Out They Go

A couple of months ago, Aaron was complaining of another sore throat. He was getting them a lot, never tested positive for strep, and with Tylenol he'd be just fine. Sinus drainage? Random topic to whine about?

Nope.

Tonsilliths. Or tonsil stones, if you prefer.

As I peered down his throat one day, I noticed a little white thing sticking out of his right tonsil. Well, that just wouldn't do, so I wrestled him to the ground, promised him money if he'd just let me "look", and then pushed on his tonsil with a Q-tip.

The white thing popped out of his tonsil and stuck to the back of his throat. Aaron was gagging as I tried to pick it up with the Q-tip and pull it out of his mouth. Success!

It was about the size of a small pea, grayish white, firm like a cottage cheese curd, and stinky. Really, really stinky.

So gross.

Soooooo cool!

I thought is was just a big ball of hardened pus, and surely there would be more...but Aaron wouldn't let me "look" again. Surprisingly, his sore throat was completely gone.

A few weeks later it happened again, and once more, it was awesomely cool. And gross and stinky.

Time to see the doctor - this had to be one horrible infection.

Saw the regular doc who sent us off to an ENT, who diagnosed Cryptic Chronic Tonsillitis - the tonsils have swiss-cheese like holes that fill up with food, bacteria, mucous, and saliva, and it gets all compacted and hard (now it's a tonsillith) and bothersome or even painful when it starts to come out. It's actually very common, and many people express their tonsils once a week or more. Sometimes the tonsillith will work its way out on its own or can be coughed out. It can cause bad breath.

Since Aaron was pretty young to be getting these, and they were causing frequent sore throats, we decided to get his tonsils out. Better at 9 than when he's older.

This is a small tonsillith - very similar to what Aaron's looked like.


And this is a really big one. You could pull that one out with tweezers.

So yesterday morning, even though I didn't have my driver's license, insurance cards or money that I could access, we headed to the hospital to have those pesky tonsils removed. Funny...my kid going in for surgery was not the most stressful part of my week.

Geez, we had to get there early: 6:30 in the morning

Glad it's not me!

Cameron being uncharacteristically helpful in getting Aaron into his gown.

Cheery yellow socks

Confident before surgery

Well, maybe just a little anxious

Then 20 minutes of surgery, an hour of recovery and he's dressed and almost ready to go home.

First, we must contemplate the popsicle.

And somehow get it to the mouth.

Home...and this is pretty much the rest of the day.

Sleep tight, Aaron.

I promise I won't let your pain meds run out before I give you the next dose.

Fallen Woman

Don't you think that 39 years old is just too old to be falling off your bike and getting all scraped and scabby?

Yeah, me too.

For Mother's Day, I got my bike shoes and clips that allow me to fasten my feet right on to the pedals. I click them into place and it gives me a more powerful and efficient push/pull action. It makes for a fabulous ride. However, if I don't get them clicked out of the pedals before I come to a stop...I will fall. Hard.

It hurts.

On the bright side, I imagine that it looks hilarious.

It also got me tons of sympathy from the little kids I read with at the school. They felt so bad for me and in a show of empathy, pushed up their pant legs and sleeves to reveal their own scabby scrapes. They wondered why an adult would fall off her bike.

I tried to explain about the shoes and the clips and how I was stuck to my bike and couldn't put my feet down (!), but they didn't get it. They just think I'm a klutz.

I'm trying not to pick at it.

Good grief...this happened clear last week. I'm much better at unclicking my feet now. I even went on a big ol' 36 mile bike ride last weekend! More on that (and with pictures!) later.

For Your Viewing Pleasure Horror

In the continuing saga of my foot...

My workout shoes were feeling like they needed to be replaced, plus they were looking kind of dingy after wearing them all winter. They were size 7 Avias. If I'd been smart, I would have bought another pair of size 7 Avias, but I was enticed by a cute pair of New Balance crosstrainers.

In the store they felt fine, very cushion-y and supportive, and they seemed wide enough to not squish the bones in my delicate feet. So I bought 'em.

