Time for my “yearly physical”…..bwahahahaha. Yeah, I know. As someone that sees a doctor no less than every 8 weeks, it cracks me up when I have to go see my primary care traffic director every year. She likes to pretend she does more than bitch about my labs and direct referrals, but we know better.
She’s young and in her defense she’s only had me for a patient for about a year and a half and I’m a pain in the ass. It’s not her fault that she’s in over her head…she wasn’t even in med school when I had my hip replacement.
I went over to the lab like a good girl and had them pull my fasting labs last Monday morning so that she had everything before I see her Tuesday afternoon. They pulled 7 vials out of me!! Pretty sure I should have had a cookie before I drove home, but the good news is I am a super easy stick. No rolling veins or tough spots to try to find. And everything went smoothly, so I’m hoping I was the easiest patient that lab tech had all day.
So of course I had to log into the patient portal and get my labs so I can analyze them before I even see her.
My TSH and T4 levels look like they might have to raise my Synthroid dose. But they’ve been creeping it up for over 10 years. I’m not surprised. It is autoimmune thyroid.
My metabolic panel looks pretty good. Hemoglobin and hematocrit are just barely low, but they’re good for me. Vitamin D and B12 are really good! Yay me for taking my vitamins!
The biggest thing I noticed was my GGT is still high but nothing like it was last year. (I did have MRSA then!) And it’s trending down.
And I got a hold of my Cobalt and Chromium levels from last September and of course they’re high, but they’re normal people high, not MoM implant high. And honestly I don’t care. I’m not open to revision surgery. November is my 10th anniversary of my hip surgery, so the way I see it I’m doing pretty damn good.
More updates after my appointment this week!
First an anecdote from yesterday: It was close to 100* F yesterday and my house is dual zoned climate controlled (I promise this is relevant). I keep it about 74F during the summer. (I try to save energy and all, but I already turn blue for no reason and we have like 20 solar panels on the roof.) I was down stairs for several hours and went upstairs to get the laundry and change clothes. As soon as I got to the top of the stairs, I noticed it was much warmer and felt kind of stuffy and humid. (Humid?? When you live on the Chesapeake?? Get out!! Okay, I’ll shut up and get on with the story…..)
I wandered into my room to check the Nest thing and it said that it was about 78F upstairs and had not been running. My first thought? “I wonder if the house thinks I’m not home because I had been hanging out in pretty much one spot downstairs.”
What? “My house thinks I’m not home??!!” Who thinks that?? Oh, right. Me. Because hubs built this house and wired it with all the goodies he wanted.
But still … WhoTF thinks “my house must think…..”??
- I got nominated for an award!! So I better get off my butt and work on that. And thank you, I am truly honored. I started this to write my way through the pain and uncertainty of chronic pain and illness and found friends and support and awesome stuff along the way!
- My youngest has decided after being homeschooled for 8 years (she did K, 1st, and 30 days of second grade in public school and I brought her home in 2009 at 6 years old y’all!) that she would like to transition to public school and get out in the world. So in between panic attacks I am trying to gather information for what I’ll need to register her, and working on transcripts.
Fortunately, she has been technically registered in a private school, to protect us and her from any local school districts and allow me the freedom to teach her what we want, how she wants, and keep transcripts, grades, and attendance records. So to the school it will be a lot like a student transferring in from out of state.
I have a list of requirements, I’ve let the head of our current school know, and I am gathering all the needed paperwork.
So now that much is done, and it’s Friday afternoon, I’m going to allow my anxiety (and occasional panic attacks) about it all to hit pause and go play the new season of Diablo 3.
(Also my oldest just got accepted to her chosen program for imaging tech and she’s super-psyched and focused and I am insanely proud of her. She’s focused and determined and working on a great program that is for HER , so please give the guy that just broke up with her a one fingered salute!)
Like I said…..changes.
I have been pretty quiet on my blog for a bit now. Some of it because I’m going through stuff in my head, other reasons just being that I haven’t had much to report on my illness. Last year I couldn’t seem to stabilize, this year I have.
But it’s July 17. And aside from the insanity of the world and my country’s “leaders”, losses (George Romero. You will be missed.), and life, the universe, and fish; July 17, 2001 is the date my before became my after. Post part-of-my-world-didn’t-make-sense, post PTSD, post Rainbow baby, sixteen years later I am a very different person. And so I usually stop and take stock on July 17.
