Health Update

The blood work came back as not showing any sign of a clot, so that's good news.

The bad news my calf is remains swollen and there is a tangible knot there. It's also painful. 

It most likely is a varicose vein.

It's nothing life-threatening, anyway. Just something else to deal with.

Thanks to everyone for the words of encouragement. You're a fine bunch of gentle readers!

A DVT? or a SVT?

I had a visit with my primary care doctor this morning. I had tried to see her Friday, but couldn't get in.

While I have been having issues with earaches (apparently dry ear canals?), the main reason for the visit was a pain in the calf of my leg.

Wednesday night as I was preparing for bed, I felt something go in my calf. It felt like a razor blade ripped up my leg, actually.

I'd felt this before, and it was an SVT, or a Superficial Vein Thrombosis. This has occurred twice before. Both times I'd gone for the Doppler ultrasound, and it was negative, but it was also at least a week to 10 days after it had occurred.

This time I was trying to get on top of it quicker. My primary care doctor hadn't seen me the first time; I'd seen her nurse practitioner. The second time I waited about two weeks before I finally went in to see my PCP and the knot had disappeared though it was still painful. 

This time, my PCP could feel the knot in my leg. That, along with swelling, made her suggest another Doppler ultrasound, but I countered with the D dimer blood test instead. After some thinking, she agreed.

Now it's just a matter of waiting for the blood test results. I think it is a vein issue, like a varicose vein thing, maybe, or perhaps mild phlebitis (which is inflammation of the veins).

The last time I had this, I drank beet juice to try to help, but I haven't had any of that in a while. As far as natural remedies go, beet juice is the only thing I've found. There really aren't any natural cures for what ails me.

Just time.

I do hope it's not a DVT, though. A deep vein thrombosis would not be good.

ChatGPT - Artificial Intelligence

I created an account and went to the openai.com site to see what's up with the ChatGPT research. I've seen reports of students using it to create assignment responses.

I asked the AI to tell me about endometriosis. I thought it was not a highly sought after topic and felt it was a good test for the AI.

Here is its response:

Endometriosis is a condition in which the tissue that lines the uterus (the endometrium) grows outside of the uterus, most commonly on the ovaries, fallopian tubes, and other tissue in the pelvic region. This tissue continues to behave as it normally would inside the uterus, thickening, breaking down, and bleeding with each menstrual cycle. However, because this tissue is located outside of the uterus, it has no way to exit the body, leading to inflammation, pain, and the formation of scar tissue. Endometriosis can also cause infertility.

Then I asked: How do you cure endometriosis?

Endometriosis treatment options vary depending on the severity of the condition and the patient's individual needs. Some common treatment options include:

Medications: Nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory drugs (NSAIDs) can help alleviate pain, and hormonal medications such as birth control pills can help slow the growth of endometrial tissue.

Surgery: Laparoscopic surgery can be used to remove endometrial tissue and scar tissue, and may also be used to preserve fertility.

Hormonal therapy: GnRH agonists can be used to reduce the symptoms of endometriosis by lowering the levels of estrogen in the body and putting the patient into temporary menopause.

Complementary therapy: Physical therapy, acupuncture, and dietary changes can help alleviate the pain associated with endometriosis.

It's worth noting that while there is no cure for endometriosis, these treatments can help alleviate symptoms and improve quality of life. It's important to work with your healthcare provider to find a treatment plan that works best for you.

Then I asked: Can adhesions or scar tissue cause pain?

Yes, adhesions or scar tissue can cause pain. Adhesions are bands of fibrous tissue that can form between tissues and organs, and they can cause pain by pulling on or restricting the movement of organs and other structures. Scar tissue can also cause pain, particularly if it forms around nerves or other sensitive structures.

In the case of endometriosis, adhesions or scar tissue can form as a result of the inflammation caused by the endometrial tissue growing outside the uterus. These adhesions or scar tissue can cause pain by pulling on or restricting the movement of organs and other structures in the pelvic region. They can also cause chronic pelvic pain and dysmenorrhea.

It's important to note that not everyone with endometriosis will experience adhesions or scar tissue, and not everyone with adhesions or scar tissue will experience pain. Additionally, pain caused by adhesions or scar tissue may be treated with surgery, physical therapy and/or medication.

Then I asked: How do you deal with the pain from scar tissue and adhesions?

Dealing with pain caused by scar tissue and adhesions can be challenging, but there are several treatment options available:

Medications: Over-the-counter pain relievers such as ibuprofen or acetaminophen can help alleviate pain, and prescription medications such as muscle relaxants or nerve blockers may also be used.

Physical Therapy: Physical therapy can help relieve pain and improve mobility by stretching and strengthening the muscles and tissues affected by scar tissue and adhesions.

Surgery: Surgery may be necessary to remove scar tissue or adhesions that are causing pain or restricting movement. This may include laparoscopic surgery, which uses small incisions and a camera to remove the scar tissue or adhesions.

Complementary therapies: Acupuncture, massage, and other complementary therapies can help alleviate pain and improve mobility.

Lifestyle changes: Certain lifestyle changes such as avoiding certain positions, using heat or cold therapy, and reducing stress may also help alleviate pain.

Then I asked: Does a hysterectomy help with endometriosis?

A hysterectomy (removal of the uterus) may help alleviate symptoms of endometriosis, particularly if the endometriosis is concentrated in the uterus. However, it is not a guaranteed cure for endometriosis and it depends on the stage and location of the disease.

