Every month, Olivia brings home a coupon to the local pizza place for a free personal pizza. It’s for the school’s reading program.
We’re really bad about using these coupons. It’s sad, really. I mean, it’s a free pizza!
But, alas, we live four whole miles outside of town and that means having to actually GO and GET the pizza if we want it.
Tom mentioned this morning that we should use the two coupons currently sitting on our counter. One expires on February 28 and the other on March 31.
I said, “You’re right. We should.”
And then I said, “You could call and order them this afternoon or tomorrow and send Alyssa to pick them up. She needs some excuses to drive a little more anyway.”
I think that man actually paled at the very idea of having to dial his phone and talk into it.
I am always the one who has to order pizza, or make appointments, or anything else that involves talking to anyone on the phone.
I laughed at the face he made and said, “You know, they’ll take orders from people who sounds like dudes.”
At this, he laughed. “Are you sure?”
“I am!” I insisted, sharing his amusement. “Remember how I had to remind you that Kroger let’s men shop? Well, the Edon Pizza Place will let men order and even pick up their pizza.”
I let it drop with that because one doesn’t need to beat a dead horse but…damn. Why must I always do that kind of thing?
Then again, maybe he thinks the same thing when it comes to shoveling the driveway, mowing the lawn and feeding the cat…
You know what? Never mind, I’ll just keep on ordering the pizza and making the appointments, thank you very much.
A mom, a dad and two daughters. We're living ordinary lives with a twist of 5p- (Cri du Chat) for spice. But we're about so much more than our younger daughter's genetic diagnosis.
Thursday, February 21, 2019
Wednesday, February 20, 2019
Well Child
The track season is coming. We had to get Alyssa’s sports physical recently. My doctor is pretty great about billing this visit as a well-child visit, so insurance pays the whole thing as preventative. I’ll take it.
Alyssa always passes with flying colors, because yeah, she’s a healthy kid. I’m very lucky. I know this.
Alyssa, on the other hand, doesn’t have a lot of luck when it comes to doctor visits.
This is the second time we’ve shown up at an appointment and been informed that she needs a shot.
The first time was when she was twelve and she was receiving her first HPV vaccination. The nurse came in and informed us that she was due for four other vaccinations at that time.
She looked at me with huge eyes. I kind of blinked at her and shrugged. I mean, if they were due and she needed them, let’s just do it.
I did take a minute to ask the nurse if it was safe for her to get five vaccinations in one day.
The nurse assured me it was fine.
And what do you know, four years later, no signs of autism in Lyss. Huh.
Wait…maybe the vaccinations are the cause of the gay…OMG! You guys! That’s it! Vaccinations cause previously straight kids to swing to either bi or gay. You heard it here first!!!
Oh right. That’s stupid. Sorry, I got caught up in my own excitement that I was going to be the next Jenny freaking McCarthy, who, by the way is a major hag. Just saying.
So yesterday we arrive for a sports physical that is being called a well-child visit.
Alyssa has been weighed and measured. Her eyes have been checked, left eye sees at 20/15 and right eye sees at 20/25, together, they see 20/20.
The nurse herds us into exam room #5. She looks over Lyss’s chart and…here it comes…
“She’s due for a meningococcal booster.”
Okay, I admit it. I laughed.
Alyssa glared at me.
I laughed some more.
The nurse looked concerned, like maybe I’d lost my mind. Which, see the previous post regarding fifth grade homework, OF COURSE I’VE LOST MY MIND!
Ahem.
She got the shot. And she was fine. She is fine. She is a tough old bird (at the ripe old age of 16) and takes this kind of thing like a champ.
As you can tell, I’m very pro-vaccines. I think people who don’t vaccinate their perfectly healthy children are morons. They’re a menace to society.
Babies should not be dying from the fucking measles and yet…they are because people are stupid and not vaccinating their kids against whooping cough and the measles and so the smallest, weakest among us are suffering.
