Bad News Good News

There was another school shooting here in the land of the armed, the home of the PTSD. Of course there was. There’s too many guns in this damn county and any yahoo can pick one up for a song and a bag of doughnuts. You’re underage? No worries! Your parents probably left their loaded pump-action shotgun sitting out on the dining room table last night.

A 16-year-old shooter opened fire at an elementary school in Bend, Oregon, on Thursday, killing three children and a teacher before he was shot dead by a community member, authorities said at an evening news conference. (source) 

The children were 5, 8, and 11 years old. Nothing in the news yet about the teacher. Additionally, a 7-year-old and 54-year-old were hospitalized.

I only mention it but one of Ten’s grandchildren goes to the Silver Rail elementary school. Yes, his grand is home and fine but Jesus fucking Christ Almighty! Three of his grandchild’s schoolmates didn’t go home last night. One, possibly, spent the night in hospital. Three sets of parents are devastated. WHY does this happen?!

Reports are that an unnamed armed bystander saw the shooter, followed him, took him out, and then vanished like the Lone Ranger into the mid-afternoon.

Wild West much? Rare case of a brave, good guy with a gun?

Meanwhile, here on the East Coast, I had a good if tiring day in Hospital Land yesterday. The tumors along my spine are stable — that is, there’s no growth worth mentioning. YIPPEE!!! As for my brain — there’s been a slight increase in size in one of my meningiomas but, at this point, it’s nothing to break out the scalpels or radiation beams over. More YIPPEE!!! Naturally, after few misdiagnoses* over my many years on this spinning planet, it takes me some time to cool down, trust, and get happy about the decree.

 * (The worst, most extreme misdiagnoses was the one that came close to leaving me a paraplegic )

AND in Podiatryville, the infection is now officially gone. About fucking time too. I am now in the healing stage and will hopefully be able to wear shoes again soon. That’d be awesome since winter’s coming AND Jen and I leave for our little Iceland vaca in a few weeks. YEA!

 'scuse me now, I gotta get cleaned up for a 10AM Zoom doc appointment. I LOVE appointments where I don't have to leave the house! 

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.