The hernia repair surgery yesterday went well.
The area is quite painful, so I am back on oxycodone every four hours. I'll probably stay at Diane and David's in Newton through Friday so that Katie can drive me home after class. Then she'll take the bus back to school. Tomorrow I have an appointment with the doctor who did the repair under my eye.
They want you to walk, so yesterday and today I took Diane's arm and went for a walk. It's so balmy here, it was nice to be outside. My legs are a little wobbly, but only mishap was when a fire alarm box jumped out from its spot on a building and hit me on the head as I turned to look at a book Diane had just bought. After a quick examination showed that I was OK, we switched sides so that I'd be away from the buildings.
Back at the house, I had received an e-mail saying the year-end tennis ratings are out. I'd been predicting that as soon as I returned to team tennis, my rating would drop from 3.5 to 3.0. (How's that for confidence?) But since I've won one and lost one, I knew I'd probably stay.
And there it was when I wrote in my USTA number: 3.5.
That made me happy.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Talking Turkey results, or, just call me Rosie
 |
| Me, Ben, and his girlfriend, Meghan, before the race. |
I felt terrible the first mile. I'm still not totally over my cold. I was having trouble breathing through my nose and had to keep reaching for a tissue. I'm sure that made me run even slower than I usually do.
Actually, I thought that I had gotten faster, and I probably have, but not yesterday. After a couple of miles, a gap opened up between me and a large part of the pack. I know I wasn't last, because I heard people talking behind me, but I didn't have anyone to follow. The course around the Ashley Reservoir isn't a circle; you have to make some turns, and normally I don't pay attention because I'm with everyone.
I missed a right turn through the woods and ran straight ahead to one of the reservoir's gates. After a few minutes I knew nothing looked familiar, but I just couldn't figure out where I was. I was living my runner's nightmare, that I am in a race and have lost the crowd and don't know how to reconnect.
I did figure out that I needed to reverse and turn back through the woods, which I did. I got back in with the pack and breathed a sigh of relief, but then I was feeling just so discombobulated that I think I made another mistake. I passed four miles, feeling OK, and then came to an intersection where there were runners coming in from the left. Someone told me to turn right, so I did. Actually, I think I should have been coming along with those runners, so I must have made another wrong turn and skipped part of a mile, because I never saw the marker for 5 miles.
I just kept trotting along. And then a saw a welcome sight. It was Len Brouillette, the track coach at South Hadley High School and a friend who walks his dog at the lake. Len had finished, and, having heard that I was running, backtracked to find me and run me in.
He said, first of all, that I looked good. Second, when I told him what I had done, he said, "People get lost all the time in races." That made me feel better. He ran with me to the turnoff for the chute, and I crossed the finish line in about 1:11. I used to run it in under an hour, but that, of course, was then.
There were still a decent amount of runners behind me. With the section I added and the section I somehow missed, I probably did run about six miles.
I had started with Ben and Meghan, and they were at the finish line waiting for me, along with Katie. I told them what had happened, and then I kept trying to figure it out. What with not feeling that well to begin with and feeling confused, I didn't have that exhilaration I had when I ran this race in 2005, my first after my initial diagnosis and treatment two years earlier.
The kids reminded me to keep it in perspective. Two and a half years ago, I couldn't even walk. So what if I got lost? So what if I was slow? It was still a big accomplishment. And Ben said he hated to point this out, but I am a little older now.
The broken record went on a little longer.
The consensus: Get over it!
Friday, November 25, 2011
Say what?
I had an interesting day at Brigham and Women's for my pre-op appointment Wednesday.
The scheduler at my doctor's office told me I could get there early for my 12:30 appointment in hopes of beating the Thanksgiving traffic and that they would try to squeeze me in. Uncharacteristically, I did get there early, around 11:30. The person at pre-op, however, wouldn't even let me sign in. She said that due to an emergency, they were about an hour and a half behind.
So I had to wait beside the sign-in sheet until 12:15, at which time I put my name down. The receptionist said that I should then go kill an hour and a half and she would call me on my cell phone when they were ready.
I decided to go up to the sixth floor to see if any of my nurses were around on 6A, where I got my transplant and where I was so sick.
