My Doctor Is Gaslighting Me

Two days ago, my sinuses were SOOOO bad, that I pretty much just wanted to die.

Rather than doing that, though, I headed to the nearest Walk-In Clinic, to see if the trained professionals could fix what I couldn’t seem to fix with over-the-counter remedies and good old-fashioned whining. None of that was working.

Walking out an hour later with 20mg of Prednisone - EEP - but no antibiotics (“No infection for YOU!!”, the doctor barked!), I thought that a visit to an even MORE trained professional - as in ENT (Ear, Nose & Throat) - was in order.

So, I went yesterday to see “Doctor Smith.”

Walking into the lobby of Doctor Smith and his fellow ENT’s building, I had a bit of deja vu - but couldn’t quite put my finger on why this lobby looked so familiar. I felt like I had been here before - but knowing this was my first time seeing Dr. Smith, I shrugged it off.

When Dr. Smith walked into the exam room, he’s peeking at my chart - and says, “Ahhhh...I see you that you saw “Dr. Jones” here six years ago for your sinus surgery.”

I looked at him like he was nuts, and said, “Uh...no. I had my sinus surgery in Florida.”

Dr. Smith looked at me like I was nuts, and said, “Huh. Sure. Because it says here you saw Dr. Jones.”

And I gave him the side-eye, and said, “Uh, I’m pretty sure I know where I had my surgery. And it was in Florida. Yes, I might be a bit crazy - especially on 20mg of Prednisone right now - but I KNOW where I was.”

Dr. Smith gave me one last look - to see if I really WAS crazy - and then shrugged and got down to business.

Weird.


So, after determining that I do, indeed, have an infection - and deciding to boost the Prednisone up “to a larger dose” to help with the inflammation of the sinuses, he’s having me come back next week for a cat scan - and possibly inserting tubes in my ears so I can fly. Wheeeeeee. I set my next appointment, and head out to go pick up the drugs.


Imagine my alarm when I was given this for the Prednisone:

Holy CRAZINESS, Batman - that prescription is calling for THREE pills - at 10mg apiece - THREE times a day!!! That’s 90mg of Prednisone, folks!

I am NOT a trained professional, by any means - but I DO know that the MOST Prednisone usually prescribed a day is 60mg. There is something wrong with this prescription.

I called the pharmacy back, and asked, “Um...can this be right? Don’t you think it should be ONE pill - THREE times a day?”

The pharmacist pulled the written prescription up, and said, “Well...this is how the doctor wrote it...but you’re right. That doesn’t seem correct.”

Ya’ think???!!!


So yes, the prescription is wrong. Whew. I go slightly nuts at 20mg a day - I can’t even imagine what 90mg would have done!


In the meantime, I’m lying in bed last night - dealing the side effects of insomnia - when I replay that conversation with Dr. Smith regarding Dr. Jones...and it dawns on me.

I did indeed have my sinus surgery in Florida. That is correct. BUT - I was so anxious to come home for recovery - before I was released by my Florida surgeon - that my Florida surgeon said he would only allow me to come back to Kansas City IF I had an ENT that would do my follow-up care.

And Dr. Jones was my follow-up care for the surgery.

Voila.

THAT is why I was having deja vu in that lobby. And THAT is why Dr. Jones is listed in my chart as seeing me for sinus surgery.

I wasn’t crazy. And neither was Dr. Smith.

All is well in my world.

I would say, “I can rest easy now” - but on 30mg of Prednisone now, I am not resting at all - but that’s a whole nother story!

Peace.

Whiner Wednesday: April 3rd Edition

I started working out a gym about a year ago...I go five days a week, Monday through Friday, and spend 45 minutes huffing and puffing and sweating and grunting, all in an effort to fight gravity and fight aging, with every bit of effort I can give. My trainer is an ex-Marine, and he likes to pretend that we’re all brand-new recruits going through boot camp, rather than a bunch of middle-aged women who haven’t seen their twenties in...well...over twenty years.

Sometimes, when he tells us to “Drop and give him twenty” - or something along the lines of - I will protest, half-heartedly, with groans, sighs, and curse words said under my breath. He and I finally came to an arrangement where I am allowed to whine only on Wednesdays - “Whiner Wednesday” - as I call it - and it works out well. He doesn’t have to listen to me protest the other four days of the week, but I can let him have it on that one, glorious day that comes mid-week. It’s a win-win.

So, in that spirit - I’m going to do a Whiner Wednesday post today...talk about what is going on my life this past week...and perhaps groan, sigh or cuss under my breath - but also post when I think things are positive....

So, without further ado, here we go...here’s how the past week has gone:

What I’ve Been Doing

Whew. A busy week.

Hubby and I celebrated our 20th anniversary by heading to the place where it all began, the Grand Street Cafe, where we had our first date. We had a delicious dinner with a yummy appetizer of potato skins, that didn’t look like any potato skins I’VE ever had before. But they were Nom Nom Nom DELICIOUS!!

Seriously - does that even LOOK like potato skins??!! But Oh. My. God. They were sooooo good. I think I licked the plate.


That evening, Hubby presented me with 20 gorgeous coral roses - one for each year we’ve been married. Awwww. He so sweet.

Over the weekend, besides watching some of the March Madness of NCAA Tournament Basketball (and here I MUST insert, “Go War Eagle!!” Yes, my beloved Auburn Tigers have made it to the Final Four - squeeeeeee!!!), I spent some time with girlfriends. Sunday morning was brunch with unlimited mimosas at a local restaurant:

That evening, I spent some time with a good friend, Robin, who I see on a regular basis to discuss our passions: running, Disney and our family. Robin lives not too far from me, but I met her in an online Facebook group dedicated to running and Disney. It was bizarre to find out she lives within five miles - and is about my age - and so we make it a point to get together once a month and discuss our next races, or our next Disney trip - or just life. Girlfriends are the best.

Today, I had lunch with another girlfriend, who I met 15 years ago, and who I try to see as much as possible - but because of life, sickness, appointments, work, etc - I haven’t seen in six months. We were LONG overdue - so we had a lot to catch up on. Sorry, waiter - I left you a good tip since we took up the table. Hee hee.

What Book I Am Reading

The book I’m currently reading is called, “The Elephant in the Room: One Fat Man’s Quest to Get Smaller in a Growing America”. The author is Tommy Tomlinson...and I am seriously hooked. This guy can REALLY write a sentence - and I find myself chuckling out loud as he paints pictures with his words. A good read, so far - I recommend it.