It pisses me off because it’s so very preventable.
And I’ll step off my soapbox for now.
Alyssa always passes with flying colors, because yeah, she’s a healthy kid. I’m very lucky. I know this.
Alyssa, on the other hand, doesn’t have a lot of luck when it comes to doctor visits.
This is the second time we’ve shown up at an appointment and been informed that she needs a shot.
The first time was when she was twelve and she was receiving her first HPV vaccination. The nurse came in and informed us that she was due for four other vaccinations at that time.
She looked at me with huge eyes. I kind of blinked at her and shrugged. I mean, if they were due and she needed them, let’s just do it.
I did take a minute to ask the nurse if it was safe for her to get five vaccinations in one day.
The nurse assured me it was fine.
And what do you know, four years later, no signs of autism in Lyss. Huh.
Wait…maybe the vaccinations are the cause of the gay…OMG! You guys! That’s it! Vaccinations cause previously straight kids to swing to either bi or gay. You heard it here first!!!
Oh right. That’s stupid. Sorry, I got caught up in my own excitement that I was going to be the next Jenny freaking McCarthy, who, by the way is a major hag. Just saying.
So yesterday we arrive for a sports physical that is being called a well-child visit.
Alyssa has been weighed and measured. Her eyes have been checked, left eye sees at 20/15 and right eye sees at 20/25, together, they see 20/20.
The nurse herds us into exam room #5. She looks over Lyss’s chart and…here it comes…
“She’s due for a meningococcal booster.”
Okay, I admit it. I laughed.
Alyssa glared at me.
I laughed some more.
The nurse looked concerned, like maybe I’d lost my mind. Which, see the previous post regarding fifth grade homework, OF COURSE I’VE LOST MY MIND!
Ahem.
She got the shot. And she was fine. She is fine. She is a tough old bird (at the ripe old age of 16) and takes this kind of thing like a champ.
As you can tell, I’m very pro-vaccines. I think people who don’t vaccinate their perfectly healthy children are morons. They’re a menace to society.
Babies should not be dying from the fucking measles and yet…they are because people are stupid and not vaccinating their kids against whooping cough and the measles and so the smallest, weakest among us are suffering.
It pisses me off because it’s so very preventable.
And I’ll step off my soapbox for now.
Tuesday, February 19, 2019
Fifth Grade Homework - The Frustrating Version
This version of firth grade science isn't nearly as fun as the first one. But okay, let's go there anyway.
Olivia brought home another packet. This one was all about symbiotic relationships. This was a four page packet of homework. We did the first three pages and I was feeling pretty good. I'd given Liv a couple of devices to help her figure out if a relationship was parasitic (she had to write a P for that one.) or if it was mutualistic. We were cruising along, she was writing P and M and C like a champ.
Then came the 'creative' part of the homework and I lost my damn mind.
The directions were:
Mix and match as many symbiotic relationships as you can. Choose two imaginary organisms and decide for one or both a need. Determine the niche of each organism, describe how a symbiotic relationship between the two meets the need/s, and describe the type of symbiosis. Get creative! You must invent extra information for each relationship to make sense.
Are you freaking kidding me?
I wrote the following email to her special education teacher:
"Hello, so sorry to bother you with this but I don't know who else to bring it up to. Olivia brought home a homework packet for science this evening. We've done the first three pages on symbiotic relationships. The fourth page is attached as a picture. The instructions say to mix and match as many symbiotic relationships as you can, choosing two imaginary organisms and creating a need for one or both. I can tell you that the only way this page is going to get done is if I do it. I do not believe Olivia has the ability to create symbiotic relationships between imaginary organisms. She can be creative but not like this. I don't think she is going to get anything out of me doing this exercise.
I hope this isn't coming across as whiny as it feels. I want Olivia to learn but I am also aware that her retention isn't exactly typical nor is her thought process.
Will she get in a lot of trouble if we skip the "creative" part of this homework?
Thank you so much for your thoughts."
