Wednesday, September 10, 2008
The Hip Bone's Connected to the...Thigh Bone (isn't it?)
And so I've been having some hip pain for the last few days, which seemed to feel worse as I either twisted while putting weight on my left leg, or tried to roll over in bed.
Normally I would chalk it up to random soreness (like the pain in my shoulder I think comes from sleeping on my arm in a wonky manner), but I refuse to blow off pain in my hips, especially after the ordeal in 2005 which left me with pelvis crumbs, requiring a month-long stay in the hospital after seven months of useless and ineffective treatment, and required a move to an apartment without lots of stairs.
I was going to call my nurse practitioner about it in a few days if the pain hadn't gone away, but at infusion today the chemo nurse asked if I was having any pain. So I admitted that I was, that it wasn't bad, but I was wondering if I should get an ex-ray or something. So I spoke to the PA, who set me up with ex-rays right away. They got a wheelchair for me--it was very wide; I felt compelled to make beeping noises as we rolled down the hallway--because they didn't want my hip to blow out as I was on my way for a diagnostic test.
The results did show some "activity." Unlike the last time, the part that's becoming a little spongy is the spot connecting the main part of my left femur with the ball joint that fits into the socket of the pelvis. I think there's also some damage on the top ridge of my pelvis. The PA told me I'd need more precise scans--which I am hoping do NOT include a CT with contrast dye because IVs are eeeeeeeeeeevil--and I'll be set up with an appointment to see the orthopedic surgeon. I saw her once before when I began treatment at U of M. There was noting to be done about my pelvis then, but there might be something to be done to "shore up" my femur.
I've got a cane now because I really don't want to tote a dorky old-person walker with me wherever I go. I need one of the hot-rod walkers that have the hand-brakes and built-in seat.
Normally I would chalk it up to random soreness (like the pain in my shoulder I think comes from sleeping on my arm in a wonky manner), but I refuse to blow off pain in my hips, especially after the ordeal in 2005 which left me with pelvis crumbs, requiring a month-long stay in the hospital after seven months of useless and ineffective treatment, and required a move to an apartment without lots of stairs.
I was going to call my nurse practitioner about it in a few days if the pain hadn't gone away, but at infusion today the chemo nurse asked if I was having any pain. So I admitted that I was, that it wasn't bad, but I was wondering if I should get an ex-ray or something. So I spoke to the PA, who set me up with ex-rays right away. They got a wheelchair for me--it was very wide; I felt compelled to make beeping noises as we rolled down the hallway--because they didn't want my hip to blow out as I was on my way for a diagnostic test.
The results did show some "activity." Unlike the last time, the part that's becoming a little spongy is the spot connecting the main part of my left femur with the ball joint that fits into the socket of the pelvis. I think there's also some damage on the top ridge of my pelvis. The PA told me I'd need more precise scans--which I am hoping do NOT include a CT with contrast dye because IVs are eeeeeeeeeeevil--and I'll be set up with an appointment to see the orthopedic surgeon. I saw her once before when I began treatment at U of M. There was noting to be done about my pelvis then, but there might be something to be done to "shore up" my femur.
I've got a cane now because I really don't want to tote a dorky old-person walker with me wherever I go. I need one of the hot-rod walkers that have the hand-brakes and built-in seat.
Labels: CT scan, hip, infusion, IV, Lita, stairs, walker, wheelchair, x-rays
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Anniversary!
For a while I've been marking cancerversaries. November 5: my surgery date. November 3: second bone scan and confirmation of metastatic disease. December: hospital stay. I don't think I will be able to forget and keep from feeling unease when late fall rolls around again, but a new marker of passing time is coming up.
February 25 will be Brian and my first wedding anniversary. I confess that when we got married, I was not entirely convinced that I would be seeing an anniversary, but I am thrilled and relieved to comment that my notion of impending doom was silly and that we will be seeing many more anniversaries.
