Friday, September 05, 2008
Vacation is GOOD For You (and some slight marketing for Amazon)
Greetings. After not having posted for a while, I have a number of things to discuss. So pull up a chair, grab a beverage of your choice, and let's get going, shall we?
Vacations with Brian - This photo album includes pictures of our trip to New York to see Brian's brother and nieces and nephews. I wish we could have seen more of Scott and Charles, but it was great to spend time with the kids. We tried to go see Wall-E one day, but Charlotte was scared of the explosions, and there was a fire alarm at the movie theater. Instead we we all got together for lunch and then went to the non-fire-alarm end of the mall where there was a carousel. I was satisfied after one ride, but the kids wanted to go again, this time on one of the spinning cars that are like the teacups at Disney World. Olivia is pretty strong, and spun that thing like nobody's business. When they got off, they were staggering like little drunk people. All of the children seem inordinately fond of butter. This is what happens when you eat a mostly healthy diet. That which is usually forbidden becomes irresistibly alluring.
Later in the summer, Brian's parents took us to a minor league baseball game in Midland, Michigan. We got to sit in one of the luxury boxes and were treated to hot dogs, brownies, popcorn, and drinks. It was great fun, although the Great Lakes Loooooooons were defeated by the Iowa Kernels. (Brian and I went to a Tigers game, too, but forgot to bring the camera.)
My mom also generously took us to Stratford's annual Shakespeare Festival, at which they show more than just Shakespeare. We saw Hamlet, The Music Man, and a double-bill of Krapp's Last Tape and...I've forgotten the name of the O'Neill play--oh right: Hughie. We played pool (with a lower-case "p" that rhymes with "T" which stands for...Trouble!), ate swanky foods, and shopped (which I am sure Brian and John don't enjoy all that much).
Also included are some bonus pictures of Bronner's and a shot of me looking shorter than seems possible.
Martha's Vineyard - This is one of my favorite places in the world. I have gone every year (except 1998) for the last 11 years (and have the "Black Dog" t-shirts to prove it!). I get to go due to the generosity of my friend Sarah and her parents (who built the house we stay in and let their kids each have use of the house for a week out of the summer season--Sarah routinely picks the week of her birthday, which almost always involves perfect weather and frequently coincides with the Agricultural Fair). This year we got to see fireworks for Sarah's birthday. I finally bought one of those ribbon-on-a-stick things at the toy store--I frequently get in trouble for playing with the toys at the store and figured I should finally buy one of these things. We go to the yarn store, eat fabulous sandwiches at Humphrey's, drive all over the island, spend time at the beach, go see movies, and spend more than a little time watching movies and knitting. I wish we had busted out the Wii, though. I'd still like to try it.
On my way home, I waited in the airport at my gate next to a gaggle of women who had just been to a convention for Weight Watchers employees. They talked about points and whether or not they bothered using the "activity points" they were entitled to, running discussion groups, and the importance of drinking lots of water. The lady sitting next to me went to get some food and came back with a tuna salad sandwich. She then launched into an explanation of how she initially thought the turkey sandwich would be "better" until she read the label and saw the calories and fat content of each sandwich. The turkey apparently had cheese, mayo, AND pesto--making the tuna a more diet-friendly choice. She whipped out some kind of little device for calculating her points.
I felt very odd sitting there next to women who are obsessed with and employed by the business of losing weight. I keep getting told that I need to eat more because I shouldn't be losing any more weight. Lita doesn't care what I eat--ice cream, bacon, whatever--as long as I eat.
Summer is over, the students are back on campus, and I had some exciting new technology come into my life yesterday. For work I have a shiny new MacBook Pro--I am going to install VMware and then Windows XP so that I can check my web stuff in an array of browsers and platforms. Some of the work I do that looks great in Firefox for Mac doesn't look so great on IE for Windows. I won't have to switch between machines anymore to doublecheck. W00t!
Then when I got home, Brian was so excited about the fact that my birthday present had arrived, that he wanted to give it to me right away. I am very bad at insisting that he save my presents for my actual birthday (which is in October), so I agreed it would be delightful to open it immediately.
