Memorial Day sits heavy (and it should)

 

Today is a day of reflection and remembrance of those who died while serving in the U.S. military, according to the Congressional Research Service. The holiday is observed in part by the National Moment of Remembrance, which encourages all Americans to pause at 3 p.m. for a moment of silence. 

A couple of things that might make it to that 3 p.m. moment of silence and reflection:

 In Flanders Fields with a powerful reminder of our responsibilities to never forget.

 The Poppy Wall, ephemeral and powerful.

There are many many other resources to engage with to understand the impact of this 'holiday' and why we should note it, perhaps not just in the United States but in every country that has lost in-service military to acts of war.  It's not just one country's story to tell, not one country's perished to mourn, not one country's potential and future that is diminished by murder in times of battle.

It's difficult for me to understand any festivity to fully replace our solemn obligation to recognize Memorial Day's meaning.  Sure, picnics are wonderful, playtime is totally underrated especially for those over about 9 years old, and togetherness creates stories and, well, memories.  I don't begrudge that, but do wish that the meaning of Memorial Day isn't lost in the slip-n-slides and beer pong and wafts of smoke from the grills of this fair land  UNTIL the real intent behind this day off is recognized and meaningfully given its moment.

Maybe at 3 p.m.

Tiff out.

How to fit into shoes

 

I have reached an age that isn't quite retirement (dang it) but definitely qualifies for a smattering of 'senior citizen' discounts.While I have yet to take advantage of any of those discounts, because I don't go to the stores that offer them for someone my age I guess, I COULD save money on a cup of coffee at McDonald's if I wanted to.

Among the things that accompany the onset of aging is the realization that stuff just doesn't work in your body they way it used to.  Jump up out of a chair?  Nope, not now, not anymore, look for something to push up on. Tie that lush head of hair into an adorable messy bun?  Uh, no, as it gets crunchy and dry well before the bun-making length is achieved.  Live life free of medicines designed to keep you alive?  That's way in the past, darling, because the thyroid quit and the blood pressure started to rise, better get your pill-taking regimen established.

But...shoes.

More particularly, FEET.

Sometime in the last couple of years my feet have been mounting an effort to expand well beyond what my shoes have been able to accommodate.  OK, my feet have always been a LITTLE bit swollen (like, since I was a young adult), and I think have a raging case of varicose veins (thanks Dad) have something to do with that, but lately this edematous state of being has become an issue, even beyond the feet.

My knees were in near-constant pain, as were the ankles.  One wrong move and I'd be hurtin' for certain. Living was starting to suck kind of badly, and I was beginning to worry about my future and the ability to move around.  Hobbling was becoming my mode of ambulation, and I was mad about it.

When Biff and I were at the beach a few weeks ago, and walking around quite a bit, you might have thought that the swelling would decrease by the end of the day, no?  All that movement and motion should have gotten stuff circulating, right?  Wrong.  By the end of the day when I took off my shoes, the tops of my feet looked like half-risen bread rolls, with an indent where the adjustable velcro strap cut across the instep.  Awful, and when accompanied by shooting pains in calf and thigh, made me very keenly aware that something needed to be fixed.

Cut to my doctor's office a couple of weeks later.  The PA is new-ish to me, and so naturally she is looking me over pretty carefully which of course I appreciate.  She gets to my feet and remarks 'Oh! You're very swollen here' and pushes a couple of divots into my shin with her thumbs to illustrate.  Yes, nicely pitting edema, thanks for the demonstration.  This normally indicates a kidney problem, but my eGFR is fantastic, thanks, so some other issue is keeping all this water in my system.  Whatever it is, she put me back on a diuretic (I'd been on HCTZ before but thought it might have been giving me the gout so we stopped it a couple of years ago).

OK, but it's not HCTZ this time.  It's LASIX, the big dog.  Furosemide, but the low dose.  Once daily.  Remember to stay hydrated. Go get 'em, tiger.

After just a week of dosing, I noticed a few things: my knees no longer hurt, my ankles no longer hurt, the bottoms of my feet no longer burned, my hips moved less stiffly when walking, and my feet fit into shoes.

Also, my ankles looked cute.  As in, I actually HAD ankles, not cankles, for the first time in a very very long time.  As in, those adjustable velcro straps on my 'regular' shoes aren't hanging on by a thread at the 'fattest' setting but instead wrap right over to the factory pre-set bend.  I can slip into my slippers (!) without having to tug.  I can get into sneakers that I gave up trying to get into 5 years ago.

I think the furosemide is working.

No matter that an hour after I take it I'd best be near a bathroom for a good bit (think about it), I feel better and my shoes fit.  That, to me, is plenty good enough.

Here's to better days ahead.

Tiff out.

Is it really about the meeting?

 

Like this, only in red.

 The venue was huge, Vegas huge.  There were giant fountains in lobbies, lush fake greenery around wagon-wheel light fixtures 10 feet wide, literal WALLS of color-shifting light that throbbed with whatever beat was bluetoothed to it, cavernous reception rooms, labyrinths of hallways, cacophonies of catering carts being pushed too fast by handsome young people who possessed a definitely practiced Jimmy Cagney flair.

And while it was certainly grand, it was also troublesome as I couldn't find the room I booked months ago.

I'd memorized the number and location and hardware assigned and the slides to be presented, but none of that was any good because it seemed like that particular brick-and-mortar location simply did not exist in this Gorgon of a meeting hall.  Walls moved, mirrors glinted with satisfaction of my confusion, bellhops ignored me, and the crowds of celebrating wedding guests from multiple receptions meant that getting to the concierge was impossible.

