Chumbawamba Strikes Again

There are worse songs to wake up to.

I get knocked down
But I get up again
You're never gonna keep me down

I’m deaf (remember?) so this is playing in my head, not on some audio device.

And, of course, the next lines to come into my head were:

He drinks a whiskey drink
He drinks a vodka drink
He drinks a lager drink
He drinks a cider drink

At this point in my big old life, I drink more like a Gen Z-er than a Gen Joneser so, to me, this is funny. I’d be passed out cold for many hours if I had four drinks. Many, MANY hours.

What was the Tubthumping about? That doctor visit yesterday regarding my stupid problem toe. I had, naturally, horror show amounts of anxiety as to how things were going to go (based on my last experience). Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to see a podiatrist but the intern and doc that I met with (both very nice and credentialed up the wazoo) determined that I do NOT have another infection (*PHEW*) and the toe is not broken. I still need to get in to see the foot doc, which they’re trying to arrange, but those folks are seriously backed up AND, apparently, work strict 9-5 hours. 

WHAT?! Are there no foot medical emergencies? Are toes and feet not considered serious parts of the body, worthy of after biz hours care? Are feet now in the same class as eyes and teeth? You know, with dental offices (featuring "Hollywood white” bleaching) and optometry exam rooms closeted behind fashion sunglasses sellers in strip malls?

Is this the future of podiatry? Are they three minutes away from becoming no more than an offshoot of mall concourse nail salons? I mean, I need a podiatrist NOT a pedicurist, goddamnit!

Will America’s rapacious health insurance industry start treating feet the way they do eyes and teeth – that they shouldn’t be insured? I don’t think we’re far from feet being considered mere style supplements. Their primary purpose being to show off Jimmy Choo, Prada, and Christian Louboutin’s three grand sneakers. Right? I mean, those multi thousand dollar shoes aren’t going to buy themselves are they?

We peasants are no more than easily replaceable cogs in the great capitalist machine. By the by, THIS is how the oligarchy ends up shooting itself in the foot. You see, if Sally and Jim (or Donna) can’t afford to get their feet fixed up, they can’t afford to buy the expensive shoes and sneaks. Maybe they can’t afford other important healthcare shit either, like chemo or insulin (or *ahem* brigatinib or levETIRAcetam fer instance), then maybe, probably, they die. If we’re all dead, WHO’S buying the very expensive footwear, the televisions, cell phones, Cool Ranch Doritos, 6-packs of Bud Light? WHO’S going on the expensive cruises, buying tickets to see the latest sportsball game, staying at the pricey spa/hotel? 

WHO’S feeding the billionaire’s and trillionaire’s bottomless pit of capitalistic greed if we’re all dead because they made healthcare a luxury item? Hmmmmmm?

*OOPSIE* I’m off on a rant again, aren’t I? Bound to happen  with Darth Dementia and his astronomically dimwitted Pedophile Protector Party in control of the country.

Anyway, the best part of yesterday was that the very good docs didn’t feel that I needed to be kept in hospital and fed massive amounts of intravenous antibiotics (like last time). I could go home and eat ice cream (which I did). The next best part was the traffic – seriously. It was Friday afternoon rush hour BUT it’s summer in Boston. Everyone who was going down the Cape had either left Thursday night or by noon Friday at the latest. Any later and you’re facing obscene backups at the Bourne Bridge. (NB: around these parts, this is the way we say we’re going down to Cape Cod – we’re going down the Cape. K?)

He sings the songs that remind him of the good times
He sings the songs that remind him of the better times

Don't cry for me
Next door neighbor
~ Tubthumping, Chumbawamba 

Doctorville

Well, Ten and I are headed in to my doctor’s office this afternoon to see about my banjaxed stubbed toe. It’s not getting any better. Joy. Based on past experience, I’m expecting the worst and am preparing for a dull, uncomfortable weekend spent in hospital where they’ll pump me full of antibiotics and remove my toenail AGAIN. 

