I've been hesitant about posting this on Facebook. I've told very few people about the specifics of what's going on with me right now, but word does get around and I'm finding that I'm having the same conversation over and over. I really appreciate people wanting to know how I am, but that repetition is has been draining. Facebook has become my primary point of contact with many people, so it's the most logical place to talk about this.
I've spent the last several years keeping very much to myself physically and emotionally, not necessarily for the best of reasons initially, but I have, in many ways become quite a rock. Isolation has many wonderful lessons to offer when taken in moderation. But things are going on now that are leaving me weak in the knees, and I can't be and don't want to be a hermit anymore. Comfort, support and hugs are quite welcome.
Remember my thyroid surgery back in October? The thing that I've been dancing around is that, 10 days after the surgery, I received a call from the surgeon telling me that, after my excised thyroid was sent to pathology, a big surprise was found: a very large follicular carcinoma. Thyroid cancer.
Several despair filled weeks later, I met with my new endocrinologist, and he explained things in detail. Follicular thyroid cancer is considered just about as treatable as the more common papillary cancer. The difference is that follicular is more aggressive. It is angio-invasive, meaning that it spreads through blood vessels rather than through the lymphatic system. While my chest x-ray, CT scan and MRI showed that my lungs were clean, he did point out that the large size of the tumor opened up the very real possibility of there being microscopic metastases in my lungs. At least I know the score, and knowing really IS half the battle because that knowledge made me relax and stop despairing.
To make a long story short, I'm in the process of preparing for my body scan to determine the extent of the spread (if any). I went off of Levoxyl a few days ago and started on Cytomel, a fast acting, short-lived thyroid hormone replacement. In two weeks, I stop all thyroid medication all together. For two weeks. At the same time, I am to eat a very low iodine diet. I have a whole set of guidelines that I need to follow. The goal is to deprive all remaining thyroid tissue in my body (and what is this cancer but more thyroid tissue) of iodine so that they greedily soak up the thyro-destructive radioactive variant.
(I "accidentally" went on the diet a few weeks ago and realized that it's actually pretty easy. The only big issue for me was coffee creamer (those 300 calorie cups of coconut milk in my coffee have let an impact!). I found truly non-dairy creamer at the kosher grocery the other day. It doesn't taste half bad and will allow me to enjoy my caffeine vehicles all the better.)
January 5th, I report to Nuclear Medicine and receive a tracer dose of iodine. The next day, I come back for my full body scan. This is the day I fear the most because that's when we find out the extent of the spread. The next day, I come back for the ablative dose of Iodine-131. The dosage is dependent on what the body scan reveals. I take the pills and then rush home, where I am to be locked away for about a week. I will be quite radioactive and a danger to people close to me. I even have to keep the cats locked away. During this time, I will be as hypothyroid as you can get, so life will be pretty miserable. At least I'll have a lovely glow.
I do find it amusing that this has all come to be even after I've spent the last few years working so hard to make myself healthy. I quit smoking. I lost 80lbs. I became an avid cyclist, hiker, explorer. I learned to love the feel of sweat pouring down my face and the pounding of my heart in my chest. I loved being outdoors, wind in my face, the sun in my eyes and me as happy as I had ever been. I made the Summer of 2009 the best summer of my entire life, because I really lived it.
Here's the thing: this situation sucks. Hard. In the bad way. I have no idea how things are going to turn out. But it's funny how a life threatening situation helps to reprioritize your life. I always thought it trite, but every day, I grow to appreciate sunshine more and more. The feel of wind and rain on my face. The look on a stranger's face when they realize that you are smiling at them. Hell, just smiling is pretty great, and I'm doing it more and more. I'm getting out, meeting people, making friends and it feels wonderful. My social phobias are completely gone. I'm more confident than I have ever been. I'm awesome and it's great. Whether or not I beat this, I'm alive and healthy -right now-, and I'm making sure to take advantage of it while I can.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Monday, November 16, 2009
Healing
The surgery is about 4 weeks gone, and I'm thinking that the surgeon, along with my thyroid, decided to remove my clock chip as well, because I have absolutely no sense of the passage of time.
I'm healing up well; the scar is getting a touch puckered from the subdermal stitches. I can move my head in all directions but extreme up. That's ok; there's nothing worthwhile on the high shelves anyway.
4 weeks. Crazy. Week one was pure recovery and pain relief. They gave me a buttload of morphine, but I only took one; the side effects just weren't worth it, so I chose to abuse my liver with acetaminophen instead. It worked out just as well, but with less nausea.