Madness, until I recognized someone from our team and tailed them to wherever they were going.  A brilliant idea.

Truly this person had a more intricate knowledge of the space than I (important to note that: I had never been there before but had studied the layout and specifics until I thought I knew what I was doing), as it took a snap to get to the room and then assemble the necessary presentations and seating to ensure a successful meeting.  

I was flustered, but ready. 

The team began arriving, animated and excited.  I couldn't tell why, as the scope of my work wasn't to be anything to make anyone act either of those ways.  But I couldn't get anyone to sit DOWN and therefore couldn't start the meeting as people were circulating around in small groups, chattering and tapping on tablets and showing one another so very many things.  Nobody spoke to me or listened to me; I, the leader, was invisible.

After a period of time I decided to simply move along, and began showing the initial presentation on the giant screen mounted in a corner of the hall.  Intro, agenda, topline messages, then chaos.  The screen detached from the wall and began to fall on the high-up muckety mucks on the dais, there was no help from tech to put it back on the wall and only the very most tenuous of connections that seemed to be structural, and yet, if I took a broom and pressed against the top to hold that part against hte wall, there could still be displays and presentations, only with me in the front of the room holding a broom while who-knows-who clicked through the slide decks.

Which, in the end, really didn't matter, because all the potential excitement and tablet-tapping of a few minutes before absolutely EXPLODED into general gasps and cheers as an announcement of some discovery of importance that directly affected OUR project was announced at some other venue that had been carefully tracked by everyone in the room (where I was supposed to make things happen, but that was all gone now in the thrill of the new thing).

It was obvious what needed to be done. I dropped the broom and walked out. 'Know when to say when,' my Dad used to tell me; it's a lesson to stitch on your pride.

So then I took a walk to a nearby park, forgot how to get back, my not-a-dog kept showing up, my husband was driving a four-in-hand to get people back to the venue because the bigwigs took the hired bus back to the venue and didn't tell any of the lesser mortals at the feste they were departing, once back at the meeting hall a small group of women were bidding on a dress  I'd brought with me for our 'formal night,' and yes this is all a part of the dreams I had this morning.

Also, it started to rain.

Tiff out.

That one time, in the ER

 

Can recommend.

Last Thursday was a doozie, my friends.  I wound up in the ER due to intractable nausea and vomiting due to my yet-undiagnosed 'condition.'  Got myself in a bit of a pickle with dehydration, so got 500 mL of saline pumped through an IV (hopy crap it hurt getting that thing put in...twice), some Zofran to boot, while the docs analyzed the blood work, had me undergo a gall bladder ultrasound (because the bilirubin was weird) and COVID test, took some more blood, made the BP cuff go 'whirr' about once an hour, monitored the O2 saturation (99%, woo!) and generally made me hang out until it was nap time.

On entry, when I was so depleted and worn out, my BP was about 180/110.  By the time I was headed out the door with my new prescriptions and an un-nauseated stomach (post-nap) it was 124/72.

Guess I felt better.

It's now Tuesday, and I haven't puked since.  

Still don't know what's wrong with me, but it's not my gall bladder - she's looking great.

---

Also, I saw a vestibular disease and tinnitus specialist last week.  We did all the tests to provoke vertigo.  ALL OF THEM.

Nothing.

I am unprovokeable (is that even a word).

So, again, whatever is wrong with me, it's not my vestibular system.  It's doing just fine.

---

Naturally, one day after the spinny doc visit is when the really bad vertigo and puking began.  

I only got the LOML up to take me to the ER when I thought I might be puking blood.

Super stoic.

---

So tired of feeling crappy, but the new prescription for Valium might help.  Maybe. I'll try just about anything at this point.

Taking suggestions.

Tiff out.

Waffle Housing and spoiling the dog.

 

They're what dogs crave!

To get y'all caught up on the weather around here; it was cold, then balmy, then WARM, the cool, and now it's cold and rainy.

I figured you'd want to know.  It's still nothing like winter, and the daffodils continue to push upward and develop bloomy buddies.  We'll see how they do.  They keep coming back, and have done for many years (they were here long before I bought the house) so I suppose they're used to some meteorologic shenanigans and will survive this year too.

Today is for sure just the sort of day made for staying in and lounging.  So of course we didn't.

First item of biz was breakfast.  Sunday is (I believe) the only day of the week that the LOML eats breakfast - every other day there's nothing consumed until after 11 a.m.  The intermittent fasting thing has resulted in about a 25-pound weight loss for him so far, so there's something to that eating plan for sure. 

We drove past a place we know was going to be packed at 10 on a Sunday morning (it was), then we were headed to Panera when I joked that maybe we should just head up to the Waffle House the next town north.  A joke, because I normally won't go there because the weekend host is kind of creepy and that ruins part of the WH experience.  Well, friends, the LOML took me up on it.

There was no host.  Has WH done away with them?  Where's Tom working now?

Nevertheless and once again, in the 100% success string, I had a good meal there. Hashbrowns scattered/smothered/covered and topped = delicious.  Can recommend. Honestly have never had a bad meal at a WH.

Then we made a trip up to the airport to grab some stuff from the hangar, rode around snooping at unfamiliar neighborhoods (so far not tempted to move), then hit up the Tractor Supply for a hitch mount thingie and some dog treats.

Walked out of the TSC with the 5 dollar part and and a receipt for 80 bucks.  That's a LOT of dog treats.

While I'd sit here and read 'Spare' the rest of this afternoon, the LOML has ideas about moving the reno project forward with some indoor organization work to get tools and random stuff out of the way so the flooring can go in (date yet to be determined).  I suppose I shall go along with it.  He DID buy me breakfast.