What I Am Watching

My guilty pleasure has been binging on “Santa Clarita Diet”, which can be found on Netflix. It stars Drew Barrymore and the always-gorgeous Timothy Olyphant - and is the sick-but-funny chronicles of a suburban mom who turns into a zombie. It’s hysterically funny in a sick, twisted way, and I can’t stop watching. I recommend it.

What I Am Listening To

Old school. My favorite jam lately has been rocking out to The Steve Miller Band. I saw them in concert many, many years ago, and they’ll always be a favorite. Yes - I recommend. Obviously...hee hee!

How I Am Feeling

Well...if you were wondering when the whining was going to start, HERE WE GO!! Woot woot! Are you excited??!!

First, my allergies. Or sinuses. Or whatever it is. I DON’T KNOW AND IT’S DRIVING ME CRAZY. I. Am. Miserable. I can’t breathe. I can’t sleep. Headaches, drainage, sinus pressure - medicine, humidifiers, Kleenex - an endless carousel of dealing with some unnamed beast, and I am frankly tired. So, tomorrow I am heading to an ENT for some answers. I am hoping, praying and praying some more that I am not looking at sinus surgery FOR THE SECOND TIME. Gah.

Second, my elbow. I hurt it. It hurts. It doesn’t stop hurting. It has hurt for months. So - I broke down and saw an orthopedic doctor last week, who said, “Physical therapy for YOU!” And so that is what I’ve been doing. And that hurts. Gah. But I am hoping, praying and praying some more that it will make it better.

I thought that physical therapy for an elbow would be a piece of cake. I thought wrong. It kicks my butt every time I go in. Today, I got a nice steroid patch on my arm, so we’ll see if that brings some relief.


So - that’s my week. No more whining. Really, other than my nose and my elbow, there’s not much to whine about...and I’m hoping to get those fixed, right??!!

Here’s to another week, and here’s to doctors, medicines, drugs, and spring. Whee!

I’ve Got the Groundhog Day Blues

Do you remember that classic movie with Bill Murray, “Groundhog Day”, where he wakes up every single day, only to discover that he’s repeating the same day - over and over again?

I kinda’ feel that way - that I’m living in my own Drama Queen version of “Groundhog Day.”

Six years ago, I had sinus surgery - which was HORRENDOUS. Remember THIS post? All I remember is I felt like I had just run into a concrete wall with my FACE at 100 mph. For days. After the brutal surgery and recovery, I actually felt that the surgery was a huge success...as in, no more constant sinus infections and sinus pressure and chronic sinus pain.

Life was good, and I was SOOOOO relieved to not be living through THAT nightmare any more.

But.

I may have spoke too soon.

In the last year, I have had not one, not two, but THREE confirmed sinus infections.

THREE!!!

IN ONE YEAR!!!

Gah.

After the third infection, I wailed to the doctor, “But...but...but...!!! I CAN’T be having sinus infections! I had sinus surgery!!”

And my doctor looked at me in pity, and said very slowly, like she was speaking to a three-year old child, “Honey...sinus surgery isn’t permanent. It isn’t forever. Whatever it was that caused you to need the surgery in the first place is most likely returned.”

I looked at her in horror.

“WHAT??!!”

She said, “You’re most likely going to have to have the surgery again. It’s not that unusual.”

I seriously burst into tears at that moment. I’m not kidding. I did. I really did.

The thought of going through that torture - AGAIN - is more than I can bear...and yet...I don’t know if I can keep having sinus infections and sinus issues, especially when they crop up when I’m supposed to be getting onto a plane, and God knows you can’t fly with a sinus infection, so now I have to either cancel a trip, or drive, which sucks - and so on, and so on.

Last week, I flew back from Florida.

And then promptly was felled with a sinus infection.

WHY IS THIS MY LIFE??!!

Sigh.

So...I now have to seriously ponder the benefits (and negatives) of sinus surgery - AGAIN.

The positive: it definitely helped me breathe much easier the last few years...and no sinus headaches or pain. No earaches. Flying was amazing. I could sleep through the night without waking up, feeling like I was suffocating.

But the negatives? Intense, intense pain for about a month. And loss of taste buds. I lost most of my taste & smell after the first surgery - about 100% right after the surgery, but about 25% of that has returned. I don’t smell things - or taste food - like I used to. My palate is a joke. Cinnamon? Can’t smell it. Flowers? Can’t smell them. Skunk? Can’t smell it. Farts? Fart away - I can’t smell them. (See - I always try to find the bright side.)

What if I have the surgery - again - and lose permanently the 25% I still have?

It’s not any fun when most food & drink tastes like cardboard. Or you can’t smell a newborn baby. (Weird. I know. But it’s a mom thing.)

What do I do??!! What do I do??!!

Sigh.

Fighting With My Physician??!!

Let me begin by saying that I hope my Mother is not reading this post.

.

.

.

Because I acted SOOOOO maturely while in the doctor's office the other day…


.

.

.

Okay. Not really.


In full disclosure, it wasn't my fault. Well, duh. It never is, actually. For every single and solitary time that I have, um, misbehaved, I have always, ALWAYS been able to point the blame elsewhere. I know. It's a gift. I can unequivocally, without hesitation, always point out that someone ELSE started it, whether that "someone else" be my little brother, or my baby sister, or in this case…the doctor. It's never me.


I was visiting the orthopedic doctor the other morning so that he could have a look at my bum knee, which is the LAST thing a runner wants to have - a bum knee. Like, ever. In my particular case, my knee has decided in the last three weeks to go all bum on me, and that it doesn't particularly WANT to run a 5k, a 10k, and a half-marathon, back-to-back, in LESS THAN TWO WEEKS. My knee had the past seven months to decide it didn't want to do this, but did it make a peep over those months of training??? Did it ever, EVER give me a hint that it wasn't particularly happy???

Oh heck no. Let's wait UNTIL THE LAST POSSIBLE MINUTE to throw a wrench (literally, it seems) into things.

Gah.



So, anyway.

I'm at the doctor's office.


Yup - those are my legs!!!! Awesomesauce!!!

And he looks at my X-rays, (which, are like, WAY COOL, in my opinion…I can totally GET IT why some people go into Radiology, because looking at bones ((on an X-ray film, mind you - not in real life - eww)) - is like, totally freaking AWESOME!!! But I digress…) and he says,

"Well…I don't see a tear."

