Rounds 4 and 5

Me and this guy don't get along all that well.

One thing I can say about the memories of round 4 of chemotherapy is this:

LEVAQUIN SUCKS.

Or at least it sucked for ME.  I was put on a 7-day course of it to guard against potential infection, because as of a week after infusion 4 the ol' neutrophils hadn't come up to speed and it would have been very easy for me to get buggy and sick.  So, Levaquin.  Which sucked.  Muscle aches, rapid heartbeat, constant nausea, you name it.  I made it 5 days until the next scheduled lab work, and was relieved beyond measure when the tests came back in the normal range and I was given permission to go off the antibiotic.

This is only my experience.  Not everyone reacts like this to it, I'm sure.  I appear to have a very low tolerance to this particular drug.  It happens.

Just don't want to have it happen again.

---

Round 5 happened a couple of days ago.  Other than the nurse basically attacking the port site with the alcohol swab to clean it before access (weird, the ouchy accidental bashing sort of helped take down the pinch of the needle access!), everything was fine.  No reactions, chair was as comfy as ever, no complaints.

Sent Biff out for Bruegger's bagels (right around the corner from the treatment center!) and asked him to get a dozen + schmear for the staff, which he did and they appreciated.  I opted for the smoked salmon on an everything bagel, because I can taste it and I'm worth it.  Biff gets the Western bagel with a tomato schmear.  Breakfast almost in bed!

The day after infusion I go in for a shot to pump up my immune system.  Normally it makes my bones start to hurt a couple of days later.  That'll be tomorrow, if I'm lucky, though the twinges are starting up now.  I'll take a Claritin before bed to get a jump on it and then a couple of ibuprofen in the morning to manage the discomfort, but that's about it.  Other than drinking a ton of water and taking my regular meds, that's about the extent of my after-care.

My nurse-oncologist is really happy with how I'm doing, which makes me feel great.

---

Next one's the last one.  Then we start radiation.

---

In a bizarre occurrence, during this most recent infusion I had a great need to find out what time it was at one point.  When I checked, it was around 10:30.  No real reason to need to know the time, because where was I going anyhow?

Turns out it was around that time that my former sister-in-law was passing away after a long road with her own (rare) cancer.  She would have been 55 next week.  She will be missed by family and friends for a long long time.

Tiff out.

(image by By MarinaVladivostok)

Round 3

That's pretty much it.

Chemo #3 is over which means I'm halfway done!!  Yay!!

And because chemo was 10 days ago, that means I'm halfway through the 3-week infusion cycle.  Each cycle, it's taken about a solid week to start to feel decent, and even then 'feeling decent' only means that I MUST nap once a day. 

Today is the third day in a row that I haven't napped, but I might just sneak in a quick one while the sun shines brightly through the kitchen window.  Can't work in the kitchen right now what with that sun, so why not practice some self-care?

Seems like every round of infusion I get a little GI bug, or the chemo just lingers a bit longer than a week and the stomach/gut upset is a manifestation of its perseverance.  A week +  day after infusion I usually wander around trying to get warm and feeling like there's a little fever milling around my person.  I know what to plan for, so it's not bad, but I do feel under the weather for a bit over a week.

Ain't nothing like days 3-5 though, so I count my blessings.

And while this whole cancer thing isn't everything that's gong on in my world, it sure does color it a different shade of reality. 

This too shall pass.

Round 2

The second and third weeks after chemo are really not all that bad.

One forgets how things go, in other words.

Then infusion day comes around again, the stabbity needle enters the port (EMLA cream does f-ckall for that moment of pain, BTW), and the chemicals begin a-flowing.  Then the next day - the neutrophil boost (pegfilgrastim in this case).

I think I mentioned last time that it's my opinion that chemo wouldn't be so bad if not for the pegfilgrastim shot that's given the day after.  Oh sure, it's meant to boost your immune systems by getting those neutrophils and stuff to come pouring out of the old bone marrow to fight infection, but what isn't fully appreciated is THE PAIN associated with that process.  Deep down bone pain.  It's sort of awful.

'Take a Claritin at night' they say.  I do.

'Then take an Aleve in the morning' they say.  I do.

All is well for a few hours after each administration, but by about 2 p.m. I'm grunting like I'm in labor, hoping it's time to take another nap, just for today, just for an hour, because maybe after that the pain will abate and I can do more than shuffle and moan.

On the plus side, my zombie impersonation is coming along nicely.

On another plus side, there is no ascertainable GI effect this time around, which leads me to believe that I might have picked up a little bug at the infusion center last time I was there that got those gears spinning a little too fast and got me all dehydrated.  So, WIN for that not happening this time.

By tomorrow this groaning pain should be skipping out the door (fingers crossed!), and by Wednesday a return to about 80% power should be in place.

That's about it - I'm still bald, obviously.  My head feels kind of nice when I rub it. 

Tiff out.

Chemo affects it all

It's been a week, folks.

First chemo infusion was on 04 Dec, with a Neulasta shot on 05 Dec.

BTW: chemo for me is docetaxel + cyclphosphamide.  Once every 3 week, plus the pegfilgrastim chaser.

How did it affect me?  Thusly:

-Day of infusion - no biggie

-Day after: no biggie

-Day 3: I believe I blogged it.

-Day 4, a Saturday:  HURT.  Wow, ow.  Pain, ache, ow.  Shiver.  Nap.  No food thanks.

-Day 5, Sunday:  Like Day 4, but WORSE.  Way worse.  No rest to be had, even in sleep.  Can stay awake maybe 30 minutes between naps.  Finding many creative place to rest.

