Well, I'm back behind the Zion Curtain again waiting for Wednesday when I jet set off to Oz. My husband and I actually got packed for our 2 week adventure on Saturday. This is officially the earliest I've ever packed for a trip in my life. I realized for the millionth time why I am grateful I married this man when he thought of random details like taking photo copies of our passports just in case, checking into our abroad health insurance coverage, etc. These are things that just don't cross my mind.
We packed while listening to a lot of Midnight Oil. As J would say, "What's not to like about a tall white guy who can't dance?" He's referring to Peter Jaret who is the lead singer and if you've ever seen him in concert, he looks like he's having a grand mal on stage. I didn't realize this, but Peter actually broke up the band to pursue his political career. That is something I can respect considering that their songs are so politically motivated.
Edgar had a few mishaps on his flight over here. For one, I followed Delta's guidelines for flying an animal (even though we were flying Frontier). I taped an extra bag of food to his crate just in case, as it is advised. I packed about 6 cups thinking that it would also serve as a nice blend/introduction to whatever my mom is feeding her dogs these days while minimizing GI issues. When Edgar and I were reunited I noticed his bed was a bit wet. Then I noticed that his food bag only had 3/4 c. left. Then I noticed a note that read: I gave Edgar the rest of his food and some water. He is a very nice dog. Fernando, Denver Ramp. Holy cow! Edgar only eats 1c., 2x a day!! I even woke up at 2:30 AM to give him that cup before our flight knowing that he couldn't eat right before. This means that Edgar ate approximately 8 cups of food in less than 24 hours or so. Holy GI issues from hell.
To say that the dog was bloated was an understatement. Then the poor guy got into a scuffle with a Great Dane. The Dane belonged to one of our Sunday night dinner guests and she was beautiful! I just know that her owner is dying a thousand deaths, but truly these things happen. It was all over a tennis ball. At any rate, I missed Sunday night dinner and landed in the Pet ER about 7:00 PM. Over $180 later, Edgar has the top of his skull shaved and a nice crusty scab where he was gouged. He now was a sleepy, GI distressed, sedated, PTSD, Frankendog with a horrible case of the hot farts and involuntary bowel issues. It was quite the night.
This morning he seems to be back to normal and enduring his new nicknames of "Scarhead," "Frankendog," "Head-wound Bubba," and "Patch." I'm off to see "The Jerry" for my hair appointment to correct whatever he sees fit that the other scissor wielding bastards in Indy did to my mane. Then I'm off to see the puppies who seem to resemble more dog like form than other embriologic entity by now.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Friday, November 9, 2007
Horse and Buggy Parking Here
Well, the scan turned out to show no growth encroaching on anything of big importance (read: optic nerve is not crushed requiring barbaric surgery through your nose and sinus cavity to your brain). Two words only suffice here: Thank God.
In the meantime, my doc said she was just chalking up my recent episode to a migraine gone haywire. I now have enough narcotics in my medicine cabinet that could knock out a small army.
To celebrate the recent bout of I-promise-I'm-really-not-a-crazy-person-medical-event, I'm making a batch of butternut squash soup. Some would go out on the town and drink bad tequila until they thought they loved everyone in the bar, but I think my poor liver has had enough with all of the Tylenol over the past week. Yup, I do happiness with soup.
While I was out buying my provisions, I went into Trader Joes and saw something that you don't see everyday. A flock of Amish in Trader Joes. The women were in their bonnets, black dresses, knitted sweater shawls, etc. They were loading up on the Joe Joe cookies, tasty salsa, and ground meat. They then loaded it up into their PT Cruiser complete with a vanity license plate of Godz4U. It was quite the distracting sight.
In the meantime, my doc said she was just chalking up my recent episode to a migraine gone haywire. I now have enough narcotics in my medicine cabinet that could knock out a small army.
To celebrate the recent bout of I-promise-I'm-really-not-a-crazy-person-medical-event, I'm making a batch of butternut squash soup. Some would go out on the town and drink bad tequila until they thought they loved everyone in the bar, but I think my poor liver has had enough with all of the Tylenol over the past week. Yup, I do happiness with soup.
While I was out buying my provisions, I went into Trader Joes and saw something that you don't see everyday. A flock of Amish in Trader Joes. The women were in their bonnets, black dresses, knitted sweater shawls, etc. They were loading up on the Joe Joe cookies, tasty salsa, and ground meat. They then loaded it up into their PT Cruiser complete with a vanity license plate of Godz4U. It was quite the distracting sight.
Monday, November 5, 2007
Waiting for Guffman, My Version
About 7 years ago I broke up with He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named and decided that a good insurance policy for unnecessary painful rebound relationships would be to get off of birth control. No need to add any more hormones to the mix when I didn't need them. My doc thought this was a great plan since I had been on them since I was 15. Yup, it was time to see what my system would do. My system did nothing.
Most females (and males) would rejoice in this news and so I didn't seek any treatment for about 4 months. I suppose I wrote it off as a side benefit/self-regulation issue, etc. That is until I began to have tons of swelling at my ankles, gained 40 pounds, and had insomnia. At that time, I finally went back to the doc who put me through a bunch of progesterone withdrawal tests without any success. Essentially this meant that I had little to no estrogen in my system. My internal medicine doc referred me to a gynecologist.
