Murphy's Law... Maven's Spin on It

Murphy's Law: If something can go wrong, it will.
Maven's Corollary to Murphy's Law: If something can go wrong, it will, usually spectacularly so, and usually with an audience.

Ablation & tubal scheduled for Tuesday.
Full on first day of period is predicted for Wednesday.

I fucking started spotting today. Ever since the age of 12 when the curse has darkened my doorstep, I have been quite private about my menses. And now, fuck, it looks like I'll have an up close and personal audience for it on Tuesday

Still Hurry-Up-And-Waiting

Pulmonologist called me yesterday to let me know my TB and CBC came back negative and normal, respectively. So I think we're waiting on one more blood test to find out, conclusively, if the granuloma is going to prevent my surgical procedures which are fast approaching.

Apparently in 2008 when I had my sleep study done, there was a chest xray done, so the pulmonologist compared the xray from a few weeks ago to the 2008, and the granuloma was there, and unchanged. Which leads me to believe that the granuloma is from the time I helped clean out dad's back room, and inhaled bird dander and microscopic amounts of bird feces that got kicked up in the cleaning frenzy, and NOT something I inhaled while in India a few years ago. So, at least that's a good thing. And I'm not suffering any breathing issues as a result of it, and my body has done a fine job of identifying something "foreign" and encapsulating it in a shield of calcification. So whatever I did manage to inhale, it's somewhat neutralized.

I called the pulmonologist's office and got the same shit head who set up the appt w/an internist and not a pulmonologist for the pre-surgery clearance, so I'm wondering if my doctor ever got the fax number for my surgeon, to pass along whatever reports, etc. As much as it chaps my ass, I doubt the person answering that phone has the intelligence necessary to pass along a phone message, so I'll be reduced to calling AGAIN, asking to talk to the doctor and confirm with the doctor that the message was received and/or if the reports have been forwarded. 

Time is a-wastin', and I don't have time and luxury to let slackers fuck with my surgery.

Hurry Up and Wait: Yet Another Appointment

I've really felt as if I were a dog chasing its own tail as of late. Before I can even have my surgery next month, to bring about some change in the agonizing adenomyosis pain (and mess), I had the thyroid scare a month ago. Now the current Wild Goose Chase is this granuloma thing on my lung.

Appointment is Monday. I just zapped off an email to the hospital that did the chest xray just to confirm that they, in fact, sent the reports and CD to the doctor. Tedious but necessary. 7/8 is the pulmonary consultation, and my surgery is slated for 7/23. So, essentially Monday's consultation will make or break those plans for surgery, depending on if I need further diagnostics run.

PAIN. IN. THE. ASS.

I Hate People

Yes. I do. However, I do see myself trapped by that statement, as I am, obviously, a PERSON. To clarify, I hate people who are lazier and/or STUPIDER (yes, STUPIDER, to drive home how very STUPID these folks are) than I am. And yes. I'm lazy and stupid, but we're talking DEGREES of laziness and stupidity, and perspective, and perhaps self awareness. I know (to certain degrees) I am stupid and lazy; whereas there are some folks who tool along WHOLESALE UNAWARE that they are stupid and lazy.  And to those folks, I say, "FUCK YOU, ROYALLY. SERIOUSLY AND SIDEWAYS."

How might the statement "I hate people" apply to the "Wild Goose Chase Du Jour," aka, the granuloma discovered in my lung, you might ask?   Here goes.

I call my pulmonologist's office to schedule a consultation to check out my granuloma because I am having surgical procedures 7/23. I very clearly stated this, as DUH, I am not going to a pulmonologist FOR FUCKING FUN. I wanted to schedule an appt w/Dr. V, yet he's unavailable. So they schedule an appt w/Dr. L. Brilliant. So I contact my surgeon's office to see about getting the chest xray results faxed to Dr. L., only for me to do a quick GOOGLE NOW, and realize HOLY SHIT, Dr. L., isn't even a mother fucking pulmonologist.

Luckily I have nearly a full month until my surgery, and I'm very glad that I got my anesthesia consult done as early as I did, because what if I waited two more weeks, then I'd be spending the two weeks before my surgery running around, getting agitated and exasperated. I truly do hate people with the stupids.

I call back and was not even polite about it. I railed into whomever it was who answered the phone, and REITERATE I called to schedule an appointment w/Dr. V., who is a pulmonologist. I very clearly stated I needed to be cleared by a PULMONOLOGIST for my surgery, and yet, the dimwit scheduled an appt with an internist. Well, fuck-me-running, I already have TWO VERY fabulous internists I already see, so why would I want an appointment with some third internist, when that's not what I even effing need?

I'm not even apologetic at this point. I'm annoyed because as a result of their stupidity, I'm now enduring second party stupidity by annoying the surgical liasion at the surgeon's office with emails regarding extraneous shit. 

Best part of this story? The payoff? The doctor's first name?

DIMPLE.

How can I stay angry after reading that as a first name?

Putting Out Fires: One Step Forward, Three Steps Backwards

Yesterday was the day of doom. A day of EPIC proportions. I set my all time new personal BEST (if BEST is even the BEST word to describe the day) of trying to cram as many medical appointments into one day as possible. I do this to maximize my time in NYC, as each time I need to see a specialist, it requires time out of the office. 

So yesterday went thusly:

10 a.m. appt w/Bariatric guy in Morningside Heights. Fabulous appointment. Truly uplifting. Only problem was blood pressure was jacked about 150/100? thereabouts.

11:45 appt w/Renal guy  nr. Central Park East. BP 160/103. This is after 10 days of being on new dosage of BP Rx. Blood drawn, urine sample collected.

2 p.m. appt w/anesthesia consult for surgery in July. Blood drawn. EKG done. SURPRISE! Chest xray. Discussions on the assortment of ways I am an "interesting" patient: No NG tube, BP wonky, and will I or won't I need blood thinners post op? Also, the technician ticked me off with idle chitchat asking what surgery I was having, and when I said "ablation," the inane chit-chat went thusly:  

Idiot: "Oh, how many kids do you have?" 
Me:  "None." 
Idiot: "Oh, I guess you don't want none of that." 
Me: "I never really had a choice really. Too  many things wrong with me, and now I'm old. And with my luck I'll be the 1 in 1000 who gets pregnant after this procedure."  
Idiot:  *crickets* 
Me: "Yeah, it's usually at this point people run out of glib things to say to me." (Also worth mentioning, I'm sure this idiot needed to look up the word GLIB to know I insulted her.)

4 p.m. appt w/Therapist nr. Columbus Circle.

By the time the day was over, I was spent physically and emotionally. And all I could do was cry.

