Carried Away

Inspirational song: Take Off (Bob and Doug McKenzie)

Progress has occurred. We kept going on clearing out the craft/guest room, and made great strides forward. Today I doubled how much was in the donation bin, transferred it to bags and glassware to a box, and took that out to the car. My daughter and I even sorted out a bunch of costume jewelry and filled a small box with it (unfortunately not sorted well). We raced over to the donation site, only to miss our window by two minutes. The gate was closed, and one of the two other people there with the same bad luck just dropped a couple bags on the landing. (You're not supposed to do that.) I guess that means I need to think out a few dresser drawers tomorrow afternoon and try again.

We began to take apart the daybed first thing this morning. Not long after that we hit a major snag. When I made this thing years ago, I used a pocket jig on the frame, and assembled it with square-drive screws. All work ceased until the Mr was ready to walk over to the hardware store for more bits and an extender piece for his drill. And even then we were unable to go on. The square drive bit in the set he bought didn't fit these screws. I'm really not sure what happens from here. We are going to be busy for the next couple days, so unless he goes in with his coffee first thing, it won't be done until later in the weekend. Not sure whether my new bed will arrive when the Home Depot said it will. If it is delayed a few days, then I'm okay with that, after this difficulty.

It was a whole lot of fun playing with the baby while we sorted donations and made dinner, but wow, did it take it out of me. Stamina is a thing of the past now. We went next door after dinner for our regular game night, and I didn't last an hour. I was so tired I was panicky. I had to leave while I could still walk the short distance between houses. I was in bed by 8:30, and I have to hope I recover enough energy for tomorrow. There is a trainer I really want to meet at our sales meeting, and I need to be on my game. Time for some beauty sleep.

Love This Stage

Inspirational song: Ready to Run (The Chicks)

I folded up the rocket car baby walker and put it in the garage for storage. We have moved on past that stage and don't need it anymore. It is now more valuable to have empty floor space where the toddler can toddle freely. She does it so well, too.

The girls came over briefly this afternoon, for me to cash in on the one thing I asked for this last mother's day. I wanted assistance creating a full carload of stuff to go to the donation drop-off, plus I wanted help loading the car and actually getting it to the thrift shop. So while grandpa cuddled the baby, my daughter and I started in on the piles of debris in my craft room. Some stuff is just moved around to other rooms until the bed is replaced on Thursday (if the package tracking is accurate), but we really did make progress. Trash was tossed, laundry was processed, and the large donation bin is full to overflowing. I can see a lot more floor than I could this morning. I even swept it. We might be halfway through, or almost there. I hope to reach the stage of disassembling the old bed by tomorrow before game night.

Once we were all pooped and ready to sit and rehydrate, the Grump had all kinds of energy to be cute. Not only does she walk like a champ, she has learned how cute it is to drag a soft blanket around with her, to alternately drape it like a shawl, cover her head for peekaboo, or pile it on the floor to flop on. She hasn't yet settled on a single blanket as a favorite security item. She likes them all, and trades them out freely. I know I say this every few weeks, but man, I love this age.

The Main

Inspirational song: Theme from Flood (They Might Be Giants)

On a quiet Monday afternoon, with silence only broken once every four or five minutes when another human (with or without a canine) would walk past the house (barkbarkbark!), I started cleaning the craft/guest room. I'm going slowly, right now focusing on the mountain of laundry that was piled on the bed, so I can dismantle the disappointing daybed before the new bedframe arrives later in the week. I worked a few minutes past the point of needing an extended rest, but I pushed on just long enough to refill my water glass before taking a break. At least, that was my intent. 

I glanced out of the kitchen window, and was very confused by what I saw. "G---?" I called to the Mr who was trying to take a nap in the cool basement, "Why is our backyard flooded?" I walked out to the edge of the patio, and looked the yard over. Fully 90% of it was under one to three inches of water. I listened to hear whether I could trace the source. No rogue water hose spraying to beat the band. Water pooled near the sprinkler controls, but nothing spraying from there. By then, the Mr had come out in a bathrobe and tromped barefoot out to the alley through the back gate. I tried to follow, but even in tall sandals, I wasn't going to walk through that water. I went out the front, and walked up the block to go to the alley entrance.

The good news is that we were not the source of the water. The dizzying numbers of dollar signs stopped whirring around my head, as I identified the water line break as behind a house several up from mine. I wasn't about to wade in to get too close, so I went back around to see whether the Mr had some updates for me.