Tiff out.

The heat is on (and on, and on)

 

Not ours, but the general idea

Right now it is 27 degrees F outside, which is less than zero in C, and that's COLD, folks.

The fountain in the front garden has been turned off and emptied.  I know not from whence the birds now drink.

The cars will be wet with melted frost in an hour, after the sun gets to 'em (it's not even arisen yet, such its antipathy toward early Sunday mornings).

It is supposed to reach the mid 50s F today.

How's a person supposed to know how to dress? And for that matter, how's a heating system to know when to kick on to fill the gap between what it's like outside and what it's supposed to be like inside?  Answer: by starting up every 45 seconds or so and ticking the heat up a teeny bit, but just a teeny bit, so that the subsequent immediate drop in indoor temps initiates another round of combustion and aeration (or whatever).

It is now 28 degrees outside. Sun came up, is what the taskbar on my computer tells me.  This is  a lie, as where I am it's not scheduled to occur until 7:21, and it's 7:14 as I write this. Nonetheless, Nature's heating cycle will begin anew.

Once it gets to 'sometime' this afternoon, we plan to take the dog to a local park and have a bit of an explore. Only about 25 more degrees to gain before it's reasonable to attempt.

Brrrr.

The one that wasn't (and we are glad)

 

Before the...'thing' happened

 

Recently, I underwent a procedure familiar to all breast cancer survivors, The Yearly Mammogram.

But not just ANY mammogram, oh no.  The 'screening' ones most women only ever have are simple affairs by comparison, with only a couple of shots ('vertical' and 'horizontal,' if you will) to check for any suspicious entities.  The ones we lucky survivors gets are so so so much more, with top and bottom and sideways and slantways and rounds and rounds of them, focusing on iffy areas until the radiologist on duty is satisfied (or not) with what they're seeing and can release you, either to the wild or with an order for follow-up work.

I got the order for the follow-up work.

Specifically, a biopsy.

In the boob that didn't previously have the cancer in it.

You might imagine how very worrisome this is, and you'd be halfway there.  

Thankfully, I'm good at ignoring unpleasant things, so was able to enjoy Thanksgiving with our little nuclear family and have a chance to relax a bit, relying on the radiologist's statement that she was ordering the biopsy out of an abundance of caution, but still there was a whiff of terror wafting around if I allowed it to. 

Plus, needles and lidocaine were to be involved, which I am not a huge fan of, or really even a fan at all.

At last, today was the day, and as I drove to the the appointment WAY THE HECK OVER THE OTHER SIDE OF RALEIGH the thought of 'oh God, what if it's THAT again?' was very hard to ignore. What if the big C has popped up on the other side?  What will I  do? The brain was working a tiny bit overtime as I headed west on 98 then south on 50.  Of course I missed the turn into the parking lot, but I never don't.

One there, stripped from the waist up and begowned and with my belongings in a lovely plastic bag, I sat in the 'gowned waiting room' (no, really), with 5 other women all similarly attired and toting their possessions too.  We all knew what we were there for, and all of it had to do with boobs.  Sisterhood carries some heavy burdens, far outweighing a sack of clothing.

My turn came, I sat in a remarkably comfy chair that the tech wheeled me around on like I was Captain Pike until I was within boob-smashing range of the Little Plates (the better to see you with!).  She had warm hands, which is a nice touch (ha!), and got Old Gal in position to take some pictures of the suspect area.  Then another couple of shots.  Then she went and fetched the radiologist, who was going to perform the numbing and cutting and biopsy-ing acc'd to the prophecy and Good Medical Practice.

After the introduction to the doc and me gawping at her absolutely glorious head of hair, skintight pants, and totally awesome boots (listen, the lewk made an impression!), she and the tech had a confab over the images, probably discussing where to stick me with the numbing to best effect before cutting me open and doing the deed.

But no.

The tech pulled the gown up over my nakedness, spun me around ('beep boop!') as the doc was saying 'Good news! The spot the radiologist saw last week isn't visible on the pictures we just took and must have resolved itself in the week.  There's no need to do a biopsy and you can go.'

 It is at that point I lost 10 pounds of anxiety and floated out of that building, after getting dressed, of course.  The day was more beautiful that I remembered, the people more lovely, the birds gifted me with a 'congratulations!' poop on my windshield, all was right with the world.

I took the long way home to avoid a meeting I probably could have made it to at work, because I Simply Did Not Feel Like It.  Not sorry about that, would recommend an amble home after getting great news.

So, this was the one that wasn't.  No new scar, no wait for the biopsy results, no worrying about what happens next because it's already happened.

Hallelujah.

Tiff out.

Duolingo gets me

 

Our guide and hero

 A couple of months ago my Mom and I were having our regular Monday night chat on the phone and she said that she was going to learn Spanish this year using Duolingo.

Y'all, my Mom is in her upper '80s and is sharper than me, so I figured I needed to do that too.

We were chatting about how 4 p.m. is just a weird time of day - too soon really to start dinner prep at our stages of life, late enough in the day that it's not right for a nap, just one of those 'what do  I do NOW?' kind of times in a day that needs a something to anchor it to the clock.

Learning Spanish, for now, is that something.

Most days I get on the app and do a few minutes of learning, at least enough to get my 10xp and meet my 'goal' that I in fact did not set up but I'm kind of competitive so, yeah.  