Week two started off with me desperate to get home, but a dead car battery left me stranded. My brother took me home the next day, and the day after, he got the car started, and I took the T over. Driving was unpleasant, but it was good to have my freedom back. I had my home, my car and a healthy appetite, and all there was to do was heal up and find a job. I started getting calls from recruiters, but my voice was a wreck. I had a phone interview that I had to cancel because I had no voice. Ah well.
About 11 days after the surgery, I received a call regarding the pathology results. Let's just say that it was less than stellar.
The day after I got the call, I had a face to face interview in Burlington. I met with 5 different people. Each one was desperately curious about what my old company did, so I spent the first 10 minutes of each meeting discussing cancer research. Yay, just what I want to be talking about. Needless to say, I totally and utterly bombed that interview.
Fast forward - met with my new, highly recommended endocrinologist last Monday who explained the treatment plan. After laying everything out, he stated that if I were his own brother, this is the treatment plan he would put him through. Great!
But he never said whether he actually LIKES his brother.
As of yesterday, I've been on a low iodine diet in prep for the radioactive iodine. The goal is to starve any remaining thyroid cells in my body so that they suck up the radioactive stuff, poisoning them and causing an untimely (for them) demise. Poor thyroid cells. Oh wait, on second though, die, you little bastards, die!
Now, if you've ever had a specific dietary limitation, you know just how difficult shopping can be. Shopping for no/low iodine foods just sucks! No dairy, mainly because the dairy industry cleans teats with iodine and a significant amount gets into the foods supply (which is generally OK because the vast majority of the population needs the iodine supplement to avoid goiters and other thyroid issues). Anything prepared with salt is suspect because there's no way to be sure that the salt is iodized. Anything from the sea is out, including sea salt, carageenan and other kelp derivatives. No soy products. No egg yolks. No milk chocolate. No non-dairy creamer. Limited meats and grains.
I was feeling OK about the diet in general until I realized: no creamer? Black tea and coffee?? EW! So I looked into rice milk - every brand contains sea salt. ARGH! Then, it occurred to me - coconut milk is creamy! So, later, I try coffee or tea with coconut milk. I hope it's not gross.
So, in two weeks, I take my first (and hopefully last) dose of Iodine-131. The half-life is 8 days. I can't be around kids, and I can't sleep with my cats OR sleep with my cats, so they get locked away in the living room. I can't sit in a car with anyone for over 30 minutes or spend time in a room for more than an hour. I shit you not, spending too much time with me will possibly give you cancer (I'm pretty sure that's been said of me before ;)
I can't say what the future will bring. No matter what comes, I have to live today, so there's no sense in burying my head in the sand. So, here's to living in interesting times.
I'm healing up well; the scar is getting a touch puckered from the subdermal stitches. I can move my head in all directions but extreme up. That's ok; there's nothing worthwhile on the high shelves anyway.
4 weeks. Crazy. Week one was pure recovery and pain relief. They gave me a buttload of morphine, but I only took one; the side effects just weren't worth it, so I chose to abuse my liver with acetaminophen instead. It worked out just as well, but with less nausea.
Week two started off with me desperate to get home, but a dead car battery left me stranded. My brother took me home the next day, and the day after, he got the car started, and I took the T over. Driving was unpleasant, but it was good to have my freedom back. I had my home, my car and a healthy appetite, and all there was to do was heal up and find a job. I started getting calls from recruiters, but my voice was a wreck. I had a phone interview that I had to cancel because I had no voice. Ah well.
About 11 days after the surgery, I received a call regarding the pathology results. Let's just say that it was less than stellar.
The day after I got the call, I had a face to face interview in Burlington. I met with 5 different people. Each one was desperately curious about what my old company did, so I spent the first 10 minutes of each meeting discussing cancer research. Yay, just what I want to be talking about. Needless to say, I totally and utterly bombed that interview.
Fast forward - met with my new, highly recommended endocrinologist last Monday who explained the treatment plan. After laying everything out, he stated that if I were his own brother, this is the treatment plan he would put him through. Great!
But he never said whether he actually LIKES his brother.
As of yesterday, I've been on a low iodine diet in prep for the radioactive iodine. The goal is to starve any remaining thyroid cells in my body so that they suck up the radioactive stuff, poisoning them and causing an untimely (for them) demise. Poor thyroid cells. Oh wait, on second though, die, you little bastards, die!
Now, if you've ever had a specific dietary limitation, you know just how difficult shopping can be. Shopping for no/low iodine foods just sucks! No dairy, mainly because the dairy industry cleans teats with iodine and a significant amount gets into the foods supply (which is generally OK because the vast majority of the population needs the iodine supplement to avoid goiters and other thyroid issues). Anything prepared with salt is suspect because there's no way to be sure that the salt is iodized. Anything from the sea is out, including sea salt, carageenan and other kelp derivatives. No soy products. No egg yolks. No milk chocolate. No non-dairy creamer. Limited meats and grains.