The gynecologist ran me through more tests and ordered a CT scan of my head. Nothing showed and he referred me to an endocrinologist. By now it is 2002. The endocrinologist decided to test my hypothalamus (mission control for the pituitary) which rendered as non-functioning. He then ordered a MRI of my brain. The scan showed that a small mass less than a centimeter thick was causing the problem: I had a pituitary microadenoma.
I will admit I went completely around HIPAA and wrote a release for my own radiology report for them to fax to the hospital as I wasn't going to wait a week while he finished his vacation. I discovered I had the tumor on my own, which sucked by the way and I wouldn't advocate for anyone else to do what I did. Eventually, that doc wasn't really certain what to do so he referred me back to the gynecologist who suggested I went back on hormone replacement therapy of birth control. I fired them both and found an amazing endocrinologist, Dr. Grua.
Dr. Grua is a great guy who drew diagrams to help explain what the body did and how mine was malfunctioning. He said my thyroid was borderline low and tried me out on some Levoxil. Wouldn't you know, I dropped my weight, the edema went away, and my reproductive cycle became as functional and predictable as clockwork. What was even better is that my husband was one of my best friends through the whole deal and we weren't even dating yet.
Here we are 5 years later and everything has been going along quite snazzy in my life. I have a great life. I'm married, I have an amazing dog, 2 great houses (with mortgage payments to prove them), a nice car, great jobs, etc. Then, I began to wrestle with headaches last Monday. The kind of stabbing pain behind your eyes where the thought of your eyeballs popping out of your skull sounds more pleasant than keeping them in your head. I dosed myself with Advil up the wazoo until my husband pointed out that headaches should not last a week. Huh. Ok, he had a point. By Friday I managed to go to the doctor for his sake and for my own piece of mind to get through the weekend. After all, the pain was a bit worse and I hate the emergency room.
My internal med doc, who is also fantastic, thought she might start out by treating it as a migraine gone BAD. She gave me scripts for two narcotics and a migraine formulary. Over the weekend I noticed a few things: 1) My pain control sucked, 2) Reading made it worse, 3) Cold compresses helped, 4) Nausea had the chicken or the egg problem (pain or meds causing it?) By Sunday night I knew I had bought myself another co-pay for yet another office visit and a trip to radiology to get my head spun in the MRI.
I showed up today in the docs office and promptly barfed all over the room. This was preceded by her stating, "It seems that I always see you when you look so miserable." I answered her with retching. Nice. That was followed by me apologizing. The office staff was more than accommodating, but still I was horrified. You will remember that my last office visit I passed out and won a week of heart monitoring and a whole lot of drama. I drove myself and didn't have anyone to come pick me up, but they gave me an injection of anti nausea meds, put the trash can near the exam table and let me rest for an hour before waking me to let me know I had an emergent appointment for the head scan.
If you have never had a head scan: Don't. First they give you ear plugs, then they put you in a claustrophobic Hannibal Lecter mask, then they put you in a small tube with loud noises for over an hour. I managed to make it to the pharmacy for yet stronger pain meds, steroids, and another formulary for migraine headaches. I'm finally home.
My doc just called:
"Hello?"
"Oh, thank God you are home! This is Dr. So and So. I got home and just remembered that I never checked on you and realized you could still be sleeping in room 4! But you did make it home!"
"Yup. I even made it to the pharmacy."
"Good! Good! Oh, thank God! I actually thought about admitting you with your husband being out of town or else driving you home myself after I had picked up my kids and then I forgot all about you! I'm so sorry! Ok, well, I'm off tomorrow, but we'll have your results Wednesday. If you need anything, have my office page me! I'm certain you want to take some pain meds. You sound like you need to take some pain meds. Ok, well, hang in there!"
Now I wait. Its like deja vu all over again with this waiting stuff. I'll keep you posted on how things go.
Most females (and males) would rejoice in this news and so I didn't seek any treatment for about 4 months. I suppose I wrote it off as a side benefit/self-regulation issue, etc. That is until I began to have tons of swelling at my ankles, gained 40 pounds, and had insomnia. At that time, I finally went back to the doc who put me through a bunch of progesterone withdrawal tests without any success. Essentially this meant that I had little to no estrogen in my system. My internal medicine doc referred me to a gynecologist.
The gynecologist ran me through more tests and ordered a CT scan of my head. Nothing showed and he referred me to an endocrinologist. By now it is 2002. The endocrinologist decided to test my hypothalamus (mission control for the pituitary) which rendered as non-functioning. He then ordered a MRI of my brain. The scan showed that a small mass less than a centimeter thick was causing the problem: I had a pituitary microadenoma.