Within a week or two my foot started hurting. Sigh.

Now I've had New Balance shoes before and didn't have a problem, so maybe it isn't really the shoes. With the warmer weather I've been doing more, walking Oliver, the occasional game of tennis, etc. Maybe it was a combination of the two. Whatever it was, the foot was in bad shape.

Since the past has taught me nothing, I waited a few more weeks just to make sure that it wouldn't go away on its own. Now the nerve was visibly swollen and my toes were spreading worse than ever. I was hobbling around and complaining to my family. I needed another shot.

I made an appointment with a new podiatrist- the last one was so freaked out by me taking the video, I wasn't sure he'd see me again. I sat in the waiting room and visited with a 90 year old World War II vet. He was funny and he kept calling me young lady, while he told me stories about the ships he served on. The waiting room was decorated in a nautical theme and I think that's what got him going.

A white-haired woman moved past with her walker.

More old people, some brought in by their own grey-haired children.

When the nurse took me back I asked her if I was the youngest person she'd seen all day.

"Oh, definitely. But last week we had a fifteen year old in here - he'd been injured."

I have the feet of old people.

The doctor took some x-rays just to see how bad it was. This isn't my x-ray, but it could be - except mine is worse. See all that lovely space between the other bones, where, I don't know, nerves could comfortably rest? And see how the bones are touching inside the circle? That's exactly where my neuroma is, only it looks like my bones are actually chipping away at each other. The doctor asked if I'd had some sort of trauma to my foot. Nope, just me walking on it, hehehe.

The nerve between those bones is so swollen that it pushes the toes apart in a permanent deformity.

So here's the plan:

We're going to manage the pain throughout the summer with the injections. Surgery to remove the nerve rarely works - nerves can grow back, painful scar tissue, bad recovery time - but possibly, if I'm still having the pain coming back in the late fall, the doctor wants to do a nerve decompression. He'll cut down through the top of my foot and clip the ligament that's holding my bones so darn close together. That oughta do the trick.


He'd do the clipping now, except that summer is coming up and he wants me to enjoy it. I can still play tennis. Plus, like all the other doctors, he's hoping that a few more shots will make it go away. I hope so too.


So here's my most recent shot. It hurt so bad - but he wondered if previous injections had not been deep enough and long enough - and he was making sure to go very deep and very long. Whatever that means. All I know is that it hurt worse than any of the other shots I've ever had.

I think I say that every time.


I was bending forward to video it and I had a "birthing a baby" grimace on my face. As he injected the cortisone and alcohol into the nerve, I could see my toes spreading farther and farther apart. They grew longer and it felt like they were going to literally pop off my foot.






When it was over I sat back and exhaled. I must have looked pretty bad - the nurse ran to get me a drink and told me to stay put until I felt better.

I suggest that you do the same.

Who Wants Advil? Oh, Let's Just All Take Some.

What's a day at the orthodontist and dentist if you don't bring along your camera? Not nearly as much fun.

Aaron was the first one with an appointment yesterday. He had his Rapid Palatal Expander installed. We're just going to call it The Crank. As in, "Let's crank your mouth apart every evening at bedtime".

I am soooo looking forward to that.

The Crank is only mildly uncomfortable, however, Aaron's having a hard time talking. He's got a full-blown speech impediment now, and if I'm not looking at him it's hard to understand him. And since he can't put his tongue up to the roof of his mouth, swallowing is difficult. Also, his mouth thinks the Crank is food and is trying to break it down by producing lots and lots of saliva. Saliva that he can't figure out how to swallow.

By the time we get to the dentist so his two cavities can be filled, Aaron's pretty tired of me asking him to repeat himself, he's hungry (but can't eat), and he's got a mouth full of saliva (that he can't swallow). This day is awesome.

How about a nice shot in your gums? That oughta brighten your day. Breathe deep through your nose, baby, breathe deep.

Cameron's in the next room getting the same treatment. He doesn't have any cavities, but he's getting two permanent teeth pulled as the next step in his orthodontic journey.

