I am having trouble with clothes.
You'd think after having so much taken off the front of the chassis, my body would be a different size and weight. Instead, those stats are the same, but packaged in a completely different shape. I used to be an upside-down triangle (widest at the top, point at my feet), now I'm right-side up (apex at my head, base at my hips). I've discovered that all these years, I had a big fat stomach lurking underneath that big shelf on the top. Who knew? I never saw it, and Bill assures me that no one else did either. Now it sticks out beyond the small foothills of my new chest, like a massive mountain in the distance. Sheesh.
Bras continue to be a pain and a challenge. Ace bandages ride up or fall down and always wind up pinching. I buy and try about 4 different bras per day, take them back the next day and start over again. They all rub and chafe and bind. Sleep bras, sport bras, soft cup, no cup--I have yet to find something that doesn't burn or constrict after about an hour. So I change them, over and over, all day long.
Just when I thought I was going to burst into flames yesterday from the fire underneath my latest trial undergarment, relief arrived via UPS--Kellie sent me some lotion with melaleuca oil in it, and I almost wept with gratitude. Ahhhhhhh. Deliverance from the Land of Chafe at last!
I notice every woman's bustline for the first time in my life. I look at clothes in a catalog, outfits on women in stores, costumes in the movies. I gauge them all with a critical eye of "could I wear that now?" or "nope, that probably won't work on the new bod." I have no accurate mental template of my real body image anymore--my head still thinks it's the old shape and form, and it doesn't match reality in the mirror at all. It's a bit like being a teenager all over again, trying to find out what looks good and what doesn't on my particular body type. After years of finally figuring out what I can wear that will make me look sexy, or thinner or businesslike or just plain decent, I don't know what works anymore. My old shirts and pants fit, but they don't hang right--the eye is drawn to the middle of me, and I just look WIDE in the middle. I no longer have the luxury of hiding my abdomen of any size in the shadowlands underneath the overhang of my bustline. My hips no longer look small by comparison. I've been excavated and engineered, and it's mighty weird, like visiting a familar corner that's been bulldozed for a new strip mall. I don't know my way around this new landscape yet.
I thought I was going to be able to wear things that I never have been able to get away with in the past because of my over-large "bowsprit." Instead, I'm confused and style-challenged. I won't be able to do deep necklines because of the puckering and scarring in my cleavage, so that's out. I'm going to have to figure out how to minimize my big stomach and hips instead of my bust. Clingy shirts look great with these new perky, above-elbow breasts, but clingy means I'm going to have to learn to suck in my gut. Or get a girdle, for crying out loud. Do they even make those anymore? Maybe I'm going to end up being a naked hermit up on my mountaintop, simply because I can't figure out what to wear to town?
So, it's a challenge. A new project, even. When I get my energy back, I'll go shopping in earnest and figure out the parameters of this new body and how it fits into the universe of clothes. I wonder if a whole new wardrobe is a justifiable medical expense?
Friday, November 30, 2007
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Slowly & quietly, getting better each day
I still have zero stamina, but I am beginning to feel improvement in strength and flexibility each day. I still take 2 or 3 naps (morning, afternoon and sometimes early evening) and conk out by 9 pm, but I can now pick small things up off the floor, cook dinner and bathe myself without supervision. I can carry my own handbag and shuffle through Walmart. I can open jars and a bottle of wine with tools and a little advance planning. I can stand on tip-toe and bounce up to turn on the stove hood light. I can walk down to the road and back up the steep driveway without having to stop for breath or leg cramps. I do not need drugs to get through the day. I can brush my teeth and hair, mostly without pain.
Long-term goals for the future: Being able to really s-t-r-e-t-c-h my back, with arms overhead! Walk the dog on a leash! 30 minutes on the elliptical, without feeling faint!
Short-term goals for today: 5 minutes on the elliptical trainer! Programming the new phone system (yes, finally an answering machine)! Talk to the insurance company! Go to the post office and pick up the mail! Keep the dog calm while Bill gives her a bath!
Small steps for tiny feet....
Long-term goals for the future: Being able to really s-t-r-e-t-c-h my back, with arms overhead! Walk the dog on a leash! 30 minutes on the elliptical, without feeling faint!
Short-term goals for today: 5 minutes on the elliptical trainer! Programming the new phone system (yes, finally an answering machine)! Talk to the insurance company! Go to the post office and pick up the mail! Keep the dog calm while Bill gives her a bath!
Small steps for tiny feet....
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Send in the gawkers!
After a long but happy day yesterday, we finally got home around 7:30 pm. Echo was so exhausted, she went up and flopped on the futon, refusing to move or even open her sleepy dog-eyes. And me? The stitches are out. Ah! I felt like Pinocchio being released from my strings! And no more long drives to and from Charlottesville for 5 weeks. Ah!
Plastics lived up to their reputation, pulling out all the stops and keeping us entertained. Hanna Richter, a resident who was present at my initial diagnosis back in September in Dr. Brenin's clinic, is now doing a rotation with Dr. Lin's clinic, so she and I have travelled this together--she was one of the diagnostic team that found the other cancer in my right breast, and she was part of the surgical team at my reconstruction surgery (I saw her in the OR, just before I fell asleep). Hanna did most of the work yesterday and we had an opportunity to chat. She is doing surgical rotations at UVA, but is actually a student from the University of Freiburg, Germany. You'd never know, as she speaks English perfectly, with only a trace of an accent that could easily be attributed to Minnesota or Wisconsin.
As usual, I spent the day with my shirt off in front of strangers. Normally quite a modest person about nudity, I have to say I'm getting used to it. And the strangers kept coming in--a woman I'd never seen knocked at the door and said "Ooooh, I want to see too!" from behind the curtain. When I asked, "And just who are you?" she laughed and said, "just a nurse, but Dr. Lin said I had to come and see, he's so proud of the work he did on you." So now I've become a testimonial, I guess.
Bill made the observation that the enthusiastic optimism exhibited by the Plastics people is most likely for my benefit--they may not be as crazy as I make out. I think he may be right. The obsessive cheerful positivity of all of them is a powerful reinforcement for women who have been through such a major loss. To have a room full of people smiling and congratulating and asserting how great you look can't help be a motivator to start thinking of your new body as something to be proud of, something that looks good.
After admiring my healing properties, my symmetry, my reduced bruising and my general all-around awesomeness, they asked if there was anything else they could do for me. I was a little embarrassed, but I mumbled my problem. "Lint," I said. The sticky post-surgical adhesive was still stuck to my chest, and I had started collecting little bits of fuzz, thread and yes, even dog hair. My new cleavage looked like a dryer lint trap, and I couldn't scrub it to get it off (hurts), or use any kind of solvent to remove it (skin too close to stitches). Could they help?
Enter Hanna and a bottle of strange-smelling oil, the color of pink grapefruit juice. She managed to get most of the fuzzies off and the glue that kept it there. She also taped my incisions with steri-strips, so now I look like a Barbie who just came home from the first-aid station. Dr. Lin wants me wearing a bra, but when I complained that I'm still too chafed to wear one for more than an hour or so, he suggested big, wide ace bandages instead, so Hanna and a nurse made me a "tube top." Wow. For the first time in my life, I can wear a tube top!
Jean asks where Bill has been through all of this--was there an initial "unveiling" of the new me, when the bandages came off, and how did he react? Bill has been right next to me through every single step of this, from the initial exams to the last kiss before the anesthesia kicked in, to the icky first let's-help-you-get-dressed-to-go-home moment, to the crowd-pleasing clinic viewings of yesterday. There was never actually a formal ~ta-da~ of bandages coming off, more like a here's-your-wife-take-care-of-her. He's washed my hair and cut my toenails, sponge-bathed me and dressed me, lifted me up and off the couch, emptied my surgical drains and hauled me out of the tub. He's seen and done a lot of gross stuff in the last few months, and still manages to tell me everyday that I am beautiful. He says that in his dreams now, I appear in the new body form, not the old, supposing that this means his subconscious has accepted it. I'm not there yet, but I'm getting there with his help. I am awed by his devotion and care.
Today, we are busy. The satellite people are coming to install high-speed Internet, my present to us for our anniversary. My hated dial-up service is scheduled to quadruple in price on Dec. 8, and why should I pay that for something we hate? With the satellite, we also won't need the extra dedicated phone line, so I can justify saving some of the cost that way. We need to go to the post office and Walmart, where a new phone system also awaits our pick-up. We will be learning new things over the next few days, cleaning house and getting ready for my mom's arrival on Dec. 4. Almost like a normal life. I've told Bill that as of today, he is a free-agent, a man who can go back to work as the spirit or opportunity moves him. He doesn't think I'm ready yet, but I am getting stronger daily and will be able to cut him loose if he needs to go.
Plastics lived up to their reputation, pulling out all the stops and keeping us entertained. Hanna Richter, a resident who was present at my initial diagnosis back in September in Dr. Brenin's clinic, is now doing a rotation with Dr. Lin's clinic, so she and I have travelled this together--she was one of the diagnostic team that found the other cancer in my right breast, and she was part of the surgical team at my reconstruction surgery (I saw her in the OR, just before I fell asleep). Hanna did most of the work yesterday and we had an opportunity to chat. She is doing surgical rotations at UVA, but is actually a student from the University of Freiburg, Germany. You'd never know, as she speaks English perfectly, with only a trace of an accent that could easily be attributed to Minnesota or Wisconsin.
As usual, I spent the day with my shirt off in front of strangers. Normally quite a modest person about nudity, I have to say I'm getting used to it. And the strangers kept coming in--a woman I'd never seen knocked at the door and said "Ooooh, I want to see too!" from behind the curtain. When I asked, "And just who are you?" she laughed and said, "just a nurse, but Dr. Lin said I had to come and see, he's so proud of the work he did on you." So now I've become a testimonial, I guess.
Bill made the observation that the enthusiastic optimism exhibited by the Plastics people is most likely for my benefit--they may not be as crazy as I make out. I think he may be right. The obsessive cheerful positivity of all of them is a powerful reinforcement for women who have been through such a major loss. To have a room full of people smiling and congratulating and asserting how great you look can't help be a motivator to start thinking of your new body as something to be proud of, something that looks good.
After admiring my healing properties, my symmetry, my reduced bruising and my general all-around awesomeness, they asked if there was anything else they could do for me. I was a little embarrassed, but I mumbled my problem. "Lint," I said. The sticky post-surgical adhesive was still stuck to my chest, and I had started collecting little bits of fuzz, thread and yes, even dog hair. My new cleavage looked like a dryer lint trap, and I couldn't scrub it to get it off (hurts), or use any kind of solvent to remove it (skin too close to stitches). Could they help?
Enter Hanna and a bottle of strange-smelling oil, the color of pink grapefruit juice. She managed to get most of the fuzzies off and the glue that kept it there. She also taped my incisions with steri-strips, so now I look like a Barbie who just came home from the first-aid station. Dr. Lin wants me wearing a bra, but when I complained that I'm still too chafed to wear one for more than an hour or so, he suggested big, wide ace bandages instead, so Hanna and a nurse made me a "tube top." Wow. For the first time in my life, I can wear a tube top!
Jean asks where Bill has been through all of this--was there an initial "unveiling" of the new me, when the bandages came off, and how did he react? Bill has been right next to me through every single step of this, from the initial exams to the last kiss before the anesthesia kicked in, to the icky first let's-help-you-get-dressed-to-go-home moment, to the crowd-pleasing clinic viewings of yesterday. There was never actually a formal ~ta-da~ of bandages coming off, more like a here's-your-wife-take-care-of-her. He's washed my hair and cut my toenails, sponge-bathed me and dressed me, lifted me up and off the couch, emptied my surgical drains and hauled me out of the tub. He's seen and done a lot of gross stuff in the last few months, and still manages to tell me everyday that I am beautiful. He says that in his dreams now, I appear in the new body form, not the old, supposing that this means his subconscious has accepted it. I'm not there yet, but I'm getting there with his help. I am awed by his devotion and care.
Today, we are busy. The satellite people are coming to install high-speed Internet, my present to us for our anniversary. My hated dial-up service is scheduled to quadruple in price on Dec. 8, and why should I pay that for something we hate? With the satellite, we also won't need the extra dedicated phone line, so I can justify saving some of the cost that way. We need to go to the post office and Walmart, where a new phone system also awaits our pick-up. We will be learning new things over the next few days, cleaning house and getting ready for my mom's arrival on Dec. 4. Almost like a normal life. I've told Bill that as of today, he is a free-agent, a man who can go back to work as the spirit or opportunity moves him. He doesn't think I'm ready yet, but I am getting stronger daily and will be able to cut him loose if he needs to go.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
One More Step, Then Another, and Another...
I feel like a bad line in a war movie, you know, the one that goes something like "Come on you grunts, whatsa matter, you wanna live forever?" just before they go charging into a hopeless fight and certain doom. Well, yeah...I DO want that, thank you. I want to pack up my bags, tell everyone that it's been a slice, and go back to living the life I had before Sept. 7. Unfortunately, I don't get that option. Everything comes back to the fact that it will never be the same, that I don't get to have a "do over," and life starts up again, but from this point here on. No turning back, only re-inventing the future everyday from here on out.
The finality of the surgery is what got to me yesterday. Hearing my surgeon pronounce me "an excellent cosmetic result," made me wonder "And what planet are you on, doc?" Reading the long-awaited pathology report, my cancer distilled into two typed pages of techno-medico-speak. I've heard people talk about out-of-body experiences, but reading about former pieces of my body described as "fresh" tissue samples just made me a little queasy and sad. It's not me, (but it used to be), and the new me looks good for what it is, but it's still not me. I cringe.
Today, more poking and prodding, this time with the wacko plastics crew. I've decided that these people are the court jesters of the medical profession. (Bill says that he thinks that they just REALLY enjoy their work). To be fair, they get the unique position of making everything better. OK, it's not the same, but certainly what they do makes the most of what's left after the deadly serious oncology people get through with you. They do have more fun in this peculiar parallel "Universe of Cancer" that overlays what used to be normal life.
I've been living in this parallel universe for about 3 months now, and while it's been interesting, I'm homesick for the old world I knew. I keep looking for a worm-hole to take me back, but as all sci-fi fans know, the things that happen in the alternate world impact and influence events in the normal timeline. There is no going back, only the future you choose in the world you are forced to inhabit.
So, switch modes, back to positives, stop whining and push on. Stitches come out today! No more poking me and pulling and itching and scratching! I see a future that includes soothing lotions and chafe-resistant powders. They tell me it is good that I have so much skin sensitivity left after the surgery (as opposed to being completely numb), but the downside is that my skin feels like a constant rug-burn, like someone buffed me with 220-grit sandpaper. After the stitches go away, I can finally treat that and get some relief. My arm function and strength continue to improve and the collarbone aches and upper chest muscles are calming down too. All good.
The path report, other than being a little creepy to read, was right where I suspected it would be all along. I am thankfully a Stage Ic, on the right side of the cusp of Stages I-II. I have an appointment with an oncologist in Kingsport on Dec.10 to discuss what comes next. My histology was medium grade, medium mitosis, medium differentiation. My lymph nodes were all negative. My metastasis is X--unable to be determined. So for those of you who follow these things, I am a T1c, N0, MX. All pretty good news.
Dr. Brenin says that I am therefore a candidate for a new type of diagnostic post-surgical test called Oncotype DX. This is a test that looks at 21 different "snips" of genes (SNPs, which stand for single nucleotide polymorphisms) and is used as a more individual predictor of the chance of recurrence; also what types of chemo drugs are likely to be most effective and which ones are likely to not increase statistical chances of survival. This might be a way to better tailor a chemo regimen and assess risks versus benefits of specific chemo protocols.
Some side effects of chemo are well known and well publicized--the nausea and hair loss, for example. But the ones that scare me are the ones you don't hear about until you are forced to choose chemo or not chemo--things like neuropathy (which I already have a significant amount of from the spinal stenosis) and heart muscle damage. So much of medical treatments available now come down to a "quality of life" issue. Just how much are you willing to put up with to increase your chances of beating the cancer for good? Would I risk heart damage for a 2% increase in my chances? Probably not. For 15%? Maybe. Would I take a possible 25% chance of heart damage to gain a possible 54% decreased chance of recurrence? I have no idea right now, though I suspect these are the kind of choices I am going to have to make and live with (or not). This stuff (especially for someone who is not entirely comfortable with numbers anyway) is the real challenge of cancer.
In the beginning of this process, when I was still crying everyday, several times a day, I think I summed it up for Bill this way: "OK, so let me get this straight--they're going to surgically mutilate me, then they're going to poison me, then they're going to shut me down hormonally and then they're going to target my genes and zap those with manufactured antibodies, have I got that right????" It's truly unbelievable, isn't it? Kind of like trying to kill Rasputin--first they tried to poison him, then they shot him a bunch of times, then they tied him up and threw him in the Neva River, where he finally actually died of drowning. And yes, I feel like that some days.
But for whatever else it is, this is my life, and I still get to choose how to live it. I'm not being graceful about it, but I am trying to be grateful. It's not over, but some of the worst of it is over. It's not perfect, but it's what I've got, and I'm going to make the most of it.
The finality of the surgery is what got to me yesterday. Hearing my surgeon pronounce me "an excellent cosmetic result," made me wonder "And what planet are you on, doc?" Reading the long-awaited pathology report, my cancer distilled into two typed pages of techno-medico-speak. I've heard people talk about out-of-body experiences, but reading about former pieces of my body described as "fresh" tissue samples just made me a little queasy and sad. It's not me, (but it used to be), and the new me looks good for what it is, but it's still not me. I cringe.
