the update that is not actually an update

I had really, really, REALLY hoped by now to have something to tell you. Well, that’s not entirely true. By this pointed I myself wanted to know something about what’s going on.

But I don’t. And it’s kind of killing me.

All I know is that I have already had most (all maybe?) of the preliminary tests the oncologist would want before s/he sees me so that will help, and that I’m at the very top of the cancellation list. They know that I’m roughly 20 minutes from their office and ready to leave with as little as 5 minutes notice.

I’ve spent most of this week trying to make sure that when the call comes in, if I do need to jump that quick, that I’m ready for it. I don’t want to leave my teammates in the lurch. I have the luxury of some lead time so I want to be as prepared as humanly possible.

I’m keeping myself busy at home, too. I have another shawl I’m working on and I brought home the pieces for a 3D fused glass Christmas tree on Wednesday so I need to start getting that assembled. In all honesty, I have enough creative/craft materials already at home that I could occupy myself until roughly the coming of the Zombie Apocalypse.

remember that one time when I thought I had a virus but really my body was fighting off some kind of wicked cyst thing? yeah, good times

I really should have listened to my mom last Monday and gone to the ER when I was writhing around praying for death. I’d have been a whole week closer to having all of this nonsense behind me. Let me explain.

I don’t do being sick well, we’ve established that. But I recognize patterns and I learn. So when I started getting that awful stomach cramp thing again at 5:30 Sunday morning, I paid attention. By 8am it was obvious that it was not getting better and so I was getting to the ER.

Blood pressure through the roof, duh. Temp up a little, duh. Serious pain when touched, duh.

The rotten ass ER doc was just positive I had a kidney infection and just needed an antibiotic, but they’d do a CT scan just in case. That lead to an ultrasound because there was a “shadow” on the scan. Oh, did I mention the Dilaudid? That’s some nice stuff right there.

Anyway, nothing wrong with my kidneys but how about an ovarian cyst as a consolation prize? WHAT?!

Today I’ve gone to two other doctors, my regular and a GYN and now I know that the cyst is 6.5cm, looks sketchy so it could be cancerous, my liver looks kind of weird too, and regardless of what actually is going on with the ovary that little sucker needs to come out.

My next stop will be with a gynecological oncologist. I’m actually waiting for that call right now.

So yeah, nothing but excitement around these parts right now.

when the going gets tough, the tough drink chocolate milk

This is a hard time of year for me. In addition to having Bipolar I also have Seasonal Affective Disorder, so shorter days mean less sun and trouble sleeping. That one is easy to handle, the rest not so much.

Saturday would have been my dad’s 71st birthday if he hadn’t died of a rare form of cancer in 2012. Mom and I kept each other company and did a fair bit of reminiscing, even having the pizza she ate almost exclusively while pregnant with me.

We spent some time fixing the lights on our back deck and I ended up covered in little bug bites. I cannot wait for the first good frost to send those f^%$ers straight back to hell. I can deal with pain no problem, I’m allergic to almost all pain meds with the exception of morphine so I kind of have to be, but itching is a whole other issue.

Today I finally faced a medical issue and found that the pain I’ve had in my arm the last 6 months is a screwed up rotator cuff. Off to physical therapy I go.

Wednesday is going to be rough. Last year I lost both of my 18 year old calico cats on the same day. Sissy let me take her to the vet and be put to sleep peacefully. Evie crawled behind the furnace and had to be rescued and then died in my arms. My phone decided to be thoughtful and show me one of the last photos I took of Evie earlier today. I damn near lost it.

And this crap in Las Vegas… Why in the name of all that is holy can’t people just be nice to each other???

how could you not love that little face? miss that baby every day

little known fact – sad has a taste

I’m going to whine, about food, so if that ain’t your thing you might want to leave now.

My mom is helping me with this diet thing and she’s really amazing, she is. The most amazing mom ever. She’s just beyond amazing.

(you read that in the Donald’s voice, I know you did)

But I’m kind of a picky little thing and I’m not really enjoying this. For example, my morning snack today was 10 macadamia nuts. TEN. If you’re wondering whether I picked through the container to find the 10 biggest, you’re damn right I did. But before the Great Nuts Fiasco of ’17 we had to deal with the Sad Smoothie Situation of ’17.

I’ve never been one to put unusual things in my smoothies. They generally consist of fruit, yogurt, and either milk or fruit juice. Some of those yummy things are verboten right now though, so I got a little bit of fruit and some Plain Greek yogurt and Almond Milk. I really kind of despise almond milk. The only thing worse than almond milk is protein powder, and I got some of that, too.

It wasn’t quite the nastiest thing I’ve ever drank and I did actually finish it, but it left me with a serious craving for powdered milk cut with whiskey.

However…

I know that this diet stuff is good for me. I’m easily 100lbs over weight (or 4ft under tall) and it’s nothing short of a miracle that I don’t have hypertension, diabetes, or any number of other weight related health concerns. The skin issue is what got this started, but this morning the universe sent me another message and I’m too smart to ignore it.

So I’ll whine a little and use my dark sense of humor to get through this. I’m in the process of writing a version of “Sound of Silence” that’s an ode to granola.

