Red Nose

Squashed Like A Bug

My God, the maintenance you have to endure when you're old.

And I'm not even old! (Please, allow me my pleasant delusions.)

Today I had my yearly mammogram, only six months later than I should have had it. Hey, that's good for me. I'm very good about my yearly female-specific doctor visit, and my doctor is very good about giving me the script for the mammogram, and I am very good about filing the script the away in the deep recesses of my purse and then forgetting all about it.

Luckily, the imaging center instituted a policy of mailing a reminder letter out to forgetful slackers such as myself. I made an appointment for today, figuring it would be a great way to start out the holiday weekend. So I arrived at the imaging center, signed in, donned a gown, and let the friendly technician serve up my boobs on a plate. They have the latest equipment, so the smashing was automatic. It still took my breath away and made my eyes pop out like a Looney Tunes character. But the digital imaging meant it took less time than usual, so I was all done, dressed, and out of there in less than 20 minutes.

Score!

You know, I have decided that mammography is like childbirth. It is unpleasant at best, sometimes hurts like hell, but overall it's worth it. So if you're overdue, make that appointment. Now.

I Heart Stress Tests

First, the nurse opened up a nice porthole into my arm for easy injection of the nuclear imaging agent radioactive isotope glowy stuff.

Then she cleaned off the spots where the heart doohickeys went, even sanding my skin to ensure a nice seal. Finally, she hooked me up to the heart monitor. I've been wired before, but not like this.

The monitor immediately began spitting out EKGs.

The doc came in, along with the tech, and I got on the treadmill, ready to stress out. I did not find the poster in front of the treadmill to be inspirational.

The actual test really didn't take all that long. I admit that I got a little cranky with the doc when he turned it up to the highest speed. I started to jog, see, and the doc said, "No, no -- still a walk," and I said, "Yeah, right," but I quit jogging and walked. Fast. I did get winded. My blood pressure peaked at 156/80. The tech injected the stuff just as I started the last leg -- or maybe it was when I was on my last leg.

Finally, I got to lie down on the imaging machine again.

The imaging process started. Naturally, about halfway through I had to cough. I tried swallowing, breathing shallowly, breathing deeply, visualizing lush green fields and babbling brooks, to no avail. I coughed a few times, but it didn't affect the outcome.

Which is that I have a very healthy heart. There are no blocked arteries -- whew -- and my actual heart muscle is very strong. It rates an 80, where 50 is normal.

As the doctor said, I'm super-normal!

So I celebrated with toasted salt bagel with cream cheese and a medium black coffee.

Because I run on Dunkin.

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Congrats, Sarah! Pat, pat, pat. Y'all be sure to check out the link Sarah left in the comments from yesterday, because if you don't know about Tom Lehrer, you should!

Radioactive

I had the first part of my cardiac stress test today.

Oh, did I forget to talk about the cardiac stress test? Yeah, I'm having one. I've been having some pain in the chestal area, so I figured it might be a good idea to tell my doc. He did an EKG (normal), and listened to my symptoms (odd), and looked at my cholesterol (135! I rule!) and is 90% sure it's not my heart. But evidently docs are always missing heart disease in women because we have different symptoms than men -- gee, imagine that -- so he referred me to a cardiologist. He also did an EKG, which was normal, and listened to my symptoms, and is 90% sure it's not my heart. But because...

Anyway, he wants to do a cardiac stress test, and so I am.

This part is the "resting" part, so I got injected with some thallium (And iodine and thorium and thulium and thallium!*), and went to visit Joe at the smoke shop for 45 minutes. Then I went back to the doc's office, hung up my coat, and sat down.

The joint was full of old folks. One old gal stared at me and said to her husband, "That woman didn't sign in!" I smiled -- it's exactly the kind of thing Mom would say. Two seconds later, the technician called for me. As I went back, this same old gal said, "That's always the way -- last in, first called!" I was tempted to say something; maybe "They just don't like you very much" or "They always save the loud people for last" but I didn't.

I lay on a moveable table with pillows under my head and knees and my hands over my head while the magical machine spun around and took images of my glowing circulatory system.

Tomorrow I'll go back, only this time I'll walk on a treadmill until I'm ready to drop, then I'll get injected again, wait 45 minutes, and get another round of images. If I do have ticker troubles, the images will show just how blocked up my arteries are.

The worst part of this whole deal is that I can't have any caffeine for 24 hours before the test, meaning my last cup of coffee was at 9:00 this morning. I will driving directly to Starbucks as soon as this thing is over and getting myself a doppio.

Meanwhile, I'm radioactive. Beware.

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*Two pats on the head to the first person who can tell me the song containing this line; an extra pat for the artist!