Today, more poking and prodding, this time with the wacko plastics crew. I've decided that these people are the court jesters of the medical profession. (Bill says that he thinks that they just REALLY enjoy their work). To be fair, they get the unique position of making everything better. OK, it's not the same, but certainly what they do makes the most of what's left after the deadly serious oncology people get through with you. They do have more fun in this peculiar parallel "Universe of Cancer" that overlays what used to be normal life.
I've been living in this parallel universe for about 3 months now, and while it's been interesting, I'm homesick for the old world I knew. I keep looking for a worm-hole to take me back, but as all sci-fi fans know, the things that happen in the alternate world impact and influence events in the normal timeline. There is no going back, only the future you choose in the world you are forced to inhabit.
So, switch modes, back to positives, stop whining and push on. Stitches come out today! No more poking me and pulling and itching and scratching! I see a future that includes soothing lotions and chafe-resistant powders. They tell me it is good that I have so much skin sensitivity left after the surgery (as opposed to being completely numb), but the downside is that my skin feels like a constant rug-burn, like someone buffed me with 220-grit sandpaper. After the stitches go away, I can finally treat that and get some relief. My arm function and strength continue to improve and the collarbone aches and upper chest muscles are calming down too. All good.
The path report, other than being a little creepy to read, was right where I suspected it would be all along. I am thankfully a Stage Ic, on the right side of the cusp of Stages I-II. I have an appointment with an oncologist in Kingsport on Dec.10 to discuss what comes next. My histology was medium grade, medium mitosis, medium differentiation. My lymph nodes were all negative. My metastasis is X--unable to be determined. So for those of you who follow these things, I am a T1c, N0, MX. All pretty good news.
Dr. Brenin says that I am therefore a candidate for a new type of diagnostic post-surgical test called Oncotype DX. This is a test that looks at 21 different "snips" of genes (SNPs, which stand for single nucleotide polymorphisms) and is used as a more individual predictor of the chance of recurrence; also what types of chemo drugs are likely to be most effective and which ones are likely to not increase statistical chances of survival. This might be a way to better tailor a chemo regimen and assess risks versus benefits of specific chemo protocols.
Some side effects of chemo are well known and well publicized--the nausea and hair loss, for example. But the ones that scare me are the ones you don't hear about until you are forced to choose chemo or not chemo--things like neuropathy (which I already have a significant amount of from the spinal stenosis) and heart muscle damage. So much of medical treatments available now come down to a "quality of life" issue. Just how much are you willing to put up with to increase your chances of beating the cancer for good? Would I risk heart damage for a 2% increase in my chances? Probably not. For 15%? Maybe. Would I take a possible 25% chance of heart damage to gain a possible 54% decreased chance of recurrence? I have no idea right now, though I suspect these are the kind of choices I am going to have to make and live with (or not). This stuff (especially for someone who is not entirely comfortable with numbers anyway) is the real challenge of cancer.
In the beginning of this process, when I was still crying everyday, several times a day, I think I summed it up for Bill this way: "OK, so let me get this straight--they're going to surgically mutilate me, then they're going to poison me, then they're going to shut me down hormonally and then they're going to target my genes and zap those with manufactured antibodies, have I got that right????" It's truly unbelievable, isn't it? Kind of like trying to kill Rasputin--first they tried to poison him, then they shot him a bunch of times, then they tied him up and threw him in the Neva River, where he finally actually died of drowning. And yes, I feel like that some days.
But for whatever else it is, this is my life, and I still get to choose how to live it. I'm not being graceful about it, but I am trying to be grateful. It's not over, but some of the worst of it is over. It's not perfect, but it's what I've got, and I'm going to make the most of it.
Monday, November 26, 2007
Rainy day, headed to Virginia
Oh, how we need this rain! I like waking up to the sound of it on the skylights.
Our plan is to leave here by 8 and go directly to the hospital, see Dr. Brenin for my post-surgical check, get a copy of the pathology report, and take the Goldbergs out to dinner. Tomorrow morning, Dr. Lin will remove my stitches, and hopefully send me on my way with an appointment sometime in the future to form and tattoo "nipples" on my new falsies. How incredibly w-e-i-r-d. I, who never wanted a tattoo, now get two. Again, the perverse humor part of me flirts with the idea of something out of the norm--maybe a lion & and lamb? A Yin & Yang? A butterfly on one and a screaming eagle on the other? Hidden messages? How about I just calm down and let them do their jobs normally...
This will be a quick trip--up there today, home tomorrow afternoon. Throw a change of clothes in a bag, pack up the dog's stuff, make some sandwiches, grab a couple of books and the loaves of bread and go.
The Challahs turned out beautifully. I had forgotten what a great recipe that is, and the dough was rich and soft enough for me to roll it out and braid it myself. So I am getting stronger incrementally, even if I am frustrated at the speed of the improvement! I don't think I've made Challah since we lived in Vallejo, almost 20 years ago. I used to make it for Mark & Jo Goldberg because Mark was always the physician on-call (he was doing his family practice residency then) on holidays and weekends, the only time my babies got sick, it seemed. It was an easy thank you gift for all the excellent, cheerful, after-hours care he provided, and in my mind, it became part of the transition between our doctor-patient relationship and a family friendship that has brought us to this point today. And now, Dr. Brenin and his family will get a loaf too, part of the circle expanding again. Food making friends--I love that!
So off to chores and then on the road.
Our plan is to leave here by 8 and go directly to the hospital, see Dr. Brenin for my post-surgical check, get a copy of the pathology report, and take the Goldbergs out to dinner. Tomorrow morning, Dr. Lin will remove my stitches, and hopefully send me on my way with an appointment sometime in the future to form and tattoo "nipples" on my new falsies. How incredibly w-e-i-r-d. I, who never wanted a tattoo, now get two. Again, the perverse humor part of me flirts with the idea of something out of the norm--maybe a lion & and lamb? A Yin & Yang? A butterfly on one and a screaming eagle on the other? Hidden messages? How about I just calm down and let them do their jobs normally...
This will be a quick trip--up there today, home tomorrow afternoon. Throw a change of clothes in a bag, pack up the dog's stuff, make some sandwiches, grab a couple of books and the loaves of bread and go.
The Challahs turned out beautifully. I had forgotten what a great recipe that is, and the dough was rich and soft enough for me to roll it out and braid it myself. So I am getting stronger incrementally, even if I am frustrated at the speed of the improvement! I don't think I've made Challah since we lived in Vallejo, almost 20 years ago. I used to make it for Mark & Jo Goldberg because Mark was always the physician on-call (he was doing his family practice residency then) on holidays and weekends, the only time my babies got sick, it seemed. It was an easy thank you gift for all the excellent, cheerful, after-hours care he provided, and in my mind, it became part of the transition between our doctor-patient relationship and a family friendship that has brought us to this point today. And now, Dr. Brenin and his family will get a loaf too, part of the circle expanding again. Food making friends--I love that!
So off to chores and then on the road.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Challah & English Muffins
Amaze your family & friends! I have to do all of this kneading stuff by machine, (Bill has to do the hands-on part), but look forward to when I can do this again myself. I decided I'm taking Dr. Brenin and Drs. Goldbergs some Challah for a thank you gift tomorrow, and the English Muffins recipe is just for fun--my son thought I was amazing the day I tried these for the first time as a snack for his friends.
English Muffins
1 cup milk
2 Tbls. honey (trick--spray measuring spoon with PAM or pour oil into measuring spoon, then pour back into bottle--then measure the honey, it will slide right out)
3 Tbls. Butter, cut into 3 pieces
Heat all in saucepan until butter begins to melt. Turn off heat, whisk. Leave to cool to less than 110 degrees.
In large bowl mix :
1 cup warm water (110 degrees)
1 pkg active dry yeast (2 tsps.)
When milk mixture has cooled, add to water and yeast, then add 3 cups flour. Beat 100 strokes with a wooden spoon.
Add more flour, 1/2 cup at a time, and beat until a dough forms and is not sticky anymore. Turn out onto floured surface, flour hands and knead dough for 3-5 minutes, until dough is smooth and elastic. Let rest 5 minutes.
Cover two cookie sheets with waxed paper and sprinkle with cornmeal (or cornbread mix). Set aside.
Roll out dough (with a can or bottle, if you don't have a rolling pin) to 1/2" thickness. Cut out with a 3 1/2" cutter (empty pineapple can works great here) and place on cookie sheet. Re-roll scraps until all dough is cut out--you should get about 18 out of this batch. Turn rounds over several times on cookie sheets to cover with cornmeal. Cover with a clean dishtowel and let rise in a warm place for 35-45 minutes.
Heat ungreased griddle or skillet over MEDIUM heat. Place muffins on surface and gently cook 5-10 minutes per side until browned. Remove and cool.
To serve, split muffins with a fork and toast. Can be kept in plastic bag for 3-4 days.
Challah
Combine:
1 Tbls. yeast
1 tsp. sugar
1/4 cup warm (105-115) water
Let proof for 5 minutes
Combine in large bowl:
6 cups all-purpose flour
1 Tbls. salt
Make a deep well in the flour mixture and pour in the proofed yeast mixture.
Add:
2 cups 105 degree water
3 slightly beaten large eggs
1/4 cup oil
3 Tbls. sugar
1/8 tsp. saffron
Beat well until a ball of dough forms, then turn out onto a floured board and knead about 10 minutes until smooth and elastic. Place in a greased bowl, turn, cover and let rise until doubled, about 1 hour. Punch down and divide dough into two sections, kneading each for several minutes. Cut each section of dough into 3 parts and roll into long tapered cylinders. Braid 3 ropes loosely, starting in the middle and braiding out to each end--tuck ends in. Lay each braid on a greased and floured baking sheet. Cover and let rise until almost doubled.
Brush tops with egg wash (1 egg beaten with 2 Tbls. milk) and sprinkle with poppy seeds if desired. Bake at 400 for 15 minutes, then reduce heat to 375 and bake about 45 minutes longer.
English Muffins
1 cup milk
2 Tbls. honey (trick--spray measuring spoon with PAM or pour oil into measuring spoon, then pour back into bottle--then measure the honey, it will slide right out)
3 Tbls. Butter, cut into 3 pieces
Heat all in saucepan until butter begins to melt. Turn off heat, whisk. Leave to cool to less than 110 degrees.
In large bowl mix :
1 cup warm water (110 degrees)
1 pkg active dry yeast (2 tsps.)
When milk mixture has cooled, add to water and yeast, then add 3 cups flour. Beat 100 strokes with a wooden spoon.
Add more flour, 1/2 cup at a time, and beat until a dough forms and is not sticky anymore. Turn out onto floured surface, flour hands and knead dough for 3-5 minutes, until dough is smooth and elastic. Let rest 5 minutes.
Cover two cookie sheets with waxed paper and sprinkle with cornmeal (or cornbread mix). Set aside.
Roll out dough (with a can or bottle, if you don't have a rolling pin) to 1/2" thickness. Cut out with a 3 1/2" cutter (empty pineapple can works great here) and place on cookie sheet. Re-roll scraps until all dough is cut out--you should get about 18 out of this batch. Turn rounds over several times on cookie sheets to cover with cornmeal. Cover with a clean dishtowel and let rise in a warm place for 35-45 minutes.
Heat ungreased griddle or skillet over MEDIUM heat. Place muffins on surface and gently cook 5-10 minutes per side until browned. Remove and cool.
To serve, split muffins with a fork and toast. Can be kept in plastic bag for 3-4 days.
Challah
Combine:
1 Tbls. yeast
1 tsp. sugar
1/4 cup warm (105-115) water
Let proof for 5 minutes
Combine in large bowl:
6 cups all-purpose flour
1 Tbls. salt
Make a deep well in the flour mixture and pour in the proofed yeast mixture.
Add:
2 cups 105 degree water
3 slightly beaten large eggs
1/4 cup oil
3 Tbls. sugar
1/8 tsp. saffron
Beat well until a ball of dough forms, then turn out onto a floured board and knead about 10 minutes until smooth and elastic. Place in a greased bowl, turn, cover and let rise until doubled, about 1 hour. Punch down and divide dough into two sections, kneading each for several minutes. Cut each section of dough into 3 parts and roll into long tapered cylinders. Braid 3 ropes loosely, starting in the middle and braiding out to each end--tuck ends in. Lay each braid on a greased and floured baking sheet. Cover and let rise until almost doubled.
Brush tops with egg wash (1 egg beaten with 2 Tbls. milk) and sprinkle with poppy seeds if desired. Bake at 400 for 15 minutes, then reduce heat to 375 and bake about 45 minutes longer.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Chomping at the bit, howling at the moon...
I admit it. I'm getting bored with this. The recognition that I can do almost nothing with speed, strength or coordination is beginning to irritate me. It takes seemingly forever to do the simplest of self-care chores--brushing teeth, combing hair, dressing or undressing, taking a shower. I can't do anything that requires torque with my hands or arms, such as opening a tab on a soda can, unscrewing a jar lid, or pulling out a dresser drawer. Cutting a piece of meat and getting it to my mouth (instead of in my lap) is a 50-50 proposition.
All those body moves I took for granted. Sigh. It's like a big game of hokey-pokey, where I find out that the boob-bone (who knew there was one? I can only assume that it was removed and that loss is the source of my problem!) is indeed connected to the collar bone is connected to the arm bone is connected to the jar-opening bone, and that's what it's all about!
On a positive note, I am doing my flexibility exercises and have distant hopes that the cumulative effect will manifest someday in a return to normal. Or what we now call the New-Normal. I have learned how to sleep on my back and rarely, even sitting up in the car. But those hardly seem like a fair trade of skills when staring at the refrigerator door and wondering how I'm going to pull open the darn thing.
I am not a patient person. I've gotten more patient over the years, but it's a thin veneer overlaying the basic go-getter personality. It's been 3 weeks since my surgery, and I think I should be able to open a can of 7-Up, for crying out loud! Grrrrrrr.......
All those body moves I took for granted. Sigh. It's like a big game of hokey-pokey, where I find out that the boob-bone (who knew there was one? I can only assume that it was removed and that loss is the source of my problem!) is indeed connected to the collar bone is connected to the arm bone is connected to the jar-opening bone, and that's what it's all about!
On a positive note, I am doing my flexibility exercises and have distant hopes that the cumulative effect will manifest someday in a return to normal. Or what we now call the New-Normal. I have learned how to sleep on my back and rarely, even sitting up in the car. But those hardly seem like a fair trade of skills when staring at the refrigerator door and wondering how I'm going to pull open the darn thing.
I am not a patient person. I've gotten more patient over the years, but it's a thin veneer overlaying the basic go-getter personality. It's been 3 weeks since my surgery, and I think I should be able to open a can of 7-Up, for crying out loud! Grrrrrrr.......
Friday, November 23, 2007
Another reason Thanksgiving is my favorite!
We were driving home yesterday from our restaurant dinner, and recalled for the first time in years that Thanksgiving is actually our "First Date" Anniversary.
Twenty-seven years ago, I invited a young enlisted Marine, far away from his own family, to my home for Thanksgiving dinner. He had been pestering me by phone for about 3 weeks to go out with him, and I was in a strict "no dating" phase of my life. I figured that meeting my family, up close and personal, was a good way to make him back off, while I still got to feel virtuous about providing hospitality to someone who had nowhere to go but the "chow hall" for Thanksgiving dinner.
I remember that in the afternoon, while the turkey was in the oven and I was furiously cleaning house, he called and said that he couldn't get a ride--I needed to come pick him up at the El Toro Marine Corps base. "Great," I thought, "just what I don't have time for!" Since I hadn't been in the shower yet, I tied a bandanna around my dirty hair, hopped in my van and drove out to the base to get my guest. I remember being annoyed, but also a bit pleased--surely seeing me at my most unattractive would discourage him, right?
When we got back to the house in Costa Mesa, the turkey needed to be turned. This was the year when roasting turkeys upside down was all the rage, and I was determined to try it. The big bird was in one of those blue-black oval roasting pans with the white speckles, and Bill and I argued (a portent of the rest of our lives?) about the best way to turn the turkey over without getting burned. Bill made the suggestion that perhaps putting the cover on top and simply flipping the pan over would do the trick. Neither of us counted on all the hot liquid leaking out of the unsealed gap between the two halves of the pan, scalding grease and turkey juice went all over us and the carpeted floor (another lesson: never have carpet in a kitchen), and we had our quintessential Annie Hall scene.
Things got better from then on. Bill cleaned the kitchen, I went and took a shower, and my parents and grandparents arrived. Another serviceman, a friend of my brother's who was stationed at Norton AFB (so Bill wouldn't read anything into my inviting just him), and my roommate Jennifer rounded out the table.
The dynamic was amazing. My parents liked him. My grandparents liked him. I even liked him. Bill acted like he was part of the family with complete ease. Mom, Dad, and Jennifer all played the piano after dinner for entertainment and everyone had a great time. When the other guests left, Bill and I stayed up and sat in lawn chairs in front of the fireplace, swigging champagne from a bottle and talking long into the night. At about 3 in the morning, I handed him a pillow and a blanket, showed him the couch, and tottered off to bed by myself.
The next time he called and invited me to go out with him, I said yes. (Well, I had to--he had 2 unobtainable theatre tickets to Evita in LA)!
My mother remembers that going home that night, she told my dad "That's the one!" It took us many more months and several separations to figure it out, but my mom knew right then. From such a ignominious beginning, my world turned and changed.
Twenty-seven years ago, I invited a young enlisted Marine, far away from his own family, to my home for Thanksgiving dinner. He had been pestering me by phone for about 3 weeks to go out with him, and I was in a strict "no dating" phase of my life. I figured that meeting my family, up close and personal, was a good way to make him back off, while I still got to feel virtuous about providing hospitality to someone who had nowhere to go but the "chow hall" for Thanksgiving dinner.