Bring us to THIS AFTERNOON. I get a call from my gyno informing me that before the anesthesiologist will okay the surgery, I need to consult a pulmonologist regarding an irregularity they found on my SURPRISE! chest xray. Apparently I have a granuloma in there. I suspect it might be from my trip to India in 2012. I find I get sick anytime we do international travel. I don't know if it's related to that or what. I'm disgusted at the thought of it being histoplasmosis. Gah. Hurry up and wait for the gyno's office to get back to me to see if I can use a local guy instead of going into the city for YET ONE MORE APPOINTMENT. 

And of course, this is on the heels of the other "fire" that was put out in the last two weeks... the thyroid wild goose chase. 

I don't feel sorry for myself. I'm just getting really angry. Not "WHY ME?" but just angry. I just want to get on with my life and this shit is just wasting precious time and energy.

Epitome of Awesome...

... which is to say UNAWESOME, of course...

Ultrasound came and went w/out so much as a text, email or call from sister or aunt to see how I am.
Biopsy came and went w/out so much as a text, email or call from sister or aunt to see if I have cancer or not.
 
Yet, today I get a text informing me that my nieces 5th grade graduation party is SUNDAY, yet no mention is made, even secondarily, inquiring as to the biopsy results.
 
Note: Five days is an insufficient amount of time to notify me of a party you have no doubt been planning for the last few weeks. Additionally, if you want me to attend a family function, perhaps some day, one day before I die, you'll arrange it on a SATURDAY, so I don't spend my entire SUNDAY driving 4.5-5 hours to sit at a party where I'll no doubt be ignored or irritated (or a combination of both), thus ensuring a horrid back spasm and an even bleaker outlook to start my work week. Fuckyouverymuch.

Benign

Nothing More To Add: Results Might Be in as Early as Monday Afternoon.

Dayenu Redux

I am one more health issue/syndrome away from needing a continuation page for my Medic Alert Bracelet. Yes. I'm dead, fucking serious. Serious enough to wonder if I am hitting that tipping point, and this is the slow slide into the abyss. Truly. That's where my mind is RIGHT. THIS. MOMENT.

And oddly, I'm almost on the brink of laughing. Yes. Seriously. Because I no sooner have intellectualized possibilities of how my biopsy results might pan out [cancer, yes or no?; if yes, papillary or follicular? Thyroidectomy (partial or entire)or nodulectomy?; will I lose my hair? will I lose more of my "me-ness" my sense of self? Accepting that quite possibly surgery and pain (at a minimum) are going to be some short time challenges to overcome], when a well meaning friend drops a conversational dirty bomb in my lap, sight unseen, something that hasn't been discussed, but now has me on hyperalert, worried. 

Hell, the biopsy isn't until tomorrow, with the results available maybe Tuesday or Wednesday of next week, and now I'm worrying about the scenario of "Well, it's not cancer, you've got rheumatoid arthritis."  I had just braced myself for the possibility of cancer, and weighing out the papillary vs the follicular (and not even thinking about lymph node involvement yet for either), and the idea of having RA is just too devastating for me. I dare say, even more devastating than the idea of cancer.

SHORT TERM:
Statistically speaking thyroid cancer (papillary) appears to be what I'll call "manageable." The thyroid is removed, either partly or entirely. Radiation is given. A restricted diet will be part of that "FUN" of the post-op experience while they determine hormonal balances and what not. Mobility of the head/neck will be slowed down/limited. Hormones will be taken daily. Ultimately the survivability of the cancer itself is quite promising, and a good lot of folks go on to live 30-40 years post op without their thyroid. I've read up, prepared myself mentally for a "prepare for the worst, hope for the best" type of thing, then the RA conversational dirty bomb gets dropped in my lap.

My mom's dad had RA and was pretty much debilitated from it (however, at 91 he was STILL more mobile and walked better than my mom does at age 67-68), and HIS dad had RA (and lived to be nearly 100-101 when he died, bed ridden for a good many years of the winter of his life). RA to me might as well be a death sentence. There is no cure. And considering that I cannot take NSAIDs and no doubt a good lot of the RA medications out there (Celebrex comes to mind) would cause ulceration issues for what is left of my stomach pouch after the bypass, the mere thought of rheumatoid arthritis scares the piss out of me. *Amazingly, my mother doesn't have RA, but OA. I'm not sure how she dodged that bullet, considering how many things that are wrong with her health.

LONG TERM:
Rheumatoid arthritis would mean the eventual curtailing and discontinuation of the things that bring joy and meaning to my life: Travel and Crochet. I've come to accept the notion of not having children of my own. Okay. I'm accepting that on a moment by moment basis, and it is still hard (some days harder than others). But to think of the things that bring me joy, traveling the world with my husband, and crocheting, and let's face it, being able to walk of my own steam, unassisted, independent. As it stands, given my mother's assortment of health issues and how her inability to be her own advocate and get treatment at crucial times when it could have made a difference, only to see her handicapped, house bound, and bitter, that's enough for me to be HYPER AWARE and GRATEFUL of every step I am able to take.  The idea of being HOBBLED & wheel chair bound? No travel? No crochet? Perhaps unable to write my own name or type letters on a keyboard? Perhaps unable to grasp a knife to cut a tomato or run a brush thru my own hair?  In the long term, that is not living. It's merely existing and being a prisoner of pain. I just hope that if this were to be my fate, someone would have the good sense to smother me in my sleep once things got so deteriorated I'd need a wheelchair or I can't brush my own teeth. Seriously. 

I have no doubt that the friend who was suggesting a papillary thyroid cancer/RA connection was trying to be helpful but it's about as helpful as someone trying to cheer me up or show support by saying:

"Hey! Maybe it's not cancer, maybe it's LUPUS!"
"Hey! Maybe it's not cancer, maybe it's MS!"
"Hey! Maybe it's not cancer, maybe it's ALS!"

So, it's not bad enough I still have tomorrow's fine needle biopsy to endure. And now I'm even MORE scared shitless than I was before.

It's just too much to process.

In summation (if you're keeping score):

Papillary cancer = lower recurrence rate, but also has the possible bonus WILDCARD of rheumatoid arthritis

Follicular cancer = higher recurrence rate

Snippet From a Thread, Elsewhere

[This is a snippet of a reply I left in someone else's thread involving their (in)fertility.] 

[...] "At this stage of my ("unproductive") journey,  I'm using Maude (of the 70s flick "Harold and Maude") as my role model. I *want* to live a life rich with meaning and deliberate choice. I'm just at the point of accepting this (and no, there was no "choice" for me to make regarding motherhood), and (intellectualizing) if my journey won't involve kids (of my own), what will my "deliberate choices" be? 

Of course, this is made even harder when you've come to just barely accept your own fate/destiny/narrative, when someone comes along and pities you, when really that's the last thing anyone needs. FWIW, I'm the only non-breeder amongst my family, so as if the drama with our mother isn't enough to be off putting, the alienation I feel from others (as they don't know how to either respond to or process my infertility, or worse, come up with their own conclusions about why I don't have kids). 