I was feeling OK about the diet in general until I realized: no creamer? Black tea and coffee?? EW! So I looked into rice milk - every brand contains sea salt. ARGH! Then, it occurred to me - coconut milk is creamy! So, later, I try coffee or tea with coconut milk. I hope it's not gross.
So, in two weeks, I take my first (and hopefully last) dose of Iodine-131. The half-life is 8 days. I can't be around kids, and I can't sleep with my cats OR sleep with my cats, so they get locked away in the living room. I can't sit in a car with anyone for over 30 minutes or spend time in a room for more than an hour. I shit you not, spending too much time with me will possibly give you cancer (I'm pretty sure that's been said of me before ;)
I can't say what the future will bring. No matter what comes, I have to live today, so there's no sense in burying my head in the sand. So, here's to living in interesting times.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Live from the BI ICU!
Ow. Groggy, hurty. but wow can I breathe. I'm told there was a bleeding issue and I lost a half a liter of blood on the table. The surgeon, who does tons of thyroidectomies, said this was one of the most difficult he had ever done.
Apparently they shaved my chest in preparation for going through my sternum. Thanks for not having to do that Doc
Your thyroid is tiny, a delicate little butterfly nestled in your throat. Mine was compared to nearly 2 full 1 liter IV bags. Wow.
I haven't had food since 9pm monday and water since 11:30pm Monday. Suxor. Ice chips are heaven.
Depending on how I do overnight I should be released tomorrow, but I may be here another day.
Now for sleep. It's been a long day.
P.s. Foley catheter? Not freaking cool. Just because there's a hole doesn't mean a tube needs to be shoved up it.
Apparently they shaved my chest in preparation for going through my sternum. Thanks for not having to do that Doc
Your thyroid is tiny, a delicate little butterfly nestled in your throat. Mine was compared to nearly 2 full 1 liter IV bags. Wow.
I haven't had food since 9pm monday and water since 11:30pm Monday. Suxor. Ice chips are heaven.
Depending on how I do overnight I should be released tomorrow, but I may be here another day.
Now for sleep. It's been a long day.
P.s. Foley catheter? Not freaking cool. Just because there's a hole doesn't mean a tube needs to be shoved up it.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Last update about yesterday. Promise. Poorly written novella ahead
Now that the sedatives are completely out of my system, I can think a little more clearly and give an update about yesterday. My brother Adam came with me and spent the day helping me get a clear picture of what was going on.
I went in expecting just a bronchoscopy. Everyone else was expecting surgery. The problem? I had never given any consent to surgery. I thought this had been made clear in my communications with the surgeon. So I made it very clear: no surgery today, and they said, "yes! No surgery!" And I felt better.
The bronchoscopy went exceedingly well. I was initially told that I would be given general anesthesia, but as it turned out, I only had a strong sedative (they said it was a strong hypnotic and that I would have no memory of the procedure - they don't know me very well!) and a lidocaine inhalation. If you ever have to inhale lidocaine, be warned that it is NASTY, even if you are all hopped up on smiley drugs.
They wheeled me into the procedure room - the walls were covered with giant HD displays (sproing!) and I immediately asked if I could watch the procedure. "Really?" "Yes!" I was so excited! So, I went through the lidocaine inhalation (ew) and they slipped the camera down my throat (pink and slimy, all the way down!) . It was like a Disney ride! I saw my vocal cords! And throat slime! It was SO COOL! IT'S A SEREEZ UV TOOBZ!
Then I saw the trachea and the compressed area. It was scary how small the opening was, but still ping and slimy (which is GOOD, as it means my thyroid hasn't invaded my trachea which means no tracheal reconstruction is necessary..phew!)
During the procedure, I'm fighting off mild panic; the lidocaine had my airway, including my lungs, completely numb, so I couldn't feel myself breathe or swallow. This is disconcerting. I put my hand on my chest to feel my breathing for reassurance. I was a little disappointed, though; I was having a mild zombie fantasy...Mmm, brains, indeed.
They removed the camera and I immediately started chattering on about what an awesome experience it was, but if you've ever been numbed teeth to toes like that, you know it comes out as "Glluuuurgaaahaha! Fufffffufufufufuuf!!". They told me to just relax and let everything wear off. I started getting really bouncy, then really tired, then really bouncy and tired, then just tired.