It took the city a long time to show up and start fixing it. Several minutes into the crisis, 30 perhaps, Mr S-P used my phone to try 911, and they assured they had been notified of the flood already. While waiting for someone to show, he and a neighbor built a little diversion project, to try to lessen the amount still flowing into our yards. He was out there over an hour, in his bathrobe the entire time. Yep. We are the sophisticated ones on this block.

At bedtime now, the water has mostly soaked in. There's still a big puddle on the walk to the gate. I hope it drains by morning, so I can access the garden and pick the lettuce I intended to use for my lunch at Rotary. (I'm trying to be keto, so no catered sandwich for me.) I can still hear the city crew out there. We guess the bright side is we won't have to water the grass in the back yard for a couple weeks. Maybe where we seeded bare patches will finally grow stronger and thicker. I dread seeing how this benefits the squashes I didn't want to grow this season.

By Popular Demand

Inspirational song: Golden Slumbers (The Beatles)

With sincerest apologies to previous overnight visitors, I have finally been forced to admit my guest bed is a torture device. I had thought I was so clever, seven or eight years ago, designing a daybed I could build by myself, with large storage underneath. That was the plan. The execution was disappointing. It was a humbling experience, realizing how hard carpentry can be, when one has no skill with power tools. (I've gotten a little better since then, but my hand strength has deteriorated, so I'm unlikely to want to try that particular way again.) It was functional, but never fully finished. It was a bit wobbly. It was tall. And it was so uncomfortable for more than a brief nap.

I had poked around a few stores trying to find a twin bed frame to replace the daybed fail, and couldn't find anything good. I went online this afternoon, and discovered that a good source for bed frames is Home Depot, of all places. I had no idea. I scrolled through looking for something super basic but elegant. Found a few metal ones with head and foot boards I liked, and sent my daughter some screenshots. We narrowed it down to two that were nearly identical, and the choice came down to one that was taller and could store bigger items underneath, or one that was shorter that Valerie could get herself in and out of at a younger age. Baby won. I placed the order, and it should be here next week.

I have been trying to find the inspiration to declutter the craft/guest room for a couple years. I never get very far. But now that I have a week to swap out the bed, I guess it's time to address those stuffed storage bins under the torture rack. My donation bucket in the living room is already two-thirds full before I even start. I expect to take multiple trips to the ARC this week.

I am happy with the choice I made. The bed wasn't expensive, at just under $120 including tax, and it will be delivered here. By not allowing more storage under it, I am forcing myself to let more things go. And just think about that little sweetheart who will have her own big girl bed at grandma's whenever she wants to stay here. 

Clever Girl

Inspirational song: Fooling (Def Leppard)

Thanks to a bum paw, still somewhat swollen from yesterday's IV mishap, I needed my daughter to drive me to buy more puppy crunchies, and to do all the lifting of the bag. When she arrived to pick me up, the text she sent to lure me to the car was something like, "help, I'm trapped in the car with a rainbow dragon!" I came out to find my favorite toddler in her rainbow rain slicker, but I didn't know where the dragon part came in. Apparently before I got there, she was roaring. I popped open the back door and said hello to her, and then closed it to climb in the front seat. As soon as that door clicked, she got very upset that her grandmother was there and then vanished. I had to lean back and reassure her that I really was in the car with her. Her patience and temper was pretty much exactly like that the rest of the trip. Feelings crushed in an instant, but fairly easily soothed.

We went to Walmart, because I know the big bags of Iams large breed puppy food that Saoirse mostly tolerates can be found there. (She hates everything else.) We walked into the grocery side, and since I needed a few veggies for the week, that was the direction we headed. The very first thing that cart-surfing toddler saw was a giant display heaped with apples, her very favorite chew toy. She immediately learned out, reaching with one grasping hand, and was heartbroken when her mommy said she already had apples at home. So I picked out a nice honeycrisp and tucked it in the upper basket, nearly out of reach. Explaining "we have to wait until we pay for it" went about as well as you can imagine. After a consoling cuddle, we hid the apple behind my purse a little better, but that smart baby knew it was there and kept going back to look. I had to stack a few Garanimals on top of it for extra camouflage before she stopped hunting. 