I have come to truly embrace my friends, as THEY are without a doubt the biggest influence/impact on my life (next to my husband).

End note: 
Regarding pity. I'm not someone who defines themselves one way or the other, that I am "somebody special" because I'm Mrs.Whutwhut, or that I'm "somebody special" because of where I work. And I envision that I never ever indulged in the notion of me being "so-and-so's mom." So this (infertility, non-mom) is merely a state of being. It does not define me any more than being white, or being female, or being American, or being (fill in the blank here). So when I mention in passing, "oh yes, I've got female troubles," or "hey, yeah, I'm dealing with infertility," the very last thing I need is someone's pity."

I've found that a good lot of folks confuse empathy for pity (and visa versa), and for whatever my 2 cents is worth, I think some folks are incapable of truly being empathic, as sometimes their own pains are too close to the surface (can't see the forest for the trees, that type of perspective), and incapable of any true depth.

Sometimes there are no words. Outright silence is even worse. However, I think the best response is rather succinct: "Hey. I care. I don't know what to say. I'm here for you." Even if "here" is you being there, sitting in silence, while someone does word vomit to deal with what they're dealing with. Even if you being there is to take them out for coffee, a momentary distraction.

What The "F"

Friday.
Fourteenth.
Fine needle aspiration (biopsy).

Hurry up and wait 11-12 more days before we know anything conclusively.

Blood Work: A Trajectory

Cortisol is problematic. So far every other test (so every six months) the numbers spike. I suspect it might be White Coat Syndrome given the horrid quality of care/service I get at Quest Diagnostics. I'm tired of complaining to corporate about it, as it doesn't amount to jackshit in the scheme of things, and I've seen zero improvement. And the last time I was there (May), the blood draw was so bad, I had a very painful welt the size of a halved tangerine in the crook of my arm for DAYS.

I have no doubt that the stress I undergo each time I've been to Quest Diagnostics has adversely affected my cortisol levels. The undue wait time, the rushed nature of finding a vein, how harried the single solitary lab staffer is. To under staff a  heavily trafficked site like Quest does is not only a fuck you to those who work there, but also to the clients/patients who rely on this being the most proximal lab for them to go to for their blood test needs. Plus? Most of us are fasting, so yeah, make us all wait LONGER, make us MISERABLE while we're there. Fuck you. I'll take me, myself, and more importantly MY INSURANCE MONEY elsewhere. Labs are a dime a dozen. I think there's one spitting distance away. Sayonara, motherfuckers.
Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah... A trajectory of my blood work results:


5/2/13:
Creatine, Random Urine 91
Protein, Total Urine
Urine Total Protein 769 H Range: 50-240 mg/L
Protein Total, Urine 846 H Range 21-161 mg/g
Creatine: 0.62 Range 0.50-1.10 mg/dL
Bun/Creatinine Ratio Normal Limits
Uric Acid: 5.3 Therapeutic target for gout patients: <6 br="">Albumin 4.2
Cortisol, Total serum  31.0 H (Reference range: Cortisol AM 4.0-22.0 mcg/dL; Cortisol PM 3.0-17.0 mcg/dL
C-Reactive Protein 0.1
Hemoglobin A1C 5.3 (Reference range: <5 br="">

2/20/13:
Creatine:  0.57 (ref: 0.50-1.10 mg/dL)
Bun/Creatine ratio Normal limits
Protein (serum) 6.7 (6.1-8.1 g/dL)
Albumin 4.1 (3.6-5.1 g/dL)
C-Reactive Protein 0.1
Hemoglobin A1C 5.5
(No microalbumin tested in Feb)
Uric Acid: 5.5 (2.5-7.0)  *Therapeutic target for gout patients: <6 br="">Cortisol (total serum): 21.9H (Cortisol a.m.: 4.0-22.0 mcg/dL)

November 2012:
Creatine: 0.64
Bun/Creatine ratio Normal
Microalbumin (random)  314H <30 br="">Blood Moderate (2+) negative
C-Reactive Protein 0.1
Hemoglobin A1C: 5.3
Plasma Renin ACT, LC/MS/MS  8.37H (0.25-5.82 ng/mL/h
Uric Acid: 5.3

July 2012:
Creatine: 0.66
Bun/Creatine ratio Normal
C-Reactive Protein 0.1
Hemoglobin A1C: 5.5
Uric Acid: 5.7

April 2012:
Creatine: 0.67
Bun/Creatine ratio Normal
C-Reactive Protein 0.1
Hemoglobin A1C: 5.5
3A Adnrostanediol-G 30L (60-300 ng/dL)
Uric Acid: 5.5
DHEA Sulfate: 448H (25-220 mcg/dL)
Cortisol: 10.9  (Cortisol a.m. 4.0-22.0 mcg/dL)

Obviously, between the cortisol, microalbumen and the uric acid, SOMETHING is cookin' in my kidneys. I have been wanting my docs to adjust/tweak my blood pressure Rx for months now, as I have been having "break through migraines" which are not in line with my usual, predictable menses-related migraines.  Endocrinologist mentioned something about the possibility for Cushings. (Yet no retest for anything. Yet. We have more pressing matters. Read on.)

Yes. I have about seven thyroid nodules, one of which is problematic, as it's nearly an inch in size, is close to my windpipe, and has "unclean margins." Hurry up and wait for four days to hear back from the diagnostic center, to find out that HURRY UP AND WAIT the earliest they could get me in for a fine needle biopsy is NEXT FRIDAY, which means that it will be nearly two solid weeks (from today) until I finally know if this nodule is cancerous or not, if so, what type of cancer is it (papillary vs follicular, for example), and if it's not cancerous, can we get this thing out of me LIKE YESTERDAY, M'KAY?

I've sent a thoughtful email to my bariatric office to find out, if, worst case scenario, if the thyroid (whether partial or entirely) needs to be removed, will this adversely affect my body's ability to absorb calcium, as being someone who is living post-op gastric bypass I am already contending with vitamin absorption issues, I want to know how this will impact me.

At this juncture, I'm not getting morose or morbid. I want as much information I can muster as possible, regarding how am I going to live, quality of life wise, post-op, should my thyroid be removed. I'm not indulging in death fantasy yet. Ideally I'd like to live to a nice old age like my late 80s, have a good meal, a few good laughs my last day and perhaps lay down for a nap, and it'll be GOOD NIGHT IRENE. I do NOT want to even think about dying a grizzly death of cancer, being taken apart piece by piece like my grandmother was for seven years following an oral cancer diagnosis. Nope. I just want to know what's it going to take for me to get through each and every day. Pills? Supplements? What's one more pill in the grand scheme of things?

Like I've said to friends, I don't know if I'm THAT strong, if I'm THAT much of a stoic, or if I'm THAT much in shock about the possibility of this being cancer.

