There's rosemary, that's for remembrance.
William Shakespeare: Hamlet, Prince of Denmark

Wednesday, February 03, 2016

Double Helix

Mothers and daughters; sometimes a complicated relationship.  My relationship with my mother was troubled, intense, rarely fun, distant.  My relationship with my daughter is fractured.  Not the first time that has happened, but the broken line never really heals and eventually it starts to stress. She is angry with me for not protecting her as a child in a step parent marriage. She denies this. 

My daughter is strong, beautiful, talented, professionally brilliant, lives every day to the fullest. I am beyond proud of her and there are no words to express how much I love her..  I can't tell her this enough.  She is generous to a, not generous, giving.  She has gotten me little meaningful gifts...a hand painted picture of violets, a collage portrait of my grandson's wedding, a necklace with a picture of the two of us, a cup with Penelope's picture...just special gifts.  And then there was my surprise 70th birthday gift of family, tickets for us to see Jackson last summer, snowboarding trips to Schweitzer when Mammoth is closer and in the end less expensive. She calls me every Monday on her way home from work and sometimes on the weekend if she isn't busy.  She loves me.  She just doesn't like me much. 

I realized a very long time ago that I had become a lot like my mother.  We share depression, worry, low self esteem, frizzy hair, and an Italian face. My daughter deeply dislikes most of  these traits in me, calls me Debbie Downer and bickers with me over pretty much any little thing I might mention about my health, financial circumstance, or my hair.  These subjects are pretty much off limits....most of the time. 

The car accident in 2005......called her after I was sure we were at least OK. Steve's 4th hip replacement because of the accident....didn't even tell her until he was on the ortho floor.
My heart attack.....called her after I was moved out of CCU. Louie.....called her after the needle biopsy was done.

She wasn't happy when I told her after the fact with all of these issues, but it was the best decision.  I never even told my sons about need. 

She has been upset with Steve and me the last few years because we haven't been able to travel to So Cal to visit.....we simply can't afford a trip.  I did talk to her about the consolidation loan we eventually got, but those calls were short  because she couldn't understand how it was we were so deeply in debt....we get Social Security don't we? My daughter has no clue about retirement finances.  She has said she will worry about that when the time comes.  She buys what she wants when she wants, has a nice home by the beach, recently leased a 65K car, and she and her husband both bring in a nice 6 figure salary.  Steve and I did too at one recent as 2009.  Then the words Great Recession came into being and all of that changed with a lay off and a tumbling retirement account.

So, 3 weeks ago as soon as I said the words I knew it was a mistake; a big mistake.  Here is sort of how it went:

Why have you waited 2 months to see the doctor if your fingers are numb and you feel lopsided?

I just thought it would go away; you know, it was gonna pass.

And of course you are thinking the worst like you have a tumor or had a stroke or something else drastic, right?

No, I am just concerned because it hasn't gone away.

And whose fault is that?  Yours. I'm sure it is nothing, maybe some PT will take care of it. I'm going to think positive and you can think horrible.

I hope it is something simple and that I don't need PT because at 40 bucks a pop I can't do that.

So, it's about money now? Didn't you just pay off all your bills with that loan? 

Sweetheart, paying off those bills got us a little stability not a total fix.

Has it occurred to you that all of this is just old age?  You are old, mom. Deal with it, get over it. Move on, just take care of this shit and move on.

And that was it.......she had hurt me, or to be psychologically correct, I guess I let her hurt me, set myself up to be hurt. I told her I had to go, I loved her, said goodbye and hung up. She hasn't called me since. It took me over a week to realize she wasn't going to call. I emailed and finally left a message on her cell over the weekend. Short and to the point with both....I love you, I miss hearing from you. 

I'm not sure what comes next.  Like I said, this has happened before, but it has been years.  I am old, I am.  Physically I feel old, but mentally I haven't caught up to 71, not by a long shot.  I know/acknowledge my faults.  She is right about all of them. Are mothers and daughters not supposed to talk about things that trouble them, worry them, hurt them?  I'm not sure what comes next. 

