I have a habit of over complicating my life. As if maintaining three blogs were not enough, I tried to start up a Twitter account for each. Bad idea. Bad, bad, bad. So I am going to pare that down to one Twitter, and while I am at it, combine my three blogs into a single brand new one: Between Rome and Paradise. I hope you will give the new blog a whirl. Regardless, thanks for your readership!
Saturday, October 06, 2012
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Don't worry. Be happy.
Warning: This post is mostly about medical issues. Sorry.
Thanks to the three doctors I have seen in the past four weeks, we had to cancel our vacation plans. I was running an intermittent fever and suffering from severe abdominal pains that were initially brushed off as "some virus" and constipation. I would probably still be suffering except one doctor finally noticed my blood work showed elevated liver enzymes. The CT scan showed diverticulitis - yay, proof I really am sick - but the meds were almost worse than the disease, providing a preview of what Alzheimer's must be like. I could not drive, I could not knit, I could not successfully make Jello. Once I finished the meds, the fog lifted, thank god. I'm almost back to normal.
During one of many office visits, when I told the doctor I had had an endometrial ablation years ago, she blurted out, "Maybe you have uterine cancer!" Which sent me to Dr. Google. Turns out an ablation does not increase one's chances of getting uterine cancer, but early signs may be missed because the cervix is scarred shut. So now I will schedule another appointment with another doctor, so I can stop chewing on that.
All through this ordeal, one thought comforted me: at least my hip does not hurt any more. But last week, after two days in a desk chair, the pain returned. Fortunately, between a deep tissue massage and my own self care, that has been beaten back. It is hell getting old.
Back to the diverticulitis, they don't really know what causes it. They say eating a low fiber diet may, but I eat plenty of fiber. My doctor said nuts and seeds, but that theory has been debunked. My neighbor's doctor told him eating bacon is the culprit, but I think he has it confused with gall bladder attacks. There is an element of stress, though. Hence my new motto: Don't worry, be happy. This is an effective method of short circuiting obsessive thoughts as the song fills my brain's thinking space, doing fierce battle with Babe Ruth's "Wells Fargo".
Since I could not do much besides watch TV, I spent my time watching four seasons of "Breaking Bad". And now the eighth season of "Desperate Housewives" and the fourth season of "Damages" are available. All is right with the world!
Thanks to the three doctors I have seen in the past four weeks, we had to cancel our vacation plans. I was running an intermittent fever and suffering from severe abdominal pains that were initially brushed off as "some virus" and constipation. I would probably still be suffering except one doctor finally noticed my blood work showed elevated liver enzymes. The CT scan showed diverticulitis - yay, proof I really am sick - but the meds were almost worse than the disease, providing a preview of what Alzheimer's must be like. I could not drive, I could not knit, I could not successfully make Jello. Once I finished the meds, the fog lifted, thank god. I'm almost back to normal.
During one of many office visits, when I told the doctor I had had an endometrial ablation years ago, she blurted out, "Maybe you have uterine cancer!" Which sent me to Dr. Google. Turns out an ablation does not increase one's chances of getting uterine cancer, but early signs may be missed because the cervix is scarred shut. So now I will schedule another appointment with another doctor, so I can stop chewing on that.
All through this ordeal, one thought comforted me: at least my hip does not hurt any more. But last week, after two days in a desk chair, the pain returned. Fortunately, between a deep tissue massage and my own self care, that has been beaten back. It is hell getting old.
Back to the diverticulitis, they don't really know what causes it. They say eating a low fiber diet may, but I eat plenty of fiber. My doctor said nuts and seeds, but that theory has been debunked. My neighbor's doctor told him eating bacon is the culprit, but I think he has it confused with gall bladder attacks. There is an element of stress, though. Hence my new motto: Don't worry, be happy. This is an effective method of short circuiting obsessive thoughts as the song fills my brain's thinking space, doing fierce battle with Babe Ruth's "Wells Fargo".
Since I could not do much besides watch TV, I spent my time watching four seasons of "Breaking Bad". And now the eighth season of "Desperate Housewives" and the fourth season of "Damages" are available. All is right with the world!
Saturday, August 18, 2012
Six weeks since my last post, time for another
As I mentioned last time, I started a new position at work. Still in IT but on a different team, a team that is actually located in the same building. I had not realized how isolated I felt, when the rest of my team was 600 miles away. I also had forgotten how annoying people can be. One is a big sigher - yesterday she was sighing so deeply and so often, she sounded like she was gasping. She also clips her fingernails at work. Another gets herself cranked up over things that don't really concern her, but when they do, she can get a bit weepy. Which I understand perfectly, as I get that way myself at times. I am also becoming a sigher. The work is less stressful, but incredibly boring.
