Yes, I know. We've been officially moved for like six weeks now. No, I'm not all the way mostly done done, as in the house is all neat and tidy and organized because I need a bookshelf for the books.
The other day, I cooked a beef roast in the slow cooker with about twelve ounces of beer and it turned out rather well.
I decided it was time for some colcannon, or colcanon, if you prefer that spelling. It was amazing, of course, and definitely one of my more favorite comfort foods.
Spent quality time with the monkeys when College Monkey was off work for two days in a row. Best way to do that quality time thing? Star Wars. Yes, I raised them to be SW nerds. It's a wonderful thing in the insanity of this day and age to be able to commune around the tv and discuss all the fun stuff that's SW related and speculate on the upcoming movies.
Football Monkey wanted to know who The Phantom Menace was. I told him it was Jar Jar Binks. He asked me if he was really supposed to believe that. I said yes. Jar Jar Binks was The Phantom Menace.
Anakin Skywalker is still a whiny bitch, always has been, always will be, except for Little Kid Anakin. He was tolerable. After watching the other SW movies (the originals) also, I can safely say that Luke definitely inherited that trait. Even when the originals came out, I can definitely say that as warped as it may sound, I preferred Han to Luke, even though my cousin told me Han was "too old" for me to prefer. I liked the idea of Han and Leia, the fangirl in me was so pleased to find out in the SWEU (INSERT GRATUITOUS SPOILER ALERT HERE) that they eventually got together. Woot. Han and Leia. Awesome sauce! (ETA: I'm not a professional movie critic, I just like to make opinionated comments on my blog sometimes. JS)
One of our cats resembles an Ewok. I want a Chewbacca because then I could tell people I have a Sasquatch for a pet, even though I don't speak Shyriiwook.
On a weather related note, cooler weather is headed our way. The geese are returning from Canada. The Children of the Fur have been acting differently this week. The Ewok looking cat has been super bouncily energetic, so that must mean cool weather is on the way. This would be a good thing. The black cat has also been on the spazzy side of energetic, so I'm thinking he will also appreciate the cooler weather. (Now that said, keeping him out of the fireplace should be a challenge since he seems to like walking around the back of the fire screen. Glass doors shopping at a home store, here I come, since I don't want the cat to injure himself.)
The amount of laundry I'm doing is down to one load every other day. I'm not joking about this. It's a glorious feeling! The reason for that is A--ginormous washer. B--it washes a load of laundry in fifteen minutes. The dryer takes a few minutes longer to dry, but talk about the time I spend on laundry being minimized! It's amazing!
So, the husband changed jobs. Just when that was going on, I got a call from the oncology office and was told by the nurse "You have to have your appointment changed. The doctor won't be in that week." No, I don't HAVE to change my fucking appointment, because *I* never made the appointment to begin with, so yeah, ever so glad you decided to call me about it. I have clearly and repeatedly stated I make my own appointments. (If any of you readers have had a shit storm diagnosis like cancer or something devastatingly similar, you will appreciate making your own damn appointments for yourself because YOU know what's going on in your life at any given time and what your schedule/potential schedule is/could be.)
The way it works for me is this way. (And yes, this HAS been discussed with the oncologist, and was, in fact, his idea.) I don't just randomly go in, see him, get orders for a scan handed to me, get get scanned, and then go back to him to get the results. In regards to that, I think he's being reasonable, which I don't have a problem with. Why pay for two office visits when the scan order can be faxed to whatever facility is doing the scan and then just pay for a single office visit to get the scan results from him? Yay for the common sense factor of this oncologist--I do have an appreciation for that. (No, that's not actual sarcasm, that's me being serious--I actually do appreciate him having discussed that with the husband and me.)
Not only that, with the job change came insurance changes, so I don't even know if the medical facility where my oncologist is takes this kind of insurance, if this insurance pays for the scans I'm supposed to have, and if the place that does the scans takes this kind of insurance. (And I'm supposed to see the oncologist, according to what he said, once every three months. I stretch it out closer to once every six months because I turn into this terrified, excessively stressed out insomniac who can't eat without getting sick any time this even comes up with a visit to the oncologist and/or scans.) I know, right? Like it's not stressful enough without having to deal with freaking insurance shit? ZOMFG, already!
(To make it all much worse though, when the local office where my husband was employed was shut down, he lost five weeks of paid vacation. That meant he could take off to go with me for scans and oncologist visits. Now? He has to work like holy fuck, a week to earn four hours of paid time off. Now he won't be able to take off to go with me to get scanned or visit the oncologist. I know you're probably thinking I should grow the fuck up and put on my big girl panties, but fuck, you know, any time there's a visit to the oncologist, once diagnosed, there's always the potential for Bad News. No, that's not me looking to borrow trouble, that's just the fucking reality of a cancer diagnosis. Once diagnosed, there's always the potential for it to return FOR ANYONE.)