And if I had my 'druthers, I'druther and just assume get all my surgeries/procedures all done at the same time or the same week, so I can get on with the business of recovering and more importantly get on with the business of LIVING. As it stands, I have my ablation and tubal ligation scheduled for next month at Mt. Sinai, and I'druther get my nodule-ectomy or thyroidectomy done at the same time, as the doctor I'm seeing for that is at that hospital too.

Sis and aunt both are aware of what's going on, yet neither one of them have texted or called me to see how I am doing. In stark contrast the very few folks at work (boss) as well as a friend of the husband's (who has adopted me, as sort of an adopted older sister) seem incapable of NOT asking how I am doing. Heavy duty stuff I'm going through for sure, but no sense in worrying until I know, DEFINITIVELY, what I am going to worry about. 

PS: FUCK YOU QUEST DIAGNOSTICS! FUCK YOU SERIOUSLY AND SIDEWAYS. IN YOUR PROVERBIAL EAR AND REAR END.

Dayenu! (It Would Have Been Sufficient...)

Seems like I'm putting the DIE in Dayenu...

If I just had to deal with PCOS & Syndrome X, dayenu.
If I just had to deal with fatty liver syndrome and hypertension, dayenu.
If I just had to endure RnY to turn some of that shit around, dayenu.
If I just had my joint pain, herniations, carpal tunnel, and plantars fasciitis, dayenu.

If I just had my "optic nerve druzen," dayenu.
If I just had my adenomyosis, endometriosis, and infertility, dayenu.
If I just had my kidney issue, hypertension (yes, a 2nd utterance), and migraines, dayenu.
If I just had 7 thyroid nodules, one of which is "suspicious," aka has "unclean margins," dayenu.

Summation: Monday I had three appointments. The trifecta of suck as it were.

1st appt: Nephrologist. Nothing new. Cortisol still high. Pee in a cup. Still no resolution on my blood pressure Rx, which we have been talking about changing or tweaking for months now.

2nd appt: Ultrasound of thyroid. Oh yes. Fabulous. Asshole doctor is a no-show, but diagnostic center gave me choice of continuing w/a different radiologist to read and interpret the findings. Okay. Fabulous. Seven nodules (thought I had just one), with one being close to an inch in diameter, and with "unclean margins." RED FLAG. Of course, HAD the asshole doc been there, I could have seen about getting a fine needle aspiration done THAT DAY, but no. I'll have to burn another day (or half) a day to come back into the city for this nonsense. Which means, I have to wait yet again for an office to call me back to let me know when they can fit me in, and of course, they cannot get this shit done today, or tomorrow or even this week. My anger is righteous, and brewing moment by moment. I went into this appt armed with the knowledge (thanks to Dr. Google) that if it were thyroid cancer, there's an 80% chance it's benign. Radiologist contradicted and said it's closer to 90%. Okay. So I exit the building, get pinged by the husband, and find out his grandmother passed away earlier that morning and he wanted to go home asap, but would wait knowing I had a 3rd appt later this afternoon.

This day is getting better and better.

3rd appt: Endocrinologist. Of course nephrologist never forwarded him any information from our appointment earlier in the day, so the blood pressure Rx discussion gets shelved YET AGAIN (I'll tell this to my migraines and heart flutters, I'm sure there's therapeutic benefit in that, right?). He calls me into his office, the inner sanctum, instead of the exam room. Glum as a chum he informs me that things aren't good, and I need to get a biopsy done ASAP. And oh yeah, remember that 90% the radiologist quoted? Yeah, well that's closer to 75%-70%. Plus, with the size and location of that 1 inch motherfucker? Even if it's not cancerous, that doesn't mean that surgery is out of the question because if it continues to grow, it's a choking hazard. As it stands, I can feel it when I swallow, and I have discomfort when I swallow hard tablets and supplements.

And of course, the place that does FNAs don't do them on the days I already HAVE appointments, which means ADDITIONAL time off. And of course, given the fact that the thyroid is MILES away from my endometrium and fallopian tubes, when I have THOSE procedures done next month, I cannot get the thyroid done at the same time, so I can recover from all of that mess at the same time. Oh no.

I'm bearing my burden well, thankyouverylittle. I'm just not bearing the burden HAPPILY.  I'll power thru the best I can like I always do, but yanno what?

DAYENU! Enough. Just, fucking, ENOUGH already.

Thinning (of the herd)

I've been on both sides of the social media "thinning of the herd" spectrum this week. 

Just yesterday I had to use the block feature to effectively put up a boundary to someone who had become toxic to me, who had solicited me for advice and support, advice I gave, which he did not take, hence I cannot support the direction he's taking, which is leading him down a path of fail and possible medical complications. 

He's chosen to go for a gastric sleevectomy (100% support the decision; 0% support on the execution of the decision); however, he's on the balls of his ass broke and JUST NOW, three weeks shy of his cut date, he's realizing he cannot afford all the assorted supplements and protein sources needed for a successful recovery, not to mention being post-op compliant. I can't abide that or SUPPORT IT. 

I am who I am. I'm zealous/enthusiastic about remaining compliant and trying to ensure long term success for my own weight and health. I'm direct. I'm blunt. I don't sugar coat things. I anguish over trying to find the  most diplomatic way to convey things, but when something is 100% wrong, it's wrong, and irresponsibly wrong at that. So no, no support is forthcoming. And BLAMMO. Boundary up. Justifiably so. Not just for my own protection, but also really? He doesn't want to hear what I have to say, and that's 100% okay, just don't make me out to be some monster because I'm calling you out on the ASSORTMENT of ways it's wrong. Furthermore, there's no question in his mind as to how or why the blocking took place. 

He said what he said. I said what I said. We're philosophically opposed to what the other has to say. He unfriended me, but didn't block me. I slept on this. I crafted my final thoughts on the matter, which was appended with my usual type of closing statement in these types of scenarios, "Don't go away mad. Just go away." And well, he replied. I replied back. Which then prompted my final reply, "What part of JUST GO AWAY DO YOU NOT GET?" and *I* blocked him. Done. Finito. Yay me, I had the last word. But there's no question of WHY all this happened. No mystery. And at a minimum, I got closure. 

I guess life is like that. Folks drift in and out of our life, some loudly so, like setting off a foghorn, and others just drift silently like a leaf, skimming the surface of the waves.

The Turning Point

I suppose every person who has had WLS comes to this point, much like they came to that "Come to Jesus" moment where they realize and accept that they needed surgical intervention to help their health. I've come to the point in my WLS journey where I have had, shall we say, an "anomaly," aka a "slight regain."