-Day 6, Monday:  Pain is letting up (thanks, Clariitn!)  5 hours of work meetings is about all I can handle.  Napping on a 1-hour nap, 45-minute work schedule, still get stuff done.

-Day 7, Tuesday: Better, somewhat, though still with the loose bowels and really NOT loving the idea of eating at all.  Get work done, only need one nap to make it through the day.  Still shifting sleeping places at night just for novelty and the chance to rest.

-Day 8: Wednesday: A trip in for bloodwork shows that 1) all labs are NORMAL (YAY!) and 2) my BP is super-low and I'm dehydrated.  Jeez, HOW?  (also, I've lost 10 pounds since last week so...)  I'm drinking 2 liters of water a DAY, but a lot of it still still coming out 'the back end' as watery poops, so that's probably no help.  Get hooked up to IV fluids for a couple of hours.  Have no idea idea what I might be missing for work, don't care.  Told to cut out the BP meds until next labs visit.  Drive home, nap.  Try not to expose myself to any food smells, as that will kick off some retching.  Nothing awful.

-Day 9, Thursday: feel pretty good.  Only need one afternoon nap.  Work is productive.  Couch still comfiest place to sleep.  No pain or nausea.  Might be kicking this, hoping the GI stuff goes way soon,

-Day 10, Friday:  Feel almost normal.  Still some chills, but no pain or nausea. 

-Day 11, Saturday:  Feel normal.  No complaints, just need to sit down every once in a while to rest.  On completely voluntary nap taken, because it's SATURDAY.  GI tract appears to be back to normal.  We put lights on the Christmas tree, I bake.  A slice of pizza for dinner. Sleep in bed all night.

-Day 12, Sunday:  Wake up stupid early, and because Biff does too we are at Waffle House by 4 eating delicious breakfast, home by 5 to relax (me) or nap (Biff).  Will decorate some more today, make a tree topper, and throw some more festive bakery in the oven, I'm sure.

So, there it is.  The first few days were OK, but by the third day after after infusion and 2 days after Neulasta, I was completely out of it.  For 2.5 days I was very very uncomfortable, antsy, exhausted, mad, and sick.  Every day after the improvements have been vast and appreciated.

Fingers crossed this is a pattern that repeats and doesn't intensify.  Next infusion is the day after Christmas.

Tiff out.

First infusion thoughts

That's one of 'em.

Wednesday 04 Dec was the first infusion for treatment of whatever residual cancer cells might be bounding around in my bloodstream affixing themselves to far-flung places in by body that only they can find to use to hide from my immune system/natural defenses.

I'm not a fan of lurking cancer, so agreed with the treatment plan to flood my system with poison to eradicate the issues.  Many many poisons.  The treatments are infusions of docetaxel and cyclophosphamide once every 21 days +/- a little Ativan if you're so inclined and a bit of anti-nausea meds to get you over the first few days of what could be very unpleasant indeed.

In prep, I was supposed to have applied some EMLA cream, which is used to numb the skin over the port (it's lidocaine and prilocaine), but I 'did it wrong' and instead of just gobbing on a whole raft of the shit on the site I kind of rubbed it in and then covered with an occlusive dressing.

WRONG, and proved so when it simply didn't do much to ease the sting of the needle going into the port.

No matter - just a little pinch, but not one I was expecting so not the best surprise ever.

Then the blood draw, then the saline, then the pre-meds, then a 50-minute drip of the docetaxel, then a 15-minute flush, then 50 minutes of cyclophosphamide, then a flush and some heparin added, and I was out the door.  About a 4-hour process, all told.  None of which was bad.

I decided to NOT get a filgrastim (Neulasta) 'pod' for home use, because it truly sounds like a pain to manage, so went in the next day for a shot of that to keep the neutrophil counts up, after taking a claritin to ward off the bone pain that can sometimes come as an after-effect of the GCSF being administered (that's granulocyte colony stimulating factor to you).

The shot was yesterday.

I stayed up way too late last night getting work done, then got up too early this morning to start meetings at 6:30 a.m.

Made it to about 2:30 p.m. before the overwhelming urge to take a nap overcame me, and crawled into the recliner, where 2 hours of glorious rest befell me almost immediately.

Pretty sure it was work that did me in, but who knows?  I might be experiencing a little med fatigue, or just flat-out mental fatigue with what this week's been all about.

All in all though, not a terrible experience.  No bad effects, I didn't have to ring the bell, and walked out of the unit feeling pretty good.

I still don't recommend it.

Tiff out.

Dermabond is NOT my friend

It really sorta does have something to do with this post.

A couple of weeks ago I had a chemo port placed.  Pretty standard-issue stuff, but the process was still weird.  It's never a good thing to be completely aware that your flesh is being rent asunder and objects placed within your body.  The tugging and pulling - ugh.

As often happens with surgery nowadays, the sutures place under the skin are supposed to 'dissolve' in 7-10 days, to which my body says 'HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!  SO FUNNY!'  Nope - not gonna happen.  My system will chew on those suckers for several weeks before deciding it doesn't like the taste of them atall and does NOT want that ish dissolving anywhere near it, so it spits them out.

That's right.  Stitch spitting is a thing, and not just at county fairs.  It's actually not all that uncommon, so I'm not a total and complete weirdo, but yeah, the process can take MONTHS before the last remnant is evicted.  Do NOT GIS that if you know what's good for you and whatever you last ate.