I wish I had captured the look on her face when I pulled that apple from the bag in the trunk and held it where she could see it over the back seat. Grandma was magic in that moment. My daughter tried to suggest we wait until we were back at my house to give it to her, so she wasn't spitting out half-chewed pieces of peel in the car, but as I explained, it was too late. She had seen it, and we had an explicit understanding where that piece of fruit was going to go.

She only has a few words that she speaks, and you really have to know what they are to understand them at this point. Context is key. But she is so smart, and she is figuring out the world around her very quickly. She has a great memory for details, and her object permanence is developing. I know I'm biased, but I swear this is one sharp kid.

Ow Ow Ow

Inspirational song: Nothing Ever Goes As Planned (Styx)

Every single time a phlebotomist or nurse approaches me with a needle, I blurt out, "My veins are tiny, deep, and they roll. Sorry." Most of the time they take my warning seriously, and use a tiny butterfly needle, and tap all over my arm before they poke for the first time. Occasionally one will be cocky and grab the fat straight needle and just stab me. About half the time those folks will actually get in the vein, but when they don't, my life is hell. It's ten times worse for IVs. The needle has to be big to accommodate the catheter coming behind it. They don't usually go for Ol' Reliable in the outside corner of my elbow, but try something down in my forearm, wrist, or hand. None of those are comfortable, and they don't tend to last long. And the techs all think I'm BSing them when I say at my 2015 surgery it took 45 minutes and both arms multiple times to get my IV run.

The MRI for the next round of cancer was this afternoon. The three folks in the radiology department where I was all remembered my daughter who used to work there, and asked after her and the baby. It was so pleasant at the beginning of the appointment. They had to work at my veins for the contrast IV, even though I had spent the last three days chugging water so I would be as hydrated as possible for them. Forearm failed, so they ended up in the back of my hand. It was painful from the get-go, but I tried to be less of a baby about it. I got settled down on the machine, show tunes playing in the headphones to drown out the sound of the buzzing and whirring. Squeeze-ball panic button in my left hand. It was all going smoothly.

Then they pushed the contrast. Immediately my hand started to sting, but for about three seconds I was in denial about it. The pain just got worse. I started squeezing the panic button and I couldn't stop my feet from kicking through the pain. They came running in, and pulled me half out of the machine. They tried to caution me not to look, but I did anyway. It looked like they had shoved half a lemon under my skin on the back of my hand and wrist. They pulled the junk out and wrapped a compression bandage on it like a boxer taping their hand. One radiology guy said, "We really want to get this done, so you don't have to come back. Are you on board?" I was a little in shock still, so I wasn't sure where they were going to try to put the needle, but I nodded anyway. The woman of the crew went for Ol' Reliable in my elbow, and got it in first stick. Eventually my heart rate went down, and I was able to complete the test.

They had the radiologist come down to the dressing area to look over my hand before I went home, to be sure no more intervention was necessary. He said my body would eventually absorb it, but wouldn't give me a time frame. It's now about eight hours later, and my hand is still swollen about half the size it was at the worst, and it's quite tender. Driving home was awful, and I canceled a breakfast meeting with an old friend in Denver because I didn't want to drive one-handed on the interstate.

For all that, the MRI results are already in my portal, and they show nothing we didn't already know. So I guess the lumpectomy can proceed as planned.

Puppy Love

Inspirational song: The Sound of Silence (Simon and Garfunkel)

This is not the first weekend that the Mr went up to work on his cabin over multiple days. Until last week, he was taking both Elsa and Murray with him when he went. Now that sweet Elsa has moved on, he just took Murray. Saoirse will need multiple day trips and training not to run off into the mountains, never to be seen again. I'm not ready to do that training, so she stays with me. I'm not sure why this trip feels so different, but it does. It seems quieter. More still. It's still the same group down here at the house--me, the cats, and the puppy. Nonetheless, it feels like a smaller family.

Before he left, the Mr had a conversation with one of our across-the-alley neighbors. Apparently they are a bit frustrated by how much Saoirse barks, particularly when the wife is working from home. In my defense, I don't like leaving her outside for just that reason. But she has inherited the job of being Murray's buddy, even before Elsa died, because Elsa was only interested in hiding in the garage all day, sleeping in the dark. She had been in a steep decline before she took ill. Our house is in a constant battle, between the Mr putting Saoirse in the back yard, and me pulling her back in to keep her quiet. Maybe with the neighbor's complaint, I'll be able to win that struggle.

