9 posts tagged “body eclectic”

The waiting room in the Coral section of the Evergreen Hospital in Kirkland, WA, is the grand equalizer of women. That is where you wait for your first, second, etc. through 8 millionth mammogram.

They have flowery drapes you wear over your top parts.

Today was a 2nd-run set of films, because my first showed "something we want to have a better look at", which turned out to be "folded tissue". I have the number to call to get copies of the images they took today, and I am so totally posting them. You can see my tissues, this is that kind of blog.

I sat in the waiting room, with my conciliatory jelly doughnut and starbucks-esque (but not quite) coffee, all purchased for the price of a latte (like I said, -esque but not quite) wearing my flowery drape and reading Martha Stewart. Some other woman had cornered the Fortune 400 magazine I glommed on earlier. It's okay, I've learned of collecting wire egg baskets and how to make matzo into delicious appetizers.

I looked around at my compatriots in pancaking: the mid-60's, embracing "little old lady" lady. The yuppie yoga mom. The working woman. The other working woman. The possibly part-time working woman. The way too young to be here woman (nearly girl). "Jennifer", the assistant called, and two women stood. "Um, Jennifer whose last name begins with 'L', I mean". A woman went forward, another sat down. "This waiting room is the last great equalizer", I observed, to no one in particular. A smile or two, an uncomfortable half-smile, and dead silence greeted my attempt at humor. No one was up for it.

They called my name. It was my formal name. I have met in my lifetime, personally, maybe 3 women with my name. The oldest woman and I stood up. "Um, [DD] with a 'C'". She sat down, I went through the door.

I got the same technician as I had before. I had to re-explain my piercings (how many mammaries had she seen in the ensuing two weeks?) and we concentrated on my right breast. Apparently that one was the problematic one. I got to see the digital images of the folded tissue, how it looked "suspicious". I found it weird that the thing that makes a girl feel most girly -- and I don't care who you are or what your cup size is, your breasts make you feel girly, ever since your first training bra -- could be so deadly. I thought about how I stood, one arm over the machine bracing myself, one slack, while my right breast was smashed into something resembling roadkill. I tried to concentrate on how many single dashes made up the digital numbers expressing just how much my boob was being smashed and just at what angle (hint: the number 8 has 7 dashes, the number 9 has 5, etc.). And I thought about how many women had walked into this room, in this same circumstance, with this same cheery technician, and walked out with a death sentence.

"Would you still love me with a radical double mastectomy?" I had asked GH once. "Are there any double mastectomies that aren't radical?" he replied, before the required "yes". I was palpably sweating, which is not nice, as they don't let you wear deodorant to this shindig.

Chirpy and cheery as ever, she smashed my boob flat (90 degree angle this time) and talked about eaching her teenaged (15 and 16, she must have done something foul at some time to deserve it) daughters how to drive. We chatted piercings. Then she smashed my boob at 0 degrees and the machine bit in to the sides, as it was a different machine than last time and they were essentially trying to flatten the fold. Then she smashed it again at 45 degrees.

Then I got to sit in the waiting room, that cold, unfriendly place with cold, unfriendly women, each occupied with her own thoughts of impending doom (if not discomfort) for 30 minutes.

Thirty minutes is a very long time.

She called me in again, and we looked over the screens, and the radiologist visited, and said what he was worried about was this thing on the top of my right boob. He was going to request one more screen, and then if that didn't satisfy him we were off to an ultrasound.

I went back with the cheery lady and I swear if my breast had been a dog it would have run off long and since with its tail between its legs.

Instead it quavered and was smashed once again, this time at an angle I couldn't be bothered to view or count.

I sat again in the waiting room, not so very long this time. They called my name again and the cheerful lady came in and went over the results with me again, and announced it must have been folded tissue. Come back in six months.

I have absolutely no guilt over the jelly doughnut. 

When life hands you lemons, you are to make lemonade. I'd much rather make a lemon curd or lemoncello or lemon cookies, personally, but it's all about what you want to make with your base ingredient. That said, all of these things require a hefty amount of sugar to be provided with your sour fruit; the assumption is you have gobs of sweet stuff in reserve.

For a variety of reasons I'm under an enormous amount of stress and exhaustion right now. Most of it has to do with a personal situation with my son, his school, and his father; this will all sort out in the end and just requires a lot of energy to get ducks aligned and persons alerted. I have people, they are professionals, I am paying good money for them; they will get both zested and squeezed to make the very most out of that particular tart citrus.

One of the side effects of stress and exhaustion includes, perversely enough, insomnia. I have had insomnia about 5 out of every 7 days for the last 4 weeks now (yay, numbers) and it runs from a half-hour to three hours. At its worst I get up and start my day at 4am, at its best it happens on a Friday night when I can sleep in the next day and/or take it easy. It has gotten nearly predictable in nature; I am wondering if it would behoove me to do something more productive with it. For example, make a list of things I could do in that period of time that will be useful and yet help me go back to sleep. I could check in with work. I could balance my accounts. I could catch up on my book club books. And if I take my laptop to the bedroom with me, I can do all of this without getting out of bed.