AND NOT ONLY THAT, but nowadays the surgeons like to close the superficial wound with skin glue, or 'Dermabond.'  Approximate the edges, slather some of that stuff on, and et voila - in a few seconds you have nice tight junctions that should remain stuck in place for at least a week before sloughing off. Just don't get it wet, by God, or  the dermabond might dislodge prematurely and who knows what evil will find its way into your body and render all reasonable medical aid pointless?  It's your funeral, bub, at least you'll be clean for it, you water wastrel.

Word to the wise: if you've ever experienced some sensitivity to medical tape like is used on wound dressings, beware the Dermabond.  BEWARE, I say.  Because if you've had a reaction to other  adhesives, you have a very high likelihood of reacting badly to Dermabond.  Oh, the old-school medical journals thought atopic reactions were rare, but do a touch more digging and examples GALORE begin to surface, must like the horrible itchy blistery rash will if you are exposed to the Dermabond.

I could not figure out why the incision sites were so damned itchy, and painful, and annoying.  Just to accidentally touch them, even under the occlusive dressing, was horrible.  I wanted to SCRATCH them, but even a light finger-press on the sites made me want to punch a Viking.  Relentless itching, and flashing pain.  I was loath to remove the dressing because 1) do NOT get the sites wet, do you want to kill yourself? and 2) I was afraid the skin might come along with the surgical tape, much like what happened after getting my c-section dressing removed. 

As luck would have it, jut about a week after the placement I had another doc appointment, and the head nurse wanted to take a look at the site, so removed the dressing.  She SAID it looked like it was healing well, so of course I took her word for it.

Until I got home.

Y'all.

It looked like I had a second-degree burn in the shape of what I can only imagine was the brush that applied the glue.  The skin was discolored a deep brown and was DRY, wrinkled, and very not-right-looking.  And was still itchy.  Like a medically-induced poison ivy rash, really.  Very sexy.

(Also do not GIS 'dermabond reaction.')

Remember that thing I was told about the Dermabond coming off on its own in a week or so?  LIES.  It was 13 days before that shit started to roll off my chest, and as my older son pointed it, 'that was probably also the top layer of your skin Mom.'  There's a very good chance he's right about that. 

But what (generally) sweet relief.  I've been able to sleep in a bed for a few nights now (previously it felt like the site was going to open up if I laid down, such was the tugging and pulling on the wound site), and I can turn my head enough to see traffic without having to swivel my whole torso.  Glorious.

Bottom line is this: If anyone ever comes at me, scalpel in hand, in the future and swears that they're closing with Dermabond and it doesn't cause skin reactions, I'm going to pretend they're a Viking.  And punch them good and hard.

Tiff out.

Ranking the surgeries

If you're wondering, the answer for me is 'YES.'

I promised a takedown of my recent surgeries, and will now rank them in order of which one I'd be 'OK doing again' to 'please never again.'

#1) Biopsy of a mass in the boob: The anesthetic was a little squinchy, but the nice nurse held my hand so I wouldn't try to 'help' the surgeon sterilize the punch zone.  A few pokes and tiny cores samples later, and I was out the door in next to no time.  Steri-strips held me together A-OK and the bruising was minimal.  10 days to no visible after-effects.

#2) Extraction of a broken tooth: the lead-up is always super-owie when you're walking around with a fractured infected molar - who would have guessed?  This is one surgery (I count it as such bcs of the stitches placed to hold the gum together once the offending member is removed) that has real and immediate benefits, friends.   Yank that tooth out, stick some dead guy's bone powder in the deficit, squash some surgical membrane on top of that, and stitch 'er up.  Yeah, sure, the 'soft foods' dies must be obeyed, but I LIKE mashed potatoes and refried beans so no huge sacrifice.  Not like I want to go around chewing on hard things and risking further fractures!  Also about 10 days to heal and for the stitches to fall out (I do NOT 'absorb' stitches like doctors keep telling me I will).

#3) Breast lumpectomy:  I wasn't aware it happened, and that's for the best, I'm sure.  Apparently I am 'difficult to intubate,' and wound up coughing up a few clots for a couple of days and had a very sore throat for a week.  The two surgical sites healed up pretty well over a couple of weeks, though the site where they took a few lymph nodes for testing was SORE for at least 3 weeks.  The actual lump extraction site stopped hurting after about 5 days, but node site didn't want to give up that easily.  I think there are stitches wanting to rise up and escape through the skin, is what I think.

#4) Chemo port placement: I WISH I wasn't aware of what was happening, but was not given the choice (not that I'd have wanted more general anesthetic, given the whole intubation issue).   Awake and aware the whole time, for the lidocaine to the IV placement to the cutting and pulling and tugging and stitching, I knew about it all.  Certainly unpleasant, and a week later the port site STILL hurts but is, according to the oncology nurse I saw yesterday, healing well.  I suppose when a fair-sized lump of plastic is shoved under your skin and then said skin is stitched up (AGAIN WITH THE STITCHES!), there's bound to be some long-term sensitivity.  But still.  It's freaking pain, and I haven't been able to shower for a week now, what with water being the Enemy and such.  I did take a bath two days ago, which was great, but there's something about being older and chubby that makes getting OUT of a tub way way harder than getting INTO a tub. 

So yeah - 4 surgeries in the last month or so, if you can believe it.  I've done my time in the operating theaters of Wake County, is what I'm saying, and don't want to have to read another after-care pamphlet anytime in the near future.

Oh wait.  I start chemotherapy in 10 days.  There's a whole BINDER full of stuff I need to read up on.

