Bring On The 4th!

Image(s) courtesy VintageHolidayCrafts.com

I'm not a big fan of the 4th of July. I hate fireworks. Really hate them. I'm convinced someone is going to blow a finger off. Or put an eye out. Or both. And I don't like eating outside, either. It's always hot, and that means back sweat (and sometimes boob sweat, if it's REALLY hot). And flies land on your food, and we all know flies eat poop and dead things, then land on your potato salad and rub their feet together. Not cool.

So glad Maria just posted this!

The one thing I DO like on the 4th of July is our neighborhood party. It is held on the morning of the 4th and is wonderfully corny, with patriotic music, speeches, and food - lots and lots of wonderful, delicious food. (It does include boob sweat and flies, but I make an exception for this event only.) This year, I fully intend to enjoy myself. And eat. And eat. And eat. And why is that?

Because last year, I had a miserable 4th of July. MISERABLE, I TELL YOU, the reason being that, due to exceedingly poor planning on my part, I had scheduled a colonoscopy for July 5. My oncologist had ordered it to check for any sign of rogue breast cancer cells, and my goal was to get it over with as soon as possible, so I took the first available date offered to me. 

As the nurse gave me my directions for the day before the procedure, it became quite clear that my 4th of July was going to be no fun. Clear liquids only (that means NO DIET COKE) for the entire day. Four laxative tablets at 3:00 in the afternoon, then a gallon of Gatorade (no red, pink or purple dye in it) laced with Miralax. Then waaaaaait...

Here's how that day panned out, as posted on July 5, 2012:

Colonoscopy checklist:
apple juice, check
four flavors of Gatorade (no Red 40), check
banana popsicles, check
Dulcolax, check
238 gram bottle of Miralax powder, ch---wait a sec....

MY bottle of Miralax powder is 527 grams. WTF? Time for a call to the nurse. The verdict? Apparently, the doctor prescribed the wrong amount for me (does he think I've been eating CEMENT?), and I only need to use 238 grams of Miralax. This, however, is easier said than done. How in the hell am I supposed to measure THAT? I live in America. We don't weigh anything in grams. Does this mean I have to do math? 

Fortunately, the major math disaster was averted, because I found a grams-to-ounces conversion calculator online, BUT I was then left with a minor math disaster of rounding off 8.29520 ounces into something measurable. 

I made it to 1:00 on the 4th of July, my very poorly planned Cleansing Day, before I got hungry. And I think I would have gone longer, had I not made the proclamation, "Gee, it's 1:00 and I'm not even hungry yet!" Because as soon as I said it, my stomach started to growl. And I will go on record RIGHT NOW as saying banana popsicles are not filling, even when you eat two of them in rather quick succession. 

At 2:30, I decided it was time to start cooking. I got my four bottles of Gatorade from the refrigerator, pulled out the kitchen scales, and got four little plastic tubs for the Miralax. I measured out 2.1 ounces (well, as close as my crappy kitchen scale can get) of Miralax into each of the four little tubs. Got out a funnel ('cause I'm a THINKER), an 8 ounce glass, and headed upstairs. 

The first little stumbling block was that I had intended to use four different flavors of Gatorade, so I wouldn't get sick of one flavor. What I didn't realize is the bottles I got held 32 ounces. I needed 64 ounces total. Therefore, as with the Miralax, I had twice as much Gatorade as I needed, and unless I did some elaborate pouring of Gatorade into multiple containers, I was only going to get to use two flavors. Crap. (No pun intended.)

Right off, I stuck the funnel into the bottle of Gatorade, poured the first tub of powder in and dunked the end of the funnel into the liquid, thereby completely clogging up the funnel and causing me to spill powder everywhere as I tried to pour it into the neck of the Gatorade bottle from the side of the funnel.

 It was at this point that I realized there was going to be a problem. Now, I'm no physicist, but it became quickly apparent that pouring 2 ounces of Miralax powder into a full bottle of Gatorade was going to cause some product displacement. Fortunately, I figured this out shortly BEFORE the bottle overflowed. Time for a Plan B.