She is still a very snuggly puppy, but she is as awkward and ungraceful as she can be. She steps on me all the time, and she punches, scratches, and head butts me without having the slightest clue that it all hurts. I'm going to need to wrap myself in bubble wrap for the first week or two after the next surgery to keep her from ripping open my sutures during an enthusiastic cuddle. 

Midsomar Games

Inspirational song: Seventy-Six Trombones (The Music Man)

Right on time, this afternoon I got a message from the company who received my blood sample for genetic testing for my oncologist. They said it wasn't covered by insurance, and I should click the link to pay $250 to get it done. Now, that doesn't sound onerously expensive, and if I have to pay, I will. But first I contacted both my Tricare case manager and the patient navigator at the oncology clinic. Let's see how the appeal goes before we give up and shell out the cash.

I tried to keep up at game night. The regular campaign we play on this cycle (swapping every other week) is on hiatus for a month or two, so it was board game night. One friend brought a game most of us had never seen before, based on the hobby of bird-watching. It was complicated in the extreme, but the strategy was fun to learn. The owner of the game played solo, and the rest of us teamed up in family pairs. Mr S-P and I came in third out of four. It was hard, and we made a few tactical errors. I'm sure we will play again, and maybe next time we will do better.

I didn't make it all the way to the end of the game. It was super hot today, and a late evening rain made it very muggy. My energy ran out on the second to last round of play, and I walked home while I still could. I was so glad I live next door and didn't have far to go. I'm also glad my regular game group doesn't have a problem with me checking out early. It's nice having people I can be this casual around.

The Right Flower

Inspirational song: Tusk (Fleetwood Mac)

I really needed music tonight. I had a song stuck in my head, and needed to push it out. I chose a playlist that had a lot of the stuff I listened to in high school, which happened to include my ear worm in third position in the queue, and let it go. Much of it really rocked as summer evening music, and I don't know how you spent your Tuesday, but I'm enjoying the heck out of being 17 again for a few hours. The above-mentioned song came on, with that driving drum line, and I wondered aloud whether that was the reason I believe that marching band drum cadences are one of the greatest inventions of mankind. It must have been the spark that woke me to that fundamental truth.

I've been walking around on cloud 9 today, which feels odd after my diagnosis on Friday. It feels so lucky that it will all work out okay, and even improve my situation somewhat. I'm looking forward to improved posture and reduced back pain once this is all done. I saw an updated result for my biopsy on the portal this afternoon, and it says the area of calcifications is 5.5 cm by 3.5 cm. That is huge! No wonder it makes sense to do the reduction at the same time.

I've set a goal for myself. If I'm going to have this sort of surgery done in two months, I need to get rid of as much pandemic weight as possible between now and then. I want to come out of this feeling proportional, and I want to reduce potential complications from surgery. It's low carb time again. Brutally low carb. There will be cranky days ahead while my body screams out for sugar, but I have a deadline to meet. Even 15 pounds would make a big difference for the process and healing. 

When I first contemplated the reconstruction surgery last year, I was asked whether I wanted the surgeon to create an artificial nipple on the side where there currently is none. I've been told the tattoos of them are nearly indiscernible from the real thing. My kids convinced me if I'm going to have a tattoo there, I should get something meaningful. I decided it would be a flower. I chose the humble dianthus. It's available in every plant center across the country. It's inexpensive. It is sold as an annual. But it is beautiful, easy to grow, hardy as hell, and it comes back every year. It persists, and it looks good doing it. I just have to settle on a color that works in tattoo ink.

Relieved

Inspirational song: You Raise Me Up (Josh Groban)

The meeting with both the oncologist and the breast surgeon at the same time was unlike any other doctor appointment I have ever had. It was terrific. They had a special consultation room that was decorated like a day spa. The lighting was subdued, the furniture comfortable, and the exam table hidden behind a wood and rice paper screen. It was designed to put women with recent cancer diagnoses at ease, and it worked on me as designed. 

They pulled up my mammogram images, and were looking them over when I commented that the Mr and I were glad that I didn't go forward with the resculpting and reduction surgery last summer when I had first met with the plastic surgeon. The first question the surgeon asked after that was did I want to go ahead and do the reduction along with the lumpectomy, so I only go through surgery once for all of this. I'm sure my eyes lit up like Christmas when she said that. So that is the plan. I need to get a new consultation with the plastic surgeon who works closely with this cancer center, and I should be on the schedule to have it all done in mid-August. 