Removing the uterus and ovaries (oophorectomy) can be an effective way to stop the menstrual cycle and halt the growth of endometrial tissue, which can help alleviate pain and other symptoms. However, endometriosis can also occur on other organs such as the bladder, bowel, and even the lungs. If endometriosis is present in these areas, a hysterectomy alone may not be enough to alleviate symptoms.

Additionally, a hysterectomy is a major surgery and it carries risks and complications, it should be considered as a last resort after trying other treatment options.

It's important to work with your healthcare provider to find the best treatment plan for your individual needs, which may include a combination of medications, surgery, and/or other therapies.

There are no cites, and no case studies. But for a quick article and knowledge on this topic, this is as good as Wikipedia. I know enough about the condition, having had it, to see that the computer has the correct information. With a little tweaking, this could easily be turned into a student essay.

This is a bit scary, but also exciting.

Tinnitus

Tinnitus, or ringing of the ears, is a problem many think is found only in older adults. About 20% of the population has tinnitus, and while many indeed, are older, it's not just the seniors who have this issue.

I've had it for as long as I can remember.

When I was young, it was a high pitched "E" sound. I thought it was what a quiet room sounded like until the 4th grade. That was when, during a spelling session that included the words "quiet" and "silence" that my teacher asked what "quiet" sounded like. As I was an "A" student, she asked me first, and I told her it sounded like "EEEEEEE." 

The other kids laughed and I was told to stay after class. My fourth-grade teacher had a way of embarrassing me many times, this being one of them. She was angry at first, accusing me of being sassy, but after I explained that this was what I heard in a quiet room, she let me go without another word.

Not long after, she met with my parents in a PTA session. My mother asked me later if I had trouble hearing. I said I did not. She didn't ask about the noise. By then, of course, I'd figured out the noise was in me, even if I didn't know what it was called.

I thought it meant I might be crazy, so I didn't mention it again.

Thus, my "quiet room" noise continued unchecked. I noticed as a teenager that certain things would make it worse - Tylenol in particular.

I listened to music to drown it out, even as I went to sleep. In my teens, I wore out my Bread album falling asleep to it every night. As I grew older, I used a fan turned against the wall for a while, and eventually my husband and I switched to an air purifier that we run on "high fan" at night. The noise helps me sleep. 

Over the years, the sounds in my ears have changed. Sometimes the sound is scratchy, sometimes it is like 10,000 crickets all trying to be heard over one another. Sometimes it's that piercing "E" sound. (I used to use it to tune my guitar.)

This morning, though, for a brief period, my tinnitus was . . . gone.

I've had an ear infection and the doctor gave me drops for it, which my husband has dutifully put in my ears twice a day in spite of my howls of pain as each drop went in. The pain in my ears cleared up, and apparently, at least for a few hours, so did the tinnitus.

Moments without my constant ear sounds are rare. This is not the first time it's happened, but it is the first time in a long while.

Now the "EEEEEEE" sound is back, and I'm once again in my quiet room.

It beats the scratchy crickets that were visiting in my head last night!

Why I Still Mask Up

I am a masker.

And proud of it.

I've had only one person comment to me about wearing a mask, and it was someone I know, and someone I no longer care to be around. It was a man and the comments (he said something to me 3 times, with the last time being the deal breaker) were along the line that healthy people didn't need to mask, and the last time he saw me as I was leaving a store and he snickered, "You really think that mask is going to save you?" I walked right past him without a word.

I don't know why people think they have the right to comment on other people's actions or appearances, especially harmless ones that don't affect them. Now, if I were running my buggy into someone's heels in the store, of course I would expect them to turn around and tell me to stop. I have affected them. But wearing a mask affects no one. I happen to think that when we're in a high transmission area, as we are at the moment, and you don't wear a mask, then you're ignorant and part of the problem, but I don't go around telling people that. I do my thing and move on. Live and let live and all of that.

I wear a mask because I could have Covid and not know it. That's the way it works. I have allergies and I frequently have sinus drainage, a sore throat, and other symptoms that could be Covid. I test myself when things are flaring up, but I don't if I'm feeling ok. But I could be positive and not have tested at the right time.

And I'd be pretty upset if I thought I went out when I shouldn't have, without a mask, and killed somebody's grandma.

Also, I acknowledge there's a degree of feeling safer in a mask for me. I have not picked up every virus and bacterial infection around since I've been wearing masks. My allergies are not as bad if I wear a mask when I'm outside. They may not keep me from getting Covid, but they keep me healthier.

If I see someone obviously sick in the store, I leave. I have sat in the parking lot at the post office for 10 minutes waiting on the crowd to die out when I saw that most of its customers had no mask on. My time, my choice. 

My doctor has assured me that the likelihood of my dying from Covid, even with the vaccinations, is higher than average. I have asthma and other underlying health conditions (and I am judged on those, too, though those who judge haven't a clue of my history). I am taking care of myself, and I haven't time to worry about what other people do. (I also am carrying around a letter from my doctor that says I should wear a mask at all times because of my health.)

I don't understand why this is an issue, or anyone's business but my own.

Happiness Challenge

I have high blood pressure. I've had it for 20 years or more. It has been controlled with medication (and a little by diet). 

Now, though, it's messed up. I'd noted the last few times I was in my doctor's office that it seemed to be running high. Not super high, more like 146/88 high instead of 124/78. And my beats per minute are always over 80. Thump thump thump. My husband's beats per minute are like beat - wait 10 minutes - beat. Well, it's not that bad, but his is about 45 beats per minute. Half of mine.

