Some things are suckier than others

Not the trip I'm on right now.  I'm posting from my sister's house in Santa Barbara.  It's a perfect place for me right now.

So, what led up to the title?  Monday I had my CT scan to be able of officially say "I'm in remission."  I had to get up at six in the morning to have my breakfast because I couldn't eat for three hours before the appointment.  First I had two chest x-rays.   No problem.  Next, I was shown to the ladies dressing room to divest myself of clothes and put on lovely hospital gowns--two, one in front and one in the back.  The tech brought me two warm blankets.  Another tech brought me the nectar of the gods--not.  One cup every 15 minutes or so.  I settled down with my book and my questionable beverage.  When I'd just about drunk it all, they took me into the CT room.  The first two scans were a piece of cake.  For the last one, they needed "contrast,"  iodine or whatever to show up in the scan.  This required starting an IV.  The tech couldn't find a vein, so they called in a nurse from the ER, who managed to get it started.  Keep your arm as straight as possible and back into the CT machine.  They said "Here comes the contrast" and there was nothing--then all of a sudden fire running through my veins.  And we were done.  I was given instructions to come back on Wednesday for a blood test and don't take Metformin till after you get the results and your creatinin is at normal levels.  Well, Wednesday I would be in Santa Barbara--so it will have to wait till Saturday morning.

When I got home, I called my primary care's office because I'd been in unrelenting pain in my lower back for weeks.  Pain is your body's way of telling you something is wrong.  I got an appointment for that afternoon.  We talked about things in general and the pain in specific.   My left hip joint is fine.  It wasn't muscular.  It wasn't anything that Tylenol would make better.  He needed the results of the CT, which hadn't been read yet.    So, take pain meds as necessary.

Tuesday, I drove to Santa Barbara.  There were a few sprinkles until I had lunch in Paso Robles.  After that, the skys opened up.  The rain came down in buckets and overhead was black.  I hit some traffic in San Luis Obispo and Santa Maria.  When I got close to Goleta and signs were starting to look familiar, the freeway became a parking lot.  Too bad I didn't know back roads.

I got to sister's before six, and happy to get here.

Wednesday, Gretchen, that would be my sister, took me for a drive.  We went as far south as Carpenteria.  We found a yarn shop--well, craft shop, where I got some back up yarn in case I finished the project I'd brought with me.  While Gretchen was getting gas (for 1.89/gal), I checked my voice mails.  There was one, from my doctor that has just come in.  "I got the results of your CT scan.  I'd like to talk to you about it" and left his cell phone number.  I thought "Oh, shit."  They only want to talk to you if it's bad news.  We drove home through the hills of Carpenteria and Montecito, checking out the recent fire damage.  They wouldn't let us into the actual fire area because they were worried about mudslides--and looters.  We took the scenic route, stopped off and picked up the turkey and came home.  By now, I couldn't stand it any longer and called my doctor.  Seems the pain is most likely caused by a new tumor.  I was not happy.  I told him I'd pick up a prescription for stronger pain meds on Monday when I'm back in town.  I moved the appointment with my medical oncologist form the 19th to Tuesday the 2nd.  I see my surgeon, who actually ordered the CT scan, on Thursday, and I guess we'll know more after that.  Gretchen and I both cried and she gave me lots of hugs.  I have permission to cry and swear all I want, not that it does a great deal of good.  When my niece and her friend got down from the Bay Area, she agreed that it sucks big weenies.

We woke up to beautiful blue sky this morning, after two days of monsoon.  Gretchen and Victoria went off to run in the annual Santa Barbara Turkey Trot while Jim and Jenn went for a 30 mile bike ride.  I went back to bed to read.  After a while, I got up and showered and the world looked brighter yet.  While Gretchen was getting the turkey ready for the oven, I finally called Glenn to let him know the news, since I probably won't see him till Saturday when he gets off work.  Glenn was pretty philosophical.  We got through it before, we'll get through it again.  Once again, I'll do what I'm told.  I may not like it, but we'll get through it.

I won't know anything more till next week when I make the round of doctors.  Till then, there's not much I can do but ask for your prayers again.