February 14 will be my first Valentine's Day as a married person. April 13 is the anniversary of our first date (at La Shish...Brian rode his Harley for optimum impact). Spring is considered to be a time of renewal and rebirth. Usually this is represented by bunnies, tulips, and Cadbury eggs. I represent it by throwing off the shackles of my wheelchair, walker, and Fentanyl patches, and by celebrating what is good instead of being mired in what's miserable.
February 25 will be Brian and my first wedding anniversary. I confess that when we got married, I was not entirely convinced that I would be seeing an anniversary, but I am thrilled and relieved to comment that my notion of impending doom was silly and that we will be seeing many more anniversaries.
February 14 will be my first Valentine's Day as a married person. April 13 is the anniversary of our first date (at La Shish...Brian rode his Harley for optimum impact). Spring is considered to be a time of renewal and rebirth. Usually this is represented by bunnies, tulips, and Cadbury eggs. I represent it by throwing off the shackles of my wheelchair, walker, and Fentanyl patches, and by celebrating what is good instead of being mired in what's miserable.
Labels: anniversary, bone scan, Brian, cancerversary, fentanyl, hospital, metastasis, motorcycle, surgery, walker, wedding, wheelchair
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
Thursday, February 23, 2006
Two days before the wedding
It's two days before my wedding, I'm still fighting nausea, and there's an awful lot of backstory to cover.
I discovered in the hospital that you can't depend on the caregivers to necessarily give the best care, whatever their intentions. It is vitally important to keep track of your own treatment and to speak up if something doesn't seem right.
Unfortunately, many of the things that don't seem right are just a natural result of being ill or damaged. I started suffering ungodly muscle spasms, particularly at night. You know how when you fall asleep, sometimes your body does that all-over jerk that feels like you've just fallen from mid-air? Or sometimes it feels like electricity, or like all of your muscles just have to tighten all at once. It's involuntary, and usually harmless, but with my hip fracture, it was unbearably painful.
I also had a huge amount of nausea, which seemed to be made worse by anxiety. Every time the attending doctor and his little doctorlets came by, I felt ill. When my mom wanted to talk about wedding invitations--what kind of print, wording, whether to say "the parents of" or have them be from Brian and me--I felt queasy. When anybody talked about possible discharge from the hospital, I became ill. Where was I going to go? I couldn't imagine going back to the second-story apartment in Westland. But what else could I do? Brian began searching for other apartments, and looking at options also made me feel queasy.
At this point, I began physical therapy. I was on some level glad to be getting out of that torturous hospital device they call a "bed" and beginning the process of becoming something that wasn't an immobile lump of protoplasm, although actually having to do it was painful, difficult, tiring, and also caused nausea. Sitting up for long was difficult at first, but at least I did know--from previous experience--that it would pass and that getting up and moving around would ultimately be good for me. The physical therapist would show up, bring a walker, and have me try to get out of bed and move around. First it was three feet away from the bed and back. Then it was to the door and back. Then it was through the door, across the hall and back. Each time my jaunts got successively longer, and she recommended--as an alternative to going home or going into an "assistive care facility" (read: "nursing home")--that I be admitted to the intensive rehabilitation unit on the same floor of the hospital. I would do physical and occupational therapy twice a day.
So I moved to the room where I would spend my Christmas.
On my first day of occupational therapy, I was measured for compression stockings and given a set of adaptive equipment of the kind they gave to Grandma when she had her hip injury several years ago. I too got the sock put-er on-er, the grippy thing, the giant shoe horn, the pants hook. I'm not sure if Grandma also got the leg loop (it looks like one of those "invisible dog" leashes) or not; I found mine to be incredibly helpful for moving my legs onto and off of the bed.
Physical therapy consisted of walking for longer and longer distances using the walker (but putting no weight on the right foot), doing leg exercises on the mat, and occasionally doing arm strengthening using the pulleys or fulcrum weights. They also taught skills like stepping up onto a curb using a walker, sitting down in a car seat from either a wheelchair or a walker, and using a crutch to go up and down stairs.
I had too much anxiety to do the stairs. I was just too worried about my hips crumpling like phyllo pastry, and the therapists didn't press me.