I suppose I'm as ready as I'll ever be – I have a new library book and I’m about to download the next Murderbot (just finished Network Effect. Fugitive Telemetry is next). I’ll pack up all my chargers and anything else I’ll need for a couple of days away from home. Maybe they won’t make me go inpatient but it’s good to be prepared.

This is all just SO fucking annoying and tedious. I really need a replacement body.

Here are some pics, comix and editorial cartoons in place of non-kvetching content from me today.

You’re welcome.

Nick Anderson

Jack Ohman

Remain Calm...Dammit!

I have a thrice put off dental surgery scheduled for 1PM today. I’m distinctly unthrilled about this. WHY did I put this off three times? That’s kind of not like me. I usually go into my scary health shit like a mad, suicide bombing warrior. Right?

This past winter was stressful and jam-packed with other stupid health issues. I was depleted and overwhelmed. Happens to even the best berserkers. So, I put it off. A lot. Today’s the big day. Whoopee!

At right is an absolutely accurate illustration of me bravely marching off to the torture dental surgery suite with my faithful battle bear. Okay, I probably gotta leave the battle bear (AKA Cake) at home.

Yes, I KNOW I’ve been through 50 bazillion big, fat, long-ass brain, spine, and eye surgeries before and I wasn’t anywhere near so whiny about those. Why not? I got to sleep through the brain and spine surgeries. Anaesthesia is my friend. Eyeball surgeries? I was younger then. That’s my reasoning an I’m sticking with it.

Below is some calming imagery I’m focusing on in hopes of chilling the fuck out before I get in the fucking chair.

See ya tomorrow … if I survive.

Follow-Up

I'm off to MGH for an early follow-up appointment with the foot doc. Am I healing? I believe so. Yesterday I actually wore real shoes yesterday – okay, they were my silver, glitter crocs but, ya know, close enough.

You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose. You're on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the one who'll decide where to go… 
~ Dr. Seuss, Oh, the Places You’ll Go! 

And now I have both feet in shoes – YEA! 

Until tomorrow, here, have some pics and comix. Yur welcome! 

Jack Ohman

Ed Stein

Andy Marlette

Tube Time Fun

I had another MRI yesterday. Whoopee! This one was for my spine. We’re still trying to find the root cause of the, now only occasional, interior numbness and swelling within my left foot, ankle, and calf. YES, it could totally be related to the vibrant tumor farm along my neuro system. Ya know, this being due to my fun, FUN, and relatively rare disease, neurofibromatosis type 2. Act now kids and NO you more than likely won’t get a case of your very own. NF2 only favors one lucky individual out of a sea of 40,000 people. Yeah, I'm BIG special.

July’s brain scan established that my up top tumors, particularly those camping out on me old motor cortex, are chilled out and not involved in my calf/ankle/foot antics. YEA! Hopefully, the xenomorph wrapped around my thoracic spine hasn’t gained any mass and is still sleeping. The MRI tech’s report drops in two days so, of bloody course, I’ll read it ahead of my October 9th follow up meeting with the good Doc Plotkin. I like to be prepared, have an inkling of what I can mebbe expect.

Considering the ankle swelling happens only occasionally now AND I’ve been able to work back up to doing 25 minutes at a time on my recumbent elliptical, I’m absolutely ready to class this calf/ankle/foot hullabaloo as just one of those funky-ass consequences of getting older. e.g., I rolled over in bed funny and strained my ankle (or I could have inadvertently stepped on a dove?). Then I walked on it too much and made it worse.

Welcome to life after 65 where just taking a breath in an out of the ordinary manner can put you in a neck brace for a month. Not that I’ve done this…yet.

I don’t know if this, sleeping on my ankle/foot funny, is the case here. The root cause may still be in this ratbastard disease that I’m rocking. Maybe it’s a combo of aging and NF2. With Michie’s death still fresh in my heart (and not knowing the specific cause or the path she rode during her last few month) I wonder. A LOT.