And they were. It was pretty incredible. They remembered my room (12) and much about me. This was almost three years ago. I guess when you're there for 3 1/2 months and you nearly die, you make an impression. We talked for quite a while. One of my favorite nurses told me, "You just made my year." It's great to make someone's year.
Then I went to Au Bon Pain to get lunch. I had just started on a cup of soup when I got a call from the anesthesiologist saying they were ready. I was a little surprised, because it was 15 minutes before my time. "Put a cover on your soup and come right over," he said, sounding annoyed.
In going over my records, the anesthesiologist asked, "Do you know you have a leaky heart valve?"
Picture the look of surprise on my face. I had him repeat it. I asked when that turned up.
"In an echocardiogram in 2009," he said.
OKaaaaaay.
He said this condition is relatively common. It is rated mild, moderate and severe, and mine is moderate.
Now, nobody has EVER mentioned this to me.
I told him how active I am and how surprised I was. He told me to go discuss it with my internist, which I am not going to do. I plan to run it by Melissa, my nurse practitioner, sometime next week. Since it never came up, I am not concerned, just curious.
Anyway, I went over my history and my meds with the anesthesiologist and then went over the same exact stuff with a nurse. I got out around 4, chomping at the bit, as they say.
Katie met me there, and we drove home together. The traffic was pretty bad, but at least it was moving.
Everyone came for Thanksgiving, and the feast went off without a hitch. There's always something, so I was a little surprised when preparations were going so well. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it never did.
I took out my mother's nice silver and special plates. Katie set a beautiful table. We lit the candles. Just as we were raising our glasses in thanks, Diane called. The machine picked up. "Happy Thanksgiving," Diane said. So she became part of the toast too. My parents would have smiled.
The scheduler at my doctor's office told me I could get there early for my 12:30 appointment in hopes of beating the Thanksgiving traffic and that they would try to squeeze me in. Uncharacteristically, I did get there early, around 11:30. The person at pre-op, however, wouldn't even let me sign in. She said that due to an emergency, they were about an hour and a half behind.
So I had to wait beside the sign-in sheet until 12:15, at which time I put my name down. The receptionist said that I should then go kill an hour and a half and she would call me on my cell phone when they were ready.
I decided to go up to the sixth floor to see if any of my nurses were around on 6A, where I got my transplant and where I was so sick.
And they were. It was pretty incredible. They remembered my room (12) and much about me. This was almost three years ago. I guess when you're there for 3 1/2 months and you nearly die, you make an impression. We talked for quite a while. One of my favorite nurses told me, "You just made my year." It's great to make someone's year.
Then I went to Au Bon Pain to get lunch. I had just started on a cup of soup when I got a call from the anesthesiologist saying they were ready. I was a little surprised, because it was 15 minutes before my time. "Put a cover on your soup and come right over," he said, sounding annoyed.
In going over my records, the anesthesiologist asked, "Do you know you have a leaky heart valve?"
Picture the look of surprise on my face. I had him repeat it. I asked when that turned up.
"In an echocardiogram in 2009," he said.
OKaaaaaay.
He said this condition is relatively common. It is rated mild, moderate and severe, and mine is moderate.
Now, nobody has EVER mentioned this to me.
I told him how active I am and how surprised I was. He told me to go discuss it with my internist, which I am not going to do. I plan to run it by Melissa, my nurse practitioner, sometime next week. Since it never came up, I am not concerned, just curious.
Anyway, I went over my history and my meds with the anesthesiologist and then went over the same exact stuff with a nurse. I got out around 4, chomping at the bit, as they say.
Katie met me there, and we drove home together. The traffic was pretty bad, but at least it was moving.
Everyone came for Thanksgiving, and the feast went off without a hitch. There's always something, so I was a little surprised when preparations were going so well. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it never did.
I took out my mother's nice silver and special plates. Katie set a beautiful table. We lit the candles. Just as we were raising our glasses in thanks, Diane called. The machine picked up. "Happy Thanksgiving," Diane said. So she became part of the toast too. My parents would have smiled.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Tough times emotionally
Despite unseasonably warm weather earlier in the week, today was really November. Overcast, cloudy and gray.