The stuff I’m going through in my head? I’m trying to figure out how to want to live again. This is the kind of thing I haven’t touched on in my posts about scans and tests and insane amounts of radiation. We talk about the scans, the tests, the treatments, surgeries, recoveries, and medications of chronic illness, but what about when they tell you it’s inoperable? Incurable?
I got told I have a relatively small, most-likely benign tumor in my brain *but* it is inoperable, incurable, post-treatment (radiation) stable, but I’m still a brain cancer patient. I spent two years (give or take) preparing to die.
Inoperable, chemo’s not an option, radiation means scary complications are possible, and in some cases (brain edema) expected. I fought with my oncologist and refused steroids because the patient cases I read about them scared the hell out of me. High dose radiation scared me, the specific steroids for the brain edema scared me more. So I fought with him and fought through three weeks of brain edema and a trip to the ER that required meds, fluids, and a surprisingly high dose of potassium before they would release me.
Three years later I’m pretty stable. (aside from the awesomely clumsy episode of me dropping cleaning supplies on the bridge of my nose yesterday…….frickin OW)
Last year I couldn’t seem to stabilize. I had MRSA in my lungs and throat and spent almost an entire year coughing up green yuck. Another trip down the stairs. Frontal lobe spikes on my EEG. This year, I finally got my lungs back, I’m still clumsy but the stairs and I have an understanding for now, and I can (usually) finish a sentence.
My body seems to take a year to get through something. Instead of having pneumonia, getting antibiotics, and recovering; I had pneumonia, lots of antibiotics, 3 different inhalers, and eventually in-home oxygen when my O2 levels dropped under 86% walking around my doctor’s office before, about a year later, I recovered.
Dunno why. But a lot of things take me a year.
Throw an artificial hip (10 years ago this November), a brain tumor, and crappy MRSA lungs at me and I start making peace with my the great hereafter. Or something along those lines.
We talk a lot about life with an illness or during a treatment, but we don’t mention staring into the mirror and making peace with your mortal coil. But it does happen, and we should know we’re not alone. I should know I’m not alone.
So I’m kind of, sort of, coming out the other side of that. I’m thinking this stupid thing won’t kill me. At least not yet.
So while I’m pretty quiet on my blog, my journals show I’m still thinking, writing, struggling. I’m still living.
My oldest used to get really frustrated with me because I wouldn’t tell her much about my childhood or who I was before I was “Mom”. It’s not her fault. I had kind of a tough childhood, and somethings I shut out, others I chose to try to forget….you get the idea.
My biological father bailed when I was 6. But I did have 2 other guys that sort of stuck around longer and were Dad-like. The first was my first step-dad and he was around until I was in high school. Not a bad guy, but he had his own demons; and, as my mom would say, when he dropped the ball, Ron (my Dad) picked it up.
Ron was my kids’ Grandpa, he was in my life longer than anybody else dadlike, and he was my *Dad*. He taught me to drive a stick, he was the only Grandpa my kids knew, and he was the guy that filled the space that my father vacated.
I learned so much from him. Not just how to drive a manual transmission, or wrap a Christmas present. I learned everything that got me through 5 days in Georgetown going through radiation. Finding peace. Being still. Being quiet. Breathe. Center.
He died 5 years ago today, and not a day goes by that he’s still not with me in some way.
So, today’s memory is the time I cut my foot and he picked me up and carried me into the ocean. That was the day that I learned Hawaiian ocean water can cure just about anything! I still drive to the water when I need some calm, some peace, some clarity. But it’s the Chesapeake Bay these days.
1997? I think it was…I cut my foot, not bad, but I was being a baby about it and Ron swore I just needed to get out in the water. Me: “No,no, no! Salt water is just going to sting!!” So he picks me up and carries me out in the water until he’s at least waist deep and I’m screaming and laughing. Lo and behold, the next day my foot was at least 50% better. He was right!
I miss you Grandpa (dad, Ron, Kumu). I can’t believe it’s been 5 years! But I know you’re still with me, and my mom, and my kiddums! ❤
Ron L Obrey 7/6/1951- 6/23/2012
June and July are funny months in the Xunnie household. There’s always the changing of the seasons, graduations, etc ; but we also have the anniversary of my Dad’s death coming up (06/23), what would have been his birthday (07/06), and the anniversary of what I call My Line in the Sand(07/17).