I also attached a picture of that page of the homework.
Lucky for me and Olivia, she wrote back and asked me to have Liv show her the homework page the next day. She also spoke with the fifth grade science teacher and it was decided that I was right, Olivia wouldn't get anything at all out of doing that stupid homework page.
Yay for parents and teachers communicating...right?
Olivia brought home another packet. This one was all about symbiotic relationships. This was a four page packet of homework. We did the first three pages and I was feeling pretty good. I'd given Liv a couple of devices to help her figure out if a relationship was parasitic (she had to write a P for that one.) or if it was mutualistic. We were cruising along, she was writing P and M and C like a champ.
Then came the 'creative' part of the homework and I lost my damn mind.
The directions were:
Mix and match as many symbiotic relationships as you can. Choose two imaginary organisms and decide for one or both a need. Determine the niche of each organism, describe how a symbiotic relationship between the two meets the need/s, and describe the type of symbiosis. Get creative! You must invent extra information for each relationship to make sense.
Are you freaking kidding me?
I wrote the following email to her special education teacher:
"Hello, so sorry to bother you with this but I don't know who else to bring it up to. Olivia brought home a homework packet for science this evening. We've done the first three pages on symbiotic relationships. The fourth page is attached as a picture. The instructions say to mix and match as many symbiotic relationships as you can, choosing two imaginary organisms and creating a need for one or both. I can tell you that the only way this page is going to get done is if I do it. I do not believe Olivia has the ability to create symbiotic relationships between imaginary organisms. She can be creative but not like this. I don't think she is going to get anything out of me doing this exercise.
I hope this isn't coming across as whiny as it feels. I want Olivia to learn but I am also aware that her retention isn't exactly typical nor is her thought process.
Will she get in a lot of trouble if we skip the "creative" part of this homework?
Thank you so much for your thoughts."
I also attached a picture of that page of the homework.
Lucky for me and Olivia, she wrote back and asked me to have Liv show her the homework page the next day. She also spoke with the fifth grade science teacher and it was decided that I was right, Olivia wouldn't get anything at all out of doing that stupid homework page.
Yay for parents and teachers communicating...right?
Monday, February 18, 2019
TMI
Okay, if you don’t want to know WAY too much about me, go ahead and skip this post. These days, I’m writing more for myself than anything which is probably why my posts have been so whiny and annoying.
And this is for me too. But I don’t think it’s going to be whiny so there’s that.
Again, TMI is heading your way so avert your eyes if you don’t want to know about my IUD or lack of periods for the past twelve years or anything else concerning my hooha.
Ahhh, now that I’ve got a little privacy…
I had my IUD removed last Thursday. Valentine’s Day, yes.
When I was first diagnosed with breast cancer, my gynecologist told me the IUD would need to be removed.
But then they (my group of doctors, I have so many these days) decided that since my cancer was triple negative, the IUD wasn’t doing any harm and so it was decided we’d leave it in just to prevent pregnancy during chemotherapy and radiation.
Ha.
Hahahahahahahahaha.
I want to know who the hell is doing the thing that causes pregnancy while on chemotherapy. Because, no. No, no, no, no, no. No to the sex when one has a port inserted just under one’s skin on the right side of her chest and a five inch incision along one’s left breast, just under the armpit. No when one’s spouse is using a q-tip and shoving gauze into said incision for several months. It’s just not a romantic thing. It’s a loving thing, yes. Romantic? No.
All the above aside, we did decide to just leave the IUD alone.
I got my first IUD when Olivia was six weeks old. At that time, I was 36 years old and my doctor suggested I get on placed because ‘you never know, you might want to try for a boy.’
Uhh, okay. Whatever. I knew I didn’t want to get my tubes tied even though I was pretty sure I was done having babies so I went with the IUD. It was a semi-permanent solution to something I simply wasn’t ready to make permanent.
IUD, Mirena IUDs specifically, last for five years. So when Olivia was five, I had the first one removed and the second one inserted.