Saturday, January 30, 2016


Let me start at the beginning. Last summer I had an episode of torticollis. I swear, my neck hurt so badly if someone had led me to a pasture with a shotgun over their shoulder I would have happily gone. The aftermath of that left me with my left shoulder about 3 inches higher than my right with intermittent spasms, shortening of tendons and ligaments and haircuts that are always lopsided....really.

Then last fall, October 3rd and 4th to be exact, these two adventures happened. Remember? I was digging the 5 foot hole required to fix the water pipe Steve had crushed when he was using the auger to put in a post for the satellite dish. And then, I had voiced my last bitch about all of Steve's fucking boxes sitting in the middle of the garage. Yeah, that was a good idea, rosemary. Let me haul the boxes to the bucket on the tractor, I'll climb up the ladder to the appropriate shelf and then haul the boxes out of the bucket onto the shelf.....while Steve sat in the cab of the tractor (because his back is all jacked up) moving the bucket with a lever.

A few days after these brilliant exercises in stupidity my fingers started tingling and going numb....and then it went away, then a few days later tingling again and then it went away. Early November the tingling and numbness came back and has been there since. I thought it would go away eventually, but it hasn't.

Then early December I woke up one morning and felt clumsy, lopsided, drunkish. I was listing to one side or the other and if I moved too fast I fell over. It wasn't in my head or my ears, it was my body. Sometimes my arms and hands went slack and my legs felt like they were steel pipes. I finally had to tell Steve when I took a header in front of him in the living room. I saw the doctor mid January and had an MRI on the 20th.  Here are the short results.

Severe, multilevel discogenic, spondylitic and facet joint degenerative changes in the cervical spine as delineated above. 2.  Mild to moderate central spinal canal stenosis at C3-4 and C5-6.3.Central disc protrusions at C3-4, C4-5 and C5-6 abutting and mildly deforming the ventral aspect of the cord. 4.  Moderately severe narrowing of left C4-5 neural foramen. 5.  Moderate narrowing of left C3-4 neural foramen. 6.Moderate narrowing of right C5-6 neural foramen. 7. Prominent arthropathic changes at the atlantoaxial articulation, manifested by capsular thickening and/or pannus formation and a relatively gracile appearance of the odontoid process.

The doctor said I needed a neurosurgical referral. Well, I live in Sandpoint, Idaho. My sweet Steve has a crumbling back and waited 3 months to see a neurosurgeon who referred him to a pain clinic for steroid injections before proceeding to surgery correction. Said pain clinic is so backed up (and probably badly managed) he can't get the first injection until mid February because the clinic cancelled two previous appointments. I was referred to the same neuro guy and have yet to get a call.

I am frustrated at not being able to do the things I do every day timely and without hurting myself....vacuuming, exercising, walking, taking the dogs out, just pretty much anything. After my heart attack I worked my ass off to lose weight, changed my dietary habits, exercised daily and felt great. Now, it is almost dangerous to get on the treadmill and my legs can't handle the recumbent bike for more than 20 minutes. Forget getting on the elliptical. That frustration, no anger, reached maximum levels because I had a melt down Wednesday night and when I saw my doctor yesterday I totally fell apart in the office. I am not sleeping well and spend most nights wandering around the house, watching snow fall, petting the reading or computering because then I will never fall asleep. I'm not in real pain although my neck bothers me sometimes, but the clumsy shit is just way out of control.

Let me complicate this a bit more. I was an ortho-neuro nurse all of my nursing career. I realize that my experience was almost 20 years ago, but I took care of patients that had surgery for what I have and not all of them had good outcomes. I realize that medicine has made HUGE advancements. But, I am not really excited about an anesthesiologist sticking needles in my spine to inject steroids or a neurosurgeon slicing my neck open even with a tiny, teeny incision to do whatever. Not that any of this is a concern right now. I have no clue when I will see the neuro doc, if I am even a fair candidate for surgery because of my heart, or if the sun will ever shine again because I live in Sandpoint, Idaho and that is not the mecca for neurosurgery. As for the format of this post.....fuck trying to align anything because my fingers hit all the wrong keys......sorry.   It was all I could do to click spell check and be sure caps were in the right place.   On a positive note....I got a script for Restoril and slept like a baby last night. 

