A Charmed Life

Time After Mime

Marcel Marceau died today at the age of 84.  A moment of silence, please.

Right On, Target

If I can complain when a mistake is made, it should follow that I give credit where credit is due when it's made right.  I just got back from my pharmacy (which shall remain nameless, but psst!  Look up ;), where the very penitent pharmacist gave me a gift card not only equivalent to the copays on my Pill prescription, but also for each of my mammograms.  I have Dave to thank for that last bit of inspiration, and am also patting myself on the back for having the right mix of annoyance and diplomacy in my voice to carry it off without being insulting.  (Yes, I am the wounded party here, literally, but there's no sense mucking up my karma being mean.)

My mom always told me, "The squeaky wheel gets the grease".  Of course, she also said, very explicitly, "NO MORE HORMONES".  I always did need to learn the hard way first before admitting she was right.  At least I'm consistent, right? 

I am such a pill, sometimes ;)

I Feel Like A Boob

I feel like an idiot.  Why, you ask?  Perhaps because I freaked myself out over my mammogram for nothing?  Or that I cried to my friends that I might as well die of cancer now since I haven't made a rousing success out of my life and if I kick the bucket early my daughter won't miss me...and now I'm worried that they think I'm nuts?  Well, maybe a little.  But that's not really what's eating at me tonight.

I'm really ticked at myself for taking medication and not looking carefully at what I was putting into my body.  When I picked up my Pill prescription three weeks ago, I noticed that the faux-suede pill "wallet" was purple instead of the usual teal color.  Ditz that I am, I thought, "ooh, pretty", and promptly forgot all about that observation.  Until tonight, when I saw that there were seven white "inactive" pills instead of the usual four.  I peered more closely at the foil insert and read "Yasmin". My prescription is for Yaz. As in, a smaller dose of hormones.  And I am famously sensitive to hormones, as this whole debacle with my mammograms has shown.

I started having side effects of tenderness and pain right away when I started the prescription last spring, but it's only in the last two weeks that they got severe enough for me to become alarmed and call my doctor.  I'm sure that the "good old boys club" of doctors will blow off my concerns to show solidarity to the medical profession, but my pharmacist is going to get a piece of my mind tomorrow morning, anyway.  Yes, I'm a boob for not paying closer attention to my prescription when I picked it up. But that pharmacist could really have hurt someone by not paying attention.  I suppose I'm glad it was me, since all's well that ends well.

I'm going to bed.  I need my breast rest.  Night all!

Photo, Finish!

How many lumps?  Try, NONE.  That's right...my scans came back CLEAR, thank God.  Doc says my ob/gyn needs to monitor me clinically since I've complained of pain.  Which only started when I got on the stupid Pill, which is so getting flushed down the toilet now.

I am so very grateful that there aren't any words.  Now the million other stressful things going on seem like nothing to me.  And my awesome friends and family whom I've stressed out worrying about me?  Mean everything to me.  You know who you are...so, thank you.

Now, onto packing!  I have 25 more days to get this entire house packed up and ready to show before I leave for FL to do the same thing to my dad's place. I'll make my deadline.  Luckily, us high-strung types are also quite efficient ;)

A word to the wise, or to the afraid...no matter how busy you are, or how scared...if you need a mammogram, go get one.  The moment of "owie" is nothing compared to the "owies" you're setting yourself up for if you wait too long.  Next month is Breast Cancer Awareness Month.  If you're attached to your breasts (or you're attached to your partner's breasts!), get informed, get a grip, and get a mammogram and/or breast exam.  Don't let fear get the upper hand.  And if you need a hand to hold, and you're in the greater San Diego area, you can have mine.

Cloud, Nein?

I'm still a little too stressed out to muster up much "funny" this week, so "Weird Wednesday" will be just an update this week.  However, this is my week, so by definition it has to include something strange, right?  Of course!  Would I ever disappoint you?