They told me to report to Pre-Op to speak with the surgeon. I was feeling a bit paranoid from the drugs; I thought that someone was going to grab me and make me have surgery. Adam and I get there, and I was on the surgery list. I made it very clear that the surgery was canceled. My surgeon was in removing someone else's thyroid, so they told us to come back later, so we went for lunch.
An hour later, we come back, and as it turns out, they had been looking for us. They sent us up to Pre-Op. We get there, and the nurse (who was all pissed off) sends us into the surgical prep room and assigns me a bed. I make it very clear - there is no surgery planned today! She tells us to wait. Another nurse comes up and we have to make it clear again - NO SURGERY TODAY! Somehow, word never spread.
The surgeon finished with his last patient and comes in. He was expecting the surgery, too, but is completely understanding - this has all been rushed, and none of my concerns have been addressed. There had been a HUGE miscommunication starting with the ENT who ordered the CT scan and said "OMG, HE CAN'T BREATHE!" without talking to me. The surgeon said he would have never ordered the MRI I had on Saturday if he had known about last Thursday's CT scan.
Either way, the thyroid needs to come out. Fairly soon.
The Surgeon came up to me and kicked my tires, so to speak. He checked the swelling in my neck and said , "oh, that's not so bad, I've seen much worse. Here's what I'll do: (using his index finger as a scalpel), I'll slice you here and here (slices my neck), get the thyroid out, close you up and you'll be able to breathe better than ever." The risks are bleeding, blood calcium issues and permanent hoarseness. He also says that the possibility of having to go through my chest is so minuscule that I shouldn't worry about it. I feel pretty confident with him.
So, tomorrow, I have to call his office and schedule the surgery. I feel much better about all of this. It's still weird to know that I'm going to be losing an organ and on meds the rest of my life, but I'll get awesome breathing in exchange, and I've never had that before.
But today, I get a medical reprieve; it's my birthday, dammit, and I'm going to enjoy it!
I went in expecting just a bronchoscopy. Everyone else was expecting surgery. The problem? I had never given any consent to surgery. I thought this had been made clear in my communications with the surgeon. So I made it very clear: no surgery today, and they said, "yes! No surgery!" And I felt better.
The bronchoscopy went exceedingly well. I was initially told that I would be given general anesthesia, but as it turned out, I only had a strong sedative (they said it was a strong hypnotic and that I would have no memory of the procedure - they don't know me very well!) and a lidocaine inhalation. If you ever have to inhale lidocaine, be warned that it is NASTY, even if you are all hopped up on smiley drugs.
They wheeled me into the procedure room - the walls were covered with giant HD displays (sproing!) and I immediately asked if I could watch the procedure. "Really?" "Yes!" I was so excited! So, I went through the lidocaine inhalation (ew) and they slipped the camera down my throat (pink and slimy, all the way down!) . It was like a Disney ride! I saw my vocal cords! And throat slime! It was SO COOL! IT'S A SEREEZ UV TOOBZ!
Then I saw the trachea and the compressed area. It was scary how small the opening was, but still ping and slimy (which is GOOD, as it means my thyroid hasn't invaded my trachea which means no tracheal reconstruction is necessary..phew!)
During the procedure, I'm fighting off mild panic; the lidocaine had my airway, including my lungs, completely numb, so I couldn't feel myself breathe or swallow. This is disconcerting. I put my hand on my chest to feel my breathing for reassurance. I was a little disappointed, though; I was having a mild zombie fantasy...Mmm, brains, indeed.
They removed the camera and I immediately started chattering on about what an awesome experience it was, but if you've ever been numbed teeth to toes like that, you know it comes out as "Glluuuurgaaahaha! Fufffffufufufufuuf!!". They told me to just relax and let everything wear off. I started getting really bouncy, then really tired, then really bouncy and tired, then just tired.
They told me to report to Pre-Op to speak with the surgeon. I was feeling a bit paranoid from the drugs; I thought that someone was going to grab me and make me have surgery. Adam and I get there, and I was on the surgery list. I made it very clear that the surgery was canceled. My surgeon was in removing someone else's thyroid, so they told us to come back later, so we went for lunch.
An hour later, we come back, and as it turns out, they had been looking for us. They sent us up to Pre-Op. We get there, and the nurse (who was all pissed off) sends us into the surgical prep room and assigns me a bed. I make it very clear - there is no surgery planned today! She tells us to wait. Another nurse comes up and we have to make it clear again - NO SURGERY TODAY! Somehow, word never spread.
The surgeon finished with his last patient and comes in. He was expecting the surgery, too, but is completely understanding - this has all been rushed, and none of my concerns have been addressed. There had been a HUGE miscommunication starting with the ENT who ordered the CT scan and said "OMG, HE CAN'T BREATHE!" without talking to me. The surgeon said he would have never ordered the MRI I had on Saturday if he had known about last Thursday's CT scan.