It was a box from Amazon containing...AN AMAZON KINDLE! Wheeeeeeeeeeee! I have lots of Amazon credit built up from my associates site (which I really need to update) and have already charged that bad boy up and acquired a few books. It can also store Word or HTML documents and can play mp3s and books in Audible format. I'm so excited! The screen looks awesome. I keep accidentally hitting the "next page" bar but speed-reading is an excellent skill to develop, right? Brian is the best. I also know who else is responsible; you know who you are, and you rock also. :)
The dread of my upcoming paracentesis is not quite enough to dampen my spirits today. Whereas I do get rather upset at the prospect of being jabbed in the belly with a ginormous needle like I am some kind of Capri Sun juice pouch, I have fun toys to come home to, Brian's supportive (and extremely comforting) presence, and the prospect of at least feeling better when the ordeal is over. This is not a procedure I will ever enjoy. Before the last one I had something of a hysterical melt-down and have permission to partake of an extra dose of the Xanax. My liver functions and tumor counts seem to be improving, so it's possible I might be able to have fewer of these taps--or at least spread them out more. I wish I didn't have to do them at all, but I suppose the alternative (exploding like that guy at the end of Monty Python's The Meaning of Life) isn't any better.
Vacations with Brian - This photo album includes pictures of our trip to New York to see Brian's brother and nieces and nephews. I wish we could have seen more of Scott and Charles, but it was great to spend time with the kids. We tried to go see Wall-E one day, but Charlotte was scared of the explosions, and there was a fire alarm at the movie theater. Instead we we all got together for lunch and then went to the non-fire-alarm end of the mall where there was a carousel. I was satisfied after one ride, but the kids wanted to go again, this time on one of the spinning cars that are like the teacups at Disney World. Olivia is pretty strong, and spun that thing like nobody's business. When they got off, they were staggering like little drunk people. All of the children seem inordinately fond of butter. This is what happens when you eat a mostly healthy diet. That which is usually forbidden becomes irresistibly alluring.
Later in the summer, Brian's parents took us to a minor league baseball game in Midland, Michigan. We got to sit in one of the luxury boxes and were treated to hot dogs, brownies, popcorn, and drinks. It was great fun, although the Great Lakes Loooooooons were defeated by the Iowa Kernels. (Brian and I went to a Tigers game, too, but forgot to bring the camera.)
My mom also generously took us to Stratford's annual Shakespeare Festival, at which they show more than just Shakespeare. We saw Hamlet, The Music Man, and a double-bill of Krapp's Last Tape and...I've forgotten the name of the O'Neill play--oh right: Hughie. We played pool (with a lower-case "p" that rhymes with "T" which stands for...Trouble!), ate swanky foods, and shopped (which I am sure Brian and John don't enjoy all that much).
Also included are some bonus pictures of Bronner's and a shot of me looking shorter than seems possible.
Martha's Vineyard - This is one of my favorite places in the world. I have gone every year (except 1998) for the last 11 years (and have the "Black Dog" t-shirts to prove it!). I get to go due to the generosity of my friend Sarah and her parents (who built the house we stay in and let their kids each have use of the house for a week out of the summer season--Sarah routinely picks the week of her birthday, which almost always involves perfect weather and frequently coincides with the Agricultural Fair). This year we got to see fireworks for Sarah's birthday. I finally bought one of those ribbon-on-a-stick things at the toy store--I frequently get in trouble for playing with the toys at the store and figured I should finally buy one of these things. We go to the yarn store, eat fabulous sandwiches at Humphrey's, drive all over the island, spend time at the beach, go see movies, and spend more than a little time watching movies and knitting. I wish we had busted out the Wii, though. I'd still like to try it.
On my way home, I waited in the airport at my gate next to a gaggle of women who had just been to a convention for Weight Watchers employees. They talked about points and whether or not they bothered using the "activity points" they were entitled to, running discussion groups, and the importance of drinking lots of water. The lady sitting next to me went to get some food and came back with a tuna salad sandwich. She then launched into an explanation of how she initially thought the turkey sandwich would be "better" until she read the label and saw the calories and fat content of each sandwich. The turkey apparently had cheese, mayo, AND pesto--making the tuna a more diet-friendly choice. She whipped out some kind of little device for calculating her points.
I felt very odd sitting there next to women who are obsessed with and employed by the business of losing weight. I keep getting told that I need to eat more because I shouldn't be losing any more weight. Lita doesn't care what I eat--ice cream, bacon, whatever--as long as I eat.
Summer is over, the students are back on campus, and I had some exciting new technology come into my life yesterday. For work I have a shiny new MacBook Pro--I am going to install VMware and then Windows XP so that I can check my web stuff in an array of browsers and platforms. Some of the work I do that looks great in Firefox for Mac doesn't look so great on IE for Windows. I won't have to switch between machines anymore to doublecheck. W00t!