This morning I had my "special views" mammogram.  Kudos to the lovely and witty Margalit, who sagely pointed out to me that "nobody wants to feel that kind of special".   When the tech showed me the film of my left side from last week, it was a toss-up whether I wanted to pass out or throw up from fright.  There was a big, white cloud over a large area.  Not wispy cirrus cloudy, I'm talking deep white cumulus clouds here.  I figured I was toast, and it was just a matter of finding out what kind of toast.  I'm thinking a nice, sour Jewish rye, myself. 

My tech was wonderfully sweet and friendly and made me chuckle by oohing and aahhing over my cute red bra that perfectly matched my shirt.  (And my belt, shoes, and underwear.  I am a Virgo, after all!)  She was very gentle, but I had to yelp when she rotated my breast medially before compressing it in between the plates.  I've never thought of myself as a good dancer, but apparently I can "twist and shout" with the best of them. 

Then it was time to wait. There was supposed to be a mammographer on duty to do a "wet read" on the film right away.  As for me, I was all wet myself, trying to stop crying like a ninny and take it like a warrior like my mom did.  (Mixed results.  I'm a lover, not a fighter.)  I thought of everyone who was pulling for me, and everyone who was praying for me.  I thought of my SIL, who I have no doubt been driving insane, since she is utterly convinced that I am fine.  She knows me probably better than anyone else does, and is one of the only friends I have that is as religious as I am, so when I called her last Saturday morning to tell her that I really thought there had been something in my breast, and it felt like it was gone, she didn't bat an eye.  She's been part of my family for so many years, and has seen so many things happen that are out of the ordinary, that she never questioned my feelings.  And don't get me wrong, I"m Catholic and I truly believe, but I'm a logical person by nature as well, and this? Felt very strange.  And illogical.  Hey, it was very early in the morning, coming out of a dream state, obviously hadn't had my coffee.  And nobody could blame me for a little fantastical optimism, right?

The tech came back into the room and explained that the mammographer wasn't there that morning but would come in the following day.  Cue the waterworks from wimpy Deb again, who's freaking out over that two or three inch-long white spot on the scan.  Then the tech told me, "well, we didn't see it  this time".  So I asked her to show me the film.  Sure enough...nothing like the first one at all.  She said maybe it was just the way the tissues were lying against each other in the first scan, and "we really squashed it this time".  (I'll say!) 

I don't have the all-clear yet by any means.  I'm also not trying to preach to anyone- I'm simply sharing my experience of what I felt and what happened.  I am grateful that whatever they may find in today's film, it probably won't be a lesion the size of what I saw on last Friday's mammogram.   Am I saying that I think I had a tumor and that God took it away?  Actually, I'm not. I'm simply saying that if I'm a person who believes in a God who can act in anyone's life, it should follow that I have to allow that He could act in mine.  Hey, maybe that feeling was just a little message that the "something" that was there was a hormonal change that was going to go away naturally. I don't think God is above little stuff like that. Not all miracles have to  be big ones.  Frankly, the idea that I have so many people in my life willing to pull for me, pray for me, or put up with me?  Is the really big miracle.   And that's what has me on Cloud Nine.  I'm grateful for my life, no matter what those scans are going to say.

But, you know, keep those candles lit anyway, OK?  And feel free to share your own points of view and experiences.  Weirdest winner gets a bag of partially-defrosted mixed veggies.

As You Wish

I'm beginning to think that stress and the resulting insomnia are going to finish me off well before cancer ever has a chance to!  My free two cents' worth of advice to anyone waiting for medical test results:  stay AWAY from Google.  I mean it, BACK AWAY FROM THE KEYBOARD.  If you have no idea what you have (if anything at all!), and you use their (very excellent) search engines to explore all the possible outcomes, expect to add a malady or two to your list by the time you're done.  Trust me, you'll start out Googling stuff like "inflammatory breast cancer" and end up with a side order of "twitch under left eye", or "headache + brain tumor + metastasis?".  It's called "eye strain".  GO TO BED. Or I'll send my badass SIL after you.  She's already threatened me with grievous bodily harm if I don't stop researching all the lovely ways in which I'm afraid I'm going to die, and I see no reason why I should let her waste a fantastic lecture/whupping on just lil' old me.  (Have I mentioned she worked OCS for the Air Force, making grown men cry and loving every minute of it?  I ain't messin' with her and neither should you.)

