Dumb Ass. This is my cat Typhoon. This morning became more interesting when he decided to fall into the bathtub. Don't ask me how he did it - I wasn't there. I was drinking my coffee when this wet cat came into the room.... 

NO CANCER HERE!!!

Sorry to all of you I worried. I've been quiet for a while. The thing I want to say here is that the lab results were 100% negative. No Cancer. None. Not a single cell. :O) Turns out ya'all are stuck with me.

A day in the life

Home again - They took more than they had originally planned on, but I didn't have to spend the night at the hospital. All I wanted when I woke up was out of that place! It will be 10 days till I can shower again - ick! But there is good news - VICADIN!!!

I spend my time on the couch feeling like they opened up my insides and ripped a big hunk out of me. Daryll and the critters watch over me.







Sometimes I get up and go down this hall on my way to the bathroom







Dust Bunny keeps a watchful eyeball. Her toilet is in there too.

The Ugly Aftermath

That's the side of my left breast. My left breast which is now bigger than before the surgey by at least a full cup size! If all those women who have breast augmentation only knew that there is an easier way to fill your bra! Hey.... people have done more for vanity... think of Lincon's wife! I wonder if getting ribs removed has the same effect as getting lymph nodes removed? Wow.... she must have been a hottie!

Just in case you're wondering (you sick-o!) Ms. Right is swollen in sympathy, but not quite as much.

Three lymph nodes were removed.


This pic was taken 5 days after surgey. Sexy huh? More like ITCHY!!!

The scene of the crime is right about waist level on the left side of my back.

Someone told me I could get a tattoo to cover the scar - but I plan on lying and telling my grand children that grandma was a green beret in the war.



For those of you non sunscreen enthusiasts out there - the original mole was smaller than a pencil eraser. More later after we get the full report - till them just think of your front lawn, and those pesky dandyl lions... and their roots....

The Diagnosis

ARGHHHHH !!!!!! Cancer!

Getting Diagnosed:
I went to see a lot of doctors in February. I had just gotten my new insurance plan and it was time. I figured I'd drop in on the dermatologist to have a chat about botox helping my migraines and, what the heck! She could look at that teeny mole on my back at the same time.

Daryll had told me it looked funny, and it did bleed a couple of times when it got bumped - but I'm a notorious klutz and it was smaller than a pencil eraser (actually it was about one 1/4 the size) so I wasn't concerned. I just asked the doc to hack it off. What the heck! I'd had one removed before on my arm so I figured this was nothing. She gathered her tools and cheerfully told me that there are lasers now that can take care of all the damage spots on face too. (Freckles? she wants to laser away my freckles?!) I should probably tell you that this particular dermatologist actually has her office on the grounds of a local movie / TV studio and is "The One" to see around here - So, maybe that’s why none of the stars of "The OC " have freckles..... But I digress.

First a little needle stick to numb the area - then she went to work. Hmmmm..... in between comments about fixing my Irish red nose and my freckles and permanent de-furistation of all my furry parts she quipped things like.... "hmmmm... I guess that’s as far as I'm going to go today" "I only took about 2mm" "We'll just send this off to the lab to be careful"

It was fun chatty girl stuff. I was happily planning about how I'd never have to shave again or use concealer on my nose. I was checking another routine doctor visit off my list and being healthy :o) Somewhere in my future was a cup of chai tea. It was a good day.

On the way out she stopped me at the desk and said "we're just going to schedule a little follow up for you in a week after the lab has looked at this to see if we got it all. Just to be careful - we're going to treat it like cancer - we can cancel the appt. - but just to be safe...."

All this happened on a Wednesday, the follow up was scheduled for the following Friday just nearly 2 weeks away. I was happy when I left her office. This is because I had not learned the secret between-the-lines language of Doctors. That and my brain was not going to let a little thing like cancer spoil my day, week, month... life. Looking back at it, I think my brain was doing the right thing by protecting me - even now, a month later I occasionally get flashes of clarity and freak out - but mostly, I'm just looking for the next cup of chai tea. This is my coping skill - get smart people around you who you trust, let them freak out for you!


This paragraph is completely off topic so considered yourself warned:
Thank you friends and family - did I tell you I love you? THANK YOU (Cancer is a great way to figure out who loves you - but I wouldn't recommend it.) All of he loving people in my life have actually made this a positive experience if you can believe that. I can happily testify that having a zillion people praying for you is nifty, I highly recommend it! No matter on what you believe about God while the prayer is happening (I believe it's just important you're interested in getting better acquainted) Prayer is powerful stuff! Having been the receiving end - I think I've been encouraged to do more giving - so - watch out people - I'm praying for you! But more on that later.

