See you in September...

 Tomorrow kicks off Pinktober (breast cancer awareness month, and don't think it has escaped our notice around here, heh) and Inktober in case you want the official rules. We made it into autumn, people! Not to tip anybody into a complete panic or anything, but we have Trick or Treat, a fairly major election, Thanksgiving and Christmas coming up. I suppose I should start thinking about shopping. My mother is probably already done. Way to go, Mommeeee!

In the meantime, I'd love for y'all to try Inktober with me. Once I find my sketchbook, since I probably haven't done more than a squiggle or two, I will attempt the daily prompts and post them here. Don't hold your breath for them to appear in a daily post; there is a reason Mommeee says I am the least competitive person she knows. Remember that it's for fun, not pressure, so doodle on a napkin somewhere and you don't have to go in order and just enjoy getting the creative juices flowing. You might make something hilarious that you know someone would love! In that case, feel free to give it with boldness to the recipient, who can then post/mount/display it with pride because someone who cared about them took a risk and thought about them! Everybody wins. Be brave!

And here's another PSA- go get your parts checked. Heavens, especially if wherever you work supports that, take advantage of the points or the system or whatever. Go see your doctor and be honest with them about what's working well and what's working not so well. If they don't listen to you, it's okay for you to try a different doctor. Just because you've gone to the same person forever doesn't mean you have to. Find your tribe, add them in, and with diligence you'll both find out early if anything is going wrong with you. Men, this goes for you, as well. Yes, it can be awkward. Go anyway. Your doc can turn into a trusted friend. Tell the truth. Make them earn their money- you had to wait for their time for your appointment. Be real. 

If anyone's not seen this refrigerator magnet before, it's partly to credit with me finding this round of cancer. You can click on it to enlarge it. The dimple part was what caught my eye and then I noticed the lump underneath it.

Know your body so that when something changes, you notice. A cousin would also like me to remind you to get checked for skin cancer. It doesn't take very long to do and the peace of mind of being declared free or getting samples sent off is worth it. Again, we're aiming for early detection because that brings better results. If you feel crummy, don't wait! Be your own advocate. Trust me, going forward, I'm going to be vocal about my allergy to chloraprep! I'd not go through the intense itching again if I don't have to! 

Take good care of you, grab your doodling pen, and I'll see you in October!

Itchy-bo-bo-scratchety man

 I told a friend I'd discovered the thrift store where Jessica Rabbit shops, apparently! My goodness. So brave.

Since we can't all have the body shape of Jessica Rabbit, and even she says, "I'm not bad- I'm just drawn that way," I want to point out some things on this vessel that is hauling me around these days. 

*Farther down is a photo of my surgical area. Sensitive viewers beware*

There's a terrific book by David Shannon called Good Boy, Fergus! It's about a small white dog who is quite the stinker. Our kids loved it, both the story and the art. There's a page where Fergus is on his back, wiggling as he receives belly rubs, and his owner is asking, "aww, does that feel good? Itchy-bo-bo-scratchety man!" 

We've said that a lot around here over the years just like "itchy, itchy Ichabod" so it's been fitting as I squirm around trying to get lotion on my itchy patches. I think they're slowly improving, maybe? You can clearly see how the adhesive had tormented me:

The blue-black section is still dye that will work its way out. We are getting there. The dermatape or whatever it's called is starting to come away from my skin and supposedly will flake off over a period of weeks. The skin from the inside of my upper arm is still getting stuck in it and pulling a little, but it is happening somewhat less.

As you can see down a little lower, NO DRAIN! Woohoo! That's what the scab is from in the middle of the itchiest red patch. My plastics doc felt that output had slowed enough that he could remove it and he bandaged me up. So nice to be tentacle-free, man. Hooray. He said it may seep a bit and that's okay, but it seems to have scabbed over for now. Next week my surgeon will check it during her follow up. He also prescribed something for the itchy reaction that he agreed is most likely from the surgery prep soap(s). He sympathized and said sometimes people do have a sensitivity. Haha. Yeah. That'd be me. I'm not sure the meds are helping. I was getting a little worried yesterday because the lower half of my face felt like it was a little puffy after I took it so I thought maybe I better lay off it, but my face still feels like that and I haven't had any today. I think it's just generalized aggravation. It's not as much of an all-consuming itch today, thank goodness. And I'm drinking lots to flush things along. Ha.

Farther down, you can see a shadowy line which does indeed indicate back fat. I am keeping this real, people. I am middle aged and even though some of you have thought of me as "that skinny girl" for decades, I, too, have areas I'd kinda sorta like to work on but not really because of the work involved. Haha! Just staying honest. I don't want anybody looking at this body and getting any ideas about perfection. 😏Not even close. 

That said, I AM proud of my leg muscles, but that's a different story. Dada DID take me on our usual 3.2 mile walk today with no problems, so I'm gettin' back in the saddle and working on building things back up. As my nurse Lisa reminded me, I'm using everything to heal my surgical site so I have to remember to add in extra calories.

Time for ice cream! Cheers!