He took to the nitrous oxide reeeeeeeally well.

The dentist came in and with a few wiggles and a gentle yank (or two), Cameron's mouth and his teeth parted ways. I wish wish wish that I could have been at a good filming angle, but I wasn't. So this will have to suffice:

It's every bit as deep as it looks.

Cam's supposed to keep his tongue away from the clots and he can't drink through a straw until it's all healed. Drinking with a straw could dislodge the blood clots and he'd get something called Dry Socket, which is so horrible and so painful that I've thrown away all the straws in the house. Just in case.

Still a little glazed, lips stretched beyond recognition, needing some Carmex, missing two teeth, mouth tasting like blood...and yet, Mom wants a picture. I thought there would be more coddling.

We can add these to the collection of teeth:

We headed home and Aaron attempted one smile in the elevator. Great. Now his lips and cheeks don't work either.

I bought him a shake and he tried to eat it, but it just kept falling out of his mouth. He would NOT let me take a video of him trying to eat. I had to promise to stop laughing, but darn it if that wasn't the funniest thing I've ever seen.

Dinner was tomato soup, yogurt, and a smoothie - spoon eaten, thank you very much. Nobody feels like chewing tonight.

And Advil. Lots of Advil.

I Dare You to Watch This

I went to my foot doctor on Wednesday to get another sclerosing alcohol injection. I got this one so close to the last one, in the hope that we can eventually shrink the neuroma (swollen nerve) into non-existence. I wasn't having much pain, this was just more of a preventative measure. Also, I've hit my medical deductible, so this injection is lots cheaper than the one he wants to give me in January.

And I captured it on video for you. Now you'll all know just what I've been complaining about. I'm pretty sure the doctor thinks I'm wacko, but that's just the price a blogger pays.

The video is spectacular, it really is, though if needles bother you in the slightest, please sit down before watching.

But definitely watch it. Definitely sit down.

The thing that he's holding up to my foot at the beginning is something to help deaden the nerve. It taps it really hard - feels like a little pinch - and that's supposed to make it hurt less. But it also looks like it breaks the skin a tiny bit. Maybe it's a quick injection of something, I don't know. It gets really good when he brings the needle in.

Are you ready?

Huh? Huh? How was that? Feeling queasy? Take a few deep breaths...it will pass.

It didn't bother me when it was happening, but whew, seeing it play back is something else.

Okay, to be honest, it did hurt tremendously 2 times - but even then, not for longer than a second. The rest of the time, even with all the moving around, angling to get at the nerve, and all the in and out, it didn't hurt, I promise. This doctor is good with the needle.

Afterwards, all three of the middle toes went numb and there wasn't any pain at all. I went out to my car, hoping I wasn't walking funny 'cause I couldn't feel my toes. No pain in the ball of my foot. That's what makes the injections worth it.

Today, the bruise doesn't look too bad, I guess, but the numbness has worn off and the injection site is really tender. I'm limping. That should go away in a few days, and then I'll be really pain-free, as the nerve continues to shrink. Overall, my foot is doing great.

Isn't it pretty?

Scoot Down...a little more...a little more...a little more...okay, relax.

Went to see my new gynecologist yesterday. And I'm having mixed feelings about the whole experience.

For years and years, my entire married life, I've been seeing Dr. L. for all obstetric and gynecological needs. For the last 12 or so years, it's all been gyno - no more obstetrics for me, thank you very much. About 5 months ago, I decided it was high time for my yearly visit, seeing as I was approaching 3 years since my last one. I like to stay on top of these things.

Dr. L., whom I love, was booked out for what seemed like forever, and in a moment of feeling like I needed to simplify and find a doctor that was closer and easier to get in to see, I made an appointment with someone else. A woman. And I think she's a nurse practitioner.

Honestly, when I was shopping for a gynecologist to be my obstetrician, I got lots of references and asked lots of questions. This time, I basically threw a dart at my computer screen showing the list of people that my insurance wants me to see. My requirements were pretty simple: Close to home, did they have a real person on the appointment line who could book me soon, and um, close to home. My time is just too darn valuable to have to drive very far.