So today I am happy that I have a doctor I can email numbers to and say, hey, my new blood pressure monitor is scaring me a little with numbers of 168/105. My question wasn't "what do I do," it was, "can this wait until my scheduled appointment with you in two weeks?" To which she responded I could wait so long as I wasn't having any issues.

I am scratching my head a little as to what issues I could be having other than the ones I have, but since she said I could wait and I didn't see anything that indicated alarm on her part, I guess I am in a sort-of-ok-for-the-moment range. I think if she'd thought that something needed immediate attention she'd have called in a drug or told me to double on a medication or had me come in.

Just to be safe, I did tai chi a while ago as I know that has in the past brought my numbers down a little. And I will avoid salt if I can. It's hard to know what has salt in it. It shows up in the strangest places.

Anyway, I am happy I'm still able to write this, though I do feel a bit of concern. And since my doctor is aware of the problem, hopefully when I do see her, she'll have looked over my medications and determined what the next steps should be if she wants to add another blood pressure medication to my mix.

Seeing A Stroke

Many years ago, perhaps around 2003, I went to interview an older woman named Emily. She was in charge of the local historic society and ran the museum.

I had worked for her about 15 years prior, spending time at the museum cataloging items. She and I had a falling out because I wanted to set up a database on the computer for the items; she wanted everything written on a yellow legal pad. I threw up my hands and quit; it was a part-time job, and I could do without the hassle. 

She didn't speak to me for years after that. I became involved in a different historic society and perhaps that helped her come around.

Anyway, since we were on speaking terms again, I went to Emily's house to interview her for the newspaper about changes in the museum (which by now was computerized, etc.) and her efforts to catalogue every school that once existed in the county.

She greeted me cordially and offered me a glass of tea. I admired her house, which was one of the older ones in town, and then proceeded to move on with the interview, asking pertinent questions about what the historical group was doing, her research, etc.

Suddenly, she began slurring her words. She looked funny to me as well, almost like she was drunk and falling over. I stopped the interview and asked her if she was ok.

She said she was diabetic and probably needed some orange juice; would I get her a glass out of the refrigerator?

This I promptly did, and then waited anxiously while she drank it.

My grandmother was diabetic and had what she called "sugar drops," but they were nothing like this. This did not seem to me to be a diabetic issue. This was scary, whatever was going on.

However, I am not a qualified health care person. When I suggested that I should take her to the doctor, who at that time was about four blocks away, she grew angry. She told me the interview was over and I should leave.

Having been tossed out of the house, there was nothing I could do but go. However, I came home and called the only people I knew who were related to her and left a message on their answering machine asking if they could check on her.

They never called me back, so the next morning I called Emily to see if she alright. I was quite anxious about her.

She told me that after I'd left, she'd driven herself to the doctor who thought she'd had a TIA.

A TIA is a transient ischemic attack, also known as a mini-stroke.

I'd never witnessed anyone having a stroke, and while I had some clue as to what to look for, having it happen in front of me was terrifying.

There are more than 200,000 TIAs in the United States annually, so this happens a lot.

The symptoms include:

• Slurred speech and difficulty in understanding others
• Vision problems
• Weakness, numbness or paralysis on one side of the body
• Loss of balance
• Dizziness
• Sudden and severe headache

She experienced the slurred speech and loss of balance. I'm not sure about the other symptoms but those I could see for myself.

I don't know why, but for some reason I woke up with this on my mind, so I thought I'd write about it. I hadn't thought about this person, who died long ago, or this interview, in many years but it was on my brain first thing this morning.

Hand Up Date

I love my primary care doctor.

However, I couldn't get in to see her. I had to settle for her nurse practitioner. This was the first time I saw her.

She didn't know what to do about my hand and resorted to Dr. Google ::insert eye roll here:: and I finally asked her to go ask my doctor what to do. I'd already googled the thing multiple times and come up with varying answers; that was why I went back to the doctor.

So, without looking at my hand, my doctor told the NP to order an x-ray and possibly physical therapy. Maybe I need to use my hand instead of babying it, although babying it last weekend helped more than the non-babying I'd been doing. Remember, I was dealing with a husband recovering from surgery. I couldn't very well not use my hand.

I wasn't happy with this advice. For one thing, the x-ray place they are using now is not local, it's 35 minutes away. For another, I felt like it was the wrong advice. I can try moving my hand more and exercising it, but I've been doing that anyway. Every morning I wake up and move my hand in all the formations of the chords on my guitar. Once or twice a week I've tried to play the guitar. I have typed every day. I haven't been holding it still.

I put my husband's compression socks on him for nearly 10 days after I was told to put a splint on my finger. You can't put compression socks on somebody with a splint on your finger, I can tell you that right now.

I came home from the doctor, at a sandwich, and then wrapped a small ACE around my hand, leaving my fingers free. It's fairly loose and I can move my wrist up and down, wiggle my fingers, and flex my hand against the bandage. If the x-ray place calls to make an appointment, I am going to give it 10 more days before I go for the x-ray. I don't want more x-rays if I don't need them.

My doctor has in the past year had an entire staff turnover. I doubt this is unique to her, but I am uncomfortable with new people when it comes to health care. Prior to Covid, most of her staff had been with her for over a decade and I knew them well. I don't blame people for leaving medicine or moving on to better paying jobs (I don't really know where her staff all went), but that doesn't mean it doesn't have consequences, especially for someone like me who doesn't like change. It's one thing to go somewhere and always see someone new; I can get used to that if I expect it. But to have seen the same people for a decade and then have them gone, well, that makes me anxious.