And I'm like, "Woot Woot!!"



And he's like, "But that doesn't rule out a stress fracture…cuz sometimes those don't show up on an X-ray."

So I'm like, "Well, but I can still run, right? Even if it hurts? Even with a stress fracture??"

And he's like, "Are you CRAZY??!! I would never, EVER tell a runner to run through pain!!! Especially if it's a stress fracture!!!"


Oh. Well, that sucked. But thinking quickly, I came up with a BRILLIANT argument:

"But what if it's NOT a stress fracture??!!"

I amaze myself sometimes. I should have been a lawyer in a court room.


Not to be outdone, the doctor immediately responds with, "But what if it IS a stress fracture??!!"


So this is when I got totally mature, because, really, this conversation is suddenly taking me back to the days in the back seat of the car, on long car trips, where Little Brother and I would get into the most insane and ridiculous arguments over something so important as to who touched the other first, that could last for hours and hours, with just the two of us going back and forth, back and forth, that would drive my parents so crazy I'm surprised they didn't dump us and abandon us at a gas station…so..I countered with the following:

"But what if it's NOT??!!"

Cuz that's really all I had at this point.

And the good doctor must have had a sibling, as well, that HE'D argued with as a child, as he picked up the thread BEAUTIFULLY, and countered back with,

"But what if it IS???!!!"

"But what if it's NOT??!!"


You get the drift.

It was a thing of beauty, our conversation. Mom would have been so proud.

And both Mom and Hubby could have told the doctor that he was never, ever going to win this argument.


So, anyway.

Bottom line.

I'm running AMA.

Against Medical Advice.

Do you think I should put those letters on my running bib next weekend??? A big giant, "AMA"???

Or maybe tattoo 'em on my Bum Knee.



But just in case Mom IS reading this…eek…don't worry, Mom…I promised the doctor - and I'll promise you - that if my knee gives out during the race…I will quietly take myself off the race course and quietly remove myself to the Medical tent, where I will quietly keep my mouth shut and not argue with any more doctors.

Pinky swear.

Somebody, Please, Tell Me What Is Going On

See, I KNEW if I posted about the "routine-ness" of my days - that something would happen to bite me in the ass and send my life into a spiral of craziness.

Only, who knew it would be the health of my Dad that would bring this on??!!

My dad will turn 72 years old on Sunday…and although he's not in perfect health, he's managed to hang in there and stay somewhat healthy over the years. Until this Christmas, that is. Right before the holidays, he got very, very ill - chills, fever, nausea, vomiting, and bowel issues. After suffering for several days, he relented to being admitted to a hospital in Kansas City, where he was subjugated to a battery of tests. All of which revealed what was NOT wrong with him, but nothing that said what WAS wrong with him.

Don't you hate that? "Well, we can rule out this…we can rule out that…but we don't really know what it is."

Sigh.

And that's why we pay you the BIG bucks, doctors.

Anyway, he seemed to bounce back after a few days of fluids and antibiotics, so as soon as he was discharged, he and Mom hit the road and drove 1400 miles south to Ft. Myers, impatient to enjoy their brand-new (to them) condo for the winter. When I heard their plans, I was a bit skeptical - wondering if this was the smartest thing to do when one has been so sick - but did they listen to me?

Oh, heck no. Just like I pretty much never listened to them when they were giving ME advice over the years.

Karma.

So, of course, what happens when they take up residence as Snowbirds in the Sunshine State?

Dad gets sick again. Same symptoms. Only, worse. By Monday night, he was so violently ill, that he begged Mom to call an ambulance - which, if you know my Dad, was SO out of character. Upon admission, they found his blood pressure so low that it wouldn't even register on their measuring devices. Into the ICU he went…and when the doctor told mom that Dad's condition was "life-threatening", it was a no-brainer for my siblings and I to jump on a plane Tuesday and fly south to be with them.

They are "guessing" that he has C-diff, a highly contagious infection that can be life-threatening if not treated properly. But they're not positive. And we know that the doctors in Kansas City tested him not once, but TWICE, for C-diff, and ruled it out both times.

So we're at a loss.

Yesterday, Dad was pretty incoherent for most of the day. Today, he seemed to perk up a bit more, and was almost overwhelmed to see that his three kids had traveled 1400 miles to be with him. Tonight, however, he had relapsed a bit, so it seems to be a matter of day-to-day on how he's doing.

This is where it's frustrating…this not knowing…this guessing…this hopelessness and dependence on the knowledge of the doctors treating him. What is it? Why is this happening? How can we treat it? What does the future hold?

Gah.

Dammit. I want answers. I want it fixed. I want to know that when I go back home - and I need to go back home pretty soon, as I have responsibilities and such there that need to be taken care of - that Dad will be okay.

Sigh. We can't always get what we want (with homage to Mick Jagger and the Stones), and that is sometimes the hardest lesson in life of all.

Peace.

Poison Myself?? Is My Doctor CRAZY??!!

Here's a question:

If your doctor tells you that he wants you to eat rat poison - for the next fourteen days - in order to get some lab tests done…

…would you do it???


This is the dilemma that I face this morning. Oh, not that my doctor has ordered me to eat RAT POISON - gah. But he might as well have, as he wants me to put gluten back in my diet for the next two weeks, in order to definitively conclude whether I have Celiac Disease or Crohn's Disease.

When I eat something that contains gluten, it might as well be rat poison…my stomach will cramp relentlessly for twelve hours, which is pretty much debilitating. Besides racked with excruciating pain, I'll experience nausea, fatigue, and frequent trips to the restroom, if you get my drift. My head will feel like it's exploding, and my hands and feet will tingle and go numb.

Fun times, I'm tellin' ya.

Not.

It's bad enough when I accidentally "poison" myself with gluten - but to do it deliberately??? Who DOES that?

Apparently, ME, if I decide to do what the doctor has requested.

He tried to make it sound attractive, by telling me to do it around Thanksgiving, so I could "enjoy" my traditional Thanksgiving dinner, with it's gravy, rolls and stuffing - all heavily loaded with gluten. But…knowing the consequences…it's not tempting. Not tempting at all.

I still haven't decided yet. It's tough.

It doesn't help matters any that Hubby is absolutely, unequivocally against me putting gluten back in my diet…as he's had to live with me when I'm having an attack. And it's not pretty.