Vacation Is Exhausting Me

This vacation is doing me in, what with all the family gatherings, movie watching, present admiring, and other stuff. I don't know if I'll make it through another four days!

Today was relatively quiet. Joe went off to work at his usual time this morning. The day stretched out ahead of me. I had three things to accomplish today: get a chest x-ray, have lunch with Mom, and do the grocery shopping.

The x-ray of my chestal area went fine; I just dropped into the imaging center, handed over my copay, and sat until the x-ray tech called me back. She did not look sorrowful and pitying when she came back to let me go, so I'm not anticipating any bad news. Then again, I suppose they practice looking noncommittal, so who knows. Then again, I did not receive an urgent call from my doc this afternoon, so all is probably well.

Lunch with Mom almost went down a very bad road. She was feeling cranky, which means that nothing I said was right and nothing about her living situation was good. I have learned not to follow when she starts down this road, so I just said nothing and let her go. Sure enough, she pulled a quick u-turn and came back. I think the turning point was when I actually found a small fruitcake in the store for her to give to her pal. At one point she said, "I always call it 'the place I live' because I don't want to call it 'the home'." I joked, "Maybe you could call it the sorority house, or the dorm." She actually laughed at that, and then admitted that she had made some friends, that she was getting great care, and that she really had it good. And so it goes, back and forth.

Grocery shopping kicked my ass. My back and knees started pinging away toward the end of the trip, but I got everything on the list and then some. Joe usually does the grocery shopping, so this was a late Christmas present to him. I'm really glad I went -- pasta and Italian sausage sure beats Cheerios for dinner!

The Weather Outside Is Delightful

The weather has turned and become cool and blue and beautiful. There's a blanket on the bed; the A/C is off; the windows are open.

I love this time of year. Of course, next week it could very well be back up in the 90s with matching humidity, but I'll take it while I can. That's DC weather for you -- nothing but a great big tease!

It's a good thing it cooled off, since Saturday was "Move More Furniture Into Mom's Room" day. Yes, her sofa, end tables, pictures, and various tchotkes have now turned her little place into her home.

Yesterday I had lunch with the lovely and talented Debsiobhan, where I discovered that Don Pablo's makes a quite lovely mojito that does not taste the least bit like Scope. Then I returned to Mom's to hang pictures, reroute telephone cords, and generally chat.

Today I felt like walking, so I did. I toddled off down Connecticut Avenue for a mile or so and had lunch at a local burrito joint. It's almost all downhill, so it was easy. I spotted a maintenance gal watering the lawn of a condo building by holding an oscillating sprinkler as if it were a hose and waving it around. Hmm -- brilliant use of watering technology or unclear on the concept of oscillating sprinklers?? I thought about taking a picture, but decided I might get wet. And it's just a tad too cool for wet to be enjoyable.

Unfortunately the prospect of toddling back up the hill made my calves ache, especially since I'm wearing my new Earth shoes. Jumping on a spine-alignment bandwagon or stuck in the 70s? Who cares! They're cute and comfortable, but I decided to be just a little lazy and took the subway back to the office.

Later this week, the new Starbucks that's about four steps away from my building opens, and not a moment too soon. Bring on the lattes! I think I'll just sign over my paycheck and be done with it.

The Test

Yesterday I had my electronystagmography. Let me tell you, it's more fun than a day at the beach.

This is the test that would determine whether my dizziness (Shut. Up.) was Benign Positronic Positional Vertigo (I may have gotten that slightly incorrect) or a brain-eating worm or something equally horrifying and incurable.

I brought my CT scan films with me. I looked at them; I couldn't see any alligators in my sinuses -- oh, who am I kidding -- all I could see was a skull. Sort of. I think.

Now here's the problem -- the dizziness went away.

Ain't that about a bitch?

Happens all the time, you know? Your car makes a weird noise and belches black smoke and leaks stinky fluids every damn day for a month, but the morning you take it to the shop it starts right up and purrs all the way to the dealer and not a drop of anything drips out, and you pay $200 bucks to hear that everything's jake.

Such was the case with me and my dizziness. It cleared up a week or so ago, so I knew going in that I'd pass all the damn tests and they'd collect my co-pay and smile at me.

And so it came to pass. I passed the hearing test. I passed Part One of the electronmicroscoposocy, where I tracked a red dot with my eyeballs. No dizziness. I passed Part Two of the electrosnagglepussography, where I lay flat on the table and rolled around. No dizziness. I even passed Part Three of the electronysmammography, where the audiologist blew hot air, then cold air, in my ears until I got dizzy. I got a little dizzy, but see, that's normal for this test.