Then it was the oncologist's turn. The good news is that they don't do chemo for this level (DCIS is considered stage zero cancer). They will do radiation after the surgery, and we will decide later whether I stay on tamoxifen or move up to an aromatase inhibitor (which I didn't do before because those don't play nice with fibromyalgia.) 

They got a bit more assertive about getting genetic testing, which I didn't move on last year because it didn't seem like my insurance would cover it. Both doctors sounded confident that they would be able to press the issue with Tricare since this is my second round of cancer in two years. So I left behind a vial of blood before I left.

Exam time was when it really got weird. They palpitated my breasts and felt lymph nodes under my arms at the same time, and then switched sides and did it all over again. That wasn't a position I'd ever expected to find myself in (and no, I shan't be writing a "Dear Penthouse" letter about it.)

I went into the day nervous about where I stood. I'm ending it feeling like this second malignant mutation might actually be one of the luckiest things that has happened to me in years. I'm going to go to bed early and rest soooo easy.

Mulling It Over

Inspirational song: Ironic (Alanis Morissette)

Now that I had a couple of days to process my new (same as the old) diagnosis, I've spent a lot of time saying to myself, a-ha, so that's what was going on there. My fatigue levels have been super high for a few months, and not just when I face a blank blog template every night, wanting to start with "I'm just so tired," every time. I have no stamina, even for the littlest activities. Every morning I sit in my favorite chair, and have one or two cups of coffee, and by 9 in the morning, I'm nodding off again (especially when I have two cups.) Every afternoon between 2 and 4 pm, I just start to fade, and I typically have to go all the way back to bed for an extended nap, not rest my eyes sitting in a chair. These are all the familiar pattern from late 2018 and early 2019, while I was still wondering what the heck was wrong with me. 

Also like before, I gained a bunch of weight quickly, without a corresponding large increase in calories. (Yes, mister gastroenterologist from 2017-18, I said gained, so shove it with your "we don't even look for cancer unless you suddenly lose a bunch of weight" nonsense.) And I've had a persistent cough that the ENT swears is gastric reflux, even though I don't experience any other symptoms. I'll run that one past my oncologist before I put that issue to bed.

I've tried to keep moving and keep myself busy, so I don't dwell on things before the appointment tomorrow. But It's hard. Even having gone through this before two years ago, it's still cancer. Everyone freaks out at least a little when they hear that word. I'll know more by the time I write tomorrow night, how it will be treated and how that will affect my summer plans. Until then, I think I have some cute baby pictures I can focus on.

Earnest

Inspirational song: Stairway to Heaven (Led Zeppelin)

The pretty pretty princess is dead. Long live the pretty pretty princess.

In the fall of 2008, when we had just settled into our house in a tiny town in New Mexico, my mother rescued a young black lab from a rural road in Tulsa. We had been looking for a companion for our dear little red-headed dog Speed Bump, so I drove out to retrieve her and bring her home. I was a little nervous, as I wasn't that skilled of a dog parent at that point. I was worried--what if she turned out to be aggressive, and I didn't find out until we were on the interstate? She was anything but. She was the sweetest, most earnest girl from the very beginning. And boy, could that dog eat. In the car, I gave her a big chewy bone that was labeled as an emergency meal replacement. Before we had traveled a mile, it was gone.

Her name had meaning. She was chosen to be Bump's mate (not in a breeding sense), so I called her the Bride of Frankenstein. I looked up the name of the actress who played the bride in the original movie, and it was Elsa Lanchester. I knew immediately that was my girl's name.

It took her a good three years to fully settle into herself. She was an enthusiastic chewer, even when she was chewing things she wasn't supposed to have. She ate everything, but she was happiest when the apple tree in our yard was dropping fruit for her enjoyment. Once we moved here to Colorado, she discovered the freedom of roaming the mountain, and that was the happiest time of her life.

Her pancreas started to fail a few years ago, mere months after Bump died of pancreatic cancer. We kept her going with pancreatic enzymes in her food, and it put weight back on her for a while. Within the last two years, her hearing failed, her eyes got cloudy, and she started forgetting where she was and would wander out of the yard. We knew this was coming.

She got a violent intestinal infection last week. She went to our regular vet two days in a row, and I knew then that this was the end. The Mr couldn't give up on her, though. He was very attached to her, and he took the option to give her intensive care at the emergency vet for days (all totaled $6k.) He even talked about a feeding tube for her. I said no. At some point we had to accept that we were prolonging her pain, and we couldn't do that. He was going to bring her home tonight, on his way from a day trip to the mountain. He got a call when he was heading down that she had taken the decision out of our hands. Her intestines abcessed and she died. The kids came over to give her a proper burial.