I will admit I went completely around HIPAA and wrote a release for my own radiology report for them to fax to the hospital as I wasn't going to wait a week while he finished his vacation. I discovered I had the tumor on my own, which sucked by the way and I wouldn't advocate for anyone else to do what I did. Eventually, that doc wasn't really certain what to do so he referred me back to the gynecologist who suggested I went back on hormone replacement therapy of birth control. I fired them both and found an amazing endocrinologist, Dr. Grua.
Dr. Grua is a great guy who drew diagrams to help explain what the body did and how mine was malfunctioning. He said my thyroid was borderline low and tried me out on some Levoxil. Wouldn't you know, I dropped my weight, the edema went away, and my reproductive cycle became as functional and predictable as clockwork. What was even better is that my husband was one of my best friends through the whole deal and we weren't even dating yet.
Here we are 5 years later and everything has been going along quite snazzy in my life. I have a great life. I'm married, I have an amazing dog, 2 great houses (with mortgage payments to prove them), a nice car, great jobs, etc. Then, I began to wrestle with headaches last Monday. The kind of stabbing pain behind your eyes where the thought of your eyeballs popping out of your skull sounds more pleasant than keeping them in your head. I dosed myself with Advil up the wazoo until my husband pointed out that headaches should not last a week. Huh. Ok, he had a point. By Friday I managed to go to the doctor for his sake and for my own piece of mind to get through the weekend. After all, the pain was a bit worse and I hate the emergency room.
My internal med doc, who is also fantastic, thought she might start out by treating it as a migraine gone BAD. She gave me scripts for two narcotics and a migraine formulary. Over the weekend I noticed a few things: 1) My pain control sucked, 2) Reading made it worse, 3) Cold compresses helped, 4) Nausea had the chicken or the egg problem (pain or meds causing it?) By Sunday night I knew I had bought myself another co-pay for yet another office visit and a trip to radiology to get my head spun in the MRI.
I showed up today in the docs office and promptly barfed all over the room. This was preceded by her stating, "It seems that I always see you when you look so miserable." I answered her with retching. Nice. That was followed by me apologizing. The office staff was more than accommodating, but still I was horrified. You will remember that my last office visit I passed out and won a week of heart monitoring and a whole lot of drama. I drove myself and didn't have anyone to come pick me up, but they gave me an injection of anti nausea meds, put the trash can near the exam table and let me rest for an hour before waking me to let me know I had an emergent appointment for the head scan.
If you have never had a head scan: Don't. First they give you ear plugs, then they put you in a claustrophobic Hannibal Lecter mask, then they put you in a small tube with loud noises for over an hour. I managed to make it to the pharmacy for yet stronger pain meds, steroids, and another formulary for migraine headaches. I'm finally home.
My doc just called:
"Hello?"
"Oh, thank God you are home! This is Dr. So and So. I got home and just remembered that I never checked on you and realized you could still be sleeping in room 4! But you did make it home!"
"Yup. I even made it to the pharmacy."
"Good! Good! Oh, thank God! I actually thought about admitting you with your husband being out of town or else driving you home myself after I had picked up my kids and then I forgot all about you! I'm so sorry! Ok, well, I'm off tomorrow, but we'll have your results Wednesday. If you need anything, have my office page me! I'm certain you want to take some pain meds. You sound like you need to take some pain meds. Ok, well, hang in there!"
Now I wait. Its like deja vu all over again with this waiting stuff. I'll keep you posted on how things go.
Monday, October 29, 2007
"Of All the Charlie Browns, You're the Browniest"
Last night J and I sat down to watch "Its The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown." Yes, we own it. Correction: J owned it, now that we're married I own it by proxy. He has quite a few collections of childhood favorites from boxed sets a la Costco. Not a surprise, really. Come Christmas, we'll be watching the old claymation of Rudolph as well. Our future kids will love it.
As we finished the beloved classic, we found another Charlie Brown special on the DVD: "You Are Not Elected, Charlie Brown." I can't say I remember this one being aired on television so we watched it. I thought it might be Charles Shultz's attempt to get kiddos involved in their government. Well, kind of. Linus is running for student body president in this one. However, Linus only gets put on the ballot after Charlie Brown's pre-poll numbers are dismal. You can imagine that Snoopy gets in charge of the signs and Lucy is the campaign manager. What an obscure topic for a cartoon special. I began to wonder what other Charlie Brown specials existed on our DVD boxed set.
Wouldn't you know, he did an Arbor Day special. I don't remember this at all. Its on the Easter Beagle special (again, never seen) DVD. That one hasn't been opened yet, but perhaps I will crack the plastic seal just to see what Mr. Shultz had to say about a National holiday dedicated to trees.
I also found another special dedicated to the Mayflower attached to the Thanksgiving special. Haven't seen this one either, but my guess is Mr. Shultz decided to leave out the gory details of our first settlers and ill attempts of establishing colonies. He'll probably just end it with the Native Americans bringing corn and other side dishes to the first Thanksgiving and like all good hosts, the settlers will take care of the main dish of turkey.
I began to wonder why Mr. Shultz did not do a special on the 4th of July. He was a very patriotic gentleman from The Greatest Generation (coined from Mr. Brokaw), so it would make sense that he would have done something. Alas, in our Complete Holiday Collection of Peanuts, not one single 4th of July special exists, nor do I remember one. Rather odd for a man to do something to Arbor Day but not Independence Day, if I do say so myself. However it got me thinking about other holiday specials he left out.
