enough time for some hugs. I hope the snow doesn't sabotage our plans. Travel seems precarious in Chicago.
Now, it's 7:46 p.m., and I ain't done nothing. I made it home by about 4. Threw some salt on our sidewalks and took a video so you could see the snow. Now you see why I don't blog much anymore.
Boring. Snoring. Worth ignoring. Speaking of snoring. I had snorers beside me both on my commute to and from work. Loud snorers. Men of course. But there was also a honker. A young woman. Who honked and honked and honked. I began to think she was a Candid Camera plant, her honking and blowing went on for so long. But when I finally looked back at her, she did look pitiful and in a lot of pain. She probably should have stayed home. Her seat mate was staring out the window, trying to look as though he did not belong to her.
We have plans to go to Nashville and see family for a couple of days, not long, just enough time for some hugs. I hope the snow doesn't sabotage our plans. Travel seems precarious in Chicago.
Now, it's 7:46 p.m., and I ain't done nothing. I made it home by about 4. Threw some salt on our sidewalks and took a video so you could see the snow. Now you see why I don't blog much anymore.
Boring. Snoring. Worth ignoring. Speaking of snoring. I had snorers beside me both on my commute to and from work. Loud snorers. Men of course. But there was also a honker. A young woman. Who honked and honked and honked. I began to think she was a Candid Camera plant, her honking and blowing went on for so long. But when I finally looked back at her, she did look pitiful and in a lot of pain. She probably should have stayed home. Her seat mate was staring out the window, trying to look as though he did not belong to her.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Poops away
I would like to direct you to a great blog post about poop. Makes me wish I had children!
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Crossing over to polyester
Last year around this time I was headed to Nashville for my big birthday bash. My mother and sisters in law hosted a party for me because they didn't know if I'd be around another year. But here I am, plump and feisty.
Back then, I fit into all my pants, even ones I had stuffed in the bowels of my closet in hopes of someday getting into again (that thing women do), never thinking chemo would be the diet that worked best for me. This year, those pants and a lot more have been moved to the basement, stuffed into black plastic bags on their way to AmVets or the Salvation Army. I am 52, the age of change. THE change. The one that slows your metabolism to a trickle. The one that means apples and green beans go straight to your hips (and your new pooching belly).
I have crossed over to the world of polyester pants. Stretchy material. Elastic waistbands. I now wear sweat pants out in public because they hang loosely around my thighs. Sometimes they even make me feel skinny. Long ago, I quit tucking my shirts into my pants. I had to reassess everything I wore on the top half of my body. I had to give away the bulky, tuckable shirts and buy the fitted untuckable shirts.
Now, I've moved down to the lower part of my body. I'm tossing out the pants that no longer button; the ones that hug my butt and give me a definable crack. I've moved up a size. My older sister, Jennifer, offered me a brilliant solution. If you don't want to be reminded that you've gone up a size, just cut out the tags.
Problem solved.
Back then, I fit into all my pants, even ones I had stuffed in the bowels of my closet in hopes of someday getting into again (that thing women do), never thinking chemo would be the diet that worked best for me. This year, those pants and a lot more have been moved to the basement, stuffed into black plastic bags on their way to AmVets or the Salvation Army. I am 52, the age of change. THE change. The one that slows your metabolism to a trickle. The one that means apples and green beans go straight to your hips (and your new pooching belly).
I have crossed over to the world of polyester pants. Stretchy material. Elastic waistbands. I now wear sweat pants out in public because they hang loosely around my thighs. Sometimes they even make me feel skinny. Long ago, I quit tucking my shirts into my pants. I had to reassess everything I wore on the top half of my body. I had to give away the bulky, tuckable shirts and buy the fitted untuckable shirts.
Now, I've moved down to the lower part of my body. I'm tossing out the pants that no longer button; the ones that hug my butt and give me a definable crack. I've moved up a size. My older sister, Jennifer, offered me a brilliant solution. If you don't want to be reminded that you've gone up a size, just cut out the tags.
Problem solved.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Let us eat cake
I had a great time in Florida. I went to an excellent development seminar on planned giving that I really enjoyed. I learned a lot. And I will share. Later. With people who care. I met my sister there who also attended the conference (and told me about it). Then we went down to my Mom & Dad's in Fort Myers.