I remember that in the afternoon, while the turkey was in the oven and I was furiously cleaning house, he called and said that he couldn't get a ride--I needed to come pick him up at the El Toro Marine Corps base. "Great," I thought, "just what I don't have time for!" Since I hadn't been in the shower yet, I tied a bandanna around my dirty hair, hopped in my van and drove out to the base to get my guest. I remember being annoyed, but also a bit pleased--surely seeing me at my most unattractive would discourage him, right?
When we got back to the house in Costa Mesa, the turkey needed to be turned. This was the year when roasting turkeys upside down was all the rage, and I was determined to try it. The big bird was in one of those blue-black oval roasting pans with the white speckles, and Bill and I argued (a portent of the rest of our lives?) about the best way to turn the turkey over without getting burned. Bill made the suggestion that perhaps putting the cover on top and simply flipping the pan over would do the trick. Neither of us counted on all the hot liquid leaking out of the unsealed gap between the two halves of the pan, scalding grease and turkey juice went all over us and the carpeted floor (another lesson: never have carpet in a kitchen), and we had our quintessential Annie Hall scene.
Things got better from then on. Bill cleaned the kitchen, I went and took a shower, and my parents and grandparents arrived. Another serviceman, a friend of my brother's who was stationed at Norton AFB (so Bill wouldn't read anything into my inviting just him), and my roommate Jennifer rounded out the table.
The dynamic was amazing. My parents liked him. My grandparents liked him. I even liked him. Bill acted like he was part of the family with complete ease. Mom, Dad, and Jennifer all played the piano after dinner for entertainment and everyone had a great time. When the other guests left, Bill and I stayed up and sat in lawn chairs in front of the fireplace, swigging champagne from a bottle and talking long into the night. At about 3 in the morning, I handed him a pillow and a blanket, showed him the couch, and tottered off to bed by myself.
The next time he called and invited me to go out with him, I said yes. (Well, I had to--he had 2 unobtainable theatre tickets to Evita in LA)!
My mother remembers that going home that night, she told my dad "That's the one!" It took us many more months and several separations to figure it out, but my mom knew right then. From such a ignominious beginning, my world turned and changed.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Let us give thanks...for INSURANCE!
I think one of the first things I said when they told me I had cancer on September 14 was, "OMG, this is going to cost a (bleep!) fortune!" Usually, I love being right. Not so much, this time. The first of the bills have started trickling in, and the figures are downright breathtaking.
"Just tell me a number," Bill said stoically. OK, sweetie: For the initial testing in Knoxville, the pre-op diagnostic tests at UVA, and the one mastectomy surgery (not including the first Sentinel Node Biopsy surgery or the last Implant Reconstruction surgery, and not including any actual physician fees) we're at $61,650.78 as of yesterday. This also doesn't include travel costs, meals, new bras, gauze, prescription drugs at the pharmacy, any chemo, hormonal, or gene-targeted therapies needed after surgery (or perhaps psychological counseling needed after viewing the bills).
Whew. I feel like I need smelling salts or a smack upside the head. If I could drink, I'd open a bottle right now for breakfast.
It's a ridiculous number of course, one that is hard to comprehend, and therefore is rendered meaningless in the world of reality. It might as well be $600,000 or $6 million. It's just a gazillion smackeroos in our frame of reference. Oh well.
There will be insurance picking up the lion's share, there will presumably be "adjustments" made by the hospital based on contractual rates, something that I know happens but don't fully understand. The original numbers never actually get paid, but I don't know where that magical adjustment money goes--it seems to just disappear into the void.
For example, my Knoxville tests were originally $1665 and $239. My insurance paid $257.78 and $97, respectively. I paid $26.84 and $10.78, respectively. The other $1511.60 went into the land of "money we wish we had, so we billed it, but no one will pay it, so we'll forget about it."
I've had this explained to me, by knowledgeable people who work in the medical insurance business, but I still don't get it. Where does that accounting entry go? How do you bill a mythical number that everyone knows you're not going to get, in order to arrive at a number that everyone agrees is the real price? It's like negotiating to buy a car, where the guy has to go talk to his manager before a deal can be struck, and no one knows how much it's going to cost until you sign the papers and the car is yours at whatever it says on the paperwork.
It's a crazy-maker, that's the truth.
So, we shrug our shoulders and write the seemingly minuscule co-payment checks. Maybe it's to get us to the table and breathe a sigh of relief that we're paying anything less than that stunning initial number? Is it meant to help me feel like I just got a bargain on saving my life?
I'm not really worried about this, but I'm fascinated by the absurdity of it. When I was first diagnosed, I pulled a chunk of my Roth IRA money out (allowed for medical expenditures) in anticipation of this very situation. The beauty of the IRA rules is to encourage people to save for retirement while maintaining a "rainy-day" fund if it's needed before retirement. This is my rainy day and thankfully we have it available to spend. Who needs a sacrosanct retirement fund if foregoing cancer treatment would kill you before you ever got to collect it, right?
So, I'm indeed thankful this morning--for my good medical care so far, for a cooperative and helpful insurance company, for money in the bank that will soon be in the coffers of the medical establishment, and yes, even for the Internal Revenue Service for their rules on withdrawing money for medical expenses.
But I still want to know where that adjustment money goes....
Happy Thanksgiving to all. This is my very favorite holiday, mostly because of my mother's and Aunt Kay's cooking and that fact that it was my father's favorite too. Anytime you can gather family & friends, ponder freedom & history, and then add the celebratory ingesting of massive amounts of food, you've got a winning party in my book. Bill and I are doing it this year as "just the two of us." We're going to Morristown to eat with all the seniors at the Ryan's Buffet, an upscale strap-on-the-feedbag kind of place. No cooking or dishes for me this year, which is a little sad, but oh-so-convenient. It is what works for us this year. Next year, we'll start some new tradition and think back to this time, hopefully with no regrets or sadness, being thankful that we got through this time with cheer.
"Just tell me a number," Bill said stoically. OK, sweetie: For the initial testing in Knoxville, the pre-op diagnostic tests at UVA, and the one mastectomy surgery (not including the first Sentinel Node Biopsy surgery or the last Implant Reconstruction surgery, and not including any actual physician fees) we're at $61,650.78 as of yesterday. This also doesn't include travel costs, meals, new bras, gauze, prescription drugs at the pharmacy, any chemo, hormonal, or gene-targeted therapies needed after surgery (or perhaps psychological counseling needed after viewing the bills).
Whew. I feel like I need smelling salts or a smack upside the head. If I could drink, I'd open a bottle right now for breakfast.
It's a ridiculous number of course, one that is hard to comprehend, and therefore is rendered meaningless in the world of reality. It might as well be $600,000 or $6 million. It's just a gazillion smackeroos in our frame of reference. Oh well.
There will be insurance picking up the lion's share, there will presumably be "adjustments" made by the hospital based on contractual rates, something that I know happens but don't fully understand. The original numbers never actually get paid, but I don't know where that magical adjustment money goes--it seems to just disappear into the void.
For example, my Knoxville tests were originally $1665 and $239. My insurance paid $257.78 and $97, respectively. I paid $26.84 and $10.78, respectively. The other $1511.60 went into the land of "money we wish we had, so we billed it, but no one will pay it, so we'll forget about it."
I've had this explained to me, by knowledgeable people who work in the medical insurance business, but I still don't get it. Where does that accounting entry go? How do you bill a mythical number that everyone knows you're not going to get, in order to arrive at a number that everyone agrees is the real price? It's like negotiating to buy a car, where the guy has to go talk to his manager before a deal can be struck, and no one knows how much it's going to cost until you sign the papers and the car is yours at whatever it says on the paperwork.
It's a crazy-maker, that's the truth.
So, we shrug our shoulders and write the seemingly minuscule co-payment checks. Maybe it's to get us to the table and breathe a sigh of relief that we're paying anything less than that stunning initial number? Is it meant to help me feel like I just got a bargain on saving my life?
I'm not really worried about this, but I'm fascinated by the absurdity of it. When I was first diagnosed, I pulled a chunk of my Roth IRA money out (allowed for medical expenditures) in anticipation of this very situation. The beauty of the IRA rules is to encourage people to save for retirement while maintaining a "rainy-day" fund if it's needed before retirement. This is my rainy day and thankfully we have it available to spend. Who needs a sacrosanct retirement fund if foregoing cancer treatment would kill you before you ever got to collect it, right?
So, I'm indeed thankful this morning--for my good medical care so far, for a cooperative and helpful insurance company, for money in the bank that will soon be in the coffers of the medical establishment, and yes, even for the Internal Revenue Service for their rules on withdrawing money for medical expenses.
But I still want to know where that adjustment money goes....
Happy Thanksgiving to all. This is my very favorite holiday, mostly because of my mother's and Aunt Kay's cooking and that fact that it was my father's favorite too. Anytime you can gather family & friends, ponder freedom & history, and then add the celebratory ingesting of massive amounts of food, you've got a winning party in my book. Bill and I are doing it this year as "just the two of us." We're going to Morristown to eat with all the seniors at the Ryan's Buffet, an upscale strap-on-the-feedbag kind of place. No cooking or dishes for me this year, which is a little sad, but oh-so-convenient. It is what works for us this year. Next year, we'll start some new tradition and think back to this time, hopefully with no regrets or sadness, being thankful that we got through this time with cheer.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
How do you feel?
I remember this from Surgery, 2001. Your whole life becomes about you. The entirety of your interactions with others revolves around your "current condition," as if your health were an hourly weather forecast. You become "The Neck" (in 2001), or "The Cancer" (current incarnation). People can't help it, they are being nice when they say "How are you?" even when you're a stranger. Friends are concerned, the family is worried. The convention is to assure everyone "I'm fine, I'm good, I'm better," which are all true statements. The temptation though, is to fine-tune a fantasy response in my head that would only be categorized as what my kids call TMI--too much information.
The TMI response is completely inappropriate in almost every situation, but because I have a perverse sense of humor, it's a mental game that amuses me. Succumbing to actual voicing of this response would be cruel in most cases, but I had an opportunity to do so yesterday in a context which appeared, at first blush, to be appropriate. So for those of you who are also easily and perversely amused, I will share:
I felt well enough to drive to the health food store yesterday, and just bad enough to make the drive a necessary outing. My goal was to score a probiotic supplement to help repopulate my intestinal flora & fauna after the ravages of antibiotics. By the time I got to the bottom of the driveway (one-quarter mile), I was wondering if I could make it to the west end of town and back without moving my arms while turning the steering wheel. Nope. Probably not. So let's do this gently, shall we?
I made it safely to the store and managed to put on the parking brake (well, just one click, but it's on, OK?), got my active-cultures-in-a-bottle, and was chatted up by the Australian woman who owns the store. "What kind of surgery did you have?" she asked kindly. When I told her "mastectomy," she leaned in and said, oddly, "My best friend just had a hysterectomy, and she said it felt like she had been [sotto voce] gutted like a fish! -- what do you feel like?" she asked eagerly.
Here was an opportunity to tell the whole truth, to formulate in my own mind an accurate description of what this REALLY feels like, to a person who had the misfortune or ineptitude of asking a specific question that I could answer with personal experience and authority!
"It feels like I was whacked repeatedly across the chest with a red-hot iron train rail by a 3-ton ogre with anger-management issues," I said cheerfully. "I thought so," my shopkeeper nodded sagely. "So, how about some mineral drops with that?"
I thought my response was honest, funny and clever. She seemed non-plussed, way too matter-of-fact. I felt like a comic who flopped on opening night.
The good news is that I made it safely home with my probiotics, and am healing quite nicely.
So for anyone who asks, I'm fine. I'm good. I'm feeling better. Thank you.
The TMI response is completely inappropriate in almost every situation, but because I have a perverse sense of humor, it's a mental game that amuses me. Succumbing to actual voicing of this response would be cruel in most cases, but I had an opportunity to do so yesterday in a context which appeared, at first blush, to be appropriate. So for those of you who are also easily and perversely amused, I will share:
I felt well enough to drive to the health food store yesterday, and just bad enough to make the drive a necessary outing. My goal was to score a probiotic supplement to help repopulate my intestinal flora & fauna after the ravages of antibiotics. By the time I got to the bottom of the driveway (one-quarter mile), I was wondering if I could make it to the west end of town and back without moving my arms while turning the steering wheel. Nope. Probably not. So let's do this gently, shall we?
I made it safely to the store and managed to put on the parking brake (well, just one click, but it's on, OK?), got my active-cultures-in-a-bottle, and was chatted up by the Australian woman who owns the store. "What kind of surgery did you have?" she asked kindly. When I told her "mastectomy," she leaned in and said, oddly, "My best friend just had a hysterectomy, and she said it felt like she had been [sotto voce] gutted like a fish! -- what do you feel like?" she asked eagerly.
Here was an opportunity to tell the whole truth, to formulate in my own mind an accurate description of what this REALLY feels like, to a person who had the misfortune or ineptitude of asking a specific question that I could answer with personal experience and authority!
"It feels like I was whacked repeatedly across the chest with a red-hot iron train rail by a 3-ton ogre with anger-management issues," I said cheerfully. "I thought so," my shopkeeper nodded sagely. "So, how about some mineral drops with that?"
I thought my response was honest, funny and clever. She seemed non-plussed, way too matter-of-fact. I felt like a comic who flopped on opening night.
The good news is that I made it safely home with my probiotics, and am healing quite nicely.
So for anyone who asks, I'm fine. I'm good. I'm feeling better. Thank you.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
New Chocolate Chip Cookie Recipe!
I wish I could say that these are great, but I haven't tried them yet. Maybe you would like to try and report back? This came via email from King Arthur Flour Company, and their recipes are usually pretty reliable. Anyway, it looked intriguing:
Soft Chocolate Chip Cookies
Crispy on the outside, Soft and moist (but not "wet") on the inside, absolutely packed with chocolate chips, these are the quintessential soft chocolate chip cookies. AND—they’re 100% whole grain! Who could ask for anything more?
6 tablespoons (3 ounces) unsalted butter
1/2 cup (3 1/2 ounces) granulated sugar
3/4 cup (5 5/8 ounces) brown sugar, lightly packed
3 tablespoons (2 1/4 ounces) honey
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon espresso powder
3/4 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon (1/2 ounce) cider vinegar
1 large egg
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
2 cups (8 ounces) King Arthur White Whole Wheat Flour, organic preferred
2 2/3 to 3 cups (16 to 18 ounces) semisweet chocolate chips
Preheat the oven to 350E:F. Lightly grease (or line with parchment) two baking sheets.
To prepare the dough: In a large bowl, beat together the butter, sugars, honey, vanilla, espresso powder, and salt till smooth. Beat in the vinegar, egg, baking soda, and baking powder. Stir in the flour, then the chocolate chips, mixing JUST till combined.
Drop the dough, by tablespoonfuls, onto the prepared baking sheets. A tablespoon cookie scoop works well here.
To bake the cookies: Bake the cookies for 10 to 11 minutes, until they’re starting to brown around the edges. Remove them from the oven, and allow them to cool for 5 minutes before transferring them to a rack to cool completely.
Yield: about 3 dozen cookies.
Soft Chocolate Chip Cookies
Crispy on the outside, Soft and moist (but not "wet") on the inside, absolutely packed with chocolate chips, these are the quintessential soft chocolate chip cookies. AND—they’re 100% whole grain! Who could ask for anything more?
6 tablespoons (3 ounces) unsalted butter
1/2 cup (3 1/2 ounces) granulated sugar
3/4 cup (5 5/8 ounces) brown sugar, lightly packed
3 tablespoons (2 1/4 ounces) honey
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon espresso powder
3/4 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon (1/2 ounce) cider vinegar
1 large egg
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
2 cups (8 ounces) King Arthur White Whole Wheat Flour, organic preferred
2 2/3 to 3 cups (16 to 18 ounces) semisweet chocolate chips
Preheat the oven to 350E:F. Lightly grease (or line with parchment) two baking sheets.
To prepare the dough: In a large bowl, beat together the butter, sugars, honey, vanilla, espresso powder, and salt till smooth. Beat in the vinegar, egg, baking soda, and baking powder. Stir in the flour, then the chocolate chips, mixing JUST till combined.
Drop the dough, by tablespoonfuls, onto the prepared baking sheets. A tablespoon cookie scoop works well here.
To bake the cookies: Bake the cookies for 10 to 11 minutes, until they’re starting to brown around the edges. Remove them from the oven, and allow them to cool for 5 minutes before transferring them to a rack to cool completely.
Yield: about 3 dozen cookies.
Relapse & Recovering
I am starting to come off of a couple of really bad days. It seems now (after having been to my local doc in a panic yesterday) that I developed slight cases of both pleurisy (chest pain) from the hated (but now gone) drain tubes, and a case of something called c. difficile colitis, an intestinal bug related to long-term use of antibiotics (I've been taking them since the mastectomy on 11/2). The local doc (whom I just met for the first time yesterday) was very diligent in covering all his bases, ordering thousands of dollars worth of tests at the local hospital and requiring about a day of my time. He's going to be pissed, because I decided to give it one more night of wait-and-see before subjecting myself to the maw of modern medicine once again.
I went home and rested. I did a little research online. I think his instincts and preliminary diagnoses are correct, but that I have very, very mild cases of both and will heal on my own with a little time and care. I ate some yogurt. I drank water. I feel better this morning. I think I'll bag doing the tests, but I'll have to come up with an explanation for the doc today, or he'll classify me as difficult or a slacker. He'll know when the results don't come back from all the tests, and then it will be like being sent to the Principal's office. Such is the way of medical care practicing under the shadow of legal coercion these days.
It used to be that doctors weren't Gods, but maybe they worked hand-in-hand with Him? We went to the doctor, who told us what to do, we did it, and most times it worked, and sometimes it didn't. My childhood doctor was almost a family member--he knew more stuff than we did, but he told us when there wasn't anything more he could do and even cried when he did so. He was human, one of the super-humans, but still one of us. We knew he didn't know everything, that not everything was under his control, and we treasured his advice but didn't hold him totally responsible for everything that happened to us. No more.