Maybe I'll go shop for head scarves first.  Folks tell me it sucks being bald in the winter.

Tiff out.

Headed into port

Sure wish this was the 'port' in question.

Woo, y'all.  I had me a day yesterday, I'll tell you that much.

It's not every day you get scrubbed up and have a piece of medical machinery stuffed under your skin and into a vein, I suppose, but that's what happened to me yesterday.

I am now the proud symbiont of a 'power port,' which sounds cool, like I can now charge my cell phone on my collarbone or something, but the reality is a little more harsh.

This port is there for chemotherapy.

Yup.

Ya' gal got diagnosed with breast cancer a little while ago,.  Had a lumpectomy about a month ago, then once healed from healed from THAT got the news that not ONLY was radiation part of the plan for a potential cure, but chemotherapy was considered a wise add-on (something about 'fast growing lesion') prior to the radiation in order to ensure the best possible chance for said cure.

The chemo is a HUGE surprise.  I should be researching 'short hairstyles' right quick, because I've been told its all a-gonna fall out in a few weeks.

But, no.  I kind of don't care what the hair looks like, and I digress from the point of this post, which is the port.

The POWER PORT.  Different from a regular port, because with a POWER PORT I will be able to withstand pushes of CT contrast much more easily than trying to deliver it through my tiny weak arm veins, because there will be more CT scans with contrast in the next few months.  Guess that doesn't happen for everyone.  It's difficult to find the silver lining...

And THIS is for a person who got an 'all clear margins' on the lumpetomy!!

Nothing's ever easy.

Tiff out.

All clear!

Nothing atall to do with the lead story here.  Read on for the tie-in.

I mentioned a CT scan in the most recent post.  Because I had one.  Because there was some concern that what currently ails me had escaped the fence and might have gone a-wandering.

Nope.

No evidence thereof.  All clear.

Praise be!

---

Also, I am the kind of Mom who gives her grown son magazines like 'Eating Well' and 'Real Simple' to maybe help him get ideas about cooking and life and stuff.

I KNOW those mags have turned toward the women's market, but they're chock full of good stuff and I don't think that just because a magazine has ads for tampons in it they should be shunned by the male population who might get some good out of an article on getting your financial house in order or how to cook a roast or set a table or talk about difficult issues or make a pie crust.  These are not only women's issues, for Pete's sake!

Even that feminine hygiene thing.  Because apparently 60% of women are wearing the wrong size sanitary pad.  I mean, that's not something a guy can mansplain to a bunched-up gal, but at least he can be aware of the issue, right?

---

Speaking of children - our boys came over for dinner tonight and it was fabulous.  Chili, cornbread, dominoes, and conversation.  It was great.

Except that last hand of dominoes.  All tiles drawn on the first round, and only two people could play.  The winner got by with only about 230 points in the last hand.  Cut-THROAT.

Tiff out.

Ranking the Scans

Your medical professional will let you know if you must buy tickets to this ride.

In order of my preference of bodily scans, on a scale of 1-10:

1) Ultrasound: fun, slippery, motion pictures, 3-D live action, just a lil' chilly.  Ease level = 1.

2) X-rays: no pain, no chill, just 2D obscurity. Possible visual payoff at the end now that we are in this age of digital X-ray, which is very cool. Ease level = 1.

3) Mammogram: necessary:  Just do it, just don't wiggle around too much or the squishing will re-commence.  Play 'statues' with yourself and see if you win.  If the operator is nice they'll let you look at the insides of your own boobs at the end. Ease level = 2.

4) CT scan (with contrast): tolerable.  GI oral contrast kind of yummy (lemonade flavor).  Bed comfy enough.  Would be better without the IV contrast, to be honest, that stuff had my heart doing a jig for the first couple of minutes.  Breath holding a challenge.  Fast.  Nothing to see when they're done.  Ease level = 2.5.

5) MRI (with contrast): Somewhat tolerable.  Probably better if not done face-down.  Staying still is a challenge, many noises are a distraction, the light rock coming through the headphones barely cut through.  Contrast feels weird.  Like experiencing a light skirmish where your body is the actual field of warfare.  Also nothing to see when they're done.  Ease level = 4.

So, what on earth might be a harder level than laying on your stomach with an IV needling your arm while a whirring, clanking robot scans your body for deficits and you can do nothing but lie there quite still and allow things to happen?  I'll tell you: doing ANY of these things while in pain, or fear.  That's what the dentist is for - X-rays of broken teeth = a 7 on the 'ease' scale, at least.

In the last few weeks all of these things have happened to my body, and I was in no pain at any time (well, except for the dentist).  Not even for the IV installs.  Phlebotomists are getting good, my friends.

Next up: I'll rate my three, no FOUR, recent surgeries.  Newest one is in 2 days, so stay tuned!

Tiff out.

PS - the last couple of months have been interesting.

Christmas Crampus

How very festive.

I'm simply bursting with Christmas cheer this year!  Why, there are even lights on the tree AND front porch!  I bought a wreath!  I've started writing greeting cards, even!  Six of them so far, then I had to stop because I'm not used to actually WRITING BY HAND anymore and lo, the cramps start early when you're as out of practice as I am.  Folks are just going to have to accept that I can probably only do a few a day and enjoy their daggone cards whenever they arrive, because by now it's way too late to expect them to be delivered before Santa shows up.

Confession: I am using the cards I bought last year and never mailed.  So sue me.