Mom made me a birthday dinner of roast, potatoes and carrots; what we used to have after church every Sunday. And she made my favorite cake: angel food with Lackey fudge icing. I ate three pieces. And I don't plan to weigh this week.
While I was out of town, I learned Bob and my checking account had been "compromised" so we had to shut down our checking account and all of our credit cards and start all over. Because I do my banking online, that was a bit traumatic for me. We'll be straightening that out for awhile. My advice to you: Check your checking account online regularly. That's how Bob found out something was wrong. He wasn't allowed into his own checking account and the bank made him come to the local branch and shut it down.
But this post is to show you my birthday video, taken with my little camera. There is a difference in my birthday this year and my birthday last year. Last year, they threw me a real birthday round-up, and we had a hootin' tootin' time. This year's birthday party with my parents and one sister was delightful. You can see for yourself. (I even had to start my own song; the camera was rolling and I needed some action.)
Mom made me a birthday dinner of roast, potatoes and carrots; what we used to have after church every Sunday. And she made my favorite cake: angel food with Lackey fudge icing. I ate three pieces. And I don't plan to weigh this week.
While I was out of town, I learned Bob and my checking account had been "compromised" so we had to shut down our checking account and all of our credit cards and start all over. Because I do my banking online, that was a bit traumatic for me. We'll be straightening that out for awhile. My advice to you: Check your checking account online regularly. That's how Bob found out something was wrong. He wasn't allowed into his own checking account and the bank made him come to the local branch and shut it down.
But this post is to show you my birthday video, taken with my little camera. There is a difference in my birthday this year and my birthday last year. Last year, they threw me a real birthday round-up, and we had a hootin' tootin' time. This year's birthday party with my parents and one sister was delightful. You can see for yourself. (I even had to start my own song; the camera was rolling and I needed some action.)
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Fabulous Fishing Weekend
Gosh. It's been a month since I posted last. Oh well.
I tried living life like I only have four and a half years to go this past weekend. I went to Kris, Denise, Becky, and Betty's River House for the weekend. Being an introvert and a grump, I find it hard to make myself go places where I will have to be around people I don't know very well for a whole weekend, making nice, smiling, you know. But I went to the River House with seven other people (Denise came up Saturday night); I slept in a tent in a big room with a guy I didn't know well (Oh, he wasn't in the tent; he was safely in another part of the great big room). But he was delightful, everybody was; the trip was a great time, and most importantly, I caught fish! Four. Three little catfish and one junk fish. But, uh. Nobody else did. Deb claims I had the best seat in the boat. OK. Whatever. I'm going to show you the trip, not write about it.
In other news, I have two doctors' appointments on Tuesday, where I will have to weigh. Ack. Then I leave for a conference that evening in Florida. And I will get to see my Mom and Dad and sister, Jennifer. So I better go pack.
Take a look at my videos.
I tried living life like I only have four and a half years to go this past weekend. I went to Kris, Denise, Becky, and Betty's River House for the weekend. Being an introvert and a grump, I find it hard to make myself go places where I will have to be around people I don't know very well for a whole weekend, making nice, smiling, you know. But I went to the River House with seven other people (Denise came up Saturday night); I slept in a tent in a big room with a guy I didn't know well (Oh, he wasn't in the tent; he was safely in another part of the great big room). But he was delightful, everybody was; the trip was a great time, and most importantly, I caught fish! Four. Three little catfish and one junk fish. But, uh. Nobody else did. Deb claims I had the best seat in the boat. OK. Whatever. I'm going to show you the trip, not write about it.
In other news, I have two doctors' appointments on Tuesday, where I will have to weigh. Ack. Then I leave for a conference that evening in Florida. And I will get to see my Mom and Dad and sister, Jennifer. So I better go pack.
Take a look at my videos.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Live it up...sort of
Thanks to Leroy (see below), I have a new philosophy on life. I've decided people should live as if they have four and a half more years of life. I don't believe in "living like this is your last day" because you would do some pretty terrible stuff. Like spend a lot of money or eat a gallon of Breyer's chocolate mint ice cream (after a dozen hot wings). No, living like you have one more day is not safe.