I ran down to the kitchen and brought up a quart sized glass pitcher with what I THOUGHT was a tight-fitting lid. I poured the Gatorade and the rest of the Miralax powder into the pitcher, snapped the lid on, and started to shake it up, per instructions, and Gatorade started shooting out of the pitcher around the edges of the lid. On to Plan C, a Tupperware pitcher with a REAL lid, and I transferred the mixture YET AGAIN and got it mixed without further mishap.

I won't say the Gatorade/Miralax cocktail was delicious, but it wasn't quite as bad as I thought, in spite of how much I detest Gatorade. The Miralax was tasteless, although it left a bit of a film on my tongue. The entire experience was rather underwhelming, which is not what I expected from all the testimonials I received. That leads to the question, "Did it WORK?"

Bottom line (BAHAHAHAHA!!!): success! No walk of shame out of the hospital like my brother had to do recently. The procedure took hardly any time at all, my dear friend Michelle was my recovery room nurse once again, and the best part? My colon was as pink and smooth as a baby's bum. Take THAT, Cancer!

This Is My Winter Song

What would you think if I were to tell you that I really hate the week between Christmas and New Year's? 

After all the anticipation, the parties and events, the endless sweets, the shopping, the stress of getting the gifts just right, there is such an emotional let down after the last package is opened.

Christmas decorations start to look pathetic to me. Driving around town, I see wreaths looking bedraggled, strands of Christmas lights drooping, outdoor holiday displays in disarray. The sky and the landscape are all in shades of gray and brown, making it difficult to tell where one ends and the other begins.

It's downright depressing.

And then my personal soundtrack during this time of limbo plays this song by Sara Bareilles and Ingrid Michaelson. The melody is haunting and causes me to feel cold down to my very core. And that's without even paying attention to the lyrics, which I don't because they are so very sad.

Come on, New Year. I'm waiting.

And Then I Don't Feel So Baaaaaaad

Snapping out of my funk. Going to think of a few of my favorite things (cue Julie Andrews):

Preschoolers.

Unexpected messages from friends.

Okay, ANY messages from friends.

Finding money in a pocket.


Baby toes.

Good hair days.

Warm, snuggy pajamas on a cold night.




Paying for something in a store, only to find out it costs even less than marked.

Reading a really good book (that obviously excludes the "50 Shades" trilogy).

Hearing a song on the radio from high school and enjoying the memory attached.

Pretty underwear.

Spending time with my person.

Grilled cheese sandwiches.

Having my hair washed at the hair dresser's.

The smell of a hardware store.



Bubble baths. 

Working with bread dough (very Zen of me, I know).

Double stuffed Oreos.

A brand new box of Crayons.





The Peter Pan ride at Disneyland.

Cousins

Do I even have to say "Diet Coke" or is that a given?

Okay, Diet Coke.

Yep, feeling better....

Still Stuck And It Still Sucks

Continuing my pessimistic and whiny streak with more things that suck....

Itches that can't be scratched because the nerves don't connect.

Having to pee when the cat is all comfy and cozy on your lap.

Spilling sugar on the floor.

Cute sweaters that turn out to be 100% acrylic.

Crying in front of people.

Cheap tissues.

Clif bars.

Bridges that go over any kind of water, from ditch to bay.

Static electricity.

Coconut flavoring.

That a knife has been missing from the knife block in the kitchen for MONTHS and NO ONE in the house has any explanation for it.

Hiccups.

Infomercials.

Easily accomplished in JoMo....

Sitting at a railroad crossing, waiting endlessly for a coal train to go by.

Not being able to drive across town without crossing at least one railroad track, increasing your odds of having a coal train cross your path and having to wait endlessly....





Cancer.

Little rubber bands from braces lying ALL OVER THE HOUSE.

Matching socks.


The price per pound of bacon.

Friends who live too far away to see regularly.

Maybe I've gotten it all out of my system now. Then again, maybe not....

Not Feeling It

Frame of mind still decidedly pessimistic; therefore, a list of things that suck:

Hot flashes.

Stupid people who are given driver's licenses and who then proceed to GET IN MY WAY when I'm trying to drive somewhere.