It's fun, with cute cartoony characters and lots of positive reinforcement and also, many learning modalities in employ.  See it, translate it, hear it, write it down, engage in 'chats,' etc. I do get caught up from time to time thinking I know what's expected of me and do a translate instead of a 'write it down' and then have to re-do that to 'pass' to the next level, so mild humiliation isn't out of the deck of learning strategies.

Did I mention it's free?  Check it out if you need a way to re-plasticize part of your brain. 

And if you decide to learn Hawai'ian, more power to ya.

---

Had the yearly mammo yesterday.  It took forever.

No evidence of anything scary.

I'll take it.

---

Tiff out.

A sure-fire diet plan (not really)

 

Me, just now.  I grew a beard for warmth.  Should I keep it?

 

Ever since I was, ever, I do attract viruses.

All KINDS of them!  When I was in high school I had a cold and the flu at the same time (and my period too), for example, and laid on the big brown couch in the family room, half sensate, watching game shows and napping through the soaps.  And not eating, like hardly at all.  My stomach could not HANDLE food; just thinking about it made me run for the bucket.  I went on the ginger ale and water diet for a week because of it, and because of THAT, I lost a noticeable amount of weight which at the time I might have thought was a good tradeoff. I'm different now.

Some things don't change, it's apparent, at least as far as me and virii.

I had COVID earlier this year, and it too settled in my stomach with largely the same overall effect.  Can't recall what other symptoms there were; the GI aspect really took over to the point that I just kept a barf bucket with me wherever I went. Dry heaves became a particular specialty that I wish I could get paid for, such was there vigorous nature.

My abs were very fit by the time the 'rona moved out, let's just say. (And no, I would NOT like to be paid to perform the heaving.  My nose and eyes run and the noises that are made are truly primeval).

Since then, my stomach has been HUGELY touchy, which isn't great as it was very prone to being a bad actor in times of stress, which for someone with anxiety is like from 8am to 10pm every day.  Sleep is a gift. 

So, anyhow, at the beginning of this week a lil' flu virus entered the chat and headed straight to my belly.  Of course it did.  Biff got it first; it took up residence in his lungs.  I would have traded him, but he hates barfing and isn't as good at it as I am, so I took the hit. As if there was ever a choice.  

Ah, the low-grade fever, the bone aches, the hot flashes, the river of snot that flows if you bend over, the impending sense of doom when you just know it's going to be 'heave-ho' but can't pinpoint just when...a truly reprehensible state of affairs.

Good job, virus.

I'm on day 5 now, and while evidence of healing is present, we're still not back to 100% yet and I still do not go anywhere without my bucket.  It's not worth it, even yet.

My pants are fitting better though, so there's that.

Y'all stay safe out there - we're nowhere near out of the woods, RSV is getting a foot in the door, and this winter's going to be a corker.

Tiff out.

PS - get vaccinated.  If I'd been quicker to schedule my flu shot I'm sure I would be better by now.  I regret procrastinating. 

PPS - it might also be a cold, IDK.  Whatever it is, I'm not a fan.

Out the kitchen window

 

At this time of year, the sun sets through the leaves and branches of a giant oak tree that lives on the lot south/west of us.  This just happens to be the view out the kitchen window that we get of that phenomenon in the autumn times, and can be quite a spectacle.  

Just mind the gap(s), because that sun will smite your eyeballs if it's not peeking picturesquely though the foliage.  So, no doing dishes around normal dinnertime if you want to preserve your peepers.

---

As it happens, today is another beautiful day in the neighborhood, and because I got done with work a bit early, I decided to take a Walk With Wern.  Normally, this is something that the LOML does, but it was seriously too gorgeous to NOT do the WWW.  

Wern agreed.

We started with a bit of a ride around town, because I had some thought about exploring one of the small parks downtown (this one), but it's too close to where folks are going to do their early voting (VOTE!!!!) and parking wasn't great as a result.

I do love to see a crowd of folks doing their civic duty, but that is a tangent.

We wound up driving up to the town cemetery, which is nice and peaceful most of the time, as you can imagine.  I like cemeteries, and our town has a great one.  It's where I will be, or the corporeal remains of me will be, when my time comes to be stored conveniently for friends and family to come visit.  Naturally, we parked next to 'our' columbarium to wave hello at the Final Resting Place before Wern had a sniff-round of the place.

He sniffed the Barhams and the Sherrons and the Holdings and all the nearby graves of persons for whom roads are named in this town.  It's very historic, my future neighborhood.  And beautiful, with tall trees and gently sloping land around family plots that are well tended to.  There's an enormous pin oak that has dropped a ton of leaves that smelled quite lovely to the canine, and certain boxwoods that needed to be watered by him, so it was a busy time in the graveyard.  

Oddly busy, too, with visitors.  One fellow pulled up right as we did to visit someone in the columbarium area (there are several of them nestled in their own little neighborhood) and we had a quick chat because he called Wern beautiful and that deserves at least a couple of minutes of small talk.  He asked me who I'd lost that I was coming to visit, and in true awkward me form said 'oh, nobody yet, but that's where I'm going to be when the time comes' and did not EVEN ask him who he was there to visit, because I lose my mind in social situations and forget how being polite works.

Another visitor pulled up to the other side of the cemetery, and stood quietly near the final resting place of someone who I hope passed after a long, good life.  Just...stood.  I didn't get close enough to hear if he was talking to the dearly departed; it looked more like a personal communion, without the wine and baguette.

There were workers there too, out at the back, tending to the grounds, making sure things were tidy and safe and clean.  That makes me feel good about our future home, that it is maintained by both the town and people who have a connection to the ones who can no longer tend to themselves.

Once Wern's sniffer was full we of course came back home, wherein he has spent the last hour knocked out on the couch from the sheer thrill of the graveyard ramble.