I also don't think you should give yourself just one more year either (as my sister suggested). Because again, it's likely you would do something radical. Like quit your job and live on your savings. Then if you live for forty or fifty more years, you'd need to find another job and save up the money you just spent.
And I don't think you should give yourself five more years because that number is so banal. It doesn't feel real. It seems ignorable. "I've got five more years to live" doesn't move you like saying you have four years and six months more to spend your days on this earth. Six or seven or ten years is too long. You might remain inert (until you only had four and a half more years).
With four and a half more years (or three and a half if that moves you more), you probably wouldn't quit your job or spend all your money because you still have a ways to go. But you might travel more. Or go out with friends more. You might paint your walls bright colors (or better, pay someone to do it). You could give yourself a break and do nothing. Just stay home and read or watch a movie. You might treat people better. Call your Mom more, tell your partner you love him or her. Take your dog for a walk.
Maybe we should try it. See what happens.
I also don't think you should give yourself just one more year either (as my sister suggested). Because again, it's likely you would do something radical. Like quit your job and live on your savings. Then if you live for forty or fifty more years, you'd need to find another job and save up the money you just spent.
And I don't think you should give yourself five more years because that number is so banal. It doesn't feel real. It seems ignorable. "I've got five more years to live" doesn't move you like saying you have four years and six months more to spend your days on this earth. Six or seven or ten years is too long. You might remain inert (until you only had four and a half more years).
With four and a half more years (or three and a half if that moves you more), you probably wouldn't quit your job or spend all your money because you still have a ways to go. But you might travel more. Or go out with friends more. You might paint your walls bright colors (or better, pay someone to do it). You could give yourself a break and do nothing. Just stay home and read or watch a movie. You might treat people better. Call your Mom more, tell your partner you love him or her. Take your dog for a walk.
Maybe we should try it. See what happens.
Monday, August 18, 2008
I'm just a little freaked
Leroy Sievers died over the weekend. You probably haven't heard of him unless you listen to NPR every morning like I do. I haven't heard his voice in a long time. His commentaries were about his cancer and its progression. He also blogged almost daily about his cancer. In fact, now that I think about him, it seems I haven't heard him since before I found out I had cancer. I think I would have paid more attention to his commentaries. Or maybe I didn't know what type of cancer he had.
Nowadays, I always want to know--when I read an obit that says the person died of "cancer"--I want to know exactly what type of cancer killed them. That's far more relevant to me than it was before...
So I looked up Leroy to find out what kind of cancer he had. Turns out he died of cancer in the brain and lung. But guess where it started?
His colon.
He had a "routine colonoscopy" (sound familiar?) and the doctors found cancer. They treated it, and he was cancer-free for four and a half years. Then they discovered cancer in his brain. And two years later he's dead. He was 53.
This scares me.
Nowadays, I always want to know--when I read an obit that says the person died of "cancer"--I want to know exactly what type of cancer killed them. That's far more relevant to me than it was before...
So I looked up Leroy to find out what kind of cancer he had. Turns out he died of cancer in the brain and lung. But guess where it started?
His colon.
He had a "routine colonoscopy" (sound familiar?) and the doctors found cancer. They treated it, and he was cancer-free for four and a half years. Then they discovered cancer in his brain. And two years later he's dead. He was 53.
This scares me.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
I am not dead
Though it may appear so by the amount of blogging I've done lately. I have been busy. I was off to Salt Lake City for a week for work, home to recuperate, and off again next week to Boston and Vermont for vacation. Charles and Nancye Willis, Nashville buddies, are coming to stay at our house and take care of the dogs. It's a great deal for me, and they get a week in Chicago with a car.
I've been trying to diet, and have found a fun (and free) site that lets me count my daily calories. So I've been trying to keep up with what I eat and my exercise. Problem is, just when I get into the groove, I go out of town again where the good food is impossible to resist. I love food so much.