Do I sound like I'm getting a little better of a grip?  I'm still terrified.  I did get my repeat scan moved up to Wednesday instead of Friday, and on Monday morning I'll call my ob/gyn AGAIN and beg her to order up an MRI as well.  You know what's hilarious?  That you can't wear any deodorant for a mammogram.  That's right, the very situation that would make you sweat buckets from fear, and you have to smell bad, too.  I should have gone down there all smelly and stunk up the waiting room until they agreed to take me this week!

What I'm finding helps me the most is talking and laughing with my friends. It's lonely here at home with a two year-old that I can't afford to break down in front of. It's been the most stressful week I've had since my mom was dying, and my friends have really helped me keep my sanity. I'm not too worried about the phone bill, since 1) we have a good fantastic plan, 2) if I'm fine I won't give two hoots about the bill, and 3) if I'm not?  Least of my problems.  Anyway, the other day my old college buddy J. mentioned the movie, "The Princess Bride".  Being half Sicilian I have a soft spot for Vizzini.  I Googled it to look up the exact wording of the quote he was asking about (L., you never said I couldn't use Google for other stuff!  Put down the hairbrush!  Owww!), and upon refreshing my memory on some of the film's other lines, found it to be more profound than I remembered.

I've mentioned before that I've recently gone back to the Catholic church and am very much enjoying exploring my faith as an adult.  (If faith-based discussions make you twitchy, feel free to take a bathroom break at this point.  Or, stick around, and find that intelligent, rational people can also be very religious without threatening you personally.  Your decision.)  One of the things I have the most problem with is "letting go" and trusting God (or really anyone, for that matter...seems I'm a bit of a control freak) to handle my life and my problems in the way that He deems most appropriate.   It's not that I don't think He's right.  It's that I know He is, and I'm afraid of the outcome to the point where I kid myself that I'm running this show.  So while I was reading over some of the "Princess" quotes, this one jumped out at me, "That day, she was amazed to discover that when he was saying "As you wish", what he meant was, "I love you." And even more amazing was the day she realized she truly loved him back."

I'm new to the whole Church thing and I'm not well-versed in the Bible.  But it seems to me that Jesus said something very similar while praying to his Father before being taken away to be crucified.  He allowed himself to be sacrificed out of love.  Whatever anyone else in those jeering crowds had to say about him at the time, I know they had to admit that that Nazarene guy had some serious guts.

I don't feel like I have quite so many guts.  I can take the pain, I'm just worried about its cause. It hurts to hug my baby girl and I'm terrified that the day I don't get to hug her anymore isn't nearly as far away as I want it to be. Say, 2090 or so.  I cry the minute everyone else's back is turned because I see what it's like to die of cancer and I so don't want to go out that way.  I'm mad at myself for every time I whine to my friends because why should they have to hear about my stress all the time when it could just be nothing? (Please, God, let it be nothing..)  I suppose there will be plenty of time to make it up to them later if that's the case (see: phone bill example, above.)

Long story short:  Dear God- As. You.  Wish.

Dear Cancer (whether you are lurking in my body or just considering invading my DNA at some future point):  Never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line. 

You killed my mother.  Prepare to die.

Stupor-hero? (Rise of the Web Surfer?)

I am soooo tired..and I'm such an idiot, I forgot to call my dad today, so now I have to wake up at four in the morning (7 a.m. Florida time) to wish him a safe trip.  To Italy.  If he manages to stay put at his gate in Philly and not wander off and end up in the Congo instead.  Ugh.  Alzheimer's is bad enough, we really don't need him spreading the Ebola virus, too.  Hey, it could happen, the Bubonic Plague came from Sicily in the first place.