When she was ten, I had the second one removed and the third one inserted.
I never had any of the issues I’ve read about concerning IUDs. I never had any break-through bleeding. I don’t think I had mood swings or depression. Maybe some of my weight gain is due to the IUD? Or maybe it’s because I like to eat the crème out of Mega Stuf Oreos, like, a lot.
Anyway, about those side effects. They are as follows, as per the Internet:
•missed periods (amenorrhea), - YES!!! Which was one of the selling points of getting an IUD placed.
•bleeding and spotting between periods, - NOPE
•heavier bleeding during the first few weeks after device insertion,
•abdominal/pelvic pain, - NOPE, well, wait. I did have some cramping after the insertion of IUD 2 and 3.
•ovarian cysts, - NOPE
•back pain, - Duh, I’m fat and old, of course my back hurts, like all the time.
•headache/migraine, - I’ve always had headaches, so…maybe?
•nervousness, - NO
•dizziness, - NO
•nausea, - NO
•vomiting, - NO
•bloating, - Well, I’m fat, so…who knows if I’m bloated, I tend to always look like this.
•breast tenderness or pain, - Huh…breast cancer…
•weight gain, - I’m a fatty
•changes in hair growth, - NO
•acne, - NO
•depression, - Well…
•changes in mood, - I can be quite bitchy and also weepy, sometimes as the same time but I think this might be a me problem more so than an IUD problem
•loss of interest in sex, - See: CHEMO
•itching or skin rash, and - NO
•puffiness in the face, hands, ankles, or feet. – See: FATNESS
I decided a couple of weeks ago, before my annual exam with my gynecologist, Dr. S, that maybe it was time to have this last IUD (number 3, remember) removed. I kind of feel like it’s time to let my body just be.
I’ve been through so much. My body has been through so much. How about we just let it be for a while? How about I start practicing a little kindness toward myself and my body?
I don’t know if having the IUD out will make a difference but I want to find out.
I am 48 years old. I will not be having any more children but I want to let my body get back to its own natural rhythms. And hey, guess what? Four days after an IUD removal, a body (my body, at least) will have a period.
And I’m okay with that. I haven’t had a period in over twelve years. Almost thirteen, actually, since Olivia was probably conceived (ha, what did I tell you about TMI?) thirteen years ago this month.
It’s time for my body to rest, to just be.
Will this help me lose weight? Probably not. Will it make me like myself more? Probably not. Will it make me less bitchy and weepy? Probably not.
But it’s something. It’s a start of something.
What? I don’t know. But something and I’m holding on to that for now until I figure out the rest.
And this is for me too. But I don’t think it’s going to be whiny so there’s that.
Again, TMI is heading your way so avert your eyes if you don’t want to know about my IUD or lack of periods for the past twelve years or anything else concerning my hooha.
Ahhh, now that I’ve got a little privacy…
I had my IUD removed last Thursday. Valentine’s Day, yes.
When I was first diagnosed with breast cancer, my gynecologist told me the IUD would need to be removed.
But then they (my group of doctors, I have so many these days) decided that since my cancer was triple negative, the IUD wasn’t doing any harm and so it was decided we’d leave it in just to prevent pregnancy during chemotherapy and radiation.
Ha.
Hahahahahahahahaha.
I want to know who the hell is doing the thing that causes pregnancy while on chemotherapy. Because, no. No, no, no, no, no. No to the sex when one has a port inserted just under one’s skin on the right side of her chest and a five inch incision along one’s left breast, just under the armpit. No when one’s spouse is using a q-tip and shoving gauze into said incision for several months. It’s just not a romantic thing. It’s a loving thing, yes. Romantic? No.
All the above aside, we did decide to just leave the IUD alone.
I got my first IUD when Olivia was six weeks old. At that time, I was 36 years old and my doctor suggested I get on placed because ‘you never know, you might want to try for a boy.’