Wednesday, January 06, 2016


Here I sit waiting for Steve to go through yet another MRI.  I'm worried about him in general.  He is overweight....again....because he can't exercise without pain and he won't change his diet.  After I had my heart attack he was doing great.  We exercised together, rode our bikes in good weather, walked the trails and he was happy. Then last year everything changed.  I want my old Steve back.  Added to this.......

His cousin, Jeanie, is dying.  This is no run of the mill cousin.  This was Steve's best buddy, best girl cousin, his get into fun trouble cousin, the first person he told he loved me was Jeanie. I love Jeanie. She is the coolest person ever.  She has a gypsy soul, wanderlust, and is a true 60's free spirit.  Until she went into hospice care she kept her hair bright red, dressed in gauzy skirts and peasant blouses, wore as much silver jewelry as she could cram on to her arms, fingers, ears and neck and always...and I mean always....wore red cowboy boots.  She carried her look beautifully, never looked gaudy or eccentric.....she looked like a fuck-you-I-am-a-kick-ass-redhead and you'd better get out of my way. That's all over.  She has days left, her husband is talking about the movie The Notebook, and the family has gathered.  She wants all of us to get together at the river by her home in Montana this summer, at least be barefooted or naked if we want to, and put her ashes in a special paper box she has picked out and let her float away.  I can't imagine being without Jeanie, and Steve is mourning......deeply.  

We have talked seriously about getting our affairs in order....finally......and talked to the vet when we took Emma in for her lab work yesterday.  All of our possessions and bills aside......and the shit pile of Steve's "inventory".......our biggest concern is what will happen to the dogs and cats.  Violet is old and not healthy, Petey is depressed and submissive, Wesley is a forever puppy.  Emma and Guido can't be separated and of course Emma has special needs, and Izzy needs to be an only child.  Who would want this menagerie? No one.  The vet said we could put instructions in whatever we have in place....a will or contact her and she will help should we both be gone, but we are both worried the pets will outlive us.  For all of my wanting kittens, at this point in my life to bring in any other pets would be irresponsible.  

So, here I sit.  Thankfully, I'm  alone in the waiting room because just thinking about all of this is making me cry......but, what else did anyone expect?  You can always count on me to write something like this, right?  Every group needs a Rosemary. 

Sunday, December 20, 2015

A little bit of Ho-Ho-Ho

We jolly Christmased the joint up!

Friday, December 18, 2015

Show Me the Snow!

Christmas in Idaho; usually we are buried in snow and the temps are frigid.  Not this year.  It's a balmy 31 outside and there are bigger patches of grass than snow.  Of course it's only mid December so there's lots of time for things to change.  (I let this post sit too long...we have gotten dumped least 6" of snow over about 36 hours.)

We haven't put a tree up....yet.  Steve usually starts his forest tree hunt late November, but he feels like crap and hasn't even mentioned cutting a tree.  I put a few decorations out, but I haven't felt the Christmas spirit for a long time now.  It's hard to get excited about the holidays when no one is able to come here and we can't go to them.....same story, different holiday.   

Steve is looking at probably a pretty miserable 2016.  He saw the neurosurgeon last week.  Along with bulging discs from the end of his thoracic spine down to the end of his lumbar spine, he has an abdominal aneurysm.  I'm freaked about that, but laid back Steve is acting pretty blas√©. The plan for now is:  See a doc at the pain clinic January 4th for steroid injections while he waits to get authorization for a vascular MRI.  Then, depending on the actual size of the aneurysm either watch it or stent it.  Then he can have those miserable discs taken care of.  I'm hoping he can get back to some activity by the end of summer.