Sweet salads that turn out to have cottage cheese in them.

Wet newspapers.

YUUUUUUUUCKY

Eggs.

Hot flashes.

Scooping the litter box.

Sinus infections.

Anything involving car repairs.

Doing laundry.

Hot flashes.

Feeling left out or forgotten.

Cheeseburgers.

Charlie horses.

Realizing you really need reading glasses.

Tornadoes.

Hot flashes.

Hitting your head hard on something and having no one to blame but yourself.

Celery.

Insomnia.

Constantly misplacing stuff. Constantly. 

Achy bones. 

Achy anything.

I'm done for now. There WILL be a sequel....

Stuck In Reverse....

When you try your best but you don't succeedWhen you get what you want but not what you needWhen you feel so tired but you can't sleepStuck in reverse....


Sometimes, hormones take over, and even the BEST HAIR DAY EVER can't fix it. 

BRA Day (And It's Not What You Think)

There's a Breast Reconstruction Awareness Day and I MISSED IT?! HOW DID I NOT KNOW ABOUT THIS?

A recent article in the Kansas City Star about breast reconstruction stated the American Society of Plastic Surgeons launched the first BRA Day (cute, I know) on October 17 of this year. The purpose of the campaign was to promote awareness and patient access to breast reconstruction. May I say, American Society of Plastic Surgeons, LOUSY JOB WITH THE PUBLICITY! If the Joplin Globe hadn't picked up a truncated version of this article (probably as filler) I wouldn't have known about it still.

The article went on to talk about a woman who visits cancer patients at KU Med Center who are facing mastectomy and breast reconstruction and talks to them about her reconstruction procedure, allowing them to take a look at her own reconstructed breasts. And the article also talked about a "show and tell" in New Orleans, with reconstruction patients revealing their new breasts to other cancer patients.

Apparently, it is NOT usual for women who have had breast reconstruction to show their new breasts to others.

WHAAAAA???

My breast reconstruction is a miracle of modern medicine (thank you, Dr. Geter!), and I will gladly, GLADLY, show anyone who wants to see them. Hell, I'll even let you feel them if you want. (Hey, they're mostly numb. I can close my eyes and usually never even know that you've touched them.) 

While it's an individual choice for each breast cancer patient, all it takes is one look at a photo depicting mastectomy without benefit of reconstruction to make you understand just how important of a step this can be for a woman's recovery. Thanks to my awesome reconstruction, I can almost forget that I was diagnosed with breast cancer.

Almost.

I won't let it get past me NEXT year... 

But That's All History

Nothing is simple anymore.

I have had a raging sinus infection for several days. RAGING. I felt so incredibly bad that I decided to start planning my funeral, because I was (and still am, actually) convinced that I wasn't going to pull through. So far, I have lined up pall bearers, several soloists, including one on bagpipes, a eulogist, what I presume will be an entirely inappropriate poem, and an offer to write my obituary, which the writer promises will include my failed attempt at using a nettie pot. And the nettie pot incident can be blamed on my daughter, who made me watch a tutorial on YouTube about how to use it but failed to read the part of the directions that said not to attempt if BOTH NOSTRILS ARE COMPLETELY CLOGGED.

Yeah, told you so.

I finally broke down and made an appointment with the nurse practitioner in my primary care physician's office (that's fancy talk for going to my friend Cindy's office and seeing the nurse practitioner because Cindy doesn't go in on Mondays). 

Because it had been several years since I had visited the office, and quite possibly also because since then, the old office blew away in the tornado, I had to fill out all new paperwork.

I was asked if I were on any medications.

Until six months ago, the answer to that would have been, "No." And that was always met with a bit of surprise by the asker. But  I was really very healthy. 

For this, I had to get my phone out and check my medication list that I save there. 

Then I was asked to list all surgeries and hospitalizations I had had.

(A word to those of you who have never had their medical records blown to kingdom come by a tornado: sit down some time with a clear mind and MAKE A LIST of all that information and keep it somewhere safe. You THINK you can remember all that stuff, but it's harder than it looks.)