But the point of this blog is to say I am not dead, in fact, I'm quite alive. I visited my oncologist yesterday for a regular check up. And it seems I'm doing G-R-E-A-T. The nurse called me yesterday with my CEA levels, and they are tip-top. Perfect. Which means there is no sign of another lurking tumor. So it looks like I will live.
I never really thought I would die, but then I imagine most people who find out they have cancer don't believe they will die. Humans do seem to have a large capacity for hope. So, why I turned out to be one of the lucky ones, I don't know. My cancer was Stage III, and I think there are only four stages. So I was on the cusp. Do I have some unseen "mission" in life? Now that puts a lot of responsibility on me. But, of course, I could get hit by a car walking across the street. Or in crossfire.
Or of a stroke because of the road rage I get when drivers fail to use their blinkers. Now, that's something I need to offer up. It really is. One of those "Don't fret what you cannot change" things.
Anyway, I see the doctor for four more years. I asked, "How long do I have to come see you?" and he says, "Five years." And I said, "But when did that five years start; not that I don't find you adorable..." And he said, "Five years from when the chemo started." So that's four years. And that's how long I need to make sure I have good health insurance. And even longer, I guess, since I'm only getting older (the result of not dying).
I've been trying to diet, and have found a fun (and free) site that lets me count my daily calories. So I've been trying to keep up with what I eat and my exercise. Problem is, just when I get into the groove, I go out of town again where the good food is impossible to resist. I love food so much.
But the point of this blog is to say I am not dead, in fact, I'm quite alive. I visited my oncologist yesterday for a regular check up. And it seems I'm doing G-R-E-A-T. The nurse called me yesterday with my CEA levels, and they are tip-top. Perfect. Which means there is no sign of another lurking tumor. So it looks like I will live.
I never really thought I would die, but then I imagine most people who find out they have cancer don't believe they will die. Humans do seem to have a large capacity for hope. So, why I turned out to be one of the lucky ones, I don't know. My cancer was Stage III, and I think there are only four stages. So I was on the cusp. Do I have some unseen "mission" in life? Now that puts a lot of responsibility on me. But, of course, I could get hit by a car walking across the street. Or in crossfire.
Or of a stroke because of the road rage I get when drivers fail to use their blinkers. Now, that's something I need to offer up. It really is. One of those "Don't fret what you cannot change" things.
Anyway, I see the doctor for four more years. I asked, "How long do I have to come see you?" and he says, "Five years." And I said, "But when did that five years start; not that I don't find you adorable..." And he said, "Five years from when the chemo started." So that's four years. And that's how long I need to make sure I have good health insurance. And even longer, I guess, since I'm only getting older (the result of not dying).
Friday, July 4, 2008
My sister-in-law, the hero
Mom and Dad were staying at my brother's house a few days. They've been in Nashville a month or so, visiting around with my siblings. They are waiting for a new great-grandson, but he hasn't come yet. So they were planning to head back to Fort Myers on Monday.
Daddy was watching a tennis match at Jimmy and Phyllis' house but wasn't feeling well. He had quadruple bypass surgery a few years ago, so you might think he would know the signs of a heart attack. He and Mom hemmed and hawed about going to the hospital, until Phyllis (who luckily was at home) said, Get in the car, we're going. Dad, like me (or me, like him) is a cheapskate, and will do anything to avoid hospital costs. (Even, incur funeral costs instead, it seems.)
They got to the emergency room, and Phyllis called Jimmy, my brother, from work to come on over. He got there and they all were talking to Dad, doctors in the room, when Jimmy said Daddy jerked and his eyes rolled back in his head. The doctors escorted (shoved) them out of the room quickly. Jimmy said he told Mom, I don't know, I'm not expert, but that might have been it.
A few minutes later, the docs came out and said he's fine and responding well. It seems he flat-lined and they brought him out of it. They said if Dad had been at Jimmy's (who lives very close to the hospital), an ambulance might have been there in time to save him, but chances are he would be "mentally slow" as a result of the loss of oxygen to the brain.
The stars aligned (or however you would like to explain it) and he was in the midst of doctors when he had a heart attack. They took him to the operating room, cleaned out an artery that was filled with "toothpaste-like" substance and put in two stents. And he's OK. Almost good as new.