I was thinking about Christmas when I was a kid and the traditions we had. My mom and I always went to midnight mass.  That was probably the only time that mass felt special, necessary, important.  The church was decorated beautifully and there were candles everywhere.  Father Coleman would wear his gold vestments and Mildred Harrigan, the organist, actually didn't mangle the hymns as badly as she did at the 10 o'clock mass on Sunday.   My dad had a special bathrobe...a red one...that he always wore on Christmas morning.  My mom worried about keeping the tinsel on the tree perfect...yes, she was one of those single strand at a time mothers......while my brother acted like he had never gotten a present in his life and grabbed at everything. I remember the year I got a bright red lunch box with a silver thermos.  Another year I got a zippered notebook for school.  I loved that notebook.    I vividly remember the year...1951..when I found all of the dolly clothes my mom had made for my bride doll, Sandy.  Ruined the Santa fantasy for me....served me right for snooping and yes, I had been poking in places I had no business poking in. 

My mom's family didn't exchange traditional gifts at Christmas.  My mom baked dozens and dozens of cookies every least half of them were "Italian" cookies made from recipes my grandmother had handed down.  Mom would ship every single cookie to her brothers in Virginia (of course my dad and I stole cookies).  They in turn would send her a Smithfield ham.  I hated those hams almost as much as I hated the home made cranberry relish.  They were salt and pepper cured and to this day I am convinced that those hams are the reason I have high blood pressure.  Salty doesn't even begin to describe the taste. 

After I married, Christmas day was spent driving all over the place to visits the in-laws so they could see the kids.  No one could ever congregate at one house because someone was pissed about something that happened last year or 5 years ago or yesterday.   This was true with both of my ex-husbands.  Of course, by the time the day was ending everyone would be drunk, I was a frazzled mess and the kids were either zombies or brats.  I've blogged about #2 husband and #1 was just as big an asshole; he just had a different name. I doubt my kids remember one good Christmas until they moved out of the house.   

Steve and I always had everyone at our house while we were in So Cal.  One year the area around the tree was so crowded that I was tossing gifts to the kids.  It was chaotic, messy and I loved it.  My youngest son put up house lights for a few years and I worried he would fall through the roof so they stayed up after that......yup, lazy ass Christmas lights up in July.  In Idaho the lights stay up and on all year round.  We have multicolored icicle lights that make the house look tie-dyed at night.  I love them. 

We actually got a few gifts for the grand and great grand kids; not much, no money.  I made memory books at Shutterfly for our 6 kids, and for my 3 kids I put in all of the photos from my 70th birthday party.....titled the books Mom Turns 70.  I wonder if we will all be together again. 

Merry Christmas and the very happiest and safest of New Years.  May blessings abound for all of you that read this and know that I love you all.  I do.

Monday, November 23, 2015

The holiday that isn't, really. Yeah, I'm a bitch sometimes.

Thanksgiving; it's almost here.  Because I worked in a hospital for decades I learned what holidays were important to me and which ones weren't.  I worked every single Thanksgiving the entire time I was a bedside RN. I also worked Easter, the 4th of July, Memorial Day, Labor Day, Mother's Day and any other holiday deemed important to anyone that wanted a day off.  I'd switch shifts, work doubles, double backs.....any hours, any day so I could have either Christmas Eve or Christmas Day off.  I never had both days off and never had Christmas Day off two years in a was one or the other.  But, those were the days I wanted, so everything else was left for someone else to celebrate. 

I can't remember any really special Thanksgivings growing up. We had some traditions or maybe they were just routines.  My mom would roast the turkey in her Nesco roaster outside in the patio on top of the washing machine because she didn't want the house to smell like turkey for weeks.  She always made green beans and the nastiest cranberry relish ever.  She would clamp a grinder onto the counter, stuff in cranberries, apples and oranges, peel still on, turn and turn the handle and this mush crap that was so bitter it made my jaw hurt would slug out.  My dad loved it.  Thankfully, it wasn't something they made me eat.  She also made mince meat pies.  I have never tasted mince meat.  Just the name was enough for me to decline and the stuff  looked nasty to me. 