I think we'll do it again tomorrow.

Tiff out.

Hot second date, the insulting version

 

Charlette and Jacob were having a second date at the second-fanciest coffee house in the town a middle distance for both of them to travel, that's how well the first date had gone.

Charlette comes from a medical background, Jacob is from Scotland.  Their conversations have been interesting as a result, both from an accent and topic perspective.

For this date, they've agreed to come up with insults they wish to introduce into the world; insults that haven't yet been snickered over and might get them to go viral, as viral is a thing that one would like to be, as it's as infectious as a real disease and may make you far more money.

The rules of this game are to 1) make the insult a medical thing that has actually happened to them, and 2) remove acts of violence from the insult.  One cannot be 'a stab in the neck,' for example, even if it happened to them and does carry some implication of being very unpleasant.  One CAN be 'a blow to the bollards' if a results of game play, either through innocent or competitive sport.

Charlette begins: you infected cyst

Jacob: you absolute ingrown toenail

C: you cracked molar

J: you crushed thumb

C: you inevitable period stain

J: you're an absolute spit stitch

C: you avulsed thumb

J: (interesting, I'll ask about that later) You are, in point of fact, a thick scab

C: I believe that it's no secret that you resemble nothing more than a copiuos green loogey dislodged in a violent fit of sneezing in front of your middle-school class.

J: Wait...did you attend St. Stephens School for Honest Boys and Girls in Upper Needham for a year?

C: Um.

J: Oh my God, tell me it IS you!

C: Um.

J: You are the very BEST memory of my time as an exchange student there!  I got such a chuckle out of that, many times!

Holy mother of God, it HAS to be you!

C: Um...yes?

J: you absolute infected respiratory system.

C: thank you?

J: But of course.  Another coffee?

C: Yes thanks, you nicked leg.

Seems to have worked out pretty well, so far.

 ---

If you had to play this game, what might your favorite insults be to fling?

Tiff out.

Bang bang whirrrr CLUNK (Storytime)

 

This one's got some mood lighting - a nice touch.

Intro:  Lately I've been on a hunt for answers to 'why do I get sudden attacks of vertigo with no discernible cause, which then usually make me barf?'

A question for the ages, for sure.

One step is to, once at least 2 experts are consulted, get an MRI of the skull to 1) ascertain just HOW thick it is, and 2) what might be going wrong therein to precipitate the issue.

Buildup: So, I had an MRI a couple of days ago.  It was, eventually, quite loud, and I say eventually because it took 3 needle sticks before a vein would accept the introduction and allow the sweet sweet flow of contrast dye.  My veins, they are shy.  And prone to 'blowing' (heh) if they don't like what's coming at them.  Coy move.

Back to the noise.  If you've never had an MRI, the noise is there to frighten you into a stiff fear of things exploding around you and thereby staying on the wee sliding table you occupy inside the tiny tube that is surrounding you with the bangy noise machine inside.  Also, there are magnets.  Have you seen and MRI in action when metal things are where they shouldn't be when it's powered on?

Behold.

Now imagine having a pacemaker or other ferrous-containing material in your bawdy ol' self. Those babies will find their way to the mama magnet when possible.  It doesn't sound nice.

 I do not have potential body-ripping implants, though I think the titanium tumor markers MIGHT still be there from the lumpectomy, but they don't react, so neither did I.  

OK, I didn't react also because I was too focused on praying a mantra and holding to the '911 button' you're handed as you're all hooked up to the IV and about ready to get into the machine whereupon the noise-making can happen.

Action scene: One fun note, for head MRIs you get a little cage over your face like shown in the vid above (focusing the magnetic beams straight into your brains?  I don't know), just to confirm that you're totally safe and do not need an escape plan other than the panic button.  Also little noggin stabilizers shoved behind your ears to prevent twitching or whatnot if you're prone to that, which I am, so appreciated the extra support.  It's FINE and built for your comfort, I am sure.

AND, you get headphones, presumably to protect against the appreciable amount of noisenoise, and also so the experts operating the machine can speak EVER SO SOFTLY into your ears to tell you...something.  '3 minutes' or 'you're doing great' or 'just one more scan' (my favorite).  You may also choose some type of music to be piped into the headphones if you like, but I eschewed, as a part of my complaint is sudden and serious hearing loss in one ear.  I don't need no other noise, thanks.

Now, this might sound as though I was in a panic throughout, but that's not really the case.  Yes, the process is stressful, but if you trust the pros who are there to take care of you and also trust in the power of the panic button, and THEN just think happy thoughts about how glad you are to have this tech available instead of potentially having to go through life dizzy and sick, then that makes it so much easier to bear.  Horrifying noises and all.

Denoument:Two hours later I was back in my car with one blown-out forearm vein (my own fault for having wallflower blood vessels) and a fervent hope that nothing is actually wrong inside my head.

I spent the next day horribly dizzy and sick (woohoo magic alignment of water molecules and such?), but perked up when I saw the 'read' of the MRI in the 'my chart' delivered through my doctor's office.  Bottom line is nothing unusual about my brain except it looks like I might a decongestant for 'mucus' reasons.  Awesome.  We'll see what the doc says, of course.

Resolution: not yet.  This is but one chapter in my search.  But a big one to get past.  Scary things seems to be out of the treatment picture, at least for now.

Thanks for reading.

Tiff out.

Smells like ashwagandha up in here (or is that the passionflower)?

 

I can do that, thanks.

For too many years now, I've been trying to tough out anxiety.  Mind over...mind, I guess?  When you KNOW something's 'all in your head,' it gets tough to pit the brain against itself, because the brain will always win, which isn't fair or nice to the losing side.