Do I NEED to have the diagnosis? The doctor says I do…but what would it matter? In the long run? Wouldn't the treatment - so to speak - still be the same? Avoid gluten?

What would YOU do???

Peace.

Sinus Surgery: Six Months Later

**


Has it really been six months since I fell into the depths of flaming Hell and prayed for death to relieve me from the God-awful pain had sinus surgery??

Wow. How time flies, huh?

Anyway. I thought I would post an update - six months out - on how things are going, just in case any of my dear readers are pondering sinus surgery themselves.

Here's the bottom line:

HAVING SINUS SURGERY WAS THE BEST DECISION EVER.

Seriously.

Now...if you'd asked me my opinion just a few short days after the surgery, I would have cursed you and then thrown you off a bridge - but I blame the post-surgery medication for that.

99% of my post-surgery side effects are gone...with the exception of having a tiny-bit different "voice" inside my head. Yes, I "hear" myself differently on the inside, which drives me a bit batty, as it's NOT the voice I'm used to hearing after 50+ years. But, I've been gradually getting used to this new voice, so that, too, shall pass.

Having that different "voice" has totally rendered me tone deaf. Not that I could sing before, but now? Forget about it. The "voice" that I "think" I have is not the voice that I have, so I am pretty much screwed when I try to find the correct note to sing along with. Gah. I think it's rather funny myself, but it kinda', sorta', drives my Daughter insane when I screech along with the radio in the car. Bwahahahahahaha.

Anyway.

Everything else is not only back to normal - but SOOOOOOOOOO improved from before.

It was tested while I was in Colorado, as I woke up one morning with a bit of a head cold. Taking a decongestant, I was amazed - AMAZED, I tell you - when the decongestant actually decongested - it WORKED - and the pressure in my head disappeared within hours.

THAT HAD NOT HAPPENED IN YEARS!!!!!!

(Remember? My sinus cavities were completely blocked, so there was no where for fluid to drain - or "decongest" - after taking such medicine. The surgery cured this. Woot!)

Another benefit, besides not having the continual pressure in my head, has been a MIRACULOUS change in my breathing while sleeping. As in, I can actually breathe! Little did I know that I was struggling for air before - my lungs were working OVERTIME in trying to suck air into my body - but now, with little effort, oxygen flows and I am sleeping in a continual state of bliss.

I CAN BREATHE!!!!!!

So...bottom line...regardless of the post-surgery pain and discomfort, and regardless of some of the weird post-surgery side effects, I absolutely, unequivocally, have NO regrets in having the surgery.

Okay. Wait. Maybe ONE regret...as in, I wish I'd had it twenty years sooner....

Peace.

**Image from HERE

The Eyes Have It

There are times in life when being "strong and independent" can pretty much be a bitch.

Or at least very, very stupid.

Case in point: Me.

I don't know where this fierce strong will and sense of independence comes from, but it has gotten me in a few scrapes with the medical community....One such time was exactly ten years ago, when I walked around for two days with a severe case of appendicitis. (In my defense, I thought it was just a really, really, really bad case of gas). Because I was too stubborn to go see a doctor ("I can take care of it MYSELF!"), I just about died.

And then there was last week...when I was finally forced to go to the eye doctor by some friends, after I had walked around for weeks with increasingly blurry vision and painful eyes. My first visit was last Wednesday, when the eye doctor did a very thorough exam, and then said, "Excuse me a moment," as he walked out and brought back two more colleagues. Uh oh. That's NEVER a good sign - when they bring in the troops.

Initially, the diagnosis they gave me was severe corneal ulcers, but they later amended that diagnosis to a "flesh-eating" virus that was eating away at the tissue in the cornea of my right eye...which could lead to blindness.

{faints from shock}

I'll be honest. I love my eyes. I'm rather vain about them. That picture at the top of my blog - of the eye? That looks exactly like my own eyes..."Rainbow eyes" is what a lot of people say when they see my eyes, and I don't really want to see them damaged. Ack.

The cornea specialist was out of town until Monday, so I was monitored daily until her return...at which point, she greatly reduced my fears by revising the initial diagnosis...that had only been a "pseudo" virus, and when I heard her say "pseudo", I immediately asked, "Pseudo is good, right?" She replied, "Yes...pseudo is good. But you're not out of the woods."

To make a long story short, I DID have some dead tissue on my cornea, but not from a virus (but we're not sure from where, actually.) After she scraped off the dead tissue, we're now in the process of trying to re-generate "good" cell growth, as well as to prevent scar tissue from building up on the cornea. I'm on a medicine regime that is crazy - but my vision should come out okay when this is all over.

The specialist slapped me around a bit (deservedly) when she said, "If you'd come in MONTHS ago - when this first started - you would have saved yourself a heck of a lot of time, money and treatment."

"But I thought it was allergies," I said, in my defense..."...and who goes to the eye doctor for allergies??!!"

Apparently, I will need to...because of the damage to the cornea, I will ALWAYS have to go in now when I notice anything slightly out of order with either eye...period. I guess I learned my lesson the hard way...as in, don't be so doggone stubborn and independent that you avoid medical care.






Speaking of medical care - I do want to insert here that I am now exactly three weeks in on my gluten-free diet...and here's the findings, so far:

1. I have had NO STOMACH PAIN AT ALL IN THREE WEEKS!!!! This is huge, folks...HUGE. Before my GF diet, I was to the point that EVERY SINGLE MEAL would have me curled up in a little ball on the bathroom floor, clutching my gut in a pure state of agony and intense pain. Gah. It has been unbelievable to be pain-free, and it's been such a turnaround that I don't even have ANY desire to eat the things that are off-limits now - such as cakes, cookies or breads. I've been finding recipes for GF brownies & such, so I'll still get my taste, if I need it.

2. My energy levels are WAY UP. Seriously...I can wake up now at 6:00 am, and go, go, go until 11:00 pm at night...and no more feeling like a slug. I truly love this new, energetic person, as I hate being a slug - and I can't believe all of the stuff I'm getting done each day!

3. I've lost some weight...not a lot...but every pound lost is a good thing. The weight wasn't the main reason to go on the GF diet, but it's been a nice bonus. I've decided to not focus on the scale - but to focus on eating healthy. I've been back in exercise mode, especially with all of my newfound energy, so I'm sure more pounds will drop off - woot!