Not like I am going to get much sleep tonight, anyway.  My stoopid doctor's office ignored my message to them today and never called me with my mammography (is that the right word?  I think I like "mammogrammination" better, but I don't want to blow up my spell-checker or have Dubya start IMing me) results.  Which the radiology center has already read.  I swear, if I ever get my hands on that no-message-taking nurse, I am going to clamp her into that Mammograminator myself and take a leisurely lunch while she stands there trapped on her tiptoes trying to take shallow breaths.  Don't worry, I'm not completely rotten, I'll bring her back a nice chicken cutlet sandwich...

I really need a good old-fashioned superhero.  (Oh great, now I have the song from "Robin Hood: Men In Tights" running through my head.)  The problem is that the only person I know rushing around to save the day is me!  Can't you just see me in a leotard and cape, with a big D (or DD) on my chest?  Nahh, my getup would have to have lots of pockets, for both phones, cell and home, ringing off the hook, a Kashi bar for the bottomless pit of snacks that is my child, business card slots for three different realtors' cards (California, Colorado and Florida)...and have built-in Spanx, a la Jessica Alba's costume.  Hey, tights ain't kind to the cellulite, and I can't save the day if I'm blinding innocent people!  Since I'm more than halfway to being Looney Tunes anyhow, maybe Acme can make me a costume.

I'm probably asking too much, wishing for superpowers.  I did have a discussion with friends one time about which minor superpower they'd choose for themselves.  Nothing potentially life-saving, like being able to produce a tiny flame at will, and nothing you could get from surgery, like 20-10 eyesight or a Bionic Rack.  I'm talking about a power that is more of a convenience, like for instance never getting tan lines.  Me, I'm tossed up between two choices:  first, the ability to see my reflection in the palm of ny hand so that I could discreetly check for parsley between my teeth while on a dinner date.  It's either that, or just enough telekinesis to adjust my thong when I forget and wear one with a skort (anyone else have this problem?  Seriously, there's just something about a skort that wants to eat my underwear..).

What's your secret minor superpower of choice? Winner gets a new pair of brown cable-knit tights (my superhero persona is very preppy) , and half a chicken cutlet sandwich. Happy Wednesday!

Getting A Grip, So to Speak

I really should at least be attempting to sleep, so this will be short.  First:  if you're ever in a spot in your life where you are freaked out and terrified and blubbering to your nice friends who call long distance to check on you?  And they don't bat an eyelash/tell you to snap out of it/block their phone number?  They're truly your friends.  Share all of your best chocolate with them.  And, maybe take a deep breath (or a Xanax) before answering the phone, next time! 

((Thanks for listening M. and J., you really made my day.))

Secondly, for all the ladies out there who have not had the pleasure of seeing their breasts made into cutlets by the Dreaded Mammograminator...it doesn't hurt a bit.  Eyebrow waxing is WAY more painful.  Trust me, I'm Sicilian, I got three of 'em.  Uhh, eyebrows, not breasts.  Aaanyhow...never, ever put off getting a mammogram for fear of the pain.  The painful part is the waiting for results part, but think of it this way...if you're procrastinating, you really are just waiting for your results, in the long run.

Here's the funny part, though. Come on, this is *me*, you know I have to crack a joke in here somewhere!  The tech sandwiched me into what is basically a clear acrylic vise, then said, "Stay there!".  She was serious!  I stared at her for a second and replied, "Lady, trust me, I ain't goin' nowhere!" 

Except, now, to bed.  Oh, and I just remembered...I bought turkey cutlets for tomorrow's dinner.  I was going to pound them flat for the recipe I'm using them in, but maybe I can just go back to the radiology office, instead.  They can flatten them, *and* cook them, at the same time..

Taking My Lumps

While packing for our move the other day, I found an old birthday card from my mother, dated September of 2004.  I celebrated my birthday with her that year, since she'd scheduled the removal of her cancerous lung for the 33rd anniversary of the birth of her only daughter- for good luck, she said.  Inside the card, she'd written, "I knew I could think of a way for us to spend your birthday together!". I was and still am completely blown away by her courage and sense of humor.  I hope I can come up with half the guts that she had.  You see, by my birthday this year, I should have the results of my very first mammogram, scheduled for 11 a.m. tomorrow. 