The other worrisome bit – the techs told me I’d be in the tube for 40-45 minutes. It was an hour and 40 minutes! What the schwannomatic fuck? I mean, I know that my thoracic monster is, well, monstrous, but…sheesh. This is disturbing and I seriously deserved a cookie after that scan.

I did manage, this time around, to get my MRI calm-me-down meds right. You may recall the last time when I maybe shouldn’t have mixed so many gummies with my lorazepam? Yeah, I went on THE most mind-bending psychedelic journey whilst tube riding. Oopsie! 

Nothing like being a disabled woman in her late 60s, coming out of an hour long MRI scan, announcing “I’m trippin’ my balls off here. I don’t actually have balls but I guess you know that. I gotta pee now.” I *think* I just said that to Jen but, ya know, the techs may’ve overheard.

In general, I was much more dignified yesterday. Possibly. This is good...I guess.

Assorted

I'm headed out for my annual boob squishing (AKA mammogram) in a few minutes. Joy. Just motherfucking joy. 

I just want to know WHY all the money spent on politics, isn't spent on science and healthcare. I mean, fer fuck's sake, shouldn't a less painful way to check for breast cancer have been developed by now? 

The answer is YES.

Maybe when Kamala's president, we can finally have women's healthcare that's painless. WHY DOES MGH NOT USE TRICORDERS FOR THIS SHIT! Because tricorders haven't been invented yet?.....oh. Merde.

Okay, I'm outta here. Have some memes, cartoons and pics while I'm gone.

Marathon Woman

Yesterday I went in to Mass General for a CT scan. Why? I’ve had headaches off and on for a week now. This is, surprisingly, uncommon for me. You’d think, given my tumor riddled bean, I’d be suffering mal di testa on the regular. Nope, I’m not. Interesting but true.

Given that I had surgery just two months ago, it seemed (to me and my brain pit crew) like a good idea to lift the hood and have a look see. Why have I had a week's worth of headache action? I expect I’ll get results and recommendations on Monday.

The biggest deal about yesterday was this—I was feeling pretty good when we got to the hospital—no headache and I had energy. Though the joint’s huge and my scan was being done in a different building from where the parking garage was located, I passed on wheelchair action. If I want to build strength up and get back to where I was pre-op (and I do), I NEED to walk more. I’m still ridiculously weak and that’s flat-out unacceptable. So, it was me and Zeke on the go.

By the time we (me, Ten and Zeke) made it to the Blake building I was breathing like an untrained runner on mile three of their first marathon. Oooof, NOT pretty.

After the fast CT scan, Ten and I headed back to the garage, which now seemed a zillion miles away. I would have liked to stop for a coffee and pastry (to delay the exhausting, long trek back to the car) BUT there were zero benches around the first floor’s hallway café. Dammit!

About halfway back to the parking garage I began wondering if I’d make it. Maybe Ten should go find me a wheelchair? NOPE. I was gonna get there on my own power even if I had to take a rest break every 30 feet, dammit!

As we crossed the bridge between the Lunder Building and Yawkey, I found myself chanting I-don’t-think-I-can-do-this, I-don’t-think-I-can-do-this, I-don’t-think-I-can-do-this, I-don’t-think-I-can-do-this. I was the little train that couldn’t BUT I could and I did.

Finally we got to Yawkey and rode the elevator down to where we were parked. It was now time to walk downhill to the car. So ya know, walking downhill is harder than up. I was nervous—given how exhausted I was, would I be able to control my speed? Could I keep hold of my walker’s handles, not let it get too far out in front of me? Would my legs give out? Would I tumble and fall, rolling under some giant, stupid SUV?

No, I did not. I succeeded in staying upright, on my feet. Yea me!

After sitting and downing a half gallon of water, I checked my tiny phone’s step app. We had walked .83 of a mile. That’s the most I’ve walked since early May, before surgery. The farthest I’ve gone before this was .68 of a mile. WOOHOO!