Uhh, okay. Whatever. I knew I didn’t want to get my tubes tied even though I was pretty sure I was done having babies so I went with the IUD. It was a semi-permanent solution to something I simply wasn’t ready to make permanent.
IUD, Mirena IUDs specifically, last for five years. So when Olivia was five, I had the first one removed and the second one inserted.
When she was ten, I had the second one removed and the third one inserted.
I never had any of the issues I’ve read about concerning IUDs. I never had any break-through bleeding. I don’t think I had mood swings or depression. Maybe some of my weight gain is due to the IUD? Or maybe it’s because I like to eat the crème out of Mega Stuf Oreos, like, a lot.
Anyway, about those side effects. They are as follows, as per the Internet:
•missed periods (amenorrhea), - YES!!! Which was one of the selling points of getting an IUD placed.
•bleeding and spotting between periods, - NOPE
•heavier bleeding during the first few weeks after device insertion,
•abdominal/pelvic pain, - NOPE, well, wait. I did have some cramping after the insertion of IUD 2 and 3.
•ovarian cysts, - NOPE
•back pain, - Duh, I’m fat and old, of course my back hurts, like all the time.
•headache/migraine, - I’ve always had headaches, so…maybe?
•nervousness, - NO
•dizziness, - NO
•nausea, - NO
•vomiting, - NO
•bloating, - Well, I’m fat, so…who knows if I’m bloated, I tend to always look like this.
•breast tenderness or pain, - Huh…breast cancer…
•weight gain, - I’m a fatty
•changes in hair growth, - NO
•acne, - NO
•depression, - Well…
•changes in mood, - I can be quite bitchy and also weepy, sometimes as the same time but I think this might be a me problem more so than an IUD problem
•loss of interest in sex, - See: CHEMO
•itching or skin rash, and - NO
•puffiness in the face, hands, ankles, or feet. – See: FATNESS
I decided a couple of weeks ago, before my annual exam with my gynecologist, Dr. S, that maybe it was time to have this last IUD (number 3, remember) removed. I kind of feel like it’s time to let my body just be.
I’ve been through so much. My body has been through so much. How about we just let it be for a while? How about I start practicing a little kindness toward myself and my body?
I don’t know if having the IUD out will make a difference but I want to find out.
I am 48 years old. I will not be having any more children but I want to let my body get back to its own natural rhythms. And hey, guess what? Four days after an IUD removal, a body (my body, at least) will have a period.
And I’m okay with that. I haven’t had a period in over twelve years. Almost thirteen, actually, since Olivia was probably conceived (ha, what did I tell you about TMI?) thirteen years ago this month.
It’s time for my body to rest, to just be.
Will this help me lose weight? Probably not. Will it make me like myself more? Probably not. Will it make me less bitchy and weepy? Probably not.
But it’s something. It’s a start of something.
What? I don’t know. But something and I’m holding on to that for now until I figure out the rest.
Saturday, February 16, 2019
Fifth Grade Science
Fifth Grade Science
Olivia goes to the mainstream classroom for science and social studies. She’s given the same homework/tests as the rest of the class.
Yesterday, she brought home a practice test that the students had taken in class and then gone over with the teacher to use as a study guide for the actual test.
There were a few questions Olivia answered and the teacher wrote a question mark next to O’s answers.
The questions were:
Can you name an herbivore?
Can you name a carnivore?
Can you name an omnivore?
Olivia’s answer all of those questions was the same.
She answered, “Yes.”
And as far as she was concerned, she’d answered the questions correctly. I mean, right? The questions didn’t actually ask for those things. The question just asked if she COULD name one. It didn’t tell her TO name one.
So yeah.
We all had a good laugh and then I asked to actually write the names of an herbivore, a carnivore and an omnivore on the paper. It had, after all, been sent home to be corrected.
She still insisted on writing the word yes before writing cow, lion and pig on the appropriate lines. Sometimes, you just can’t fight the logic of Livie.
