Category Archives: illness

Oh, the Weather Outside –

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Headlines on the national news and weather channels are all about the weather. “Major storm coming! Are you prepared?”

Chuck’s Texas cousins are ready. One of them posted a picture of her stockpile of toilet paper and firewood. Oh, wait, that was a meme. Never mind. I’m sure they have a few bottles of wine and cozy blankets.

We, on the other hand, did nothing to prepare. In the interest of clarity, our forecast wasn’t for snow, ice, or sleet. Our forecast was for bitter, bitter cold. How cold is it? Every area district closed their schools, and I didn’t even have to check all the channels to find that out. Many churches and businesses closed as well, and some cut their hours. The vintage mall that we like closed early yesterday after their “slowest day ever” and decided to stay closed today – a wise decision on their part.

But preparations? Well, we did make sure all of our windows were closed completely and locked, but we did that weeks ago. All the shades and curtains are closed to provide an extra layer of insulation – something we do almost every night. A humidifier is running in the den, the room we live in the most. I haven’t turned on the gas fireplace (yet), but I may use it tonight. In summary, nothing unusual. And we stayed home. Not.

I wish we could have stayed home. Chuck considered calling in “cold” for his volunteer shift at the local history museum, but since his car started (almost) willingly, he did the shift. On my part, cancer took charge. I had an appointment for a radiation simulation; a scan to set up for radiation treatments. Those treatments will start in a few weeks. Hopefully, by then the weather will be better.

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The Garden Will Come – Later

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The nurse was going through the post-op instructions for my upcoming lumpectomy. Most is common sense, of course. And then she pointed out the list of restrictions, or What Not To Do.

  • No lifting: nothing more than 10 pounds, approximately equal to a gallon of milk.
  • No repetitive motion: Avoid vacuuming, rowing, raking, gardening with affected arm.

Raking? Gardening? I told her I was lucky to be having this surgery in the bleak midwinter. If this were happening in June or July, I’d be upset that I couldn’t garden, or (as my kids used to say), playing in the dirt.

By the time spring comes, I hope to be gaining enough strength to get out in the backyard and till the soil for the raised bed plot. Beans, zucchini, carrots – we’ll see what else has potential. The raspberry patch needs weeding, too.

The other project will require lifting and repetitive motion. My table full of buckets, the ultimate raised bed, will need a lot of work. The potting soil from last year needs straining. Amigo and Chuck bought me a nice soil strainer for Christmas! Woot! Each bucket needs the holes enlarged and a stack of pine cones or wine corks to help the soil drain. When the buckets are ready, they’ll go in the table so I can plant tomatoes, peppers, lettuce, spinach, and much, much more.

The challenge this year will be starting seeds. I hope to bring my small tabletop greenhouses up from the basement before my surgery. I’ll bring potting soil and seed starter in the house, too. That way, the heavy lifting will be done and I can start tomato and pepper seeds in February or March, all depending on the level of pain and weakness at that point.

All in all, folks, I plan to grow food when spring arrives, cancer or no cancer.

 

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In Which Cancer fills the Calendar

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“What fresh hell is this?” –attributed to Dorothy Parker

Cancer has filled our calendar, and at the same time, too much is still unknown. My surgery date is set, two pre-op procedures are scheduled, and the follow-up appointment is on the chart.

And yet, it’s not enough. Chuck volunteers at the local history museum. He’s a docent, and a darn good one. He needs to give the museum director his availability for January, and he can’t. There’s too much pending. I expect radiation therapy to follow the surgery, but that’s too far out to call.

On the positive side, we don’t have to reschedule Christmas. That may not sound like a big deal to some, but when there’s a person with autism in the household, it matters.

I’m the prep in advance type, and this year I’ve been even more busy than ever with shopping and wrapping. Now that I know my surgery is a few days post-Christmas, I can relax a little. A little, mind you. I expect at least one package on my doorstep in the next few days, and I need to pick up chocolate for Christmas Eve. I already have books.

So, readers, on we go. There’s more anxiety around the corner, but at least the gifts are wrapped. Mostly. Wish me luck, folks.

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Upright and Not Crying

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According to social media, there’s a Norwegian saying that works like “Not unwell, thank you” or “I’m okay, I guess.”

When asked, “How are you? How ya doing?” a Norwegian might respond, “Upright and not crying.”

