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Thursday, September 18, 2014

Good News, Bad News, Good News, Bad News, ad infinitum

I had my annual meet and greet with Doc Plotkin, my neurologist, the other day. There was good news. There was bad news. We had ourselves a few laughs.

Good News:
The nice nurses weighed me and did the blood pressure thing and all that. Results? I’ve lost FOUR pounds! Last time I was at the docs, when they put me on the damned scale, I was horrified to see that I’d put on eight pounds since my last weigh in. This is, in case you’re unsure, the WRONG direction for me. Why’d I gain so much? Eh, I blame my birthday celebrations. Cake — it has calories? Heh, who knew?!

So, four pounds ain’t much but it’s a solid encouraging start.

Bad News:
Those fat, fucking, useless meningiomas (there’s three of em) sitting on top of my brain — not even bothering to add height, fer Bast’s sake — have gotten a bit chubbier. These slow growing bastids are finally getting up to a point where the doc’s telling me that he’s “concerned” and “we’ll need to keep a close watch” on them/me.


I’ve had a few years of not having to be scrutinized so tightly — that was cool. Guess the party’s //snark, snort// over.

Good News:
No surgery in THIS year's forecast.

Mind you, I've done the brain slice boogie more than a few times before. I know all the steps, can swing through them with aplomb and stone style. You know, been there/done that. Still and all, happy as all flaming Tartarus that I won't be dancing with Doc Barker this year.

More Good News:
These aren’t those schwannoma asstards that were growing on my auditory nerves. You know, the authors of my deafness, crap balance and partial facial paralysis shit.

The schwannomas have grown a smidgen too but nothing to write home about. YEA me!

Even More:
Plotkin’s gonna be speaking at some big Nf2 conference out in Arizona next year. He’s trying to put together a trike race to promote this awesome, fabuloso, TREMENDOUS way for us balance challenged folk to exercise. (Exercise? Hells, it’s FUN!)

He’s asked if I would fly out and enter the race.

Fuck yeh!

Bad News:
My friend Dan’s uttered his last bon mot. He’s gone.

Dan and I weren’t close but we shared a bond — meeting the Big Illin’ con brio, with humor. He had multiple myeloma.

Good News:
He’s out of pain, passed in his wife’s loving arms and left a damned fine mark on his world. I'm so very, solidly, incredibly glad to have known him.

Bad News/Good News:

I’ve begun rehab for my nasty-ass knee pain. I think the pain and weakness was caused by too much gearless triking up hills. Yes, I’ve had neurological checks and no, it seems unlikely that this has roots in my crop of stupid tumors.

So then:
Knee pain = bad.
Rehab with the very nice folk at South Shore Hospital = good.

Good Again:
My edge e² recumbent trike — collapsible WITH gears — should be here by middle of next month. Know what this means? Oh, yes you do! I start training for my Scottish long distance rides. Quirang and Black Cuillan by trike, here I come!


  1. So, ah, that big bike race? You need a trainer? Huh, do ya, do ya?

    1. You know it! I just, actually, wiped out on my gearless baby. MUST remember that, while I've no gears. I DO have brakes. Doh!

  2. Good to know the glass is always half full with you, Donna. Good luck with the knee rehab, and I'm confident you'll keep those meningiomas in check somehow (diet, exercise, attitude = all good). xo

    1. Thank you Della!

      If all else fails, I'll just yank the bastids out with a spatula and turkey baster.