---

Our 10th anniversary is coming up soon, and to celebrate we went and bought us a hot tub.  At first we were going to go on a cruise, but didn't plan (sense a pattern here?) far enough ahead and then a hot tub show popped up, we went, and now can stroll out to the backyard any time we want to and immerse in luxurious hot spa-licious neck-deep water.

I might not get around to wrapping all the Christmas presents, is what I'm hinting at.

---

Speaking of presents, I did nearly all of my shopping online this year, per usual, but did go to the Lidl and Aldi for yummy German goodies.  The gifts have all arrived, and are sitting in a pile in one corner of our bedroom.  I do not recall everything I purchased, or for whom, so opening the boxes should prove to be quite exciting.  The size of any clothing will be a hint, and I THINK one of my boys isn't getting any clothing at all (a first!), but who knows?  I could have forgotten to get someone anything atall!

We're running low on wrapping paper too.  Guess a trip to the dollar store is in order.  Just as soon as  I drop these 6 Christmas cards at the Post Office.  SOMEONE might get one on time!

---

I'm off from work now until 02 January, which seems like a long time but isn't really enough.  I'm already dreading going back to work a little, because 2019 is going to be gruesome.  My main project is is a high-value prospect for the company and as such is on a HIGHLY accelerated timeline, which already gives me stress belly.

Not for nothing that I recently purchased a big bottle of magnesium supplements.  I'll be ringing in the new year with those bad boys in my system.  Fingers crossed they work!

---

And on that high note, I shall leave you with my very best wishes to you for a joyful holiday, and all the best in 2019!

This is the look I'm going for this year - gettin' lit!

This thing on?

It never ever pays to go back to sleep right away after waking up too early.  That's rule #1 for a happy day.  If you DO go back to sleep, or try and only fitfully succeed, you might just find yourself working as lead marketing assistant for the "Hugh Louis and the Neuse" band (I think you know who I mean), managing their music catalog and having to constantly shift the banners on the wall to which of their songs are playing best right this minute.

Of all 8 of their albums.

In 2018.

When the last popular song they had on ys olde top twoscore (U.S.) was in 1991. 

Never mind - you must memorize and track all of them, which of course is helped by the only station they pump into corporate headquarters being the only station that plays all of their music, ranked by current popularity and re-ranked daily.

BY YOU.

So that's one way to have a nightmare.

---

This is the first blog post of 2018.

I am really tired of facebook.

There is a person I know who posts at least 20 things a day on that platform.  Most of it is absolute rubbish, reposts of 'news' or pictures of themselves doing things that nobody even very interesting would be interesting enough to want to see that many posts from.

Then again, I used to blog every day, so...

I think that maybe, like, TWO pots a day on FB are enough?  That seems like a lot, even for a dying platform that some folks have climbed aboard to use as their social media bully pulpit.

Just guessing here, but I bet the folks who do that don't know about Reddit.

---

Three months ago someone I worked with said they were worried because they still had to finish their Christmas shopping.

This is not a thing I worry about.  Christmas shopping starts, generally, on 01 December and ends when you can no longer overnight a package in time to wrap the gift and stick it under the tree.

(OK, confession time - I have started holiday shopping this year.  The ol' credit card was sticking me in the thigh on Black Friday, so what are ya gonna do?)

Can't break with tradition though, so will spend the next week or so thinking on what I plan to purchase, wait to get a tree, maybe not decorate it at all, then dread going back to work in 2019.

TRADITION!

Pneu to the neighborhood

Will hurt you for no reason.

Last Friday I was complaining (again) about being sick.  Also last Friday, AFTER writing that post,  I hie'd myself to the doc in a box down at that local CVS to get checked out, as the sounds in my lungs were getting louder and I was of the opinion that, in fact, I wan't getting better, but worse.

A call the previous day to my doctor's office resulted in the advice to 'take Alka-Seltzer Plus cold medicine,' which had not helped.  A call Friday afternoon to the doc's office yielded no satisfaction either, as they weren't able to see me and couldn't prescribe anything to me for this because it's been two years since I needed an inhaler and ohwell.  Sucks to be me.  Therefore, the doc in a box.

Turns out I have/had pneumonia.

Turns out I walked out of that CVS with three shiny new medications to combat the pneumonia, and an admonishment to come back Monday if I wasn't feeling significantly better.

It took until Sunday afternoon (48 h after diagnosis and start of antibiotics) to start feeling a little better.  Here it is Wednesday, and I still can't draw a deep breath without my throat tickling and setting off a coughing fit, but I don't have a fever anymore, don't make noises when I breathe, can smell food without heaving, and can stay awake for simply HOURS at a time.

I think I'm going to make it, is what I'm saying.

Seems like  I go through this every couple of years.  It's not something to make a habit of, that's for damned sure.

As a result, of course I don't have stuff ready for Christmas, but ohwell on that too.  It'll get 'done' or it won't.  The tree is up, the lights are on it, and Biff has hung the outdoor lights, but that's it.  I'll probably spend some time tarting up the place before Christmas day, but first  I should do the Christmas CARDS, which won't get to where they need to be by Monday anyhow, but ohwell on that too.

Or is it 'No-well'?

Tiff out.

I'd like to offer up a nice complaint, with a side of whinging

Oh, why hello ailments, how has it been 3 long months ago that I last got horribly ill?  That long?  You say you missed me?  I wonder if you think I can say the same about you.

Oh, to feel your clammy hands on my brow, to be overcome with the flush of feverish heat, to choke and sputter at your advent and, truly, through your entire time with me, you make such a vivid impression.