Starting with getting my tonsils out at 7 (a sad story that I will have to share with you some time), I started ticking off c-sections and other lady part stuff. And that's where the list used to end.

Now I have to add "bilateral mastectomy with tram flap reconstruction" to the list. Words like that will garner you a double take, incidentally. When you add "hemorrhoidectomy" to the list, you get, "Wow, you've had quite a year."

I don't want to be one of those people with lists of medications and ailments a mile long. 

Yet, here I am. No. Freaking. Backsies.

The End Of The (Reconstruction) Line

A bittersweet day - it was my last follow-up visit with my plastic surgeon.

One last time to put on the haute couture gown that is big enough to go around me three times. 

Do I look like I'm dying from
a sinus infection? Because I am.

One last time for Dr. Geter to look at his handiwork like a proud papa (he SHOULD be proud - they're AWESOME!).

One last time to visit and laugh with the office staff, all of whom made me feel special every time I was there, with a special shout out to Suzanne, the Tattoo Guru for making tattooing too much fun.

One last bear hug from Dr. Geter.

One little tear as I walk to my car.

One more step towards recovery.

My Life In Numbers

My life in numbers: 

52  The number of years I am old. Young. The number of years I am young.

3  The number of times I've been pregnant.

2  The number of children I have birthed (if c-sections count as birthing).

1  The number of husbands I have had (and also still have).

19  The number of years I have been married.

12  The number of years I have taught preschool.

53  The number of monthly Zoladex injections I have yet to receive in my stomach.

7  The number of pills I take every morning.

37  The number of times I say, "Run water in that dish!" in any given week.

7  The number of cats that I have had..

2  The number of cats I now have.

5  The number of blue cats I have had (including two current ones)

14  Average number of times per school day that I tell a preschooler to "cough into your elbow."

0  The number of cups of coffee I have consumed in my lifetime.

213,277  The number of Diet Cokes I have consumed in my lifetime.

31  The number of states I have visited.

3  The number of states in which I have lived.

8  The number of towns in which I have lived (KC, Springfield, MO, Branson, MO, Nashville, Ventura, CA, Agoura Hills, CA, Nevada, MO and Joplin, MO)

5  The number of surgeries I have had this year.

2  The number of tattoos I have.

1  The number of broken bones I have had (my nose, in college, on a water slide).

6  The number of Little Debbie Swiss Rolls I can eat before I get sick.

5  The number of loads of laundry that are waiting for me in the basement.

94  The  number of cents it cost to get a small hamburger, small fries, and a medium Dr Pepper  at McDonald's when I was in high school.

Your turn.

No, Thank YOU

My last "thankful" post for November. Maybe.

I had my monthly oncology appointment this week. Nothing remarkable to report there, EXCEPT....

When I told him that I was unhappy about my loss of muscle tone and the five (squishy) pounds that I have gained since my system has been fully engulfed by Arimidex, he said,

"I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE WORRIED ABOUT. YOU'RE A STICK."

THAT, my friends, made me feel fiiiiiine. Even if he was just saying it to be nice. 

THANK YOU, Dr. Croy. I needed that.

More Thanks To Give

The month isn't over. More thanks to give:

31. I am thankful that, although they are a VERY IMPORTANT diagnostic tool, I will NEVER have to have another mammogram.

32. If I had to have cancer, I am very thankful that I got what I got. I'm a lucky girl. LUCKY.

33. I am thankful for my medical team. 

34. Please join me in giving thanks for Sonic Happy Hour drinks.

35. Bubble baths. 

36. When former preschoolers run up to me, waving their arms and saying, "Miss Dyanne! Miss Dyanne!"? Thankful for that.

37. When those former preschoolers are in middle or high school and still want to give me a big hug and tell me how much they loved preschool? Even more thankful for that.

38. Very thankful when people not only read my little blog, but also make comments.

39. For ice cream.  

40. For all my families: the ones that are related to me, as well as my facebook family, church family, blog family, volleyball family, preschool family, and I could go on, but you get my drift. Thankful for you, one and all.


I think I'm done now.