Now we are expected to be "informed" patients, to be advocates for our own care, to participate in decisions (but acquiesce, eventually, to their superior judgement) and sue their pants off when they make a human lapse or mistake. Doctors have to cover every single possibility, order every available test, over-prescribe drugs or procedures, wonder if their patients understand even a tenth of what they are saying to them (or doing a tenth of what they recommend). It must be hell, and I surely could not live under all that pressure. So I waver. I appreciate the advice and the knowledge, but I'm just stubborn enough to reserve the right to take the information and reject the further exploration for the time being.
I also don't feel like spending money and time and energy I don't have, to satisfy a curiosity (Yes! He was right!) on conditions that given a little time and yogurt might just right themselves. I believe in the body's ability to adjust itself. Having x-rays and CT scans and more blood tests and probably more antibiotics isn't going to balance me at this point. If it gets worse, I will definitely haul myself down to the hospital and do it. But for the moment, I'll just wait and see. That gives me the illusion of control and because he ordered all these tests on the record (and I didn't do them), he has a legal out if things turn nasty. What a world!
Melanie, sainted friend, came over with her ice-chest after work last night, moved into my kitchen and cooked me dinner! I sat at the kitchen table in my nightgown, sipped water and watched her cook. The fettuccine was sublime, mild and comforting. I couldn't eat a lot of it, but it was just what I needed. Her mom's Butterscotch Meringue pie was heaven-on-a-plate. Again, just a taste for me, but it soothed. Bill & Ray were off at Home Depot in Kingsport, so Mel and I had a chance to visit and chat and laugh, just girlfriend stuff. I thanked her kindness by dozing off on the couch, but because she's my friend, she tiptoed out with a smile and a wave. What a wonderful evening with a wonderful generous friend!
So, better and better, bit by bit, day by day. I have to keep reminding myself that this is a long-term project, and I've only just begun (and then buck myself up from that depressing thought). There is a least another year of dealing with this stuff on a daily basis, and I've got to develop both mental and physical stamina for the long haul. As daughter Juli says, "You can't stay at DEFCON-5 indefinitely." There have to be some let-down times.
I went home and rested. I did a little research online. I think his instincts and preliminary diagnoses are correct, but that I have very, very mild cases of both and will heal on my own with a little time and care. I ate some yogurt. I drank water. I feel better this morning. I think I'll bag doing the tests, but I'll have to come up with an explanation for the doc today, or he'll classify me as difficult or a slacker. He'll know when the results don't come back from all the tests, and then it will be like being sent to the Principal's office. Such is the way of medical care practicing under the shadow of legal coercion these days.
It used to be that doctors weren't Gods, but maybe they worked hand-in-hand with Him? We went to the doctor, who told us what to do, we did it, and most times it worked, and sometimes it didn't. My childhood doctor was almost a family member--he knew more stuff than we did, but he told us when there wasn't anything more he could do and even cried when he did so. He was human, one of the super-humans, but still one of us. We knew he didn't know everything, that not everything was under his control, and we treasured his advice but didn't hold him totally responsible for everything that happened to us. No more.
Now we are expected to be "informed" patients, to be advocates for our own care, to participate in decisions (but acquiesce, eventually, to their superior judgement) and sue their pants off when they make a human lapse or mistake. Doctors have to cover every single possibility, order every available test, over-prescribe drugs or procedures, wonder if their patients understand even a tenth of what they are saying to them (or doing a tenth of what they recommend). It must be hell, and I surely could not live under all that pressure. So I waver. I appreciate the advice and the knowledge, but I'm just stubborn enough to reserve the right to take the information and reject the further exploration for the time being.
I also don't feel like spending money and time and energy I don't have, to satisfy a curiosity (Yes! He was right!) on conditions that given a little time and yogurt might just right themselves. I believe in the body's ability to adjust itself. Having x-rays and CT scans and more blood tests and probably more antibiotics isn't going to balance me at this point. If it gets worse, I will definitely haul myself down to the hospital and do it. But for the moment, I'll just wait and see. That gives me the illusion of control and because he ordered all these tests on the record (and I didn't do them), he has a legal out if things turn nasty. What a world!
Melanie, sainted friend, came over with her ice-chest after work last night, moved into my kitchen and cooked me dinner! I sat at the kitchen table in my nightgown, sipped water and watched her cook. The fettuccine was sublime, mild and comforting. I couldn't eat a lot of it, but it was just what I needed. Her mom's Butterscotch Meringue pie was heaven-on-a-plate. Again, just a taste for me, but it soothed. Bill & Ray were off at Home Depot in Kingsport, so Mel and I had a chance to visit and chat and laugh, just girlfriend stuff. I thanked her kindness by dozing off on the couch, but because she's my friend, she tiptoed out with a smile and a wave. What a wonderful evening with a wonderful generous friend!
So, better and better, bit by bit, day by day. I have to keep reminding myself that this is a long-term project, and I've only just begun (and then buck myself up from that depressing thought). There is a least another year of dealing with this stuff on a daily basis, and I've got to develop both mental and physical stamina for the long haul. As daughter Juli says, "You can't stay at DEFCON-5 indefinitely." There have to be some let-down times.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Missed a day--lost in the ozone
The tyranny of the blog comes back to bite me big-time! Everyone was worried because I didn't post yesterday--it seems I now have a reputation to uphold.
I felt just terrible yesterday. Exhausted, nauseous, gassy, punky, sore and cranky. I couldn't even drag myself from the couch back to bed without groaning like I was in labor. Bill was quite annoyed with me, worried and feeling helpless. There was no fever, so I have to figure it was just the cumulative stress of the surgeries, the overload of drugs, no regular exercise and a bad attitude, after I had just waxed poetic about keeping my emotions under control. Hello hubris.
The good news is that I did get a SHOWER for the first time since 11/2. It felt wonderful to have clean skin, get rid of the itchies and smell nice for a change! Bill changed my dressings and everything looks good and healing. I slept most of the day, and all through the night. I feel better, if not very energetic today. Clear liquids and bland diet should take me back to normal.
A rainy day here in TN--a curl up and watch movies day.
I felt just terrible yesterday. Exhausted, nauseous, gassy, punky, sore and cranky. I couldn't even drag myself from the couch back to bed without groaning like I was in labor. Bill was quite annoyed with me, worried and feeling helpless. There was no fever, so I have to figure it was just the cumulative stress of the surgeries, the overload of drugs, no regular exercise and a bad attitude, after I had just waxed poetic about keeping my emotions under control. Hello hubris.
The good news is that I did get a SHOWER for the first time since 11/2. It felt wonderful to have clean skin, get rid of the itchies and smell nice for a change! Bill changed my dressings and everything looks good and healing. I slept most of the day, and all through the night. I feel better, if not very energetic today. Clear liquids and bland diet should take me back to normal.
A rainy day here in TN--a curl up and watch movies day.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Healing
I'm so COLORFUL, I must be healing at last! I kept thinking last night that my chest and back really shouldn't still ache so much--but when I undressed for bed, I could see the black-and-blue (and green-and-purple-and-yellow) bruises peeking up from underneath my bandages. So this is what they mean about plastic surgery and post-op bruising, HA! They must have really wrestled those puppies in while I was under anesthesia (and stitched me up tight too, some moves make me think I'm going to just ~POP~ and deflate, so I stop doing those things right away). I feel like I'm right back at the beginning, recovering again from the mastectomy, complaining about the chest pressure and phantom pain. What a wuss I am in the mornings!
I'm trying straight acetaminophen today as my drug of choice. The percs are marvelous for pain relief, but they just wreck my digestive system (in addition to being potentially highly addictive). I'm at the tipping point of side effects outweighing the benefits, and I'm going to see how I do with OTC Tylenol instead.
The oddest physical sensation has been the phenomenon known as "phantom limb syndrome." The removed tissues once contained nerves, and the neuro-pathways that transmitted sensation messages to the brain from the breasts, (such as "my nipple itches" for example), are still in place, even if the tissues and actual nerves are gone. I still get those messages, because the brain hasn't re-routed the old pathways. It's weird to be getting sensation from something that isn't there anymore. Not really uncomfortable, but certainly discomfiting, because my brain tells me something I know to be untrue. Talk about learning to trust one's body again!
In all of this is the renewed awareness and absolute wonder of the human body itself. First, that something I take so for granted could "betray" me so dramatically and abhorrently, next that doctors actually know what to do to begin to fix it, next that it all works so marvelously and intricately, despite the outrages visited upon it lately. I was invaded by disease, assaulted by the tests and the excision, enhanced and rebuilt with techno-parts and now I am actually recovering from all of it. Amazing! Truly, I am a "work in progress!" I hope that even in despairing moments, I never lose my capacity for curiosity and wonder at the whole process.
The other awareness that I recognize on a daily basis is that of mental attitude influencing physical health. The more one wallows in misery, the more misery one experiences. The more I shrug off the details of physical pain and refuse to acknowledge its presence, the less pain I actually feel. When confronted with a situation where I have no control, the one thing I absolutely refuse to do is relinquish control over my emotional and mental attitude. I am not going to let the cancer itself or the efforts toward eradicating it get me down, by golly. Attitude is something I can control, and I refuse to let it take me down a path of negativity.
Everyone keeps telling me that I have a great attitude, but for me, it isn't really anything other than my own stubbornness--and stubbornness is not usually a virtue. But how else is one to behave if one is to cope? I had a great (bad) example when I was overnight in the hospital 2 weeks ago--my roommate was a person who had no resources of control over her mental attitude. She was a victim not only of her pain but also for refusing to take responsibility for her own recovery. She wanted everyone to help her, but she refused to even try to help herself. Once I decided I didn't want to be like that, the rest was easy.
And it's easy to be smug and positive when I have such incredible support from husband, family & friends. Knowing that you're all in the bleachers cheering me on to the finish line has to be the biggest motivator for self-control and self-inspiration there is. None of us walks this path alone, and all of the victories are shared ones. Thank you, and "God bless us, every one!" (even Charles Dickens could climb out of doom & depression and be positive occasionally)!
I'm trying straight acetaminophen today as my drug of choice. The percs are marvelous for pain relief, but they just wreck my digestive system (in addition to being potentially highly addictive). I'm at the tipping point of side effects outweighing the benefits, and I'm going to see how I do with OTC Tylenol instead.
The oddest physical sensation has been the phenomenon known as "phantom limb syndrome." The removed tissues once contained nerves, and the neuro-pathways that transmitted sensation messages to the brain from the breasts, (such as "my nipple itches" for example), are still in place, even if the tissues and actual nerves are gone. I still get those messages, because the brain hasn't re-routed the old pathways. It's weird to be getting sensation from something that isn't there anymore. Not really uncomfortable, but certainly discomfiting, because my brain tells me something I know to be untrue. Talk about learning to trust one's body again!
In all of this is the renewed awareness and absolute wonder of the human body itself. First, that something I take so for granted could "betray" me so dramatically and abhorrently, next that doctors actually know what to do to begin to fix it, next that it all works so marvelously and intricately, despite the outrages visited upon it lately. I was invaded by disease, assaulted by the tests and the excision, enhanced and rebuilt with techno-parts and now I am actually recovering from all of it. Amazing! Truly, I am a "work in progress!" I hope that even in despairing moments, I never lose my capacity for curiosity and wonder at the whole process.
The other awareness that I recognize on a daily basis is that of mental attitude influencing physical health. The more one wallows in misery, the more misery one experiences. The more I shrug off the details of physical pain and refuse to acknowledge its presence, the less pain I actually feel. When confronted with a situation where I have no control, the one thing I absolutely refuse to do is relinquish control over my emotional and mental attitude. I am not going to let the cancer itself or the efforts toward eradicating it get me down, by golly. Attitude is something I can control, and I refuse to let it take me down a path of negativity.
Everyone keeps telling me that I have a great attitude, but for me, it isn't really anything other than my own stubbornness--and stubbornness is not usually a virtue. But how else is one to behave if one is to cope? I had a great (bad) example when I was overnight in the hospital 2 weeks ago--my roommate was a person who had no resources of control over her mental attitude. She was a victim not only of her pain but also for refusing to take responsibility for her own recovery. She wanted everyone to help her, but she refused to even try to help herself. Once I decided I didn't want to be like that, the rest was easy.
And it's easy to be smug and positive when I have such incredible support from husband, family & friends. Knowing that you're all in the bleachers cheering me on to the finish line has to be the biggest motivator for self-control and self-inspiration there is. None of us walks this path alone, and all of the victories are shared ones. Thank you, and "God bless us, every one!" (even Charles Dickens could climb out of doom & depression and be positive occasionally)!
Friday, November 16, 2007
"Warrior" Thoughts
It has been somewhat odd and disconnected for me to be focused these past 2 weeks on "reconstruction" surgery versus "cancer-removing" surgery. I see now that having the reconstruction done immediately effectively lessened the impact of the "OMG, I've got Cancer!" response, and gave me something to hone in on besides the gut-clenching, disease-fearing part.
In a way, I feel as though I might have bypassed something important here, a lesson to be learned or a character-building moment I will never retrieve? I've been temporarily distracted from the Breast Cancer-Fighting Mindset to focus on the Breast Rebuilding-Healing Mindset. Many women, in fact, choose to postpone the rebuilding phase until after the full treatment regimen, so as to put all their energy into ridding themselves of the disease before moving on. Did I unwittingly shortstop that process? Will I be able to garner my mental and physical resources again for the continuing issue of fighting the cancer that may or may not still be lurking after the surgical treatment? I'm not sure about my answers to those questions yet.
Part of it was an observation by my friend Jayne about the generational differences in the perception of what a diagnosis of cancer means. She said that when she told her mother and her sisters about her breast cancer, they all cried. When she told her nieces and nephews, they said casually "Oh, good! At least you have something that is treatable." The difference is that in one generation, cancer has gone from being an automatic death sentence to a treatable condition, and our gut reactions are based on how old we are. I am old enough to remember a childhood friend dying from leukemia--yet, I am also the aunt of an ALL survivor, my niece Bonnie. With Jayne's recognition of this generation gap, I started thinking as my own children do about my disease. As daughter Juli said, "At least it's something they can remove, like breasts--it's not something you really need like a liver or a brain!" Sure they were scared of the potentially fatal possibilities, but they mostly were relieved when the initial shock and fear passed. I came to this place as well, through their reactions.
I do know that the visceral impact of the anticipated mastectomy (complete with actual photos, thanks to the internet) may have made me more amenable to the immediate reconstruction option when it was offered to me. When I first viewed photos of what the mastectomy would look like and what reconstruction would look like, I was equally traumatized by what I perceived my old familiar body would become. How could it be that these women were smiling in their photos? An automatic camera-say-cheese response? How could they look happy about what their bodies looked like in an objective sense?
And strangely, I have come around to that mental shift as well. I am completely delighted so far by the aesthetic outcome (while I still recognize that objectively, looking like a nipple-less Barbie doll with Corpse Bride patchwork stitches isn't really the photogenic ideal)! I look down my shirt or in the mirror, and I do smile. I have been hardly consumed at all by the cancer-disease-did-they-get-it-all? details, and more focused on can-we-proceed-with-reconstruction? details, leapfrogging ahead to the end before it's really over. There is a great temptation to breathe a premature sigh of relief and pronounce myself "cured," before having done the next hard thing (and the next, and the next).
And the more I read about the next phases, I realize that I'm going to have to gear up again, gather up some more grit, because this stuff never really ends, it never goes away. Fortunately, I don't have to make any huge decisions yet, because we are (unbelievably) still waiting for the darned pathology report from a California lab now. My removed parts were "sent out" for further study, because the initial dissections showed three different kinds of breast cancer, two in each breast. How's that for complicated?
For now, we can assume that for all intents and purposes, my breast cancer has been removed by the surgery. But here's the kicker that wakes me up occasionally--I also have to suppose that whatever conditions existed in my body that led to what I would have to call the "explosive" generation of multiple types of cancer all at once--those conditions still presumably exist inside me. So I'm thinking that there is probably something else going on in my formerly trusted human ecosystem that needs to be dealt with on a microscopic basis with chemo and hormonal and gene therapy, and I hope that one or all will work to correct those conditions.
It could indeed be that all the cancer is gone now, that there isn't a cancerous or pre-cancerous cell left in my body. But I don't think it's likely. Can I go on blithely without further treatment, even if the protocols said that my particular cancer profile statistically usually survives at least 5 years without anything more being done after surgery? I'm not sure I could sleep peacefully at night ever again--I'd always be waiting for either the breast cancer to recur or some other cancer to pop up. Other than the offending tissues being gone, all the same conditions are still in place that gave rise to the cancers in my breasts. Who's to say that it won't happen again, and in something I do need, like a liver or a brain?
So I guess that it's good that I've had something else to focus on besides all the scary stuff still to come. It's good that I too am smiling at my less-than-perfect and perfectly-wonderful new bionic boobs (though don't hold your breath looking for my pix on the internet)!
I do have some time to shop for an oncologist and do some research on what is known (more than in the past) and what is unknown (less than in the future). I realize again that this is going to be a salient feature of my life from now on, despite my desire to just fix it and move on. I'm beginning now to see why people who have been through this call themselves survivors and not victors, because you're never really sure if you're victorious--maybe when you die of something else? None of us gets to live forever, so maybe that's the goal?
But still, the verbiage irks me. I want a less passive word than "survivor." Dr. Jo suggested "warrior," and for now that's what I feel like, and feel like using.