When the doc came in, I explained all this to him as he scrutinized the test results, the CT films, and the rest of my chart. He still thinks I have bouts of Benign Posterior Pingpong Vertigo, and he told me to get myself in there in a hurry when it happens again.

Oh goody.

We Seem To Be Falling Apart

Last Friday I went to an ENT doc to see if he could tell me what the hell is going on with my snoot. I've complained before about my rotten sinuses and tendency toward dizzy spells (shut up!). I've always attributed them to allergies or sinus infections or otitis media or the Hand of God smacking me upside the head, mostly because the various medicos I've consulted about it/them have steered me in that direction.

The dizziness and headaches always seem to go together and always seem to go away on their own after making me miserable for a few days to a few months. This time it's been hanging on for a month or so.

Well, hallelujah, I say. This doc got it. I described all my symptoms, and he looked up at me and said, "First off, there's more than one thing going on here." And then he proceeded to press on my face in various areas to test where I was feeling pain. And wouldn't you know it -- place that hurt was right where my jaw bone attaches to my face. So Doc looked at me and said, "You grind your teeth, don't you?" Um, yes; I wear a night guard every damn night. "Okay, the night guard protects your teeth, but the grinding and clenching still causes a lot of pressure in your face. It might not be your sinuses at all, but I'm ordering a CAT scan of your sinuses to make sure."

Next, he tested the dizziness by making it happen. He tilted the spiffy examining chair back and had me turn my head to the right (Turn to th' raht!*) so as to induce the whirling sensation. Yuk, indeed, but worth it, because he said, "Here's what I think is going on. It's in your inner ear. There are a number of crystals in your inner ear that control your balance, and one of them has gotten loose. If that's what it is, I can show you how to get it back where it belongs. What you're experiencing is called positional vertigo."

So the upshot is I'm going to have a CAT scan and then I'm going to have another test to confirm the vertigo and then the doc will fix me!

And then I'm divorcing Joe and marrying the doctor. Well, no, I'm not doing that. I'm actually going to give Joe a big wet sloppy kiss because he recommended that I see this doc in the first place.

Speaking of Joe, he was pouring a cup of coffee on Saturday and pulled his back out. Nothing helped, so we spent yesterday morning in the local ER. Lovely. Actually, it wasn't too bad, considering it's a holiday weekend. There was a smattering of cuts and burns and bad bones, so we got in pretty quickly, all things considered. We thought ahead and brought books, so we didn't have to watch Headline News ad nauseum (heh -- ad nauseum in the hospital) or scan old magazines.

Now Joe has a nice tiny little stash of legally prescribed Valium and Percocet, which make him fun to watch.

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*Two pats on the head to the first person who can tell me what movie contains that line of dialog.

Quit Fidgeting, Drew Barrymore

I suppose the only advantage to having my guts liquefy and fall out of my ass is that I forgot about my sinuses for a nanosecond. In fact, I thought perhaps all the pollen that's currently Irish step dancing inside my snoot might have fallen out along with my guts; alas, such is not the case.

I also have acquired a rather girlish rash around my eyes, making everyone who sees me say "You look flushed." I don't know if this is a result of the harfage that took place Sunday night and Monday, or if it's the pollen drilling through from the inside, or if it's an entirely separate problem. At any rate, I'm seeing my doc on Monday to talk about the virus, my blood pressure, and to get my ritual scolding. Then I'm seeing the ENT (the specialist, not the living tree) for the sinuses. Maybe he can roto-rooter the pollen out of them.

I called in sick from work again yesterday because I simply could not get out of bed. I smacked the alarm off at 6:00, and said to myself "I cannot. I will arise at 6:30". At 6:30, I said to myself, "I cannot. I will arise at 7:00." At 7:30 I gave up. I spent the day in my nightgown on the couch, watching old movies and TNT Prime Time in the Daytime. I have now officially seen the Lenny Brisco's Ex-Partner Goes Bad episode of Lawnorder 46,572 times. I counted.

But at least I am clawing my way back into the realm of normal (over)eating. I know the virus has moved on to seek fresh victims because I just ate two cherry Starbursts and they tasted just as full of rich, delicious chemical goodness as they always have, so there goes my vow to eat lean and healthily from now on.

Then again, I may have broken that vow yesterday when I sent Joe out to get Italian ice from Rita's.

The weirdest thing was that I went to bed at 11:00, thinking that I was very very very tired and would sleep like an innocent little child, but my brain was buzzing around like a gnat. I kept thinking about things I needed to do to get the guest room in order for our weekend guest and how I could tweak the furniture just the tiiiiiiiniest little bit and it would be ever so much better.