And now, three years into this, we have the anniversary of my diagnonsense. My brain tumor was found because I started falling down the stairs as some kind of a hobby and I complained to my pain docs about more headaches, so she wrote me a referral to a neurosurgeon who ordered the first MRI. I then saw who has become my steady spot in all of this, my neurologist, who then made a face at me and ordered a second scan. And then it was confirmed on June 20, and the next thing I knew I was headed up to Georgetown for half my Summer.
Yes, THE Georgetown hospital. And the coolest thing (is there is such a thing)? My “team” included the HEAD of Neurosurgery and the HEAD of Radiation Oncology. I don’t know how I got so lucky, but I must be an interesting case and I’m grateful for it. But yeah, that was a tough Summer. My son was deployed at the time, so I couldn’t tell him all hell had broken loose and inside of 30 days we signed a contract to have our house built, my dog died, and I got diagnonsensed.
June 23, 2012 my Dad lost his fight with cancer and June 20, 2014 I got diagnosed with a brain tumor.
The point of all of this is:
- I did, in fact, get this year’s results and the tumor is “stable with no change in size”.
- I realized today as I was telling my oldest daughter a story about the time my Dad came to Michigan and they didn’t know what to make of him that I have all these images and memories that my kids don’t get to see the way I did. They’ve heard the stories, but they were so little, they don’t remember.
The story I was telling my daughter was: Grandpa was so dark skinned and we’re all fair, blue-eyed, etc so when people see my kids run up yelling “Grandpa! grandpa!” they don’t know what to think. When he visited San Diego, they thought he was Mexican. When he went to Egypt (for work) they thought he was Egyptian. But in Michigan, USA, this lady could not figure out what was going on. (It sounds terribly racist, but when you see his reaction, it’s just funny!) So, as she’s following us through the grocery store and staring, he turns to me and says “if she doesn’t stop it, I’m gonna run over there and kiss her!”
No, he didn’t take himself too seriously.
My daughter smiled and said “I’ve always heard the stories, but I don’t remember….”. All I could think after she went to do her thing for the rest of today and as I’ve gone through my day was I wish I could close my eyes and show them.
Buzzfeed famously has all these ridiculous “What Superpower Should You Have?” or “If You Were in the Marvel Universe, Who Would You Be?” quizzes and lists, but if I had a superpower, I’d want to be able to close my eyes, hold your hands, and show you a memory. I have all these amazing memories and with the 5th anniversary of his loss coming up, I’ll write another blog with some of those. But, God!, what I wouldn’t give to be able to show you.
Hear the music, feel the wind, feel the joy, see the laughter. How much would you really love to be able to do that?
I have been terrible with up dates, I know.
“hey Xun….whatcha doin? How’s the brain? Seizures? What’s the little fuuuuhhhnny thing doing in there anyway?”
Well, What I DO know is that
Percival is still hanging around. I have images from this year’s scan that were done on Wednesday, June 7.
Good news(ish): He IS still there and not like the size of a grapefruit, and if he’s grown, it’s not much. At least I don’t think so….
Xunnie, a deviated septum, Percival (the kid loves this one with the eyeballs….)
So, not a lot to report on just yet. But I do think I have a demon in my brain….
Should I be worried? Anybody got any Holy Water hanging around I could maybe borrow for an experiment? =D (Should we name the demon?)
I am hoping to get the report for this MRI in the next few days. I did explain that I was waking up feeling like the bed was shaking a couple of times, and that I had managed to scratch my face on in my sleep. Dysphasia ruled neurologic in origin, aphasia as well, EEG better than the last one, minor changes to my meds.
So….yeah, updates on Percival and me in a couple of days hopefully. Until then…..
we start with what’s been stuck in my head for 3 days….
Along with stuff in the back of my head, on my playlists, haunting me….
There are a lot of memories intertwined with allllllll of the music on my phone, my hard drive, and hell even still the CDs I shepp around!
Xun = Music, Music IS Xun.
So Kara from Polishing Dookie, who is an awesome and inspiring chick that blows me away with her compassion and ability to laugh through the pain, nominated me for an award.