Jimmy said the first thing Dad said when he woke up out of surgery was: Did I miss the tennis match? And Eric, my nephew, who is expecting a new (Mason) James Lackey at any time, in that very same hospital, wondered aloud if he could sneak the baby's hospital bill onto Daddy's (because their names are nearly the same). A family of cheapskates, God love us.
Thanks Phyllis. Looks like you'll have house guests for a while longer!
(P.S. I'm off to Salt Lake City for the Women of the ELCA's seventh triennial convention and gathering.)
Daddy was watching a tennis match at Jimmy and Phyllis' house but wasn't feeling well. He had quadruple bypass surgery a few years ago, so you might think he would know the signs of a heart attack. He and Mom hemmed and hawed about going to the hospital, until Phyllis (who luckily was at home) said, Get in the car, we're going. Dad, like me (or me, like him) is a cheapskate, and will do anything to avoid hospital costs. (Even, incur funeral costs instead, it seems.)
They got to the emergency room, and Phyllis called Jimmy, my brother, from work to come on over. He got there and they all were talking to Dad, doctors in the room, when Jimmy said Daddy jerked and his eyes rolled back in his head. The doctors escorted (shoved) them out of the room quickly. Jimmy said he told Mom, I don't know, I'm not expert, but that might have been it.
A few minutes later, the docs came out and said he's fine and responding well. It seems he flat-lined and they brought him out of it. They said if Dad had been at Jimmy's (who lives very close to the hospital), an ambulance might have been there in time to save him, but chances are he would be "mentally slow" as a result of the loss of oxygen to the brain.
The stars aligned (or however you would like to explain it) and he was in the midst of doctors when he had a heart attack. They took him to the operating room, cleaned out an artery that was filled with "toothpaste-like" substance and put in two stents. And he's OK. Almost good as new.
Jimmy said the first thing Dad said when he woke up out of surgery was: Did I miss the tennis match? And Eric, my nephew, who is expecting a new (Mason) James Lackey at any time, in that very same hospital, wondered aloud if he could sneak the baby's hospital bill onto Daddy's (because their names are nearly the same). A family of cheapskates, God love us.
Thanks Phyllis. Looks like you'll have house guests for a while longer!
(P.S. I'm off to Salt Lake City for the Women of the ELCA's seventh triennial convention and gathering.)
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Painful disbelief
I was distressed greatly by an entry I read on my nephew's blog this morning. From it, I gather that he feels there is no shortage of oil, and that the rise in oil costs is a big game that oil speculators (whoever they are) are playing to . . . what? He doesn't say. Scare Americans? (Can you say Code Orange?) Line their pockets? What?
An articulate writer, my nephew believes that these "artificially inflated" prices will eventually correct themselves, and living in America will be a Utopian experience. (As long as you don't charge anything on your credit cards; he works for the financial counselor Dave Ramsey.)
An actual quote from his blog is: "In the meantime, don't fall victim to the fuel efficient car trap."
I don't know if my nephew has ever driven in Europe where gas is sold by the liter (about a quart) because that makes the prices look lower. You don't see many SUVs in Europe because they've been paying exorbitant fuel costs for years and years. The cars are tiny over there as they should be. I'm sure Europeans would be delighted to learn that when they wake up tomorrow, fuel prices will have plummeted (because the economy has corrected itself).
From a May 2008 Time magazine article:
"Across the European Union, the average cost of a gallon of gas runs to about $8.70 — more than twice what Americans are shelling out to fill up. And Europe's dizzying fuel costs would be even worse if it weren't for the considerable appreciation of the euro and the British pound against the dollar over the past year, which has partially offset the price escalation in dollar-traded oil." [That $8.70 would be about $17 out of our pocket if we visited Europe today.]
I am appalled that anyone would believe that we have an unlimited supply of natural resources on this earth and that we can use them up without regard for future generations. Maybe my nephew believes that Jesus will come again before we have to worry about our fuel supplies, but he has a baby on the way and I can't imagine that he doesn't consider the future of his child.
