Normally I would be raising my hand for the not-leaving-the-house bit, but I was up before the alarm today. Good thing, because I forgot to set it. I’m getting rather good at driving to strange parts of the city to see specialists but parking stresses me out.
Patient parking in the lot was full, so I parked a couple of rows over in what might have been a place where one needs a permit, but it wasn’t marked reserved so I decided to tempt fate and abandon my car there and walk around to the other side of the building where I would not be able to see it and then proceed to obsess over all the possible outcomes of this decision. Towed away would be the worst. Hefty fine, nasty note, slashed tires. I hate my brain when it thinks up dumb things.
Incredible as it may sound to sane people, I was more worried about my car than about the results of my MRI. So the doctor telling me everything was fine and it’s just a small fatty benign tumour about which nothing needs to be done, was almost anticlimactic. I could not wait to get out of there.
And there my car was, just where I left it, unmolested and not the least bit traumatized.
Now I’m back home waiting for the dishwasher door repairman. Yesterday I saw my MD (have I mentioned how much I like her, despite the fact that she keeps finding stuff wrong with me?) and she was almost as thrilled as I am by the fact that I have dropped my weight by 20 pounds. Imagine what I could do if I actually put real effort in to this! But I know me, so I will just continue to monitor my blood sugar readings and not eat stupid things. If I make up more rules than that I know for sure I will break them.
Hope your week is going well and your car doesn’t get towed and you weren’t too offended by the F word up there. I don’t know why it makes me laugh. Maybe there’s a medical reason.
Twenty days of blog neglect must mean I have at least half that many lame excuses for it, so yes, that’s what comes next.
But first, this is a drawing requested by my 14-year-old grandson of some random YouTube guy. Two of my granddaughters knew right away who he was supposed to be and even told me his name. However, as talented at portraiture as this grandma might be, remembering names is not her strong point. So call him whatever you want. I don’t think his teeth are that weird in real life.
Here’s what’s going on in my life, in random order of importance
After many scaredy cat delaying tactics I finally got up the nerve to sit down and figure out how to take a blood sugar reading. The first few stabs at it were incredibly frustrating but now I’m poking my finger tips with sharp things three times a day like a pro. So come on, how hard was that? You think you can’t do something and then you find out you’re not such a wimp after all.
Results of my mammogram were normal. Can you imagine being the person who spends her day flopping boobs on to glass plates and squishing them in different directions? Don’t ever complain about your job again.
Bone density test was also normal. So now I feel I can blame a large percentage of my weight problem on seriously dense bones. Those things are heavy, man.
The radiologist who looked at my abdominal ultrasound noticed some sort of mass on or above my uterus and has advised a pelvic ultrasound to investigate further. This of course scares the hell out of me, but what can you do except make the appointment and show up for it, right?
I spent a day at the Hip and Knee clinic with W learning all about his upcoming hip replacement surgery, scheduled for November 3rd. He will be in hospital for three or four days, and unable to drive for six weeks. So basically, totally at my mercy.
The hand rail for our basement steps has been missing since we removed it when we moved in to this house, so we could get furniture down the stairs more easily. For over thirty years I have been suggesting that we should put that thing back up before one of us falls head first into the rec room. A cute little nurse at the clinic insisted that there must be a hand rail or W would have to refrain from using the stairs after his surgery. The tv is down there. The handrail is now up.
Next week I go to the Multidisciplinary Care Clinic in the Primary Care Network building to learn how to cope on a day-to-day basis with my medical condition. Now we just have to decide what exactly my medical condition is.
If you know me even slightly you will know how much I dislike schedules and regimes and rules and itineraries. I prefer to be an undisciplined brat. However, I am now keeping a log of my blood sugar readings, blood pressure when I remember to take it, and every single thing I eat and drink every day. I hope I am burning a lot of calories writing all this shit down. This record is a requirement for my appointment. They even make you write it all down in pen, I suppose in case you are tempted to make untruthful revisions. As if I would do that. With my erasable ink pen….
Almost every day I go for a walk. Some days I feel like I could go forever, and other days just putting my socks and running shoes on wears me out. I find having a purpose and a destination works better than wandering aimlessly about the neighborhood. The mall is my favourite destination. Buying random things like a ridiculously long shoe horn from the dollar store for W because he won’t be able to bend over after surgery seemed like an admirable purpose. I’m sure I can think up many more like that one.