Good old Elsa. She never stopped trying to show us how much she wanted to be part of our family.

On the Right

Inspirational song: I'm Henery the Eighth, I Am (Herman's Hermits)

Second verse, same as the first.

Got my biopsy results today. This, kids, is why you get your cancer screenings done on time, no matter what. It's the same thing as before, minus the "invasive" part. They call it ductal carcinoma in situ. We caught this very early, so while I fully expect a lumpectomy on the right side, I have a reasonable hope that I will get to skip chemo in favor of just radiation this time. 

There is no foot dragging by my medical team. They have been two steps ahead of me the whole time. When my oncology office found out that I needed the biopsy, they canceled the checkup I had scheduled to go over the mammogram until that was done. The women's imaging clinic got me in for the guided biopsy quickly, and the results were back in two days. I saw them as soon as they went into my portal account around noon, and had a couple hours to digest the news, while the radiologist's team was calling around, scheduling appointments for me. So when she called around 2:30, she let me know I was seeing both the breast surgeon and oncologist at 3:30 on Monday, and they had already told my primary care doctor to process an updated referral to the surgeon through Tricare. 

It is my guess that with my recent history of cancer that things will continue to move at lightning speed. Odds are they will want a new MRI to make sure this is the only place it has spread, and I assume they will put my case before the tumor board like last time. But if it takes more than a few weeks to get me in for a lumpectomy, I will be astonished. Surely by the end of July, right?

Right now I'm not letting it get to me. I'm more annoyed than anything. I thought I had caught the other one early enough, and gone through chemo to prevent recurrence. One thing I'm sure of, if they make me do chemo again, I am not getting a damned port. I hated that thing. I'll just deal with the occasional IV puncture for infusions. Better yet, I'll pursue pill forms of treatment.

I was sitting outside when the report came in. I tried to go take a picture pointing down of my beautiful white Sugar Moon roses, blooming above the fish pond. I couldn't tell in the bright light that the front facing camera was selected. You know, I'm gonna go with the F-up picture of the blighted black walnut tree in T's yard. It is fitting for today.

My Three Dogs

Inspirational song: Beeswing (Richard Thompson)

First off, the important news, Elsa is doing better. She is still in a very serious condition, but she stabilized today. They have been calling it gastroenteritis, or a more serious version abbreviated HGE. I would do the Google legwork for you, but frankly, I'm out of brain power and I will have to put that off for now. All I know is that her red blood cell count was way too high, and it leveled off, and her white blood cell count was dismally low. Well, I know that, and that so far her hospital stay has added up to about $3k. So. Far. Ouch. This doggo had better come home and give us at least another year of sweetness for this.

Murray has looked pretty pitiful all day. I can't tell whether he's worried about Elsa's absence, or is he feeling crummy on his own account. His disability is bringing him arthritis at a somewhat young age (he's 7), and his long history of bladder infections and saddle sores has been challenging for him too. He didn't want to eat much today, and it could be from heat, pain, or worry, or all of the above.

Saoirse has been spun up all day, and she is acting like a kid on a sugar high. She tried to play-pounce with several of the cats and me, at various points during the day. Most everyone tolerated her, but she needs to learn that Athena does not play with others. Not that she doesn't play at all, but only on her own terms, and only alone. I'm guessing Saoirse demonstrated the same play behavior when she went out first thing this morning. She came back in agitated, with a big bump on her nose. Silly puppy. Bees, hornets, and wasps are even less interested in playing than Athena.

Firehose

Inspirational song: Black Dog (Led Zeppelin)

There is just too much. Too many crises. Too many fires of different sizes to put out. Last week was busy enough, but this week switched it up and made everything feel urgent.

First and foremost, keep our very senior dog Elsa in your thoughts. She is the biggest crisis of all right now. She went to the mountains late last week, and started having gastrointestinal distress on Monday. She went in to the vet on Tuesday, got fluids and blood tests, and came home. Overnight she got way worse (the floor leading to the back door looked like a crime scene this morning.) She went back to the vet this morning, and they referred her to the emergency clinic. She has been admitted to stay at least through Friday, assuming she makes it that long. When the vet called to give us a prognosis, his call was all about managing expectations. She is very old, and has been struggling with pancreatic insufficiency for a couple of years now. She isn't strong. This will be the toughest battle of her life.