The regain is more than 5 but less than ten, and a wake up call for me to be ever-vigilant. It's made me reassess food I pack, and habits. Check, check, and check! I weigh everything, and if anything, have been short-shrifting myself (volume/weight wise) with what I pack; however, one inclusion in the feed bag could be to blame. Though again, it's in measured amounts: CheezIt crackers. Oh how I loves-me some CheezIts!!!  Perhaps this is the culprit? I don't know.  I've been packing an ounce and a half of them along with two cheese sticks for one of my morning "intakes." Perhaps this is it? I don't know. I've swapped out my yogurt for the CheezIts, so calorie wise, it's not an even swap, this I know.  

I'm otherwise compliant as far as not overloading my system, taking my time chewing, no drinking immediately after eating, and of course, staying on top of my protein intake and especially my vitamin supplement intake. I've also been having some elimination issues, so perhaps that's contributing to the numbers being "skewed."

Perhaps I should hydrate more, too. I'm not big on water. So perhaps brewing up some homemade ice tea might be good, and especially with the theanine, could give me a boost.

This all is further compounded by the mental mind fuck of it all. That I am compliant, and yet, a regain; when I know there are folks out there who are boozing it, and drinking immediately after eating, and who I also know are taking the wrong supplements, and yet... I'm the one experiencing this "anomaly." I know I shouldn't compare my journey with others, but I only do so for perspective.

The lesson for me to learn here, is merely reinforcing what I already knew. That there IS work to be done, even this far out from surgery (now nearing 2.5 yrs). That this is a LIFESTYLE, and a LIFELONG habit of vigilance. 

Yesterday, I went to my internist for Rx refills on scopalmine (yes another voyage is in the works), tramadol (to sub out my vicodin which is now causing me nausea) and Flonase... bleh allergy season. The visit was quick and painless. We talked briefly about everything, and I even remarked on the thyroid nodule, and knowing me as he does, he kind of poohpoohed it, calming my nerves with statistics etc, and he knows I'll be in for an ultrasound of my thyroid in a matter of weeks. 

He remarked how great I look and how much the surgery has impacted me, my appearance, and my health. I said how I really needed to hear that as I've experienced a slight regain. We talked on the elimination issue very briefly (afterall, he IS a gastro guy first, before being my internist), and he told me knowing me as he does, knowing my vigilance and how serious I was going into the surgery and how I remain after, that he has no doubt in his mind that this is a momentary thing, and that I'll be back on track in no time. From his mouth to Gravity's ears!

Something I won't be needing again. Ever.

Ran out of time, while running around chasing my tail, 

fixing my health, fixing my wealth.

Never was in the right place in my life

to even consider this endeavor.

And now? Well, life has made that decision for me.

Trifecta of Suck

Yesterday was a trifecta of doctor's appointments. Three. What was I thinking. (Well, I know what I was thinking, let's get this shit over with!).

First up was the renal guy, to follow up re: microalbumen in my urine, elevated cortisol in my blood, and find out about whether my bp Rx was the best for me, and also rule out any kidney damage from 40 years of being overweight and having insulin resistance issues. This ended up being more positive of the three appointments. (Looks like it might end up being nothing to worry about.)

Second up was the ReproEndoGuy. Still impressed w/my weight loss and my ability to fix the iron issues (I upped my Feosol to 3x a day during menses, w/2x a day the rest of the month). Told me to drop my D3 to 2000IU a day (too much could result in kidney stones). And looky there... yes. A nodule on my thyroid. Apparently it's been there all along, yet he never mentioned it, and only mentioned it to me (you guessed it!) because it's gotten larger. So I have to hurry up and wait. I see the doc again in four months, but three months from now, I need to schedule an ultrasound. So it'll be July before I have any idea on what's cooking in that department.

And the last of which was going to my gyno. Regular exam, coupled up with a discussion on my accepting I need to do the ablation to take care of the adenomyosis and endometriosis pain, and OH WHILE YOU ARE IN THERE, get my tubes tied at the same time. Because with my shitty luck, I'd be the 1 in 1000 who gets pregnant post-ablation. And given my age, other risk factors, and the ablation, well, it's come down to my survival vs the existence or survival of a metaphorical baby, and well... sorry baby, I'm looking out for #1.

This isn't glib or careless or even rash. I'm tired of living in pain, and being a prisoner to my period. I'm losing effectively 1/4-1/3 of my month to this beast. The pain is debilitating and damn near crippling; and the mess is substantial. But the long term effects of not having a kid, is the thing that's going to be a moment-by-moment thing for me to deal with.

As I've said before, I always thought motherhood would eventually find me. And only now am I realizing it was never out looking for me in the first place. Kind of sobering. Is this my destiny or my fate? While I never fawned over the kids of other folks, I always thought if I had my own, I'd feel differently (about them, not kids in general).

I've had a happy life the last 12 years, which I've been married to the husband. No kids, I feel, will mean just more of the same status quo. And yet, I'm sad. The only folks who truly "get" what I'm going thru are struggling with their own journey of non-motherhood. I'm equally glad and sad I have friends going thru the same struggle.

I think this for myself, and for all of us on the same journey: What is to become of us? What do we do now?

Not sure if anyone reads this (granted, there is a limited audience/readership for this blog o'mine). I've been abysmally depressed, anxious, and pensive for the last I-don't-know-how-long. Feeling old, neglected and very dead-ended right about now.

Hither and Yon

Sometimes it is overwhelming, the sheer volume of doctor's appointments I need schedule to monitor and stay on top of the assortment of medical shit with which I must endure.

I was supposed to see my bariatric surgeon on 3/5 for my two year post-op check up. And the reality is, it's a pain in the ass to get there, and I'm not getting any benefit from going there (beyond taking a day off from work to accommodate that appointment). Also, the NP hasn't gotten back to me about faxing or emailing an Rx for the necessary blood work to monitor my vitamin levels. The tedium is getting to me, so I called today and moved my appointment to sometime in June, so it'll be closer to 2.5 years post-op. 

Bad enough on 3/20 I have the trifecta of suck waiting for me:  11 a.m. renal guy; then at  1 p.m. I need to hoof it three avenues and about 6 streets/blocks to the ReproEndo guy; and 4:45 I need to hoof it 6 streets/blocks and three avenues back to the gyno. If I were a true glutton for punishment, I'd figure out how to shoe-horn the bariatric guy that same day. But that'd be too much, even for me.  I was also trying to figure out if I could make a quick trip down to Essex Street Market for some chorizo between the endo and the gyno, but sadly that would be too much, too. So whatever I plan on doing to distract myself between appointments, it needs to be on the UES.

Here I am, living the good life:)

Semantics

Re: My previous blog post... it really resonates with me. 

The profoundness is not lost on me. It's not taken lightly, hell, I think I've detailed FOR YEARS about the "what if" I never have a kid theme. Part of me is still hesitant to get the ablation (which, I then would feel I'd need to get the tubal ligation, just to be responsible, and ensure I don't get pregnant, saving myself some potential grief down the road, i.e. an even higher risk pregnancy, or death). I feel like it's a matter of mental semantics as it were.