Since I have a local team now, I work at work most days. The additional time required for dressing, making a lunch, and commuting is putting a real crimp in my schedule, plus there are some things I do at home during the workday that I can't do in the office. Like take a quick nap at noon, or run through some physical therapy exercises while taking a break. There are "privacy rooms" at work, large enough for a small table and four chairs. I found one that is a little bigger than most, and have commandeered it for a half hour of stretches at lunchtime. The people that see me carry a blanket into that room probably think I am taking a nap (and some days, were it so!) Yesterday I bought a cheap yoga mat at Tuesday Morning to use instead, so besides the stretches I can do a few exercises as well.
Besides all the shoulder, wrist, back, and hip exercises I have been doing, I am also going to a chiropractor. As much as I hate my job, I LOVE the benefits, especially since learning the health insurance covers unlimited chiropractic treatments. The treatments themselves are a bit disconcerting - one part involves ankle restraints and a table that moves - but my headaches have abated and many parts of my body feel better. Except my right hip. It has been bothering me for about a year. I've tried yoga and deep tissue massage; rest and massive doses of ibuprofen; gone to my GP who first sent me to PT, then when I developed sciatica, for an MRI (which showed nothing significant); now chiropractic treatments. Oddly enough, it doesn't bother me when I am moving, but when I am sitting or standing for extended periods of time (and by "extended" I mean 30 minutes or so). And sometimes at night, when I lay down, so some nights I have to sleep in a recliner. Thinking my mattress might be part of the problem, I even made a pallet of comforters and afghans and slept on the floor for a while. I'm getting rather discouraged.
Which brings me to a complaint I have about people in the medical profession: once they hear certain phrases, like "shooting pain down my leg", they leap to one and only one conclusion, like sciatica, dismissing or not really listening to anything else you say. Something is hinky with my hip, but instead of being curious, they trot out the usual recommendations. Bah.
One reason I want my hip to feel better is my daughter and I are taking the granddaughter on a long road trip, to see my dad, who will be 93 next month. It is one of those trips that could be a lot of fun or a painful ordeal, and like most things, will probably be a bit of both. Toddler N will be two soon (TWO!)
Since I have a local team now, I work at work most days. The additional time required for dressing, making a lunch, and commuting is putting a real crimp in my schedule, plus there are some things I do at home during the workday that I can't do in the office. Like take a quick nap at noon, or run through some physical therapy exercises while taking a break. There are "privacy rooms" at work, large enough for a small table and four chairs. I found one that is a little bigger than most, and have commandeered it for a half hour of stretches at lunchtime. The people that see me carry a blanket into that room probably think I am taking a nap (and some days, were it so!) Yesterday I bought a cheap yoga mat at Tuesday Morning to use instead, so besides the stretches I can do a few exercises as well.
Besides all the shoulder, wrist, back, and hip exercises I have been doing, I am also going to a chiropractor. As much as I hate my job, I LOVE the benefits, especially since learning the health insurance covers unlimited chiropractic treatments. The treatments themselves are a bit disconcerting - one part involves ankle restraints and a table that moves - but my headaches have abated and many parts of my body feel better. Except my right hip. It has been bothering me for about a year. I've tried yoga and deep tissue massage; rest and massive doses of ibuprofen; gone to my GP who first sent me to PT, then when I developed sciatica, for an MRI (which showed nothing significant); now chiropractic treatments. Oddly enough, it doesn't bother me when I am moving, but when I am sitting or standing for extended periods of time (and by "extended" I mean 30 minutes or so). And sometimes at night, when I lay down, so some nights I have to sleep in a recliner. Thinking my mattress might be part of the problem, I even made a pallet of comforters and afghans and slept on the floor for a while. I'm getting rather discouraged.
Which brings me to a complaint I have about people in the medical profession: once they hear certain phrases, like "shooting pain down my leg", they leap to one and only one conclusion, like sciatica, dismissing or not really listening to anything else you say. Something is hinky with my hip, but instead of being curious, they trot out the usual recommendations. Bah.
One reason I want my hip to feel better is my daughter and I are taking the granddaughter on a long road trip, to see my dad, who will be 93 next month. It is one of those trips that could be a lot of fun or a painful ordeal, and like most things, will probably be a bit of both. Toddler N will be two soon (TWO!)
Saturday, July 07, 2012
This, that, and the other
I suffer from insomnia. Lately it has become so bad that I signed up to participate in an online insomnia study. To qualify, I completed a questionnaire and submitted to a telephone interview. Then I kept a sleep diary for two weeks, recording what time I got into bed, what time I tried to go to sleep, how long it took to get to sleep, how many times I woke up during the night, how long I was awake, what time I woke up in the morning, what time I got out of bed, etc. Needless to say, my insomnia was worse while recording all this information.