1) If not a 4th of July, then why not a "Its a Great Flag Day, Charlie Brown"? The Peanuts gang could find a library Flag in ruins and then discover how to properly take care of our Nations treasure (also then teaching the young kids that it is Unpatriotic to make any clothing of the flag, depict any flag bumper stickers, etc...it is only meant to be flying during the day in good weather.) Yes, this is what my stint in Girls State sponsored by the American Legion taught me.
2) "Happy Columbus Day, Charlie Brown" Don't have a plot worked out for this one yet.
3) "A Classic Memorial Day, Charlie Brown" This could be paired with "Its the Veteran Beagle, Charlie Brown." I think this would pair well with Snoopy's delusions of being a World War Flying Ace.
4) "Its Boxing Day, Charlie Brown" (He was from Minnesota and I would like to believe he would pay homage to our great neighbors of the north.)
5) "Presidents as our Forefathers, Linus" Lets face it, Linus would be the only Peanuts character to pontificate upon the true meaning of Presidents day and Charlie Brown would just be left home from the skiing trip. Rats.
6) "Its Martin Luther King, Jr Day, Charlie Brown" This would have to be hosted by Franklin, the only non-White Peanuts character, which was quite a controversy back when Mr. Shultz was first illustrating.
7) "Lucy's Labor Day" She could be the bully sweatshop owner who was taught a lesson.
8) "Its Grandparents Day, Charlie Brown" Finally he could give something back for inviting Peppermint Patty, Marcie, et al to his grandmothers unannounced for Thanksgiving.
9) "Its the Chinese New Year Beagle-Dragon!" You can see where I'm going with this one, but they could introduce a new character of ethnic decent.
Both J and I were hoping for the other Charlie Brown specials we remembered through childhood like the summer camp special, the spelling bee special, and the bon voyage special where they end up in France sleeping in the barn and Snoopy drinks root beer at the local tavern. This is the closest thing to celebrating Bastille Day that I could find. We don't own these nor do we know where they exist in boxed sets.
As we finished the beloved classic, we found another Charlie Brown special on the DVD: "You Are Not Elected, Charlie Brown." I can't say I remember this one being aired on television so we watched it. I thought it might be Charles Shultz's attempt to get kiddos involved in their government. Well, kind of. Linus is running for student body president in this one. However, Linus only gets put on the ballot after Charlie Brown's pre-poll numbers are dismal. You can imagine that Snoopy gets in charge of the signs and Lucy is the campaign manager. What an obscure topic for a cartoon special. I began to wonder what other Charlie Brown specials existed on our DVD boxed set.
Wouldn't you know, he did an Arbor Day special. I don't remember this at all. Its on the Easter Beagle special (again, never seen) DVD. That one hasn't been opened yet, but perhaps I will crack the plastic seal just to see what Mr. Shultz had to say about a National holiday dedicated to trees.
I also found another special dedicated to the Mayflower attached to the Thanksgiving special. Haven't seen this one either, but my guess is Mr. Shultz decided to leave out the gory details of our first settlers and ill attempts of establishing colonies. He'll probably just end it with the Native Americans bringing corn and other side dishes to the first Thanksgiving and like all good hosts, the settlers will take care of the main dish of turkey.
I began to wonder why Mr. Shultz did not do a special on the 4th of July. He was a very patriotic gentleman from The Greatest Generation (coined from Mr. Brokaw), so it would make sense that he would have done something. Alas, in our Complete Holiday Collection of Peanuts, not one single 4th of July special exists, nor do I remember one. Rather odd for a man to do something to Arbor Day but not Independence Day, if I do say so myself. However it got me thinking about other holiday specials he left out.
1) If not a 4th of July, then why not a "Its a Great Flag Day, Charlie Brown"? The Peanuts gang could find a library Flag in ruins and then discover how to properly take care of our Nations treasure (also then teaching the young kids that it is Unpatriotic to make any clothing of the flag, depict any flag bumper stickers, etc...it is only meant to be flying during the day in good weather.) Yes, this is what my stint in Girls State sponsored by the American Legion taught me.
2) "Happy Columbus Day, Charlie Brown" Don't have a plot worked out for this one yet.
3) "A Classic Memorial Day, Charlie Brown" This could be paired with "Its the Veteran Beagle, Charlie Brown." I think this would pair well with Snoopy's delusions of being a World War Flying Ace.
4) "Its Boxing Day, Charlie Brown" (He was from Minnesota and I would like to believe he would pay homage to our great neighbors of the north.)
5) "Presidents as our Forefathers, Linus" Lets face it, Linus would be the only Peanuts character to pontificate upon the true meaning of Presidents day and Charlie Brown would just be left home from the skiing trip. Rats.
6) "Its Martin Luther King, Jr Day, Charlie Brown" This would have to be hosted by Franklin, the only non-White Peanuts character, which was quite a controversy back when Mr. Shultz was first illustrating.