Occupational therapy consisted of getting me dressed and showered in the mornings, and in the afternoon doing a combination of eye-hand coordination activities, some arm strengthening activities, and some arts and crafts. I saw people making these rubber mats with the Michigan M and when offered the tubs of colored rubber tiles, decided I would try to get creative and make an aquatic scene. The therapist was getting visibly impatient with me (she wanted to clear space off the counter) and I couldn't spend as much time planning my picture as I wanted, so I had to do a fairly rudimentary scene with two fish, gravel, some plants, and two different colors of blue to indicate the depth of the water.
Nobody told me it was going to be a doormat. If I'd known, as I told one of the substitute therapists on the Christmas break, I would have planned the picture to be horizontally aligned...as it was, they must have thought I was either mentally deranged or just really careless.
The other therapist turned it sideways the way I had planned it. "Oh hey, that's actually pretty cute!"
I discovered in the hospital that you can't depend on the caregivers to necessarily give the best care, whatever their intentions. It is vitally important to keep track of your own treatment and to speak up if something doesn't seem right.
Unfortunately, many of the things that don't seem right are just a natural result of being ill or damaged. I started suffering ungodly muscle spasms, particularly at night. You know how when you fall asleep, sometimes your body does that all-over jerk that feels like you've just fallen from mid-air? Or sometimes it feels like electricity, or like all of your muscles just have to tighten all at once. It's involuntary, and usually harmless, but with my hip fracture, it was unbearably painful.
I also had a huge amount of nausea, which seemed to be made worse by anxiety. Every time the attending doctor and his little doctorlets came by, I felt ill. When my mom wanted to talk about wedding invitations--what kind of print, wording, whether to say "the parents of" or have them be from Brian and me--I felt queasy. When anybody talked about possible discharge from the hospital, I became ill. Where was I going to go? I couldn't imagine going back to the second-story apartment in Westland. But what else could I do? Brian began searching for other apartments, and looking at options also made me feel queasy.
At this point, I began physical therapy. I was on some level glad to be getting out of that torturous hospital device they call a "bed" and beginning the process of becoming something that wasn't an immobile lump of protoplasm, although actually having to do it was painful, difficult, tiring, and also caused nausea. Sitting up for long was difficult at first, but at least I did know--from previous experience--that it would pass and that getting up and moving around would ultimately be good for me. The physical therapist would show up, bring a walker, and have me try to get out of bed and move around. First it was three feet away from the bed and back. Then it was to the door and back. Then it was through the door, across the hall and back. Each time my jaunts got successively longer, and she recommended--as an alternative to going home or going into an "assistive care facility" (read: "nursing home")--that I be admitted to the intensive rehabilitation unit on the same floor of the hospital. I would do physical and occupational therapy twice a day.
So I moved to the room where I would spend my Christmas.
On my first day of occupational therapy, I was measured for compression stockings and given a set of adaptive equipment of the kind they gave to Grandma when she had her hip injury several years ago. I too got the sock put-er on-er, the grippy thing, the giant shoe horn, the pants hook. I'm not sure if Grandma also got the leg loop (it looks like one of those "invisible dog" leashes) or not; I found mine to be incredibly helpful for moving my legs onto and off of the bed.
Physical therapy consisted of walking for longer and longer distances using the walker (but putting no weight on the right foot), doing leg exercises on the mat, and occasionally doing arm strengthening using the pulleys or fulcrum weights. They also taught skills like stepping up onto a curb using a walker, sitting down in a car seat from either a wheelchair or a walker, and using a crutch to go up and down stairs.
I had too much anxiety to do the stairs. I was just too worried about my hips crumpling like phyllo pastry, and the therapists didn't press me.
Occupational therapy consisted of getting me dressed and showered in the mornings, and in the afternoon doing a combination of eye-hand coordination activities, some arm strengthening activities, and some arts and crafts. I saw people making these rubber mats with the Michigan M and when offered the tubs of colored rubber tiles, decided I would try to get creative and make an aquatic scene. The therapist was getting visibly impatient with me (she wanted to clear space off the counter) and I couldn't spend as much time planning my picture as I wanted, so I had to do a fairly rudimentary scene with two fish, gravel, some plants, and two different colors of blue to indicate the depth of the water.