Why, this time around you have given me more gifts that I have any right to expect.  Shall I name them for you?  Of course I shall, for remembering this visit in case you never come to me again will remind me of the intensity of our time spent together.

You have bestowed on me:

• Coughs
• Chills and fever
• MUCUS so copious I hardly know where to begin in description
• Nausea and vomiting.  Truly unexpected.
• Lung noises so many and varied that last night I thought I was dreaming of an Australian woman saying 'oh no' time and time again, but in reality it was just my upper left lobe doing a damned good impersonation.  Really, very impressive, and how specific!

It's been 4+ days now though, sweet friend, and I must ask you to go.  When you are here, I hardly get any sleep, or work done, or  chores completed, and as impactful as our lives together have been in these last few days, I feel the need to return to more mundane aspects of life.

Like, breathing freely.  I miss that.

And eating.  I miss that too.  This was not your best gift, I must say.

Also, I have discovered that as much as I LOVE MY BED, it's not the best place for me when you are around.  Sad, I know, but the recliner that is so reliable in the times we spend together isn't the best place to catch all the requisite 'zzzs' one needs to be fully functional.

So, I bid you adieu.  We have had some intense moments together this year, and looking back on them I will all the more appreciate the fact that I have now, I believe, gotten over you.

With this, I ask that you don't visit me any more.

Consider yourself broken up with.

Tiff

Sometimes I re-read, and decide to repost.

I need to get my creative juices flowing again.  Things have been a bit stunted lately.

I miss the days of writing, and blogging, and commenting, and being generally more entwined with people (even online) that I am now.  Things are all so throwaway now.  So packed with monetized content and PURPOSE, like social interaction has to mean something, for God's sake.

Sometimes you just want to laugh at a fart joke.

Or to turn the other direction and read something like this story I wrote many moons ago, in a voice that still tells most of my stories.  I really REALLY wish I knew who this tale-teller is that bubbles up whenever someone tells me to 'write something,' but there she is, time after time.

She needs a name.

Because, apparently, she's had kind of a rough life.

The story below, for example.

---

Well, you know, it hurt like a sonofabitch for a while, then it didn’t, then for a while it did again.

Fucking headaches, anyhow. They come fast as a buck rabbit on a doe sometime, and sometimes they’re like a hog on a sow, can’t break ‘em.

All my dang life, every day, which one’s it gonna be, buck or hog? If a buck, then the day’s work gets done no questions, cuz there’s 15 hours left of work at least before cleanup starts, but a hog? That’ll take half the day away and the washing won’t get done if it’s Wensdy, nor the irnin on Thursdiy.

Years back, before these grips kep comin on I went to school. I can still remember how to read and write, but by God if just keeping up with everything don’t keep a person from total recall on all the things they once knew.

That’s why I know to write this down now, before all the headaches claim what’s left of my sensibilities and I wind up just chasing one job to another tryin’ to git it all done before I don’t remember how to even speak.
--
Even my writing takes shorthand now. I just looked at what I wrote, not 60 minutes after the buck left the building, and I don’t even know who that person is. Oh, I know who the fuck the BUCK is, that much is for sure, but who wrote that what speaks of the bucking effects? I have no idea.
This sickness is eating me from the inside; it’s changing me. 
It’s tiring as hell. I don’t even get to drink a damn potion on purpose to make it happen.
I need to go do the laundry now. It’s already Thursday and I still need to iron.
---
Still Thursday.
A week later.
All is calm.
---
Friday is here. The boar is back. Stone cold sober he ain’t because he’s been goin at me for hours now, and I can’t get anything done at all. 

Take one step, he take another to block me.

Try to sidestep by chugging some water (sometimes that helps) but he keeps coming on. Determined to win this time. I am no match. Sense make no sense. 

Oh. I can’t see.
--
There’s a bug in my mouth. I can’t let go of it for fear of alerting the headachers. One complaint, they’re back. No complaint, I can keep the peace. It’s a burden, but worth the stillness. Like a quiet uncomfortable soundtrack, a secret silence, a scream in a vacuum.

It’s fine. I can do this.
---
Things are so heavy all over. Workin against the weight is hard. Daggone boar is hard at work now, pushin and mashin and just being ugly all over. Can’t get much done anymore. I scream at myself when I can.
---
Roll over. Hurts in arms. Night is everywhere. Legs are jumpy. I vomit.
There’s the spider. I hide it under my arms so nobody sees it. There are lots of people around.
Bright lights.
I feel strong and weak. 
More spiders. I vomit them from my guts, my lungs, my brain, my heart, my skin as I am bursting from within, bones breaking, heart growing, fear escaping.
I shout spiders, scream them, roar them, own them, claim them, banish them in this moment of power.
The spiders leave. They are afraid.
So are the buck and boar. They are afraid of the truth in my mouth, the poison they put there I was so feared of loosing. Cowards. Me included ,but no more.
---
I hold someone soft and warm.
Bonny baby.

So, yeah.  Happy All Saint's Day.  I guess.

Why I should never travel for work

Goes like this:

I was offered an opportunity to go to a really cool conference few months ago because of a group  I participate in at work that's all about innovation from within.  I do enjoy some innovation, but when you are trying to steer/outfit a big ol' ship, sometimes (most of the time) it's a very difficult thing to do.  Like, our company is an ocean liner big, and innovations mostly happen in the 28-foot cabin cruiser range of companies.  So, the chance to innovate on an ocean liner ACTING like a skiff was one  I couldn't pass up.

You know, by way of background.

