Interrupted

Is it just me?  Am I wrong for feeling this way?  Am I the only one who cares?  On my way to work this morning I came upon my neighbor's black lab in the road.  Someone had hit him and left him dead there.  I pulled over and called my neighbor, but while I was talking to her and explaining that Jakob was there, a police office who had also pulled over came up and started asking questions.  It didn't seem to phase him that I was on the phone with the dog's owner who was getting some bad news.  Obviously whatever questions he had were so much more important, probably because he is a Cherokee County cop.  After getting to work (obviously late) I had a phone call from my boss who was asking why I was late on a day when I had three meetings.  She stopped a five minute conversation no less than three times due to interruptions.  Then I went to an appointment with my oncologist.  Granted I'm not the sickest person in his practice anymore, but you'd think we could have that 15 minute conversation without his nurse and his office manager constantly sticking their heads in teh door to ask questions.  Finally I looked him in the eye and said "maybe I should come back when you have time."  He apologised, but it really did little to conteract the message..."I'm just not that in to you."  Now I'm back at work and another admin came into my cube to ask a question on how to fill out some less than intuitive paperwork.  While I was explaining it to her the guy from the duplicating center had to stop in and talk to her for a minute and then another manager seeing her there literally cut me off in mid sentence to ask a question.  I lost it.  I said "Shit" and walked away.  If she wanted me to explain, then listen to me while I explain. 

 

The rules of etiquitte aren't that difficult here.  If someone is on the phone, wait until they are off to talk to them.  If you are on the phone with someone, don't allow yourself to be interrupted. If someone is in a meeting, only interrupt if it is extremely important.  If you are in a meeting, don't allow unnecessary interruptions.

 

I'll admit it, I am peeved and I am acting badly because of it. And I'm even a little ashamed of myself for it.  But honestly, I feel that the people that I've been dealing with all day have been sending out messages that I don't want to accept.

Expansion

I had my cube expanded today. It didn't take much, just moving a panel over to create a more appropriate corner and pushing the kiosk into it. Now I have about 2 more feet of space in my cube. I'm loving it even if I did lose a small amount of psuedoprivacy. This is good.

The front of the bag declares that LiveSavers Jellybeans are the official jellybean of Easter. How does one go about getting that title? If a company wants to be the official whatever of any event they go to the event management and bid for the priviledge. It usually cost a pretty penny and said company gets prime seating at the event and having their branding plastered all over the venue in return. How does that work with Easter? Just to begin with, whom do you contact? Last time I looked the apostles were all dead, and I've never seen a Pope sell bragging rights to the Basilica. So, can someone tell me where this comes from?

All this being said; these are very good jellybeans. Everyone around here seems to enjoy the Starburst ones. Jelly Belly are good, but expensive.

exposed

I have thought of Elizabeth Edwards often since her initial diagnosis with breast cancer in November of 2004. I was just finishing my treatments for the same kind and stage of breast cancer. At the time it felt eerily like handing off a rotting baton to a stranger whom had the misfortune of having the news of her disease broadcast everywhere. It seems even more errie now that we are both back at the same stage. In a way it's like being exposed; like swimming in a fish tank naked. I had the luxury for a few weeks of smiling at my friends and family and saying "It's treatable" and "my doctors are optimistic", which of course is only a lie in omission. Treatable isn't curable, and the prognosis is only a 20% chance of being alive in 5 years. And of course my doctors are optimistic; why would they want to come to me put things in any way but the very best light? But the press is out there and exposing this for what it is. Treatment is not a cure, and the cancer will be chronic for the rest of her life, however long that is. My friends and family (and people who really are strangers) have been calling since they've been hearing about her. It is not easy to smile away their concerns anymore, but I tell them that I still plan on living. I will still be planting tomatoes in a few weeks. I still plan on (hope to) take my daughter to Ireland for her high school graduation.

My heart goes out to Mrs. Edwards. It will be difficult to deal with the treatments that she will endure and have to do it in a fish tank. It would be lovely to think that there should be some protocol of privacy that could be extended to her, but that is not likely.

Change of Shift is up

Change of Shift is up at Code Blog. She included a post from me. I am so feeling the love! Please check out this very poetic edition. Code Blog, Change of Shift

Emmy

What it's like to need chemotherapy

The Cheerful Oncologist asked in a recent post what it is like to have
to take chemotherapy. He was gracious enough to not attempt to answer
the question. I think that for the most part people don't want to
know. Why would someone want to be in that position? It seems that
people would like to fantsize about the glorious cruise around the
world they'd take if they were told they only have a few months to
live. The reality is somewhat less glamorous, so take the cruise
while you are still healthy. If you start with fear and frustration,
and mix in hope, then jumble in the best and the worst of all
possibilities, it begins to explain chemo. I thought about
highlighting my walk through what I have come to know as the valley of
the shadow of death here, but it is too overwhelming to attempt. I
will need to give it more thought and space than a blog. For now, I
will have to attempt sleep with all these memories and emotions.
Thanks Craig. Sleep tight.

What?

I sometimes don't get it. My ex came into town last night to see the kids. He got here around 6pm. He left just before 9pm. It is a 12 hour drive between here and where he lives. He said he had a funeral to go to today. Even I wasn't nasty enough to ask if it was Joann's. Still, I just don't get it.

Hallelujah! Lizzie isn't Fat!

We've been saying it for years and now she has absolute proof. She took a BMI test today and has dropped 2 points from the last time she took it. Not only that the Weight Watchers website posted her weight as a normal weight for her height. Now when all the mean girls at school call her fat she has one more tool that she can go to and get some validation.

Now I just need to drop 80 pounds so that I can say that I'm not fat either.