Back to getting diagnosed:
So I left her office happy - If Mr. Brain hadn't been so quick to slip into denial mode I wouldn't have been so happy because what the Doc was actually saying in her Between-the-lines-doctor-speak was more like the following translation:

I heard: "hmmmm... I guess that’s as far as I'm going to go today"
She was really saying: "this ugly little sucker is deep and goes a lot farther than just that teeny surface bit, I can't get it all today"


I heard: "I only took about 2mm"
She was really saying:” It goes much farther than 2 mm, and I’m going to have to plan for some serious time in my schedule and anesthia for the patient if I'm going to get this while thing"

I heard: "We'll just send this off to the lab to be careful"
She was really saying:” I’ve seen this before and it looks bad, no way am I going to take a chance and NOT send it to the lab - in fact I'm going to send it to TWO LABS"

I heard: "we're just going to schedule a little follow up for you in a week after the lab has looked at this to see if we got it all. Just to be careful - we're going to treat it like cancer - we can cancel the appt. if we need to - but just to be safe...."
She was really saying:” This needs to be taken care of NOW and even though you normally have to wait 2 months for an appt. w/me, I'm going to make time next Friday"

The phone rang on Monday - President's Day. When your doctor calls you with lab results on a holiday it's a pretty good sign that the news is not going to be good. It was the nurse actually - more like 2 nurses, one from the original office where the nice dermatologist to the stars took less than 2mm; and another at the surgical offices of where group of local cancer specialists worked. When 2 nurses call you on a holiday with your lab results, it’s a good idea to sit down when you take the call.

Thankfully - Mr. Brain was still on duty. I beat her to the punch - "Hi there! You shouldn't be calling on a holiday..... The news must be bad." "It's not good" She said using her best Between-the-lines-doctor-speak. "But we have the other nurse here to schedule you in right away and we're going to help you take care of it" Notice how she never actually used the dreaded phraseology "YOU HAVE CANCER" They helpfully worked together to schedule me with the surgeon on Monday - only a 3 day wait. (Remember this rule: the shorter the wait for a major doctor / the worse the diagnosis) They were super helpful and even told me exactly what to write down and told me they call to remind me of the appointment because I probably was in shock. I gotta hand it to them - These women are professionals. They only slipped up one time - or maybe it was on purpose. They told me that the surgeon's fax was down so they'd just fax over the lab results to me and I could take them with me. I'm thinking this is a clever little white lie they use all the time because the lab results are actually the scary part. Don't read them - they said. Don't do research on the internet. You'll be in with surgeon in a couple of days and he'll help you through everything. No sense getting yourself upset. Did I mention that these women are professionals?


Of course I read 'em!!!

SHARE GMAIL - GET FAMOUS!!

Apparently lots of peopleout there want a gmail account and ther aren't enough invitations to go around. If you have extra, you can go to this site

http://www.gmailswap.com

There you can view a list of stuff that peo[ple are willing to give or do in exchange for gmail. Some guy said he'd write aq 1000 word story about you....

Here for your enjoyment is the story that this guy wrote for me - BTW, just to make sure he gets credit for writing it, his name is Ross Nuendorf.
*******************************

Lindy Pie





Crash!

The double doors swung open violently as Lindy ran into the kitchen. The other workers looked up from what they were doing. Lindy was wet all over; she had run through all the way from the bus stop.

My Chamberlain looked up from his desk. Noticing Lindy, he got up slowly, and walked toward her.

‘You’re late.’

Lindy knew it. She had been late four out of the past five days. She had been sleeping in, pressing ‘snooze’ on the alarm clock.

Lindy worked in a bakery. She liked the smells of bread, cakes and pies. She liked to cook, and enjoyed the feel of the bread dough underneath her fingers. However, she also had a hectic social life, which wreck havoc on her work routine. Often, she would wake with a hangover from the night before. She would cook for her friends, and they would drink early into the morning. Or, she would go to a nightclub, and spend the entire time moving around on the dance floor in her black skirt, to the music.

This morning, there was no particular reason for her lateness. She had not done anything particularly exciting the night before. She was simply fatigued from lack of sleep over the past week.

‘We’ve got an order. One thousand custard tarts for Mrs Grey’s stores,’ said Mr Chamberlain. ‘Clean yourself up. Get to work.’