Nobody told me it was going to be a doormat. If I'd known, as I told one of the substitute therapists on the Christmas break, I would have planned the picture to be horizontally aligned...as it was, they must have thought I was either mentally deranged or just really careless.
The other therapist turned it sideways the way I had planned it. "Oh hey, that's actually pretty cute!"
Labels: anxiety, Brian, doctorlets, Grandma, hip, hospital, mom, nausea, physical therapy, spasms, stairs, walker, wedding, wheelchair
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Chocolate Weekend: or, I've been watching too much Food Network
The Food Network (I am enjoying the novelty of cable very much) declared this past weekend to be devoted to chocolate and luuuuuuuv. There were specials on cooking with chocolate, making various confections, the history of chocolate, a chocolate sculpture competition, a wedding cake competition, a very odd segment in which some quirky dude blindfolded people and had them taste unusual items dipped in melted chocolate from one of those new chocolate fountains (oddly, people liked the chocolate-covered cheese puff, and the chocolate-covered carrot wasn't that bad...nay on the chocolate-dipped cheddar cheese, however), most of which I saw multiple times. I've clearly been watching too much of this channel as events will prove, and actually found myself announcing to Brian exactly why I was following particular steps in my cooking this evening.
"Now I'm coating each granule with butter before adding the stock..."
Yes, I cooked for the first time in many months tonight. I intended to do it all myself, but became completely exhausted and had help for the final stages, but am happy and proud to have been able to do something nice for Brian, who's been working very hard to keep me well-fed, despite the challenges (more on that later).
I don't have very many dishes in my repertoire, but one I particularly like involves couscous with toasted pine nuts and chicken with a savory tomato-vegetable sauce adapted from a recipe for something called "chicken provençal" in my cookbook. I tend to use more garlic than required and have nixed the anchovies and olives. It contains onion, garlic, zucchini, eggplant, diced tomato, chicken broth, extra tomato paste or sauce, all simmered together. The chicken is dredged in salted & peppered flour then pan-seared and finally finished up in the vegetable mix. The couscous is cooked with chicken broth instead of water to which a pinch of cinnamon and coriander have been added. The secret ingredient seems to be the pinch of cayenne pepper in the vegetables. The whole thing is very savory and spicy.
We went shopping for ingredients yesterday at Meijer, where I tooled around in one of those motorized scooters. I managed not to run anybody over and was getting really good at making three-point 180 turns. At the store I went a little nuts and started tossing swanky cheeses into my basket. Strawberries. A giant bag of chocolate chips. A French baguette. Crackers.
When the gentleman arrived home from work, there was a platter of various cheeses and fruits, including camembert (a less bitter cousin of Brie and one of my favorites), double gloucester, and some kind of white cheese that had cranberries in it. I also had grapes and strawberries on the tray, some pistachios, and a wine glass filled with apple slices. I also made up a few appetizers consisting of a bread round, slice of camembert, apple slice, drizzled with balsamic vinegar. I regret not having taken a picture of the cheese tray, but we did have presence of mind to photograph the dessert, which was chocolate covered strawberries, which I made this morning.
They were served on a chocolate heart-shaped plate which I sculpted from the leftover melted chocolate and put in the freezer on a telephone book to keep its shape.
The Food Network is creating a monster.
The double-boiler which melted the chocolate, the appetizer plates, the wine glasses, and the beautiful flower centerpiece were gifts from my wedding shower, which took place this past Sunday, thrown by my friends Robyn and Lori. Robyn, as I have often said to people, is a devotée of Martha Stewart. Robyn has impeccable taste and is very good at hosting events and putting together all manner of party things. Foods. Centerpieces. It's really quite amazing.