So I got in with this lady named Jackie. The appointment booker said she was great. Good enough for me. When I had to cancel my original appointment and book with another nurse practitioner, the new one was apparently great as well. And finally, I cancelled the second appointment (stuff comes up, I swear!) and got another appointment with Jackie. Great. But here's the lame part - when I finally got in to see her, it was one day after my appointment with Dr. L. would have been. Curse my impatience! Why didn't I just stick with the tried and true?

Jackie was very nice. I can't fault her for anything. She did her job, she was friendly, but...I don't know, a couple of things, I didn't like. Maybe it wasn't even that I didn't like it, just that it was different.

When Dr. L did my exams, he always left me very covered up. It seemed that he did most of the upper exam (I'm just going to call them the upper exam and the lower exam - no risque ads!) under the sheet. If he looked at all, it was just a quick glance to make sure that things looked right. Other than that, I was well covered.

Jackie sort of whipped open the sheet and left me exposed on both sides while she did the exam. Like, because she was a woman, it was okay to have me uncovered. Believe it or not, I do have some modesty! Same with the lower exam - she might as well have tossed the sheet to the ground. I was out there! Felt like it anyway.

Dr L. was always super gentle and slow and apologized throughout the lower exam. He knew it wasn't the most comfortable thing, physically or emotionally, and he felt bad.

Jackie was, well, kind of rough. Too fast. And she didn't apologize, even when I said "ooo, that hurts".

Dr. L. asks about Troy, my boys, how I'm doing. He pats my back tells me how happy he is that we have a family. There's history there. He's known me since the first time I got pregnant, and he delivered both of my babies that didn't live. He was with me on the two worst days of my entire life and he knows what happened. He knows.

Jackie wrote down everything medical about me, nodded a lot, did an upper exam and a lower exam, and told me that things looked fine. But she didn't even ask how I was doing now, when I mentioned that I'd had some depression in the past. There was not, shall we say, a love connection.

This was just going to a be a light-hearted little post about improper draping and the differences between a woman gyno (sorry, nurse practitioner) and a man. The more I think about it though, it seems that this little visit of mine has sparked some other emotions.

Like, why did I cry a tiny bit after the visit? Did I really miss Dr. L. that much? Or was it from having to rehash our whole, sad pregnancy and loss history? I had been exposed, both physically and emotionally to a stranger. I think I'll chalk it up to that, and that later this month, we mark the date of what would have been our daughter's 14th birthday. I guess it's been on my mind a little bit. Bad timing to go a new doctor.

I'm pretty sure I'll go back to Dr. L. next time. There's a history and a connection with him that I didn't realize was so important to me. Now I know. Plus, he'll keep me covered.

So what do we want from our doctors? Compassion and connection as well as care? Or is a prescription pad enough? Do we have different doctors that fulfill different needs? And most importantly...what is your opinion on...

Woman gynecologist vs. Man gynecologist. Any thoughts?

Okay.

I'm writing the beginning and ending of the story right here, next to each other. Followed by the middle. The middle can wait, and for a story like this, I think it's important to know the ending as soon as you read the beginning.

I was in a bad car accident.
I am okay.

There. See why I did it that way? This isn't a cliffhanger episode of ER, where you find out a week later that when Ray had his accident, he lost both of his legs. I thought it would be best to put the good news right up next to the bad, so no one would worry. I am okay.

I've had a hard time finding my voice for this story. So far, the humor and wit that I try to lace my little ramblings with are hiding out and letting some other type of voice tell this one. Nothing has been funny so far about what happened. Maybe the purpose of writing it will be to cleanse myself of the ordeal - 'cause I am pretty freaked out by the whole thing. I will be okay.

Here are all the other parts of the story - just the details to fill up the space in and around "car accident" and "I am okay".