Then when I got home, Brian was so excited about the fact that my birthday present had arrived, that he wanted to give it to me right away. I am very bad at insisting that he save my presents for my actual birthday (which is in October), so I agreed it would be delightful to open it immediately.
It was a box from Amazon containing...AN AMAZON KINDLE! Wheeeeeeeeeeee! I have lots of Amazon credit built up from my associates site (which I really need to update) and have already charged that bad boy up and acquired a few books. It can also store Word or HTML documents and can play mp3s and books in Audible format. I'm so excited! The screen looks awesome. I keep accidentally hitting the "next page" bar but speed-reading is an excellent skill to develop, right? Brian is the best. I also know who else is responsible; you know who you are, and you rock also. :)
The dread of my upcoming paracentesis is not quite enough to dampen my spirits today. Whereas I do get rather upset at the prospect of being jabbed in the belly with a ginormous needle like I am some kind of Capri Sun juice pouch, I have fun toys to come home to, Brian's supportive (and extremely comforting) presence, and the prospect of at least feeling better when the ordeal is over. This is not a procedure I will ever enjoy. Before the last one I had something of a hysterical melt-down and have permission to partake of an extra dose of the Xanax. My liver functions and tumor counts seem to be improving, so it's possible I might be able to have fewer of these taps--or at least spread them out more. I wish I didn't have to do them at all, but I suppose the alternative (exploding like that guy at the end of Monty Python's The Meaning of Life) isn't any better.Labels: Brian, John, Lita, liver, Martha's Vineyard, mom, paracentesis, vacation
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Words Just Don't Suffice: allow me instead to say, "wheeeee!"
I am extremely tired after the goings-on yesterday. I love more people and told more people I'd never met before how glad I was to see them, and it was true.I was very happy to have help getting dressed and would like to thank the bridesmaids for being there. I think everybody looked great in their impractical dresses requiring complicated underwear, and think that anybody who agrees to such a duty deserves every amount of kudo possible. I'd like to thank Maria, particularly for marshalling people and getting everyone there in good order and for holding the bouquet at a crucial moment in the ceremony. I'd like to thank Wendy for helping me with the scary elevator; I was afraid the metal accordion-style door thing was going to crush her. I'd like to thank Melissa for being the photographer and helping to organize the group pictures. And I'd like to thank Sarah, who went on with the show despite not being able to attend the rehearsal and for being my witness (sorry I didn't tell you about this blog sooner).
I'd also like to thank the flower girl, Olivia, for doing a great job walking down the aisle, and who provided no small amount of entertainment value afterwards. I hope you like your flower-wreath headpiece.
It's Brian's job to thank the groomsmen, but I'd like to thank them too, especially my brother John, who doesn't know Brian very well but who agreed to participate. You are the best big brother anyone could ever ask for.
I'd like to thank Brian's brother Todd for delivering a very lovely, and mercifully brief ceremony, despite making me cry with the "in sickness and in health" part. If I could go back in time and change anything, I'd have stuffed a handkerchief somewhere about my person.
Thank you, Dad, for walking me down the aisle. I did not imagine I would ever have occasion to do such a thing, and am extremely grateful that you could be here to walk with me.
The table favors were perfect and included two pieces of Brian's favorite candy, Ferrero Rochet, and a small box of my favorite candy, the best candy in the world, hee hee. Brian's mom put them together, and I'd like to thank her not only for making sure they were sweet-tasting, but that they looked very sweet as well.
Finally, I'd like to thank my mom for arranging the whole event with perhaps less input from me than was helpful. I confess disinterest in invitation ink color and I am fearful of calling places for prices. Much of the planning went on while I was hospitalized, and the thought of planning tended to shoot my anxiety level to nausea-indusing heights. Through events yesterday my mom remained calm. I think what touched me most, however, is that when I got home from the rehearsal the other night, I came home and found my walker decorated with shiny irridescent fabric and beaded ribbon. It was funny and touching and kind of puts me in mind of what I must have been like in my own dress--I'm a little bit gimpy and broken, but anything can look pretty when dressed up for a wedding.
Also, the mashed potato bar and baby roast beef sandwiches at the reception were a big hit; I believe my enthusiasm regarding the food was vindicated. (Whenever I went on and got excited about the mashed potato bar that was going to be at the reception--you got your choice of regular or sweet potato with whatever fixins' you wanted--people would tell me, "uh, ok.".)
The cutting of the cake did not involve smashing pastry into any bodily orifices other than the mouth. I'm sure it was an accident that some icing fell into my extremely prominent cleavage.