This award was created by Maggie – Dreaming of Guatemala. She created the award “For the absolutely wonderful writers all across the blogging world. They have beautiful blogs, are kind and lovely, and always find a way to add happiness and laughter to the lives of their readers. That is what truly defines an awesome blogger.”
Rules of engagement:
- Thank the person who nominated you.
- Include the reason behind the award.
- Include the banner in your post.
- Tag it under #awesomebloggeraward in the Reader.
- Answer the questions your nominator gave you.
- Nominate at least 5 awesome bloggers.
- Give your nominees 10 new questions to answer.
- Let your nominees know they’ve been nominated!
Thank you Kara! I know you’re up to your eyeballs right now, but you still find a way to keep us all up to date and stay in touch. I am grateful to know you and be inspired by you all the time!
Kara’s Questions for her Nominees:
If you found out you had 24 hours to live, what would you do with your remaining time?
No, seriously I know the expected and correct answer is spend as much time with my loved ones as possible. And I would, my mom, my husband, my kids, my best friends. And I would write down as much as I could for my kids to have to look back on as they go through their own lives.
Do you have any irrational fears? If yes, please explain.
I have an irrational fear of bats. No I don’t know why. No, I don’t want to hear all about all the cool stuff they do.
What is your favorite song?
Ahahahahahahaha….(wheeze…..cough……inhale)….hahahahaha. Have you met me? Pick a genre, an artist, a decade….I gotta have something to narrow it down first.
That being said, let’s see: The Shadow of Venus by Apocalyptica is my ringtone right now, I have 391 (give or take a few) songs on my phone, and the last 5 played were:
Bad Romance by Halestorm
Pony by Ginuwine
Quiet by Milck
Royals by Otep
It’s Quiet Uptown by Kelly Clarkson
and I have Sister Christian by Night Ranger stuck in my head right now.
Have you ever done the truffle shuffle?
Hell yeah. And I own the movie. And I have 2 Goonies shirts!
Goonie Never say Die!
Describe yourself in four words or less (?)
chick, geek, mom
If you were a comic book character, would you be a hero or a villain?
I’d love to say hero, but we all know I make a fabulous villain. But like Maleficent or Harley Quinn villain.
What would your special power be?
Reading minds? Or maybe teleporting?
(Who am I kidding, I just want to get my eyeliner wing right!)
Do you have any habits that drive other people bonkers?
I’m sure I do. I’m a grammar nazi, and can be a perfectionist, and if I argue I make sure you know I’m right.
(I might share a little too much sometimes too.)
Does “normal” exist?
What is this “normal” you speak of?
Chips or cookies (or both at the same time)?
Usually chips, but I do have a recipe for Potato Chip Cookies with butterscotch chips.
Stephen King says if you don’t have time to read, you don’t have time to write. Do you think that’s true, and why or why not?
What would your readers be surprised to learn about you?
Which book world would you like to visit?
Do you have any pet peeves?
Book or Movie? Why?
What is your biggest phobia?
What are you proud of yourself for?
What is your favorite joke or pun?
Lions or Tigers or Bears?
What made you decide to share your story and start your blog?
Pamela (even though she’s taking a much needed break, I have learned so much from her!)
I meant to write one post today but after it ended up being almost 1300 words, I split it.
Part two, coming up….
Fair warning, this one’s been kicking around in my head for a while, so I decided to go with the brutally honest approach. Not something we humans do often or well…..so look away if that’s too much. I hope you won’t because I think we all could use a little introspection sometimes. I know I can. And maybe you’ll learn something, or ….well, I dunno something good.
Oh, but first updates:
Dr Lungs has given up on me. I got the results of my PFT (“normal” or whatever that means), and got told “dysphasia patients have this issue sometimes. The coughing, the breathlessness, the productive cough; it comes with the swallowing dysfunction. Your next step would be a speech therapist for occupational therapies. Good luck.”
Yeah, same to you too buddy. So, this is how it ends. I guess I choke on a spoonful of frosting or fall down the stairs. (Or both! I’m an overachiever!)
Appointment with pain doc next month, appointment back to neuro in May to keep an eye on the tumor. And now it’s time to go bug my PCM because 2 of my other docs have told me I quite possiblely have EDS (Ehlers Danlos Syndrome). It fits. With my prior dislocations and hypermobility (I can cross the bones in my forearm), it’s a distinct possibility I’d finally have some answers.