Wish me luck as I try to take care of my hand for another week.

It's Not Getting Better

In the first part of the month, I hurt my hand. I ignored it for a while, but then it swelled.

So I took myself off to urgent care, where they x-rayed it and put a splint on it.

Now it is three weeks later and I'm still having swelling in my hand and pain in my middle and index finger. Typing will make it swell. I can't play my guitar at all.

My primary care doctor can't see me until Wednesday. I wasn't sure about making the appointment; my hand was very swollen yesterday but not so much today. I still can't make a fist so there is some swelling and as things go it worsens as the day passes.

I have computer work I've put off while dealing with this, but mostly I've ignored the problem because I was taking care of my husband as he recovered from hip replacement surgery. But he's out and about now.

Nothing to do but put the splint back on (I take it off to type), I guess.

Another Bad Trip to a Carilion Facility

The reason for a trip for me to the local urgent care is silly - I popped my finger trying to get my husband's compression socks on his feet.

I felt it pop two weeks ago. I waited nearly a week before going to the urgent care. I knew they'd want an x-ray and I couldn't continue to assist my husband with his dressing if I had my finger in a splint or my hand wrapped up.

But finally, my entire hand ballooned up; all of my fingers swelled, and I couldn't use my hand anyway, so I called the urgent care.

The person answering the phone said there was only one person ahead of me, so I drove to the facility, which is about 15 minutes away. My husband went along "for moral support" even though he stayed in the car. It was a long outing for him, as it took longer to get an x-ray than it did for him to have his hip replaced.

I arrived, checked in, gave them my insurance card and $50 copay, and sat. And sat some more. 

During that time, a woman came in with gauze held up to her face. She went to the registration desk and told them she couldn't get her nose to stop bleeding.

The blood was gushing. She dripped blood on the counter. She asked for more tissues. "We don't have any tissues," the woman said. No one budged to get anything, either, and I knew there was a bathroom about four steps from the reception desk.

Can you image that? They just sat there and let the woman drip blood.

Horrified, I dug in my pocketbook and pulled out a small package of tissues I always carry and rushed to hand it to the woman. She thanked me gratefully and had to stand there giving her insurance information, etc., blood oozing out all the while, and then was told to sit and wait.

Thank heavens all she was doing was bleeding a lot. She sat down. Blood dripped onto her pants. She thanked me again for the tissues. I started to get up and go to the other public restroom to get her some toilet paper or paper towels when her husband came in with more tissues and a towel. I stayed where I was.

Finally, a nurse came out with gauze. She gave some to the woman and had her pinch her nose together and took her on back. Of course, I expected her to go before me. She was bleeding.

More people came in; a woman with a mask on and four kids who did not have masks. A man who looked familiar, but I couldn't place him. I texted my husband a few times to tell him I was delayed and suggested he get out of the car and stretch, but not to walk without a cane and his cellphone. He texted back that he was moving around. I was afraid he'd get stiff from sitting and I was afraid he'd fall in the parking lot.

Over an hour after I arrived, someone called my name. I went back to rooms that were familiar yet not - this had once been my physician's office, over 20 years ago, now - and I parked my backside in a chair beside a nurse who sat at a computer.

The room had a loud roaring fan noise going on in it. The air handler for the air conditioner was in that room. It was blowing full and hard and making enough noise to make the running of the bulls in Spain sound tame in comparison. The nurse and I yelled at one another over the noise. I held up my swollen hand and she said, "Oh gosh, yes, that needs to be looked at."

Then she yelled out my medications to update those. My regular doctor is not a Carilion doctor, so their information on me is usually out of date.

She took my blood pressure, and it was higher than normal.

Then I was left alone for a long while. I listened to the roar in the room. It reminded me of a dragon that couldn't shut its mouth, and I determined it really wasn't a good room to put a somewhat nervous person in. No wonder my blood pressure was up.

The room itself was a beige color, with nothing on the walls. Most Carilion facilities have bare walls. I'm sure it's more sterile and cleaner to do that, but it also makes what is already a bad experience that much worse. It's a total corporate look with a lack of personality.

Finally, a physician's assistant entered. She looked at my hand, touched the middle finger and watched me flinch, ordered x-rays, and left.

I never saw her again.

I went to the restroom (four steps from the receptionist desk) and then a young man told me to follow him to x-ray.

He sat me down and put my hand in position. He did not put on any kind of protective gear on me, nothing to protect my thyroid or anything else, and I was too nervous to think about it until he'd started taking x-rays. Honestly, shouldn't that be standard procedure by now, to put protective gear on anybody having x-rays?

He led me back to the room. The air handler roared. I paced back and forth. I counted the ceiling tiles (51, not including the big hole where there was one missing). I tried to read but could not concentrate. I texted my husband again to check on him.

Finally, another young man came in and said the x-rays didn't show anything broken. He put a metal splint on my middle finger, wrapped some tape around it, and then handed me the tape. "This is yours now," he said. "You can take that off to shower. Wear it about a week to 10 days."

He handed me paperwork and told me I could go.

My husband was somewhat irate when I finally got in the car. I had been at the urgent care for over two hours. "I saw a lot of people go in and out of there in the time you were in there," he said.

I shrugged. Old women with possible broken fingers were not priorities for anyone, so I was not surprised. His leg had swollen from the heat and being in the car, so I hurried home to get ice for him.