If you’ll excuse me, I need to go lick a paper plate.

weekly goals

I’m a firm believer in goals and that setting goals helps me achieve things. Unfortunately I’ve let my practice slip recently. (earlier this year is still “recently” right?) So I’m going to push myself to get back into that practice. In previous iterations I set myself weekly goals that followed several themes. I’m not sure that really serves me now like it once did, so I’m going to change this up a little. (my house, my rules)

One of the primary reasons I’ve always shared my goals is the whole accountability thing. They say that if you tell someone you intend to do something, you’re more likely to actually do it. I have no idea who “they” are but they seem to be right quite a lot. So here goes…

By the end of September, I will:

• Finish the triangle shawl I’m knitting
• Finish the peacock feather shawl I’m knitting
• Spend at least one hour per week writing
• Formulate a plan to implement the dietary changes my psych doc suggested

Interestingly enough, the diet thing has little to nothing to do with my mental health. I have a skin condition that I’ve had surgery for but it’s moved. Where it’s now located isn’t really fit for a successful surgical intervention but there’s some indications that a lower carb diet is helpful. The diet should at the very least help me lose weight and there’s some indications that skinny people don’t deal with this nonsense near as much as us chubby chickies.

On the plus side, I can eat my body weight in real whipped cream on this diet, so I’ve got that going for me.

 

staring down the barrel of a week off work

You can ask anyone who knows me that I don’t often take time off work. It’s not that my work means that much to me, more that I know I do better with the structure that going to work for 9 hours every day brings. And I do actually love what I do, so that helps. But anyway, more often than not the little HR system sends me a nastygram every few months telling me I’ve got so much vacation time waiting to use that I’m going to stop earning any more.

Well hell.

Part of my dilemma is that I mostly hate to travel. Flying is The Suck and driving Takes Forever. I will say that I prefer to drive because then I’m on my own schedule and I can take as much of my stuff with as I want and I can use a real restroom. I am 41 years old and have yet to use the loo in an airplane. Rather proud of that, actually.

Anyway, traveling with people is much more interesting but it still involves packing and the actual travel and then sleeping in a strange bed and the whole Being Away From Home nonsense.

It’s just not often my thing, ya dig?

So I’ve taken the entirety of next week off work but I don’t really plan to go anywhere. I much prefer to Staycation. I fully intend to be lazy, do some things around the house, maybe do a little shopping, and mostly just breathe. Oh, and knit.

I do think it’s super important to take time away from the daily grind and to recharge the ol’ batteries. If we don’t do that, and put ourselves first now and then, we end up with nothing left to give anyone else.

One of the hardest lessons I’ve had to learn is that even though my brain is fully capable to running for days on end with next to no food or sleep when I’m not taking my meds and that kind of feels like flying and being on top of the world, it’s really the worst thing ever.

Anyone who tells you that they miss being manic is delusional. Mania is a liar, worse than any cheating lover. For as high as you go you come crashing, hurtling, down twice as fast and far. The end is awful. And it’s not worth a single minute of it.

That’s why next week I will be going to bed at normal hours, eating healthy and wholesome food, and taking care of myself. I need to punch my own damn reset button every now and again.

this is not the droid you seek

I’m in what one of my colleagues aptly referred to as a “reinvention period.” And he’s right. Every so often I completely turn myself into a vastly different version of myself. In the past this has been brought on by failed relationships, wanting to keep relationships from failing, or wanting to keep the next relationship from failing.

No more.

It’s a well documented fact that I’m not very good in relationships. I’ve been married and divorced three separate times and been in too many other relationships to remember. But they don’t last and I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. So here’s the list of reasons I’m not “that” droid.

• I’m too old
• I’m too young
• I’m too short
• I’m too fat
• I’m too smart
• I’m not smart enough
• I’m too passionate
• My taste in music is too weird
• I’m not a musician
• I work in education
• I can support myself
• I don’t make enough money
• I have tattoos
• I don’t have kids
• I do have cats
• I don’t like to drink wine
• I have weird hair
• I have short hair
• I have bipolar disorder
• I’m opinionated
• I will speak my mind
• I’m not great at singing
• I’m not politically active
• I don’t like Trump

Lastly, but I’m finding now is most important, I don’t give a good goddamn about any of those things and whether or not a man puts stock in them or not. This is me, this is the skin I wear, and if you don’t like it…

The door is over there. I’ll be busy enjoying my bellydancing class, grilling myself a steak, and rubbing my kitties’ tummies.

august, you hit like a little bitch

I’ve completely lost track of how many hours I’ve worked since returning from the conference. I’m at that place where numbers have ceased to have meaning. Nights, weekends, early mornings… It’s all blurring together. Today might be Friday, but then again it might be next Thursday. Who’s to say.

But truly, I thrive on this nonsense.

I loathe boredom and I really do prefer having a lot to do as opposed to very little. I do remarkably well when I have more things to do than I really should be able to get done. There’s almost something magical about the stress of needing to do my best when I’m sleep deprived.

I may have stumbled on the secret of how to cram 36 hours worth of crap into a 24 hour day. Maybe. Then again, I may also have developed a recipe for poo scented shoe inserts. Only time will tell.

What I know for sure is that people keep saying nice things, the kittens are adjusting to the move at home, and I actually did some knitting last night. Life is good enough right now.

when last we left our heroine…

My trip was good, all things considered. There were no real issues with the travel itself, we saw some beautiful scenery, learned some neat stuff, and had a good time. I actually laughed more than I have in a very long time. I needed the laughter, probably more than anything else.

It was an opportunity to recharge my muchly depleted batteries. I have a tendency to push myself far harder than anyone else ever would. That’s great, but only to a point. I had been working too many hours, going in on weekends, and not allowing myself breaks. Not good for anyone but seriously not good for someone with mental health issues.

And now the real fun starts. August on a university campus can, and often does, provide a close simulation to all of Dante’s levels of Hell. This is my 16th go at this. Bring it.

I enjoy the challenge. I enjoy helping people. I enjoy pushing myself to the absolute limit just to see if I can push a little further. One of my mantras, one that I think should probably turn into a tattoo soon, is “fall down seven times, get up eight.” I love it because, well, I just don’t know how to quit.