One of the points he makes is that he doesn't think people should rush out and buy fuel efficient cars just because of the current oil crisis, thereby sustaining new debt. Because he works for Ramsey, I would expect him to say that. Fine, don't rush out and get into debt buying a fuel efficient car. If you don't already own one (and why wouldn't you?), make a small or hybrid or clean diesel car your next purchase. When you buy a new car, buy one that doesn't guzzle this earth's natural resources.
What would Jesus do? He would walk.
An articulate writer, my nephew believes that these "artificially inflated" prices will eventually correct themselves, and living in America will be a Utopian experience. (As long as you don't charge anything on your credit cards; he works for the financial counselor Dave Ramsey.)
An actual quote from his blog is: "In the meantime, don't fall victim to the fuel efficient car trap."
I don't know if my nephew has ever driven in Europe where gas is sold by the liter (about a quart) because that makes the prices look lower. You don't see many SUVs in Europe because they've been paying exorbitant fuel costs for years and years. The cars are tiny over there as they should be. I'm sure Europeans would be delighted to learn that when they wake up tomorrow, fuel prices will have plummeted (because the economy has corrected itself).
From a May 2008 Time magazine article:
"Across the European Union, the average cost of a gallon of gas runs to about $8.70 — more than twice what Americans are shelling out to fill up. And Europe's dizzying fuel costs would be even worse if it weren't for the considerable appreciation of the euro and the British pound against the dollar over the past year, which has partially offset the price escalation in dollar-traded oil." [That $8.70 would be about $17 out of our pocket if we visited Europe today.]
I am appalled that anyone would believe that we have an unlimited supply of natural resources on this earth and that we can use them up without regard for future generations. Maybe my nephew believes that Jesus will come again before we have to worry about our fuel supplies, but he has a baby on the way and I can't imagine that he doesn't consider the future of his child.
One of the points he makes is that he doesn't think people should rush out and buy fuel efficient cars just because of the current oil crisis, thereby sustaining new debt. Because he works for Ramsey, I would expect him to say that. Fine, don't rush out and get into debt buying a fuel efficient car. If you don't already own one (and why wouldn't you?), make a small or hybrid or clean diesel car your next purchase. When you buy a new car, buy one that doesn't guzzle this earth's natural resources.
What would Jesus do? He would walk.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Meat and three
Saturday, Bob and I flew into Nashville for one day to attend St. Ann's 150th anniversary celebration. As a priest that "came out" of that parish, Bob was invited to process. I found a Southwest ticket for $49 each way and decided to go with him. We woke at 4:30 a.m. to make our 7:30 a.m. flight. Got there, rented a car, and just made it in time for the 10 a.m. service. Which was held in a tent on the parking lot. It was hot as hell. At least 95 degrees and sweltering. A normal Nashville day. It was a nostalgic event. We saw a lot of our old friends and reminisced about the 1998 tornado that destroyed the church.
We ate lunch at the Gerst Haus where they serve beer in frozen "fishbowls." Yum, I needed that.
We drove around our old East Nashville neighborhood and by our old house on Russell Street, my dog park, and then headed toward the airport. The Nashville airport has been renovated. You actually wouldn't even have to leave the airport to "see" Nashville. It has a Tootsie's Orchid Lounge and Swett's restaurant--a meat and three.
The whole point of this blog is to show my friends a photo of a m
eat and three. They just don't seem to understand what a meat and three is. When I tell them what I miss most about Nashville (besides my friends, of course), it is the restaurant that offers a meat and three vegetables (or two or four). You don't even have to get the meat, you can just order the vegetables. And you can add a good ole Southern dessert to that too.
Chicago has no vegetables. You can't walk into a restaurant and
sit down for a good home (like) cooked meal. I miss my Southern vegetables. No wonder I never learned to cook. I grew up in Nashville where you could get a great meal for under $5. (It might be about $7 or $8 now.)
Speaking of tornadoes, our flight was diverted because of them. We were expected to be home about 6 p.m., but we didn't make it until 9. Luckily, our neighbor was home when I called her and she gave our dogs a bite to eat.
Click on those photos if you want your mouth to water.
Regardless of what I said in my previous post, you just can't take the Southern out of the gal.
We ate lunch at the Gerst Haus where they serve beer in frozen "fishbowls." Yum, I needed that.