Labels: anxiety, Brian, Dad, John, Junior Mints, Maria, Melissa, mom, nausea, Olivia, Sarah, Todd, walker, wedding, Wendy
Monday, February 06, 2006
I Am Not a Ragdoll (or, Use the slide board, for the love of God!)
On floor 6A of the hospital I underwent ten sessions of radiation, any number of tests including X-rays and MRIs, and a liver biopsy, which were all terrible in their own way, but I'm going to spend a little time talking about transportation of people with hip fractures.
I know I've mentioned the unbearable, excruciating pain. They had to prescribe liquid morphine so that I could take something to make being moved bearable. There was also some kind of intravenous thing they were giving me that put me into a twilight state that was blessedly numbing. What they do to move a patient onto the transport table is that they get four to six people to grab the extra sheet under the patient (called the "draw sheet"). Everybody grabs an edge of the sheet and then they try to coordinate efforts and heave on the count of three. I found this method to be invariably awful.
On one of the occasions when I was to be moved, I started to cry and somebody promised that a "slide board," which is a slippery body-length board which the patient and draw sheet can be slid over, would make everything better. When the nurses and assistants and orderlies used the slide board, it worked amazingly well. There was no friction. My legs moved at the same time as my hips which moved at the same time as my upper torso...Unbelievable! The people in radiation were good at moving patients without causing any kind of pain (they're used to dealing with people who might have broken spinal things), but for the nursing staff on 6A to do it was amazing. I begged them to use it every time, but there were one or two people who insisted it didn't work or didn't make things any easier. The last example of this was the "kindly" man who directed my transfer when I had to go get my liver biopsied.
John was leaving to go back to Chattanooga, and I was already very sad about that. I don't see my brother often, and when he made plans to come and visit me in Detroit, I'm sure he didn't intend to spend the time visiting the hospital and packing books in my apartment. He looked at me funny when I said I was sorry his trip wasn't better.
Then, when the person directing my transfer made no moves to use the slideboard, I lost it and began sobbing uncontrollably, which never helps with the pain issue. "Now you have to relax," I was told. "It makes it worse if you don't relax."
What makes it worse, a**h***, is being told to f****** relax when you're about to heave and plop me onto a table, while telling me that if it hurts, it's somehow my fault.
Being moved was awful. I cried long after the pain subsided, though. I sat in the surgical waiting/recovery area and sobbed. Everything was awful. I hurt; John was leaving; I was frightened of the biopsy.
I was even more frightened when I found out that this is not something they knock you out for. It was an ultrasound-guided procedure, and I guess they needed me conscious so that they could tell me to not inhale at a certain point, since they insert the biopsy needle in between a couple of ribs.
That's right. They stab you in the chest while you are conscious, and ask you to please not squirm around as they're digging for the right spot.
"Don't worry," the anesthesiologist told me when I appeared apprehensive. "We'll give you a fentanyl drip and you won't feel much discomfort at all. He was not happy when I told him I was already on a fentanyl patch...I guess either he gave me something completely different or reduced the dosage, and the biopsy hurt like hell.
I will never again submit to such a procedure. They'd best not plan anything involving stabbing and searching unless I am totally unconcious for the procedure, because I will resist to the utmost of my ability, particularly if they try to claim that I "won't feel a thing!"
Liars.
They had to try separating my ribs twice, because the first time they jabbed, the needle bounced off. Then, after more careful poking and prodding with the fingers, they jabbed me in a gap between two ribs and inserted. They told me internal organs don't have nerve endings, so I shouldn't feel pain, but I swear I could feel the resistance as the needle encountered different kinds of tissue. So I experienced pain from the initial stab wound and knew exactly when it encountered the liver. I could feel it, and they had to work the needle around a bit to find the "right" spot indicated by the ultrasound.
After it was over and I was back in my room, the radiation team came to get me, but I refused to go. I'd had it; I didn't want to be moved any more, and I exercised my right as a patient to refuse treatment (they did make up for it later).
The next day, the doctor and his accompanying doctorlets were shocked to find out that the biopsy was very painful and that my chest still hurt where the needle went in. To his credit, the doctor was very concerned that I seemed to have anxiety about being seen by them, and that they weren't really able to do much to help me. I said what would help would be if they could always use the slide board to move me, so he agreed to write it as an order in my chart. Being moved was much better after that; I no longer dreaded being moved, I didn't have to take the liquid morphine as frequently, and I started having some positive feelings about the doctor and his interns.
