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.
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.
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.
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.
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.