Do you know that one of my very good friends made a snide comment to me about fat red-heads?

I wondered later if she considered whom she was talking too.

I'm going to be 5o in August.

I will be a fat 50 year old red head if I don't do something about it.

I hear that it is impossible to lose weight post chemo.

Maybe just the fact that I'm going to be 50 is a gift, considering the alternatives.

Maybe that I'm fat is a gift also considering that it means that I have pleanty of food available.

Oh, Hell~ who cares~ Lizzie isn't FAT!!!

Mother's Day Weekend

Last year around Mother's Day I made the decision to to walk in the Breast Cancer Three Day here in Atlanta. I spent many hours last year training for that walk. The walk itself was a wonderful experience, but not one I would consider lightly. This year, I'm taking on challenges that are a little more condusive to the fact that I'm middle aged and out of shape. Mother's Day weekend offers two challenges that I think I will find equally as fulfilling and not quite so demanding physically or financially. On Saturday, May 12 I will be walking with a team of UPSer's in the Atlanta Race for the Cure to support the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation. And then on Sunday (Mother's Day) May 13, Lizzie, Tim and I will be walking in the Walk to Empower to benefit the Y-Me organization.

The Susan G. Komen supports research, education and treatment of breast cancer. The Y-me organization supports outreach to women and their caregivers who are touched by breast cancer.

You can support me by going to:

Race for the Cure or Walk to Empower

You can make a donation directly to the organization from these pages or print out a donation form and send it directly to the organizations. Any support you give will be greatly appreciated.

Spring is coming

Spring is coming and it's about time. Late February always gets me down and I hate waiting for spring to get here. But today is so beautiful that I hate sittimg inside. So I'm going to take my cell phone out and around town and see about getting some cool early spring pictures to play with.

Hello:
Change of Shift is up at Kim's, and if you haven't seen it you should go check it out. Enjoy.

Fried Chicken, Here I Come

A study that is to be published in the American Medical Journal on Wednesday found that women on the Atkins diet lost more weight and had better blood pressure and cholesteral levels than women on low fat diets. They would release this information on Thursday. On Wednesdays here where I work the cafeteria serves the best fried chicken that you are going to find, and it is relatively cheap if you consider eating out at a restaurant. I'm sure that by next Wednesday another study will come out that finds you can't eat chicken or whatever, but until then I'm free to eat all the fried chicken I want. Hot Dog! Call up the Colonel, I'm comin' to dinner.

Lymphedema

For the most part I've accepted it. I have Lymphedema in my left chest and arm and there is nothing that anyone can do about it. You can't replace vessels that have been surgically and radiographically removed or damaged. I accept it but days like today stretch even my ability to cope with it. Today my hand hurts. It aches like arthritis and no pain reliever will do anything about it. Furthermore, it is hard to accept when I have to face the limiting effects that it is having on my life. To advance in my job I need to take a test that is hand written, and I am left handed. I simply can't do it with this problem. I know that I have every reason to ask (demand) that they make provisions, but even that is a strain on my coping skills. My coping skills for this problem are stretched to the limit when I have to constantly explain to people who should know why they can't use my arm for needles or blood pressures. "Please use my right arm" should suffice, but I still find myself in positions where I have to be combative about it with some pushy medical student.

Today my hand hurts. I want to take a pill and have the pain and stiffness go away. I want to be able to wear short sleeves again. I really just want to cry.

Waiting on Spring

 

It happens this way every year.  It gets to be the end of February and I'm ready for spring. I want to get my garden started and pull out my shorts and tee shirts.  Whatever gene that is in me that causes this impatience, I must have passed on to my kids. Last night (a daily high of 60 degrees) my son was wearing shorts and I had to keep telling him to put his flip flops back on.  And my daughter left the house in the morning (temp around 37) wearing nothing more substantial than a short sleeved shirt and a pullover.  We are bitten big time.  I've heard that the temp tomorrow should be around 70 and I'm wanting to open up the windows and do some cleaning.

Beep Beep

The trap was set. The cayote had been watching the road runner for days running the dirt path beneath the overhanging ledge. It was the perfect spot to finally catch his prey. The Acme Anvil company was able to overnight the appropriate tool for the job and it was waiting. His calculations had been meticulous, he knew the exact weight of the anvil, the exact thickness of the ledge. Every thing had been timed to co-inside with the exact moment when the road runner should arrive on his appointed rounds...but somethng went horribly wrong. The ledge began to crack at the exact moment that he'd expected. He heard the road runner coming. He felt the familiar pang grip his shrunken stomach and grind it into a thunderous ache of hunger. He'd actually salivated in anticipation...and then nothing! No breaking of the earth, no whoosh of air, no booming crash as the anvil landed and no tender meat to boil in his pot. How could this happen? No, it's impossible! The cayote ran to the place where the trap should have worked. Staring desolately at the empty ground he heard the first warning. A small, almost soundless crack; a few falling pebbles, he looked up to where his useless trap was waiting. We all know what happens next. Even the cayote should have been able to guess it. The ledge and anvil pummled down and smashed the hapless cayote into the ground where his dinner should have been waiting...beep beep.

This is kind of what living with breast cancer is like. The cancer sets the traps, the lumps are found. The tests are done. Everything should be in place to catch me, the road runner, once again in the trap of cancer. Then the imaging tests and the pathology reports come back and once again I'm singing beep beep and running off into the distance. But I am not so brave or arrogant as the road runner. I worry about what is waiting on those overhead ledges and what trap could be lurking in those circles marked with an x on the road ahead. I wake up sitting straight up, covered with sweat and trimbling from the nightmares of chemotherapy. Stage 4 cancer is like a hungry cayote out there, watching, setting traps. I wonder when he will catch me.