The time for conferencing came and thus this Monday and Tuesday our ocean liner got a bunch of folks together to innovate.  Many of these folks came in suit coats and slacks/skits as their interpretations of 'innovation casual' (the actual dress code!), which means that 1) they own a suit coat, 2) feel more comfortable wearing one that not, and 3) are obviously People of Some Importance in the OL, like Officers and not the Enlisted.

(OK, there were some enlisted there too, like me.  I opted to wear Not A Suit Coat [surprise!  I don't own one] but rather floral-print black flowy pants with a long-sleeved v-neck black tee [thanks Eddie Bauer!] one day and a rib-knit crossover dress [Torrid] over cropped leggings [also Torrid] and a print infinity scarf [Charmin' Charlies!] the next.  The SAME black flats both days [The horror!]

I looked POSITIVELY innovative, if I must say so myself.)

However, clothing is not the reason I shouldn't travel.  I felt no embarrassment about my outfits, having thought through my choices and picking the ones I felt were a good mix of comfy/flattering/interesting.

No, the reason  I should probably re-think travel for work (or anywhere, especially when planes and hotels are involved), is how I LOOK when I travel.  OK, how everything above my neck looks, if we're being precise.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is what 1) nights of poor sleep and 2) entire days of dehydration do your your (not so) faithful correspondent:

Normal me

Travel me.

NOT an exaggeration.  I lose my eyelashes and everything!  And stay this way for the duration of the trip!  Even with Visine and fancy eye creams and all the water I can get down my gullet!

Y'all, I feel SO BAD for the people that had to spend time with me the past few days.  It was NOT a pretty sight, though I tried my best.  Also, hotel lighting schemes suck in a major way, so there was no really good method to ensure I was 'doing it right' in terms of horror amelioration.

Shamefaced admission: For years I read in fashion mags and Good Housekeeping and ladies rags of that nature, that models are slavish to facial spritzers and chugging water and all manner of skin hydration methods  to stay 'fresh' while they jet-set, and I scoffed at their puny selves for not being more resilient and tough-skinned, like me, for whom travel never seemed a bother.  Well, SOMEONE must have found that picture of me in the attic and given it a nick, 'cuz now I scoff no more.

TRAVEL FACE IS REAL.

And should be shown to nobody, ever.

I did have a good time though, so there's that.

Please tell me I'm not the only one who suffers from the dreaded TF, won't you?

Tiff out.

In which I regret a thing or two

Hold my beer...

Hello once again, and welcome to another installment of 'why I should never answer a knock at my front door.'

Ever, really.

Years from now folks probably won't recall that the past few days have seen a gigantic hurricane, Irma, rip through the Caribbean and into Florida, and is now eating up portions of South Carolina.  Damage is horrific, loss of life is significant, whole islands have been rendered uninhabitable.

Stick with me.

Folks started leaving the Southern-most states a few days ago, and if they were lucky had enough gas to make it through to a mid-Atlantic state (or further).  The pictures of the traffic snarls on the northbound highways were mind-boggling, I'm sure being IN the snarls were enough to MAKE you snarl.  Folks were running out of gas, food, and water, things had been pretty desperate.

This is not why I should not answer a knock at my door, though.  Not yet.

One of the families that evacuated north are folks who used to go to our church.  Nice younger couple, he's a musician/worship lead, she's a teacher who now homeschools their young son and will do so for their baby daughter someday if I'm any good as forecasting the future.  They made what I think is the absolute right decision to get out, and their target destination was right be here in the 27587.  They still have friends here, it seems.

Saw them at church yesterday and had a nice chat; they were disappointed that Biff wasn't there (he had a gig).   Very sweet.

Almost there, hold on a minute longer.

So, I work at home.  This involves a commute of about 3 steps from my bed to my desk, and also very often involves me not getting out of my pajamas until late in the afternoon.  Also likely involved is a distinct lack of hairbrushing or other niceties that one would be expected to engage in if one was planning on being seen by anyone other than the dog.  It's a pretty darned impressive low-impact system, and one that I'm reasonably comfortable performing.  Sometimes I throw a bathrobe on if I'm feeling classy.

So  I should have known better than to go see who was at the door this afternoon.  I really should have.  I was in full-on PJ and bathrobe regalia, my slept-in hair blossoming almost OUT of the topknot I'd wrestled it into the day before, face unwashed, you get the idea.

You also probably know who was at the door.

It was not the mailman.  It was the nice young couple from church.

I'm reasonably certain that having me show up at the door, shambling around in a too-big bathrobe with a fully-risen hair muffin on my head, changed their perceptions of me a touch.  Maybe more than.  That's on them.

That's not the worst of it though.

That came a few minutes later, when their young son allowed as to how he might need to make a potty stop, which of course I agreed to after I put the dog out back.  The youngster and his Daddy made use of the facilities and were soon on their merry way, after which I needed to make a pit stop of my own, at which time  noticed what was The Worst Thing.

See, I live in a home with three very accommodating men.  They put the seat down after they're done peeing, so I don't normally see the underside of the seat.  Today was a day I also wish I hadn't seen the underside of the seat.  Really really wish that had been the case, but no.

The toilet I allowed that little boy and his nice Daddy to use today was...sullied.  Besmirched.  Bedecked.  Soiled, splattered, you get the idea.  This lovely little boy and his lovely Dad flipped up that seat and were met with the unfortunate aftermath of one of my family members' potty visits.

There's no way they could have missed it.

None.