Thankfuller and Thankfuller

I KNEW I could come up with some more:

21.  I'm thankful that I grew up in a time when you could purchase penny candy. My kids never knew the joy of having a dime, a little brown paper bag, and a plethora of candy choices, each one only a penny. Get several BB Bats - they last a long time!


22. I'm ever thankful for friends who knew me when I was younger and stupider and still want to be friends with me today.


23. While I HATED it at the time, I'm thankful I had to sit at the kid table at my grandma's house. Character building.

24. I'm thankful for any chance I have to hold an itty bitty baby. 


25. Yoga pants. Who isn't thankful for yoga pants?

26. I'm thankful I don't like Twinkies, anyway. 

27. I'm even MORE thankful for Little Debbie cakes. They are totes better than Hostess cakes any day.

28. I'm thankful that gift cards were invented. How fun are they?!

29. Indoor plumbing. Enough said.

30. The world is probably thankful that about 90% of the stuff I think about stays inside my head.

I'm sure there are more. Give me some time.

I Ain't No Doctor, Ain't Got No PhD, BUT....

All right, I may not be a trained professional, but I'm feeling pretty certain that the little pains and oddities I am suffering from are, indeed, the dreaded side effects from taking Zoladex and Arimidex (and that I have been trying to avoid) and NOT just a product of age.

The first one I have had to check off my list is hot flashes. Yes, I'm having FREAKING HOT FLASHES. Okay, they're not that bad, actually. They are, at worst, annoying, sometimes requiring me to fan myself furiously for a minute or two. The ones at night are the worst, but, really, I set myself up for failure by turning on my electric mattress pad. And why do I do that? Because my inner thermostat is so completely whacked that I go from freezing to sweating and back again in the blink of an eye.

The weepiness is much better, although I still fall apart occasionally. For the record, I don't like falling apart.

The slight achiness I began noticing a month or so ago? Still with me and increasing. First, my hands, specifically, my thumbs and the backs of my hands. It's most noticeable when I hold my hands in one position for an extended period of time, like when driving (bet THAT instills you with confidence when you see me driving down the street!) or trying to carry something heavy, like a crock pot stuffed to the brim with (completely delicious) mashed potatoes (with bacon, sour cream, chives and cheese - see? delicious!). Or when holding a book. Or trying to open a jar.

The bones in the tops of my feet were the next ones to act up, going from a little awareness that I HAVE bones in the tops of my feet to having my feet and ankles stiffen so that I walk like Herman Munster when I get up in the morning. It also occurs when I've been sitting for an extended period of time, like when I'm playing working on the computer or when driving (really, I'm a safe driver. REALLY.).

The pain crept under my kneecaps next, hiding there and sneaking out only occasionally. Now it has set up what appears to be a permanent encampment, spending much of its time jabbing at my kneecaps with a railroad spike. (It only hurts when I move, Doc.) It's there during the Good Morning Song at preschool, there after plain ol' sitting for more than a few minutes at a time, and there while doing Zumba. Okay, and driving. Kind of bothers me then, too. And, more noticeably, when getting OUT of the car. 

That pain in my left hip that I thought was my IT band? Still could be, but in addition, my left hip is quite tender, the right one less so. I stiffen up when sitting, like in the car, for example. 

And the most disturbing side effect of all? My muscle tone has gone to complete and utter mush. I feel like a neutered cat.  And let me tell you, I spent the winter and part of the spring working hard on muscle definition, and my legs, if I do say so myself, looked pretty darn fine. Hah! Not any more! I walk regularly. And when I say I walk, I don't just walk on flat ground, I walk on hills. And I Zumba like a boss. And what do I have to show for it? DOUGHY LEGS! And arms. And other places. And, no, I haven't gained weight, for those of you who are wondering and don't want to ask. I did some research, and a loss of muscle tone is, indeed, a possible side effect. A REALLY SUCKY side effect. 

Don't think I'm complaining, because I'm not. I'm just reporting.  A little pain? Puh! I spit in the face of pain! But if you see me lurching about, remember that I AM NOT OLD AND DECREPIT. And if you say I am, I will kick you in the shins. Just give me a few minutes to work the kinks out first. And a head start. Give me a head start. 