On Saturday, I had a tennis match at Liberty Park. I had considered skipping it, 'cause I really dislike driving downtown. My tennis buddy, Tonya, offered to drive and she picked me up at 12:45. We went to the match, played better than we did the previous week (we're 2.5 on a 3.0 team, dangit), and after staying a little later to play for fun, we headed back towards home. It was raining just a little bit. We talked about science fairs, homework, sleepovers vs. late nights, and weekend plans. We both had our seat belts on.

We were less than a mile from my home, heading toward an intersection with a green light and a red car, waiting to turn left. It didn't wait long enough. The driver started his turn just as we entered the intersection and our car hit his, full force. We saw that it was going to happen, and Tonya put on the brakes, but there was no time for that to do any good. I think one of us said something - I don't remember what, but it wasn't swearing and it wasn't a big ol' scream like in the movies.

I was watching the car move forward, so fast, right at the other car. My mind didn't swirl off to think of my boys or Troy - I was just watching for the impact, not believing that we were going to hit. When that impact came, my view of the whole thing ended. The airbags exploded loudly and with such remarkable force, and then we were stopped. The inside of the car was filled with the smoky airbag powder and I looked down at myself, honestly surprised that I was alive. I held my arms out, examining them, and said to Tonya, "I'm okay. Are you okay?" She was.

There were a few moments when we sorta kinda didn't know what to do next. Are we allowed to get out of the car? Are we really okay? Is this smoky stuff going to choke us? Yes, yes, and yes.

I was dialing 911 as I gathered my tennis bag and hauled myself out of the car. An explosion was sure to follow a crash like that, and heaven forbid I lose my racquet. Tonya was on her phone too, as well as many of the people that had seen the crash. Several people ran over to us, making sure we were okay. One lady brought us an umbrella to stand under. She kept patting my arm.

The kid in the car was okay too. His car must have spun all around - he was quite aways from us, standing, and talking on his cell phone.

The fire engine came and they asked if we needed to be checked out. Tonya had an abrasion on her neck from her seat belt and I think a few minor cuts on her hands. I had a decent little scrape on my right arm and elbow, a small cut on my hand, and my legs were stinging from the airbag. But nothing that needed checking.

I called Troy - he'd just gotten home and was getting in the shower. He came right over and stood with us in the rain. The police came, took statements, gathered information. Tonya's husband came. We hugged each other, and then Troy and I went home. Tonya's car is totaled.

At home, I hugged the boys, assured them that I was fine, showed them my red legs and scraped arm, and got in the shower. Troy and I went to a party at a friend's home and had a fabulous evening. My neck and shoulders were starting to hurt, but I was okay.

I woke up on Sunday morning and got ready for church. Neck and shoulders were feeling better, the redness on my legs was gone, replaced by a purpley bruise and I had a seat belt shaped diagonal stripe running across my chest. My whole chest hurt. I felt like I'd been beat up.

Later in the day, I went to the ER - just to make sure that things weren't slightly broken. They weren't. Just bruised and strained. I am okay.

This was the first accident I've ever been in. Not even a fender bender. In my mind, I don't feel as okay as my body seems to be. Troy and I have been going over the whole "what if" scenario pretty heavily. This could have been so much worse! No one was killed, no permanent injuries, it wasn't even our car involved. Why was I being all weepy and tense? I am so okay.

I could do without the approaching impact replaying in my mind. And the whole "life can change in an instant" reality check. I don't like thinking about the "what if".

I'm just going to concentrate on the fact that

I am okay. And that I have so much to be thankful for.

If you've ever been in an accident,
when did you really start feeling okay?

Polyp Update

My gastroenterologist's office just called with the lab results for my one lone polyp. It's called (They named it! I didn't know I could name it. Sigh.) a tubular adenoma and it is the type of polyp that is considered precancerous. Tubular.

Note: It was NOT cancerous yet, it's just that it will become cancerous. Someday.

The lady said that since they took it out, I wouldn't need to go back for another 5 years - which was when I had to go back anyway, even if I'd never had my newly named little polyp.

"Um, I'm okay if you want to see me sooner than that."

"No, five years is fine."

"Maybe in a year?"