Kind of like my mood.
I planned to be in the final steps of getting ready for Saturday's Talking Turkey, but due to my cold and a bad cough, I haven't run all week. I did continue to walk the dog and even jogged a few steps to make sure my feet still lifted up, but it didn't quite make the cut. I hope I can still run the race.
This time five years ago marked the final days of my mother's life, a good long one with a very brief period of illness. Today I heard a story of someone who died young in an accident, and it kind of put my loss in perspective. But still, as everyone knows who lost one, it is your mother.
She has been coming to me in my dreams. The other night I dreamt that she and my aunt were lying on a bed intertwined like snakes. That's how close they were in life. My mother was dying, and as the two revolved around each other, my mother's head became visible. She looked just like she did the last time I saw her. "You're so beautiful," I said.
A few nights later, I dreamt that I was back in our apartment in New York. My parents, both very frail, were in the kitchen. My mother was bandaging my father's arms just as she did during the end of his life when his skin, so thin, developed patches that bled. They couldn't go outside, and I needed to go and get them some things.
First I went out to the park for a run. And suddenly I couldn't see where I was going. It was snowing and then raining, with little visibility. I lost my way on the path and went into a dead-end snow tunnel. I realized what I had to do, got out, turned left and found the path. Ah, the proverbial dark wood.
I was running in all the wrong clothes, dress boots and a long skirt. But I finished the loop and ended at the park exit that I usually took when I went back home. I had made it.
Yesterday, I called my cousin Joanne in New York, who is a big help and support in many ways. My mother often visits her as I feel my mother visits me, and sometimes Joanne calls to tell me about it. Joanne said she loved the symbolism of my dream run. Despite all the odds, I had found my way, just as I have done in life.
But, but, but, I said, I left my parents in the apartment.
That's OK, she said. Your parents are OK. And you are too.
Joe is already here, and the other kids are coming tomorrow. Today I bought beautiful flowers for the house, not just the usual assorted mums for the Thanksgiving table but also a special bouquet of small yellow roses that I put on the kitchen table. Buy something to brighten things up, I heard my mother say.
I think it is working. And having everyone here will definitely lighten things up, too.
Kind of like my mood.
I planned to be in the final steps of getting ready for Saturday's Talking Turkey, but due to my cold and a bad cough, I haven't run all week. I did continue to walk the dog and even jogged a few steps to make sure my feet still lifted up, but it didn't quite make the cut. I hope I can still run the race.
This time five years ago marked the final days of my mother's life, a good long one with a very brief period of illness. Today I heard a story of someone who died young in an accident, and it kind of put my loss in perspective. But still, as everyone knows who lost one, it is your mother.
She has been coming to me in my dreams. The other night I dreamt that she and my aunt were lying on a bed intertwined like snakes. That's how close they were in life. My mother was dying, and as the two revolved around each other, my mother's head became visible. She looked just like she did the last time I saw her. "You're so beautiful," I said.
A few nights later, I dreamt that I was back in our apartment in New York. My parents, both very frail, were in the kitchen. My mother was bandaging my father's arms just as she did during the end of his life when his skin, so thin, developed patches that bled. They couldn't go outside, and I needed to go and get them some things.
First I went out to the park for a run. And suddenly I couldn't see where I was going. It was snowing and then raining, with little visibility. I lost my way on the path and went into a dead-end snow tunnel. I realized what I had to do, got out, turned left and found the path. Ah, the proverbial dark wood.
I was running in all the wrong clothes, dress boots and a long skirt. But I finished the loop and ended at the park exit that I usually took when I went back home. I had made it.
Yesterday, I called my cousin Joanne in New York, who is a big help and support in many ways. My mother often visits her as I feel my mother visits me, and sometimes Joanne calls to tell me about it. Joanne said she loved the symbolism of my dream run. Despite all the odds, I had found my way, just as I have done in life.
But, but, but, I said, I left my parents in the apartment.
That's OK, she said. Your parents are OK. And you are too.
Joe is already here, and the other kids are coming tomorrow. Today I bought beautiful flowers for the house, not just the usual assorted mums for the Thanksgiving table but also a special bouquet of small yellow roses that I put on the kitchen table. Buy something to brighten things up, I heard my mother say.