7) "Lucy's Labor Day" She could be the bully sweatshop owner who was taught a lesson.
8) "Its Grandparents Day, Charlie Brown" Finally he could give something back for inviting Peppermint Patty, Marcie, et al to his grandmothers unannounced for Thanksgiving.
9) "Its the Chinese New Year Beagle-Dragon!" You can see where I'm going with this one, but they could introduce a new character of ethnic decent.
Both J and I were hoping for the other Charlie Brown specials we remembered through childhood like the summer camp special, the spelling bee special, and the bon voyage special where they end up in France sleeping in the barn and Snoopy drinks root beer at the local tavern. This is the closest thing to celebrating Bastille Day that I could find. We don't own these nor do we know where they exist in boxed sets.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Ironic
Last night I had a networking meeting at a local organization that specialized in eating disorders. I checked in with the nurse at the front desk and explained I was there for a meeting when she said, "Dr. So and So will be right with you." Uh, well ok. It began to sound like I was there for an appointment. I managed to sit down among the other people in the waiting room (only one looking like her BMI was about 12) and started to busy myself with the magazines. Only thoughtful magazines like "Newsweek" and "Fishing Enthusiast" really existed. Yup, no "People" or other fun fashion mags existed with beautiful people, understandably.
Another consultant from our organization came in and identified herself to the nurse and was given the same response. While I just sat there, she actually corrected her. "No, I'm here for a meeting, not an appointment."
The nurse said, "Uh huh. And the doctor will be with you shortly." This consultant actually left the office to reexamine the sign on the window identifying the business, as if to double check. When she came in I finally put her out of her misery and identified myself so she didn't feel so awkward. Funny thing, she noticed the same thing that I did.
"Where are all of the fun magazines like, "Elle," and "People?"" Ok, she actually said this aloud. In front of the size 0.5 sitting across from us who was actually reading "Time." I could have corrected her, but I just shrugged my shoulders as if I didn't have a clue.
Our CEO came in with another consultant and finally the doctor came to gather our group. We were given a tour of the building and then brought to the Art Therapy room for a slide show. Yes, a slide show. This was the strangest networking meeting I think I've ever had. The doctor began to treat it like a Grand Rounds at a hospital. She gave her credentials, some stats, and then went into diagnostic indicators for different eating disorders.
I actually learned quite a bit from this lady. For example I had no idea there was a non-purging type of bulimia. As she was going through the information my stomach began to growl. Not just some little noises. I mean GROWL. I apologized stating that I had missed lunch. Ok, here is the ironic part: the next slide was all about how "missing" meals is a sign of bulimia. I began to giggle. Yes, there were a few eyes on me at this point in time. The doctor was not amused and asked what was so funny. I think she thought I was making fun of eating disorders. Instead of explaining I apologized and asked her to continue. Of all the days I didn't get lunch, this would happen.
She talked about how they have this great interdisciplinary staff and how hard it is to find a dietitian who doesn't actually have an eating disorder them self. Never really thought of it, but I could see how that would be a problem. Finally at the end of the presentation the doctor gave us folders of marketing material. I'm surprised after her talk about denial/precontemplation being part of the stages of change, hearing my stomach protest, and admitting I missed lunch that she didn't give me her card as well.
We finally left the agency and adjourned to a local bar and grille for staff meeting. We all joked that we could go binge now, especially for those of us who had missed lunch.
Another consultant from our organization came in and identified herself to the nurse and was given the same response. While I just sat there, she actually corrected her. "No, I'm here for a meeting, not an appointment."
The nurse said, "Uh huh. And the doctor will be with you shortly." This consultant actually left the office to reexamine the sign on the window identifying the business, as if to double check. When she came in I finally put her out of her misery and identified myself so she didn't feel so awkward. Funny thing, she noticed the same thing that I did.
"Where are all of the fun magazines like, "Elle," and "People?"" Ok, she actually said this aloud. In front of the size 0.5 sitting across from us who was actually reading "Time." I could have corrected her, but I just shrugged my shoulders as if I didn't have a clue.
Our CEO came in with another consultant and finally the doctor came to gather our group. We were given a tour of the building and then brought to the Art Therapy room for a slide show. Yes, a slide show. This was the strangest networking meeting I think I've ever had. The doctor began to treat it like a Grand Rounds at a hospital. She gave her credentials, some stats, and then went into diagnostic indicators for different eating disorders.
I actually learned quite a bit from this lady. For example I had no idea there was a non-purging type of bulimia. As she was going through the information my stomach began to growl. Not just some little noises. I mean GROWL. I apologized stating that I had missed lunch. Ok, here is the ironic part: the next slide was all about how "missing" meals is a sign of bulimia. I began to giggle. Yes, there were a few eyes on me at this point in time. The doctor was not amused and asked what was so funny. I think she thought I was making fun of eating disorders. Instead of explaining I apologized and asked her to continue. Of all the days I didn't get lunch, this would happen.