And THAT is why I shouldn't ever answer the door.  Because I might just unknowingly completely gross out people with the slovenly nature of my toilet seat.

Now where's the Clorox?

Tiff out.

Hanging out, listening in

For the record, alchemists
usually work alone

In the nonstop glamour that is my professional life, there is ample opportunity to become involved in meetings of all manners.  Planning meetings, update meetings, strategy meetings, advice meetings, etc and so forth and on and on.

Yesterday there was a 7-HOUR meeting to talk through a 180-page document.

Seven hours was not enough.  The team reconvened at 5 p.m. last night and appeared to have remained online for at least 3 hours.

Even that was not enough, for today the team are meeting for at least 3 MORE hours to talk through the last 20 or so pages of the document.  Which means, of course, that the computer systems are super-slow and seem to be teetering on the brink of collapse in the meeting sharing window.

The best part of this is that I'm really only just listening in to folks talking through the issues, picking apart what's been written, re-dictating crafted language, and scrambling to get this done.  I feel really bad for them, as this is a project that was super-sped up by the big bosses in the face of what was already a challenging timeline.  They're doing their absolute BEST, but jeez, how much can be asked of a group of individuals?  They're practicing virtual alchemy to create a golden ticket from a pile of confusion and conflicting opinions, at incredible speed.

It's astounding.  And for once I'm glad I'm not the one driving the content.  I just have to own the process, which is enough.

It's going to be enough to QC that 11-page reference list against the text...and get the data-driven sections QC'ed...and ensure it's publishable...in the next 10 days.

Goodbye, weekend.

---

So, big eclipse plans?

Me neither.

The kiddoes are going with their Dad down to SC to see it happen, which is a nice thing to do with their Dad I suppose.  He's pretty big on Life Event things, so they have those moments built into their collective life experiences.  Me?  I'm not a planner and don't really like to go to place where I know a crowd will also be, so tend to just stay home and live vicariously through the participants on the street.

After seeing what happened in Charlottesville and Barcelona this week, maybe staying off the streets isn't a bad idea.

But, eclipse.  Let's talk about that.

Way back when (1991? 1992?  Can't recall), there was an eclipse, which happened during work hours.  I know this because all us science nerds were hanging out in the windowed stairwell of the beautiful new research building, peering up at the sun through a tiny window of a 'floppy' disc.

What?

Yup.  Apparently one can view an eclipse directly by pulling back the 'locking' tabs on the floppy disc and using the disc itself to screen out harmful rays of sunshine.  Like this:

Ta daaaaah!

We probably looked really cool doing this in our white lab coats, a mass of nerdiness peering like Devo at the fireball in the sky.

Heck, 'probably' nothing.  We rocked the look and the eclipse, then got right back to work saving the world.

Good times.

---

And that's twice this month I've posted.  You are welcome.

Tiff out.

Good DAY, Sunshine!

These didn't survive the Michigan-like winter, let
alone the brutal summer.  Goodbye, penstemon.

Summer 2017 has one giant bowl of hot n' muggy.  My flower garden can attest to that, as it's simply been too awful outside to go pull weeds or, you know, care much.  I bought some petunias before we went on vacation, then didn't PLANT the darned things, so now have $32 of wasted petunia to throw in the trash.

So of course I bought more flowers on  Sunday.  They remain unplanted, but now that the weather's turned a little nicer (high temps of only 90!) tomorrow morning I'mma be out in the garden finishing the weeding and planting my purdy new flowers.  I won't let that $27 go in the bin, as God is my witness!!

---

Oh, vacation was nice too.  As we do every year, we headed up to Smith Mountain Lake for a week of boatin' and floatin' and bloatin'.  We had a nicely zippy tritoon (150 horsepower is great!), a waverunner that had enough power to cause blisters on the (admittedly fairly soft) hands of one of its riders, and a speedboat that mostly ran pretty well.

The goal of any good lake week is to not put shoes on the whole week and not travel anywhere by car.  I can never achieve those goals, because someone needs to do the trash runs, and it's a nice drive with good views, so I slap on the sneakers and go.  Also, this introvert needs some time alone on a regular basis, which doesn't really get to experience when living for a week in a house with 6 other people and other family dropping on by for funtimez on the water.

I love my family, but....you know.

On a related note, one of the long trips of lake week is to traverse the South-to-North path of the Roanoke River up to Hardy VA to eat hot dog bites and see what kind of crosses and hot sauce they have at Bay Roc Marina.  This year I elected to not go.  This is a trip that in years past has, for whatever reason, stressed me to the point of nausea (usually thunderstorm related), and I just wanted to avoid that this time around.

And you know what?  I might have missed out on some fun, but I had a WONDERFUL time by myself.  I relaxed like crazy, did some word searches, worked a puzzle, watched the water, and grabbed a tiny hunk of inner peace.

Fabulous, and very very tasty.

---

Anyhow, the laundry is washing, the dishes need doing, dinner needs fixing, and excuses for tomorrow's potential failures need to be created and catalogued.

Busy busy!

Tiff out.

Weight, lifted

Yesterday I lost 400 pounds.  Click here to see the amazing secret how!

Yep.  About 400 hundred pounds.  Or a million it you're really into heavyweight hyperbole.

Either way, I was freed for a moment from the weight of responsibility and accountability, and it was awesome.

Today I threw the yoke over my shoulders yet again, with a different load to haul, BUT, with familiar yoke-mates to haul with.

This make all the difference.

One heavy load dumped, 5 lighter but no less heavy loads taken on.

September can't come fast enough.