In a way, I feel as though I might have bypassed something important here, a lesson to be learned or a character-building moment I will never retrieve? I've been temporarily distracted from the Breast Cancer-Fighting Mindset to focus on the Breast Rebuilding-Healing Mindset. Many women, in fact, choose to postpone the rebuilding phase until after the full treatment regimen, so as to put all their energy into ridding themselves of the disease before moving on. Did I unwittingly shortstop that process? Will I be able to garner my mental and physical resources again for the continuing issue of fighting the cancer that may or may not still be lurking after the surgical treatment? I'm not sure about my answers to those questions yet.
Part of it was an observation by my friend Jayne about the generational differences in the perception of what a diagnosis of cancer means. She said that when she told her mother and her sisters about her breast cancer, they all cried. When she told her nieces and nephews, they said casually "Oh, good! At least you have something that is treatable." The difference is that in one generation, cancer has gone from being an automatic death sentence to a treatable condition, and our gut reactions are based on how old we are. I am old enough to remember a childhood friend dying from leukemia--yet, I am also the aunt of an ALL survivor, my niece Bonnie. With Jayne's recognition of this generation gap, I started thinking as my own children do about my disease. As daughter Juli said, "At least it's something they can remove, like breasts--it's not something you really need like a liver or a brain!" Sure they were scared of the potentially fatal possibilities, but they mostly were relieved when the initial shock and fear passed. I came to this place as well, through their reactions.
I do know that the visceral impact of the anticipated mastectomy (complete with actual photos, thanks to the internet) may have made me more amenable to the immediate reconstruction option when it was offered to me. When I first viewed photos of what the mastectomy would look like and what reconstruction would look like, I was equally traumatized by what I perceived my old familiar body would become. How could it be that these women were smiling in their photos? An automatic camera-say-cheese response? How could they look happy about what their bodies looked like in an objective sense?
And strangely, I have come around to that mental shift as well. I am completely delighted so far by the aesthetic outcome (while I still recognize that objectively, looking like a nipple-less Barbie doll with Corpse Bride patchwork stitches isn't really the photogenic ideal)! I look down my shirt or in the mirror, and I do smile. I have been hardly consumed at all by the cancer-disease-did-they-get-it-all? details, and more focused on can-we-proceed-with-reconstruction? details, leapfrogging ahead to the end before it's really over. There is a great temptation to breathe a premature sigh of relief and pronounce myself "cured," before having done the next hard thing (and the next, and the next).
And the more I read about the next phases, I realize that I'm going to have to gear up again, gather up some more grit, because this stuff never really ends, it never goes away. Fortunately, I don't have to make any huge decisions yet, because we are (unbelievably) still waiting for the darned pathology report from a California lab now. My removed parts were "sent out" for further study, because the initial dissections showed three different kinds of breast cancer, two in each breast. How's that for complicated?
For now, we can assume that for all intents and purposes, my breast cancer has been removed by the surgery. But here's the kicker that wakes me up occasionally--I also have to suppose that whatever conditions existed in my body that led to what I would have to call the "explosive" generation of multiple types of cancer all at once--those conditions still presumably exist inside me. So I'm thinking that there is probably something else going on in my formerly trusted human ecosystem that needs to be dealt with on a microscopic basis with chemo and hormonal and gene therapy, and I hope that one or all will work to correct those conditions.
It could indeed be that all the cancer is gone now, that there isn't a cancerous or pre-cancerous cell left in my body. But I don't think it's likely. Can I go on blithely without further treatment, even if the protocols said that my particular cancer profile statistically usually survives at least 5 years without anything more being done after surgery? I'm not sure I could sleep peacefully at night ever again--I'd always be waiting for either the breast cancer to recur or some other cancer to pop up. Other than the offending tissues being gone, all the same conditions are still in place that gave rise to the cancers in my breasts. Who's to say that it won't happen again, and in something I do need, like a liver or a brain?
So I guess that it's good that I've had something else to focus on besides all the scary stuff still to come. It's good that I too am smiling at my less-than-perfect and perfectly-wonderful new bionic boobs (though don't hold your breath looking for my pix on the internet)!
I do have some time to shop for an oncologist and do some research on what is known (more than in the past) and what is unknown (less than in the future). I realize again that this is going to be a salient feature of my life from now on, despite my desire to just fix it and move on. I'm beginning now to see why people who have been through this call themselves survivors and not victors, because you're never really sure if you're victorious--maybe when you die of something else? None of us gets to live forever, so maybe that's the goal?
But still, the verbiage irks me. I want a less passive word than "survivor." Dr. Jo suggested "warrior," and for now that's what I feel like, and feel like using.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Home again at last!
Rainy leaving Charlottesville this morning, cold and snow flurries in the Southwest Virginia mountains, sunshine in TN. Gosh, I love this place! We took our time, because I was uncomfortable being seated for more than an hour or two at a time. The big elastic bandage kept digging underneath, pinching and chafing, so we would stop to adjust me, walk, use the restroom, eat, look at Harleys and gun stores, and then finally I gave up in Kingsport and made Bill stop at the Walmart. He went to get the car gassed up, I went in and grabbed a handful of assorted sports bras in various strengths and sizes, and 45 minutes later, we are home at last. Ah! Relief at last to get that hospital-supply torture device removed and into something more reasonably comfortable and supportive!
It stormed heavily here last night and turned cold today, and the pond looks just slightly fuller. Hopefully, we will get more rain tonight, perhaps even some snow if it gets cold enough. (It won't last--the sun will come out and melt it before breakfast).
We now have 12 days before another trip to remove stitches and do post-op checks. I am so pleased with the results so far, and look forward to continuing to recover my strength slowly at home where I am most comfortable.
It stormed heavily here last night and turned cold today, and the pond looks just slightly fuller. Hopefully, we will get more rain tonight, perhaps even some snow if it gets cold enough. (It won't last--the sun will come out and melt it before breakfast).
We now have 12 days before another trip to remove stitches and do post-op checks. I am so pleased with the results so far, and look forward to continuing to recover my strength slowly at home where I am most comfortable.
Asking for support for my friend, MaryAnn
My friend, MaryAnn, is having her reconstruction surgery tomorrow. For all who have been following my blog, I humbly ask that you take time for a prayer or a positive thought for my dear friend, who has been an invaluable resource, a treasured mentor and an inspiration for me these past few months.
Go get that secret BB Club decoder ring & membership card, MaryAnn, and we'll see you on the flip side!
Go get that secret BB Club decoder ring & membership card, MaryAnn, and we'll see you on the flip side!
Back to Weakling Status
There's something just a tiny bit discouraging in being told, once again, "no lifting, straining, moving heavy furniture, exerting, exercising, bathing, or doing ANYTHING!" It's like being sent down to the minors after 4 glory days in the big leagues.
I can't sit up by myself anymore. It's like a reflex that disappeared overnight (literally). Oh well, back to being "the queen."
I saw clearly with yesterday's surgery, Bill is getting close to the limit of his infinite patience. He's tired of sitting next to me in small rooms, doing nothing except waiting for more medical persons to show up and ask the same questions. He's tired of listening to me and everyone else around him talk about cancer. He's tired of telling his friends and co-workers about his wife's cancer. He's tired of disease, and serious issues, and meaningful talk. I don't blame him a bit--as much as I extol his perfection as a nurse, bless him for his rock-like strength, he surely deserves a break, if only even temporarily. I'm not up to being normal yet myself, but he needs something normal for a change. Maybe I'll send him off to work next week, once I am able to drive and bathe by myself. He desperately needs a change of scene, something that gives him a boost and a feeling of usefulness, besides having me totally dependent on him.
When I look at the schedule on the right sidebar, I see not only all the stuff I've gone through for the past 2+ months, but everything he's gone through as well--and this is the kind of stuff that really interests me too, I mean the research and the problem-solving and the action plans. Bill worries. In fact, he does so much worrying, I have had the luxury over the last few decades of not worrying much at all, because I know that Bill will do more of it, and will worry better and more thoroughly than I could ever imagine. He's been carrying that worry-burden for the both of us, while being monumentally bored by the subject and process of it.
My mom is coming to stay with me for the month of December, and as much as they like each other and enjoy each other's company, Bill might have more fun going and doing 3 weeks of temp relief officer work on a ship before he goes out on another long cruise. Mom and I can do the post-op and girl-bonding stuff, and he can go do the yo-ho-ho life and get a better grip. Yesterday, I saw him flirt with a bit of burn-out, and I can't have that, I can't stand to see him unhappy because of me.
I am feeling good this morning, and without drugs too! I just got up to use the bathroom, drink more liquids and move around a little. Now it's back to bed for more sleeping.
I can't sit up by myself anymore. It's like a reflex that disappeared overnight (literally). Oh well, back to being "the queen."
I saw clearly with yesterday's surgery, Bill is getting close to the limit of his infinite patience. He's tired of sitting next to me in small rooms, doing nothing except waiting for more medical persons to show up and ask the same questions. He's tired of listening to me and everyone else around him talk about cancer. He's tired of telling his friends and co-workers about his wife's cancer. He's tired of disease, and serious issues, and meaningful talk. I don't blame him a bit--as much as I extol his perfection as a nurse, bless him for his rock-like strength, he surely deserves a break, if only even temporarily. I'm not up to being normal yet myself, but he needs something normal for a change. Maybe I'll send him off to work next week, once I am able to drive and bathe by myself. He desperately needs a change of scene, something that gives him a boost and a feeling of usefulness, besides having me totally dependent on him.
When I look at the schedule on the right sidebar, I see not only all the stuff I've gone through for the past 2+ months, but everything he's gone through as well--and this is the kind of stuff that really interests me too, I mean the research and the problem-solving and the action plans. Bill worries. In fact, he does so much worrying, I have had the luxury over the last few decades of not worrying much at all, because I know that Bill will do more of it, and will worry better and more thoroughly than I could ever imagine. He's been carrying that worry-burden for the both of us, while being monumentally bored by the subject and process of it.
My mom is coming to stay with me for the month of December, and as much as they like each other and enjoy each other's company, Bill might have more fun going and doing 3 weeks of temp relief officer work on a ship before he goes out on another long cruise. Mom and I can do the post-op and girl-bonding stuff, and he can go do the yo-ho-ho life and get a better grip. Yesterday, I saw him flirt with a bit of burn-out, and I can't have that, I can't stand to see him unhappy because of me.
I am feeling good this morning, and without drugs too! I just got up to use the bathroom, drink more liquids and move around a little. Now it's back to bed for more sleeping.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Reconstruction Done!
In to surgery at 3:30, woke up around 5:15, was at the All-You-Can-Eat Wood Grill Buffet by 6:15, pigging out at the salad bar and telling the roast beef carver "more, more!" Sometimes I don't even believe myself.
Not only do I look and feel "fahbulous, dahling!" tonight, but they also gave me a little card with my implant serial numbers on it. I apparently now belong to the Bionic Boobs Club, and this is my secret membership decoder card. The despised tubes are gone, I'm wrapped in elastic like a breast-bound Flapper Girl from the 1920s, and I'm thinking I might even have the luxury of sleeping on my side tonight (with propping pillows, of course). Wow, it is so great to be done with this part.
I get to shower in 4 days (Sunday), then need to be back here on Tuesday, Nov. 27 for stitches removal. I will also try to bundle my final appointments with Dr. Brenin's crew for that day too, maybe an oncologist consult as well. Much research to do in the meantime, and we're still trying for a copy of that path report too.
Home to Tennessee tomorrow, and on to continued recovery.
Not only do I look and feel "fahbulous, dahling!" tonight, but they also gave me a little card with my implant serial numbers on it. I apparently now belong to the Bionic Boobs Club, and this is my secret membership decoder card. The despised tubes are gone, I'm wrapped in elastic like a breast-bound Flapper Girl from the 1920s, and I'm thinking I might even have the luxury of sleeping on my side tonight (with propping pillows, of course). Wow, it is so great to be done with this part.
I get to shower in 4 days (Sunday), then need to be back here on Tuesday, Nov. 27 for stitches removal. I will also try to bundle my final appointments with Dr. Brenin's crew for that day too, maybe an oncologist consult as well. Much research to do in the meantime, and we're still trying for a copy of that path report too.
Home to Tennessee tomorrow, and on to continued recovery.
Something cool about the World Map
I just figured out that if you click on the "Where in the World Are YOU?" map, then click on "Show smaller dots," you can see all the little places where people are checking out my blog.
Very, very cool!
Very, very cool!
Good Dreamless Sleep
Cold, gray, rainy, gloomy, misty drive yesterday. I slept almost all the way in little bits and pieces of about 20-30 miles per nap. For awhile, Bill was playing our Spanish lesson CDs, and I'd wake up, respond to something in Spanish, and go right back to sleep! We were both pretty cranky, sore and tired when we got in around 6.
We watched a very funny movie called Free Enterprise after a pickup dinner of cold cuts, salads and snacks. For old sci-fi fans, this movie is a hoot, featuring every geek you knew in high school & college, plus William Shatner playing himself as producer of a 6-hour musical version of Shakespeare's Julius Caesar. We laughed so hard that the dogs and the parrot became aggitated.
I slept straight through until about 5, and was able to have my one cup of black coffee before 6 am. I think this is so amazingly wonderful--if your surgery is in the afternoon, they now let you have your morning coffee!
This afternoon, we go to a new facility, the Outpatient Surgery Clinic, rather than the big University Hospital--I might even see someone new for a change.
For now, I think I'll go back to bed and snooze some more. We have nothing that needs to be done other than walk the dog this morning, and show up for more surgery at 1:40 PM. I can't wait to be done with these tubes and "temps."
We watched a very funny movie called Free Enterprise after a pickup dinner of cold cuts, salads and snacks. For old sci-fi fans, this movie is a hoot, featuring every geek you knew in high school & college, plus William Shatner playing himself as producer of a 6-hour musical version of Shakespeare's Julius Caesar. We laughed so hard that the dogs and the parrot became aggitated.
I slept straight through until about 5, and was able to have my one cup of black coffee before 6 am. I think this is so amazingly wonderful--if your surgery is in the afternoon, they now let you have your morning coffee!
This afternoon, we go to a new facility, the Outpatient Surgery Clinic, rather than the big University Hospital--I might even see someone new for a change.
For now, I think I'll go back to bed and snooze some more. We have nothing that needs to be done other than walk the dog this morning, and show up for more surgery at 1:40 PM. I can't wait to be done with these tubes and "temps."
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Off again to UVA today...
"From my lips to God's ears"--today we travel again to UVA, for the completion of my reconstruction surgery tomorrow. No radiation needed is a huge positive, as huge as the negative node biopsy results. Two big hurdles, cleared and in the rear-view mirror at last.
Dr. Lin, my plastic surgeon, called yesterday. I think of him as "Yan Can Cook," he reminds me so of that energetic young Oriental with the fancy knife work, back in the days before the Food Network took over all the cooking shows. He and his residents called to see if I was happy with my "Trial Size Balloons" they put in 11 days ago, filled with 500 cc. of saline (about half my previous breast size). I told him that Bill & I had been discussing it and that we thought what I have is not too small, not too big, just about right. So, we're a go for tomorrow for the silicone replacements. I'm thrilled to be almost done with these hard-edged plastic forms, they pain me like a bad underwire bra from hell, except for the fact that I can't adjust the pressure off my rib cage or take it off to get any relief!
It's been weird to talk to Bill about the male viewpoint of the aesthetics of "size," after having gone through the surgery and everything else leading up to it. Since I only see the top view, Bill and I have differing perceptions of what I actually look like externally. Perhaps, I said to him, you should take a picture with the digital camera so I can see what you see? Perhaps, Bill rejoined, we should just post that picture on the blog and everyone can have a vote? What a smart-aleck I married!
Uh, no thanks (I bet you are all breathing a sigh of relief that this particular perverse idea of Bill's was rejected, right)? Paris Hilton I'm not (nor, do I want to be), and I think we can make this decision ourselves without the blog's input. I do have some decorum left somewhere, even after spending so many days in rooms with strangers with my shirt off! So 500s it will be, and I'm happy with that outcome. Since silicone is somewhat denser than breast tissue, I will be about 1/2 the size and about 5/8 the weight of my former chest. I will be very happy with that.
My back will thank me, my permanent bra-strap shoulder dents may even plump up again someday.
And thankfully, the tubes and drains and bulbs will be coming out too, and then, glory be--a shower, a highly anticipated reward shimmering out there just beyond reach, in the not-too-distant future! At this point, I'd give up almost anything for one hot shower with lots of soap and a super-duper loofah back scratch!
All good stuff. We're in transit or in Virginia for the next 2-3 days. Surgery is outpatient, so we should be home by Thursday or Friday night at the latest.
Dr. Lin, my plastic surgeon, called yesterday. I think of him as "Yan Can Cook," he reminds me so of that energetic young Oriental with the fancy knife work, back in the days before the Food Network took over all the cooking shows. He and his residents called to see if I was happy with my "Trial Size Balloons" they put in 11 days ago, filled with 500 cc. of saline (about half my previous breast size). I told him that Bill & I had been discussing it and that we thought what I have is not too small, not too big, just about right. So, we're a go for tomorrow for the silicone replacements. I'm thrilled to be almost done with these hard-edged plastic forms, they pain me like a bad underwire bra from hell, except for the fact that I can't adjust the pressure off my rib cage or take it off to get any relief!
It's been weird to talk to Bill about the male viewpoint of the aesthetics of "size," after having gone through the surgery and everything else leading up to it. Since I only see the top view, Bill and I have differing perceptions of what I actually look like externally. Perhaps, I said to him, you should take a picture with the digital camera so I can see what you see? Perhaps, Bill rejoined, we should just post that picture on the blog and everyone can have a vote? What a smart-aleck I married!