We drove around our old East Nashville neighborhood and by our old house on Russell Street, my dog park, and then headed toward the airport. The Nashville airport has been renovated. You actually wouldn't even have to leave the airport to "see" Nashville. It has a Tootsie's Orchid Lounge and Swett's restaurant--a meat and three.
The whole point of this blog is to show my friends a photo of a m
eat and three. They just don't seem to understand what a meat and three is. When I tell them what I miss most about Nashville (besides my friends, of course), it is the restaurant that offers a meat and three vegetables (or two or four). You don't even have to get the meat, you can just order the vegetables. And you can add a good ole Southern dessert to that too.Chicago has no vegetables. You can't walk into a restaurant and
sit down for a good home (like) cooked meal. I miss my Southern vegetables. No wonder I never learned to cook. I grew up in Nashville where you could get a great meal for under $5. (It might be about $7 or $8 now.)Speaking of tornadoes, our flight was diverted because of them. We were expected to be home about 6 p.m., but we didn't make it until 9. Luckily, our neighbor was home when I called her and she gave our dogs a bite to eat.
Click on those photos if you want your mouth to water.
Regardless of what I said in my previous post, you just can't take the Southern out of the gal.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Elevator speech
I’ve decided today (or really a week or so ago) that my Southern-ness is slowly oozing out of me. When I get in an elevator with just one other person now, I no longer feel that I must carry on a conversation with him/her. I just stand there, staring at the buttons or the door or the floor. If they start the conversation, then I will happily join in. I have no trouble holding my own. But my compulsion toward idle chat seems no longer necessary. At least in an elevator.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Annoying hairs
Not only have I gained about 10 (to 15) pounds since stopping chemo, which makes my pants very hard to pull up over my thighs and button around my middle, I seem to be growing hairs on my face. I add the weight and the face hair to my growing list of either chemo or age-related side effects, which includes a new and severe curl on the right side of my head.
I have long reveled in the joy of not really having to trim a mustache like my sister (I won't say which one) has to do. She says she has to; I never really see hair growing out of her face, but that's probably because she catches it before it's braid-able. As we age, women have to use magnifying mirrors to put on our makeup, penciling the eyeliner straight across our wrinkly eyelids, hoping the amount of blush we put on does not make people want to honk our noses.
This magnifying mirror comes with many disadvantages. It shows all. I have a large magnifying mirror and a tiny 10X one suctioned to it for the above stated purposes. The large 5X one merely allows me to apply base makeup. The 10X is for details. I had laser surgery (lasik) on my eyeballs several years ago, which makes the seeing up close problem even worse. Blind people can take off their glasses and see fine up close. I, however, am up to about 225 on the reading glasses scale.
This 10X mirror is showing me that I am growing a beard and mustache. Now it's not a heavy black beard, but that's only a matter of time, I'm sure. My biggest fear is when I'm in the nursing home and my long hairs grow and grow because I have no children to diligently pluck them out every week. Having children might have advantages when you reach a certain old age. My other nursing home fear is, of course, about the bathroom. The aides will either set me down and watch and wait, in which case, I'll never be able to go. Or they will leave me there for hours, forgetting about me through breakfast and lunch. I think I would prefer that. At least I would be on the toilet as my diuretics take effect.
Back to the hairs. These hairs are also growing out of my nose. (Am I making myself sound attractive?) I'm plucking and cutting now, but I guess I'll have to move to waxing. Does this mean that I will forever be in the clutches of a waxing parlor, always looking for one when I'm on international trips or long domestic vacations. You've heard of the new Web site for locating bathrooms? I might start one for waxing parlors.
The question is: is this all about menopause? My mother can't remember much about it so I have no one to inform me about its perils.
Aren't women lucky? No wonder we ate the damn apple. We deserved it. (And we were Starving!)
I have long reveled in the joy of not really having to trim a mustache like my sister (I won't say which one) has to do. She says she has to; I never really see hair growing out of her face, but that's probably because she catches it before it's braid-able. As we age, women have to use magnifying mirrors to put on our makeup, penciling the eyeliner straight across our wrinkly eyelids, hoping the amount of blush we put on does not make people want to honk our noses.