In the end, I had a "soft tissue injury" although the next day, when the radiologist report came back, there was indication of prior dislocation, a bone spur, and osteoarthritis. I copied off what it said and reported it to my regular primary care physician, who wrote me back and told me to use ice and take Tylenol since I can't take anti-inflammatories because of my stomach issues.

For a few more days, I had to help my husband get his compression socks on as he still couldn't manage them by himself. I couldn't do that and wear the splint, too, so basically, I reinjured my finger every morning until finally, Saturday, he could get his socks on without my help.

My hand is still swollen. I can't make a fist with it or play my guitar. I shouldn't even be typing this because I have to take the splint off to do that.

I am not a good patient when it comes to caring for myself sometimes.

Hip Replacement Update

We're now into day 9 of post-surgical healing.

Husband is still using a walker, and the physical therapist (?) person came and removed his bandage on Monday. The cut is about six inches long; the bruising covers most of the backside of his leg and some of it has moved down into his calf. I am keeping an eye on that.

The biggest struggle has been compression stockings. He is to wear these every day, and I have struggled so to get them on him that I have sprained my left hand (which obviously doesn't help with the situation). My fingers last night were swollen; I had to ice them. My hand is swollen today, too. His right ankle, the same side as the new hip, was fused together in 2019, so that foot is especially difficult as he can't bend any to help slide the socks on. What a workout every morning!

He has physical therapy exercises that he tells me he is doing, but I can't exactly see that he is doing them.  I can't see if he's sitting there squeezing his butt cheeks together or pushing his knee down like he's supposed to.

The physical therapist told him to continue using the walker until he sees the doctor next week, although I personally think he should be using a cane more, like for short trips to the bathroom. The longer a person holds onto a walker, the harder it is to get them off of it.

He is getting up a lot at night, and he can't get back into the bed without help, so I am not getting much sleep. If I can catch a day when there isn't much going on, I need a long nap.

It is too hot and sticky for him to spend time outside because then he'd have to shower again, and I can't handle drying off his lower legs but once a day. With my abdominal issues, all of that bending over is difficult.

The hospitals really should ask if the caregiver is actually capable of giving care, and maybe a nurse should have demonstrated how to put the damn compression stockings on before surgery. I think true health care would focus not only on the patient, but also on the immediate family, because it affects them as much as it does the patient. I mentioned numerous times to the doctor, the PA, and anyone else, that I was disabled, but no one cared nor asked about it. Had someone asked me if I thought I could deal with this, especially the physical aspects of it, I would have said no. I can fetch and carry and feed him, but these other chores that require bending and physical force are almost (though obviously not entirely) beyond me. The fact that I have hurt my hand doing these things is a good indicator that I shouldn't have been doing them, in my opinion.

I see my chiropractor to get my back adjusted, because I've pulled it out struggling with the compression socks. I'm not sure how long an adjustment will last under the current circumstances.

Anyway, we're still plugging along, and I'm doing the best I can, and that will have to be good enough.

I'm Alive Because of Roe v Wade

I'm 100 percent certain that if Roe v Wade were not the law of the land in the late 1980s and early 1990s, when I was trying desperately to have a child, I'd be dead.

My endometriosis was severe. Endometriosis is a disorder in which the tissue similar to the inner lining of the uterus (endometrium) grows outside the uterus. This results in pelvic pain and irregular menstrual cycle. The tissue can migrate all over the pelvic area and has even been found in the lungs of some women.

In my case, the first signs were pain. Pain during menstruation. Pain during intercourse. Pain all the time, some months.

Birth control pills helped control the pain so I could function. Otherwise, I would miss an average of two or three days of work a month. Over the counter pain pills didn't help. 

It is hard to hold a job or go to school and deal with that kind of pain. It is hard to have a marriage and have that kind of pain. It's hard to do much of anything with that kind of pain, quite frankly.

Since the use of birth control pills is something that many people believe may be threatened by overturning Roe v Wade, I would not have been able to utilize that outlet to control my health problem.

I married at age 20. I wasn't ready to have a child at the age of 20. We had little money when we married - taxes that first year wiped out our savings, and it took us a while to recover from that blow. (It was called the marriage penalty tax back then. I think they may have done away with that, but I'm not certain.)

The birth control pill was essential not only for birth control but for my pain and problems. We built our house in 1987 and in December of that year, I stopped taking the birth control pill so we could attempt to have a baby.

I was 24 years old.

Almost one month to the day I'd stopped taking birth control pills, I developed a fever and horrible pain in my abdomen. I went to my doctor who sent me off to a gynecologist immediately. He did a sonogram and saw that I had a huge cyst on my right ovary. 

It was the size of a grapefruit, and it had twisted. I had sepsis. And there was a second spot they couldn't identify on the sonogram.

It was possible this second spot was an ectopic pregnancy, (a baby outside of the womb) and without Roe v Wade, the doctor wouldn't have been able to operate. He could only have watched me die.

But because Roe v Wade was the law (and currently still is), the doctor sent me to the hospital, where they performed emergency surgery and saved my life. And while it turned out to be not one but two cysts, technology in 1987 was not what it is today. They couldn't have been sure.

And to be honest, I don't know if any of the treatment I received afterwards to try to help me have a child would be allowed without Roe v Wade. After the removal of the cysts, the doctor put me on a high-powered dose of a drug that stopped my menstrual cycle for months. The idea was to trick my body into a false pregnancy with these pills so as to give my body time to stop creating the endometrial tissue.

But it did not work. As soon as the doctor took me off of those drugs so we could try to have a child again, the cysts returned.

And I had another life-saving surgery because I again had sepsis. The cysts kept twisting and locking in infection. They grew huge. They were the size of grapefruits.