4. I'm so enamored of my new GF diet that I'll be starting Hubby & Daughter on it next week...I think Daughter has a gluten-sensitivity, as she sure shows a lot of the symptoms. I'm curious to see if this will help her, as well....It can't hurt, because it's really a vegan-based diet that incorporates a lot of fruits and vegetables, which are nutritious.


So - enough rambling.

I'm now off to to have some delicious gluten-free crackers with some hummus for an afternoon snack - YUM!

Peace.

Celebrate!!!

Monday, May 13.

Mark this day down.

Because today - TODAY - for the first time since Wednesday, April 17th - an astonishing four weeks - I FINALLY felt like my "old" self....

Full of energy.

No headaches.

Clear-headed.

Ready to take on the world.

And - BONUS - I could actually smell my perfume and taste my food.

YAY!

Looks like I'm finally - FINALLY - getting over my sinus surgery!

Oh...and I can breathe. DOUBLE BONUS!!!

That is all.

Peace.

My Life As A Super Model

I AM alive.

Barely.

Okay. That's exaggerating. A bit.

Okay. A lot.

But really - recovering from sinus surgery has been a tad bit more difficult than I had anticipated. I think one of the biggest obstacles has been 'brain fatigue' - where I just don't feel like being creative or smart or funny...hence, my lack of writing.

Seriously - even posting a simple Facebook status has been a huge undertaking, and that's just not like me.

I then had a bit of a setback on Tuesday when some other medical issues cropped up, which landed me in the emergency room for several hours...hooked up to an IV full of pain meds, fluids, and anti-nausea medicine. Fun times. Not. (And let me just insert here that Hubby is a saint and has earned his angel wings. That's all we say about that.)

Anyhoo, I'm here now, and doing a little bit better. Not SUPER better, but I'm back on my feet today, which is better than before.

And really...another reason I haven't been blogging, is because - who really wants to read nothing but medical rants and complaints from someone? I want to be funny...I want to be inspirational...I want to be entertaining...and yet...I feel like crap. Literally.

Okay - enough of that. Let me ATTEMPT to be funny and inspirational and entertaining...by bringing you a quick review of my one day last week when I got to live the life of a super model...complete with hair, make-up, booze, and hanging with celebrities. Yup - everything but the drugs, unless you count Tylenol as a drug.

Yes. I was a super model.

Okay. Not "super" perhaps, but still...I was a model.

My Day as a SuperModel began on Thursday morning, when I reported to our local clubhouse for hair and make-up...as I had been asked to model in a Ladies Fashion Show for our neighborhood. I was a bit nervous, as I had not yet seen the clothes I would be modeling, let alone tried them on, and the fashion show would be that same afternoon. What if the clothes were too tight? Or too big? What if they made my butt look big? (Hey - it's a common thought.)

The hairdresser decided that my normal straight hair was too boring, so she went with a bunch of waves and curls...I'm not sure if I liked it, as evidenced by this photo:


Disregard the five chins...not a good angle for a picture, obviously!


The good news is that all of the outfits fit - amazingly well. Whew. And my butt didn't look too big. The bad news is that NO ONE took a picture of me walking the runway. Yes, my friends at the fashion show didn't think to snap a photo until it was too late. Oh well. It was fun. And I didn't fall. Or stumble. Yay, me!

So that evening, Hubby and I decided to attend a dinner here in town...what with my super-cute curly hair and all.

Let me preface this by saying that Hubby and I are HUGE fans of the Food Network...and especially the show, "Chopped." This is the show where four chefs are presented with mystery baskets - and they have to create amazing gastronomical delights using the weird ingredients in a very short period of time. In the process, they are judged - and then "chopped" if they don't measure up. One of the judges on the show is Aaron Sanchez, who just happens to have a restaurant close to our home.

His restaurant, Mestizo, was offering a "private" tequila dinner with Aaron Sanchez last week...and I say 'private', because it was open for 50 people. Yowza. However, I will say that I was impressed with the layout when we arrived - they had set us up in five tables of 10 people - so it didn't seem TOO overwhelming.

What came next? A five course meal...each paired with a delicious cocktail...and it was divine.

We started off with a trio of tostadas - grilled ramps with Guajillo Chile Romesco, Crispy Fiddlehead Ferns with Chipotle Aioli, and Fava Bean Puree with Mint and Queso Fresco:


Absolutely delicious!!!


The cocktail paired with this was a "Mestizo Margarita" - and I have to honestly say, it was the BEST margarita I've ever had in my life. Unfortunately, I had ordered a glass of Sangria before dinner ever started, so I now had TWO cocktails to finish...but perhaps that isn't such a bad thing, right?



The second course was called "Rabbit Terrine" - which was served with Chicharones and Fig-Pasilla Jam:



This was probably my least favorite course, as I had never eaten rabbit before - and I will probably never eat it again. I kept thinking of Bugs Bunny - honestly - so I had a hard time with the rabbit. I DID like the jam, though...as well as the cocktail pairing, which was officially "Corzo Reposado," but should just be called "Fire Water":


Oh my God, it burned as it went down...!


The third course was the fish course, "Chorizo-Stuffed Spot Prawns" - with chayote and jicama salad. Oh sweet Heavens, this was fantastic...


Just pull of the heads and take a bite...SO flavorful!

The cocktail for this was "Fire Water 2", or officially, "Herradura Anejo" - another shot of tequila that burned...but was so, so good.

Our main course consisted of "Bisteak Tampicana" - butterflied filet mignon with short rib and beef marrow enchiladas, served with shaved mushroom salad:



I thought the filet was perfectly cooked and seasoned; however, I didn't care much for the enchiladas. Not completely having my sense of taste back, they were a bit bland for me, but everyone else at the table seemed to love them. Our cocktail pairing was a tequila called "Delirio Mezcal" - which had a bit of a smoky flavor - but still tasted like fire water, of course.

Dessert was a trio of ice creams: mango-chile, avocado-lime and dulce de leche-banana. Unfortunately, NONE of my sweet taste buds are working yet, so I could taste nothing of any of these:



Our final cocktail was a shot of Agavero Dessert Tequila - which tasted like Fire Water yet again. Notice a pattern here?

By now, I've had one margarita, one HUGE glass of Sangria, and four shots of tequila in the course of 90 minutes...and I am feeling no pain. I don't think I made TOO big of a fool of myself when I posed with a picture of Aaron Sanchez himself:


He's so cute. Even more so in "real" life. Hee.