The down side to this is that I would probably not go BACK to sleep, because once one part of my brain gets the message that other parts are definitely up for the duration, the initial part of my brain that got the message gets irked it didn't get the message FIRST and starts finding other things to pay attention to. The net effect is a stream of thought that sounds an awful lot like the costmetics section at a department store at noon on a Saturday; full of idle feminine chatter from the most inane of topics ("I wonder if that heinous mustard yellow color is going to come back into fashion") to the predictable ("If I take on this project at work it is an invitation to this other project that I really want, but I don't want to appear too desperate nor spread myself too thin") to the truly laughable ("I won't run today because of the insomnia but I'll still be able to run 13.1 miles in 2 weeks").

I have had an exceptionally lovely weekend.

First, I got to pick the C up early from school as he had a Dr.McK appt. We have some new tools, including hearing about PAVE which should help us with our upcoming IEP meeting. I like progress, I like tools.

Then, GH and I got to have a rare early evening alone, checking out the Thomas Street Bistro (which was recommended by YELP, neither of us had been). Wonderful food! Greek-Middle-Eastern vibe, small cozy atmosphere, practically obsequious staff that lets you have a quiet talk. Then we checked out the Seattle Weaver's Guild annual sale (mom does crafts for them) which was a lesson in OMG I can't handle any more projects.

Then we went home and watched some Eddie Izzard (Circle) because I need that on a Friday sometimes :).

Yesterday I cooked a mass of mexican food and decorated and cleaned, had a smallish soiree (about 14ppl) and sent home my nearest and dearest with a mass of extra food. I managed to sleep in until about 10 (it had been a long day) and then after a decent breakfast headed out on a walk with GH and the dogs through the semi-foofy neighborhood to the north. We rated houses and their H'ween decor, and saw some really well done ones. But mostly we enjoyed the changing leaves and the sporadic tugs of Kumi (constant yank forward) and Thumper (random dart to the left) for a mile and a half or so.

Then GH left and I ran 10 miles. 10.04, if you want to split rabbits, but I managed to do it. After the first 3 miles I got into my groove and at 5 I Gu'd up (Espresso flavor, which still does not get me high -- like it did to Ali -- but was yummy and effective nonetheless). I have showered and washed my hair and icy-hotted my legs and feet (they're gonna feel it later, I will bet) and am enjoying some "me" time before the C arrives. Sadly I have not made my H'ween cards yet, but I shall get to that before I go to Mexico.

In. 5. Days. !

I didn't run today. I was going to. I retired early from my birthday party, pounded a bunch of water, and was passed out by 11:30pm. I had a water bottle, I had procured Gu, and while I did in fact get drunk (I wasn't eating much) I knew I was still within safe limits (for me -- at least, safe from getting sick. The mouth does tend to run so when inebriation sets in...)

I awoke at 4am, extremely dehydrated (more water pounding) and feeling way too hot. I couldn't get back to sleep for two hours, and when I finally did the alarm went off. I texted Christine and told her I was just not making it -- the dehydration was my sole hangover symptom but it was enough, with the lack of sleep, to make me realize I was in no shape to circle Lake Union.

I slept in until 11am, which I haven't done since before C was born.

I did get quite a bit done today (even though I have non-running guilt): I mowed the lawn, I voted (got my absentee ballot yesterday), put up some trellis, etc. I had a birthday dinner at my parents which ended with my brother asking my dad, "Speaking of taking baths, how is your portfolio?" I discovered I'm not down as far as my dad is, percentage wise (I didn't say it out loud).

I am blissfully home, waiting for the C to pass out so I can do the same. I am old.

I fully intended to give myself a pedicure these last few days but it just hasn't arisen. I need to make time for that.

Yesterday I went to the podiatrist, who declared that there is no way I could've done nearly 5 miles on Tuesday with a metatarsal fracture. His thought is that I've done something amok with the shorter of two tendons that runs from my calf to the underside of my foot, but that it isn't serious. If I want to continue running, however, I need to get orthopedic inserts (working on it), I need to make sure my shoes are laced properly, and I need to take my anti inflammatories. He also gave me some prescription strength icy hot stuff that I can use if it gets bad.

I like the podiatrist, even if he did fondle my docs.

"You have a special foot", she said, as she proceeded to twist it and turn it and apply pressure that ranged from "uh" to "OW!". My feet are special, you see, because 1. they have no arch and 2. my Big Toe is shorter than the toe next to it. These two, plus an uptick in uphill running of late, plus me needing inserts inside my already decent shoes (and not getting them just yet) equates to foot pain. She grabbed a tuning fork, struk it, and applied the head to the base of my pinky toe. As she slid it toward my ankle, I leapt off of the table: "Ow!" I howled. "Yeah, honey, you've pissed off the nerve."