Apparently I get bossy when I'm itchy

 There's a great line by Dr. Seuss in his board book version, I think, of his alphabet book. In the regular version for the letter "I" it says something like "Ichabod is itchy... and so am I" but the board book is smaller (and more easy to chew on as a small child) so the words are condensed to "itchy, itchy Ichabod... i i i" 

Man, I'm feelin' ya, buddy. 

We've used that phrase over bug bites and occasional rounds with poison ivy for years, but it's most of what I've been trying to not think about today. I am fairly sure that all of the weird dyes, meds, adhesives and cleansers have united against me on my right side from my neck to about my belly button and I am ITCHY, ITCHY ICHABOD, all right! I have tiny bumps all over my skin on my right arm and front of my torso, and I'm having flashbacks to when I was a kid in the summertime who had been graciously given a case of chicken pox (thanks a lot for sharing, Hinrew). My Dad kept telling me to not scratch as I chilled on a sheet-covered couch because it would scar. I vividly remember musing, "nobody will ever see my scalp" so I scratched away, intensely, without too much relief, and pulled scabs out of my hair. Imagine my astonishment and bemusement when I heard I'd lose my hair during chemo! Whoops. Guess people are gonna see my scalp after all!

I survived. 

I also survived my 10 day late period this month. It should have arrived around the 6th. It waited until two days before surgery, the 16th. So that cloud of piratey talk you heard but couldn't quite identify the source of? Yeah, that was me. I told a friend there weren't going to be any F bombs left for the rest of the world's conversations because I was using them ALL. The nurses laughed when I told them, soothed me, and said it happens more often than you think. The stress of whatever is upcoming holds it off... until it can't anymore. I lived to tell the tale. 

And since I know some of you are like, "waiiiiit..." YES, chemo does mess all that up too. For awhile there were none, which was splendid, let me tell you, and then they came back more or less regularly. Sometimes it skipped. Sometimes it's early. Always it's a pain. 

Years ago, I dragged a friend of mine to the talk for parents that schools give before they give the "our bodies are changing" talk to the students. We all watched the video and at one point, I kid you not, it was stated that, "soon, your period will become such a normal part of your routine that you won't even notice it." As every woman's jaw dropped, the driest voice I've ever heard interjected from somewhere in that accumulation of parents and it pronounced, "LIAR."

After everyone present got control of themselves, my girlfriend and I mused about how hilarious that was, how inaccurate it was, and how the students who were about to be seeing the video might take that as gospel and have NO IDEA THAT IT DOESN'T WORK THAT WAY. 

Never have I planned an overnight stay, a vacation, a camp out, anything, without considering when and if Aunt Flo would decide to grace us with her presence. Are you even kidding me? You'll never even notice?! Like your gang won't notice that you're crabby from PMS and need to stand back and toss chocolate to you? That your clothes don't fit right? That your skin and hair get more oily? That you generally feel crummy? And that it's about to become more fun and games? Ugh. Seriously, people, tell the truth!

You will notice. It might suck. I survived. So will they. So will you. Life won't stop, not for a period, not for the loss of a job, not for the loss of a loved one, not for a natural disaster. You're going to have to keep going even when you think you can't. 

All of you facing down a hurricane, physically or otherwise, do what you can with your prep work, keep in touch with your village, and know you are not alone. When things are stable, help those whose world has been rocked. If you need ideas, look to my tribe- they are excellent at this! You don't have to be strong ALL THE TIME, so take your turn when it is your turn, and let others help when you can't. Go meet your neighbors- bring their empty trash cans back from the curb for them- and they might turn into friends. Leave a few minutes early so you DO have time to stop to check on the friend whose home you drive by on your regular outings. Love hard. Use your gifts. You are needed!

You are loved. Don't forget it.

Now I'll go find my Benadryl. And my bite sticks.

Love, Ichabod

I didn't die! What I remember and where I am now

 Hello everyone! *waves with left hand* This post will have some fun photos and some more sensitive ones, so viewers should proceed with caution, like one hand over their eyes (for some of you) and the knowledge that I'm okay! 

Sorry for the radio silence. My brain still feels a bit slow, but this is always good therapy so here goes. Please bear with me if I get distracted before proofreading or lose my place in the story, haha.

One week ago we headed into the city for surgery first thing Wednesday morning. Report time was 5 AM with surgery to start at 7. The night before was the usual nothing by mouth after midnight (just in case I were to turn into a Gremlin, I suppose) so in that sense it was nice to be there early; less time to feel sorry for myself due to hunger and dehydration. I get crabby from both!

That green circle, above, surrounds the little dimpled area of this squatting troublemaker. It's not truly in my armpit so much as just in front of it.

Below, the arrow points to the scar from where my port was during my year of infusions, the circle is over the previous scar from my right side surgical drain post-mastectomy, and the X marks the general area of the tumor. Ignore the hair- I wasn't allowed to shave in the days leading up to surgery. Not that anybody is looking that closely, just my disclaimer. 😅

We woke up at 4 AM because I needed my final of the 6 showers with the special super-duper sudsy germ killing soap first. That done, we snuck out of our friends' house and drove the not quite half hour to the hospital. They checked us in and immediately started to draw on me and initial their work so everyone is on the same page and body part and all that. 