Now on to the harder stuff to write about and the reason for the title. In the cold light of day, I’d pull my sleeves down, look at the floor, and mumble “I’m fine.” I’m a solitary person, terribly introverted, and unusually prone to stoicism.
But in the quiet dark, late at night, away from too many questions and judgements, I am self destructive. My arms bear the scars of me trying to take my pain out on myself. Those scars are from many, many years ago but when I am overcome with grief and pain I hear the girl responsible for them whispering to me.
Last week I put out a post that was password protected because I needed to get pain out and away. But I wasn’t sure I wanted those words just out in the public eye. And the next day, the cold light of day spoke up, and I deleted it. I guess you could say this is the follow up.
Because I have been chewing on, pondering, turning it over and over in my head, contemplating grief and mourning.
Thirteen months ago, on January 20th, I got the phone call telling me we had lost my sister in law Brenda. But what I would come to learn by the end of that day is that I had lost 2 people.
Brenda died, and someone I love very much walked out of my life….threw me out of his life, without a discussion, or an explanation, or a chance to apologize. He was angry, he still is angry, and for the last 13 months I have staggered through denial, and bargaining….pleading with him to talk to me, along with depression weaving its way through the days and weeks and months. Bouncing back and forth between 3 of the 5 stages of grief. Mourning a loss because of a change, not a death.
I have spent 13+ months now turning the whole thing over and over and inside out, trying to understand. Patiently waiting for a chance to talk, to straighten it all out, to apologize. I’m trying to understand.
I know my culpability in the whole situation. I would be the first one to tell you how profoundly flawed I am. The mistakes I have made stay with me, the times I made the wrong call, the moments in time I wish i could go back to and make it right, make it better. I know I am flawed. I know when I’m wrong.
But I also know that when I know better, I try to do better and be better. I learn. I work at it. I try. I hope. And I love completely and unconditionally. I am not perfect, but I am real, and I am honest, and the mistakes I made were never deliberate, never meant to hurt someone, never meant to hurt him.
I spent a long time angry at my mother for my childhood. But as I grew up and went on to have kids of my own, I realized in the process of letting go and forgiving her that 1)when she knew better, she did better. No one can fault someone for not knowing better. and 2) I wasn’t exactly the easiest kid in the world to raise. My mom did what she could with what she had.
I got caught up in the searing pain in my chest as I heard the words that my son didn’t want anything else to do with me. The agony of watching him “block” me on all social media, refuse any contact, or allow me any part in his life. I got lost in denial, bargaining, and depression swirling around me and through me.
The pain, the hurt, the visceral agony in my chest gave way to disbelief, bargaining, pleading, hoping, writing to him, apologizing. Months rolled on, I survived 2016 (mostly), another holiday season…a little more rejection.
The anniversary of Bren’s death reminded me I had lost him too.
And oh Gawd! this hurts.
The clock marches on, the sun rises and sets, another cycle of the moon, I keep thinking.
After 13 months I move forward, just a little bit. baby steps.
I forgave my mother. I own that I was not the easiest damn kid to raise. I forgave my father for walking out and choosing over and over to stay gone. When he died, I was at peace, because I had forgiven him.
My husband cannot seem to get his relationship with his mother to move forward at all. She can’t or won’t grow or try. She won’t apologize. They can’t connect.
I am living with an inoperable brain tumor, but that’s not what drives me to try to learn to be a better mother. I try to learn how to relate to my kids as they get older and my role changes. I apologize when I’m wrong. I try. I hope.
I know I have made mistakes. I know I made the wrong call sometimes. I know I am nothing close to a perfect woman, wife, mother, daughter, sister, or friend. I do know that.
And I guess embracing that means I move just a little bit further as I grieve a change. Is it anger? I’m not sure. What I do know is I have reached a place that tells me, that even with all of my mistakes and imperfections, there are some things I don’t deserve.
I don’t believe that I deserve the way I have been treated. That’s not an easy sentence for me to type and put out there. But it is the truth.
I’ve been pretty quiet lately. Mostly because I feel like I’m up to my eyeballs in trying to understand and survive the new version of Sims~The Insane America version. And, based on the blogs I have seen, and the spreading silence of the others, I’m guessing a lot of people are doing the same thing.
But, I saw my neurologist today, so I figured I’d post an update (and I can share the song I have had in my head for weeks now!)