I'm acquainted with some metsters and have communicated with some of them for around three and a half years now, and some are the #PINKISNOTACURE people, some aren't, but yes, I have a point to this, and that is mets. How many of you have had it discussed with you when you were first diagnosed? Like specifically something along the lines of, "You've been diagnosed with breast cancer. Whatever is done to you to fix you, you need to understand there's always going to be a possibility of mets. That is the reality of this vile disease."
There was a discussion recently on my CB group about some things that aren't always discussed with patients. Things like actually explaining the sort of breast cancer someone was diagnosed with, a prognosis, and...dare I say it? Mets being a part of that discussion. Yes, you read that correctly. Mets. It was certainly not discussed with me. I'm not fucking making this shit up.
I was told the breast cancer I had was not hormone fed or driven, as some doctors say. (I also wasn't told I would need a bilateral mastectomy done. The entire fucking time, it was "Lumpectomy, lumpectomy, just a lumpectomy, nothing more. Mastectomy won't be necessary, blah blah blah." While I understood that a mastectomy might be necessary and the thought crossed my mind, everyone and their fucking brother said LUMPECTOMY. That. Was. It.
So, yeah, you can imagine the fucked-up-ness of my brain when the fucking oncologist said "Oh, I'll call the surgeon to schedule you for your mastectomy." What the ever loving fuck all?! Seriously? A fucking mastectomy? After how many months of you saying "just a lumpectomy" and nothing more? FUCK. So yeah, when I went to the surgeon, I said "Take them both, I will not fucking do this again and stay sane." Yeah, I have the feeling he made me pay for the statement because he did a radical mastectomy on me. I was lied to about that, also. I was told it would be modified and only breast tissue would be removed. I fucking woke up with nothing more than skin over ribs from a massive amputation on my entire chest. Modified, my sarcastic ass. Is it any fucking wonder I have fucking huge trust issues with anyone medical now? (That said, Streak does have a friend who is a doctor and I'm okay with being around her because I've never seen her in doctor mode, I've only ever seen her in mom mode in tee shirts, blue jeans, and flip flops. That, I'm totally okay with.)
Anyway, I was not given a "prognosis." I was told if I did "treatment A" then I had an XYZ % chance of being alive in X amount of years. If I did "treatment/protocol B" then I would have ABC Z%Z chance of being alive in Q amount of years. The percentage between the two "options" and I use that word loosely because I didn't get to make that decision was something like a miniscule amount of maybe two percent. When that was what I was told, it was more like "This is what you should do." without giving the husband and I an opportunity to really discuss it. It's ridiculous how it was explained/not explained.
At best, it's an info dump that would make any patient's head explode because of the kind of diagnosis it is, but when these medical people tell patients "I'll give you the information I think you need to know. Any questions?" then how the ever loving fuck all are people supposed to even know what the fuck to ask? They aren't. Or is that the whole point? I can say that more than once, I would ask a specific question and be completely ignored, so what's the fucking point of asking? Not much of one, is there?
Mets was NEVER mentioned. The cancer emperor has no clothes? So that's how it works? If mets isn't mentioned to the patient, then it must mean that it won't happen to the patients who aren't told about it. Seriously? That kind of mentality really fucks the patient over, because it's dismissive of the importance of educating the patient about what's going on with their body. It's basically the same shit as "Oh, you're breastfeeding your baby? You'll never get breast cancer."
I'm fucking serious, people. I had more than one doctor say that to me when the monkeys were wee little critters. That's why the shit storm diagnosis that breast cancer is came as such a huge fucking shock to me. I wasn't aware I had any risk factors going on for breast cancer, other than I had breasts, which evidently IS a risk factor for anyone since men have breast tissue, also. What probably did it to me was the DES I was subjected to when I was in utero, but it kind of doesn't fucking fix anything related to any of this and it sure as fuck doesn't fix the fact that anytime I would tell a doctor I was DES exposed, it was ignored.
Why bother even making the effort to fucking communicate with medical people? They're obviously more educated than the average patient, so they must know more even though they aren't the ones living in these bodies. What the fuck ever.
I'll get the fuck around to finding out insurance coverage shit when I'm damn good and ready, probably not until after school starts next month. At this point, one way or the other, it doesn't matter.
I suppose I'll be trying to cram in as much time feeding carrots to horses before the scan, after the scan, and before the visit to the oncologist. That's the only way I'll be able to deal with the amount of stress my brain will be trying to contend with.