Most Thanksgivings spent with Steve and all of the kids featured chicken.  I am not a cook, don't like to cook, don't like to clean up so, meals were simple and put together when I got home from work.  One time I splurged and baked Cornish hens.  The kids weren't impressed. 

I do remember one Thanksgiving when I was married to Bob.  The whole family was gathered at Bob's mothers home.  She had a long, narrow dinning room, a large family, and seating was tight.  I wanted a picture of the family sitting down with the turkey and side dishes on the table and since no one was totally wasted yet, there were still smiles on faces.  I stood at the foot of the table and had backed up as far as I could go.  Bob's brother, Richard, was closest to me and I couldn't quite get him in the frame.  I told him to scooch in a bit, and then scooch a bit more.  He told me he couldn't get any closer to the table and I said to lean in.  He promptly laid down in his filled salad plate facing me and smiled.  I took the photo.  I still have that picture.  Richard was a really special man.  I'll have to blog about him....maybe next week.

After Steve and I had our home health care business I left hospital nursing.  I had all of the holidays off after that...I was sort of the "boss" and was a great scheduler!  We had Thanksgiving dinner at our home a lot after that.  Steve has two brothers and a sister.  His sister was notorious for being late...not just a little bit late, but a lot late.  One year dinner was long over, clean up was in progress when sister Cindy and her husband Tony arrived.  I had made plates for them to be nice.  I could have just told them too bad, you're way late, pick at the bones.  Cindy had the balls to tell me the turkey was dry. I told her to put more gravy on it and shut up.  Yeah, I was a bitch.

Another year, Cindy volunteered to make the pies for Thanksgiving dessert.   She told us to buy all of the ingredients and she would make two of her mother's special pineapple cheesecake pies.  Thanksgiving eve she arrived....late....made the pies, made a HUGE mess in my kitchen and then told us since she had worked so hard she was taking the pies home...and she did.  I put them in a grocery bag, one on top of the other so she could have pineapple cheesecake mush. Yeah, I was a bitch.   But, she topped herself one year when we had Thanksgiving at one of the brother's home.  He was recently divorced from his 4th wife (the first wife was Sonya, 2, 3, and 4 were all named Susan ) and needed his family around him....or, so he said.  We brought the turkey, divorced brother Larry bought potato salad, brother Joe and his wife brought rolls.  Cindy was supposed to bring a veggie.  She was late....really late, but she did bring a veggie....a can of corn.  I swear.

We have had one Thanksgiving with family in Idaho since 1998 when we moved here.  It was the year our doggie Goldberry died and my daughter Chris drove up here with my grandson Tyler.  They arrived with our Violet.  She was so tiny she fit in Tyler's palm.  She was already spoiled and would only drink bottled water like her Auntie Chris.  That was 13 years ago.

So, Thursday we will make stuffing and bake a 22# turkey.  We will haul it across the street to Dan and Lisa's house because they will be alone for the holiday just like we are every year.  They are providing all of the side dishes.  I guess we could have had them over here, but I am really not feeling up to cleaning up all of the after crap.  Yeah, I'm a bitch sometimes.  But, I am thankful for so much this year.  My heart is strong and I am above ground, I can still exercise every day, Louie the lazy ass lump is gone and finally healed, my family is healthy and happy.  Hopefully Steve will have surgery before the year ends and will be back to being active and pain free.  I hope every one of my blogger friends has a wonderful Thanksgiving and that more blessings than you can all handle come your way.  Now.....if I knew how to load pictures you would see one of my ugly turkeys right in this spot.....but I can't figure it out so....close your eyes and pretend. 

Tuesday, October 27, 2015

A little history, the wounds of war, a love story.

There was a special segment on one of the morning TV shows this last Sunday. It marked the anniversary or was a remembrance of the photo of a young girl named Kim running naked down a road in Vietnam.  She had been burned with Napalm. There was an interview with the now 50 something Kim. She is badly scared but happy.