                                                 

I had a sweet nurse who told me they'd get me an expert to start my IV, so then I had another sweet nurse come in to do just that and she nailed it on the first try. Woot! I met my surgery nurse and the anesthesiologist (holy COW, I got that right on the first try- no way!) and her assistant, and both docs came in to go over things, and then it was time to smooch Dada and get wheeled into my adventure!

                      

Gotta love my duck socks. And my fun compression boots that kept all my blood circulating and helped prevent clots while I was under anesthesia. These guys really know what they're doing! Everyone was incredibly kind, and let me tell you, I remember kissing Dada... and I have zero memory of even making it into the OR. Not kidding. Not being pushed through the doors, feeling the coldness of the room, not the bright lights, none of it. 

I didn't even get to use my bite sticks! I had one in my hand and was completely befuddled when I asked about the dye going in and how it feels like an angry hornet and they smiled at me and said, "oh no, we'll wait until you're sleeping for that." Could have knocked me over with a feather. Unbelievable. So I got to give that to Dada to put in my purse as I left him. Such good fortune! Hooray! No stinging!

And you guys, thanks for praying. One, I was not allergic to the dye. I am still bluish green in areas to prove it. Thank you! Two, apparently they had to do the long version after all and I didn't die! Dr A had not expected the lymph node mapping to work, and she was right, unfortunately. That meant after Dr A removed the tumor, surrounding tissue, and whatever lymph nodes were in there and attempted the mapping, Dr H also had to step in to reroute the severed lymph vessels into suitable veins. Apparently my previous radiation damage made that trickier in that he had to dig deeper to find recipient veins, but he was able to make five connections and was pleased. 

I woke up in recovery some time after all that and that's all pretty fuzzy. I know I vomited at least once- maybe when they tried to stand me up the first time? They said that happens often. 

One of the nice parts is that all of this procedure happened on the same floor: pre-op, the surgery, and the post-op care. No elevator rides, less chance of germs being handed around, no chance to get lost, haha. It was a really nice set up! My nurses, Abby and Alexis and Jesse and Chris were all fantastic, excellent educators, caring, kind, encouraging. I forget which person handed me the plastic tool that they want you to inhale from to make sure that your lung sacs are opening post-anesthesia, but she started to give directions and I took in a huge breath- the little indicator hit the top wall- and she laughed mid-instruction and said, "well, okay then, champ!" Guess all that walking and running this spring and summer made the odds ever in my favor. That and all your prayers, for sure! Thank you so much! 

I ate all my dinner, which was noodles, mashed potatoes, a roll and green beans- yes, Mother, there is visual proof in a photo below (I am NOT a fan of green beans)- and I didn't die! Haha. And my strawberry ice cream and later some orange sherbet with a turkey sandwich. I remember brushing my teeth later and wondering why my toothpaste was orange colored when I spit it out before I remembered about the orange sherbet. I think I also had another turkey sandwich around 4 AM...

They kept me overnight since I'd had the long version, and booted me out before 8 AM the following morning, sending me home with Tylenol and ibuprofen to alternate between, my inhaling-suck-it-in tool, two front-closing sports bras to help hold my dressing in place, gloves and wipes and all that jazz for Dada to use whilst emptying my surgical drain twice daily (fun times but not painful) and various dressings. 

And my duck socks. 

So now I'm colorful from the dye and the bruising:

The blue dots on my arm are where the plastic surgeon injected his own set of dyes to trace where the lymph vessels drained and to match with the veins. I also had blue dye injected into the webbing of my right hand between each finger. Mercifully I was asleep for all that. It is quite clear to me that I'd make a terrible junkie.

And I'm a bit rashy because of adhesives and cleansers, which is apparently a side effect of chemo because it happened then, as well. Benadryl helps and I know the itching won't be forever. Nothing like sporting weird racing stripes of rash in odd places and having one bumpy arm:

In addition to those itches, I had been warned ahead of time that post-surgery there would be light, tickly feelings on my right arm and that I'd need to rub it to desensitize those nerves and get them used to reporting in when something was actually touching me. Dada, who loves to give light tickly touches, was delighted. I am not a fan of light tickly touches because they tickle! Thing Two and I are firmly in the Firm Touches camp. I have indeed felt as though spider webs or Thing Two's hairs have been draped along my arm, or as though a drip of moisture is sliding down, and am brushing and rubbing and scratching gently accordingly. Mostly it feels like when you've slept funny and your arm is asleep, unusually heavy, right before the tingles of the blood rushing back in begins. Sometimes the skin gets stuck together in the adhesives that I have to let flake off. I'm allowed to shower but not let that part face the stream of water yet. So things get a little pinchy on that side.