The ablation and tubal doesn't change the total sum of my childless reality, it merely changes the mathematical equation which brings me to the same sum. Much like 2+2=4, so too can 3+1=4. The variables are different, but the sum remains the same. And the sum is like what I said the other day, I spent my life thinking motherhood would find me, and well, motherhood ain't looking for me.

I mentioned this to ReproEndoGuy, and he said that he couldn't make the decision for me, but "... there's always IVF." I reminded him that at 44, I like living in a world of certitudes. And IVF, given my age, and PCOS, and Factor Five Leiden Mutation, and my adenomyosis? Well, there's not enough certainty that either 1. Pregnancy would happen; or 2. The child or I would survive the pregnancy; or 3. That the child would come out without birth defects. I don't see the sense of making valiant efforts when the deck is so very obviously stacked up against me. 

I can tell that ReproEndoGuy is a bit sad that this "rainy day project" we both have been working on together for nearly ten years isn't going to happen. And since it's not going to happen, I might as well work towards dealing with the pain management of the adenomyosis, because this is a quality of life issue for me, not merely an annoyance. It's debilitating.

Fortunately, I don't feel a sense of peer pressure (well, save for my well-intentioned, loving mother-in-law, who is desperate to be a grandmother, desperate to have some joy in her life) to be a mother. I never self-identified myself as a wife or a mother. And even though I am obviously a woman, there are times where I truly feel like my existence is neutral gender-wise. I don't feel totally asexual or nonsexual, but it does make me wonder "what is femininity?" I'm not overly butch, I'm not overly girly. I'm not overly bitchy, and I'm not overly passive either. 

Fortunately, I also do not feel a sense of being broken or defective as a woman. I never felt like my gender was my destiny, though I always took it for granted I'd eventually be a mother at some point. I don't feel like my life is over now that motherhood is off the table. I am still a mother, even if I don't have a child to raise, if that makes any sense. I can mother myself, or when my husband lets me, I can mother him. I can mother my friends who need it. Yet selfishly, the one person who needs to be mothered, my own mother, well, that's too big of an issue, and a futile one to be succinct, as you can't help someone who doesn't want to be helped. So scratch that. But it IS a profound thought. She needs a mother, and I need TO mother, and well, here we are, 120 miles separating us, and even more, untraversable emotional mileage/geography between us.

Part of my mind drifts to past forks in the road, decisions made in haste, or Hobson's Choice type decisions, or even decisions made FOR me due to the interference of my mother, and there is the flicker of anger and regret, but overall I'll say in my own defense, that I've always tried to make the very best decisions given the circumstances, resources and information I have had on hand at any given point in my life. Still sucks though. This isn't what I ever anticipated for myself. And my life WOULD have been radically different (and incredibly boring) had I not made the choices I have made.

Dear Uterus

Dear Uterus,

You are now on WARNING. I am about to throw up the white flag of defeat. No, I'm not evicting you in entirety; however, be forewarned, our endometrium? Yeah that fucking piece of shit? Yeah, it's going to get straifed with a flame thrower. For realz.

I've lived 44 years of my life naively thinking that eventually motherhood would find me; I'm only realizing now that motherhood was never looking for me in the first place.

The time for valiant and diligent effort has passed. No tears are being shed. I've intellectualized myself OUT of thinking it'll ever happen. We're not trying. Too many risks, too many really to itemize herein.

So that all being said, since it's not going to happen, there's no need for me to worry about the permanence of permanently destroying my endometrium as a way to stave off the excessive pain (and not to mention the mess of what is essentially hemorraghing).

Yes, uterus. You're going to be burned. And while I'm at it, you might as well let your friends The Fallopian Twins, that they're on notice too. I"m going to get those fuckers tied up in square knots hopefully at the same time I burn the shit out of the endometrium.

Yes, it's come down to either it's you or me, and I don't know about you, uterus, but I've got a lot of shit to do, and even if I didn't, I don't want to live in excessive pain for the next ten years until I stop menstruating.

Fuckyouverymuch,
Signed,
Maven

Not Much to Report

Not much to report. Haven't lost or gained. No complaints. Well, no complaints save for two:

1. While BCBS paid for my surgery, which I estimate cost close to what? $80K? They do not cover the post-operative follow up visits w/my surgeon, despite the fact he's in-network. ($100 a visit); and

2. I'm beginning to get weary of dealing with the Quest lab near me. I hate blood work, which I need to get done every 3 months for my endo, which I usually piggy back with blood work for my surgeon (which I've been doing for 2 years thus far) and suddenly Quest's idiots cannot seem to realize that despite the fact I have two Rxs from two different docs, who request SOME of the same stuff (i.e. cbc, lipids, etc), the doofuses at Quest cannot seem to process that. I recently got a bill for nearly $500 as I was being billed TWICE for the labs for ONE trip to the lab. Apparently there's an issue because neither doc CC's the other and the lab for whatever reason, cannot do that. The wait. The inconvenience of dealing with new technicians drawing my blood, etc. And of course, now, the NP at my surgeon's office (who, granted, is going thru some family stuff w/her mom) has been slipping w/following up about getting me the necessary Rx for my bloodwork. I've been sick with this year's creeping crud and haven't been to the lab yet for my draw, and all things considered, I've had to jockey the appointment to next month and hoping for the best. But really, this follow up isn't really doing much for me personally. Plus? It's a huge pain in the ass to get to the surgeon's office, as there's no direct route via mass transit to get there, and parking is EXHORBITANT. I refuse to pay $30+ in an all day lot for an appointment that lasts less than an hour.

I'm still "compliant" with my eating (no eating and drinking at the same time, eating several times a day, top heavy with protein, no carbonated drinks--tho for new year's I did have some fizzy champagne drinks). Not compliant w/exercise. Too tired and listless and uninspired to get more active. But I walk and take stairs, so I'm not a total slug.

Feeling kind of depressed the last two weeks, perhaps it's the drain the creeping crud has had on me. Perhaps it's SAD. I don't know. I'm compliant with all my vitamins. 

Given I see my endocrinologist every three months RELIGIOUSLY, I don't see much benefit (other than monitoring my compliance) in going to the surgeon's office for follow ups. It's not like it's a "support" or I feel like I get any benefit other than "Oh hey, you're doing good. You haven't regained."  I don't belong to official support groups (too much whining or too much "know it all" from assholes). Just do my own thing w/the information given.

December saw the passing of my grandfather (not especially emotionally invested in him as a person, so it's not like I'm depressed from that--though death IS a downer). December also saw us thru yet another drive-by-drama-ing involving mom and her shitty health and her inability to take care of herself, and expecting us to somehow DO for her what she refuses to do for herself. January saw the sudden passing of a dear friend from years ago. And meanwhile, halfway around the world, my mother-in-law is tending to her mother, who in all likelihood will pass away before spring thaw.