Wars; the horrible things humans do.  Young men and women lost, those coming home walking wounded....some of them anyway.  

I met my second and third husband (same man, different marriages obviously) early 1968. I'll call him Bob.  I was a single mother of two living partly on the welfare system, cleaning houses for the rich, and going to cosmetology school.  Bob was just home from Viet Nam.  He had been in the motor pool and while he wasn't on the front lines I eventually learned he had been exposed to horrible experiences.  He was the second most handsome man I had ever seen; the first was Omar Sharif.  He was Hispanic and American Indian, had long, black hair that he tied back with a leather thong, was muscular and brooding.  I saw that as mysterious and a sign of strength I guess.  He was damaged. He was that way before he left for Viet Nam I am sure, but the war just compounded the issues already there.  He came back an alcoholic and a drug user. I knew he drank, but the drugs were another story. 

By the summer of 1968 we were married and in June of 1969 our son was born. Let's call him Alex. Here is how the first marriage went: Alcoholism, domestic violence, calls to the police, arguments about drinking and drugs and not being home, cheating constantly (him), domestic abuse over and over, more police calls, crying, lost jobs (his), frightened kids (all 3), and more of the same. We tried marriage counseling, several times. We divorced.  He saw our son regularly, but he always picked him up at either his mother's house or my parents home. 

I heard from his sister that he was in therapy.  So was I.  Again. Three years went by.  I was dating....lots of first dates, only a few second ones.  By chance we saw each other at a club.  The "romance" started all over again; we saw ourselves as "healed." 

Here is how the second marriage went:  OK for the first year.  Then, see the above first marriage, add child abuse to that list of misery, and at the end, things more horrible than god awful horrible.  The divorce was ugly.  He was only allowed to see our son with a court monitor.  He saw him once. 

Fast forward to 1998.  Steve and I are in Idaho, my son Alex is getting married.  Of course he wants his dad there.  Seems Bob had married again and divorced and had another son.  In the 4 seconds that I was sitting alone at the reception, he came, glass in hand, and sat next to me.  Hey, good to see you, how are you doing? he said. Get the fuck away from me.  Now.  I said; and he did. 

About 8 years ago, Alex called me in a panic.  He couldn't find his dad.  Their communication was sporadic at best.  He was a full blown alcoholic (I don't know how to describe someone that is beyond being just an alcoholic) and had been having health problems.  Alex had found out that his father had lost his job, his condo had been foreclosed on, and no one knew where he was.  Alex wanted to know what to do.  I told him to call the local jails, hospitals and start looking for his SUV at the bars in the town where he lived. 

Alex found him living in his SUV in back of a supermarket.  He was collecting cans to support his drinking, a little gas and food.  Alex offered to help his dad;  his dad declined.  The next time Alex saw his dad he had broken into that lost condo, the SUV had been repossessed, he was cooking Raman on a hibachi, there was no power, water, no nothing but a seriously ill man and his booze.  Alex became a one man interventionist.  Somehow, he managed to get his father to agree to go to the Loma Linda VA. 

The VA got him dry and into a program, treated his diabetes, heart problems, blood pressure and found him campus housing.  He was granted VA disability and when he was ready to leave campus living, he was placed in a sober housing complex.  That lasted less than a year. 

Since then Bob has moved 5 times, survived a near fatal single car accident, lost toes to diabetes, had 2 respiratory arrests, one cardiac arrest, been treated for kidney failure, had a 5 vessel bypass, been in the hospital more times than Alex can count, had his bypass incision infected so badly he was in the hospital for a month, started on dialysis, and has never stopped drinking.  In August this year he was found non responsive in a strip mall parking lot next to his car, bagged broken beer and wine bottles under his head according to the police report.  He was released from the hospital a few weeks ago.  Alex can't find him.  He has a DNR in place; Alex has power of attorney.  Alex is waiting for the call to come.

My son Alex is a remarkable man in spite of his parents.  So are my two other kids; just remarkable humans given what they lived through. The three of them have forgiven me for the choices I made.  Forgiving their fathers is another story. Yes, there is a story with husband #1. 