So the two of them threw of lovely luncheon at The Dearborn Inn, to which a small group of friends and coworkers was invited. There were incredibly delicious sandwiches, there was cake (I have been breakfasting on cake leftovers), there were gifts which will necessitate thank-you notes before I forget who gave me what. I've been having a stupidly great time picking registry things; I tried to be practical, but then was talked into asking for bone china, stemware, flatware, and serving pieces by Robyn, who kept insisting, "Are you sure you don't want to sign up for some Waterford crystal or some Lenox china?" My favorite gift was the 3-tier serving tray which I envision using for high tea. I will need to be sure to invite Robyn and Lori for cucumber sandwiches some day soon. Brian was invited to the shower, which he attended with great aplomb, despite his personal preference to be doing almost anything else.
Saturday was equally devoted to girly things as I desperately wanted to go get my hair done at the Mall. I had decided I wanted drastic highlights, which made the whole affair take longer. Then I needed to consult with the stylist about what to do with hair for the wedding since I won't be able to have somebody do it for me. She suggested hot rollers. I have since acquired hot rollers and a wet/dry straightener. (I've also been watching too many makeover shows courtesy of cable as well.)
I am unappologetic about doing frivolous things for myself; this is the first week in a long time I have actually not spent any time vomiting. I am no longer taking MS Contin, which made me unbearably ill. The constant nausea has made keeping me fed and hydrated very difficult. Brian had been trying to tempt me by listing multiple food options in the hopes of finding something that did not repulse me, but having foods listed to me seemed to bring on the nausea. I have tried multiple medications including Zofran, Tigan, and now Anzimet (which, to those without insurance, costs $9,000 for a month's supply). I had been vomiting at least once per week; the last time was at Sears shortly after my last bridal gown fitting. What if the food at the reception bothers me and I yak all over my wedding dress?
Now I feel like that won't be a problem; I'm so relieved.
I am finding other things easier, and yet have new aches and pains which always frighten me. Walking is getting easier; I am beginning to wonder if it might be possible to use the walker only as a backup for going down the aisle. Maybe my dad will be able to bolster me enough without it...I don't know and might be too frightened of falling to try. My hands suddenly hurt more than they ever have before and opening jars is uncomfortable and my fingers are noticably stiff. Is it the arthritis-like ailment of which takers of Arimidex complain? Is it lesions on the bones in my hands? Is this pain in my side a result of stretching funny or are the bones cracked here like they are in my pelvis? Will I ever know how damaged my skeleton is, and are there things I should be doing (or things I should be avoiding) to keep it from collapsing like a crushed can?
I have an appointment with Dr. Hayes next week. Should I wait, or should I ask about my symptoms before then? I never know. Honestly, I'm hesitant to bring it up with Lita, because she will schedule me for more medical tests and appointments right away.
In the meantime, I will watch more cable to take my mind off things, eat some leftover cake, and admire how even something as pedestrian as Crystal Light can taste really good when taken in wafer-thin glass stemware.
"Now I'm coating each granule with butter before adding the stock..."
Yes, I cooked for the first time in many months tonight. I intended to do it all myself, but became completely exhausted and had help for the final stages, but am happy and proud to have been able to do something nice for Brian, who's been working very hard to keep me well-fed, despite the challenges (more on that later).
I don't have very many dishes in my repertoire, but one I particularly like involves couscous with toasted pine nuts and chicken with a savory tomato-vegetable sauce adapted from a recipe for something called "chicken provençal" in my cookbook. I tend to use more garlic than required and have nixed the anchovies and olives. It contains onion, garlic, zucchini, eggplant, diced tomato, chicken broth, extra tomato paste or sauce, all simmered together. The chicken is dredged in salted & peppered flour then pan-seared and finally finished up in the vegetable mix. The couscous is cooked with chicken broth instead of water to which a pinch of cinnamon and coriander have been added. The secret ingredient seems to be the pinch of cayenne pepper in the vegetables. The whole thing is very savory and spicy.
We went shopping for ingredients yesterday at Meijer, where I tooled around in one of those motorized scooters. I managed not to run anybody over and was getting really good at making three-point 180 turns. At the store I went a little nuts and started tossing swanky cheeses into my basket. Strawberries. A giant bag of chocolate chips. A French baguette. Crackers.