Either way, the thyroid needs to come out. Fairly soon.
The Surgeon came up to me and kicked my tires, so to speak. He checked the swelling in my neck and said , "oh, that's not so bad, I've seen much worse. Here's what I'll do: (using his index finger as a scalpel), I'll slice you here and here (slices my neck), get the thyroid out, close you up and you'll be able to breathe better than ever." The risks are bleeding, blood calcium issues and permanent hoarseness. He also says that the possibility of having to go through my chest is so minuscule that I shouldn't worry about it. I feel pretty confident with him.
So, tomorrow, I have to call his office and schedule the surgery. I feel much better about all of this. It's still weird to know that I'm going to be losing an organ and on meds the rest of my life, but I'll get awesome breathing in exchange, and I've never had that before.
But today, I get a medical reprieve; it's my birthday, dammit, and I'm going to enjoy it!
Monday, October 12, 2009
Update
The surgery is tentatively scheduled for Tuesday morning, but at this point, it seems unlikely as I'm sporting a 100F fever and some seriously nasty tonsils. Add a touch of cough. This actually sucks because I was all geared up and ready to go.
The severity of the situation has been laid out in detail and I understand everyone's concern: my thyroid is massive and has grown well below my sternum. It's causing a moderate compression of my trachea. From the doc and the surgeon's standpoint, it's , "HOLY CRAP, HE CAN'T BREATHE!" From my perspective, it's something that I've just been dealing with because I've always had crappy breathing.
So, the big bugger is coming out. Maybe not this week, but surely as soon as I'm well enough.
Saturday was an MRI and tomorrow is a bronchoscopy to measure my airway. Dude knocks me out and shoves a ruler down my throat. Sweet!
I decided to Googlestalk my surgeon. He's a very well known surgeon who seems to be quite good at what he does. A little extra hunting led me to his Twitter and Facebook pages; he only has 14 friends. Unacceptable. I only allow people with more than 20 friends to perform surgery on me. :)
The severity of the situation has been laid out in detail and I understand everyone's concern: my thyroid is massive and has grown well below my sternum. It's causing a moderate compression of my trachea. From the doc and the surgeon's standpoint, it's , "HOLY CRAP, HE CAN'T BREATHE!" From my perspective, it's something that I've just been dealing with because I've always had crappy breathing.
So, the big bugger is coming out. Maybe not this week, but surely as soon as I'm well enough.
Saturday was an MRI and tomorrow is a bronchoscopy to measure my airway. Dude knocks me out and shoves a ruler down my throat. Sweet!
I decided to Googlestalk my surgeon. He's a very well known surgeon who seems to be quite good at what he does. A little extra hunting led me to his Twitter and Facebook pages; he only has 14 friends. Unacceptable. I only allow people with more than 20 friends to perform surgery on me. :)
Friday, October 9, 2009
Birthday present?
An hour ago, I got a call from my doc. My thyroid is massive and cutting off my airway and it needs to come out. It's (probably) not cancer. Yay! It's (most likely) going to require surgery. Not yay!
That started a snowball of phone calls. So far, I've talked to my doc, the surgeon twice, the MRI office twice, the interventional pulmonologist once and the anesthesiologist once.
They want the surgery to happen next Wednesday. My birthday. Thanks.
Too fast. This is moving much too fast.
I've got an MRI scheduled first thing tomorrow morning. I'm off for some blood work right now. Most of all, I'm feeling pissed off. Pissed that my feeling of relief has been shattered by this..pushiness. The surgeon has this air of eagerness in his voice. Why the urgency? I can breathe. Sure, it's tight, but it's BEEN tight..for months. A few more days won't kill me. Let's find out WHY my thyroid is so freaking huge before ripping it out.
I've never had surgery. I've never had anesthesia (beyond nitrous oxide, that is). I've never had to stay overnight at the hospital because something inside me was broken and had to be snipped out.
They better let me keep it in a jar. I'm going to fight for that much. If it can't stay in my head, then my damned thyroid is going to stay on my desk.
That started a snowball of phone calls. So far, I've talked to my doc, the surgeon twice, the MRI office twice, the interventional pulmonologist once and the anesthesiologist once.
They want the surgery to happen next Wednesday. My birthday. Thanks.
Too fast. This is moving much too fast.
I've got an MRI scheduled first thing tomorrow morning. I'm off for some blood work right now. Most of all, I'm feeling pissed off. Pissed that my feeling of relief has been shattered by this..pushiness. The surgeon has this air of eagerness in his voice. Why the urgency? I can breathe. Sure, it's tight, but it's BEEN tight..for months. A few more days won't kill me. Let's find out WHY my thyroid is so freaking huge before ripping it out.