In the bathroom, Lindy stood for a second. Why work at this job? The boss was horrible. Lindy couldn’t help wondering if Mr Chamberlain was being mean to her because he was a mean person, or if it was solely due to Lindy’s lateness. Although she hated to admit it to herself, she knew it was the lateness. How would she ever be successful if she was not motivated enough to get to work in the morning. Lindy thought whether a job existed which would let her get up whenever she wanted. She thought of her boss. He was much more successful than her, but he got up very early in the morning.

Lindy slid the tray of pastries into the oven.

At her previous place of work, Lindy had accidentally set part of the kitchen on fire. An apple pie had caught alight after Lindy had abandoned a tray full in the oven, forgetting about them and not noticing the bell which indicated that the pies had been done. Lindy was thankful that Mr Chamberlain didn’t know her old boss, and had no idea of this accident.

Day after day, Lindy would spend her time in front of a television, going out with friends, or sleeping most of the day. She thought perhaps that she was not suited to work; perhaps her purpose was to marry a rich person, so she would not have to work at all. It was a ridiculous thought - Lindy didn’t want to be married!

Lindy decided that she would bake a special treat for Mr Chamberlain. He would be delighted!

Making up a batch of sweet dough, she set about to find the largest cake tin she could find. One was as big as a dinner plate; she needed one bigger. Finally she found an enormous pie tin. It was as big as a car wheel around, and deep enough for much filling. She lay dough around the edge of the tin, but it was slow work. There was so much tin, and she couldn’t work very quickly.

Lindy noticed Mr Chamberlain and a couple of the other employees heading out to lunch. They picked up their coats from the coat racks, or put on their earphones and their backpacks. They headed out into the rainy day.

Lindy was momentarily alone! What could she put into this giant pie? Going into the massive refrigerator, she found a bag of apples and a smaller bag of dried apricots. She peeled the apples, and chopped them up with the dried apricots. Placing them into her pie, she was disappointed to discover that the pie was less than half full. What could she fill it up with?

Heading once again into the fridge, Lindy found some large blocks of cheese, and some packets of shredded bacon. Lindy especially liked cheese and bacon, just as she liked apples and apricots. If everything in it was delicious, then the pie would taste fantastic, she thought.

Lindy forgot all about the custard tarts in the oven. She also seemed to forget all about who she was making the giant pie for, because she then tipped in a large amount of tomato sauce!

Lindy regarded the unfinished pie on the bench in front of her. She dug a spoon into its red and yellow fillings and tasted it. It needed something extra. Lindy reached for a bottle of Tobasco sauce and tipped the remainder into the pie.

Now, the pie was almost done. She had only to cover it with a pastry lid, and lift it into the oven. The oven, she thought, where the custard tarts were!

Running into the next room she saw the oven. The room was hot and steamy, and smoke was wisping out of the front of the oven. The tarts were surely completely burnt! Pulling out the tray of burned tarts, Lindy tipped the tray of tarts into the rubbish quickly, placing plastic bags over them so nobody could see. She opened the back door of the oven room, frantically trying to get the smoke out of the room.

Then, she went and got her giant pie, and slid it into the oven.

Just at that moment, Mr Chamberlain got in. ‘How are the tarts coming?’ he said.

Lindy smiled nervously at him and he went out and into to the front room. She was relieved!

She knew that she would not last very long at the bakery. Mr Chamberlain would soon discover the giant pie, and see what she had spent all her time doing. Knowing this, she took off her apron, and put on the wet pullover she had worn on the way in.

She quietly left the bakery through the back door.

Lindy never knew what Mr Chamberlain had done when he saw the pie. She wondered if the employees at the bakery had eaten it, or thrown it away. She did know, however, that not too soon after she left, a sign appeared in the bakery window saying ‘position vacant’.

THE HIGH POINT

I slice the bread real thin, because I believe that maybe the size of my ass does have somethng to do with a huge carbohydrate conspiracy. Or maybe I just eat too much bread. - And I get the pepper jack soy cheese out of the fridge along with the low fat hot dogs - Why don't I grab the yummy leftover pork roast? Because I have already sliced the bread thin of course! And now, I am slicing cheese thin and nuking dogs - careful to step OVER the cat, not on him. He thinks I am smart not to grab the roast because if I don't eat it maybe his chances of eating it will in some cosmic way improove. Oh look! Teeny tomatoes.... Now they get the knife and the dogs get cut into quarters, lengthwise, so that they will fit on the bread which has managed to find itself on the grill. I have too much time on my hands.- Arrange dogs and tomatoes - Offer the cat a tomato - cat is insulted and turns up nose. I've been snubbed before, I can take it. Lid goes on sandwich with more cheese.... Now.... Is it too early to start drinking alcohol?