I'm to not lift anything heavier than two pounds on my right side and I'm not to lift higher than 45 degrees this first week. If you want to know what that's like, go unload your dishwasher with your opposite hand and you'll have a pretty good idea. Get a gallon of milk out of the fridge with your off hand. Set a lot of things down so you can open the fridge or cabinet or door first and then pick the stuff back up with your "bad" hand. It's entertaining, but I am so astoundingly bad at brushing my teeth with my off hand, that I've gone back to using my chicken wing right side. 

I'm drinking lots of water, eating whatever I want, playing lots of solitaire on my phone and watching way too much TV, but I don't feel like I can focus on a book quite yet. This post alone has taken me about two hours, though there were some interruptions, including a thunderstorm followed by intense sunshine which resulted in this: 

Thank you again, all of you, for being invaluable members of my tribe. I am sure the docs will be pleased at my follow up appointments and I am healing well. I've gone from meds every four hours to meds about three times a day. I slept through the entire night last night and I can't tell you when that last happened! We're still waiting to hear if there was lymph node involvement so we know if I will need chemo in addition to hormone therapy, and I'm not sure when we will get those results. Thank you all so much. You are among my many blessings. 

Home again, home again, jiggety jig!

 Hiya! This will be brief; as my creative juices are still a little sludgy, but I am HOME. We got booted out yesterday morning after I was able to waddle around the hospital floor in my grippy yellow duckfoot socks, use the bathroom, eat several times and pass all the mini exams they have you perform. I'm going to be in recovery mode a little while, but wanted to thank you all for the prayers, cards, texts, calls, all of it. Truly the best tribe ever! 

They did have to do the long version and that included sending the 2/3 of my right side lymph nodes out for inspection, so we won't hear the results of that right away. However, my docs were pleased, my nurses were proud of me, and everyone seems to think I'm doing very well. I'm alternating Advil and Tylenol every four hours, have no dietary restrictions, and I will not be power lifting anytime soon as I can't lift more on my right side than two pounds until I have my follow up appointment next week. I promise that I will try to behave myself and not overdo things. I am very much looking forward to my first shower, my surgical drain is doing a good job sucking out my fluids, and it was nice to sleep in my own bed with tons of pillows!

Have a wonderful day, my excellent tribe. I love you all!

Story time

*Harry Potter spoiler ahead*

 I am astounded that I've never related this memory here before (and I checked), but as I need to reference it, get ready for story time.

My friends Rich, Wendy, Heather and I were assigned to the same elementary school for our spring semester of pre-student teaching. It required driving from State College, PA where Penn State Main Campus is to Altoona. I can't remember how many days a week we did it, but we had a great comradery (huh, I always thought that was spelled with an ie... who knew?) and the car rides were always a hoot. Wendy drove an old Bronco that was sans the inside roof fabric and had handprints etched into the ceiling. She also claimed she had to sing to it to get it started in cold weather, but I never got to confirm that because they came to pick me up. 

Around Easter, someone brought a package of colorful marshmallow peeps. We didn't open them that morning, and I don't remember if they were left in the car for consumption that afternoon or if they were inadvertently forgotten there, but when we came out after school that fateful sunny day they were, sadly... deceased. 

I remember Rich picking up the still-cellophane-wrapped box, tilting it one direction and then the other, all of us watching as the colorful ooze inside slid from one side to the other, and laughing as he cried, "sweet, sweet, innocent peeps!" It became a descriptor for other "poor, unfortunate souls" as Ursula croons in "The Little Mermaid." We have used it throughout our marriage and laughed when something melted, broke, or otherwise gave up the ghost. Sometimes our kids even use it.

I was thinking about Harry Potter's friend Ron and musing about how he is such a "sweet, sweet, innocent peep" in how oblivious he is to what is actually going on in others' heads. There is a fantastic example of this in The Order of the Phoenix which spawned another quote our family uses about "the emotional range of a teaspoon". Spoilers ahead for any of you non-Potter fans, apologies, and all credit goes to J.K. Rowling, not me:

Hermione sighed and laid down her quill.

"Well, obviously, she's feeling very sad, because of Cedric dying. Then I expect she's feeling confused because she liked Cedric and now she likes Harry, and she can't work out who she likes best. Then she'll be feeling guilty, thinking it's an insult to Cedric's memory to be kissing Harry at all, and she'll be worrying about what everyone else might say about her if she starts going out with Harry. And she probably can't work out what her feelings towards Harry are anyway, because he was the one who was with Cedric when Cedric died, so that's all very mixed up and painful. Oh, and she's afraid she's going to be thrown off the Ravenclaw Quidditch team because she's been flying so badly."

A slightly stunned silence greeted the end of this speech, and then Ron said, "One person can't feel all that at once, they'd explode."

"Just because you've got the emotional range of a teaspoon doesn't mean we all have," said Hermione nastily, picking up her quill again. 

What in the world does all of any of that have to do with life right now? Fair question.