"Really, they took it out. You're fine. We'll see you in..."

"I just want to stay on top of it."

"Five years."

So I trust that they know more about this than I do, but still. What if I grow another one next year - it just gets to keep on growing for 4 more years, until I get another scope?

And sure, Dr. P. is the best at what he does, but...

Have you ever wiped off a table and left a few crumbs?

Vacuumed a room and missed a spot?

Switched the laundry over and left a sock in the washer?

Tweezed your eyebrows, only to have a brand new hair sprout up OVERNIGHT?

Yeah, me too.

Pretty sure I'm not going to wait the whole five years.

And here's my PSA again: Get a colonoscopy. It doesn't hurt, you get good drugs, and possibly Cafe Rio afterwards. Do it.

Zac, Drugs, & Some Mid 90's Rock-n-Roll

Today was the colonoscopy. Troy and I both woke up early, laid in bed and let our thoughts wander through the upcoming day.

"Whatcha thinking about?" he asked, scratching my back. He knows I love having my back scratched - second only to having my feet tickled and rubbed. This morning though, my feet are clear down there and my back is much closer.

He's being sweet, wondering where my thoughts are going. Am I worried about what the scope will find? Am I nervous? How's my foot? Do I feel okay? Do I want a blessing?

"Cafe Rio. I want Cafe Rio afterwards."

That's what I woke up thinking about. Sure, I had to go to the hospital and have a scope up my hiney, but it the end (HA!) it's still about the food.

At 8am, I had to do another three doses of the laxative to finish prepping. That curbed my hunger - but left me feeling a little weak. By the time we got to the hospital, I was feeling kind of punchy - like when your brain is sleep deprived. Mine was food deprived.

We went into the waiting room and you'll never believe who was there...

Zac Efron!!! I have the BIGGEST CRUSH on him.

I can't even tell you how thrilled I was to have him there.

Into the gown and waiting. Zac came with me. He's supportive like that.

Can we take this magazine home? He makes me happy.

My nurse Annie gave me the absolute best IV I have ever had.

I thought she was just drawing blood, it hurt so little.



I have to watch.




This is Chris, the technician. He's much nicer than he looks - he was just wondering why Troy was taking his picture.

See that long, black thing hanging there? That's the scope.




And this is Doctor P. He's super nice, funny, and totally down with the blog thing.
He even had a few things to say:


"Tell everyone to make sure they have a doctor who will do a thorough scope. A little two minute look isn't good enough. This is important, so have it done right."


and


"Tell them that Hootie and the Blowfish was playing when we started."

He just wanted you to know.

Annie then pushed a syringe into my IV with the most magical of drug combos: Fentanyl and Versed. Dr. P. told me to roll over on my left side and then I swear he clapped his hands together and said something to Annie like "Let's do this!", as he kind of moved to the music. I was floating...floating (I love that feeling!)...and gone. I felt nothing, I remember nothing.

The whole thing took about 35 minutes.

Sweet, sweet drugs.

Oh, it's over?

Can't.........wake........

uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu. p.

I don't remember taking the gown off.

I'm thinking of something good...maybe my Cafe Rio pork salad?

Nope. I just wanted Zac back in my arms.

Tell me he isn't the cutest boy you've ever seen.

Oh, and this is the one polyp that Dr. P. found. He cut that bad boy outta there and sent it to the lab. He says not to worry.

We headed home and I napped for the rest of the afternoon. When I woke up...

Okay...THIS is the cutest MAN I've ever seen.

He is the one who really makes me happy.

It's true love.

I Feel All Empty Inside

About six years ago, I learned about a cousin (my same age) who had a form of colon cancer called Familial Polyposis. At age 32, she had her entire colon removed, and will be living for the rest of her days with a colostomy bag. This particular form of cancer is very aggressive and high up on the hereditary scale. My sister and I were advised to get checked, pronto. I had a colonoscopy then, and even though I was fine, I'm supposed to have them every 5-6 years. It was time.