Also, I stopped feeling shy about being moved with the slideboard. I vigilantly reminded people that it was there, and that they were to use it or I wasn't going wherever they wanted to take me.
To be continued...
I know I've mentioned the unbearable, excruciating pain. They had to prescribe liquid morphine so that I could take something to make being moved bearable. There was also some kind of intravenous thing they were giving me that put me into a twilight state that was blessedly numbing. What they do to move a patient onto the transport table is that they get four to six people to grab the extra sheet under the patient (called the "draw sheet"). Everybody grabs an edge of the sheet and then they try to coordinate efforts and heave on the count of three. I found this method to be invariably awful.
On one of the occasions when I was to be moved, I started to cry and somebody promised that a "slide board," which is a slippery body-length board which the patient and draw sheet can be slid over, would make everything better. When the nurses and assistants and orderlies used the slide board, it worked amazingly well. There was no friction. My legs moved at the same time as my hips which moved at the same time as my upper torso...Unbelievable! The people in radiation were good at moving patients without causing any kind of pain (they're used to dealing with people who might have broken spinal things), but for the nursing staff on 6A to do it was amazing. I begged them to use it every time, but there were one or two people who insisted it didn't work or didn't make things any easier. The last example of this was the "kindly" man who directed my transfer when I had to go get my liver biopsied.
John was leaving to go back to Chattanooga, and I was already very sad about that. I don't see my brother often, and when he made plans to come and visit me in Detroit, I'm sure he didn't intend to spend the time visiting the hospital and packing books in my apartment. He looked at me funny when I said I was sorry his trip wasn't better.
Then, when the person directing my transfer made no moves to use the slideboard, I lost it and began sobbing uncontrollably, which never helps with the pain issue. "Now you have to relax," I was told. "It makes it worse if you don't relax."
What makes it worse, a**h***, is being told to f****** relax when you're about to heave and plop me onto a table, while telling me that if it hurts, it's somehow my fault.
Being moved was awful. I cried long after the pain subsided, though. I sat in the surgical waiting/recovery area and sobbed. Everything was awful. I hurt; John was leaving; I was frightened of the biopsy.
I was even more frightened when I found out that this is not something they knock you out for. It was an ultrasound-guided procedure, and I guess they needed me conscious so that they could tell me to not inhale at a certain point, since they insert the biopsy needle in between a couple of ribs.
That's right. They stab you in the chest while you are conscious, and ask you to please not squirm around as they're digging for the right spot.
"Don't worry," the anesthesiologist told me when I appeared apprehensive. "We'll give you a fentanyl drip and you won't feel much discomfort at all. He was not happy when I told him I was already on a fentanyl patch...I guess either he gave me something completely different or reduced the dosage, and the biopsy hurt like hell.
I will never again submit to such a procedure. They'd best not plan anything involving stabbing and searching unless I am totally unconcious for the procedure, because I will resist to the utmost of my ability, particularly if they try to claim that I "won't feel a thing!"
Liars.
They had to try separating my ribs twice, because the first time they jabbed, the needle bounced off. Then, after more careful poking and prodding with the fingers, they jabbed me in a gap between two ribs and inserted. They told me internal organs don't have nerve endings, so I shouldn't feel pain, but I swear I could feel the resistance as the needle encountered different kinds of tissue. So I experienced pain from the initial stab wound and knew exactly when it encountered the liver. I could feel it, and they had to work the needle around a bit to find the "right" spot indicated by the ultrasound.
After it was over and I was back in my room, the radiation team came to get me, but I refused to go. I'd had it; I didn't want to be moved any more, and I exercised my right as a patient to refuse treatment (they did make up for it later).
The next day, the doctor and his accompanying doctorlets were shocked to find out that the biopsy was very painful and that my chest still hurt where the needle went in. To his credit, the doctor was very concerned that I seemed to have anxiety about being seen by them, and that they weren't really able to do much to help me. I said what would help would be if they could always use the slide board to move me, so he agreed to write it as an order in my chart. Being moved was much better after that; I no longer dreaded being moved, I didn't have to take the liquid morphine as frequently, and I started having some positive feelings about the doctor and his interns.
Also, I stopped feeling shy about being moved with the slideboard. I vigilantly reminded people that it was there, and that they were to use it or I wasn't going wherever they wanted to take me.
To be continued...
Labels: biopsy, doctorlets, fentanyl, fracture, hip, hospital, John, liver, morphine, MRI, radiation, slide board, x-rays