Speaking of battles, I had a biopsy this morning. It was in the breast that wasn't affected by cancer two years ago. The area of suspicion is just a concentration of calcifications, not a new tumor. They said I'll get one of three results: benign, cancerous, or indeterminate. Only one of those doesn't lead to a consultation with the surgeon who took care of me in 2019. The biopsy went as well as it could. The doc and two techs were delightful humans (and one of the techs was actually brought in to stand on the side of the table where I was told to turn my face, so that I wasn't just talking to a wall -- what consideration!) It was over quickly, and I was afforded the opportunity to take a picture of the several core samples on the slide before they sent it off. In fact, fair warning, I will share it here. I'll just be kind and dig up a photo of Elsa to post first, so it doesn't appear in the preview on Facebook, and if you don't want to see it, it doesn't jump out at you. But me, I think it is cool.

Cold Spray

Inspirational song: I Melt With You (Modern English)

This heat just isn't funny anymore, y'all. Today at Rotary, one of the people I was sitting with said they like the heat much more than when it is bitter cold. I just shook my head and said no, I much prefer the cold. I don't necessarily want to be outside for long in either of them, but it's a whole lot easier to bundle up between the house and the car or between houses, than to scorch myself on a hot steering wheel or stagger across a sweltering parking lot. And I definitely did that last thing too much today. I gave a good friend a ride to and from Rotary, and we detoured on the way home to a couple places, a store and a coffee shop. They were maybe a hundred yards apart, on opposite sides of a parking lot, and I instantly regretted not just moving the car between the two.

Three times so far today, I leaned into the shower and sprayed cold water on my head until my hair was soaked. It made me comfortable enough for about an hour each time. I might be able to get away without one more drenching before bed, but only just. Whatever happened to my mild northern Colorado summers, where one could be just fine in a house with no a/c? I may have to face facts and plan on putting a new unit on the roof next year, assuming there is space not occupied by solar panels.

There are at least two more days before this heat is expected to break in my location. I know it is equally brutal all across the region. I hope all of you are finding ways to cope with the weather, in whatever form you can achieve. For me, cold water is my friend.

Spoken Word

Inspirational song: Words (Missing Persons)

Holy crap it was hot today. Tomorrow will be worse. It was my intention not to do anything or go anywhere during daylight hours. I wanted to sit under a fan, and let wet hair keep me cool as long as it was able. We are still in the honeymoon with the solar panels, and I find myself reluctant to use anything that draws a lot of electricity yet. Thus the portable air conditioner remains put away in my closet, despite the uncomfortable heat wave gripping the west right now.

Mid afternoon came around, and I was lured over with a promise to float in a cold pool with the cutest little girl in town. I waited until around 5, so the sun wouldn't be blazing overhead, and I went where I was beckoned. We chatted a bit when I arrived, about the yard project and the trials and tribulations of getting this pool set up correctly. I held Val for much of this time, and while the others were in conversation among just the adults, she and I communicated with the syllables and sounds she likes. Then I turned our attention to the water next to us, and asked her to say "pool." It took her a few tries to get the vowels right, but she went through "pah" and "peel" and at least twice said "pooool." I do not feel like her father and grandfather gave enough weight to the advance in language that occurred. That kid said the word I asked her to!

She and I changed into swimwear and got in the water. She got set into a cool floatie, while I had to navigate an awkward ladder that doesn't fit this pool. Amazon was sold out of the right size ones, so in the short term, I may take over my spare set of stairs from the hot tub. The water was brisk, but eventually I eased all the way up to my shoulders in it. Val floated around, and we had a grand time for about half an hour, until I started worrying about her being too cold for too long. I don't remember how long babies are generally safe in 85 degree water, so we got out and sat on the deck in towels. Red towels, that is. We discussed how towels were red, grandma's swimsuit was green, the pool was blue, and the handle on her bottle was pink. She never repeated any of these for me, but she did seem to be listening. I took her inside when I was ready to be dressed again, and I tried to take her picture. She was like a dog, refusing to stay still for the picture. Instead she moved up to my phone every time, wanting to grab it and play with it. I wanted full-length pictures of her walking. She wanted the phone camera so close, all we would see would be nostrils. She's still cute, though, even from too close.