Things that make me anxious are:

• sudden loud noises
• constant excessive noise
• decision making ('where do you want to go eat?' sucks, trust me)
• my heart arrhythmia (a benign condition, but if you have an arrhythmia you know how it can wreck your nerves when it shows up)
  

Not an exhaustive list. You get the idea.

I can't pinpoint WHEN precisely this started, but it was manifesting right around the time menopause had truly taken hold and my body was working on a whole different hormone system than it was used to for 40 years.  Even something like a nice boat ride on the lake to go get lunch with the family would get me going.

By 'get me going,' I mean vomit.

That's right.

Somehow it seems that my vagal nervous system detects the stress and gives my body something to DO about it, which in my case is puke, or at least spend some quality time dry-heaving as a potential way to tell the brain 'there, I think we have gotten rid of the bad thing that's making you feel bad.  Can we go do something fun now?' and that kind of worked for a few years.  A crap system, but one that worked, kind of.

As time went on, though, the issue (ha!) became more frequent, not helped at all by the development of what may be Meniere's Disease (though we're not yet sure of what's going on with my vestibular system) which is ANOTHER source of stress more powerful than the items in the list above. Adding vertigo to the mix was powerful bad.

Obviously, I needed help, beyond grounding/counting activities or getting outside and being in nature.  Spending the day agitated, dizzy, nauseated, and with my head in a trash can is no way to go through life.  It also, not surprisingly, prohibits one from 'getting outside in being in nature,' in case you were wondering.

So.

At first, I signed up for online mental health support offered by the company I work for.  Very helpful for those grounding/calming tools that can help self-identify triggers and get the brain focused on something other than the trigger, right in the moment.  Not enough to banish the issue, but enough to get over it, momentarily.

Then, some nerve-calming yummy gummies were brought in to play.  Lemon balm, natural remedies, etc.  Good news - they seem to work.  Tried a couple of varieties, with the same ingredients by and large, and the calming effect is noticeable (currently using the OLLY brand, which I bought online but I believe are now in CVS stores and presumably other pharmacies). Can recommend. 

Then, I saw an ad for 'nerve patches' that were getting good reviews online, so I bought some of those for extra-horrible days.  Full truth - I have not yet used one, because I'm a little intimidated by the full power of one patch, but having just read that they can be halved or even quartered depending on the dose needed, I'll be busting them out this week to handle what promises to be a VERY DEEPLY challenging work week.

Here's hoping that at least I won't have to work with a trash can in my lap, as it has potential to mess with the acoustics of team meetings.  Nobody wants to hear that mess going on.

Next is to figure out the whole vertigo thing, because that's not normal.  And so, we press onward and hope for a simple, manageable, explanation.

Tiff out.

P.S. - I know the photo above is quoting a verse that is meant to be encouraging (Phillippians 4:6).  Let me take it the wrong way, just this once, mmkay?

MOTN awakenings

A picturesque sluice for your viewing pleasure.

 It is now nearly 5 a.m.  I have been awake since 4.  This is the new me, I suppose, awake in the middle of the night, trying to get sleepy enough to go back to bed to catch a few winks before having to be awake to monitor the progress of another day.

Thank the good Lord above for being able to work from home.  I'd be a wreck if I had to commute.  I did that for years and years and really got well tired of it by the time I switched jobs, following the money and the comfy work environs of my own bedroom.  Three steps to the desk, no shower required.

(Just a tip: don't ever live west of where you work; you'll be battling the sun both ways if you have to commute.) 

If historians are to be believed, my new sleep pattern is matching up to the typical human slumber cycle of yore, which consisted of a few hours of shuteye, then a couple of hours of being awake, then a couple more hours of nap before really getting going for the day.  Maybe though, that's 'typical' for nobles and gentry only, as I'm guessing that kitchen maids and farm hands and such just took one heroic sleep and got up at o-dark-thirty to get on with what needed to be done while the upper crust in the fancy sheets (SHEETS!  What luxury!) caught up on their beauty rest after writing a few letters to their buddies or whatnot at 3 a.m.  I don't know what they did in the MOTN, but it wasn't sluicing the pigsty or making garlic knots like the hoi polloi, I'm betting.

This whole being awake when I'd rather be asleep is why (in part) I signed up for an online newspaper subscription to a nationally-known entity.  While waiting for something soporific this way to come, I  catch up on what's going on in the world, picking my way around agitating issues and lulling my brain with the softer side of life.  Hard news is digested in the hard light of day, early morning calls for recipes and vacation ideas.

It's just what happens. No sluicing required.

---

After I catch up on social media, comics, dumb games, email, and such, of course.  Just being honest here.

Tiff out.

I need a hobby, I think (Tales of the lonely pilot's wife)

 Recently, through a tons of hard work and want-to, the LOML became A Person of Worth at a place that is paying him money to be smart, well-spoken, managerial, and competent.

It's not what he's worth, to be sure, but it's enough to keep the lights on.

Which is good, because he works a lot and I'm turning on lights well before he gets home most nights, even though it's only not even mid-September and he left for work at 6:15 this morning, and...you get the drift.

Which is, I'm spending too much time by myself, at home.

Making me realize how MUCH I rely on his company and entertainment of an evening, and just how very boring I am without that company and conversation.

I DO NOT BLAME HIM FOR CHASING HIS DREAMS.  I blame myself for being too damned boring as to not have had anything more amusing to do/develop/depend in these last number of years than social medial and YouTube.  It gets old after a while.