Uh, no thanks (I bet you are all breathing a sigh of relief that this particular perverse idea of Bill's was rejected, right)? Paris Hilton I'm not (nor, do I want to be), and I think we can make this decision ourselves without the blog's input. I do have some decorum left somewhere, even after spending so many days in rooms with strangers with my shirt off! So 500s it will be, and I'm happy with that outcome. Since silicone is somewhat denser than breast tissue, I will be about 1/2 the size and about 5/8 the weight of my former chest. I will be very happy with that.
My back will thank me, my permanent bra-strap shoulder dents may even plump up again someday.
And thankfully, the tubes and drains and bulbs will be coming out too, and then, glory be--a shower, a highly anticipated reward shimmering out there just beyond reach, in the not-too-distant future! At this point, I'd give up almost anything for one hot shower with lots of soap and a super-duper loofah back scratch!
All good stuff. We're in transit or in Virginia for the next 2-3 days. Surgery is outpatient, so we should be home by Thursday or Friday night at the latest.
Monday, November 12, 2007
No Radiation Needed!
We still don't have the final pathology report, but Dr. Brenin called late this afternoon to say he had spoken to the pathologist by phone, and the reconstruction can proceed on Wednesday--no radiation treatments will be needed.
Hip, hip, hooray, yippee!
We are starting out on the road to UVA tomorrow around noon, and hope to be back on Thursday night.
Hip, hip, hooray, yippee!
We are starting out on the road to UVA tomorrow around noon, and hope to be back on Thursday night.
No Painkillers and the Healing Properties of Dinner Parties & Zinfandel
"You planned this!" Bill said last night as I poured myself a well-deserved glass of red wine, (replying to his initial protests that I had gone 24 hours without opiates or acetaminophen).
Ah, I've missed my wine with dinner. Is there anything more sublime, more salubrious than a glass of California Zinfandel? I don't think so. Just one glass, thank you, and I feel like a normal person again.
When friends start coming again for dinner, that's when I know recovery is assured. Dinner with Shirley, Ray, Joe, Les & Bill was great last night. I was all about the easy preparations last night--Shirley and I did the cooking part, the boys finished watching their football game and then served us, and everyone but me did the dishes. Now that's big-time fun, people! The hostess retired for bed at about 7:30 without apologies.
Hoisin-Sauced Pork Tenderloin (for 6-8 people)
Marinate in large zip-lock bag for 3-6 hours:
2 Pork Tenderloins
1/3 cup Hoisin Sauce (found in Oriental food section)
1/4 cup reduced-sodium Soy Sauce
3 Tbls. sugar
1/4 cup cider vinegar
3 Tbls. canola oil
Heat grill pan (or cast-iron skillet or BBQ grill) and spray with non-stick spray. Lift meat from marinade (reserve for sauce) and sear all sides of pork tenderloins in grill pan, then cover and cook for 15-20 minutes, making sure drippings don't burn to pan--add water 1/2 cup at a time to keep meat moist and bottom of pan simmering. Add reserved marinade and cook meat, turning as necessary, until instant read thermometer reads 150. Remove meat to platter, keep warm. Simmer sauce over high heat until thickened and glossy--pour over meat and serve, slicing tenderloin crosswise. Garnish with sliced scallions if desired.
(If only serving 2-3 people, just cook one of the tenderloins and use half the marinade--freeze the other for later in the zip-lock bag--just defrost and cook normally as above).
(If grilling tenderloin on the BBQ, place marinade in small saucepan, add 1/2 cup water and bring to a boil--then reduce to desired consistency for sauce)
Roasted Garlic & Goat Cheese Mashed Potatoes
2 heads garlic
Olive oil
8 Red-skin potatoes, unpeeled, chopped into 1" chunks
1/4 cup butter
1/2 cup milk
3 oz. soft goat cheese
Chives, snipped
Salt & Pepper
Preheat oven to 425. Cut heads of garlic in half across the "equator." Set with cut sides facing up and drizzle with olive oil. Place on a sheet of foil and wrap loosely to form a packet. Roast in oven for 1 hour. Cool.
Boil potatoes in salted water until tender, about 15 minutes. Drain and mash with butter & milk.
Squeeze roasted garlic from the papery heads into potatoes, add goat cheese and chives and mash to desired consistency. Season with salt & pepper.
Pam's Tasty Hammy Quichey Football Snacky Thingys
1 tube reduced-fat Crescent Rolls
3 oz. cooked ham, diced in 1/4" pieces
3 oz. swiss cheese, diced in 1/4" pieces
1/2 onion, minced
1 egg
1 Tbls. Dijon mustard
1 Tbls. Whole-grain mustard
1 Tbls. Honey Mustard
1/4 tsp. ground black pepper
Preheat oven to 375. Unroll crescent rolls, separate into 4 rectangular pieces--roll to flatten slightly and seal diagonal seams. Cut each rectangle crosswise into 3 roughly-square pieces. Place one piece in each mini-muffin cup.
Mix ham, cheese, onion, egg, mustards and pepper in a small bowl. Using a teaspoon, divide filling amongst the 24 muffin cups lined with dough. Gently fold any overlapping dough toward the center of each cup.
Bake about 18-22 minutes, or until golden brown and bubbly. Let cool about 3 minutes, then remove and serve.
Fake Crab Dip
1 - 8 oz. pkg non-fat, low-fat, or regular cream cheese, softened to room temperature
1/3 cup catsup
2 Tbls. prepared horseradish
1 - 12-16 oz. pkg surimi (imitation crab meat)
juice of 1/2 lemon
Topping:
1/3 cup catsup
2 Tbls. prepared horseradish
Beat softened cream cheese with a fork until smooth. Add catsup and horseradish and beat until pale pink. Fold in crab meat and lemon juice.
Mix remaining catsup and horseradish together, pour over the top of dip. Serve with crackers or sturdy chips.
Ah, I've missed my wine with dinner. Is there anything more sublime, more salubrious than a glass of California Zinfandel? I don't think so. Just one glass, thank you, and I feel like a normal person again.
When friends start coming again for dinner, that's when I know recovery is assured. Dinner with Shirley, Ray, Joe, Les & Bill was great last night. I was all about the easy preparations last night--Shirley and I did the cooking part, the boys finished watching their football game and then served us, and everyone but me did the dishes. Now that's big-time fun, people! The hostess retired for bed at about 7:30 without apologies.
Hoisin-Sauced Pork Tenderloin (for 6-8 people)
Marinate in large zip-lock bag for 3-6 hours:
2 Pork Tenderloins
1/3 cup Hoisin Sauce (found in Oriental food section)
1/4 cup reduced-sodium Soy Sauce
3 Tbls. sugar
1/4 cup cider vinegar
3 Tbls. canola oil
Heat grill pan (or cast-iron skillet or BBQ grill) and spray with non-stick spray. Lift meat from marinade (reserve for sauce) and sear all sides of pork tenderloins in grill pan, then cover and cook for 15-20 minutes, making sure drippings don't burn to pan--add water 1/2 cup at a time to keep meat moist and bottom of pan simmering. Add reserved marinade and cook meat, turning as necessary, until instant read thermometer reads 150. Remove meat to platter, keep warm. Simmer sauce over high heat until thickened and glossy--pour over meat and serve, slicing tenderloin crosswise. Garnish with sliced scallions if desired.
(If only serving 2-3 people, just cook one of the tenderloins and use half the marinade--freeze the other for later in the zip-lock bag--just defrost and cook normally as above).
(If grilling tenderloin on the BBQ, place marinade in small saucepan, add 1/2 cup water and bring to a boil--then reduce to desired consistency for sauce)
Roasted Garlic & Goat Cheese Mashed Potatoes
2 heads garlic
Olive oil
8 Red-skin potatoes, unpeeled, chopped into 1" chunks
1/4 cup butter
1/2 cup milk
3 oz. soft goat cheese
Chives, snipped
Salt & Pepper
Preheat oven to 425. Cut heads of garlic in half across the "equator." Set with cut sides facing up and drizzle with olive oil. Place on a sheet of foil and wrap loosely to form a packet. Roast in oven for 1 hour. Cool.
Boil potatoes in salted water until tender, about 15 minutes. Drain and mash with butter & milk.
Squeeze roasted garlic from the papery heads into potatoes, add goat cheese and chives and mash to desired consistency. Season with salt & pepper.
Pam's Tasty Hammy Quichey Football Snacky Thingys
1 tube reduced-fat Crescent Rolls
3 oz. cooked ham, diced in 1/4" pieces
3 oz. swiss cheese, diced in 1/4" pieces
1/2 onion, minced
1 egg
1 Tbls. Dijon mustard
1 Tbls. Whole-grain mustard
1 Tbls. Honey Mustard
1/4 tsp. ground black pepper
Preheat oven to 375. Unroll crescent rolls, separate into 4 rectangular pieces--roll to flatten slightly and seal diagonal seams. Cut each rectangle crosswise into 3 roughly-square pieces. Place one piece in each mini-muffin cup.
Mix ham, cheese, onion, egg, mustards and pepper in a small bowl. Using a teaspoon, divide filling amongst the 24 muffin cups lined with dough. Gently fold any overlapping dough toward the center of each cup.
Bake about 18-22 minutes, or until golden brown and bubbly. Let cool about 3 minutes, then remove and serve.
Fake Crab Dip
1 - 8 oz. pkg non-fat, low-fat, or regular cream cheese, softened to room temperature
1/3 cup catsup
2 Tbls. prepared horseradish
1 - 12-16 oz. pkg surimi (imitation crab meat)
juice of 1/2 lemon
Topping:
1/3 cup catsup
2 Tbls. prepared horseradish
Beat softened cream cheese with a fork until smooth. Add catsup and horseradish and beat until pale pink. Fold in crab meat and lemon juice.
Mix remaining catsup and horseradish together, pour over the top of dip. Serve with crackers or sturdy chips.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Could it be???
Are my abs actually getting stronger? I woke in the night and did my usual flop-around thing, wondering whether to wake Bill to have him shove me to an upright position. But this morning, I thought about it for awhile, extended my arms, and sat UP! Wow! Progress at last. I still wasn't able to put any weight on my arms, so those stomach muscles must be getting~gasp~a workout for the first time in 6 years?
I also woke without pain for the first time in short-term memory. The surgical swelling is going down at last, I can feel the pressure of the temporary implants, but I can also feel the hard edges of them under the skin for the first time. So, just pressure (like an underwire bra), but no actual ouch!
I took a look in the bathroom mirror and my saran-wrap dressings are starting to degrade too. I must have exceeded their shelf-life. Getting better! Wowee!
I'm keeping good thoughts for news on Monday--that radiation won't be needed, that I'll be able to keep my appointment on Wednesday for the permanent silicone implant exchange. MaryAnn says that those who have been through this say that it's such a relief to get the softer implants--the saline filled expanders (like I have now) are known as " the baseballs," and indeed, that's sort of what they look and feel like--having two baseballs under the skin on your chest. I wonder how I'm going to restrain myself from wanting to show these newbies off to everyone I know (maybe anticipating their looks of horror will deter me from this type of exhbitionist behavior)!
I feel great this morning! (I know, I know, mustn't overdo...)
I also woke without pain for the first time in short-term memory. The surgical swelling is going down at last, I can feel the pressure of the temporary implants, but I can also feel the hard edges of them under the skin for the first time. So, just pressure (like an underwire bra), but no actual ouch!
I took a look in the bathroom mirror and my saran-wrap dressings are starting to degrade too. I must have exceeded their shelf-life. Getting better! Wowee!
I'm keeping good thoughts for news on Monday--that radiation won't be needed, that I'll be able to keep my appointment on Wednesday for the permanent silicone implant exchange. MaryAnn says that those who have been through this say that it's such a relief to get the softer implants--the saline filled expanders (like I have now) are known as " the baseballs," and indeed, that's sort of what they look and feel like--having two baseballs under the skin on your chest. I wonder how I'm going to restrain myself from wanting to show these newbies off to everyone I know (maybe anticipating their looks of horror will deter me from this type of exhbitionist behavior)!
I feel great this morning! (I know, I know, mustn't overdo...)
Thanksgiving Recipes - Desserts
While I was not sleeping in the hospital, I took the time to look at what the food mags have come up with this year for fall recipes. I rarely suggest that cooks "try out" new recipes on guests (unless they are that kind of guest, and you people know who you are!), but since we're going to have a quiet couple's dinner ourselves this year, here are some of the things I'd like to try for the first time (maybe you think they are interesting too):
Fresh Pear & Cranberry Pie
Recipe for a Single Crust Pie
8 cups sliced, unpeeled red and/or green ripe pears (7-8 total, 3-3 1/2 lbs.)
1 cup fresh cranberries
1/4 cup sugar
3 Tbls. cornstarch
2 Tbls. apple cider or water
1/4 tsp. ground nutmeg
1 Tbls. sugar
2 Tbls. caramel ice-cream topping, + more for drizzling
Preheat oven to 375.
Prepare and roll out pastry for a single pie crust, forming a high fluted edge to keep filling from bubbling over.
Arrange half of pears in prepared shell; sprinkle with half the cranberries. Arrange remaining pears on top of cranberries--reserve the remaining cranberries for later.
In bowl, stir together sugar, cornstarch, cider and nutmeg; pour evenly over fruit.
Cover pie with foil
Bake 40 minutes; remove foil and sprinkle with 1 Tbls. sugar. Bake, uncovered, for 30-35 minutes more or until pears are tender and juices are bubbly. Remove from oven and place on rack to cool.
In a small saucepan, combine remaining cranberries and 2 Tbls. caramel topping. Bring to boil and cook 1 minute. Remove from heat and spoon over hot pie. Drizzle pie or decorate plates with remaining topping as desired.
Harvest Fruit-topped Chocolate Cake
Cake:
8 oz sour cream
1 cup water
2/3 cup canola oil
2 cups granulated sugar
2 eggs
1 tsp. vanilla
2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. salt
2 cups all purpose flour
3/4 cups unsweetened cocoa powder
3/4 tsp. freshly ground black pepper
1/2 tsp. ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp. ground allspice
1/2 tsp. ground nutmeg
1/8 tsp. ground cloves
8 oz. semi-sweet chocolate
1 cup whipping cream
Topping:
1 unpeeled red pear
1 unpeeled granny-smith apple
1/3 cup dried cranberries
2 cups apple juice
1 cup sugar
Caramel ice-cream topping
Preheat oven to 350. Grease and flour two 9" round cake pans.
Combine sour cream, water, oil, eggs, sugar, vanilla, baking powder and soda, and salt in extra-large bowl. With a large whisk, stir until combined. Add flour, cocoa & spices and whisk vigorously until smooth. Pour into the two prepared pans.
Bake 30-35 minutes until center springs back after being touched lightly. Cool in pans for 10 minutes, then remove and cool layers completely.
Finely chop chocolate and bring cream to a boil. Remove from heat and stir in the chocolate until smooth. Cool, then chill until spreadable, about 1 hour.
Meanwhile, prepare fruit topping:
Slice pear lengthwise, slice apple horizontally. Bring sugar and apple juice to a boil and add fruit. Return to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer, covered, for 2 minutes. Remove from head and let stand for 5 minutes. Strain and discard syrup, cool fruit to room temperature.
Place one cake layer on serving plate and spread with half of the chocolate/cream mixture. Top with second layer and spread with remaining ganache. Arrange fruit in single layer on top of cake, pour caramel topping over fruit, allowing to drizzle down the sides of cake. Serve immediately (does not store well).
White Chocolate-Cranberry Blondies
1/2 cup softened butter
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1/2 cup packed brown sugar
3/4 tsp. baking powder
1/4 tsp. baking soda
1/4 tsp. salt
2 eggs
1 tsp. vanilla
1 cup all purpose flour
1/2 cup dried cranberries
1/2 cup coarsely chopped white chocolate
1 cup fresh cranberries
Preheat oven to 350. Line an 11" x 7" x 1 1/2" or a 9" x 9" x 2" baking pan with foil; coat foil with non-stick spray.
Beat butter with wire whisk or mixer; add sugars, baking powder, soda & salt. Beat in eggs and vanilla. Add flour and mix until combined.
Stir in dried fruit and white chocolate. Spread batter into pan. Sprinkle with fresh cranberries--do not stir, just press lightly into surface of dough (stirring with streak the bars).
Bake 25-30 minutes, cool for at least 1 hour. Lift foil out of pan and cut into bars.
May be served with Cinnamon Whipped Cream-- combine 1/2 cup chilled whipping cream with 1/4 tsp. ground cinnamon. Beat until soft peaks form.
Caramel & Chocolate Pecan Bars
Crust:
2 cups all purpose flour
1 cup packed brown sugar
1/2 cup butter
1 cup toasted pecans, halves or chopped
Topping:
2/3 cup butter
1/2 cup brown sugar
1 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips
Combine all crust ingredients except pecans in a medium bowl. Beat until mixture resembles fine crumbs. Press into bottom of ungreased 13 x 9 baking pan.
Place pecans evenly over unbaked crust.
Combine 2/3 cup butter and 1/2 cup brown sugar in 1 qt. saucepan. Cook over medium head, stirring constantly until entire surface of mixture begins to boil. Boil, stirring constantly for 1 minute. Pour mixture evenly over pecans and crust.
Bake for 18-22 minutes, or until entire caramel layer is bubbly (do not overbake). Remove from oven. Immediately sprinkle with chips; allow to melt slightly. Swirl melted chips over bars, leaving some whole for effect. Cool completely and cut into bars.
Blue Ribbon Sugar Cookies
1 cup butter
1/2 cup powdered sugar
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1 egg
1/2 tsp. vanilla
2 1/4 cups all purpose flour
1/2 tsp. cream of tartar
1/2 tsp. baking soda
Coarse sugar for topping
Heat oven to 375.
Combine butter & sugars in large bowl, beat at medium speed until creamy.