She talked about how they have this great interdisciplinary staff and how hard it is to find a dietitian who doesn't actually have an eating disorder them self. Never really thought of it, but I could see how that would be a problem. Finally at the end of the presentation the doctor gave us folders of marketing material. I'm surprised after her talk about denial/precontemplation being part of the stages of change, hearing my stomach protest, and admitting I missed lunch that she didn't give me her card as well.
We finally left the agency and adjourned to a local bar and grille for staff meeting. We all joked that we could go binge now, especially for those of us who had missed lunch.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
We put the "fun" in dysfunctional
If you've been a reader of my blog for a number of years, you know that my family does things in their own way. I prefer to label it as "style." At one point in time I bought a very cute card that a grade school child wrote. The cover of the card said, "I wish our family would quit pretending we are normal." I haven't had the heart to use it because I just plain like it too much. My family embraces and celebrates the fact that we aren't normal.
Last night I had the urge to call my Mom. There were a number of things that I wanted to talk with her about, but my sense of urgency was a bit odd. I called cell phones, home lines, etc until finally my father answered. He let me know that Mom was "rushing Ginny to the hospital" and "it could be the end." Now, my father has a flair for the dramatic (although I was always labeled the drama queen, I must have learned it from somewhere). This tendency has gotten more pronounced with Chuckles has he's gotten older. I actually find it rather endearing and charming. However, I was a bit freaked out (understandably).
Ginny is THE matriarch. She is one of my living legends of how to approach life. She's no-nonsense, takes things as they are, and always has the tag line of "If you don't want to know, don't ask me." Its kind of a disclaimer statement for whatever is going to follow out of her mouth. She is the grandmother who taught me how to play poker, how to appreciate herb gardens, stray animals, homemade jam and quilts, and how to make a mean martini. Whenever my cousins and I were fighting she would simply say, "Hey, you two, knock it off," and you knew she meant business. Many family disputes got resolved with that one line. She was also the only relative who had enough balls to ask me how the sex was with my husband....in front of the family...at the dinner table. She wasn't doing it to embarress me. She was genuinely interested.
As Chuckles depicted the picture of doom and gloom, I immediately called my Mom who was now just getting pissed she had to keep leaving the ER to go answer her cell phone. She was worried because it looked like "death had warmed over" (never really knew what the hell that phrase meant) and they asked about advanced directives. Ok, well if that was what was so concerning I felt immediately better. 1) All hospitals are required by JCAHO to ask about advance directives upon admission, 2) Ginny's primary care doc is a gerontologist and if she isn't asking, then I'd have a bigger problem, and 3) they weren't rushing her to the ICU, then its a good sign. At this point in time I had other family members text me worried about Ginny and I was trying to give them the info.
I'll admit, I sobbed a bit once I got off the phone with Mom simply because I'm not ready for Ginny to die. Yes, she has COPD. Yes, I know its progressive. But, dammit, I'm still not ready. The woman is quick as a whip and as spicy as a pepper. As I was doing a brief Internet airfare search it also dawned on me that Pop, my grandfather, died on October 23rd just a few years back. I hate anniversaries as they have a bit of a strange psychic connection for repeating patterns.
Dad called me again about an hour later "going crazy because he hasn't heard from your mother" - also known as his wife. Mom called a bit later, quite happy. Turns out Ginny was admitted to the floor, was given some steroids, decided that the oxygen mask was obnoxious and took it off, was much more comfortable, etc. (J remarked that medical noncompliance and stubborn rebellion obviously runs in the family.)
My cousins had shown up to the hospital with items ready for a cocktail party. They brought good gin, olives, and snackies. This really isn't unusual behavior for our family. When Pop was in his last two days, the females of our clan (Ginny, aunt, mom, cousins, me) all went to lunch but brought our own bottles of wine plus met up the morning of his death to have cheap Bloody Marys, a signature thing of Pop. He used to buy cheap vodka and put it into empty expensive vodka bottles when entertaining.
However, I will say that as a medical person I do understand how a cocktail party in a hospital room seems a bit uncouth. We also had a cocktail party when Ginny pulled her back out moving pots and was admitted to the hospital. (Ok, just as I typed this I realized this is exactly what I did back in May and then last week...perhaps J is right about that stubborn rebellion.) While Ginny declined a good Bombay martini, everyone else had a nice time once she was admitted. I have to say, I was a bit jealous and sad I wasn't there. If I had the money, I would simply buy a plane ticket just to go join the hospital cocktail parties.
The "style" I'm referring to really reminds me of the Ya Ya Sisterhood book where a good Bloody Mary was a remedy at any life crisis. Yes, its dysfunctional, but its also our family and I wouldn't trade it for the world.
Last night I had the urge to call my Mom. There were a number of things that I wanted to talk with her about, but my sense of urgency was a bit odd. I called cell phones, home lines, etc until finally my father answered. He let me know that Mom was "rushing Ginny to the hospital" and "it could be the end." Now, my father has a flair for the dramatic (although I was always labeled the drama queen, I must have learned it from somewhere). This tendency has gotten more pronounced with Chuckles has he's gotten older. I actually find it rather endearing and charming. However, I was a bit freaked out (understandably).