And some things I am NOT going to put on social media, beyond the confines of what we used to consider it be, which is this, right here, da blahg.

Here's the thing about what I'm doing now to kill time: I use my eyes too much.  I devour information and consume, consume, consume, but do NOT create.  My hands itch to draw, my fingers want to write (oh, sure, brain too), my feet and legs want to stretch and MOVE.

Having insomnia might be useful, as by and large these are quiet pursuits.

Maybe tonight then, in anticipation of the MOTN awakening, I'll bust out a sketch pad and pencil, in case the scritch of a #2 on construction paper is more soothing than a half-interesting video.

Maybe I can make a buddy for this guy.

 Or 6.

What a stinker

Silent but deadly

It is once again that time of year during which my neighborhood stinks.

Like, really stinks.

It's the Bradford pear trees; they are the actual REASON it stinks.  Like a zombie's armpit, or so I've heard it called.  It's bad, and there's nothing to do but live through it or don't go outside.  CERTAINLY don't fling the windows open even if it is a glorious Spring day that really does call for the flinging open of windows.

Why, they're so bad even the polite persons at Southern Living can't stand them.  They even had to go so far as to import some grumpy Northerner to rant about them, just so Mama wouldn't get too hot under the collar and sweat BB cream all down the front of her housedress.

So, I'm hiding in the house until...next week maybe, or until I see the shower of bright white petals start to fall to the ground during a wind or rainstorm.

That will be a happy day, for sure.

---

Y'all, if I manage to make it though the next couple of weeks (stinky trees and all) it will be through a minor miracle and a major jug of bourbon.  We are reaching the finish line for a major work project and if you're not familiar with the gut-clenching thrill of a looming deadline, count yourself lucky.

And because it's nearing 5 p.m. here, it's time to go put in another couple of hours of work.

Oy.

---

Tiff out.

Daffy-liciousness

 Yesterday and the day before it was in the 70s around here.  Windows were opened, rooms aired out, shorts were worn.  It's been an amazing time.

And I've spent most of it indoors, reasons being work.  But hey, I get to look out a window while I'm being the 'busy pharmaceutical professional' that I am (that title was bestowed on me many years ago when I received a piece of mail from a vendor addrssing me with such an impressive sobriquet), so that's better than slaving away in a cubicle far removed from daylight.

Can't complain.

From that window I can see the front flower garden, which is a hot mess.  We tore out an old concrete walkway a few months ago, superseding it with a ramp that goes straight out to the driveway, and have done nothing with the arrangement of the garden to cover the bare spots.  HOWEVER, there are the daffodils.

These daffs are indestructible, returning year after year even though I was SURE that a few years ago I'd relocated them all or just heaved them because they weren't flowering anymore.  The daffs had other thoughts, and are currently a-flowering where they shouldn't be, little cheery street urchins about to steal your heart with their indefatigable get up and go.

So, they can stay.  I appreciate their beautiful toughness.

---

North Main Street in Wake Forest has become staggeringly beautiful.

Again, it is thanks to the daffodils.  This is what they looked like a couple of years ago, which is very similar to what they look like now.

About a half a mile of this!

A couple of days ago they were just promissory notes of Springtime, but that note's been paid in full.  Such beauty!

Now, if those ornamental trees above them burst into bloom at the same time, as sometimes happens, that'd be the icing on the cake of pollen season.  This is just a couple of blocks from the Tiny House, so I might just have to wander over to see if that's the case.

Ah, Spring.

Tiff out.

I saved a lot on soap last year

 

Becomes relevant, I promise.

It occurred to me a few days ago that I have been showering regularly as of late.  Like EVERY DAY type of regularly.

'And, so what?' you might ask.  I do not blame you for wondering, frankly..

Well, this time last year I wasn't.

This time last year I was 5 infusions into 6 rounds of chemotherapy, and just about every ounce of strength I had was plowed into healing after each session.  I continued to work, being that work distracted me from feeling like hammered crap most of the time, but cooking/cleaning/bathing were not things I did more than perhaps weekly.

That's right, I was maybe taking a shower a week.  It was just waaay too much effort.  Standing up and walking the 10 steps to the toilet was often too much effort; how was I to wedge in another few minutes of standing up and washing myself?  Unthinkable.

Yes, it really can be that bad, and it was.  Especially on the few days after getting the Neulasta injection, which kicks your bone marrow into overdrive making neutrophils to get the immune system up and running again, resulting in PAIN that is strength and will-to-live sucking.

But hey, I don't want to dwell on all of that, but do want to take a moment to be grateful that it is (fingers crossed!) in the past.

I did save a bunch of money on soap and shampoo though.

---

Topically aligned and coincidentally applied, we have discovered the joys of shampoo bars at the Tiny House.

It's soap, for your hair.  Hair soap! So old-fashioned it's rad!

I like this kind: Royalty Soaps shampoo bar.  With bonus video on how they're made!  One puck of this shampoo bar has lasted me for about 6 months, so that's about a $20 spend per year which I think isn't exorbitant and far less wasteful than buying plastic bottles of mostly water with which to scrub your melon.

Biff is partial to one of the two kinds that Indigo Wild sells. Not sure which flavor he's got in the shower at the moment, but I'm guessing it's not the lavender.

Obviously they're not the only shampoo bar sellers out there (The Hairy Farmpit Girls also sell it, so check their stuff out too); there are likely lots of options from which to choose your noggin-washer.  I encourage y'all to shop and skip the sulfates and plastic, then hit the bar!

---

We had a visit from the grandbaby and his Mom the past couple of days.  Purpose was so that we could give our van Carl to her because 1) we got a new car and don't need a van anymore, and 2) they could use a second vehicle.  