Finally I got up and did it. It entailed moving the lamp and microwave cart out of the guest room and moving the wee cabinet and other lamp from our bedroom into its place, then moving the first lamp and microwave cart into its place. Then, still unable to sleep, I thought I might plug in yet another lamp that was resting quite comfortably on top of the filing cabinet in the study, but I had to ape the filing cabinet over about two inches to do that, but it didn't work because once the lamp's plugged in you can't move the filing cabinet flush against the wall anymore, which means the door doesn't quite open all the way, so I unplugged the lamp and aped the filing cabinet back where it belonged.

And then I watched Letterman interview Drew Barrymore, who CANNOT KEEP HER HANDS OUT OF HER HAIR.

When Intestines Rebel

First, the quiz results!

Suburban Island was the first to answer all the questions correctly, because she is evidently very well versed in classic rock, standards, jazz, and Groucho - and a nightowl to boot. But because I love all my commenters, everybody wins! To claim your prize, you'll need to send me an email with your snail mail address. Fear not; your secret's safe with me.

I would have posted sooner, but... I got sick on Sunday night. It was a less than perfect end to an otherwise lovely day. Joe and I shared a perfectly delicious Brooklyn-style pizza and Coke while we watched the hockey game, then Joe went off to schmooze while I dialed into a conference call for an STC committee I'm on.

And halfway through the call, my stomach starting hurting.

Not just an ache; this was the kind of pain that is merely a precursor of Things to Come.

Or rather, Things to Come UP and OUT.

Let me tell you, Brooklyn-style pizza is fabu going down. Coming up? Not so much.

I never had to do the swivel dance, thankya Jeebus, but I did use a whole entire roll of toilet paper before it was all over at noon on Monday, leaving limp and useless and very empty. I don't think it was food poisoning, because Joe and I ate pretty much exactly the same things on Sunday; I think it was a virus.

Joe went above and beyond the call of duty on this one, let me tell you. He got home before the pizza made its encore appearance; after that happened, he went out and got me a ginger ale. Then he went out again to get some Pepto Bismol, which helped the yakkin' but not the... other. A third trip for Immodium yesterday morning finally put a stop to that.

And he cleaned, and the less said about that, the better. You're welcome.

I am better today; in fact, I went to work because I am stupid. I left early, though, because I'm not a complete and utter idiot. I have eaten, in the past 36 hours, four wee cups of applesauce, one piece of toast, a cup of white rice, a handful of popcorn, and a bottle of ginger ale.

Pizza? No, thank you.

Fire, Ice, Sleep

What a week.

First, of course, the fire. We haven't gotten an update as yet, although we left voicemail offering sympathy and succor. I am hopeful that no news is good -- or at least not bad -- news.

Next, the weather. Snow, ice, slush, ice, cold cold cold. The cold isn't doing my knee any good. Neither is the tricky footing. Sidewalks seem to be clear, and then oops! Where'd that patch of ice come from? Joe went to a doctor's appointment yesterday, only to find out that the parking lot was badly plowed -- if plowed at all (where's Mr. Plow when you need him?). He got out of the car and went down hard, directly onto his bad shoulder. Poor guy -- at least (says Ms. GlassHalfFull) he was at the doctor's office!

Next, I've been having a very tough time getting up in the morning. Normally, the radio click on at six a.m. and the soothing sounds of classical music bring out of my stupor gently. Then, once I cop to the fact that it is morning, I spring out of bed like a gazelle with a song on my lips and a twinkle in my eye. (I may be exaggerating slightly.) All this week, though -- on the days when I have actually set the alarm -- I've been whacking the snooze alarm with felonious force and retreating into the arms of Joepheus for an extra half-hour or 45 minutes of roaming around the collective unconscious. And even after that refreshing interlude I still have to drag my carcass into the shower.

On the other hand, I heard one of the nicest words a person can hear: Benign. Yes, the wee spots that the dermatologist shaved off my chest and shoulder are benign. The two on my chest are some kind of metakerablahblahblahtosis lesion that I evidently tend to sprout, and the one on my back was a small mole. But -- benign!! I must admit that the possibility of these spots being not-benign had not really been allowed to seep into my conscious mind, so it's not like the news was some kind of huge relief. Even so. Benign.

Then, SonnyeBoy called with more Tales Of The Stupid. Listen up, kids: When the cop responds to your two 911 hangups, it's a bad idea to invite him into your hotel room to help you figure out how to dial an outside line when you have weed sitting out on the end table.

Also -- one of these days, I will not appear to have slits for eyes in otherwise good pictures of me. I always have to choose: eyes? or smile? Feh.

Finally. Three-day weekend! Remind me to turn off the alarm, okay?