I think it is working. And having everyone here will definitely lighten things up, too.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
A little something extra
I find it kind of embarrassing to say I have a hernia. Maybe because it's an odd word that sounds a little like hemorrhoid. Who knows, I might be the only person to think this.
In any case, that's what I have. (A hernia, not hemorrhoids.) I am having it fixed the Monday after Thanksgiving at Brigham and Women's Hospital in Boston.
On Wednesday, I go to Boston for pre-op instructions and will then probably be stuck in traffic for eight hours on my way back to Western Massachusetts.
I have an umbilical hernia, a fairly common problem and one that can be attributed to pregnancy, obviously a delayed reaction on my part.
Thanks, kids.
It's a day surgery to be followed by some pain and no running, tennis or yoga for at least a month. I should be able to walk the dog. Maddie will be happy.
Just a little something extra to keep life interesting.
In any case, that's what I have. (A hernia, not hemorrhoids.) I am having it fixed the Monday after Thanksgiving at Brigham and Women's Hospital in Boston.
On Wednesday, I go to Boston for pre-op instructions and will then probably be stuck in traffic for eight hours on my way back to Western Massachusetts.
I have an umbilical hernia, a fairly common problem and one that can be attributed to pregnancy, obviously a delayed reaction on my part.
Thanks, kids.
It's a day surgery to be followed by some pain and no running, tennis or yoga for at least a month. I should be able to walk the dog. Maddie will be happy.
Just a little something extra to keep life interesting.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Running for candy
On Monday when I increased from four to five miles, I felt the difference big-time.
It was probably not only because of the extra mile but also because my route included some hills, as opposed to my usual one-mile flat loop around Mount Holyoke's upper lake. With its soft surface and trees, it's a comfortable, sheltered place to run. Since the storm, it's been fun to walk the dog around that obstacle course of fallen trees and branches, but running there is out of the question for now. I've been going around the smaller lower lake (about 3/4) of a mile, but it's not as woodsy.
Monday's route was out on the roads. I had been doing part of it, but not the whole five miles, stopping at the bottom of the hill that leads to McCray's Farm. But I felt pretty good and decided to go for it. I reached the top of the hill OK and felt it was an accomplishment, literally and figuratively.
Going down the hill was a breeze, but as I ran over more ups and downs, I felt the accumulated effort. On the last part, I didn't want to be there anymore. It was a bit like during childbirth when you change your mind. There's nowhere to go but to the finish. Five miles probably doesn't seem like much to those who run long distances, but it's far enough if you're coming back from being way down.
As I approached our local deli, Tailgate Picnic, I had a thought: I could just stop there, get some peanut m&ms, and enjoy a leisurely quarter-mile walk back home. For some reason, when I get in a bind, chocolate often comes to mind. For example, when I was covering a boring lecture, or if I am at an over-long show or stuck in a dead-end conversation, I start to imagine the moment when I can have some chocolate.
But supposedly increasing your miles and then stopping early to buy m&m's is another matter.
I bypassed temptation and finished the run. Wow, I thought, I just did one of my old five-milers. I was glad that I had done it. I went inside, stretched, drank some water and ate some lunch. Then I drove back to the deli to get my reward.
It was probably not only because of the extra mile but also because my route included some hills, as opposed to my usual one-mile flat loop around Mount Holyoke's upper lake. With its soft surface and trees, it's a comfortable, sheltered place to run. Since the storm, it's been fun to walk the dog around that obstacle course of fallen trees and branches, but running there is out of the question for now. I've been going around the smaller lower lake (about 3/4) of a mile, but it's not as woodsy.
Going down the hill was a breeze, but as I ran over more ups and downs, I felt the accumulated effort. On the last part, I didn't want to be there anymore. It was a bit like during childbirth when you change your mind. There's nowhere to go but to the finish. Five miles probably doesn't seem like much to those who run long distances, but it's far enough if you're coming back from being way down.