Ginny is THE matriarch. She is one of my living legends of how to approach life. She's no-nonsense, takes things as they are, and always has the tag line of "If you don't want to know, don't ask me." Its kind of a disclaimer statement for whatever is going to follow out of her mouth. She is the grandmother who taught me how to play poker, how to appreciate herb gardens, stray animals, homemade jam and quilts, and how to make a mean martini. Whenever my cousins and I were fighting she would simply say, "Hey, you two, knock it off," and you knew she meant business. Many family disputes got resolved with that one line. She was also the only relative who had enough balls to ask me how the sex was with my husband....in front of the family...at the dinner table. She wasn't doing it to embarress me. She was genuinely interested.
As Chuckles depicted the picture of doom and gloom, I immediately called my Mom who was now just getting pissed she had to keep leaving the ER to go answer her cell phone. She was worried because it looked like "death had warmed over" (never really knew what the hell that phrase meant) and they asked about advanced directives. Ok, well if that was what was so concerning I felt immediately better. 1) All hospitals are required by JCAHO to ask about advance directives upon admission, 2) Ginny's primary care doc is a gerontologist and if she isn't asking, then I'd have a bigger problem, and 3) they weren't rushing her to the ICU, then its a good sign. At this point in time I had other family members text me worried about Ginny and I was trying to give them the info.
I'll admit, I sobbed a bit once I got off the phone with Mom simply because I'm not ready for Ginny to die. Yes, she has COPD. Yes, I know its progressive. But, dammit, I'm still not ready. The woman is quick as a whip and as spicy as a pepper. As I was doing a brief Internet airfare search it also dawned on me that Pop, my grandfather, died on October 23rd just a few years back. I hate anniversaries as they have a bit of a strange psychic connection for repeating patterns.
Dad called me again about an hour later "going crazy because he hasn't heard from your mother" - also known as his wife. Mom called a bit later, quite happy. Turns out Ginny was admitted to the floor, was given some steroids, decided that the oxygen mask was obnoxious and took it off, was much more comfortable, etc. (J remarked that medical noncompliance and stubborn rebellion obviously runs in the family.)
My cousins had shown up to the hospital with items ready for a cocktail party. They brought good gin, olives, and snackies. This really isn't unusual behavior for our family. When Pop was in his last two days, the females of our clan (Ginny, aunt, mom, cousins, me) all went to lunch but brought our own bottles of wine plus met up the morning of his death to have cheap Bloody Marys, a signature thing of Pop. He used to buy cheap vodka and put it into empty expensive vodka bottles when entertaining.
However, I will say that as a medical person I do understand how a cocktail party in a hospital room seems a bit uncouth. We also had a cocktail party when Ginny pulled her back out moving pots and was admitted to the hospital. (Ok, just as I typed this I realized this is exactly what I did back in May and then last week...perhaps J is right about that stubborn rebellion.) While Ginny declined a good Bombay martini, everyone else had a nice time once she was admitted. I have to say, I was a bit jealous and sad I wasn't there. If I had the money, I would simply buy a plane ticket just to go join the hospital cocktail parties.
The "style" I'm referring to really reminds me of the Ya Ya Sisterhood book where a good Bloody Mary was a remedy at any life crisis. Yes, its dysfunctional, but its also our family and I wouldn't trade it for the world.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Progress = Pain?
So what I can say is that the railings look amazing! We finished sanding, primed the suckers, and then laid down the first coat of the drab gray to match the cape cod shingle paint of the house. It took us 7 hours to do it, but like I said, they look amazing! Just in time for the rain to hit tonight.
The bad part is I pulled out my back. Again. Today I was supposed to have spent the morning working in the hospital and then the afternoon with 5 clients. I can't even lift my feet to walk it hurts so much. Sitting is excruciating. And so now I'm back (pun intended) on Vicodin - very lucid, mind you which says something about the pain factor - and lying flat in bed with my knees propped up. Even after taking the Vicodin, I'm still in huge amounts of pain.
I actually tried to go to work this morning. See, that's the thing: when you love your job(s), you really want to be there. My husband watched me attempt to sit at the table for breakfast (while propping myself up with my arms) and smirked. He asked if I really thought I would be able to make it through the day. I thought of me attempting to do therapy while I was lying on the couch in the office, knees propped up, heating pad, and perhaps a ton of Advil on board. Sure, that part could be do-able, although perhaps not very therapeutic to the client. I wouldn't do therapy while on pain pills as that would be extremely unethical. I began to think how I could do my hair without getting in the shower (as that would require me to lift my feet over the tub). The fact that I was considering doing a sponge bath as a work-around, well, that faulty problem solving (although creative) was the final straw that screamed, "You need to call in to work!"
I have a really packed work week ahead of me. This was not the way I wanted to start out. I am very concerned about how I will appear to my peers and bosses. That is one big issue I thought I would get over as I got older: caring about what others think of you. The second issue I have is being limited. I have always been a person to just push through unpleasantness and accomplish anything I put my mind to.