I've never had surgery. I've never had anesthesia (beyond nitrous oxide, that is). I've never had to stay overnight at the hospital because something inside me was broken and had to be snipped out.
They better let me keep it in a jar. I'm going to fight for that much. If it can't stay in my head, then my damned thyroid is going to stay on my desk.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Cats and scans and computer-aided distractions
Surprisingly, I didn't have too much trouble getting to sleep last night, even after discovering my new love of tea, Earl Grey, hot. I prepped by removing all of my piercings so I wouldn't have to struggle with them in the morning. Squish tried to give me a few new piercings as his food was running low; he panics when the bowl develops spaces. Sorry, lil buddy. The crohnchy treats and catnip seemed to do us both some good.
I was up bright and early for the CAT scan this morning. I was jonesing for my morning tea, and at the very least, some water, but they said I could have no fluids for 3 hours prior. My mouth felt like it was full of sand; I could swear that my eyeballs were wrinkly, but no water means no water.
I got lost on the way to the imaging center, but still made it with 10 minutes to spare. It wouldn't have mattered if I had been late; the CAT folks were late themselves. 40 minutes later, the radiologist came for me and explained what would be going on. He said they would be giving me an IV. The first scan woulld be of my nech with no contrast dye and the second would be of my lungs, with contrast. Lungs? Apparently the doctor ordered it just this morning. Fuck. Ok. I'm not going to get into the multitude of things running through my head at this point.
The radiologist brought me in, plopped me on the table and popped in the IV, aligned me and scanned away. A robot voice instructed me when to breathe, when to hold my breathe and when to exhale. Along with the voice, there was this little illuminated illustration directing me. It was ridiculously cheery and I struggled to keep from giggling when it turned green.
Neck. Done. Chest. Done. I was expecting him to come get me - there was a long pause, about a minute or so, then he announced that they were starting a second scan of my lungs. This one took longer. I'm surprised I didn't burst a blood vessel. Why were they running a second scan? Why was this one taking so long? What do they see??
They finish up and a woman comes over and removes the IV. Where was the guy? Why did he go away? Did the image show something so horrific that he needed to Run.Away.Now.? The woman told me to hop down from the table, but I told her that I couldn't see the floor; the guy took my glasses and didn't tell anyone where they were. After a few minutes of searching, she found them. I put them on and found what I interpreted to be a worried expression on her face. I asked, "so, what did you see?" "We don't read them. We're just photographers." Of course, she's hiding something from me. Or not. This is what worry does.
I stopped for some cat food on the way home. Squish would be happy. At the very least, it would relax him enough to let me borrow him for some full-face burrowing time. That always helps. But I need more distraction, so here I sit on the computer, doing anything and everything I can to keep from browsing to medical sites or to keep from refreshing my medical record page to see if the test results are in. I can play World of Warcraft for about 5 minutes until the distraction wears thin. Read a few sites. Thinner, still. Gah! Maybe I'll take a nap. Nope.
So now I wait. I could hear something today, tomorrow, next week, who knows. I hate waiting, I hate not knowing. Exactly a month ago today, I received a phone call from NPR saying, "I'm sorry, but I have bad news". That feeling is so fresh in my mind that I fear it again today. It's much easier to deal with bad news from a potential employer rather than your doctor, though. It's not as simple as "something is wrong" or "nothing is wrong". There's a big lumpy thing in my neck, so it's a matter of -which- thing is wrong and how treatable is it. But right now, I just don't know, and it's driving me nuts.
So I wait, with distractions. Computer, Tea, Earl Grey, Hot. And some facekitty, too.
I was up bright and early for the CAT scan this morning. I was jonesing for my morning tea, and at the very least, some water, but they said I could have no fluids for 3 hours prior. My mouth felt like it was full of sand; I could swear that my eyeballs were wrinkly, but no water means no water.
I got lost on the way to the imaging center, but still made it with 10 minutes to spare. It wouldn't have mattered if I had been late; the CAT folks were late themselves. 40 minutes later, the radiologist came for me and explained what would be going on. He said they would be giving me an IV. The first scan woulld be of my nech with no contrast dye and the second would be of my lungs, with contrast. Lungs? Apparently the doctor ordered it just this morning. Fuck. Ok. I'm not going to get into the multitude of things running through my head at this point.
The radiologist brought me in, plopped me on the table and popped in the IV, aligned me and scanned away. A robot voice instructed me when to breathe, when to hold my breathe and when to exhale. Along with the voice, there was this little illuminated illustration directing me. It was ridiculously cheery and I struggled to keep from giggling when it turned green.