The "meat" of this study consists of two websites for treating insomnia, to determine which one works best. I must have been assigned to the placebo, as it consists of the same tired advice for insomniacs I have been reading for years. It also isn't clear if I am supposed to actually follow any of this advice as part of the study. I already refrain from vigorous exercise and large meals late in the evening, but I'm not going to give up the simple pleasure of reading in bed or get out of bed if I can't fall asleep. They say to stay up until you are sleepy, but don't take daytime naps even if you are sleepy. Oh, yeah? I just took a twenty minute nap and it was delicious.
The website makes no mention of menopause. Sometimes when I wake up at night, it is because of a hot flash. Nor does it ask about pain - sometimes I can't sleep because my hips or shoulders ache. And it does not ask about stress or worry. Like I said, I must be in the placebo group.
One source of stress for me has been my job. I hate, hate, HATE what I was doing. But I am doing it no more. I still work for the same employer but as of July 1 in a different role. Already I can feel the difference - my shoulders are no longer hunched around my ears and one source of inner chatter has quieted down.
An omnipresent worry I have is growing old. Like most people, I know I will die someday but I can't really imagine my own death. I don't have to imagine growing old, though, because it is already happening. In the past six months or so, my body has crossed some invisible line and I can tell I will never be able to cross back. I'm not infirm by any means, but there is a difference.
I also find myself drawn to reading not just memoir, but memoir of old people (and by "old" I mean "older than me"). I just finished I Feel Bad about my Neck by Nora Ephron, am in the middle of This Is Getting Old by Susan Moon, and Lots of Candles, Plenty of Cake by Anna Quindlen is in the wings.
So I have something to read in bed before going to sleep.
The "meat" of this study consists of two websites for treating insomnia, to determine which one works best. I must have been assigned to the placebo, as it consists of the same tired advice for insomniacs I have been reading for years. It also isn't clear if I am supposed to actually follow any of this advice as part of the study. I already refrain from vigorous exercise and large meals late in the evening, but I'm not going to give up the simple pleasure of reading in bed or get out of bed if I can't fall asleep. They say to stay up until you are sleepy, but don't take daytime naps even if you are sleepy. Oh, yeah? I just took a twenty minute nap and it was delicious.
The website makes no mention of menopause. Sometimes when I wake up at night, it is because of a hot flash. Nor does it ask about pain - sometimes I can't sleep because my hips or shoulders ache. And it does not ask about stress or worry. Like I said, I must be in the placebo group.
One source of stress for me has been my job. I hate, hate, HATE what I was doing. But I am doing it no more. I still work for the same employer but as of July 1 in a different role. Already I can feel the difference - my shoulders are no longer hunched around my ears and one source of inner chatter has quieted down.
An omnipresent worry I have is growing old. Like most people, I know I will die someday but I can't really imagine my own death. I don't have to imagine growing old, though, because it is already happening. In the past six months or so, my body has crossed some invisible line and I can tell I will never be able to cross back. I'm not infirm by any means, but there is a difference.
I also find myself drawn to reading not just memoir, but memoir of old people (and by "old" I mean "older than me"). I just finished I Feel Bad about my Neck by Nora Ephron, am in the middle of This Is Getting Old by Susan Moon, and Lots of Candles, Plenty of Cake by Anna Quindlen is in the wings.
So I have something to read in bed before going to sleep.
Friday, May 11, 2012
Six states in seven days
My SO and I took a road trip last week, crossing Indiana and Illinois on US 24, following the Mississippi up to Galena, then crossing the river to Iowa followed by heading west in southern Minnesota, then north in eastern South Dakota, before meeting up with family in Minneapolis. We cross Wisconsin on the way home. Whew!
A few highlights of the trip:
When I first saw this bumper sticker in Indiana, I was in disbelief. Upon closer inspection, it said "People Eating Tasty Animals." Ah - that made more sense.
Because Carl Sandburg was all about cosmetology, dental hygiene, and therapeutic massage.
The one that did not get away.
As we were returning to the car after admiring the Jolly Green Giant, the LOUDEST tornado siren I have ever heard went off, followed by an equally loud PA announcement that "this is only a test".
Can you believe that the town where this sign hangs has two institutions of higher learning? True!
Ride 'em, cowboy!
Paul Bunyan, in case you can't tell.
I wish I had taken photos of the welcome signs outside many of the small towns we passed through. Each town has its own motto, none of which I can recall, but that seemed curious at the time. Or maybe it was road fatigue that made it seem so.
A few highlights of the trip:
When I first saw this bumper sticker in Indiana, I was in disbelief. Upon closer inspection, it said "People Eating Tasty Animals." Ah - that made more sense.
Because Carl Sandburg was all about cosmetology, dental hygiene, and therapeutic massage.