My middle granddaughter is always looking for paper to draw on, so when I was visiting them I gave her my big partly used white paper sketch book. Within minutes she had drawn a head with a beautiful face and glorious blue hair. It’s possible she’s filled the entire book by now. Anyway, I need a new one and can’t possibly do any proper sketching until I get one. What my excuse is for neglecting all my other art is a mystery.
And that’s it! A not so brief summary of my October so far. We had Thanksgiving dinner in there somewhere. It caused my highest blood sugar reading to date. I blame the sweet potatoes. Better them than me.
It’s been a long morning for me, thanks to Lacie, the amazing alarm clock dog. The neighbours next door let her out in the early morning to do her business and she barks her fool little head off at….I don’t know….snowflakes, fence posts, air. I wonder why she can’t just go for a quiet pee like a normal dog and let me sleep. But this morning was better than yesterday morning, so I have forgiven her.
Today is a good day because it’s Friday, it’s snowing, and I have nowhere to go! And no gigantic four litre jug of vile laxative to consume! I’m going to tell you my colonoscopy story, so if you’d like to skip on to whatever you were going to do next, now’s your chance.
For the three of you who have decided to stick around because you love old people medical stories, here we go. I have a family history of bowel cancer, and a colonoscopy is something doctors have strongly advised me to have done to detect any potential problems. The day before the procedure is spent cleaning out the colon, eating nothing, drinking clear fluids, feeling sorry for yourself and staying close to the bathroom. Black coffee is allowed. Thank God for small mercies. For the last eight hours you can have nothing by mouth, not even water.
The first colonoscopy I had was done in 2003 and I was instructed to come back for another one in ten years. But because of my superior procrastination skills, I was able to stretch that to twelve. If the results are fine for this one, I may set a fifteen year goal for the next one.
The procedure was scheduled for 11:45 a.m. yesterday. I like to be insanely early for things and W likes to be a minimum of five minutes late. The morning started off with a dead battery in my car. This was all my fault for not driving it enough. And we could not take the truck because W was having way too much fun making a big production of recharging the battery and slicing a finger open in the process. This required much swearing and a bandaid. Then we took a long convoluted route to our destination, slowing down for green lights in the hope that they would turn red before we got to them. There is no parking at the hospital. Well, there is, but every parking lot is always full and we know this, but drive around through all of them just to make sure. There’s lots of parking spaces at the mall nearby, because it’s better to inconvenience sick people than to piss off shoppers.
W dropped me off at admitting 80 minutes instead of the required 90 minutes ahead of time so that I could check in and fill out a form and sit on my ass for a bit thinking about all the things that could possibly go wrong and wondering if he would make it back from wherever he finally managed to park. I also thought a lot about food and being incredibly thirsty and how much my head was aching. Eventually I was taken to a prep room where I signed a consent form and donned one of those beautiful back-open hospital gowns I’m so fond of. The nurse told me to leave my socks on, because just the gown by itself isn’t funny enough. Then they inserted the IV paraphernalia and told me to lie down and wait. W had shown up and taken off and come back again while I studied the ceiling tiles. He told me he went to the hospital cafeteria for soup and a sandwich. I was going to say “I hate you” but I didn’t because, although that is a perfectly acceptable thing to say when you’re in labour, in this case I was faint from hunger and simply didn’t have the energy.
The procedure itself took about fifteen minutes. The IV is for sedation. They don’t like to give you too much because it’s a busy place and no one wants you hanging around too long afterwards waking up. So I was sort of aware of what was going on. Trust me when I say passing out completely would have been my preferred option. I was then wheeled to a recovery area where I studied some different ceiling tiles until they removed the tubes and tape and let me get dressed. Then the doctor popped by to tell me it all went well and although there were a couple of polyps discovered, he wasn’t anticipating they were anything to worry about.
Because you are not allowed to leave on your own, the nurse pointed across the room at W and asked me if that was my ride. Normally this would not be a funny thing to say, but when you’re coming out of sedation all bets are off. I imagined introducing him to strangers as “my ride” and thinking that was the most freaking hilarious thing I’d ever heard. She quickly told me I was free to go.
On the way home “my ride” stopped at Swiss Chalet and watched me eat a huge plate of chicken and ribs and sweet potato fries, washed down with two cups of coffee and three glasses of water. Then of course I felt sick, but also happy. It’s hard to explain.
And here you thought nothing interesting or exciting ever happened in my life as a retired person who never starts her car. I am so glad that today is another day exactly like that. Even Lacie the yappy wonder dog can’t ruin it.
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