And each time the doctors opened me up and went in, they removed scar tissue and pieces of my ovaries, until finally, in 1992, after having already opened up my abdomen seven times as my husband and I tried to have a child, the doctors performed a hysterectomy. (They left the scar tissue because there was so much of it, but the problems that created is another story.)

I was 29 years old. I would never have a child.

If Roe v Wade had not existed, I would have died before I was 20. The doctors were sure that the birth control pills kept the cysts from coming on sooner, so without them, I'd have had the cysts much earlier, probably before I married. Would they have seen that second spot and decided it could have been an ectopic pregnancy, and let me die?

And if I'd died at 20, what difference would it have made to the world? Is that how people who want these safeguards to women's health removed see the world? What difference does it make if this woman dies, even if the pregnancy is already null and void (ectopic pregnancies generally do not go to term)? Really, is that how they think?

I know Roe v Wade saved my life when I was trying to have a child.

And now I see a future when women who want to have a child but have issues will die. When the treatment they need may be withheld . . . just because.

It is that simple.

And it is that sad.

What kind of bitter, horrible, twisted people wish such a fate on another human being?

Poisoned!

In the 1950s, the United States government set up a poison control center. The toll-free number is for anyone to call if they suspect they've been poisoned.

Calling 1-800-222-1222 sends you to one of 55 poison control centers. One may also access a website (Contact Us (poison.org)) that allows one to input information and see if there is an issue.

Parents, teachers, and emergency service workers are probably keenly aware of this service. Since I have no children and am not a teacher, I was vaguely aware of it. My husband the former firefighter told me last night he once had the number memorized, but he'd forgotten it since he retired.

Anyway, I'd never needed the number.

Until last night.

Somehow, I managed to poison myself.

Around 8 p.m., I showered and put on body lotion. I use clotrimazole cream on an old surgical scar sometimes; it occasionally turns quite red and itches as if someone has thrown itching powder on it. This is something that started recently and why a 30-year-old surgical scar would suddenly act as if the surgeon took the knife to me three weeks ago is beyond me.

At any rate, the cream helps with the itch. It was itching a bit yesterday, so I applied the cream after I'd showered. I always wash my hands after I apply lotion and cream. I also rummaged around in the medicine cabinet behind the bathroom mirror, searching for a new case of dental floss.

Then I went into the living room to read and watch the Olympics.

I stopped biting my nails in 2020; it took a pandemic, but I did it. However, I keep them very short. If they are not short, then I tend to worry with them, running them over my teeth, until I find a pair of clippers and remove the offending nail growth. (One of the great things about wearing a mask outside of the house is that I don't put my fingers in my mouth or near my nose.)

Last night, I was worrying with a long nail on my index finger while I read. I didn't notice anything on my hands or fingers. But I did put my finger in my mouth. I mean, I'd just had a shower.

After a while, I noticed that the interior of my mouth was numb. My tongue felt numb, too. By the time we thought about going to bed, I felt the numbness down into my throat.

The only thing I could think I had done was perhaps gotten body lotion or the clotrimazole cream under my fingernail (or possibly anything in the medicine cabinet) and missed it when I washed my hands. I'd had a couple of glasses of water in the meantime, and also had brushed my teeth again to try to remove the sensation (neither helped).

My husband became concerned after I mentioned this to him, and we looked up the cream since it seemed the likely culprit. We filled in the information on the poison control center website and since I did not have the symptoms listed, it said to call.

So, we called.

A nice woman named Lisa talked to my husband. He told her what we thought I had accidentally put in my mouth. She talked to me, and I told her my symptoms. She said that the interior of the mouth is more sensitive than skin and the sensations should ease up over time. I hadn't consumed enough to be of much concern.

This relieved both of us. I was mostly worried about swallowing since the numbness was going down my throat, but I didn't have any trouble in the night.

This is a good government service. Government is not all bad. I imagine this poison prevention line relieves the minds of many a parent whose kid has swallowed a crayon or something.

Did I Break It?

Wednesday night I smashed my foot against the bed. After several moments of horrific pain and gasping, I was finally able to blurt out to my husband, who was yelling from the other side of the room, "What is wrong? What is wrong?" that I had smashed my toe.

It immediately turned blue. I iced it. I iced it the next day, too.

Today, it's fairly painful. I am starting to think I may have broken it.

Geez, I had no idea my skin was so wrinkled. Got old all over, didn't I? Yikes.

Incidentally, I hate feet. I can't believe I'm posting this picture.

Aspiration?

Late yesterday afternoon, I think I inhaled something down the wrong pipe.

The something was either from reflux, as I was bending over at the time, or a small piece of a white chocolate Lindt ball that maybe I hadn't swallowed. That was the last thing I had in my mouth, anyway. But bending over causes reflux and I am not sure what happened, except I choked a bit.

I coughed and coughed. Nothing came up. I went about my business. I kept coughing sometimes, but it felt funky in there, and still does.

I can breathe, and I can eat, and I can talk. I drank a cup of hot water (on the theory that if it's a piece of Lindt chocolate, the hot water should melt it, right?) and that set off my sinuses, and they drained. I coughed more. My husband beat me on the back a lot (I need the chiropractor now).

This morning when I woke up, my jaw was locked because I took the mouth guard off to ensure I was breathing ok. So, there I was with my jaw locked, hacking away, and spitting up hoping something would come out. 

But nothing did. I can't tell if it's an aspiration or if something scratched my throat. I have had a sinus infection and still have sinus drainage, so some of it could be from that. I just know I'm uncomfortable.