Today, I’m gonna play it smart. I won’t take a big walk. I’ll just do a couple of short rides on the elliptical. Also, it’s gonna hit 500 bazillion degrees out there, even with the sea breeze. I’m staying in the AC, thenkyouveddymuch! Tomorrow, I’ll try for another world conquering stroll.

Couple Questions

First: Zooma Zooma Zoom

During the height of COVID, more than a few of my MGH visits were conducted via Zoom. Not ideal but these particular appointments were generally follow up discussions on tests already completed (MRIs, bloodwork and other assorted scans). The doc wasn’t examining me for unusual moles, star systems living in my pancreas or the progress of my topical minoxidil hair replacement (with writhing snakes, of course) treatments. Zoom consultations as a stopgap measure were appropriate.

Question—can this be expanded on? That is, can tech evolve such that CAT scans, thyroid tests, EKGs and even urinalysis could be done via Zoom? I mean, the Starfleet Medical Tricorder, TR-560 was featured on Star Trek: The Next Generation which came out in 1987. FFS, that’s 37 goddamn years ago! How hard can it possibly be to hook me in and up?

 Yes, this is all about avoiding the 14 mile, one hour minimum, commute into Mass General. And yes, I need to have my scans and tests done at Super Science Central as opposed to my local, small, underfunded, under-equipped Medicos R Us clinic. 

If the big tech dudes aren’t gonna make Zoom med tests possible anytime soon, what about some elegant and ingenious med vans. You know, like taco trucks only they do CAT scans and bloodwork? (I will concede that MRIs would be too difficult as the machinery would need a semi for transport versus a bread van sized truck)

Hell, combine the two. MGH could have whole fleets of Tacos and Tests Trucks (or Ice Cream and Analysis Vans). Patients (such as yurs truly) could have a tasty snack while awaiting results!
~~~
Second: People with big-ass American flags hanging from their porch or have a special flagpole in their front yard—what’s the deal?

• Do you regularly forget what country you live in and this is to remind yourself?

• Are you afraid that your neighbors aren’t aware that they live in the U.S. and you’re trying to subtly, helpfully inform them?

• Do you have a tendency to time travel at night and so you count the stars each morning to figure out what year you’ve landed in? I only mention it but Hawaii became the 50th state on August 21, 1959. That’s just about 65 years ago. If you see 50 stars the year could be 1959 or 2024. That’s, in people versus geologic time, quite a broad range to narrow down.

Additionally, you could potentially land in 2030 after underpopulated South and North Dakota have finally, sensibly merged—same for similarly low humaned Montana and Wyoming (people vote not land or corporate farms and mines). Puerto Rico and Washington D.C. could be the new 49th and 50th states/stars. Counting stars isn’t going to help you figure out the year.

• I know! I know! At night, while everyone sleeps, the flag flourishers board shuttles to a super seekret MusKKK spaceship which takes them to Mars. They’re going there to pick out and measure their land allotments in anticipation of Space Karen’s Noah-like transport of rich white men (and their classy white female sex workers—they’ll ALL be just like Pretty Woman) to the new world.

The flag in the lawn, the jacked up monster-sized pickup and their star spangled underwear tells the eager-to-be-MusKKK-Martians that they’re on Earth again.

• Possibly you’re a blue dot in an ultra MAGAt Red neighborhood? Is the flag-flying an attempt to throw your gunhumping terrorist neighbors off the scent? I only mention it but MAGAts, likely, will need more than a mere flag as evidence. Maybe if you add some burning crosses and blast Kid Rock and that draft dodging pants shitter’s tunes at 2AM, you’ll be safe?

A friend of mine (hardcore Democrat) told me that his front porch flag (and car bumper sticker) were about taking this once meaningful symbol back from the rightwing, braindead hate cults.

Sorry dude, that ship sailed 40+ years ago.