The other day, I cooked a beef roast in the slow cooker with about twelve ounces of beer and it turned out rather well.
I decided it was time for some colcannon, or colcanon, if you prefer that spelling. It was amazing, of course, and definitely one of my more favorite comfort foods.
Spent quality time with the monkeys when College Monkey was off work for two days in a row. Best way to do that quality time thing? Star Wars. Yes, I raised them to be SW nerds. It's a wonderful thing in the insanity of this day and age to be able to commune around the tv and discuss all the fun stuff that's SW related and speculate on the upcoming movies.
Football Monkey wanted to know who The Phantom Menace was. I told him it was Jar Jar Binks. He asked me if he was really supposed to believe that. I said yes. Jar Jar Binks was The Phantom Menace.
Anakin Skywalker is still a whiny bitch, always has been, always will be, except for Little Kid Anakin. He was tolerable. After watching the other SW movies (the originals) also, I can safely say that Luke definitely inherited that trait. Even when the originals came out, I can definitely say that as warped as it may sound, I preferred Han to Luke, even though my cousin told me Han was "too old" for me to prefer. I liked the idea of Han and Leia, the fangirl in me was so pleased to find out in the SWEU (INSERT GRATUITOUS SPOILER ALERT HERE) that they eventually got together. Woot. Han and Leia. Awesome sauce! (ETA: I'm not a professional movie critic, I just like to make opinionated comments on my blog sometimes. JS)
One of our cats resembles an Ewok. I want a Chewbacca because then I could tell people I have a Sasquatch for a pet, even though I don't speak Shyriiwook.
On a weather related note, cooler weather is headed our way. The geese are returning from Canada. The Children of the Fur have been acting differently this week. The Ewok looking cat has been super bouncily energetic, so that must mean cool weather is on the way. This would be a good thing. The black cat has also been on the spazzy side of energetic, so I'm thinking he will also appreciate the cooler weather. (Now that said, keeping him out of the fireplace should be a challenge since he seems to like walking around the back of the fire screen. Glass doors shopping at a home store, here I come, since I don't want the cat to injure himself.)
The amount of laundry I'm doing is down to one load every other day. I'm not joking about this. It's a glorious feeling! The reason for that is A--ginormous washer. B--it washes a load of laundry in fifteen minutes. The dryer takes a few minutes longer to dry, but talk about the time I spend on laundry being minimized! It's amazing!
So, the husband changed jobs. Just when that was going on, I got a call from the oncology office and was told by the nurse "You have to have your appointment changed. The doctor won't be in that week." No, I don't HAVE to change my fucking appointment, because *I* never made the appointment to begin with, so yeah, ever so glad you decided to call me about it. I have clearly and repeatedly stated I make my own appointments. (If any of you readers have had a shit storm diagnosis like cancer or something devastatingly similar, you will appreciate making your own damn appointments for yourself because YOU know what's going on in your life at any given time and what your schedule/potential schedule is/could be.)
The way it works for me is this way. (And yes, this HAS been discussed with the oncologist, and was, in fact, his idea.) I don't just randomly go in, see him, get orders for a scan handed to me, get get scanned, and then go back to him to get the results. In regards to that, I think he's being reasonable, which I don't have a problem with. Why pay for two office visits when the scan order can be faxed to whatever facility is doing the scan and then just pay for a single office visit to get the scan results from him? Yay for the common sense factor of this oncologist--I do have an appreciation for that. (No, that's not actual sarcasm, that's me being serious--I actually do appreciate him having discussed that with the husband and me.)
Not only that, with the job change came insurance changes, so I don't even know if the medical facility where my oncologist is takes this kind of insurance, if this insurance pays for the scans I'm supposed to have, and if the place that does the scans takes this kind of insurance. (And I'm supposed to see the oncologist, according to what he said, once every three months. I stretch it out closer to once every six months because I turn into this terrified, excessively stressed out insomniac who can't eat without getting sick any time this even comes up with a visit to the oncologist and/or scans.) I know, right? Like it's not stressful enough without having to deal with freaking insurance shit? ZOMFG, already!
(To make it all much worse though, when the local office where my husband was employed was shut down, he lost five weeks of paid vacation. That meant he could take off to go with me for scans and oncologist visits. Now? He has to work like holy fuck, a week to earn four hours of paid time off. Now he won't be able to take off to go with me to get scanned or visit the oncologist. I know you're probably thinking I should grow the fuck up and put on my big girl panties, but fuck, you know, any time there's a visit to the oncologist, once diagnosed, there's always the potential for Bad News. No, that's not me looking to borrow trouble, that's just the fucking reality of a cancer diagnosis. Once diagnosed, there's always the potential for it to return FOR ANYONE.)