People have been asking how I'm doing and how I'm feeling. I've been laughing about Ron's reply because that's exactly what my brain is doing- fairly exploding over all the things I'm thinking and feeling. For instance, today I'm elated that very soon I'll not have a tumor in me any more! Medical professionals at every kind of appointment ask if I have any pain. It's not so much pain as a mental image of it slowly poisoning me. I bump up against in when I have things in my arms and I scowl at it. In my head it's so much bigger than it is in reality- as far as I know it's still under 2 cms in every direction. I'm kind of torn about asking to see it or at least pictures of it after the removal. I sort of want to face the enemy. Troublemaker. Take that, you squatter!

Back to my teaspoon running over.

I'm thrilled that it will be gone! And I'm super excited to hear, "your sentinel lymph nodes were clear! You're done!"  though that will still mean hormone therapy, at least.

And if I do hear, "we had to do the whole shebang" which will equal "and you'll need chemo" then I'll finally know that and can get on with planning for it. So much depends upon...

Either way, surgery will be over and behind me instead of looming in front of me. I can pivot to what needs to happen next as I behave myself and don't lift anything heavy and record the levels in my surgical drain and drink lots of water and get lots of rest and wait and wait and wait because healing takes foreeeeveeeeeeerrrrrrrr and I got Stuff To Do! I know we are human beings, not human doings, but the more I sit around the more tired I get. I'm glad that part of my recovery is walking! That is actually something I'm rather good at. *beaming proudly*

Lemme know if you wanna walk with me, even if you're in a separate time zone and thus have to do it in spirit (you know who you are), and we can set it up! 

Have a terrific Friday the 13th weekend, everybody!

*Again, I get zero credit for work done by J.K. Rowling and her Harry Potter series. Read them. They're so fun!

Rowling, J.K. (2003). Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. New York: Scholastic Press.

Bones brothers

 Thank you to Mike who coined the title. Thing One brought home two plastic skeletons, one to have fun with as a passenger in her car and one for Thing Two's upcoming birthday since he was a Halloween baby and loves all things spooky. WE have been having a ball with them:

Pre-op rundown

 Sunday night we stayed at some friends' in the city so that we wouldn't have to make the 2 hour drive first thing in the morning for my 9 AM pre-op appointment. Thank you again, you guys, for your hospitality! It is a bright spot in what otherwise feels like a not fun trip. So appreciated!

I got signed in, having done all the questionnaires online ahead of time, and was told, "you'll have your appointment with Katie, then a chest X-ray and some labs." 

Oh hold up, there; nobody had said anything about labs. Maybe I should have assumed there'd be some, but you know what they say about assuming. Plus, last time I was in, I'd asked and they gave me the lab form to give to my oncologist the next time I had them done.

Which was July 29th.

They want within-a-month-of-the-surgery labs. 

Bah.

So anyway, we do the gig with Katie, who is wonderful and answers all my questions, ridiculous or not. I discovered I am NOT, in fact, allowed to have my anxiety medication (that I only GOT for before stressful appointments, gah!)  before the feels-like-an-angry-hornet part of the procedure. Thank you, Mike, for the bite sticks! They are already in my Must Pack stack.

She asked about muscle pain. Um, you mean the constant knot in my right shoulder where all my stress has gone over my entire life? She smiled and asked if it is worse now. Um, yes, haha. I am allowed to take Tylenol, but no Advil or Aleve and so forth for the week before surgery. I guess that is par for the course. Any nurses can set me straight. 

Do I need to buy a front closure sports bra for afterwards, especially as I have no freakin' boobs to put in one? Haha, no, we will send you home wearing one and it needs to stay on for at least 48 hours and then it's up to you to wear it, not wear it, whatever feels best. It's kind of there to protect that dressing and provide some compression. Hooray, crossing that off the walmart list. 

We ask, "do we really need to come back Thursday for the plastics' pre-op? What is he going to do?" She looked things over, shook her head and replied, "I don't even know WHAT he would be doing... I'm already ordering everything you need. I'll call him and see if you can skip that appointment." 

So I head downstairs, still in my stylish light pink open-in-the-front doctors' office gown to get my chest X-ray. The tech tried five times but her machine was giving her grief. She's grumbling as she resets it again and again, "I already recalibrated this thing... what is going ON?" I mused that it was Monday morning, maybe it just didn't feel like working. In exasperation she sent me to the lab while she called her boss to see what to do next, telling me to come back when I'm done with labs.

So, STILL in my height-of-fashion gown, I bebop down the hall to the vampire lair lab and sit down with a chipper tech who said, "you got your chest X-ray done already?"

"Nope, it's not working. I'm supposed to go back. I told her maybe it's because it's Monday."

She sat back in her chair with big eyes and said, "AND we had a fire drill this morning. Now I ask you, who would schedule one of those for first thing on a Monday morning? They KNOW we are so busy. Those alarms! Ugh!"

So we laughed as she tried stabbing me to find a suitable vein, gave up, got a different needle and stuck it after calling it a "bugger" which cracked me up again because that's what my Nana used to call my Thingz. 

I impress Dada who is waiting with my paraphernalia (what a ROTTEN word. Took me 5 tries and I STILL had to look it up) like my clothes, water bottle, purse, sunglasses, paperwork and second booklet on the surgery prep and recovery that the nurse had given me... anyway, he's impressed that I'm walking out of there on my own two feet and in a good mood. He inquired, "She got you on the first stick? Wow!" 