This magnifying mirror comes with many disadvantages. It shows all. I have a large magnifying mirror and a tiny 10X one suctioned to it for the above stated purposes. The large 5X one merely allows me to apply base makeup. The 10X is for details. I had laser surgery (lasik) on my eyeballs several years ago, which makes the seeing up close problem even worse. Blind people can take off their glasses and see fine up close. I, however, am up to about 225 on the reading glasses scale.
This 10X mirror is showing me that I am growing a beard and mustache. Now it's not a heavy black beard, but that's only a matter of time, I'm sure. My biggest fear is when I'm in the nursing home and my long hairs grow and grow because I have no children to diligently pluck them out every week. Having children might have advantages when you reach a certain old age. My other nursing home fear is, of course, about the bathroom. The aides will either set me down and watch and wait, in which case, I'll never be able to go. Or they will leave me there for hours, forgetting about me through breakfast and lunch. I think I would prefer that. At least I would be on the toilet as my diuretics take effect.
Back to the hairs. These hairs are also growing out of my nose. (Am I making myself sound attractive?) I'm plucking and cutting now, but I guess I'll have to move to waxing. Does this mean that I will forever be in the clutches of a waxing parlor, always looking for one when I'm on international trips or long domestic vacations. You've heard of the new Web site for locating bathrooms? I might start one for waxing parlors.
The question is: is this all about menopause? My mother can't remember much about it so I have no one to inform me about its perils.
Aren't women lucky? No wonder we ate the damn apple. We deserved it. (And we were Starving!)
Thursday, May 1, 2008
It's May Day
in Chicago, and around the world, for that matter. I'm not sure what May Day means in most places, but in Chicago it means: MAYbe it won't snow anymore after today. Please God, don't let it snow anymore here until November at least. It snowed here earlier this week, on Monday. It didn't stick, of course, but here I was, at work, and I looked out my window and the snow was coming down furiously. I had to write my family about that, since all of them live south of here. It makes them think twice before coming to visit.
Oh. My colonoscopy was clear. Nothing there. I was (sort of) awake and was able to watch for the most part. First time I had one, I was totally out. Maybe they gassed me good when they saw cancer so they could talk about it without me hearing. But this time I watched as they traveled down my colon. I think I heard them trying to find the suture lines from my surgery when my colon was cut apart and stapled back together. But as far as I can tell in my foggy state, they never found it. So I'd say that was good.
And for my fat report: I'm gaining about a pound a day. No matter if I only have soup. Every day, I get on the scale, and I weigh a pound more than the day before. I'm freaking out about that. I've been starving to death lately. Every two hours my stomach trumpets: feed me. Feed me! FEED ME!! And so I do. I drink plenty of water, all day long, so it's not just thirst like some of the fat journals claim. I think it might be a hormonal spike or something menopausal. I'm not sure. I think the hourly hunger pains are beginning to subside. If anyone has any insight, please give it to me. The fun part of cancer was being skinny (relatively speaking) for a while. But that's over and I love food again.
Love, love, love it.
Oh. My colonoscopy was clear. Nothing there. I was (sort of) awake and was able to watch for the most part. First time I had one, I was totally out. Maybe they gassed me good when they saw cancer so they could talk about it without me hearing. But this time I watched as they traveled down my colon. I think I heard them trying to find the suture lines from my surgery when my colon was cut apart and stapled back together. But as far as I can tell in my foggy state, they never found it. So I'd say that was good.
And for my fat report: I'm gaining about a pound a day. No matter if I only have soup. Every day, I get on the scale, and I weigh a pound more than the day before. I'm freaking out about that. I've been starving to death lately. Every two hours my stomach trumpets: feed me. Feed me! FEED ME!! And so I do. I drink plenty of water, all day long, so it's not just thirst like some of the fat journals claim. I think it might be a hormonal spike or something menopausal. I'm not sure. I think the hourly hunger pains are beginning to subside. If anyone has any insight, please give it to me. The fun part of cancer was being skinny (relatively speaking) for a while. But that's over and I love food again.
Love, love, love it.
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