xxooxx

A marathon, but a good day

The week was, basically, boring. I did those things I ought to have done and left undone those things I ought not to have done, except maybe cleaning--didn't do that. Slept lots at night and took lots of long naps in preparation for Saturday.
Up bright and early, for me now, around seven. Had my breakfast then set off for church to work. It was our annual Thanksgiving dinner and I'm chief cook. Waiting for me were eight bags of cranberries, four large turkeys, and stuffing makings. Being the queen of spreadsheets, I'd logged in the weight of each bird and calculated when each one needed to go into the oven to come out at 4. I had lots of help. We made cranberry sauce first, to fill the church with enticing smells. That was followed by stuffing making, bird filling, and bird prep. My mother taught me how to cook turkey, and she made the best turkey in the world. Cook it hot and fast, in lots of foil. Once the birds were in the ovens, we went home to let the ovens work their magic.
I went home and watched Big Game (Cal-Stanford for those of you from other parts of the country). It was a thoroughly satisfying experience. My Bears were victorious in a big way. After that, it was back to church, get the birds out, start syphoning off juice for gravy, unstuff the birds, make the gravy, while a wonderful team of helpers got everything else ready to go. We had a full house and great food.
Dinner was followed by the church talent show. Our Ceili band started off to wake everyone up, then ended the program with Ashokan Farewell to send everyone on their way. In between was an amazing array of talent. While everyone else was cleaning up and putting the church back together for today's service, I snuck home and went to bed. I was wiped. I overslept this morning and just barely made it to church. I had a meeting after church, did a little marketing, came home and napped, then back to church at five to audition an applicant for music director. Now I'm home again, in my jammies and robe, thinking I should have something for dinner. Tomorrow is my CT scan and chest x-ray. I'll need to finish breakfast by 7 in the morning since I can't eat for three hours before the scan. I can do that. With the help of several alarm clocks, I can do that.
So--I'm still pretty tired, but this is a good kind of tired.
xxooxx

It's been a while

So what have I been doing with my time? Getting my exercise, whether I want to or not. Thursday, my friend Kathy (who joined me in Yosemite in June) and I started walking. After a week or so of fog and dismal weather (not that I have anything against fog and dismal weather), it was a glorious day. The sky was a glorious shade of blue. It was warm but not too hot. We've had enough rain that the grass by the trail thinks it is time to grow again and it was an incredible shade of spring green. And I got to walk with my dear friend and didn't even feel like I was exercising--well, maybe, going up a slight incline felt like Mt. Everest, but I made it. Maybe I'll find little flags to plant at the top of rises for our next walk and claim the land for God and country. Or maybe not.
The glory did not end with the day. I had to go out that night. The moon was full and shining on the bay, as I was driving down Trousdale, it fairly took my breath away. How many times to you get more than one "Thank you, God" moments in a single day.
Friday night, the ceili band practiced. That always raises my spirits. I came on fiddling late in life, but it fills a part of my soul like nothing else. It was exhausting, but uplifting for me. Then Glenn got home and now all's right with the world. I'm glad he had a good time, but it's good to have him home.
Tragedy nearly struck tonight (I know, that's probably like flipping to the end of a mystery so you know who done it before you find out what it is). I have rings that I always wear. My wedding rings, which I know I should do something else with if I'm looking to marry Warren Buffet, but I just can't bring myself to leave them off yet, a diamond and ruby ring that my mother and I got in St. Thomas, and my Past Matron's ring. Now this is the second PM ring I've had. The first one slipped off my finger shortly after I got it--I'd lost lots of weight between picking out the style and actually getting the ring--I should have left it with the jeweler for resizing. A sad lesson learned. Lee had some stray diamonds that we used in the remaking of the ring, so it is precious in many ways. Anyway, tonight at a church meeting, I looked at my right hand and there was NO PM ring--just an indentation on my finger. Keeping my concentration at the meeting was almost impossible, but I sent up a prayer to St. Anthony (the patron saint of lost things) and played Scarlett O'Hara--I'd think about that tomorrow.
When I got home, I looked some places it might be, no ring. By now, I'm really into Scarlett. I'll just get into my jammies and try not to worry about it--but I worried. As I was taking off my pants, out popped the ring and hit the floor. It must have gotten wedged in the waist band. How it managed to stay there and not fall out in any of the places I was this evening is a miracle. It is now sleeping with my other jewelry. After I had to have rings cut off because they got too little for my fingers, I make it a point of take them off every night. And I always put them the same place so I won't have to panic in the morning. So, another "Thank you, God" moment in less than a week. Life is good and I can sleep tonight.
That's it.
xxooxx

Doing better--but abandoned

I'm trying to elicit sympathy because Glenn abandoned me to go to San Diego for the week. It isn't as though I didn't abandon him on a regular basis. But this is different. I'M the abandoned one! I'm remembering what it is I didn't like about living alone. Chores don't get magically taken care of. There's no one to leave the light on for when I get home in the evening. I have the run of the house, but it isn't that much fun.
I'm feeling somewhat less pathetic. Today was a downtown day, and I managed to get there and back without succumbing to the tempting wiles of Mrs. Fields. The worst tragedy of the day was a broken fingernail--but broken way down on the index finger of my bowing hand--that's the one that gets to have fingernails. So here's this stubby little thing on an otherwise grown-up hand. The nails on my left, or fingering, hand, that need to be short to play the violin, are longer than this little amputee. Like my hair, it will grow. And my hair is growing. The crown is standing up like a wheat field, bending one way or the other depending on which hat I wear. The sides are growing out and I can see my wave is still there. The back has a little more curl. It still isn't long enough to do anything with, but when I want to play big girl I can run a comb through it.
The church Thanksgiving Dinner and Talent show is coming up. The Ceili band (Anne and the Bethany Brawlers) is working up a few numbers. We practiced a little tonight. The tunes are still in my fingers but we need to work on speed. We aren't playing for dancers, so we don't need to play as fast as I do over Labor Day weekend, but still, it's Irish music and needs some zip.
I'm up to the eighth Anna Pigeon mystery. Once I get into those, I really don't want to do much else--so I'm now off to read for the evening.
xxooxx

That sound you hear...