"NOPE!"

"Wowwwwww. Need anything? Need me to steady you?"

After reassuring him I was fine and relaying the intel about the fire drill, we head back to the lab, get the thumbs up from the tech who takes me right back, snaps the X-ray, tells me I can change and go home. 

We drove back and celebrated with steak as I'm supposed to start my higher protein diet (aiming for 90 grams a day, good gravy, there's no way) to increase protein stores that my body will draw from after surgery to heal the wound. Fascinating! 

Yesterday, Katie called me to make sure I'd seen the results of my labs- my blood glucose had been low and she'd told me I needed to eat; I told her what I HAD eaten and she decided it was a glitch and to not worry about it- and to ask if I had any more questions. She let me know I didn't need to go to the plastics' pre-op appointment. Woohoo for an open day not spent in the car! Thank you!

Then the plastics' doc called me, sounded like from his car, to tell me that appointment really had only been for in case I had burning questions that needed answered or if I felt he'd already covered anything. I asked, "it says 'no lotions' in the book- is it because they figure by telling you to use none anywhere it's safer than telling you to avoid the area lest you forget and slather it on anyway?" He said, "I don't know why they say that unless it's in case you'd get a skin reaction from it, but if it's something you're already using every day, just avoid your breast area and upper extremity and it will be fine." Personally, I figure supple, well-moisturized skin would be more cooperative during surgery and heal better than dried out, flaky skin, but I lack a medical degree just as I lack a theological one. So no lotion right side going in. Got it. I thought it was so nice of him to call. He could have just checked in via MyChart...

Thank you to all those who have left notes or texts or calls and so forth to let me know you're following along and to support. You are amazing. I love all of you.

If you need me, I'll be over here munching my almonds, having my call with the OR nurses, rubbing my right shoulder, and avoiding germy people. Wash your hands and have a wonderful hump day!

A whole lotta BLEAAAAAAAH.

People ask how I'm managing with the surgical countdown. Usually I say, "I try not to think about it." I told my brother I wanted to amend my answer. 

I told him I was a complete stress ball. He guessed, "active mind?" Yep. He gave me a beautiful, completely appreciated compliment on how I'm dealing with everything.

I still want to bite things.

I think mostly the two emotions are mad and scared. I don't even know why about the scared: I have an excellent team who know that they're doing, who have Plan A and Plan B and could certainly wing a Plan C, D, E if needed. The procedure that only potentially would be done would be one that should help me, not harm me further. Yes, needles are involved and that's never my favorite thing, and yes, the recovery isn't going to be fun, but all of that is just temporary and I know it. So where's the fear coming from? It can just go on back there. Bah.

The anger is easier to understand because there's many reasons. In no particular order:

-I already had cancer once, for cryin' out loud!

-I won't be able to drive for at least two weeks because of the surgical drain(s) and maybe longer depending on how easily the incision(s) heal. That means there's a whole bunch of trips in real life that I can't accomplish.

-I do NOT want chemo again! I don't want to have to learn about new drugs, new side effects, deal with months of diarrhea, hair loss, appetite disruption, you name it, and again more of not driving myself.

-I despise being dependent on everybody else.

-It wastes so much TIME! I have better things to do that sit hooked up to an IV to get weeks of meds! I have a family to take care of and friends to love on and walks to take! Look at me spiraling out about results we don't even have yet. Like I learned nothing about stressing over "what ifs" from the first time around. Sheesh.

-I don't want to have to rebuild muscle and flexibility and strength. I did yoga for years after the first surgery and now I'll have to work back up to even what I was doing! It's so frustrating to lose that flexibility, extension, mobility.

-In my prayers yesterday I thought angrily, "I don't WANT to use all that to glorify You," and that stopped me. Full stop. Do I really mean that? Do I really not want to use something potentially so messy and hard to not help point others to the love I have in Christ? No. But do I want to go through it? Also no. Of course not. Nobody signs up for that. 

I talked with my tribe about not wanting to have anyone doubt their faith because of whatever outcome I face, meaning if everyone is praying that I only have to have the first part of surgery but I then end up having the whole shebang, I don't want anybody to think they should have prayed more or harder or anything like that. My tribe says that's not my responsibility and that people know that God's not a genie and that just because they pray one way doesn't mean it won't be answered differently. They're right, I know. But I don't want- not even for one second- someone to use what happens or doesn't happen to me as an excuse to turn their back on Jesus, to say, "well, clearly He doesn't even listen so why bother?"

All of which brings to mind a post that has been rattling around in my head for months. Telling and texting people about this second diagnosis resulted in many variations of, "I'm so sorry and I'm so mad for you and I'm trying to not tell you what I really think about all this because I want to use bad words." So let's pivot.