All this on the heels of a trip to South and Central America, which wasn't ideal given my husband had taken ill on the ship. So it's not like there's been a moment since mid-November where homeostasis has been experienced. Burdensome and tedious. But I suppose that's what life is.  I just feel so unsettled with this feeling of dread or anxiety or pensiveness. I've even been having little flutter like palpitations (perhaps anxiety related?), nothing serious, and I breathe myself thru them. But still, it's there. Whatever it is. Lurking beneath the surface. So I focus on Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs, and I'm doing damned good according to that, so there's THAT going for me, right?

Tonight is knit night, I hope, so there's at least joy in the comraderie I have with the two ladies I meet with regularly. Tomorrow is a chiropractic appointment. Friday is my 8:45 a.m. therapy session. So I guess I better give myself a sublingual blast of B12 and focus on something interesting today.

My Monday Musing

12:01 a.m. Monday.

Today (Sunday) I broke the 100# mark. Finally.

If I lose eight more pounds, I will have lost the total sum of what Karen Carpenter weighed at the time of her passing. This is not to be glib. Just stating a fact.

Another fact many folks (who went to school with me, and who *may* have tormented me mercilessly in junior high) might NOT know about me, is during high school, I, too was anorexic.

In 1982 when I started high school as a freshman, my lowest weight was 109#, at 5'7" tall. When Karen Carpenter passed away, she was all of 5'4" and 110. She would have been in her 62nd year, if she were alive today.

30 Years later, AT THIS VERY MOMENT, I finally have the awareness of how very lucky I am.

Rainy Days and Mondays

Iron

My iron levels are still on the low side due to both, the WLS and my adenomyosis. The Feosol isn't cutting it, apparently. Bariatric NP put me on Corvite. I started taking it today. Heaven help my colon. I had impaction issues w/the Feosol. I'm wondering what a heavy duty, Rx iron supplement will do to my ass.

Tablet is big enough I need to split it, and of course, only after I swallowed both halves, did I get the idea that perhaps I should try taking 1/2 a dose at a time, coincidentally w/a chewable vitamin C.

Pain Chronicles: The Litany (1)

If you were curious about what's all that bitching I do about pain, herein is the full list of issues I have, starting from the top of my head to the soles of my feet, and everything in between.

Head: Migraines suffering from them since the early 1990s. Actually been hospitalized thrice for them.
Neck: Herniations nr. C4/C5 sustained when I was rear-ended by an 18 wheeler in 1999.
Shoulders: "Rib head" pops out of place. REGULARLY.
Low spine: Diminished disk space L5/S1 (though hip dysplasia and or degenerative disc disease/disorder runs in my family).
Left hand: Dominant hand. Carpal tunnel. Mild-to-moderate case. Some days my hand is so spastic I cannot sign my own name without stopping three times because the way I write my name pinches the nerves in the wrist and elbow. Problematic since doing excessive, now-needlessly obsolete stenography drills in secretarial school in the mid-1990s.
Low abdomen: A "mild" case of adenomyosis, which is kind of like garden variety endometriosis... IF IT WERE ON METH, CRACK, AND ACID. Diagnosed officially in February of this year, and it's getting progressively more painful and uncontainable each successive month. Searing, agonizing pain that is isolated in the region between  my navel and my kneecaps, ranging from a dull throb, to a persistent agonizing pulsation of hot lava like HURT deep in my marrow. As a result of this, I am now considering a medical procedure to manage the physical pain; however, it will then officially put the kabosh on the entire notion of me having a child of my own. I'm 44. I'm just not up to the challenge and thanklessness of motherhood. EOS.
Low abdomen: "Impactions."
Right Hip: "Hip Pointer." WTF Been problematic since a forced road march with a 40 lb pack in basic training.
Knees (both): Dx: the LCL's were compromised in two falls, one in winter 2009, one in spring 2010. Though to be honest, the pain is deep in there where most anatomical charts would indicate the meniscus.
Feet (both): Heel spurs, plantar fasciitis, corns, and the newest addition to the Pain Chronicles Litany: My big toes are not level with the rest of the bones/toes (actually is lower than the rest), thus causing my feet to cantilever like a see-saw in my shoes (thus causing the corns; and is contributing to my overall balance issues).

The fact that I take about 4-5 vicodin a month, I would say is judicious given the aforementioned. 

And yanno what? In a very sick twisted way, I'm glad for these burdens. I see some of the truly life threatening, persistently miserable things that other folks are enduring in their lives, and I am thankful that at a minimum my issues are being managed, and it's only about 1/3 of each month that is directly impacted by the assortment of burdens I have, which at times feels like I'm being Karmic-ly double or triple teamed. 

Dear inventor of hydrocodone: You are a saint! 

Signed,
Me

On Average. Yes.

My Journey Is My Journey; and Your Journey Is Your Journey

I'm having one of those days where I got one of those scared straight type of chills up my spine. Kinda foreboding or at a minimum, a warning for me, if I were to ever think for one moment, that as a WLS post-opper that I am ever going to be "normal."

I'm having my first lunch, a pint of wonton-egg drop soup, and a friendly co-worker is there too. Unexpectedly. So we sat and chatted. Talked very briefly about a scenario where another co-IRKER of ours is grating on my last nerve, the last interaction of which involved him grabbing a piece of candy off another co-worker's desk and attempting to hand it to me, KNOWING, VISIBLY, OBVIOUSLY, I've lost A LOT of weight, and perhaps I'd like to keep it off, he said, "As if you're not sweet enough..." and attempts to hand it to me. I wave it off and say thank you and try to get on with it. Anyway... back to lunch...

So lovely co-worker and I were talking and he mentioned in passing, in hushed tones, "You know who's gaining weight?" And I nodded. "I know." It's She-who-is-the-workhorse in the office. Management has not even attempted to get us a temp to help cover phones while the Slacker is on maternity leave. Even though "I" take my allotted lunch hour (though I don't take my 15 minute breaks as our union contracts ensure), SHE takes it upon herself to sit at her desk and work through lunch. Which, to be blunt, is unhealthy, and I dare say could lead to undoing a lot of her good work. I said as much to lovely co-worker, and we got on with our lunch.

But it's worried me long before this chat. I noticed in passing that SHE seemed a bit heavier. I didn't know if it was weight gain or if it was just wearing more form fitting clothing or what. It's none of my business. I'd love to just say to her, "You must look out for your health and well being. At least get up and walk around in the afternoon sun. Don't let this place destroy all your good work." But I thought the better of it. It's truly none of my business. 

I mean, I'd want to be supportive. I don't want to seem like the newly converted, as I'm still less than two years out from my own surgery. Who am I? How dare I even THINK of meddling in someone's personal shit, yanno?  

Where does meddling truly start and support actually end? 