I'm acquainted with some metsters and have communicated with some of them for around three and a half years now, and some are the #PINKISNOTACURE people, some aren't, but yes, I have a point to this, and that is mets. How many of you have had it discussed with you when you were first diagnosed? Like specifically something along the lines of, "You've been diagnosed with breast cancer. Whatever is done to you to fix you, you need to understand there's always going to be a possibility of mets. That is the reality of this vile disease."
There was a discussion recently on my CB group about some things that aren't always discussed with patients. Things like actually explaining the sort of breast cancer someone was diagnosed with, a prognosis, and...dare I say it? Mets being a part of that discussion. Yes, you read that correctly. Mets. It was certainly not discussed with me. I'm not fucking making this shit up.
I was told the breast cancer I had was not hormone fed or driven, as some doctors say. (I also wasn't told I would need a bilateral mastectomy done. The entire fucking time, it was "Lumpectomy, lumpectomy, just a lumpectomy, nothing more. Mastectomy won't be necessary, blah blah blah." While I understood that a mastectomy might be necessary and the thought crossed my mind, everyone and their fucking brother said LUMPECTOMY. That. Was. It.
So, yeah, you can imagine the fucked-up-ness of my brain when the fucking oncologist said "Oh, I'll call the surgeon to schedule you for your mastectomy." What the ever loving fuck all?! Seriously? A fucking mastectomy? After how many months of you saying "just a lumpectomy" and nothing more? FUCK. So yeah, when I went to the surgeon, I said "Take them both, I will not fucking do this again and stay sane." Yeah, I have the feeling he made me pay for the statement because he did a radical mastectomy on me. I was lied to about that, also. I was told it would be modified and only breast tissue would be removed. I fucking woke up with nothing more than skin over ribs from a massive amputation on my entire chest. Modified, my sarcastic ass. Is it any fucking wonder I have fucking huge trust issues with anyone medical now? (That said, Streak does have a friend who is a doctor and I'm okay with being around her because I've never seen her in doctor mode, I've only ever seen her in mom mode in tee shirts, blue jeans, and flip flops. That, I'm totally okay with.)
Anyway, I was not given a "prognosis." I was told if I did "treatment A" then I had an XYZ % chance of being alive in X amount of years. If I did "treatment/protocol B" then I would have ABC Z%Z chance of being alive in Q amount of years. The percentage between the two "options" and I use that word loosely because I didn't get to make that decision was something like a miniscule amount of maybe two percent. When that was what I was told, it was more like "This is what you should do." without giving the husband and I an opportunity to really discuss it. It's ridiculous how it was explained/not explained.
At best, it's an info dump that would make any patient's head explode because of the kind of diagnosis it is, but when these medical people tell patients "I'll give you the information I think you need to know. Any questions?" then how the ever loving fuck all are people supposed to even know what the fuck to ask? They aren't. Or is that the whole point? I can say that more than once, I would ask a specific question and be completely ignored, so what's the fucking point of asking? Not much of one, is there?
Mets was NEVER mentioned. The cancer emperor has no clothes? So that's how it works? If mets isn't mentioned to the patient, then it must mean that it won't happen to the patients who aren't told about it. Seriously? That kind of mentality really fucks the patient over, because it's dismissive of the importance of educating the patient about what's going on with their body. It's basically the same shit as "Oh, you're breastfeeding your baby? You'll never get breast cancer."
I'm fucking serious, people. I had more than one doctor say that to me when the monkeys were wee little critters. That's why the shit storm diagnosis that breast cancer is came as such a huge fucking shock to me. I wasn't aware I had any risk factors going on for breast cancer, other than I had breasts, which evidently IS a risk factor for anyone since men have breast tissue, also. What probably did it to me was the DES I was subjected to when I was in utero, but it kind of doesn't fucking fix anything related to any of this and it sure as fuck doesn't fix the fact that anytime I would tell a doctor I was DES exposed, it was ignored.
Why bother even making the effort to fucking communicate with medical people? They're obviously more educated than the average patient, so they must know more even though they aren't the ones living in these bodies. What the fuck ever.
I'll get the fuck around to finding out insurance coverage shit when I'm damn good and ready, probably not until after school starts next month. At this point, one way or the other, it doesn't matter.
I suppose I'll be trying to cram in as much time feeding carrots to horses before the scan, after the scan, and before the visit to the oncologist. That's the only way I'll be able to deal with the amount of stress my brain will be trying to contend with.