Add egg and vanilla, continue beating until well mixed.
Reduce beater speed to low; add flour, cream of tartar and baking soda. Beat until dough forms a ball.
Shape dough into 1" balls, place 2" apart on ungreased cookie sheets. Flatten dough balls to aabout 1 1/2 " with bottom of a glass dipped in sugar. Sprinkle with coarse or decorator sugar, if desired.
Bake 7 - 9 minutes until edges are lightly browned. Let stand 1 minute and remove from cookie sheets.
Fresh Pear & Cranberry Pie
Recipe for a Single Crust Pie
8 cups sliced, unpeeled red and/or green ripe pears (7-8 total, 3-3 1/2 lbs.)
1 cup fresh cranberries
1/4 cup sugar
3 Tbls. cornstarch
2 Tbls. apple cider or water
1/4 tsp. ground nutmeg
1 Tbls. sugar
2 Tbls. caramel ice-cream topping, + more for drizzling
Preheat oven to 375.
Prepare and roll out pastry for a single pie crust, forming a high fluted edge to keep filling from bubbling over.
Arrange half of pears in prepared shell; sprinkle with half the cranberries. Arrange remaining pears on top of cranberries--reserve the remaining cranberries for later.
In bowl, stir together sugar, cornstarch, cider and nutmeg; pour evenly over fruit.
Cover pie with foil
Bake 40 minutes; remove foil and sprinkle with 1 Tbls. sugar. Bake, uncovered, for 30-35 minutes more or until pears are tender and juices are bubbly. Remove from oven and place on rack to cool.
In a small saucepan, combine remaining cranberries and 2 Tbls. caramel topping. Bring to boil and cook 1 minute. Remove from heat and spoon over hot pie. Drizzle pie or decorate plates with remaining topping as desired.
Harvest Fruit-topped Chocolate Cake
Cake:
8 oz sour cream
1 cup water
2/3 cup canola oil
2 cups granulated sugar
2 eggs
1 tsp. vanilla
2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. salt
2 cups all purpose flour
3/4 cups unsweetened cocoa powder
3/4 tsp. freshly ground black pepper
1/2 tsp. ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp. ground allspice
1/2 tsp. ground nutmeg
1/8 tsp. ground cloves
8 oz. semi-sweet chocolate
1 cup whipping cream
Topping:
1 unpeeled red pear
1 unpeeled granny-smith apple
1/3 cup dried cranberries
2 cups apple juice
1 cup sugar
Caramel ice-cream topping
Preheat oven to 350. Grease and flour two 9" round cake pans.
Combine sour cream, water, oil, eggs, sugar, vanilla, baking powder and soda, and salt in extra-large bowl. With a large whisk, stir until combined. Add flour, cocoa & spices and whisk vigorously until smooth. Pour into the two prepared pans.
Bake 30-35 minutes until center springs back after being touched lightly. Cool in pans for 10 minutes, then remove and cool layers completely.
Finely chop chocolate and bring cream to a boil. Remove from heat and stir in the chocolate until smooth. Cool, then chill until spreadable, about 1 hour.
Meanwhile, prepare fruit topping:
Slice pear lengthwise, slice apple horizontally. Bring sugar and apple juice to a boil and add fruit. Return to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer, covered, for 2 minutes. Remove from head and let stand for 5 minutes. Strain and discard syrup, cool fruit to room temperature.
Place one cake layer on serving plate and spread with half of the chocolate/cream mixture. Top with second layer and spread with remaining ganache. Arrange fruit in single layer on top of cake, pour caramel topping over fruit, allowing to drizzle down the sides of cake. Serve immediately (does not store well).
White Chocolate-Cranberry Blondies
1/2 cup softened butter
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1/2 cup packed brown sugar
3/4 tsp. baking powder
1/4 tsp. baking soda
1/4 tsp. salt
2 eggs
1 tsp. vanilla
1 cup all purpose flour
1/2 cup dried cranberries
1/2 cup coarsely chopped white chocolate
1 cup fresh cranberries
Preheat oven to 350. Line an 11" x 7" x 1 1/2" or a 9" x 9" x 2" baking pan with foil; coat foil with non-stick spray.
Beat butter with wire whisk or mixer; add sugars, baking powder, soda & salt. Beat in eggs and vanilla. Add flour and mix until combined.
Stir in dried fruit and white chocolate. Spread batter into pan. Sprinkle with fresh cranberries--do not stir, just press lightly into surface of dough (stirring with streak the bars).
Bake 25-30 minutes, cool for at least 1 hour. Lift foil out of pan and cut into bars.
May be served with Cinnamon Whipped Cream-- combine 1/2 cup chilled whipping cream with 1/4 tsp. ground cinnamon. Beat until soft peaks form.
Caramel & Chocolate Pecan Bars
Crust:
2 cups all purpose flour
1 cup packed brown sugar
1/2 cup butter
1 cup toasted pecans, halves or chopped
Topping:
2/3 cup butter
1/2 cup brown sugar
1 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips
Combine all crust ingredients except pecans in a medium bowl. Beat until mixture resembles fine crumbs. Press into bottom of ungreased 13 x 9 baking pan.
Place pecans evenly over unbaked crust.
Combine 2/3 cup butter and 1/2 cup brown sugar in 1 qt. saucepan. Cook over medium head, stirring constantly until entire surface of mixture begins to boil. Boil, stirring constantly for 1 minute. Pour mixture evenly over pecans and crust.
Bake for 18-22 minutes, or until entire caramel layer is bubbly (do not overbake). Remove from oven. Immediately sprinkle with chips; allow to melt slightly. Swirl melted chips over bars, leaving some whole for effect. Cool completely and cut into bars.
Blue Ribbon Sugar Cookies
1 cup butter
1/2 cup powdered sugar
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1 egg
1/2 tsp. vanilla
2 1/4 cups all purpose flour
1/2 tsp. cream of tartar
1/2 tsp. baking soda
Coarse sugar for topping
Heat oven to 375.
Combine butter & sugars in large bowl, beat at medium speed until creamy.
Add egg and vanilla, continue beating until well mixed.
Reduce beater speed to low; add flour, cream of tartar and baking soda. Beat until dough forms a ball.
Shape dough into 1" balls, place 2" apart on ungreased cookie sheets. Flatten dough balls to aabout 1 1/2 " with bottom of a glass dipped in sugar. Sprinkle with coarse or decorator sugar, if desired.
Bake 7 - 9 minutes until edges are lightly browned. Let stand 1 minute and remove from cookie sheets.
Thanksgiving Recipes - Taters & Veggies
More from the food mags:
Lemon-Glazed Sweet Potatoes
6 medium sweet potatoes (4 lbs)
3/4 cup water
1/3 cup granulated sugar
1/3 cup light brown sugar
1/2 tsp. salt
3 Tbls. fresh lemon juice
1/2 tsp. freshly grated nutmeg
3 Tbls. butter
1 Tbls. finely shredded lemon peel
Preheat oven to 350. Place potatoes in large pot with enough water to cover and bring to boil.
Reduce heat and simmer 10-12 minutes, just until they are tender but not soft--easily pierced on outside but resistant in center. Drain and cool.
Meanwhile, in a non-reactive saucepan, combine 3/4 cup water, sugars and salt. Bring to boil, stirring just until sugars are dissolved. Simmer 8 minutes, remove from heat. Stir in lemon juice, nutmeg and 2 Tbls. of the butter. Butter a large shallow glass or ceramic baking dish with remaining butter.
Peel potatoes and cut cross-wise into 3/4" thick slices; arrange in baking dish. Pour lemon syrup over all. Bake for 40-50 minutes, basting occasionally, until potatoes are well-glazed and begin to carmelize on the edges. Remove from oven and cool slightly. Garnish with lemon peel.
Serves 6-8
Parsleyed Green Beans
1 1/2 lbs. green beans, ends trimmed
3 Tbls. butter
2 tsp. fresh garlic, pressed
pinch salt
2-4 Tbls. fresh, coarsely chopped flat-leaf parsley
Cook beans in salted, boiling water or steam for 5-8 minutes until tender but still vibrant green and slightly resistant to bite. Drain and immediately submerge in bowl of ice water to stop cooking and set color. Drain well.
In a wide skillet, heat butter over medium high heat until hot and foamy. Add beans. Cook, tossing often, until heated through. Add garlic and 2 Tbls. of parsley. Season with salt and freshly ground black pepper. Cook 1 minute longer, avoid burning garlic. Sprinkle with additional parsley and serve.
Icebox Biscuits
1 pkg. active dry yeast
1/4 cup very warm water (105-115)
5 cups all purpose flour
1 Tbls. baking powder
1 tsp. baking soda
1/4 cup sugar
1 Tbls. kosher salt
3/4 cup chilled lard, or 1/2 cup shortening + 1/4 cup butter, chilled
2 cups chilled buttermilk
3 Tbls. melted butter
Preheat oven to 450. Dissolve yeast in warm water, let stand for 5 minutes.
Combine flour, baking powder, baking soda, sugar and salt. Using fingers, quickly work chilled lard into dry ingredients until flour mixture resembles large peas.
Stir in dissolved yeast and buttermilk; mix until just blended
Turn dough onto floured surface; knead 6 or 7 times. Roll out to 1/2" thickness. Pierce rolled dough completely through at 1/2" intervals with floured dinner fork. Cut out biscuits with 2 1/2 - 3" cutter, not twisting cutter (which would seal sides and inhibit rising).
Place biscuits on greased baking sheet, about 1/2" apart. Cover with towel, let rise 30-45 minutes, until almost doubled.
Bake in preheated oven 10-12 minutes, until golden brown. Remove from oven, brush with melted butter.
Ultra Mashed Potatoes
3 1/2 cups chicken broth
5 Large potatoes, cut into 1" pieces
1/2 cup light cream (half & half)
2 Tbls. butter
Heat broth and potatoes in saucepan and bring to a boil
Reduce heat to medium. Cover and cook for 10 minutes, until tender
Drain, reserving broth
Mash potatoes with 1/4 cup broth, cream, & butter. Add more broth, as needed
Season with salt & pepper
Add:
1/2 cup sour cream
1/4 cup snipped chives
3 slices cooked & crumbled bacon
Swiss or Cheddar Vegetable Casserole
1 can Cream of Mushroom Soup (or homemade equivalent, please~!)
1/3 cup sour cream
1/4 tsp. black pepper
1 - 16 oz bag frozen vegetable combo (cauliflower, carrots, broccoli, beans)
1 can French Fried Onions
1/2 cup shredded Swiss or Cheddar cheese
Stir soup, sour cream, pepper, vegetables, 2/3 cup onions and 1/4 cup cheese in oven-proof 2 quart casserole. Cover
Bake at 350 for 40 minutes.
Sprinkle remaining onions and cheese over casserole. Bake for 5 minutes more.
Lemon-Glazed Sweet Potatoes
6 medium sweet potatoes (4 lbs)
3/4 cup water
1/3 cup granulated sugar
1/3 cup light brown sugar
1/2 tsp. salt
3 Tbls. fresh lemon juice
1/2 tsp. freshly grated nutmeg
3 Tbls. butter
1 Tbls. finely shredded lemon peel
Preheat oven to 350. Place potatoes in large pot with enough water to cover and bring to boil.
Reduce heat and simmer 10-12 minutes, just until they are tender but not soft--easily pierced on outside but resistant in center. Drain and cool.
Meanwhile, in a non-reactive saucepan, combine 3/4 cup water, sugars and salt. Bring to boil, stirring just until sugars are dissolved. Simmer 8 minutes, remove from heat. Stir in lemon juice, nutmeg and 2 Tbls. of the butter. Butter a large shallow glass or ceramic baking dish with remaining butter.
Peel potatoes and cut cross-wise into 3/4" thick slices; arrange in baking dish. Pour lemon syrup over all. Bake for 40-50 minutes, basting occasionally, until potatoes are well-glazed and begin to carmelize on the edges. Remove from oven and cool slightly. Garnish with lemon peel.
Serves 6-8
Parsleyed Green Beans
1 1/2 lbs. green beans, ends trimmed
3 Tbls. butter
2 tsp. fresh garlic, pressed
pinch salt
2-4 Tbls. fresh, coarsely chopped flat-leaf parsley
Cook beans in salted, boiling water or steam for 5-8 minutes until tender but still vibrant green and slightly resistant to bite. Drain and immediately submerge in bowl of ice water to stop cooking and set color. Drain well.
In a wide skillet, heat butter over medium high heat until hot and foamy. Add beans. Cook, tossing often, until heated through. Add garlic and 2 Tbls. of parsley. Season with salt and freshly ground black pepper. Cook 1 minute longer, avoid burning garlic. Sprinkle with additional parsley and serve.
Icebox Biscuits
1 pkg. active dry yeast
1/4 cup very warm water (105-115)
5 cups all purpose flour
1 Tbls. baking powder
1 tsp. baking soda
1/4 cup sugar
1 Tbls. kosher salt
3/4 cup chilled lard, or 1/2 cup shortening + 1/4 cup butter, chilled
2 cups chilled buttermilk
3 Tbls. melted butter
Preheat oven to 450. Dissolve yeast in warm water, let stand for 5 minutes.
Combine flour, baking powder, baking soda, sugar and salt. Using fingers, quickly work chilled lard into dry ingredients until flour mixture resembles large peas.
Stir in dissolved yeast and buttermilk; mix until just blended
Turn dough onto floured surface; knead 6 or 7 times. Roll out to 1/2" thickness. Pierce rolled dough completely through at 1/2" intervals with floured dinner fork. Cut out biscuits with 2 1/2 - 3" cutter, not twisting cutter (which would seal sides and inhibit rising).
Place biscuits on greased baking sheet, about 1/2" apart. Cover with towel, let rise 30-45 minutes, until almost doubled.
Bake in preheated oven 10-12 minutes, until golden brown. Remove from oven, brush with melted butter.
Ultra Mashed Potatoes
3 1/2 cups chicken broth
5 Large potatoes, cut into 1" pieces
1/2 cup light cream (half & half)
2 Tbls. butter
Heat broth and potatoes in saucepan and bring to a boil
Reduce heat to medium. Cover and cook for 10 minutes, until tender
Drain, reserving broth
Mash potatoes with 1/4 cup broth, cream, & butter. Add more broth, as needed
Season with salt & pepper
Add:
1/2 cup sour cream
1/4 cup snipped chives
3 slices cooked & crumbled bacon
Swiss or Cheddar Vegetable Casserole
1 can Cream of Mushroom Soup (or homemade equivalent, please~!)
1/3 cup sour cream
1/4 tsp. black pepper
1 - 16 oz bag frozen vegetable combo (cauliflower, carrots, broccoli, beans)
1 can French Fried Onions
1/2 cup shredded Swiss or Cheddar cheese
Stir soup, sour cream, pepper, vegetables, 2/3 cup onions and 1/4 cup cheese in oven-proof 2 quart casserole. Cover
Bake at 350 for 40 minutes.
Sprinkle remaining onions and cheese over casserole. Bake for 5 minutes more.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Just another beautiful day in East TN
How uplifting the mornings are here! I don't even have to look at the weather in NY to know that whatever it is, it's warmer and nicer here! Bill still misses what I call The Cold White North, but he says it reflexively now, as in "I still miss New York," and then dresses up in his silly hunting clothes and goes outside with a smile on his face. I think I know what he means--he misses the times we had there, the life we had, the decade and a half of raising kids in a small town, surrounded by friends and activities. Those were great years, the best part of our lives, being a family of four + pets. It's the time he misses more than the place itself.
I think of those years with nostalgia too. I loved being a mostly-stay-at-home-mom, with little bodies to hug, and kids-say-and-do-the-darndest-things moments to treasure. Bill and I here in Tennessee are living a completely different lifestyle, one that we're not entirely comfortable with yet. We are now Empty Nesters, and not sure if we like it yet. Well, actually, we don't like it all that much, truth be told--but when the kids grow up and go off to lead their own lives, what other choice do we have? We just plain miss them, and used to say that it was so unfair that as soon as they do grow up and become really interesting, they leave! We did our job too well--our children have become everything (and more) that we had hoped--self-supporting, kind, bright & independent--and now we only get to hear of their achievements from afar and cheer from the sidelines, instead of sharing their laughter & stories over the dinner table each night. So yeah, it sucks, but going back to New York wouldn't rewind that film or give us more time with them.
So now, Bill and I are just two, a couple, for the first time in 25 years. We didn't know each other all that well for very long before we married and had babies, so it feels like we were always a house of chaos, a family with children underfoot and part of every activity. We have to invent this couplehood thing almost for the first time, now that they are gone. It's more than a little weird, but we're working at it, day by day, and getting it pretty right, I think.
Today's chores are simple: I get to tell Bill what to do, and he does it. We have beds to set up in the loft and stuff to move back upstairs to clear space on the main level. Houseguests are due tomorrow in the form of Joe & Ray, plus Joe's father, recently widowed. Ray is one of our oldest friends (daughter Juli's middle name is Rae, after him); Bill knew him and his wife Elaine in the Marines, 30 years ago. We just met Joe last year, when they came to buy investment properties in Rogersville. Joe just lost his mom to myeloma a few weeks ago, so he and his dad are on a mini-roadtrip for a change of scene.
I am looking forward to seeing them all (and telling them what to do too)! My only concern is that it will hurt to laugh, because they always make me laugh with their stories & their man-shenanigans. We may only have Sunday with them, because Bill and I may have to go up to Virginia on Monday or Tuesday, but it's an unexpected bonus to see them for however long they can stay--and they can stay in the house even if we have to go.
So, even if we don't have the kids around anymore, we have the joy of a "created family" with our friends, old and new.