The one that did not get away.
As we were returning to the car after admiring the Jolly Green Giant, the LOUDEST tornado siren I have ever heard went off, followed by an equally loud PA announcement that "this is only a test".
Can you believe that the town where this sign hangs has two institutions of higher learning? True!
Ride 'em, cowboy!
Paul Bunyan, in case you can't tell.
I wish I had taken photos of the welcome signs outside many of the small towns we passed through. Each town has its own motto, none of which I can recall, but that seemed curious at the time. Or maybe it was road fatigue that made it seem so.
Wednesday, May 09, 2012
How to drink beer in Minneapolis
Yes, I was in Minneapolis last week. My SO and I met up with some of his family members, for a couple of days of museum hopping and food consuming. One restaurant we supped at was the News Room, where I saw someone that looked remarkably like R. I could not get a good look at this R's date, but I think R's husband H is really tall. So I watched and waited, and when they got up to leave, confirmed that this H was indeed very tall. Back at the hotel, I showed my SO a picture of R on her blog, and he too thought it was her. We were convinced. But guess what. We were wrong. Thankfully, I'm too shy to accost strangers in public.
Friday, March 16, 2012
Done and done
Once in a while a co-worker will insist they told me something and I pull a complete blank, have absolutely no memory of what they said, which causes my heart to leap with panic and my brain to latch onto a diagnosis of Alzheimer's. Then the co-worker says, Oops, my bad, I told that to so-and-so. Jeeze, don't DO that!
Yesterday was my last session of physical therapy - yay! It was very helpful, as it should be when each session took TWO hours. The protocol involved manual manipulations (aka torture) by the therapist herself, plus exercise, plus the delivery of cortisone to the joints being treated by means of iontophoresis (I think that's right - it involved electrodes), plus electrical stimulation of the muscles (more electrodes), plus heat packs. I still have issues, am not 100% yet, but any further improvement to strength and flexibility will be incremental and can be accomplished on my own. I am tired of going, tired of the time commitment, and tired of hearing the same stories over and over again from my unfortunately chatty therapist.
Still struggling with insomnia. I've become accustomed to the Ambien and use that a couple of times a week. Other nights I use valerian and melatonin. When I find myself jerking awake from dreaming about work, I reframe that problem by telling myself, It's okay to dream about work. Maybe you need to dream about work, which has turned out to be surprisingly effective. And I try to quiet the middle-of-the-night monkey mind by saying, Think about that in the daytime, not at night.
Last night that last bit was not very effective because today will probably be Fern's final trip to the vet. She acts okay, but there is a lot of discharge from her mouth, some of it blood-tinged. She still tries to clean herself, and her fur gets matted from the discharge. She pulls out the mats she can reach, so her once beautiful coat is a mess. Eating and drinking have been difficult for her, resulting in weight loss. But now she has stopped eating altogether, despite my efforts with a variety of cat and human foods. It is time. Unfortunately, Fern will not go gently into that good night. She will try to hide from me when I go to put her in the travel crate, she will cry on the drive to the vet, she will huddle against me on the exam table. She will break my aching heart.
Yesterday was my last session of physical therapy - yay! It was very helpful, as it should be when each session took TWO hours. The protocol involved manual manipulations (aka torture) by the therapist herself, plus exercise, plus the delivery of cortisone to the joints being treated by means of iontophoresis (I think that's right - it involved electrodes), plus electrical stimulation of the muscles (more electrodes), plus heat packs. I still have issues, am not 100% yet, but any further improvement to strength and flexibility will be incremental and can be accomplished on my own. I am tired of going, tired of the time commitment, and tired of hearing the same stories over and over again from my unfortunately chatty therapist.
Still struggling with insomnia. I've become accustomed to the Ambien and use that a couple of times a week. Other nights I use valerian and melatonin. When I find myself jerking awake from dreaming about work, I reframe that problem by telling myself, It's okay to dream about work. Maybe you need to dream about work, which has turned out to be surprisingly effective. And I try to quiet the middle-of-the-night monkey mind by saying, Think about that in the daytime, not at night.
Last night that last bit was not very effective because today will probably be Fern's final trip to the vet. She acts okay, but there is a lot of discharge from her mouth, some of it blood-tinged. She still tries to clean herself, and her fur gets matted from the discharge. She pulls out the mats she can reach, so her once beautiful coat is a mess. Eating and drinking have been difficult for her, resulting in weight loss. But now she has stopped eating altogether, despite my efforts with a variety of cat and human foods. It is time. Unfortunately, Fern will not go gently into that good night. She will try to hide from me when I go to put her in the travel crate, she will cry on the drive to the vet, she will huddle against me on the exam table. She will break my aching heart.
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