When the gentleman arrived home from work, there was a platter of various cheeses and fruits, including camembert (a less bitter cousin of Brie and one of my favorites), double gloucester, and some kind of white cheese that had cranberries in it. I also had grapes and strawberries on the tray, some pistachios, and a wine glass filled with apple slices. I also made up a few appetizers consisting of a bread round, slice of camembert, apple slice, drizzled with balsamic vinegar. I regret not having taken a picture of the cheese tray, but we did have presence of mind to photograph the dessert, which was chocolate covered strawberries, which I made this morning.
They were served on a chocolate heart-shaped plate which I sculpted from the leftover melted chocolate and put in the freezer on a telephone book to keep its shape.
The Food Network is creating a monster.
The double-boiler which melted the chocolate, the appetizer plates, the wine glasses, and the beautiful flower centerpiece were gifts from my wedding shower, which took place this past Sunday, thrown by my friends Robyn and Lori. Robyn, as I have often said to people, is a devotée of Martha Stewart. Robyn has impeccable taste and is very good at hosting events and putting together all manner of party things. Foods. Centerpieces. It's really quite amazing.
So the two of them threw of lovely luncheon at The Dearborn Inn, to which a small group of friends and coworkers was invited. There were incredibly delicious sandwiches, there was cake (I have been breakfasting on cake leftovers), there were gifts which will necessitate thank-you notes before I forget who gave me what. I've been having a stupidly great time picking registry things; I tried to be practical, but then was talked into asking for bone china, stemware, flatware, and serving pieces by Robyn, who kept insisting, "Are you sure you don't want to sign up for some Waterford crystal or some Lenox china?" My favorite gift was the 3-tier serving tray which I envision using for high tea. I will need to be sure to invite Robyn and Lori for cucumber sandwiches some day soon. Brian was invited to the shower, which he attended with great aplomb, despite his personal preference to be doing almost anything else.
Saturday was equally devoted to girly things as I desperately wanted to go get my hair done at the Mall. I had decided I wanted drastic highlights, which made the whole affair take longer. Then I needed to consult with the stylist about what to do with hair for the wedding since I won't be able to have somebody do it for me. She suggested hot rollers. I have since acquired hot rollers and a wet/dry straightener. (I've also been watching too many makeover shows courtesy of cable as well.)
I am unappologetic about doing frivolous things for myself; this is the first week in a long time I have actually not spent any time vomiting. I am no longer taking MS Contin, which made me unbearably ill. The constant nausea has made keeping me fed and hydrated very difficult. Brian had been trying to tempt me by listing multiple food options in the hopes of finding something that did not repulse me, but having foods listed to me seemed to bring on the nausea. I have tried multiple medications including Zofran, Tigan, and now Anzimet (which, to those without insurance, costs $9,000 for a month's supply). I had been vomiting at least once per week; the last time was at Sears shortly after my last bridal gown fitting. What if the food at the reception bothers me and I yak all over my wedding dress?
Now I feel like that won't be a problem; I'm so relieved.
I am finding other things easier, and yet have new aches and pains which always frighten me. Walking is getting easier; I am beginning to wonder if it might be possible to use the walker only as a backup for going down the aisle. Maybe my dad will be able to bolster me enough without it...I don't know and might be too frightened of falling to try. My hands suddenly hurt more than they ever have before and opening jars is uncomfortable and my fingers are noticably stiff. Is it the arthritis-like ailment of which takers of Arimidex complain? Is it lesions on the bones in my hands? Is this pain in my side a result of stretching funny or are the bones cracked here like they are in my pelvis? Will I ever know how damaged my skeleton is, and are there things I should be doing (or things I should be avoiding) to keep it from collapsing like a crushed can?
I have an appointment with Dr. Hayes next week. Should I wait, or should I ask about my symptoms before then? I never know. Honestly, I'm hesitant to bring it up with Lita, because she will schedule me for more medical tests and appointments right away.
In the meantime, I will watch more cable to take my mind off things, eat some leftover cake, and admire how even something as pedestrian as Crystal Light can taste really good when taken in wafer-thin glass stemware.
Labels: Brian, chocolate, cooking, Dr. Hayes, hair, hip, Lita, Lori, nausea, Robyn, shower curtain, walker, wedding