I get to go see a podiatrist on Thursday for those inserts. I'm not terribly thrilled about it, but it's time I (wo)manned up to the fact that I wasn't born perfect. Sigh. Soooooo depressing.

However, with the help of anti-inflammatories and a nice bit of ibuprofen and a couple day's of resting the foot I am feeling much better and intend to go for a quick run today, about 4 miles. I need to map it out. We have one very large hill just outside of work here, which I hate, but after that I should be able to run mostly flat.

Footed, that is.

I read an entire book in about 2.5 hours last night (American Gods, it's on my book club list, and if I can figure out widgets I will link my Goodreads to this vox).  I'm glad I got it read, that means I'm now only one book behind (Stephen King's Duma Key; which I ordered from an Amazon reseller and they just credited me my nine bucks because apparently they don't really have what they meant to be selling. !?)  for my book club. Consequently, I did not get to bed until about 11:30 pm and since I had the C I woke up bright and early at 7:30. Sigh...

Awake, (semi) alert, and driven to drive, we set off to go visit my 'rents down south, about 2 hours worth of driving in good traffic. The C ran amok and played StarWarsTrooperEchoBaseIndianaJonesExpelliamusHarryPotter while my dad made sure I didn't electrocute myself whilst I replaced the spark plugs and brake pads in my car. My car is a very happy car now, by the bye. She's relatively well maintained such that I should be able to get another three years before I have to muck with pads or plugs or ATF again.

My soreness from running has dissipated, which is good, as has the temporary water-retention weight gain I've read that accompanies sore muscles. So... I need to stretch more and drink more water. Oh, and get more sleep. Yay for holiday Mondays...

Goodreads won't take my library DB I have unless I have ISBN numbers, which I suppose I do... if I were willing to go through 2736 books and type them out. Yes, I have that many books (inherited mostly, I've only read about 70% of them) and no, I'm not going to fish out ISBN numbers. I'll just update Goodreads as I read, and update my DB as I add ones to the permanent collection. Also, Google's Picasa and Flickr don't seem to want to keep my preformatted hirearchy of folders (for organization) for my pictures, so those shall remain on my 'pute. The good news is, I FINALLY used the card P-Ade gave me and got all of my pics off of my phone. I'm not going to go retroactively add them to posts -- why bother? -- but I hope this bodes well for future image enhanced posts!

I now weigh less than I did when I started dating GH! Finally. I hate losing weight: it's such a battle of plateaus and dips. I'm trying not to get cocky here. I have about 10 pounds to go and then I'll be at the weight I was when I started dating X, which is my personal best. I was really in shape then but I work out more now; so we shall see how it looks on a post-mommy, mid-30's body.

With the kilt nearly done (all I have left is the lining and I want to do some reinforcing stitching here and there -- but it pressed beautifully! I really recommend that book and I really recommend reading every step 4 times before committing thread to wool), I'm also using the family genetics (engineering) to conceive of a better chicken coop. I've scoured the wiki's, the forums, and the 'blogs; I've got stats on how many perches and how high and how many nests and how large and how often they clean out and how frequently they lay and how much space they need in and out per chicken. The chief pains of keeping chickens seem to be coop clean-out related; I'm going to have a coop that is 3 feet from the ground and will have a floor on hinges, bifold, so when you unlock the unhinged sides, the floor falls away (ostensibly with the chickens in the run, not the coop) and the litter falls to the ground. Or better yet, to a wheelbarrow. I'm also determined to make it from as many recycled or reclaimed things as I can; I've got quite a lot of decent-shape decking leftover and a friend with extra roofing felt. Craigslist is now my favorite haunt -- even once you take out "Missed Connections".

Which brings me to: IT'S NOT 'ROT' IRON, PEOPLE. It's wrought. As in Wrought Iron. As in the iron was wrought; iron itself can't rot. Why oh why do these people not use a dictionary?

But before I get all up with my bad chicken self, I need to manifest dinner and dessert for 28 people this Saturday. I hear a Costco trip... 

In Seattle, at the sculpture park, even.

Wow. Much better! Highlights:

• 1hr 15 minutes of start/stop, start/stop, so if you needed a break you got one (for about 1/2 minute, but still a break!)
• Ani's Abs and @ss workouts (ow. ow. ow.)(good ow.)
• Beautiful scenery: gardens, sculpture, the sound, the needle, etc.
• Great chicas! Friendly, sociable, smiling, non-catty.
• Rock climbing. I have bruises but I'm happy with them.

CC, E, and I all agreed: switching to the Seattle bootcamp. Definitely. It was so good I can totally see myself signing up for it *again*, which is 180 degress from where I was earlier on it.