But it IS sobering. I pack a lunch every day. Granted, I eat what I want, but measured amounts. I know I'm not active. Not by a long stretch, whereas SHE IS. 

Our journeys may have had similar starts, and similar paths, but like everything in life, I cannot compare my journey to someone else's. I'm only responsible to myself FOR myself and my actions. 

I guess I should just wish her well in the cosmic sense of wishing well, and hope this place doesn't eat her (and all her good work) alive.

24 Days

Dear Adenomyosis,

24 Days? Really?

Fuck-you-very-much,
"Maven"

Not Much New To Report (Or is there?)

Still plateau'ed since roughly January. I keep vacillating between 2-5 lbs lose/gain.

No new health issues, problems or improvements, though my surgeon is convinced I'm done w/the passive weight loss from the surgery and is strongly urging me to exercise. I can't seem to wrap my brain around it, as anytime I exert myself, I end up paying for it for days in the form of joint pain. So to exercise to the point of sweating and sustaining that just seems counter-intuitive to my joint pain.

I had an a-HA! moment a month ago when I realized what part of my problem (vis-a-vis procrastination) is: my mindset. I am a fixed mindset whereas I need to have a more growth oriented mindset. Problem is, I don't know how to change it. I'm fairly well FIXED and rooted in thinking the way I do, and being the pragmatist I am, I can talk myself out of doing things for fairly legitimate reasons.

For instance, I cannot allow myself to do something if there's even a remote question of whether I'll fail. It's not so much based out of a fear of failure, but out of having JUST THAT MUCH VALUE in my time, my precious commodity. I'd much rather spend my time doing things I love, or things I know I'll excel at rather than vanity tripping or doing what amounts to exercises (excuse the pun) in futility.

I know that my mindset is at the root of what is preventing me from living up to my potential in my career, my life, my health, my happiness. I can and HAVE intellectualized that I need to change, but I get overwhelmed and distracted, and don't have a clue how or where to start with the actual change. In keeping with my personality and this quirk of mine re: potential for pain or failure, it takes a very long time before I act on anything. I am like a terrier with a bone, chewing on it, thinking about it, burying that bone for a while, digging it back up and chewing on it some more, until something new and shiny comes along to distract me.

Dad's birthday was this weekend, and the grief sucker punched me again. I had signed up for a home repair and remodeling class run by the local college, only to find out that it's not hands on (which might as well = TOTALLY USELESS for me, a visual learner) and mostly lecture based.

On top of this misrepresentation (the brochure clearly does not state it's lecture only), the instructor was sub-standard, IMHO, for an instructor at a college. Picture, if you will, Mr. Fucking Magoo. Deaf as a stone. Blind as a bat. Patronizing to all the females in the class. Running thru the inventory of tools everyone needs in their tool box and demonstrating, "This is a hammer. This is a screw driver. This is a tape measure." etc etc.

Allegedly the instructor was a professional contractor (obviously MANY YEARS AGO), and he banks heavily on the fact that at some point in the past he was either ON a radio show or HOSTED a radio call in handyman show. So you would have a reasonable expectation that his tools would be in a tool box or at a minimum a tool belt. Not Mr. Magoo! Oh no. His dust bunnied, cob webby tools were thrown into a shopping basked pilfered from Pathmark.

When one of the two gentlemen of the class stopped him, as he was going into detail to the women about the need for a 25 foot tape measure (so we could hang our drapes, because all women are concerned with draperies, don'tchaknow), the gentleman wanted to know HOW to use the tape measure, or have the instructor tell us what the tick marks on the tape measure indicated, the instructor then suggested the GENTLEMAN show us (um, why then did the gentleman pay $110 + a $5 materials fee* if the GENTLEMAN was expected to teach the class?). Needless to say, it didn't take long after that for the gentleman in question to realize that this class is not what he (or any of us, for that matter) expected, and as respectfully and diplomatically as he could, let the instructor know this before he left the lecture hall.

*Also worth noting, the "materials" consisted of a folder with fasteners (which were not used, because half the hand outs/leaflets were not 2 hole punched) and the contents appeared not to be class materials, but hand outs anyone could get at hardware stores and Home Depot. Allegedly our $5 went towards the "collating" of everything. Um. Yeah. 

So for the next 45 minutes, Mr. Magoo was distracted, and constantly trying to move the female students closer around him. We all were sitting in reasonable and expected spots in the lecture hall, but this guy was so controlling, perhaps in part because of his blindness and deafness. Now I must come off as someone who is anti-handicapped, when in reality, I spent $110 of my hard-earned bucks for a class led by an instructor who is incapable of COMMUNICATING. Get a miracle ear, buddy!

And as if all that were not bad enough...

The man stood there with his nose running like a dripping faucet. Literally. DRIP DRIP DRIP. No ubiquitous old man hanky or bandana. Hell, he didn't even use the cuff of his shirt or sweater to blot the drippage. No. He let it drip and let it land where it may... half the time on the front of his shirt... and the other half the time DIRECTLY IN HIS MOUTH. So as if he was not scatter brained and patronizing ENOUGH to distract me from what little viable information he might share, he was disgusting to look at. How am I expected to sit there and be expected to learn anything when the sight of his sinuses leaking directly into his mouth (and causing me to sit there and silently dry heave to myself at the sight of this)?

So with approximately 40 more minutes to go, I couldn't handle sitting there one more moment longer, I excused myself to go to the ladies room. I left my packet of information on my desk, to give the implication I was returning. But the moment I walked out of the lecture hall, I headed directly to my car and promptly called the registrar's office and roundly and thoroughly voiced my displeasure at the class being misrepresented. And of course, a refund was out of the question as I should have dropped the class two days beforehand. An offer was made that I could take another class that started up, yet there I was in my car, without a brochure. So Monday I emailed the director's office to expand on how this class wasn't what anyone expected it to be, only to find out due to the holiday she was out of the office until Weds. I've followed up with another email, but somehow, I know they just don't give a shit. Perhaps I'll check out Yelp and see if I can post a review about this... so I can spare some other poor unfortunate, well meaning souls from taking this class.

Anyway... my reality... how my grief sucker punched me...

I took this class because, sadly, I did not have enough time with my dad so DAD could show me simple things like swapping out electrical sockets or how to remove the elbow joint of my sink to clear a clog etc. I had hoped to reconnect with my dad in that handy way he was. And yet, thanks to Mr. Magoo, that opportunity was taken away. The weekend was just yet another reminder of the profound loss I still feel, at dad's passing. It would have been his 71st birthday (and would have been his grandmother's 121st birthday, too).

I talked at length with my therapist, and tried to get both themes discussed, the mindset a-Ha! and the grief, and how I feel like on some level my grief is sabotaging me, or perhaps subconsciously I'm using my grief as an excuse not to address what needs addressing. (among other themes discussed).

Anyway. Like I said... not much new to report, just apparently, a whole lotta noise.