This worked when I was an athlete...until I blew out my knees, but even in my recovery I pushed through it to build strength. Although I probably also developed really bad accommodation skills for my knee pain and now have herniated discs in my back. My husband asked if I was in pain yesterday and when did I recognize it. I remember sucking on my lips to the point that they were chapped and had to go find lip balm around 2:00 PM, but I didn't really register pain until we were finished about 7:00. How I blocked it until then, I'll never know. Although I did have a therapist once tell me that I need to listen to my inner voice a bit more. Cleaning up was brutal.
Then I decided to vacuum. I kind of figured that if I was going to be in pain, I may as well have a clean carpet vs. all of the leaves and dirt tracked in during the deck process. And, I didn't want to inconvenience my husband by asking him to do it because it was bothering me, not him, so I shouldn't put my values onto him. (As I'm typing this I realize how stupid and stubborn it sounds, but it really was my thought pattern last night.)
I'm completely frustrated with my limitations. I just don't believe they should exist and that they are all in my head somehow. I'm not kidding. Last night as I was really starting to recognize the extent of my pain I began to think, "Holy cow its a good thing I don't have a toddler right now because I couldn't pick them up or even a baby right now." See? I do think ahead, but I'm still pretty pissed that my back is in pain and I don't think it has a right to do this. I also start to get scared about the pain meds. Granted, I really need them right now but I get afraid I will get dependent upon them or become an addict. I don't ever ever want to be dependent upon any substance whatsoever.
Taking them and still being in pain makes me wonder about how we, as society, view pain.
Do we really deserve to be 100% out of pain? Isn't pain just part of living? Even the stupid pain scale is subjective. My 8 could be another person's 4. Its all relative and perception is reality. Pain serves a function. I guess my first trick is learning how to recognize it when its still small and doing something about it...which means, accepting my limits and not pushing through it. However, in my mind, that still feels like a failure.
The bad part is I pulled out my back. Again. Today I was supposed to have spent the morning working in the hospital and then the afternoon with 5 clients. I can't even lift my feet to walk it hurts so much. Sitting is excruciating. And so now I'm back (pun intended) on Vicodin - very lucid, mind you which says something about the pain factor - and lying flat in bed with my knees propped up. Even after taking the Vicodin, I'm still in huge amounts of pain.
I actually tried to go to work this morning. See, that's the thing: when you love your job(s), you really want to be there. My husband watched me attempt to sit at the table for breakfast (while propping myself up with my arms) and smirked. He asked if I really thought I would be able to make it through the day. I thought of me attempting to do therapy while I was lying on the couch in the office, knees propped up, heating pad, and perhaps a ton of Advil on board. Sure, that part could be do-able, although perhaps not very therapeutic to the client. I wouldn't do therapy while on pain pills as that would be extremely unethical. I began to think how I could do my hair without getting in the shower (as that would require me to lift my feet over the tub). The fact that I was considering doing a sponge bath as a work-around, well, that faulty problem solving (although creative) was the final straw that screamed, "You need to call in to work!"
I have a really packed work week ahead of me. This was not the way I wanted to start out. I am very concerned about how I will appear to my peers and bosses. That is one big issue I thought I would get over as I got older: caring about what others think of you. The second issue I have is being limited. I have always been a person to just push through unpleasantness and accomplish anything I put my mind to.
This worked when I was an athlete...until I blew out my knees, but even in my recovery I pushed through it to build strength. Although I probably also developed really bad accommodation skills for my knee pain and now have herniated discs in my back. My husband asked if I was in pain yesterday and when did I recognize it. I remember sucking on my lips to the point that they were chapped and had to go find lip balm around 2:00 PM, but I didn't really register pain until we were finished about 7:00. How I blocked it until then, I'll never know. Although I did have a therapist once tell me that I need to listen to my inner voice a bit more. Cleaning up was brutal.
Then I decided to vacuum. I kind of figured that if I was going to be in pain, I may as well have a clean carpet vs. all of the leaves and dirt tracked in during the deck process. And, I didn't want to inconvenience my husband by asking him to do it because it was bothering me, not him, so I shouldn't put my values onto him. (As I'm typing this I realize how stupid and stubborn it sounds, but it really was my thought pattern last night.)
I'm completely frustrated with my limitations. I just don't believe they should exist and that they are all in my head somehow. I'm not kidding. Last night as I was really starting to recognize the extent of my pain I began to think, "Holy cow its a good thing I don't have a toddler right now because I couldn't pick them up or even a baby right now." See? I do think ahead, but I'm still pretty pissed that my back is in pain and I don't think it has a right to do this. I also start to get scared about the pain meds. Granted, I really need them right now but I get afraid I will get dependent upon them or become an addict. I don't ever ever want to be dependent upon any substance whatsoever.
Taking them and still being in pain makes me wonder about how we, as society, view pain.
Do we really deserve to be 100% out of pain? Isn't pain just part of living? Even the stupid pain scale is subjective. My 8 could be another person's 4. Its all relative and perception is reality. Pain serves a function. I guess my first trick is learning how to recognize it when its still small and doing something about it...which means, accepting my limits and not pushing through it. However, in my mind, that still feels like a failure.
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