Still Thankful

Still being thankful....

11. I am thankful that no one in my family is allergic to dust. Or cats. Or dusty cats.

12. I'm thankful when the filter between my brain and my mouth actually works.


13. I am very thankful for electric mattress pads with dual controls.

14. Pumpkin. I'm thankful for pumpkin.

15. I'm thankful for snow days and wish we got more of them.


16. When I dropped my straightening iron mid-straighten and caught it against my naked boobies (yes, I was straightening my hair while naked - don't judge), I was quite thankful that they are numb.

17. I am thankful that tv remote controls were invented, because, quite frankly, it really sucked to have to get up and cross the room every time you wanted to change the channel or the volume.


18. I'm so thankful for Pinterest, because I needed another time waster in my life.

19. Philosophy Amazing Grace lotion and body wash. VERY thankful.

20. I do so love my Zumba class, and I'm utterly thankful that I am not the worst one in there....

I'll bet I can come up with some more....

Gee, Thanks!

Apparently, the "thing" to do on Facebook in November is to make a daily post about what you are thankful for. (Wait, that sentence sucks. Change that to "make a daily post about things for which you are thankful.")  I don't have the patience to do that every single day, so I'll just compile some of mine here. You're welcome.

1. I'm thankful that I was taught about grammar, and that I shouldn't write sucky sentences that end in a preposition.

2. After handing me the cap & gown and graduation announcement order form this morning (that he had had for a week and that was due this morning) all of five minutes before we needed to leave for school, I am thankful my son does not realize how close he came to NOT graduating....

You'd never know that a mere 12 hours later,
I wanted to kill him.

3. I am thankful that my husband is not as vain as I am and wears bifocals, so he could read the fine print on the order form, especially after my blood pressure shot up dangerously high.

"I want a graduation beanie,"
said no Senior ever.

4. I think I am safe in saying that the cap & gown and announcement extortionists company, which shall remain nameless (*cough* Josten's *cough*), is thankful that my husband found, hidden under all the package options that included crap like a bling bling tassel (their words, not mine) and cost upwards of $100 for the MINI package, an option for JUST a cap, gown and ordinary tassel for $29.95, preventing me from causing an ugly scene, a la the Great Hardee's Cheese Fiasco of a few years ago.


5. I am thankful that I am generally a pretty mellow, laid-back kind of person and don't have Hardee's Cheese Fiasco-type issues very often.

6. You want to hear the Hardee's story, don't you? I'm thankful for that! 

See, a few years ago, we stopped at Hardee's for a quick bite to eat. I wanted a hamburger, but I couldn't find one on the menu; all I could see were various types of cheeseburgers. I don't like cheeseburgers, so I asked how much just a hamburger would be. The server told me it would be the same price as a cheeseburger. I said, "But if I wanted EXTRA cheese on my burger, you would charge me for that, so why should I have to pay for cheese that you don't give me?" Bottom line, even after pleading my COMPLETELY valid case to the server and the manager, is that Hardee's didn't serve hamburgers, only cheeseburgers (meaning there was no button on the cash register for that). So, I asked for my cheese to be ON THE SIDE, then when the server gave me my order, I took my cheese, walked over to the trash can, and THREW IT AWAY.

Hey, it made ME feel better.

7. I'm thankful my blog readers are too kind to point out the split infinitive in #2.

8. I am thankful for Diet Coke.

9. I am thankful that my family finds my sense of humor more endearing than annoying. It's probably a fine line, though.

10. I'm thankful my daughter and I don't wear the same size clothes or shoes, or else I would have nothing left in my closet.

Gratuitous picture.

 Stay tuned for future installments.

Always and Forever

I don't like to whine or complain. I don't like to lose sight of silver linings.

But today, I cried and felt sorry for myself.

I was slammed with hot flashes all day.

And my right knee is aching. 

As are the bones in the top of my feet.

And the ones in my hands.

And my left hip.

And I'm one of the lucky ones: no radiation, no infusion chemo.

The appearance of my little jellybean means that there will always be a calculable risk that the cancer will be back, somewhere, somehow.

I will forever be waiting and wondering.