MY MOTHER WARNED ME

Morris was his name, or maybe it was Maris with an "A". The way he pronounced it with that Bronx accent it was hard to tell. A nice Jewish accountant with parents who had been married for 45 years and still lived in the old neighborhood, where his mother produced great chicken soup with amazing regularity, and with noodles - never rice.

He wanted to lick my feet he said. That was his opening line. "When I saw your feet, I knew I had to meet you." Simple. Straight forward. Strange. He told me he didn't even wait,he was drawn towards my lovely feet and had to come right over. He must have come right over, because I had been standing there for a while and hadn't noticed him earlier. Hmmmmm.... from that I knew he was a least honest, and that's a plus - right?

He was well groomed. Maybe professionally groomed. Not bad looking at all. He had nice hands and a hint of gray hair at his temples. It looked like he hit the gym at least two times a week. He was a tax accountant and held down a real job and everything. So how about it? - Didn't I want a slave? Someone to order around and berate?

Maybe I would like to come back to his apartment? He pleaded his case. (It was obvious that this man was no stranger to the boardroom - after all.... with this much ability to lick feet, imagine what he could lick in a more professional environment.) I had been standing barefoot out in the sun on a public sidewalk. This was good he explained. Dirty feet are best because that way he could clean them, getting the full benefit of dirty-out-in-the-sun-foot-smell while he licked them. Not just a toe jam removal job either - this guy was interested in the BOTTOM of my dirty-out-in-the-sun-feet. Ohmy. Here I was concerned with my cuticles and chipping polish. - (I guess it just goes to show you.....)

Couldn't I put my feet on his face and make him clean them? What kind of girl wouldn't like a slave? Please could he be my slave?

Enough.

I told him I was through hearing about my feet. I was bored already. After all, my feet are attached to me, and their current state of neglect was not news. "FIVE DOLLARS" I said - looking the grovelling accountant square in the eye. Five bucks every time he mentioned my feet. This schmuck would have to pay me if he planned on remaining anywhere near me.

"How could I not talk about your feet?" he asked. He was like a puppy. A wounded 42-year-old soup-eating-accountant-from-the-Bronx puppy. Five bucks - I demanded. He said he was happy to pay and pulled out his wallet.

Instantly I had become a prostitute, a cheap five-dollar toe whore. I tried to give the money back but he wouldn't take it. I decided I should have charged more. (Too bad it didn't occur to me at the time to wonder why his shirt was un-tucked or I would have charged A LOT MORE) He just wouldn't go away. I had reached my limit, but had told a friend I would watch his stuff while he ran an errand and I couldn't go away either. My feet and I were being held captive.

Fine. Obviously, I concluded, this guy had been examining me I concluded. It was only fair that I should be able to get out my own microscope and see what made him tick. The weight of every warning my mother ever gave me weighed heavily on my sunbaked shoulders. The reality of just what my brother meant when he alluded to "some real sick-Os out there..." loomed large in my (formerly untainted) female mind. It occurred to me that in every girl's life there comes a time when you just gotta step up and give 'em the mind fuck they deserve. The code-of-girl demands it.

"SO......." I began, again looking him square in they eye. "When was the last time you enjoyed some good feet licking, berating fun?"

Accountant boy had to think about it. I could almost smell the smoke as he cojitated. The clock ticked. His reasoning process may have been slowed by the nearness of my filthy unpedicured extremities, but you could still see clearly whatwas going on in his tiny soup drenched brain as his thought process flashed across his face. I felt like I was in a fast car passing a series of billboards on the seedy portion of the 710 freeway. You know... between the strip clubs and the casinos. The term "FREAK SHOW" took on new meaning.

"If I tell her yesterday - she'll think I'm a Slut.

A month?.... - Recently jilted.

A year?...... - Serial Foot Chaser"

Twelve years was the figure he finally arrived at. "TWELVE YEARS ?! His loyalty to his chosen method of stalking was impressive. "And you've been sticking with this same approach that you're using on me the whole time?!?!?!" It was so pathetic. Sad really. No wonder this putz was jonesing for a feet fix. My mind reeled. I had looked into the microscope and it ws not good. How did this guy ever graduate to become a successful tax accountant in Hollywood? I wondered.

OH.

Tax Accountant. Hollywood.

Suddenly it all seemed so clear. "How's this technique been working out for you?" Now, I was needling him. Finally I had reached my exit. He looked dejected, even beat as he admitted that he supposed it hadn't been and he finally went away.

I guess some journeys take longer than others.