The visit was fabulous, the baby adorable, the dog a professional 'doter.'  Lovely time, except I fear we've not been as observant as we could be about certain things.  Like, we did not pick up on the fact that Carl had a desire to transition.  A mortifying omission, to be sure. 

Well, to address this issue S went out and purchased a steering wheel cover in glittery pink and seat covers in a very party-glitz pink Lily Pulitzer-type pattern (that's her up top with some of her designs), then added in with some kind of fruit-scented air freshener, and BOOM: Carl is Carla.

We're glad to have had a part in this new phase of life, for Carla and her new family.  Just wished we had noticed sooner.

(Carl got 'his' name from being a white van who, to Biff's mind, resembled the next-door-neighbor of the Aqua Teen Hunger Force.  That's how badly we got it wrong.)

Before and after.  Quite a change!

Tiff out.

Moving (to another room) and how it's all going

 We decided, it seems, that 2021 is the year we Do All The Big Things, such as

• Tear out every tree in the backyard to prepare for
• The garage we are planning to build while also
• Renovating and then putting an addition on the back/'master' bedroom for an expanded closet and second bathroom, which meant that
• We had to move out of our bedroom and into the front bedroom (which had been renovated a couple of years ago).

ALSO, it seems we are replacing our 2010 Grand Caravan.  Carl's been a good vehicle, but we no longer require seating for long-legged young men or a towing-capable vehicle, because 1) the young men now drive their own cars and aren't going to be back-seating it with us anymore unless something changes, and 2) The work van is way better at towing the trailers than Carl could ever be capable of.  So if anyone wants a slightly used but really great van that only needs a couple thousand smackers to get in perfect working order (he still drives fine, but is a little leaky), then I can cut you a deal.  Admittedly, the Stow-n-Go seating will be missed.

Back to the moving part now.

First and foremost, in our old room, we are able to cram an awful LOT of crap into a 15x15 space (with additional not-huge closet).  Clothing, shoes, office equipment, furniture? Yep, all of it. So MUCH stuff went to the ReStore or to the Rescue Mission Thrift store or to Goodwill (anything the other 2 wouldn't take).  Vanloads of stuff we probably won't miss or didn't even know why we had it in the first place.    It felt wonderful, to be honest.  So much stuff that I really hope someone else can use and that we didn't want/need anymore.

Seriously, when did I think I would ever wear a DRESS again?

Even with all the purging though, we still needed a place to put what remained as deemed necessary, because the front room has a 'guest-sized' closet and that just wasn't going to be enough for teeshirts and grots , etcetera, that we need to live life without having to dive into a storage tub in the shed.

So, we purchased an inexpensive dresser/chest of drawers set from the surplus furniture store and plugged them into the space along with our bed and a couple of side tables and my desk/office setup and a 2-drawer file cabinet and a bookshelf (WHEW!!) and whaddaya know?  It all fits somehow and doesn't feel cramped. The room too is 15x15  (all 4 rooms in our house are, except the bathroom and laundry, which are of course much smaller) so it's a pretty good size.  Even so, the armoire was sold, and the big metal cabinet that held random stuff like camping gear and who knows what all didn't make the move.  We also don't have our bed on what used to be the kitty-cornered wall, which opened up a ton of floor space.  

Our old room is in the 'reconstruction' phase now, which is good. However, I'm in no rush to move back until the addition is done, seeing what a nice cozy nest is available for us at the front of the house.

We are rich indeed.

Tiff out.

Bed used to go between those 2 sconces

Now loveseat will go here in the new reading nook. Wernstrom approves.

That brown line is where the ceiling height used to be.  Note  the original walls are beadboard.

This window is going to be the entrance to the addition - full doorway with transom above for light. There will be a window to the left of the doorway for light and egress. Fancy ceiling alert!

Things that I do not care for.

Gross.

Sometimes, I get to feeling way too chipper about life and stuff, so have to bring myself back down to reality by dwelling on stuff that I simply don't care for.  Not that I HATE these things, for hate is too strong a word (and, frankly, is one of those things I don't care for), these are just some things that if I never had to deal with them again it'd be fine by me.

- Mis-use of 'less than' when 'fewer than' is correct.

- The gunk that gets caught in the kitchen sink drain.

- Bunched-up socks (because of this I rarely wear socks anymore).

- Liquor in my coffee.  Irish coffee?  A little Bailey's?  Some peppermint schnapps in there?  Ptoooey!

- Waking up too early on weekends.

- Dry eyes.

- Food that grows in your mouth the more you chew it.

- Yappy dogs.

- Ingrates who do not return their shopping carts to the buggy corral.

- DRAMA.

This list is of course not exhaustive, but certainly does capture what rises to the top of my 'meh-o-meter' at the moment.  I could add 'inconsistent use of punctuation' on the list, or 'too salty food' or 'willful ignorance' to the list, but perhaps another day.

---

Note I mentioned drama in the list.  Not 'dramas,' which are very different and can be enjoyable especially if they are set sometime back in history or maybe the distant future.  No, I'm talking about DRAMA, the manufactured sort that seems to keep some people's clock ticking and without which they might just not have a reason to breathe shallowly and rapidly, ever again.  

You can just leave that shit at the door if you're going to walk into my house.  Got no time to spend on manufactured angst.  World's got enough to deal with without all that mess.

---

While I'd ask readers of this post to comment on things they don't care for, there aren't many readers left so won't obligate the few of you who do idle by here to contribute.  But if you want to, hey - you know what to do.

Tiff out.