Today I managed to make it to my rescheduled follow-up with my breast surgeon, after having gotten the time wrong last time. Now, I've known for some time that this woman is sort of a card, and it's part of the reason I really like her. It's a full-service operation, you know? Feel you up, crack jokes. Everything you need. But I was unprepared, today, when she checked my latest mammogram report and directed me to open my paper robe. She started feeling around while explaining that there's still that area we're "watching" (it's calcification! which may be nothing! or which may be something!)...
I had a mammogram this morning and was told I definitely do not have meningitis. Wait. That's not right. I mean, I had a mammogram AND I don't have meningitis, but that's not what happened. The mammogram was completely uneventful. This was disappointing. Why, based on my last mammogram, I was expecting at least two blog posts' worth of material out of this adventure. Damn that tech and her efficient, ordinary ways! After having my breasts smashed between a couple of plexiglass plates, I stopped and bought myself a chocolate chip muffin, because I figured I (or at least, my boobs) had earned...
Two very unfortunate events have intersected this past week at Casa Mir. First, I seem unable to completely shake the symptoms that derailed my Walk adventure. I'll feel better---maybe a little tired, sure---for a day or two, and then the hammering headache and fever will come back again. It's been over a week, and I HAVE THINGS TO DO. As a result, I've given up lolling around in bed for silly endeavors like "taking care of my children" and "working" and "cooking dinner." Second, my children need to go back to school before I kill them. Now before y'all go yelling at me; yes, yes, I AM going...
One of the (many) things I love about Otto is his calmness in crisis and his penchant for understatement. Given my bent towards hysteria, he's a useful balance to have around. However, here I am feeling like a gigantic loser, and he tells you: She started feeling under the weather Friday afternoon and, after some talks with the medical staff, decided to head home last evening. Which, okay, is TECHNICALLY true. But he sort of left out a few key details, like how some of those "talks with medical staff" happened in an ambulance and at the Emergency Room. It's not as though we were all sitting...
It was an unfortunate intersection of events: 1) My gynecologist's office decided that I am not allowed to get a new prescription for my beloved hormone patches via phone call; a check-up would be required, and 2) My sitter had to cancel. C'mon, kids! We're going to the gyno! Everybody pick a toy and a blindfold! The office has a waiting room with plentiful magazines and a water cooler. The water cooler, it is an invention to be admired... for it can evoke immediate, dire thirst in any child. While I checked in, Monkey and Chickadee squabbled over cups and each drank about 30 ounces of icy...
So the thing about yesterday (er, wait, I'm all screwed up now... technically it's now Wednesday... but I'm talking about Monday) is that I have become one of "those women" of a "certain age." And you know, I'm not even 35 yet. This is a sad, sad thing. I fully expected to be well into the twilight years before my body started betraying me with diffuse and bizarre complaints that were more sort of interpretive than actual medical syndromes. While I have often thought it must be sort of entertaining to actually be able to say "I do declare, I believe I have the vapors," I'm just not digging...
You know my obsession with The Food Network, yes? Right now they are doing a show on the secret life of steaks. I was not aware that steaks were 1) sentient and 2) sneaky. (I mean, okay, I know steak comes from cows, which are indeed sentient. But a sneaky cow? Really?) This show is making me hungry. But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It's dark out, and I'm on muscle relaxers, so probably it's nothing. Just a hallucination! Disregard the medicated woman! Wooooooo! Sorry, what were we talking about? And who are you, again? I fought the basement, and I'm pretty sure I won, but...
So it appears, from the lackluster response to the previous post, that y'all are just as underwhelmed about the whole "getting out there and meeting people" thing as I am. I was anticipating a bunch of inspiration and instead I sort of feel like... hey, so what if I die alone! Lots of people do that! And I am rather enjoying having deep discussions with my bedside lamp! It's an excellent listener and that's almost like having a mate! Stop snickering at me. My lamp says you're just jealous. But you know, the thing that I worry about, is that I fear I'm becoming out of practice with the whole...
Hey, know what we haven't talked about for a while? That's RIGHT! My BOOBS! [Don't you just wish you were me, or at least a fly on the wall for the "Hey, I have to tell you about this website I have..." conversation I had last night? I'm all about full disclosure. Even as I find myself mired in a discussion which I realize makes me sound like a complete freak. Me: So, I, uh, write about ALL KINDS of things. Like, EVERYTHING. Him: Okay. Me: I mean it. Like even stuff most people wouldn't talk about. Him: Alright. Me: Like YEAST INFECTIONS. You might not want to read it. (Thinking to myself:...