Of course, it would have been too much to ask to have Hubby use the flash when he took the picture. Sigh.

Anyway - a VERY delightful and fun dinner...the food was delicious, the company was a lot of fun, and the snowy evening just added to the atmosphere.

I had needed something to break me out of my post-surgery funk, and this was a great start. Needless to say, after all that food and drink, I pretty much CRASHED when I got home. Just like a real Super Model. Hee.

Peace.

The Sahara Is the Place For Me!

Today, I found out the most ideal place in the world for me to live...it's full of warmth and sunshine, and not too many people.

Yes.

According to the experts, I should ideally be living in the Sahara Desert....

I got tested for allergies this morning, and I pretty much came out highly allergic to every type of mold invented...as well as being allergic to every single type of tree that God planted.

Hmmm...mold? Trees?

Not exactly good news for someone who lives in wet & soggy Florida, as well as tree-ridden Kansas City.

The good news, though, was that I didn't test positive - AT ALL - to dust.

This was highly shocking to the allergist, who stated that most "normal" people test at least slightly positive to dust; she said it's highly unusual to score the way I did.

Well. That would explain it. "Normal" and "Drama Queen" are not two words that are usually put together...and this is just further validation. Thank you.

I looked at the allergist and said, very seriously, "So...you're saying I can let the dust accumulate forever in my house from now on - and I'm good to go? That's going to save me a bunch of time on my housekeeping."

#Long Live the Dust Bunnies!!!

So...I got to thinking of my ideal environment of where to live...the Sahara Desert would be mold free...as well as tree-free...and the sand and dust wouldn't bother me a bit! #Winning!!!

Although it would get a tad bit hot, I imagine. And my luck - I'm probably allergic to cactus trees (that was one I didn't get tested for - imagine that?!)

There was some other good news, as well - I am NOT allergic to any of my furry children. I didn't get tested to see if I was allergic to the non-furry children (do they allow that?!), but anyway - my pets will be pleased to know they're safe. For now.

Having a gazillion needles stuck in my arms a week after surgery was not the most pleasant way to spend my morning; I think it set me back a day or so in my recovery, actually, but I'm hanging in there. My sense of smell is still completely kaput...as I discovered when I used fingernail polish remover today, and the bottle smelled just like water. (And I had the STRONG stuff - so I KNOW it shouldn't be smelling just like water, trust me!) That was very discombobulating - to not even pick up a whiff of nail polish remover.

Deciding that good things follow people who hope for the best, I went ahead and booked my airline ticket for this Saturday...I'm going home to Kansas City. Having spent a total of a week in KC since Christmas has been too darn hard on my psyche and my soul, and I'm done. I'm done with traveling for awhile...I'm done with hot, sticky Florida for awhile...and trees, mold, or whatever I will be facing in Kansas City, I don't care - I'm going HOME.

Just leave the dust bunnies for me. They're not a problem.

Peace.

Sinus Surgery - The Scoop

Five days out from my recent sinus surgery...or officially, "functional endoscopic sinus surgery with navigation."

(Don't I sound all "Grey's Anatomy"??!!)

Why keep blogging about it, you may ask? Because - I know that pre-surgery - I myself was scouring the internet and blogs, hoping to get as much information as I could...on what to expect pre, post, and during surgery. I found some good information out there, and thought that I would share my own experiences - up until this point - in order to help or assist someone who may be considering this surgery for themselves or for a family member.

First, a quick background: I broke my nose when I was twelve, and consequently, have had chronic sinus problems my entire life. Every year I would suffer through a sinus infection - or two - and I would go through the motions of antibiotics, rinses, sprays, etc. However, the last few years, the infections seem to get more and more frequent - and didn't seem to respond to the medications. The last two years or so, it had gotten to the point where they were affecting my lifestyle, as I can't tell you how many trips I've had to cancel because my ears weren't able to withstand the cabin pressure on airplanes.

This year, I reached the breaking point, and when an ENT here in Fort Myers said that my sinuses were pretty much permanently blocked, and surgery was needed, I didn't hesitate.

"Let's do it," I said, emphatically...

Medically, not much was done pre-surgery. I had to go in for a CAT scan, but other than that...life was normal.

The morning of, I arrived at the surgicenter with Hubby in tow, and after my vitals were all checked, the IV was hooked up, etc, I was wheeled into the OR for the 90-minute procedure.

I do NOT wake up well after general anesthetic. My first recollection is hearing an annoying voice (the nurse?) calling my name, demanding that I open my eyes...and I was NOT happy about this. Waking up meant dealing with the pain - of which there was a LOT - most noticeably in my throat. Indeed, my throat felt as if I'd been swallowing pieces of broken glass for the past 90 minutes - a consequence of the tracheal tube during the surgery. This sore throat would last for the better of 48 hours, with not much relief.

Thrashing about on the bed, moaning, "NOOOOOO!!! Throat!!!! Throat!!! HURT!!! HURT!!!" - I'm sure I was a nurse's delight in the recovery room. Not. She hustled on one side to get me dressed, while Hubby hustled on the other, and WHOOSH - they had me out that surgicenter door and into our car in no time. Not empty-handed, though...as I have THREE prescriptions to get me by: Cefadroxil (an antiobiotic), Vicodin (for pain and wild dreams), and Prednisone (for who knows what??)

My first afternoon, I pretty much laid on the sofa - head elevated - and stared up at the ceiling. Hubby was an excellent nursemaid, forcing down the pills when it was time (as the Prednisone tastes AWFUL!!!), and insuring that I was as comfortable as one can be after just having surgery. I had the television on for background noise, and as this was the week of the terrible Boston Marathon bombings, I was getting inundated with horrible images and news reports to the point that, eventually, I flipped it over to a re-run of "Happy Days." Thank God for TVLand - because although the show was cheesy, it was nice to have something mindless. Yesterday, I managed to watch the classic 'candy' episode of "I Love Lucy" - which had me laughing out loud. Amazing what forced recovery from a surgery will do to your television viewing habits.

I didn't have packing up my nose - thank goodness - although I did come home with a little bandaid/cotton gauze for my nose to catch drainage...of which I've had none. Zero. Zilch. This has made it much more comfortable to sleep at night, as well as to breathe. Actually, other than the first night, I've slept pretty good...still keeping my head somewhat elevated, and making sure I take a Tylenol right before I head to bed. Waking up has been rough - as I wake up about six hours later, and my pain is back with a vengeance.