As I approached our local deli, Tailgate Picnic, I had a thought: I could just stop there, get some peanut m&ms, and enjoy a leisurely quarter-mile walk back home. For some reason, when I get in a bind, chocolate often comes to mind. For example, when I was covering a boring lecture, or if I am at an over-long show or stuck in a dead-end conversation, I start to imagine the moment when I can have some chocolate.
But supposedly increasing your miles and then stopping early to buy m&m's is another matter.
I bypassed temptation and finished the run. Wow, I thought, I just did one of my old five-milers. I was glad that I had done it. I went inside, stretched, drank some water and ate some lunch. Then I drove back to the deli to get my reward.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Back to Exjade (sigh)
My daily dose of Exjade takes my mind totally off my worries, in a not very positive way.
I took it today after a break of several months. You dissolve five pills in water, drink it on an empty stomach, and wait 30 minutes to eat. Normally if you take a bitter pill, you can pop something in your mouth to take the taste away. But with Exjade, you are left feeling like you are going to vomit while knowing you won't get the relief of doing so. You can just mutter to yourself, distract yourself, clean the kitchen, tap your foot, complain to anyone who is around, whatever, until your time is up.
This is nothing compared to the nausea after chemotherapy, but still, it's not a great way to start the day.
Exjade decreases your level of ferritin, a protein that stores iron in your body. People like me who have had multiple blood transfusions end up with excess ferritin; the consequences can be really really bad, including such things as cirrhosis of the liver and increased risk of liver cancer, heart failure and abnormal rhythms, and decreased insulin leading to diabetes.
A normal ferritin range for women is 12-150 nanograms per milliter. After I finished getting transfusions, my level was about 10,000. Due to blood draws before check-ups and a period of Exjade use, my level is down to about 7,000. Quite a ways to go.
One means of treatment is a good old-fashioned blood-letting, minus the leaches. Patients undergo "therapeutic phlebotomy" during which a prescribed amount of blood is removed, usually a couple of times a week.
My doctors favor the use of Exjade, which binds to iron and removes it from the bloodstream. It takes months and months to work.
When Melissa told me at my check-up last Monday that it was time to restart, I took the bottle out of the cabinet and placed it on my counter. It took days for me to actually see it, meaning I had selective vision that made me forget until after I had already eaten. Then the day passed, and before I knew it, I had procrastinated yet another day.
Today I decided I meant business, and after re-reading about the potentially devastating effects of high ferritin, I am determined to keep up with it. Even if it means starting my day with a miserable half-hour.
I took it today after a break of several months. You dissolve five pills in water, drink it on an empty stomach, and wait 30 minutes to eat. Normally if you take a bitter pill, you can pop something in your mouth to take the taste away. But with Exjade, you are left feeling like you are going to vomit while knowing you won't get the relief of doing so. You can just mutter to yourself, distract yourself, clean the kitchen, tap your foot, complain to anyone who is around, whatever, until your time is up.
This is nothing compared to the nausea after chemotherapy, but still, it's not a great way to start the day.
Exjade decreases your level of ferritin, a protein that stores iron in your body. People like me who have had multiple blood transfusions end up with excess ferritin; the consequences can be really really bad, including such things as cirrhosis of the liver and increased risk of liver cancer, heart failure and abnormal rhythms, and decreased insulin leading to diabetes.
A normal ferritin range for women is 12-150 nanograms per milliter. After I finished getting transfusions, my level was about 10,000. Due to blood draws before check-ups and a period of Exjade use, my level is down to about 7,000. Quite a ways to go.
One means of treatment is a good old-fashioned blood-letting, minus the leaches. Patients undergo "therapeutic phlebotomy" during which a prescribed amount of blood is removed, usually a couple of times a week.
My doctors favor the use of Exjade, which binds to iron and removes it from the bloodstream. It takes months and months to work.
When Melissa told me at my check-up last Monday that it was time to restart, I took the bottle out of the cabinet and placed it on my counter. It took days for me to actually see it, meaning I had selective vision that made me forget until after I had already eaten. Then the day passed, and before I knew it, I had procrastinated yet another day.
Today I decided I meant business, and after re-reading about the potentially devastating effects of high ferritin, I am determined to keep up with it. Even if it means starting my day with a miserable half-hour.
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