Just may be the cracking of the dam that I've so carefully built over the last sixty odd years. In one of those fits of "I really have to DO something about this mess," I started picking up the piles of stuff that have grown around my chair. Part of it was the need to clean (I know, it sounds foreign to me too), part of it is curiosity as to what's actually there, and part of it is to find my crochet hook that just grew legs and walked away. Anyway, there are still things there that are where Lee left them. I know. He died 15 months ago tomorrow. I never claimed to be either prompt or tidy. anyway, one of the things I came across was the fanny pack Lee used when we traveled. It still contained two batteries for his digital camera, with prices in euros, and a postcard of Paris. That was it. I started weeping for my late husband--or my widowed state--or my health--or my unemployed state. But it was Lee and that next to last trip with him that started it off.
I never really let myself mourn Lee's passing. At first, I was holding myself together for Glenn and Elaine, and doing the things that needed doing. Then, too, he'd been sick for so long and there were so many close calls, that I got a lot of the weeping out beforehand. There was Thanksgiving and Christmas to get through--not to mention a torn meniscus in my left knee. Then as I was reestablishing normal, along came cancer, the infection, chemo, and radiation. Now that's over, I'm taking iron to combat the anemia, energy is starting to seep back. Through the magic of fate and procrastination, I'm now back in August 2007, still having to decide what to do with Lee's things--and cry over them.
The weather is matching my mood, but that is an excessively good thing because we are so dry. Let it rain.
And there are good things today. It is Saturday and it is November and I can watch college football all day and all evening. I watch it even if I've never heard of the schools before. Right now, it is half time of the Stanford-Oregon game. Yes, I've heard of both schools. I'm torn as to who to root against. Cal/USC will be on at five, and I'm ready for that. Cal all the way, of course--and yes, I believe in miracles.
So that's it for now--half time is over and I'm feeling somewhat better. I know it is perfectly OK for me to be sad. If it doesn't come out in tears it will come out in more destructive ways. So I'm better and not kicking myself over the waterworks.
Go Bears!
xxooxx

Odds and ends

Good thing--my disability has been extended. Now I can rest when I need to and not feel guilty about not pounding the pavement for a new job.
Good thing--I had a baseline echocardiagram on Tuesday. It proved that however black it may be, I do in fact have a heart, and it is in excellent working condition.
Bad thing--after the echo, I had blood work done for yesterday's doctor appt. Not only am I still anemic, but my red blood count is lower than it was in September when I finished radiation. That's not fair. so I was sent off for more blood work after the appointment. Results to follow, I'm assuming.
Good thing--my weight is officially down. Officially only three pounds since September, but that's three pounds I didn't put on. Pushing myself out of the house to Curves must be working somewhat. And not buying chips and cookies may be helping too.
Good thing--I'm still above the grass, as Lee used to say, and have survived all the assaults that my body has received this year. I guess that's the best thing. The anemia will get straightened out. All the feeling will come back to my fingers and toes--or not. The perfect job will find me or I will find it. I can travel again. I have the best friends anyone could ask for.
So there you have it for today.
xxooxx

What a blessed day!

It's been a whole 24 hours without a political ad or automated call. Saints be praised! The election that wouldn't go away is finally over and we can start to live like normal people again. Where does all that political money funnel? So far, none of it has trickled down to me.
I'm doing my little tasks--getting to Curves three times a week is a real step. My hips are still bothering me--left one particularly, so that will be a point of discussion with my doctor tomorrow, as will be the state of my anemia. I still tire easily--or maybe I was just tired of campaigning. I never thought of that.
I left home around 8:30 yesterday morning, wearing comfortable shoes and toting a book, prepared for a wait. There was none. I was in and out in less than 20 minutes, and I chatted with the poll workers to help pass their time. I trotted out with my "I voted" sticker affixed to my sweater. I love those stickers. Maybe that's why I don't vote absentee. I have, when I've needed--for the June 1980 primary I voted absentee from Mary's Help Hospital--but I really love walking into my polling place and casting my vote on election day. I hope that thrill never goes away. I like voting. I just don't like being buffeted with political ads. The only annoying automated call I got today was from a carpet cleaning company--I think--I might have hung up before the amorphous voice finished sayingwhat it was.
Back to my Nevada Barr books. I'm just about finished with the sixth Anna Pigeon novel and ready to move on to number seven. Hope you weren't expecting excitement out of my life.
xxooxx