According to family genealogy research, Ancestry, and the now defunct 21 and Me, I have a fair amount of Norwegian in my background. I could adopt this as my new script. For example, I walked into my audiologist’s office for new hearing aids – in my world, that’s exciting! He greeted me with “Welcome back! How are you today?” Upright and Not Crying would have worked perfectly. The new technology is always fun to learn and enjoyable to start putting to use. I told him that despite my breast cancer diagnosis, I was happy to get the new amplifiers in my ears. The new hearing aids provided a positive moment in a world that right now has me surrounded by negatives.

So far today, I’ve experienced a drive home from Milwaukee in bitter cold weather with coffee and a Denver omelet on a croissant to keep me warm and make an effort to eat the opponent: Broncos. See what I did there? Go! Pack! Go!

I’m unpacked, sipping cappuccino, and nibbling on cookies. Now it’s time to remain upright and watch the Packers.

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Makes Me Stronger? Ugh.

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I posted this almost 10 years ago.

I shared this with my coworkers the year I had a stent inserted in a major artery and my friend had breast cancer. I thought it would be appropriate to bring it up again.

Both of us urged our coworkers “Don’t wait!” She’d had a phone call from the doctor on the first day of school and said “What? I don’t have time for another mammogram tomorrow. Can I come in a month?” Fortunately, they said she needed to come in ASAP, and she did. My own “Don’t wait!” came after a catheterization showed my right interior carotid was 97% blocked. If I’d said oh, wait until June when school is out, I hate to think of how much worse it could have been.

So here I am, now looking at my own case of breast cancer, waiting for genetic testing results that will help determine whether a lumpectomy will be sufficient.

Dear Whatever Is Trying to Kill Me; knock it off!!

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Story Map: Rising Action

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When I taught reading and language arts, we often mapped the story line of the literature we were reading. My cancer journey feels like that. The mammogram and the biopsy that followed it set up the exposition: the beginning of the story. The problem or conflict in the story line is, of course, the cancer itself.

Yesterday’s appointment set me up on a path to getting this treated. The surgeon looked over the scans and pointed out the cancerous growth. She introduced the surgical options – lumpectomy or mastectomy – and the odds of success for either.

The surgical office also offered me the chance to participate in a study of cancer treatments. I recently participated in a study comparing the accuracy of 2D vs. 3D mammograms; that study may help other women get more accurate screenings in the future. With the future in mind, of course I said yes.

Now I’m working around my calendar and the craziness that cancer creates. Genetic counseling. Blood draw for the genetic testing. Blood draw for the treatment study. Create an online account for the study. Confirm the next blood draw for the study. Add follow up appointment with surgeon to finalize surgery choice and schedule the date of the surgery. Tentatively, surgery is penciled in a few days before Christmas.

Back to the story map. The rising action continues. The angle on the map is not very sharp – yet – but it’s definitely rising. The line will jump when the surgery is scheduled and we add an oncologist to the mix.

In story mapping, the piece concludes with a complete resolution. These resolutions don’t have to be Hallmark movie happy, but I hope mine leans that way. Meanwhile, I have presents to wrap.

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Foot, Feet, more foot, sore foot

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I opened up my dashboard to find that all of my recent posts have to do with my right foot and its healing status. Well, folks, I have some reasonably good news to share this time.

The joint fusion was successful! I can start wearing shoes again. I plan to ease into it by wearing shoes in the morning and the surgical shoe (not the Big Ugly Boot) in the afternoon. There is still swelling, so I’ll adjust to that by taking the transition slowly.

The second toe still has issued, but they’re fixable (#ToeTwoTendonTrouble). The tendon is pulling the toe under the Big Toe, so doc wants to loosen the tendon. It’s an in-office procedure, no major surgery this time, and I can wear shoe until that day. I’ll be in the surgical shoe or sandals for a little while after that.

With all of the above in mind, I wore a shoe on my right foot all morning. I’m currently in my surgical shoe, sitting on the couch, letting the Milwaukee Brewers entertain me. Go Brew Crew!!

Wish me luck and good vibes, folks. I hope to have more interesting posts in the future as my mobility improves.

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Healing and Pacing

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Pacing – not pacing in my study, like Dumbledore does (a lot, if the Weasley twins are to be believed) – but pacing myself. Healing. Letting myself go slowly. It’s harder than it sounds, folks.

Surgery #1 was healing well until I tripped, stumbled, bumped, stubbed the partially healed toes. That led to surgery #2.