Thursday was the prep day for my colonoscopy. That means no eating, just drinking, and a powerful laxative to clean things out. And I mean powerful. I just called it my excuse to be Miss Crankypants. Several times during the day I started to say something or other to Troy and then quickly waved the words out of the air, with a

"Don't listen to me...I'm just hungry."

The instructions for the day were pretty basic:

• clear liquids only - water, Gatorade, apple juice, other juices that are free of any artificial colors, soft drinks, beef and chicken broth, jello, Popsicles.
• milk, tomato and vegetable juices, and any pulpy juices are NOT clear. So don't even think about having a nice bowl of Campbell's Tomato soup.
• no red or purple dyes - apparently these will stain my insides.
• alternate water with everything else, and drink a big glass every hour.
• buy the Fleet Phospho-Soda laxative - that's where the fun really starts!
  

So I went to the store and bought my food supply for the day. Threw in some wipes to go with the premium brand of toilet paper that I already had. You know why.

How's that for a yummy and satisfying menu?

I'm not a huge juice or pop drinker. And I like my broth with mmmmmmm......food. It's going to be a long day.

All of the yummy sounding juices (white grape strawberry cocktail, cran-raspberry, etc) were full of red dyes and high fructose corn syrup, which apparently was created in the chemistry lab of the devil. I wanted to avoid that mess, but I figured that I would need the electrolytes in the Powerade - 2nd ingredient: high fructose corn syrup. Oh well.

The Fresca is for mixing with the Phospho-Soda, which tastes sort of like super salty 7-Up. I may never be able to drink Fresca again, which is a shame. I like Fresca.

All the juices are really sweet, so I made sure to use a heavy hand with the salt shaker when I heated up my broth. I prefer the beef over the chicken.

This was lunch.

With pinky entended and a straw, it almost tastes...nope, not even close.

At 6pm, it was time to start the cleansing portion of our program.



Maybe it won't be so bad. Cheers!

Oh, sweet mother of all things nasty. It's bad...it's bad!!!!

Forget what I said about high fructose corn syrup. THIS is from the devil's lab.

Give me something to rinse my mouth out with!

Repeat, 2 more times in the evening, and 3 times in the morning. Keep drinking other stuff - don't get dehydrated. Stay close to a bathroom. And buy flushable wipes next time.

It will be worth the extra money. I promise.

If You Can Stand One More Post About My Foot

I'm beginning to think that my ongoing foot problems have reached such proportions that they will be mentioned in my obituary. You know how if someone had an illness or something, it makes it up there in the first paragraph:

"...died after five years of courageously enduring and battling whatever...".

I'm afraid that mine will be more like,

"...passed away after years of griping about her stupid foot. She didn't endure it well. She complained constantly and we're all glad she's finally at peace, so we can be too."


Nevertheless, the neuroma on my left foot is acting up again, and I feel compelled to write about it. I really wasn't in that much pain from the it - maybe a 2-3 on a scale from 1-10. Or maybe I was just used to being in pain all the time and this has become my normal. But I knew it was there and I was babying my feet all the time (griping), waiting for the real pain to start. Plus, I could see that it was growing from the way my toes were spreading apart. It was looking worse than it felt, but I knew I needed to start shrinking it.


At the urging of some friends, I decided to try their foot doctor and get a second opinion. My appointment was yesterday. He was very nice and acknowledged that yes, I have a very large neuroma. My orthotics are doing all they can to help, no cute shoes for me - ever, and just to be sure there wasn't any old fracture or something, he took an x-ray.


Usually, the affected nerve is in between the third and fourth toes, but for some reason, mine is between the second and third. I'm sure that my location is known as the more painful of the two. The x-ray showed that the bones right by the nerve are touching - no empty space for a nerve to happily sit.


I'm already wearing the orthotics, limiting some activity, wearing wide- width shoes, and complaining loudly, so the only two options left are more injections and as a very, very last resort, surgery to just cut that nerve right outta there. Surgery, however, might not even be very successful because of my freaky bone structure - the ends of the nerve would develop the same problem, or scar tissue might grow, etc. We're going with more injections right now.