So….oh, back up. Actually I have a funny story and it sort of relates to my new reality of “Is this brain tumor or not?”.
Last night I was making dinner and …..well, I had to stop for a few minutes and ended up calling hubs (who I knew was already on his way home from work) and …
ring……ring “Hey baby, what’s up?”
“Oh hey. Um, how far out are you?”
“I just pulled into the neighborhood, why?”
“Oh……I may or may not need a stitch or two…”
….”See you in a minute.”
I was slicing mushrooms and the chefs knife decided I was a mushroom too.
Fortunately it wasn’t big or too deep, so we actually went over to urgent care. They said yes, I needed to come get checked out, but instead of 1-2 stitches, the doc elected to do surgical glue.
So I am being a little bit whiny today because I tried to chop the end of my finger off. And ow. And 1/10 do not recommend.
So, forward to today. I had a follow-up with neuro after my swallow test last month.
Mild Dysphasia. Because of brain tumor or not? Hard to say for sure, probably yes, but stable for now. So I tell Dr Neuro I’m having more memory issues. It’s worse if I’m forgetting something and I start to get flustered or if I’m already upset. But it’s a thing, and I’m starting to write things down and back myself up with support people or apps/phone/tablet/etc. So she asks me “What don’t you remember?”
Ummmmm, I don’t know. I can’t remember. Anyway, she followed up with a memory (Alzheimer’s?) baseline test and a quick neuro exam. Declared me stable (ish) and gave me 4 months before I have to see her again, and bounced me back to pulmonology because I’m still coughing, my voice comes and goes, and occasionally I have a productive-ish cough. It’s gross and hanging around since MRSA last April.
So I go see pulmonary dude on the 16th and plead with him again to please just do the damn bronchoscopy. Please? The coughing thing is kind of a pain in the ass.
So, Xunnie and her brain tumor are mostly stable. A little chopped up, kinda whiny sometimes, still coughing, but…..stable.
And I have had this song in my head since the Women’s March.
(But I kinda love it!)
Is “Life as a ping pong ball” too long of a title for the blog entry? Yeah, I kinda thought so, which is why it’s just “Ping Pong”.
A couple of weeks ago I updated with having seen the pulmonologist who bounced me back to my neurologist, thinking the cough, choking, etc could be related to the brain tumor which happens to be hanging out on/near the left 5th cranial nerve which likes to control swallowing. So, in short, pulmonologist-doc thinks it could be neurological.
I bounced back to neurologist with this info, and after a bunch of insurance and referral bullsh…..stuff, I finally got the swallow test scheduled. Because how much fun does being put under a fluoroscope and given barium to swallow sound like?! I know…..I know…..calm down. You all can’t have allllll my fun.
Anywho, next week (the 15th) I have the modified barium swallow test scheduled. Which, I think means they’ll try to see if they can make me choke? or something? And neurologist-doc says “I hope it’s not neurological” and if I pass? fail? prove that it’s not neuro, then I get bounced back to pulmonology.
It’s just been a hell of a year, hasn’t it?
2016 has been rough. For a lot of reasons, and for a lot of people. Tis the season to remind everyone that they matter, and send goodwill and cheer and all that. Please don’t think that I don’t. I’m just kind of stuck myself. By February, I began to wonder if I was going to live through the year. So many losses, so much hurt and heartache this year.
And sometimes I just get so tired of trying and fighting and this insane purgatory of too-much-of-this-and-not-enough-of-that. I have a brain tumor, but it’s not terminal. I’m sick, but not critical. I’m well enough that I’m expected to do most of what I did before I got sick, but I’m afforded time if I need it. I’m exhausted, but still functional. Too much of this, not enough of that. And I live in a world of a constantly changing pain scale.
In pain, but most of the time I manage.
Sick, but (usually) well enough to function.
Disabled, but (usually) capable. Sick, but not infirm. Pain, but only so much.
Life as a ping pong ball. So, yeah, occasionally I hit a wall.
My body, my mind, my heart hurt so much sometimes I can barely breathe. So I remind myself to.
In a world full of hard surfaces and sharp edges, sometimes I wonder why I fight so hard through the pain. When it all feels too big, and too hard, and it hurts too much…I keep fighting.
I’m hurting, but I’m trying. I’m a ping pong ball.