Bad words. I don't know where I read it, but I know I read that saying a bad word when you've been hurt makes you feel better. And even more fascinating: the wife of a couple we are friends with had a stroke several years ago. She was speaking to her husband and not making sense. He asked her to repeat herself and he still couldn't understand her. He asked again, and she swore, and he said that came out crystal clear. He asked her doctor about it and got the reply that those bad words come from a different part of your brain and can be unaffected! Isn't that crazy amazing?

So why are we talking about this? Well, one, I want my friends to be able to say anything to me. I appreciate that my more sensitive ones ask first, but I truly want to know what you're actually thinking and feeling. Does that mean I want to hear you swearing like a sailor every time we talk? No, but you already knew that. But if you're venting, I am absolutely okay with you using the words you're really feeling. Get them out. Be real. I am still going to love you. I can also send my friend Mike your way- he is EXCELLENT at this!

And to extrapolate, if I am still going to love you, which I am, how much more understanding is God going to be if you drop an F bomb when you drop something on your foot? If you think that He is going to be all huffy and offended, then, my friend, you need to cultivate a broader view of the Almighty. He's keeping planets spinning- He remembers that we are dust. It is not going to be the end of the world if you have a cloud of piratey talk above your head when your life is falling apart. He gets it. He just doesn't want you to STAY there under that cloud. He wants to help.

Since someone is thinking it, let me beat you to the punch. Some of you are thinking of Ephesians 4:29 even if you don't know its address. It's the variations of:

 Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen. 

Yes, it says "any" and there's a "but only" in there. Full disclosure, I have zero theological degrees. I can tell you that Ephesians 4 has two headings, if you will, and they are "Unity and Maturity in the Body of Christ" and the 29th verse falls into the "Instructions for Christian Living" part. Verse 25 says:

"Therefore each of you must put off falsehood and speak truthfully to your neighbor, for we are all members of one body." 

To me, that goes back to the "if we're going to share, let's be real and SHARE" part. Truthfully. Not "I'm fine" when IT WAS NOT FINE. Think how much deeper our relationships could become if we were all actually real with each other and shared struggles instead of muddling along alone, being mad that nobody is helping and forgetting that nobody can read minds and we didn't tell them what we're dealing with! Essentially the chapter is about how to have community and everyone knows that is by building one another up instead of pointing fingers, blaming others, making a mess and not cleaning it up, and so on. Community is where you feel home, cherished, appreciated, respected and loved. We all long for that. We rob ourselves and each other of it when we are fake or standoffish or afraid to let others help. Guess what. People love to help! Sometimes they just don't know where to start. Give them a chance!

My point is that God is big enough that He's not going to stroke out if you use strong language. Does that mean I'm giving you permission to be obscene? Not at all- the rest of the verse teaches that the majority of our talk should be building others up and creating community, not being so profane that nobody wants to ever listen to anything we have to say. Pay a real compliment. You know how good it feels to receive one. 

(Not even kidding; my watch just dinged with the headline, "Here's how Trump has used debates to belittle women." How timely. Sometimes technology scares me.)

I guess the point is that what comes out of our mouths and hearts is our choice. I'm advocating sensitivity and realness. Be genuine. Bart Simpson, I feel, made socially acceptable the saying, "it sucks." I know some people take issue with that phrase, but to some others who are going through the wringer, it can be relieving to hear another enunciate what you're actively feeling. Sometimes it DOES suck. Sometimes a stronger, more forceful word is called for because sometimes that's what fits the situation. Am I going to start dropping F-bombs here on the blog? No; I'm trying to keep it family friendly, but that does not mean that sometimes I don't say it... usually referring to one or both of our dogs, but that's beside the point. (Those of you who know our dogs don't need me to draw any word pictures.)

I guess what I'm saying is that I wish each of you at least one friend whose friendship is deep enough that they will not be shocked/disapproving/high and mighty enough to look down on you and your circumstances if you swear in their presence. I want you all to have a tribe who has your back. I want for each of you to be really seen and heard and know that you are loved. And I want you to keep being the people who you are: who reach out, who help each other, and who do the hard, whatever it is, day after day after day, even when it is quite clear there's no thanks or recognition coming. I have many examples of faithfulness and sacrifice in my tribe and I want that for all of you, especially as our culture seems stuck in the "me first" mire at times. Thanks for being part of my tribe. I'm glad you're here. Take a deep breath, risk a little, be real, love hard.

Lodging a complaint

 We can't be the only ones with this problem. We have lots of spiders in our home, lurking in bathrooms, hanging out in ceiling corners, weaving webs across the stretch between doorjambs. I'm generally the first one out of bed, so I have the distinct displeasure of breaking web strands in the morning. Lovely. And where is the spider NOW?

Generally I leave them alone. The terms and conditions are that they earn their keep. I don't mind if you want to chill in a corner of the ceiling, but you better be the one to catch the stray mosquito. I know houseflies are fast, but with my fly swatter I am faster, so they get a pass on those. Why do we still have fruit flies even with the apple cider vinegar/dishsoap concoction and resident spiders?