The injections are of an alcohol solution with a little bit of cortisone to reduce swelling, and some anesthetic for instant relief. The alcohol is supposed to break down the nerve tissue. He wants me to come back 2 more times over the next two months - it can take several injections to make this work. Now I've had probably 9 of these injections over the past 5 years, but they haven't been one right after the other. I usually just wait until I'm in pain again. Maybe it will work this time. The new doc also said he uses a higher amount of alcohol in his shots than most.


The shots hurt.


Alot.


It's straight into a nerve, nice and slow, turning the needle every which way. But then the pain is gone. I love anesthetic! And I realize that my pain wasn't just a 2 or a 3, it was much higher, and a numb foot is really a good way to go. I walk kinda funny when I can't feel my toes but it's a good trade-off to be pain free.


The anesthetic wore off about 9am. I can barely walk. Even just sitting here, I can feel the injection site burning. I would love to take a few ibuprofen and chase 'em with a Tylenol or two, but I can't because I'm scheduled for a colonoscopy tomorrow and I'm not allowed to take any pain meds. This was lousy timing on my part. Never schedule a minor procedure too close to a semi-major procedure! It will interrupt your pharmaceutical plans., and you'll end up laying around the house, feeling all grumpy and maybe even a little bit weepy from the pain.


Do you blame me?

Did I mention that this hurts?

Doctor, Doctor, Gimme the News

I don't think that doctors realize how we hang on every word they say. And tell other people about it. Words that seem like just casual chit chat to them are the things I replay in my mind over and over, wondering about the underlying meaning.


This first time I had a doctor say an odd thing to me was at a gyno exam shortly after I got married. Any conversation is a little weird when you're naked in a gown and legs in the stirrups. So there I was, and there he was, checking things out with the duckbill, assuring me that the discomfort would only last a minute more. Then he says:


"You have a beautiful cervix."


What do you say to that?


"Oh, sank you, Docktor" (Teri Garr says it, name the movie)


I think I just mumbled a quiet "thanks".


The cervix, in healthy form looks exactly like a pink glazed doughnut. For nearly 19 years, I've harbored a bit of pride over my beautiful cervix. I'm sure you are all envious. I just hope there won't be any of that unfortunate pride goeth before the fall business.

At the other end of physical beauty, however, are my feet. They are short and wide with rough heels, and the toes are, well, odd. They (the toes) are short and wrinkled on the top, and if you look at the bottom, you'll find that there is virtually no length to them. The round toe pad is sitting right next to the ball of my foot. The nails are tiny and curl upwards - nothing much to paint and make semi-pretty. And to make matters worse, the past few years I've needed cortisone shots between my toes to alleviate the pain from a swollen nerve. I wear orthotics. My cervix looks nice though.

So I go to a podiatrist (whom I love, because his shots make the pain go away, and he made me some orthotics that really do seem to be helping), and when he first laid eyes on my feet, he sucked in his breath with a grimace. He didn't even try to hide the look of dismay and horror on his face.


"Wow. Um...Where did you get...these...toes?"


Oh come on! In all his years of looking at feet, he's never seen anything worse than mine? They're not that bad. Or are they?




You can see the discoloration running down the center of my foot from the injections, and the middle toe that is leaning over to the left - he called that a deformity from the swollen nerve.


His words and his physical recoil haunt me.

Another time I was visiting a doctor to run a strep test. That's all - swab my throat, write the prescription and I'd be outta his hair. Instead, he says to me,

"Would you like to do anything about your weight at this time?"

Like all I had to do was ask. Jerk. Gimme my 'cillin.

And my last tale is from my mother. She was in the dentist's chair, getting her teeth cleaned, and the dentist kept (on purpose, I think) aiming the jet of water directly on a tooth. The stream of water then bounced off her tooth and sprayed across her face in a fine mist. He says,

"I love how the water looks, all beaded up on your face like that."

How creepy is that? Very.

Have you ever had a doctor or anyone in that type of position say something weird, inappropriate, or just plain "huh?".