Neck. Done. Chest. Done. I was expecting him to come get me - there was a long pause, about a minute or so, then he announced that they were starting a second scan of my lungs. This one took longer. I'm surprised I didn't burst a blood vessel. Why were they running a second scan? Why was this one taking so long? What do they see??
They finish up and a woman comes over and removes the IV. Where was the guy? Why did he go away? Did the image show something so horrific that he needed to Run.Away.Now.? The woman told me to hop down from the table, but I told her that I couldn't see the floor; the guy took my glasses and didn't tell anyone where they were. After a few minutes of searching, she found them. I put them on and found what I interpreted to be a worried expression on her face. I asked, "so, what did you see?" "We don't read them. We're just photographers." Of course, she's hiding something from me. Or not. This is what worry does.
I stopped for some cat food on the way home. Squish would be happy. At the very least, it would relax him enough to let me borrow him for some full-face burrowing time. That always helps. But I need more distraction, so here I sit on the computer, doing anything and everything I can to keep from browsing to medical sites or to keep from refreshing my medical record page to see if the test results are in. I can play World of Warcraft for about 5 minutes until the distraction wears thin. Read a few sites. Thinner, still. Gah! Maybe I'll take a nap. Nope.
So now I wait. I could hear something today, tomorrow, next week, who knows. I hate waiting, I hate not knowing. Exactly a month ago today, I received a phone call from NPR saying, "I'm sorry, but I have bad news". That feeling is so fresh in my mind that I fear it again today. It's much easier to deal with bad news from a potential employer rather than your doctor, though. It's not as simple as "something is wrong" or "nothing is wrong". There's a big lumpy thing in my neck, so it's a matter of -which- thing is wrong and how treatable is it. But right now, I just don't know, and it's driving me nuts.
So I wait, with distractions. Computer, Tea, Earl Grey, Hot. And some facekitty, too.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
What I really want for my birthday
My birthday is coming up soon. I tend not to think about my birthdays until the very last minute, but this year is pretty cool because it's the 12th prime. Atomic number 37 is Rubidium.
Early in September, I hit my technical one year unemployment anniversary. I say technical because I had 3 months of severance pay from my last job. I have not had a job in a full year all the same. Today is another anniversary: the beginning of the longest period that I have ever been unemployed. I hope there's no air of pride in that sound of that statement. One thing I'd really like for my birthday: a good job.
The frugality of unemployment can have an interesting effect on wants and desires; you're so focused on what you need that the things you once wanted oh so badly have faded to subtle background noise only to occasionally pop up and occupy your entire view for very brief moments of time. I've had times where I've desperately wanted a shiny new computer or a fantastic new DSLR, but I know better. Needs first now. The wants will come. And with time, the wants will shift and change. But still, some things I would really like for my birthday: toys.
It's been a long, silent, low energy, contemplative month. The NPR job debacle really stole my thunder. Followed up by a slow rampup to appropriate dosage on new migraine medication that turned me into a zombie (until now, that is; everyone says you go through zombie phase until you hit the right dosage then *poof*, no more zombie!), September turned out to be a complete bust. Something else I'd like for my birthday: an easy and relaxing, no worries birthday month!
The reality of that remains to be seen.
Years of perpetual breathing issues and infected tonsils convinced my GP to schedule a visit with the ENT to evaluate my tonsils for removal. After jabbing and prodding and gagging, he reported that my tonsils were normal and were in no way causing my breathing difficulties, but "there's a very large mass in your neck. Did your GP not say anything about this to you during your last exam?" No. She didn't.
I have a CAT scan scheduled for Thursday morning. I spent much of last week freaking out. I'm pretty relaxed about it now. Whatever it is, there's nothing I can do right -now-. And whatever it is, I'll do whatever it is I can do when I find out what it is. And if there's nothing that can be done, that's that. And if there's something that can be done, more the better. So, I think the thing I really want for my birthday is: a happy CAT scan.
Early in September, I hit my technical one year unemployment anniversary. I say technical because I had 3 months of severance pay from my last job. I have not had a job in a full year all the same. Today is another anniversary: the beginning of the longest period that I have ever been unemployed. I hope there's no air of pride in that sound of that statement. One thing I'd really like for my birthday: a good job.
The frugality of unemployment can have an interesting effect on wants and desires; you're so focused on what you need that the things you once wanted oh so badly have faded to subtle background noise only to occasionally pop up and occupy your entire view for very brief moments of time. I've had times where I've desperately wanted a shiny new computer or a fantastic new DSLR, but I know better. Needs first now. The wants will come. And with time, the wants will shift and change. But still, some things I would really like for my birthday: toys.