A few mornings ago I saw a baby Guillermo, as house centipedes are known in our house, scurry out from behind our bathroom mirror and wedge himself behind the sponge on the sink. I missed him emerge, but next saw him attempting to run the gauntlet between a bathroom rug and a spider in a web under our floorboard heater. He, sadly, was intercepted. A battle ensued, a spindly bathroom spider tried to join the fray and was rebuffed by the sleek spider, the baby Guillermo ended up curled like a sad comma, and the sleek spider reigned triumphant. 

My complaint is this: why do I have THREE predators in my bathroom who are attempting to off each other when I had to smash FIVE moths in the pantry all by myself with a sixth out of reach on the popcorn ceiling? 

Get outta my bathroom an' get to work or you're all fired!

A serving of random

He's just so cute, even when he's being uncooperative for photos. His dimple still cracks me up and melts my heart. He's slowly improving but still hacking and coughing like he's trying to rid himself of lungs. We are on week 3. 

Wash your hands.

I had my annual well check today, ha, and wanted to get both a covid and a flu shot because A) tis the season and B) too much closer to surgery is not recommended and 

C) I was right there at the doctors' office.

I was informed that 1) they don't do covid shots at all and 

2) their flu shots don't come in until next week, so

guess who got out in the parking lot after all the usual fun and games to get on her phone, find a local pharmacy and book an appointment in the next five minutes? Boom, baby.

I'm supposed to do a high protein diet before surgery and made the mistake of telling Dada. Living like the Flintstones, I tell ya...

So this is a great story. A close friend asked what he could tangibly do to help before surgery. I laughed about "pain rises" and I wanted something to bite into when the doc injects the radioactive dye that she says feels like an angry hornet. I can't be sedated for that part, unfortunately. My friend said, "I got you, girl." 

These came in the mail! Further proof that I do indeed have The Best Tribe. Thank you!

I call them my bite sticks, but the receipt reads, "Xtra Tough Sensory Chew Stick Toys (3 Pack)- Designed for ADHD, Autism, SPD, Oral Motor Stimulation, Special Needs"... 

In my head I hear the words "special needs" in the voice of Donkey from "Shrek" as he's talking about "you hear that? She called me a 'noble steed'!"

I guess this does count as a special need! 

(I bet they are wonderful on road trips, too, when you're out of Fireballs, your gum is dead and the stress/tiredness is creeping up your shoulders and into your neck and head. Or is that just me? Oh well.)

You'll have to order your own, sorry. These ones will have my germs on them. No touchie. 

 

Friday night lights

It's that time of year again for all things pumpkin spice Friday night football!

I used to go to some of my own high school football games to socialize. I've never been competitive, so the actual fact that there was a game being played made no difference to me. I'd get home and PaPa would ask, "what was the score?"

"No idea. But I saw so and so and such and such and..."

"Who did they play?"

"Uhhh... hmmm. I dunno!"

World's Worst Fan, right here. 

Sorry, team. I'm just here for the band...  

That's our sax player and his friend at the bottom of the photo above. And Dada made it back from a work trip in time to see the second half after being gone all week. Wahooo! And our guys won, bonus. 

 

Way to go, Gladys!

 So we got our Jeep Gladiator a year ago this month, and she just turned 10,000 miles this week. I managed to get this photo before driving, and looked down (but did not get a photo as I was driving) right as she turned 10,000. She's going to be a busy gal this fall with all the community college trips, football games, doctors' appointments, and regular life like church and groceries! Good job, girl!

Morning mist and morning glories

Thing Two still calls mist on the soybeans "beancreep" and loves the spookiness of the fog sneaking through the beans. It has been cold enough to see our breath at the bus stop in the morning, so the added layer of moisture makes for fun photos.

Bus time in our latitude is also roughly sunrise, so yes, I have a new phone that is filling up with sunrise photos!

And, of course, the splendor of morning glories.

 

Labor Day weekend, indeed

 Here's to all of you who don't know how to sit down and relax with a little umbrella drink over Labor Day weekend. We are right there with you. The Tuesday before we had a big storm including wind gusts up to 70 mph. Now, all you coastal people, I know, you're used to such winds. We are not. Neither are our trees. Hence the multiple day clean-up. The very top of one of our locust trees snapped off, taking multiple pine boughs down along the way. Two of the neighbors' trees went down, one along our property line. Generally just a mess. We have just about every type of tree that drops something. I think we are missing pear, obviously citrus and coconut, and hickory. We have small apples (from our sole remaining apple tree- we inherited four when we moved in), black walnuts, pinecones, cherries, acorns, pine needles, leaves, you name it. Locusts send down merry flurries of tiny leaves... and nasty twigs full of thorns. Osage oranges are also slyly thorny in addition to dropping those spider-repelling balls. Some of us like to go barefoot, but it is pretty darn treacherous to do out back, especially!

We initially felt really bad for the crews around town who were slated to pick up the piles until we saw how smart they were about it- one has the dump truck and the other has some big thing with "jaws" that open sideways so it scoops up entire piles to dump. Good thing, because I have gotten a handful that had something sharp in it and I rate it with absolutely no stars- would not recommend!