My jaw has unlocked, but it is quite sore. I ate a scrambled egg (something soft) and found eating made the weird feeling worse. As long as I stay quiet, I seem to be ok, but every now and then if I take a deep breathe, there's that weirdness again.

I put in a call to my doctor to be on the safe side, but I haven't heard back from her. I don't consider it an emergency, and I definitely don't want to go to the emergency room for this, but I also don't want to end up with pneumonia because something went down the wrong way.

What a weird thing to be dealing with on a Wednesday morning.

Moderna Update

I had not anticipated such a reaction to my Moderna booster shot. I'd reacted to the second one strongly, but not the first one. So I had hoped that the booster - which was half the amount of the original - wouldn't be troublesome. (I stuck with Moderna all the way, so I've had three Moderna shots.)

Even during a long 24 hours plus of chills, fatigue, and achiness, my arm hurt greatly in the area of the shot.

As the other symptoms waned, I developed a strong pain in my lymph glands my armpit in the arm where I received the shot. The gland swelled. My arm still hurt, too, and then the lymph gland began giving off serious pain.

Last night, I had a night sweat that soaked the sheets. I don't normally have these; the last time I can recall doing anything like that, I was running a high fever.

The night sweat is a good thing. That's my body trying to clear out the congestion and inflammation caused by the booster. The lymph gland is still swollen but doesn't feel as big as it was. Progress?

This could take a while. I wrote my doctor about the lymph gland yesterday and she said it would ease in time. She didn't give me a time frame, but the Mayo Clinic website said swollen lymph glands can last two to four weeks.

Clearing your lymph system when you're sedentary and prone to being ill anyway can be a challenge. One thing I was doing when I had the first round of Covid vaccines was drinking apple cider vinegar in warm water every day. I had stopped that but I began it again this morning after reading that it can help clear the lymph system.

Another way to clear the lymphatic system is to jump up and down on a mini trampoline. I don't own one of those, so every time I stand up, I'm standing on my toes and then dropping down, to sort of bounce things around. Can't hurt anything.

I don't want my experience to keep anyone from taking the vaccine. Everyone reacts to things differently. My husband had the same shot and it was like he never took it. Even though I don't feel all that great right now, and may not for a few more days, it's better than dying of Covid. This is an inconvenience compared to what someone with severe Covid experiences. I've seen the news stories and I don't believe they faked. I've also known about 10 people who've had Covid and died from it. So I don't play around with this disease.

Next time, though, I think I'll start drinking apple cider vinegar a few weeks before the booster (because you know this will become a constant thing, probably).

On Being Obese

I've been wanting to write this post for months now, but I continually put it off because I wasn't sure where I was going with it. I'm still not sure but today I'm writing it.

The idea of writing about how life is when you're obese came to me after catching an episode of Real Time with Bill Maher. He went off on fat people, as he has done multiple times because he is another old rich white dude who is really a racist but can't admit it so he instead proclaims his misogynistic tendencies in sly ways and goes off on those who can't control their weight every chance he can.

In the episode I saw, he went off on the overweight because 40% of people dying from Covid are obese. I didn't check his statistics, but the CDC website considers obesity an endemic problem, and even calls it a national security issue because so many people would be unable to defend the nation, apparently because they can't fit into tanks and submarine openings.

I call it a societal problem, an obvious illustration that we live in a sickly nation. Any place that values money, power, and prestige over health and happiness is going to be a sick nation. Obesity is only one of the results of this gross societal imbalance.

Why are people obese? Most people consider those are overweight to be weak-willed and lazy. I do not think that an estimated 160 million Americans who are either obese or overweight are all weak-willed or lazy. (Nearly three-quarters of American men and more than 60% of women are obese or overweight. These are also major challenges for America’s children – nearly 30% of boys and girls under age 20 are either obese or overweight, up from 19% in 1980.)

I think obesity comes from multiple issues, including but not limited to hormonal changes caused by the crap processed food we consume, air and water pollution, stress from today's societal expectations, and other sources I haven't even considered.

I'm not one of those people who weigh 450 pounds, but I am obese. I'm not quite two of me when I should be one, let's put it that way. I can still see my feet when I look down. However, I'm short, so the weight I do have looks like a lot more than it is. I would love to lose the weight.

What I want to write about it is something I don't read about much, and that is what it feels like to be obese and not be able to get the damn weight off.

I did not chose to be overweight. I don't know of anyone aside from a sumo wrestler who would choose to be overweight.

Twenty pounds fell off of me in the last year - the result of an ulcer. Now the ulcer has healed and I'm still eating about like I was with the ulcer, but I keep losing the same two pounds. I have done this for months now. I see the scale slip up, I try to not eat. Unlike an alcoholic, I can't not eat. An alcoholic can not drink and still live. I have to eat. It makes me sick not to eat plus with my health issues I'm supposed to eat multiple small meals. I lose the two pounds, then I look at a cookie in the grocery store the scale goes back up. (Note I said look, not eat.)

But that still isn't what I want to write about. I want to write about the things I have to deal with because I am overweight. I want to write about how it feels.

Clothing is a big issue. Clothing manufacturers seem to think the answer to making plus size clothing is simply to add more cloth to the clothing they make for little bitty people. However, weight comes on in strange ways. It gathers on the buttocks, on the thighs, and the area above the knee. Sometimes it doesn't gather around the waist. Or it gathers in the breasts and back area. People come in millions of shapes and being overweight is definitely not a one-size-fits-all sort of situation. Plus-size clothing also costs more than say, a size two, and I've never complained about this. More material, more cost. I get that.