Back in the 60's and early 70's our family was called dysfunctional.  Therapists either had a field day with our dynamics or didn't know what to do.  Now, the terms used are more advanced, more descriptive...PTSD, co-dependent, enabler, substance abuse disease, and several listings in the DSM-IV....or is there a V or VI now?

Bob was doomed long before I met him....a broken home, alcoholic mother, fraternal uncles killing each other, another uncle drinking after shave to feed his addiction, a sister that committed suicide, a brother that walked away from a deeply homophobic family never to be seen again, and on and on. 
Compared to Bob's family, mine was almost normal.  My dad was an alcoholic and my mother had affairs....what's to complain about?

Did I love Bob?  I did.  Obviously it wasn't a healthy love, or even close to one day of happiness love.  It was, in the end, just fucking miserable for both of us and the children we brought into our hell.  I take responsibility for my choices.  I don't wish Bob dead or in more pain than he brought on himself or what Viet Nam piled on top of that....but, he made his choices just like I did.  No regrets though.....I have Alex. 

Wednesday, October 21, 2015

Update: Vacant space available

Quick update.....saw the surgeon yesterday.  Steri strips removed and a few pieces of skin in the process.  Stray dissolving stitch removed.  Incision cleaned.  It looks just OK per the surgeon.  Keep it clean and non stick dressing.  As little tape as possible.  See you in a month.  You owe us 35 bucks.  Bu-bye.

Wednesday, September 30, 2015

Enough said. Let's put this lump to bed.

Patient Name:

Lucas-Olsen, Rosemary (Female)

Left breast biopsy (oriented lumpectomy for margin evaluation):
-  Benign breast tissue with nonproliferative fibrocystic changes 
and focal fat necrosis;
 negative for atypical epithelial or 
stromal proliferative changes.

Tuesday, September 22, 2015

I have to do what?

I recently got some good advice.  Angela (aka Hat) told me to Watch out for potholes.  jp (aka jp)essentially said If Louie doesn't pay rent he needs to be evicted.

I saw Dr. Kanning yesterday.  He was surprised, as was his nurse, that I was able to receive my biopsy results last Friday (someone needs to do a little office investigating).  We did a high five over the results and then it was all seriousness again.  While this is good news, it isn't all of the news.  I still have to have an excisional biopsy/lumpectomy in case fat ass Louie isn't just a fat, lazy necrotic lump.  That will happen this Friday.

OK, here is the deal.  We have to arrange with the hospital for you to go to radiology and have a wire placed.  They will secure it really well and then you have to have Steve drive you to the surgery center for the procedure.  Here is the consent and it covers anything extra I might have to do like take sentinel nodes.

Wait a minute; back up.  Steve has to drive me to the surgery center?  Just where is it?  I thought it was in the hospital.  What am I supposed to wear to this dance? 

Oh, it's just up 200.  You know where Paul Bunyan the burger place is?  It's right thereJust wear something that opens in the front.  I estimate it is a good 8-9 miles away.  I'm going to have to go shopping for proper attire because of course, I won't be wearing a bra.

After that it was a full explanation of how the wire will be placed.  The wire is actually flexible; it's the insertion sheath that is as big as a roofing nail.  The wire will be placed right where Louie is living and then other implements of torture will be used to "open you up" and take the lump and surrounding tissue.  I'm still not sure what the wire is for....maybe to be sure the doc slices and dices me in the exact spot. 

The nurse gave me a bottle of special shower stuff to use the night before and morning of.  Nothing to eat or drink after midnight the day of and then there is the whole Plavix bullshit. Dr. Kanning gave one set of instructions, Dr. Jenkins, my cardiologist, gave another.  I'm going with Dr. J.

So, off we will go at 9am on Friday to check in at the hospital.  The wire placement is supposed to be over by 11 and then, watching for potholes, it is off to the surgery center for the eviction notice to be carried out.  After that it waiting for yet another set of biopsy results and hopefully the end of this little breast drama.