Really, I've had just a few side effects, some of which are more scary than others:

1. Pain
Duh. I just had surgery. I should have expected the pain, but I didn't expect it to still be around four days later. My face feels like I've ran 90 mph into a brick wall....I quit taking the Vicodin Friday night, as I HATED the way it made me feel, and I've been living on one Tylenol capsule every 3 hours. I could try to take Ibuprofen, but my stomach has been a bit queasy as it is, and I don't want to make it worse. The pain radiates from my ears to my nose to my forehead to my cheeks...pretty much my entire facial area...and it SUCKS. It's like the worst sinus infection - EVER.

2. Dizziness
I thought this would subside after laying off the Vicodin...and it did, a bit. However, when I stand up, the room spins and I have to be careful to not hit the deck. Especially because I have hard tiled floors here in Florida, and that would be a very hard landing. Ouch.

3. No sense of smell or taste
Okay...this is where I am FREAKING out. I've read this should be temporary - and I pray to God it is.... My eyesight is poor; my hearing is average; but my sense of smell? Has always been AWESOME. Seriously - I could smell things the average person couldn't smell, and I've loved, loved, LOVED delighting in aromatics over the years. Perfume is an addiction of mine, as well as burning scented candles in my home - and I CAN'T SMELL THEM. Nada. Nothing. I applied perfume on Saturday and I couldn't tell you what I'd just sprayed. Husband cooks dinner and I can't tell what he's cooked until I look at it. GAH.

As far as taste? Nothing. Nada. Everything is mush in my mouth. Hubby bought some chocolate candy the day after surgery, hoping to eliminate the bad taste of the Prednisone (which, is weird....WHY, oh WHY, can I taste THAT???!!), but I can't taste the chocolate. At all. Friday night, Hubby made a blue-cheese hamburger, thinking the pungent blue cheese would break through the barriers of "nothingness" that I'm experiencing - and it didn't. Couldn't taste it - or smell it - even while waving it literally right under my nose.

For a foodie, this is the worst form of torture right now.

This is playing mind games with me like you wouldn't believe...even more than the mind games that Vicodin can bring on. I am praying, praying and praying this is just temporary - as I desperately put a spice up against my nose, trying to get just a whiff of SOMETHING - ANYTHING - so that my sense of normalcy is back.

I had read of this side effect, but didn't take it serious...or at least, didn't think of how it would affect me, and that's my mistake.

Before the surgery, the nurse had told Hubby that he'd be my slave for the first 24 hours after surgery...and thinking that I would bounce back quickly, he was a wonderful nurse, but then flew back to Kansas City Saturday, leaving me here in Florida...alone. Yikes. Alone.

Scary.

Now, I've REALLY got to pull it together. I'm writing down my medicines when I take them, so I don't forget and accidentally overdose or underdose. I'm forcing myself to cook food - and eat it - even though my appetite is kaput. I'm making myself rest and sleep when I need to, and I'm not worrying about dishes or laundry that is in sad need of care.

I have some allergy testing scheduled for tomorrow, which will hopefully figure out what precipitates a sinus infection to begin with...and my post-surgery doctor visit is Thursday. I'm hoping and praying that I get the green light to fly back to Kansas City by Saturday of next week, to rejoin my family and friends....

...and just maybe, delight in some good old Kansas City barbecue. And I'll be able to TASTE it by then.

Peace.

I Swallowed the Bacon

There's never been a time - in all of my 50 years - that I haven't had a dog in my life. And we all know that dogs - at some point in their lives - have to take a pill...or two. And most are resistant to this. So, dog owners are very, very creative - hiding the nasty pill in a big piece of bologna or bacon or cheese, and the silly dog happily gulps down the pill, not ever being the wiser that he just got tricked into taking the nasty pill....

...or was he?

Wednesday was the day of my sinus surgery, and while checking in at the surgicenter, I had casually mentioned to the anesthesiologist my fear of "going under" - which is a common fear, I would think. The anesthesiologist immediately took on the guise of a psychoanalyst, peppering me with questions as to why I wouldn't like "going under" - and doing what he could to alleviate my fears. In the meantime, nurses are all around me, wrapping bracelets around my wrists, administering the IV's, the blood pressure cuff, etc...lots of stuff happening at a very fast pace in that pre-op room.

As the IV was being administered, I asked the anesthesiologist if he'd put something in it already - and he quickly replied, "What? Me? No...not yet. Just saline for now. I won't give you anything until we're in the operating room."

I took him at his word until my brain began feeling a bit loopy, and I narrowed my eyes suspiciously and asked again, "Are you SURE you didn't put something in this already???"

"Now, why would I do that? I need you awake until we get to the OR," he patiently replied.

A minute later, they were wheeling me into the operating room, where they then instructed me to slide from the one bed to the surgery bed. Shouldn't be a problem, right?

Well...I remember beginning my slide over...and that's it.

The next thing I know, I was waking up in the recovery room and the surgery was over.

To this day, I'm not sure if I ever made it completely over to the other bed before passing out...for all I know, they had to do the surgery with me passed out between two beds.

Serves them right if that's what happened.

Afterwards, I felt like the dog...being tricked into taking the dreaded medicine.

Anyway...surgery is over. Recovery has begun. It will be slow...it has been painful...and there are consequences that I hope are temporary (such as completely losing my sense of smell and taste).

At this point, I would happily gulp down a pill-infested piece of bacon - if I could only taste it.

Peace.

Miserable Me

I haven't died.

Really.

I AM still alive. Although I pretty much LOOK like death in the above photo.

And although I've certainly FELT like dying over the last few weeks...

...to sum everything up in a nutshell, I got sick...very sick...couldn't get better...saw a doctor...saw another doctor...took lots of pills that didn't seem to work...and I now get to have sinus surgery in a few weeks.

...in the meantime, I cannot fly back home to where my friends and family are...but am "grounded" in sunny southwest Florida as I await my surgery.

...here, I've been resting...recuperating...and writing (just not writing on my blog...which I am so sorry about).

...I've been enjoying the warm weather...the peacefulness...and...that's about it.

...I've been hating the solitude...the disconnection from friends and family...and the frustration of being sick. Still.

That is all.

Peace.