I think of those years with nostalgia too. I loved being a mostly-stay-at-home-mom, with little bodies to hug, and kids-say-and-do-the-darndest-things moments to treasure. Bill and I here in Tennessee are living a completely different lifestyle, one that we're not entirely comfortable with yet. We are now Empty Nesters, and not sure if we like it yet. Well, actually, we don't like it all that much, truth be told--but when the kids grow up and go off to lead their own lives, what other choice do we have? We just plain miss them, and used to say that it was so unfair that as soon as they do grow up and become really interesting, they leave! We did our job too well--our children have become everything (and more) that we had hoped--self-supporting, kind, bright & independent--and now we only get to hear of their achievements from afar and cheer from the sidelines, instead of sharing their laughter & stories over the dinner table each night. So yeah, it sucks, but going back to New York wouldn't rewind that film or give us more time with them.
So now, Bill and I are just two, a couple, for the first time in 25 years. We didn't know each other all that well for very long before we married and had babies, so it feels like we were always a house of chaos, a family with children underfoot and part of every activity. We have to invent this couplehood thing almost for the first time, now that they are gone. It's more than a little weird, but we're working at it, day by day, and getting it pretty right, I think.
Today's chores are simple: I get to tell Bill what to do, and he does it. We have beds to set up in the loft and stuff to move back upstairs to clear space on the main level. Houseguests are due tomorrow in the form of Joe & Ray, plus Joe's father, recently widowed. Ray is one of our oldest friends (daughter Juli's middle name is Rae, after him); Bill knew him and his wife Elaine in the Marines, 30 years ago. We just met Joe last year, when they came to buy investment properties in Rogersville. Joe just lost his mom to myeloma a few weeks ago, so he and his dad are on a mini-roadtrip for a change of scene.
I am looking forward to seeing them all (and telling them what to do too)! My only concern is that it will hurt to laugh, because they always make me laugh with their stories & their man-shenanigans. We may only have Sunday with them, because Bill and I may have to go up to Virginia on Monday or Tuesday, but it's an unexpected bonus to see them for however long they can stay--and they can stay in the house even if we have to go.
So, even if we don't have the kids around anymore, we have the joy of a "created family" with our friends, old and new.
Friday, November 9, 2007
So Thankful
It occurred to me yesterday that the activity of recovery from surgery is so time-consuming that it leaves no room for the self-pity or sadness I thought I'd be dealing with. I think I am very fortunate to have hit my nadir during the anticipation of the surgery, rather than after it was done.
I am just not horrified at all by the look of my body as I thought I would be--the reality of it is more of a curious observation that "Oh, that's not so bad after all!" Bill says that to him, it just looks painful for me rather than revolting to him. For me, there is no more of a disconnect than say, when I'd catch a glimpse of myself naked in late pregnancy and wonder "who is that [misshapen whale?] in the mirror?" The picture I have of myself, that odd thing called body image, hasn't been damaged at all. I wonder why, but in any case, I am grateful for the selective delusion--I still hate my flabby tummy and my sagging chin when I see them, but in my mind, I don't think of those as part of my idea of what I picture myself as looking like in total. I still feel quite beautiful, whatever exists in the mirror or reality.
Dr. Brenin called last night to say that they are still working on the pathology. I do love that meticulous-cautious approach, but I am impatient to know what the next step is. Do we get to complete the reconstruction next week or be plunged back into despair over needing radiation after all? Yes, I want continued positive news! Let's keep this ball in the air!
Bill is out in the woods this morning, one of two days this week that he is allowed to hunt bucks or does with a black-powder musket. My own Natty Bumpo, out getting meat for the freezer.
Life does indeed just go on (unless you are a deer, presumably).
I am just not horrified at all by the look of my body as I thought I would be--the reality of it is more of a curious observation that "Oh, that's not so bad after all!" Bill says that to him, it just looks painful for me rather than revolting to him. For me, there is no more of a disconnect than say, when I'd catch a glimpse of myself naked in late pregnancy and wonder "who is that [misshapen whale?] in the mirror?" The picture I have of myself, that odd thing called body image, hasn't been damaged at all. I wonder why, but in any case, I am grateful for the selective delusion--I still hate my flabby tummy and my sagging chin when I see them, but in my mind, I don't think of those as part of my idea of what I picture myself as looking like in total. I still feel quite beautiful, whatever exists in the mirror or reality.
Dr. Brenin called last night to say that they are still working on the pathology. I do love that meticulous-cautious approach, but I am impatient to know what the next step is. Do we get to complete the reconstruction next week or be plunged back into despair over needing radiation after all? Yes, I want continued positive news! Let's keep this ball in the air!
Bill is out in the woods this morning, one of two days this week that he is allowed to hunt bucks or does with a black-powder musket. My own Natty Bumpo, out getting meat for the freezer.
Life does indeed just go on (unless you are a deer, presumably).
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Good news from the FNP
Family Nurse Practitioner Lisa Cook turned out to be a charming 40-ish woman, very on-the-ball. She examined me and said while the surgery looked "major," they did a great job, my incisions are healing beautifully and there's no infection or other bad signs. Despite their practice's strict "no oxycodone scripts" policy, she said it was obvious that I had a clear & present need for more pain meds. As long as Bill is willing to drive me everywhere, I'll just stay on those meds that make it possible for me to function at all!
The swelling in my arm had eased by the time I saw her, but we talked about strategies to avoid further insult to those tissues in the future. As soon as these surgical drains come out (Flippy & Floppy, naming them for MaryAnn's benefit, or perhaps Left-Liberal Luther and Right-Reactionary Rachel), I'll be able to exercise my arms again, which will help pump those excess fluids away from that area. And thank heavens I didn't have to have all those lymph nodes removed, again a blessing to have the sentinel node biopsy instead of the old sampling technique that could have led to more damage.
Life continues to improve--one trip to the doctor's office and Walmart for the Rx filling, and I spent the rest of the day sleeping or half-sleeping.
Pizza tonight, something easy and quick!
The swelling in my arm had eased by the time I saw her, but we talked about strategies to avoid further insult to those tissues in the future. As soon as these surgical drains come out (Flippy & Floppy, naming them for MaryAnn's benefit, or perhaps Left-Liberal Luther and Right-Reactionary Rachel), I'll be able to exercise my arms again, which will help pump those excess fluids away from that area. And thank heavens I didn't have to have all those lymph nodes removed, again a blessing to have the sentinel node biopsy instead of the old sampling technique that could have led to more damage.
Life continues to improve--one trip to the doctor's office and Walmart for the Rx filling, and I spent the rest of the day sleeping or half-sleeping.
Pizza tonight, something easy and quick!
Two steps forward, one step back
First, good news: I actually slept more than 6 hours last night, and went a full 12 hours between doses of painkillers--I felt good enough to sleep right through and I just forgot to take more.
Bad news: I woke up with swelling in my left underarm, presumably lymphedema, probably from not having my arms elevated during the "long" night. Very uncomfortable. Something to be avoided in future, for sure.
I laid back down on the couch, being careful to prop my left elbow up against the back cushions, allowing gravity to do its deed. When I woke again at 8, the swelling had alleviated--no more big bad lumpiness under the arm. Must remember this!
Off to the doctor this morning, more drugs please!
Bad news: I woke up with swelling in my left underarm, presumably lymphedema, probably from not having my arms elevated during the "long" night. Very uncomfortable. Something to be avoided in future, for sure.
I laid back down on the couch, being careful to prop my left elbow up against the back cushions, allowing gravity to do its deed. When I woke again at 8, the swelling had alleviated--no more big bad lumpiness under the arm. Must remember this!
Off to the doctor this morning, more drugs please!
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Getting Vertical
I had hoped to report success on my latest goal this morning--being able to get out of bed (or even up off a couch) by myself. Alas, it is not yet to be.
Imagine lying on your back on a soft surface, like a mattress or a sofa. Imagine a 200 lb. anvil lying across your chest at about underarm level. Now, rise to a sitting position, without using your arms, hands, wrists or elbows (feet and toes are OK, but once you try this, you realize "so what?" -- your feet and toes won't help you). Aha! Now you see the problem? You realize that your 54-old abs are in pathetic shape, you spend 5 or 10 minutes thinking of all the physics involved, rolling around on your back, trying to scootch your hips, and mentally seeing yourself magically levitating to an upright position. Then you give up and wake up Bill, who sticks out a masterfully strong hand and shoves you up and forward, without ever breaking stride in his snoring.
Tomorrow, I think. I'll sit up by myself tomorrow. It is good to have a goal, even if attaining it is just out of reach. Something inspiring about man's reach exceeding his grasp, perhaps, would be best inserted here? Sigh.
I had a small bit of fun on yesterday's drive home. The weather was gorgeous, the fall foliage was stunning, the chicken sandwich at the Dixie American Grill (exit 128, I'm beginning to know I-81 way too well), was ambrosial. I was warm and toasty in my cuddly-soft robe over camisole & leggings, and looked positively divine as the slightly-suspicious-bag-lady-in-rest-stop-lavatory-in-bathrobe-and-slippers-at-3-in-the-afternoon. OK, I looked sketchy to be sure, but I knew I wasn't dangerous or weird, just a person who had surgery 3 days ago and was dressed for traveling comfortably! It's not like I owed anyone an explanation (or was moved to offer one), but it made me think of the times I have edged away from odd strangers because something was just a little "off" from what was acceptable behavior or dress. Haha. Now it's me!
So, home to our little round house, what a relief--another step in the process. And clean! What a joy to come home to a clean house (Thank you Shirley!), with new carpet upstairs and fresh sheets on the bed, flowers on the table and cold water in the fridge. Bill got the hot water heater fired up, and the thermostat turned on, closed the windows (we left them open when we departed last week, for venting the new-carpet fumes) and opened the shades. I was wiped out, I became one with the sofa for about 2 hours.
I think I have just about figured out this pain-killer thing. Being a total Rx Nazi, I am now eating proverbial crow. There are times (like these), when only oxycodone will do-- a half-tablet does nothing, one is fine if I lie perfectly still (and that means no breathing, either!), one-and-a-half means I can function cheerfully for about 4-5 hours, and two means I'm not going to be conscious at all (some of you have suffered through these phone calls--I take two Percocet and decide I want to talk to someone--my apologies). And don't even dream about operating machinery, such as dispensing toilet paper from the roll or brushing my teeth!
Dr. Mark saved my bacon by suggesting that I have an appointment with my local doctor (whom I've never been sick enough to meet yet) already set up when I got home--I'm going to need some transitional drugs within a day or two. So I'm all set to waltz in tomorrow morning with a "Hi, how are you, take a look at my incisions and would you write me a big script for a heavily-controlled-substance, please?" When you need the drugs, you really need them, and I'm not talking recreational use here. Just trying to get through the day, thank you.
My big activity today will be to wash my hair again (this is getting to be a highlight-pleasure-activity-of-the-week), and wash this stretchy camisole thingy I've been wearing non-stop since my hospital release. It's really keen, and makes me wish I had invented it and was receiving royalties. How often do we buy something that we are absolutely, completely thrilled with? It is a spandex/microfiber garment with gathers on the empire bustline, and little pockets on the inside of the bodice for holding my drainage tubes and bulbs so they don't tangle or flop around.
Wow, someone saw a need and invented it, and I am so thankful I could just dance (if I could indeed dance at this stage). And I will cook Bill a nice dinner, because he-of-the-long-suffering-"honey-can-you-help-me-up"-fourteen-times-a-day, has been a peach through this whole hard week, where it's all been about me, and not much about him at all.
How do people do this by themselves? I am so thankful for all the actual help and the physical and emotional support I've received, every minute of every day. I am unworthy of the attention, but oh, so grateful just the same. Thank you, thank you.
Imagine lying on your back on a soft surface, like a mattress or a sofa. Imagine a 200 lb. anvil lying across your chest at about underarm level. Now, rise to a sitting position, without using your arms, hands, wrists or elbows (feet and toes are OK, but once you try this, you realize "so what?" -- your feet and toes won't help you). Aha! Now you see the problem? You realize that your 54-old abs are in pathetic shape, you spend 5 or 10 minutes thinking of all the physics involved, rolling around on your back, trying to scootch your hips, and mentally seeing yourself magically levitating to an upright position. Then you give up and wake up Bill, who sticks out a masterfully strong hand and shoves you up and forward, without ever breaking stride in his snoring.
Tomorrow, I think. I'll sit up by myself tomorrow. It is good to have a goal, even if attaining it is just out of reach. Something inspiring about man's reach exceeding his grasp, perhaps, would be best inserted here? Sigh.
I had a small bit of fun on yesterday's drive home. The weather was gorgeous, the fall foliage was stunning, the chicken sandwich at the Dixie American Grill (exit 128, I'm beginning to know I-81 way too well), was ambrosial. I was warm and toasty in my cuddly-soft robe over camisole & leggings, and looked positively divine as the slightly-suspicious-bag-lady-in-rest-stop-lavatory-in-bathrobe-and-slippers-at-3-in-the-afternoon. OK, I looked sketchy to be sure, but I knew I wasn't dangerous or weird, just a person who had surgery 3 days ago and was dressed for traveling comfortably! It's not like I owed anyone an explanation (or was moved to offer one), but it made me think of the times I have edged away from odd strangers because something was just a little "off" from what was acceptable behavior or dress. Haha. Now it's me!
So, home to our little round house, what a relief--another step in the process. And clean! What a joy to come home to a clean house (Thank you Shirley!), with new carpet upstairs and fresh sheets on the bed, flowers on the table and cold water in the fridge. Bill got the hot water heater fired up, and the thermostat turned on, closed the windows (we left them open when we departed last week, for venting the new-carpet fumes) and opened the shades. I was wiped out, I became one with the sofa for about 2 hours.
I think I have just about figured out this pain-killer thing. Being a total Rx Nazi, I am now eating proverbial crow. There are times (like these), when only oxycodone will do-- a half-tablet does nothing, one is fine if I lie perfectly still (and that means no breathing, either!), one-and-a-half means I can function cheerfully for about 4-5 hours, and two means I'm not going to be conscious at all (some of you have suffered through these phone calls--I take two Percocet and decide I want to talk to someone--my apologies). And don't even dream about operating machinery, such as dispensing toilet paper from the roll or brushing my teeth!
Dr. Mark saved my bacon by suggesting that I have an appointment with my local doctor (whom I've never been sick enough to meet yet) already set up when I got home--I'm going to need some transitional drugs within a day or two. So I'm all set to waltz in tomorrow morning with a "Hi, how are you, take a look at my incisions and would you write me a big script for a heavily-controlled-substance, please?" When you need the drugs, you really need them, and I'm not talking recreational use here. Just trying to get through the day, thank you.
My big activity today will be to wash my hair again (this is getting to be a highlight-pleasure-activity-of-the-week), and wash this stretchy camisole thingy I've been wearing non-stop since my hospital release. It's really keen, and makes me wish I had invented it and was receiving royalties. How often do we buy something that we are absolutely, completely thrilled with? It is a spandex/microfiber garment with gathers on the empire bustline, and little pockets on the inside of the bodice for holding my drainage tubes and bulbs so they don't tangle or flop around.
Wow, someone saw a need and invented it, and I am so thankful I could just dance (if I could indeed dance at this stage). And I will cook Bill a nice dinner, because he-of-the-long-suffering-"honey-can-you-help-me-up"-fourteen-times-a-day, has been a peach through this whole hard week, where it's all been about me, and not much about him at all.
How do people do this by themselves? I am so thankful for all the actual help and the physical and emotional support I've received, every minute of every day. I am unworthy of the attention, but oh, so grateful just the same. Thank you, thank you.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Going home today
My part of going home today is already done--I washed my face and put on clean clothes. That's it. Wow--the easiest trip I've ever had to pack for!
Since Bill's in charge of this operation, I have no information. I'll just get in the car when he says "Go."
We'll be there when we get there.
It is good to be the Queen....
Since Bill's in charge of this operation, I have no information. I'll just get in the car when he says "Go."
We'll be there when we get there.
It is good to be the Queen....
Monday, November 5, 2007
OK, today's the day...
...to get a grip on this moving around thing! I am bored with gliding, schlepping, tip-toeing, shuffling and scooting. I am annoyed with having to be careful with every single twitch of a muscle, and having to think through an entire series of muscle moves in order to get from point A to point B. Today I want to figure out a way to move without pain or the anticipation of pain.
I'm thinking I want to go home to TN tomorrow. That means I need to talk to people in plastics and breast center today, be seen by whomever before I go, and get times confirmed for next week's appointments.
I dreamt about having my hair washed. Maybe we can find a way to make that happen today too. Ah! The simple things in life are what I crave!
I'm thinking I want to go home to TN tomorrow. That means I need to talk to people in plastics and breast center today, be seen by whomever before I go, and get times confirmed for next week's appointments.
I dreamt about having my hair washed. Maybe we can find a way to make that happen today too. Ah! The simple things in life are what I crave!
Sunday, November 4, 2007
Getting better, bit by bit
I've been "in and out" of consciousness for the past 24 hours, but things are looking up. When else do I have the luxury of eating when and what I want, sleeping whenever I want and doing nothing most of the time?
Pain is easing too. I'm down to one Perc every 4 hours, without trouble. I just move verrrrrry slowwwwwwwwly!
I'm not dancing on the decks or anything, but I did walk outside for about 10 minutes this afternoon. Now it's time to nap again! I'm thinking we'll spend another day here and not try driving home yet--maybe Tuesday for the trek home to TN.
All is well, one step at a time.
Pain is easing too. I'm down to one Perc every 4 hours, without trouble. I just move verrrrrry slowwwwwwwwly!
I'm not dancing on the decks or anything, but I did walk outside for about 10 minutes this afternoon. Now it's time to nap again! I'm thinking we'll spend another day here and not try driving home yet--maybe Tuesday for the trek home to TN.
All is well, one step at a time.
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