I remember the first time I realized I wasn't a young adult anymore.  I was packing for a trip and realized that my vitamins and medications outweighed my cosmetics and jewelry.  Uhh, that just means I'm naturally gorgeous, right?  (Throw me a bone here, people!)  I realized that I'd actually been doing things like checking the fat grams and sodium on my packaged foods.  I know better than to go nuts on a package of Oreo cookies because my metabolism just isn't what it used to be.  OK, so I ate most of a batch of Rice Krispy treats last month.  But that was medicinal!)  At almost 36 years of age, I worry about the cholesterol and blood pressure and calcium levels that my 26 year-old self never gave a second thought to.  Getting older is no picnic, but it beats the heck out of the alternative, so I do things like eating quinoa when I'd rather have quiche.  (Actually, I love quinoa.  It's late and I needed something to go with "quiche".)  I'm quite willing to stop acting like a kid and take my lumps as a grownup.  I was just kind of hoping that none of those lumps would be in my breasts.

Have I mentioned that it's practically a family tradition on my mom's side to  die of breast cancer?  Some families have cool traditions like tailgate parties or going down the shore every summer.  Not us!  Why settle for BBQ, when you can have radiation instead?

It's probably nothing, right?  The pain and "lumpiness" on my left side were described by my ob/gyn today as "fibrocystic change", formerly known as fibrocystic disease.   She didn't think that the ever-so-slightly inverted nipple on that side was a problem.  And the left side is where I had mastitis while nursing.  But it didn't keep her from ordering a mammogram on both breasts ASAP. The left side definitely feels different than the right, and hurts more, too.  I'm praying that it's just a side effect from the hormones in the Pill that I started in April, and that between stopping them and watching my caffeine intake, everything will be just fine.

Ooh, then I could do that Pete Puma/Bugs Bunny routine, of "How many lumps??  Oh, three or four".   If it does turn out to be cancer, though, maybe I could go the route of the legendary Amazons, female warriors who lopped off a breast in order to better wield a bow and arrow.  Except, I hate archery. I'm more of a bowling gal, myself.  I doubt a mastectomy would do much for my (lousy, I love to bowl but really suck at it) game, except to maybe distract attention away from the truly hideous shoes.

I know, I'm getting ahead of myself. That should be my middle name, frankly.  But I'm scared, in addition to being really overwhelmed and very, very pissed off.  I'm in the middle of arranging major home repairs so I can get this place on the market before flying off to Florida to do the same thing to my dad's house.  I need my wits about me.  I don't have time to be dragging a two year-old to doctors' appointments, much less be sick. 

So if you're the praying type, please say one for me, for my sanity if nothing else.  If you're Catholic, light a candle.  Heck, bring a torch, Jeannette, Isabella. And if you haven't heard from me in awhile, or don't hear from me for awhile. bear with me.  I have way too much on my way too small plate and I can't stand to be a downer to the people I care about. Email is always welcome and appreciated, as are hugs if they're not too tight and not on the left side ;)  I always write back because I don't have to worry about getting choked up in print, and I'm not sleeping well anyway so I might as well stay up and write.

Enough of this serious crap.  I am going to go practice for my test tomorrow by repeatedly closing my breasts in the refrigerator door.  Maybe I'll grab a little snack while I'm in there, too.  My metabolism isn't what it used to be but it's better now than it ever will be again...I wonder if we've got any Miracle Whip...

Nessun Dorma (None Shall Sleep Tonight)

I just read that Luciano "Lucky" Pavarotti has lost his battle with pancreatic cancer tonight.  I can't help but think of how much his family must have suffered with him during his illness. If he was larger than life to the millions of people who learned to appreciate opera from listening to his voice, imagine the enormous void he must be leaving behind to those close to him.  Hopefully, they can find comfort in the fact that his angelic voice brought such joy to his fans, and is now certainly ringing out strongly again. A quote from Walter Savage Landor, "Music is God's gift to man, the only art of Heaven given to earth, the only art of earth we take to Heaven".

I think I'll go look for my opera CDs now...happy Love Thursday...