A Toe Smashed in Brooklyn

Today, our warehouse sent out a half-dozen or so delivery trucks, filled to the brim with water, clean-up supplies and other items, to be given to various neighborhoods in New York. It's hard to believe that the American Red Cross is still actively assisting the residents of New York - almost four months after Hurricane Sandy - and yet our work here continues. I was assigned to one of those trucks, along with a fellow volunteer, Jerry.


Our destination was a neighborhood in Brooklyn, and we maneuvered our way from Bayonne, NJ, through Staten Island, and then across the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge, which, for awhile, was the world's longest suspension bridge. Once across the bridge, we found ourselves in the unique area known as Brooklyn. Brooklyn calls itself the "center of the universe" - and it was very easy to see, as there are over 93 different ethnic groups, 150 nationalities, and 136 different languages spoken here. I was fascinated as we drove through the pockets of different neighborhoods - each with their own signage, food, and way of dressing...it's as if each nationality got off the boat at Ellis Island and then just...stopped. Going no further than Brooklyn. Weird - but way cool.


A view from my truck today while driving through Brooklyn....



Once we arrived at our location, Jerry and I quickly sprang into action - as we not only had dozens of boxes to offload, but a staggering five pallets of bottled water to unload. Keep in mind that each pallet holds 72 cases of water - and each case will hold 24 bottles. If you're doing the math - that's over 1,700 bottles of water on ONE pallet. An average pallet can weigh upwards of 2,100 pounds - and if we didn't have any neighborhood help to assist us, it could turn into one long, exhausting afternoon. Gah.


Luck was with us, however, as five local men in the neighborhood showed up to help us - and we decided to use a pallet jack to lift up each pallet, and then slowly roll the water to the edge of the truck, and then down the truck ramp. It would require some skill, muscle and patience, as there was no room for error on maneuvering that pallet down the narrow, long ramp. One mistake - and we would have 1,700 bottles tumbling to the street in seconds. And trust me...no one wants to pick up 1,700 scattered bottles of water out of a rainy, wet, muddy, filthy street.


Everything went well...until the last pallet. This particular pallet had shifted - and the cases of water were leaning precariously in one direction - the "Leaning Tower of Water", if you will. I got on the "non-leaning" side to help stabilize the pallet as we rolled it down the truck and to the ramp...but suddenly, the pallet picked up speed and was careening towards the open end of the semi. Jerry was operating the jack - and hoping to stop the pallet from tumbling off the back end of the truck - suddenly "dropped" the pallet jack - which resulted in the pallet of water dropping to the truck floor...landing on my right foot. Yes. The same foot I had broken not more than 3 months ago.


Major ouch.


Shooting pain....Not able to make a coherent sentence at this point, I began screaming, "UP! UP! UP!" - which was my succinct way of telling Jerry to lift that pallet of water back up and off my poor toes. Poor Jerry. Bless his heart - I've never seen anyone pump a pallet jack as fast as he did so I could quickly pull my smushed toes out from under it...


My immediate reaction was of wanting to cry...but...fuhgeddaboudit (as they'd say in New York City). I wasn't about to cry, surrounded by six big men, five of which are from Brooklyn - the tough guy capital of the world. I was going to be as tough as the best of them, and refused to give in to the tears that were threatening.... One guy immediately took off for a deli down the street, where he quickly ran back with not one, but TWO large cups of ice. Another guy quickly got me up in the cab of the truck so I could elevate my foot to alleviate swelling. They were great...they may be tough on the outside, but their hearts are golden and they will do anything to help out a fellow human being, as I witnessed firsthand today.


I've been resting in the motel since this afternoon...and really, I'm doing fine. There's some bruising, and some swelling, but considering how bad it COULD have been, I came out lucky. To begin with, the fact that the pallet was leaning meant that my foot didn't get the full weight of the water...I was on the "lighter" side, so to speak. What a blessing. Also - my foot was angled slightly, so the pallet came down only on my three outer toes - it didn't hit the big toe or the bones in my actual foot. Nothing broken. Everything is fine. I was also lucky that it was big, strong Jerry operating that pallet jack - he got that sucker lifted in nano-seconds, which most probably, saved my toes from becoming toe-pancakes.


My fellow volunteers within the American Red Cross are special, as well. They rallied around me today, and for that, I'm grateful. One brought me back to the motel and got me settled on the bed with pillows and an ice pack. One went to the grocery store for a bag of frozen peas (which makes for an even BETTER ice pack), as well as ice cream bars, because we all know that ice cream makes every boo-boo better. The volunteer nurse stopped by this afternoon to check on me and bring me pain meds...and several volunteers ordered pizza and we had a makeshift pizza party in my room tonight.


Pizza. Ice cream. Ibuprofen. Frozen peas.


And friends.


What more could a girl ask for?


Peace.

Rhythm of Life

*


The rhythm of life...

We all have one. A rhythm of life. Whether it's rise, shine, work, eat, sleep - or, if you're a dog - eat, poop, sleep - we have a natural rhythm to our days that is unique to each of us.

My rhythm of life the last two weeks is this:

Cough, cough, sneeze, sneeze, sniffle, sniffle - thump.

Lather...rinse...repeat.

Cough, cough, sneeze, sneeze, sniffle, sniffle, thump.

It's a very unique rhythm, as you can see - basically, this is the rhythm one has when you combine the respiratory flu with a broken foot.

Fun times.

The flu hit a few days after Christmas - and it's been dragging on for what seems like forever...however, I've flown south for the winter, and recuperating in the sunshine and warmth of Florida is really the best medicine, I think.

The good news, I think, is that my symptoms are somewhat abating, and I am seeing light at the end of the tunnel. Same with my foot - my limp (or "thump") is noticeably less, and although I'm not ready to run a 5k - or even 500 feet - I'm doing MUCH better than I was four weeks ago, when the accident happened.

My blog was neglected during this time, as I would be hesitant to put any words into posterity when my brain is addled with flu and flu drugs...those pharmaceutical companies make some really hippy-dippy-trippy stuff, for sure. Although - upon reflection - it would have been funny to see what would have been put to paper while floating higher than a kite on cold meds....hmmmm.....

Anyway...my rhythm of life is slowly returning to it's norm, which is a good thing, as I don't think I want to be known as the sniffle - cough - sneeze - thump girl.

Eat, sleep, play, perhaps?

Peace.

*Image from HERE