It's been a long, silent, low energy, contemplative month. The NPR job debacle really stole my thunder. Followed up by a slow rampup to appropriate dosage on new migraine medication that turned me into a zombie (until now, that is; everyone says you go through zombie phase until you hit the right dosage then *poof*, no more zombie!), September turned out to be a complete bust. Something else I'd like for my birthday: an easy and relaxing, no worries birthday month!
The reality of that remains to be seen.
Years of perpetual breathing issues and infected tonsils convinced my GP to schedule a visit with the ENT to evaluate my tonsils for removal. After jabbing and prodding and gagging, he reported that my tonsils were normal and were in no way causing my breathing difficulties, but "there's a very large mass in your neck. Did your GP not say anything about this to you during your last exam?" No. She didn't.
I have a CAT scan scheduled for Thursday morning. I spent much of last week freaking out. I'm pretty relaxed about it now. Whatever it is, there's nothing I can do right -now-. And whatever it is, I'll do whatever it is I can do when I find out what it is. And if there's nothing that can be done, that's that. And if there's something that can be done, more the better. So, I think the thing I really want for my birthday is: a happy CAT scan.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Bzzt.
I'm not really afraid of bees and wasps in general. I do get kind of freaked out of they land on my face, though. While riding through Newton today, a rather large wasp landed on my face. I couldn't stop because I was in the middle of thick traffic.
I could feel the little bastard skittering. On my face. It landed on my cheek, worked its way to my chin, then up my lips. It tried to go i my nose, but a sharp exhale made it think twice. Then it made its way north, ACROSS MY EYE. My eye was closed, but I could feel its itchy littl legs dancing on my lid. Then, up to my forehead.
With every step that it took, I frantically whispered, "please don't sting me! please don't sting me!"
At this point, I couldn't feel it anymore, but I knew it was there, hiding, waiting.
I was able to make my way to the curb. I slowly unhooked the chinstrap of my helmet, grabbed the sides and quickly flung the entire helmet towards the grass! I didn't see anything fly away, so I did a facecheck. Nothing.
I go to pick up my helmet, and there he was, nestled in one of the vents: the largest wasp I have ever seen. So I kicked the helmet and see the wasp go flying. I grabbed the helmet and took off running down the street. i think I lost him.
That's when I noticed several squirrels staring at me. I took that as my cue to jump on my bike and pedal away as fast as possible.
I could feel the little bastard skittering. On my face. It landed on my cheek, worked its way to my chin, then up my lips. It tried to go i my nose, but a sharp exhale made it think twice. Then it made its way north, ACROSS MY EYE. My eye was closed, but I could feel its itchy littl legs dancing on my lid. Then, up to my forehead.
With every step that it took, I frantically whispered, "please don't sting me! please don't sting me!"
At this point, I couldn't feel it anymore, but I knew it was there, hiding, waiting.
I was able to make my way to the curb. I slowly unhooked the chinstrap of my helmet, grabbed the sides and quickly flung the entire helmet towards the grass! I didn't see anything fly away, so I did a facecheck. Nothing.
I go to pick up my helmet, and there he was, nestled in one of the vents: the largest wasp I have ever seen. So I kicked the helmet and see the wasp go flying. I grabbed the helmet and took off running down the street. i think I lost him.
That's when I noticed several squirrels staring at me. I took that as my cue to jump on my bike and pedal away as fast as possible.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Someone who I was friends with a long time ago posted the following on his Facebook wall:
"Today we celebrate the fact that rich white slave owners wanted to be free to not pay taxes. Happy Birthday America."
He's a typical lefty and the reason why typical lefties are just as foolish and moronic as typical righties. I say this as from my perspective from the left. The above statement is filled with so much ignorance that it literally makes me sick.
Lest we forget, the roots of American independence lie within taxation without representation. I understand the desire to lash out, but lash out intelligently and in an informed fashion.
Happy Independence Day. Free to speak, enslaved by enlightenment, just the way it should be.
"Today we celebrate the fact that rich white slave owners wanted to be free to not pay taxes. Happy Birthday America."
He's a typical lefty and the reason why typical lefties are just as foolish and moronic as typical righties. I say this as from my perspective from the left. The above statement is filled with so much ignorance that it literally makes me sick.
Lest we forget, the roots of American independence lie within taxation without representation. I understand the desire to lash out, but lash out intelligently and in an informed fashion.
Happy Independence Day. Free to speak, enslaved by enlightenment, just the way it should be.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Friday, May 15, 2009
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