But when clothing binds or doesn't fit well, it makes for an uncomfortable day. If it doesn't look good - and most of it doesn't - then it can make me feel even worse about myself than I already do. If there is decent clothing out there for large women, I've not found it. I make do. I suspect a good portion of those 160 million people who are overweight make do. And making do doesn't lead to being the best one can be.

I realized that people who are not overweight, including doctors and health care providers, have no clue about the challenges we are presented with when a physical therapist told me to go home and take a bath in Epsom salts. The idea was to get the Epsom salts over my stomach area where I have a chronically cramped muscle.

That is all well and good, except that if I fill a bathtub and get in it, the water doesn't go over my stomach area. I have so much ass and thighs and other body parts to fill in the water, that if I want to cover my belly area, I'm going to need a sauna, not a bathtub. My tummy is simply going to sit above the water, and splashing some water with Epsom salt on it isn't going to do what the therapist wants. I can only imagine how it would be for someone who is even more overweight than I. Thank heavens for showers.

Other challenges include chairs with arms. These cut into the sides of my hips and it hurts. This is especially true of older furniture that was made for the size people used to be - tinier folks all around, both in height and girth. I've never broken a piece of furniture nor do I weigh so much that I would, but some furniture is incredibly uncomfortable because of my weight distribution.

The other thing I have trouble doing is getting up off the floor. Here again, my doctors and physical therapists did not realize this was an issue. "Do these exercises" is a great thing to tell someone - except that they require a solid flat surface, such as the floor. If I can't get off the floor without a pain, I'm not going to voluntarily get on the floor in the first place. Some of this is age and lack of strength, but it is also weight related.

Car seats can also be a problem. My car has a bucket seat and it works ok for me, but my 2014 vehicle is not as roomy as my 2003. I'm short and I'm not supposed to be so close to the steering wheel, plus getting in and out of the vehicle with the steering wheel would be impossible if my front seat wasn't electric and easily moveable.

These are a few of the impositions that overweight people deal with on a daily basis. I don't expect the world to accommodate me, but it would be nice if I could find some decent clothes, or if chairs didn't have arms, or if the bucket seat in my car was just 1/2 inch wider.

To be overweight is to feel everyday that you are wrong. You, as a person, are solidly misplaced and an affront to society in general. This is reinforced on TV, social media, and with goods and services every single day. I can try to be happy with my body, try to feel like I'm ok with where I am, but at every turn, every movie, every newspaper, every car ride, there is something to remind me that I should be less fat to be more of a person. Because I am obese, I don't count. I certainly don't count in Bill Maher's eyes, that's for damn sure, and I feel like he represents another 100 million people or so who feel the same way.

To be obese is to be counted out. It is to be ignored when you're walking down the aisle at the store. It means learning to walk with eyes cast down because I know that I'm repulsive to you. I know that you think, "There goes a weak-willed lazy lard ass."  What you don't know is how many diets I've tried, how much I've exercised in spite of chronic pain, how much I and millions of others deal with on a daily basis because of societal expectations and a world that is run by bitchy old white men like Bill Maher, who want everything to reflect their virtues and values, and to hell with the rest of us.

I cannot apologize enough to the world for my body. I cannot say, "I'm sorry" often enough, or never stop thinking about how horrible it is for someone to have to see my fat self wander through the grocery store. I feel like I shouldn't even be in a grocery store - that all eyes are on my cart. Is she going to fill it up with Oreos? No, I eat healthy foods, generally speaking, except for Baked Lays Potato Chips which for some reason settle my stomach better than anything. Is that why I can't lose weight? I don't think so. I think it's a hormonal problem caused by a hysterectomy when I was 29 years old and a thyroid issue that hormone imbalances complicate. 

The reasons, of course, don't matter to the thin people who are walking the aisles in the grocery store and glancing at my cart, which has salad and a roasted chicken in it. They don't see the healthy food, I'm sure. They do see the box of Ritz crackers I buy for my husband.

To be obese is to be objectified, and then to be an object of disdain. To be obese is to feel like you are worthless, and not worthwhile.

Obesity sucks, and I don't need Bill Maher or anyone else to remind me of it.

August 9 Happiness Challenge

 

Today, I am have spent the day doing very little because I have a sinus infection.

My doctor saw me with a teledoc call. So I am happy today that I have good health care, a caring doctor, and the time to take to heal.

Each day in August you are to post about something that makes *you* happy. Pretty simple. And, it doesn't even have to be every day if you don't want it to be. It's a great way to remind ourselves that there are positive things going on in our lives, our communities, and the world.

August 6 Happiness Challenge

Woohoo! I woke up this morning and didn't have to put my jaw back into place! It popped and cracked, but I didn't have to physically push on my cheek to get the thing back where it belongs. Yay!

Each day in August you are to post about something that makes *you* happy. Pretty simple. And, it doesn't even have to be every day if you don't want it to be. It's a great way to remind ourselves that there are positive things going on in our lives, our communities, and the world.

August 4 Happiness Challenge

Today I am happy I have a good dentist. She's gone out of her way to see me (without charge) to adjust my mouth guard in an effort to help me with severe TMJ. Before she made me a mouth guard, my jaw was locking shut nearly every morning, creating severe pain, numbness, and headaches. There were days when all I could do was drink a Boost because I couldn't chew. This has improved significantly.

She has been incredibly helpful and caring. There are still good people in this world.