Surgery #2 was a mixed bag. The bone healed well, but the soft tissue supporting the bone did not heal. Frankly, it was a mess. That mess led to surgery #3.

Surgery #3 was more intense. Healing involved no weight on the toes for at least two weeks, which meant using a scooter. That was tough, folks. We moved the scatter rugs out of the kitchen and bought a cup holder for the handlebars. That way, I could still get my coffee without putting pressure on Chuck, and I could get around the house without stumbling or knocking over my scooter.

Doctor Footloose warned me that many people who have similar surgeries to #3 wear the surgical boot for 8 to 12 weeks – minimum. She knows I detest the boot, but I will wear it as long as needed. Growl. Whine. Blankety blank boot.

Boot on one foot plus shoe on the other means I’m uneven, not level. Too much time at this kind of position leads to backaches. I’m healing from one of those now. PT style exercises on the floor (oh, yeah, getting down on the floor while wearing a big boot is a big bother); ice and heat alternating, and whatever pain medicine seems appropriate. This equation leads to feeling better – slowly. Very slowly.

That slow speed is why pacing is so important. Last night I made and canned chicken broth. Cooking the broth took two days in two large crockpots. One step at a time, I strained the broth, then took a break. Next, I set up the pressure cooker. The I took another break. Finally, I filled the jars, put the lids on, and  got all ten jars into the pressure cooker. That process didn’t require as many breaks because I could monitor the pressure cooker while sitting on the stepstool in the kitchen.

If this post seems dull, it’s because healing and pacing is low on excitement. I’ve loaded up on reading material for my Kindle and through Paperback swap, and explored involvement in the growing local historical society. I may be able to apply my grant writing skills to help them expand and open their new building. Meanwhile, the foot will heal. Slowly. Very slowly.

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Collecting Crocks

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That’s Limey the lime tree on the right. Limey has spent the winter indoors next to a very sunny window. We’ll move Limey outside for the summer as soon as we’re sure the temperatures will stay well above freezing. In addition, I believe Limey needs a bigger pot. I have a 6 gallon crock in the garage that will allow room for drainage (broken crockery, big sticks, whatever I have around the yard) and still give Limey room to grow.

The other 5 gallon crock has drainage in the base (broken dishes pulled from my rock garden) and potting soil. This crock will house cherry tomatoes or jalapeno peppers.

I have a third 5 gallon crock that I’ll prep later today – after the Brewers send Craig Counsell a clear message that hey, Milwaukee is still the best place for baseball. If you haven’t guessed, Brewers and Cubs are starting a three game weekend series in the Windy City.

Foot status: I can handle small amounts of yard work like filling the crocks, but I’m still not very strong. I’ll build up what strength I can between now and the next surgery, and I’ll get as much of the garden planted as possible, too. Coping, it’s all about coping.

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The Agony of the Feet

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To be clear, it’s the right foot again. In February, I had a somewhat routine fix – a bunion and preventive procedure for two tiny hammertoes. In March, I tripped. Big time. Stubbed the toes badly enough to need the surgery redone and the ligaments surrounding the big toe sewn up.

Now it’s April (Cue deep sigh of self pity here). Bone healed well; soft tissue did not. The ligaments are pulling the toe out of position (again) and causing pain. I dug through my closet and found exactly one pair of shoes that I can wear with minimal pain, and I’m wearing them for yard work. Again, minimal. The next surgery, a joint fusion, will happen in mid May.

Ugh. And double Ugh. I’m doing what I can while I can and getting the tomato and pepper seedlings ready to plant. The re-landscaping of the front yard may fall on Chuck. We’ve been planning since last fall, and we picked up containers (big ones!) for that project. I’ll help prep the containers and plant if we can do it before my surgery. I’m even setting up containers on our deck so I can maintain them without going up or down stairs. Getting my hands in the dirt is emotionally healing, so having plants around is a priority.

Unfortunately, this surgery will require absolutely no weight bearing for two weeks. I’ve reserved a knee scooter and I’ve been adding to my Kindle. Recommendations and books are welcome (I’m looking at you, Green Girl!). I’ve contacted a local candidate I support and offered to volunteer from my home (my couch) and I might help a local organization with their grant writing. All those factors should help keep me busy enough to prevent excessive self-pity.

Readers, this is a lousy situation, but it could be worse.

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