Olivia goes to the mainstream classroom for science and social studies. She’s given the same homework/tests as the rest of the class.
Yesterday, she brought home a practice test that the students had taken in class and then gone over with the teacher to use as a study guide for the actual test.
There were a few questions Olivia answered and the teacher wrote a question mark next to O’s answers.
The questions were:
Can you name an herbivore?
Can you name a carnivore?
Can you name an omnivore?
Olivia’s answer all of those questions was the same.
She answered, “Yes.”
And as far as she was concerned, she’d answered the questions correctly. I mean, right? The questions didn’t actually ask for those things. The question just asked if she COULD name one. It didn’t tell her TO name one.
So yeah.
We all had a good laugh and then I asked to actually write the names of an herbivore, a carnivore and an omnivore on the paper. It had, after all, been sent home to be corrected.
She still insisted on writing the word yes before writing cow, lion and pig on the appropriate lines. Sometimes, you just can’t fight the logic of Livie.
Monday, February 11, 2019
Trying to Enjoy the Journey (and Failing)
I’m edging in on six months at my new job.
I find myself wondering how long it took me to adjust to my last job. When did I finally feel like I fit in there, like I was part of the team, just another co-worker and not the ‘new girl’?
No one here treats me like I’m new anymore, so that’s nice.
But I still feel like I don’t know everything I should know about what I’m doing. I still look to one of the other three women in the front office whenever something different comes along.
I hate it. I hate feeling like I don’t know what I’m doing.
This is not to say that I hate my job. That’s so far from the case. I enjoy the work I’m doing, I really like the people with whom I work.
I just don’t like how long it feels like it’s taking for me to feel comfortable here, to feel like I belong, like I’m actually contributing more than I’m taking from those around me.
I don’t know if you know this about me but I don’t like to feel helpless or out of control. I don’t like not knowing something. I’m all about spoilers in everything because I like knowing what’s coming. I’m the one who read the first chapter of a book and then reads the last chapter just so I can know how it ends. I always go back and read the middle of the book too, but only after I’ve read the ending.
Life doesn’t have cheats or spoilers or chapters you can skip ahead and read. You have to live it in a linear fashion and that kind of sucks for someone like me.
I know that life is a journey and not a destination (thank you Aerosmith) but I’ve found I can enjoy the journey just a little more when I know what the destination is.
Whatever. That’s a stupid line of thought anyway.
So how much longer to I have to plod along until I feel like I’m where I belong or at least that I belong where I am?
Deep shit for a Monday, huh?
I find myself wondering how long it took me to adjust to my last job. When did I finally feel like I fit in there, like I was part of the team, just another co-worker and not the ‘new girl’?
No one here treats me like I’m new anymore, so that’s nice.
But I still feel like I don’t know everything I should know about what I’m doing. I still look to one of the other three women in the front office whenever something different comes along.
I hate it. I hate feeling like I don’t know what I’m doing.
This is not to say that I hate my job. That’s so far from the case. I enjoy the work I’m doing, I really like the people with whom I work.
I just don’t like how long it feels like it’s taking for me to feel comfortable here, to feel like I belong, like I’m actually contributing more than I’m taking from those around me.
I don’t know if you know this about me but I don’t like to feel helpless or out of control. I don’t like not knowing something. I’m all about spoilers in everything because I like knowing what’s coming. I’m the one who read the first chapter of a book and then reads the last chapter just so I can know how it ends. I always go back and read the middle of the book too, but only after I’ve read the ending.
Life doesn’t have cheats or spoilers or chapters you can skip ahead and read. You have to live it in a linear fashion and that kind of sucks for someone like me.
I know that life is a journey and not a destination (thank you Aerosmith) but I’ve found I can enjoy the journey just a little more when I know what the destination is.
Whatever. That’s a stupid line of thought anyway.
So how much longer to I have to plod along until I feel like I’m where I belong or at least that I belong where I am?
Deep shit for a Monday, huh?
Identity Crisis
I’m kind of lost these days.
Who am I?
I’m no longer a cancer patient.
I’m a cancer survivor.
But what does that mean?
I’m still a wife, a mom, a daughter, a sister, a friend.
But I don’t feel like I’m the same person I was before I was diagnosed with cancer.
I don’t feel less but I’m not sure I’m more…does that even make sense?
I don’t know.
I drank something with caffeine in it last night and when I lay down to try and sleep, my heart was racing. It was so weird and I felt so very off. I prayed that I’d be allowed to wake up this morning.
I realize how paranoid that is. I suppose everyone who’s gone through a serious illness goes through this.
I’m seeing a chiropractor for my hip pain. He says it’s my sciatic nerve being irritated. Not pinched but definitely rubbed the wrong way. Apparently I’m lucky the pain isn’t running down my leg.
I don’t know.
I want to get back to just being. I want to find my zen. I want to appreciate my body for how strong it is, for what it’s been through and still kicking.
I want to kick someone or something’s ass, metaphorically speaking, of course. I suppose one could say I’ve kicked cancer’s ass and yet…it could come back and kill me to death so there’s that.
According to my chiropractor (who seems to be in cahoots with my radiation oncologist) I should be on an alkaline diet. Cancer likes an acidic environment, so if I make my body chemistry more alkaline, cancer won’t feel so at home.
Huh.
Well, damn. I just opened a can of tomato juice. Do I dump it down the drain? Do I drink it and hope for the best? I drank it.
But then I googled ‘alkaline diet’. Yeah. Because we can believe everything we read on the internet, it says that there is no actual diet that can prevent cancer. Though losing weight can’t hurt, so there’s that.
I’m so sick of bitching about my fatness. I mean, isn’t everyone just as sick of reading about me bitching about my fatness? It’s kind of time to either accept my fatness and move on or do something about it. Talking about it, whining about it, bitching about it doesn’t do me any good except make me feel bad about myself and look where that’s got me.
So…what next?
Who am I?
I’m no longer a cancer patient.
I’m a cancer survivor.
But what does that mean?
I’m still a wife, a mom, a daughter, a sister, a friend.
But I don’t feel like I’m the same person I was before I was diagnosed with cancer.
I don’t feel less but I’m not sure I’m more…does that even make sense?
I don’t know.
I drank something with caffeine in it last night and when I lay down to try and sleep, my heart was racing. It was so weird and I felt so very off. I prayed that I’d be allowed to wake up this morning.
I realize how paranoid that is. I suppose everyone who’s gone through a serious illness goes through this.
I’m seeing a chiropractor for my hip pain. He says it’s my sciatic nerve being irritated. Not pinched but definitely rubbed the wrong way. Apparently I’m lucky the pain isn’t running down my leg.
I don’t know.
I want to get back to just being. I want to find my zen. I want to appreciate my body for how strong it is, for what it’s been through and still kicking.
I want to kick someone or something’s ass, metaphorically speaking, of course. I suppose one could say I’ve kicked cancer’s ass and yet…it could come back and kill me to death so there’s that.
According to my chiropractor (who seems to be in cahoots with my radiation oncologist) I should be on an alkaline diet. Cancer likes an acidic environment, so if I make my body chemistry more alkaline, cancer won’t feel so at home.
Huh.
Well, damn. I just opened a can of tomato juice. Do I dump it down the drain? Do I drink it and hope for the best? I drank it.
But then I googled ‘alkaline diet’. Yeah. Because we can believe everything we read on the internet, it says that there is no actual diet that can prevent cancer. Though losing weight can’t hurt, so there’s that.
I’m so sick of bitching about my fatness. I mean, isn’t everyone just as sick of reading about me bitching about my fatness? It’s kind of time to either accept my fatness and move on or do something about it. Talking about it, whining about it, bitching about it doesn’t do me any good except make me feel bad about myself and look where that’s got me.
So…what next?
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