To Hear You Tell It

Inspirational song: Storyteller (Ray Davies)

We had plans to have dinner with the Ks next door tonight. One set of parents was in town, and we enjoy spending time with them when they are here. This was the plan, arranged days ago. We were going to provide smoked meat, and they would have the sides.

Then the Mr got tagged to help build a deck for an old college friend down in Denver. And he added in a little solo flight time this morning. And when he got home from Denver, our kids called and asked for emergency help with their snapset pool. He managed to get the smoker going between flying and deck building, but he needed me and T to check it while he was gone. He was helping with the pool for hours, well past the time we were supposed to be next door. I had pulled the meat off of the grill before it turned into a brick and let it rest, thinking he would be back any minute. I ended up going next door alone at 8:30, and we were sitting down on the patio with our plates full, before he finally wandered in.

Despite the late start, dinner was great. The meat wasn't too overcooked (whew), the sides were terrific, and the conversation was lively and comfortable. We have known each other for six years now, since we moved into our houses on the same day. T's family feels like our own extended family at this point. We had no end of stories to tell of adventures together, but once dinner was over, out came the tales of danger and gore. T and I had to suddenly go inside and get ready to make root beer floats when the Mr was recounting helping run transport at the military medical facility in Iraq. That particular group of stories always makes me squirm, and T didn't take it any better than I did. 

No pix today. I just didn't take any. All the imagery is with words for now.

Breezy

Inspirational song: The Best of Times (Styx)

I did exactly what I needed to, and managed not to get all up in my own head about inconclusive or suspicious test results from last week. I took it easy, stayed present, and enjoyed some company. One of the kids came over early in the afternoon, and we worked on a joint crafting project. It has been a while since we did this, so it was a whole lot of fun. It will take a few days to complete, and it is something I can't show pictures of for a while. 

Without pictures, or the ability to describe our crafting, and with me sitting at a very uncertain time before additional tests are run, I am at a loss for topics for now. I had three days with the house to myself, but the rest of the family is home now. Saoirse is bouncing around, being very needy and wanting her daddy's attention. She has more energy than all of the rest of us combined, and the more she pants in agitation, staring at the Mr and waiting for him to talk to her, the more tired I get. It's exhausting just looking at her, not to mention how warm it is when she turns that hot breath my way. 

I have nothing left to do but go to bed and hope the whole house fan can work another miracle, as we parade through an ugly early heat wave. First follow up test is tomorrow (on a Sunday, yes), and staying up worrying won't do a damned thing to change the outcome. It's probably a minor thing, but it will be nice to have that confirmed. Until then, it's cool breezes and YouTube until I fall asleep.

All at Once

Inspirational song: I Drink Alone (George Thorogood)

That isn't a song I wanted to choose, because for one, I don't particularly listen to George Thorogood, and for two, I dislike drinking when I'm by myself. But this has been A Week From Hell, and I figured, F it. I needed to decompress. So I put on my softest jammies, grabbed a fancy glass, poured a couple ounces of a drink that barely qualifies as booze, and I sat in my room, watching a comedy special on Netflix that everyone has been talking about on social media for a week. The comedian was way more than I expected (Bo Burnam Inside--read reviews before you watch so you aren't as surprised as I) and the drink was more dessert than anything else (Irish cream). I'm not even sure I successfully got my mind off this long-ass week.

I tried unwinding in more wholesome ways first. I got fries from McDonald's, and went over to see whether my grandbaby wanted to share them (she had two, sort of). She showed me her new favorite pop up book, and we read that about thirty times in twenty minutes. My energy was rather limited, though, so I moved to sit with her on the deck, watching her parents do yardwork, just long enough that she was comfortable in her playpen and didn't complain when I split to go home and mope.

I scheduled too many things this week. That wasn't a problem because it tired me. That was a problem because when I got unexpected results from several of my encounters, it felt like a ton of bricks fell on me steadily over the course of five days. I almost wish I were capable of crying it out, but that feels too unproductive and I don't give up that easy. So my chin is up, and I am determined to face the next rounds of testing like a big girl. But I also poured a second glass of that dessert beverage.

Good Fences Make Good Dogs

Inspirational song: Strawberry Fields Forever (The Beatles)

For the first time since we bought this property, our strawberry plants are both well-established and well-protected by a fence. I went out for the first harvest of them just after sunset, and I came away with more than enough berries to make a substantial serving for two people. I think it may be time for crepes again when the Mr gets back from his cabin. It's amazing the difference a good fence makes, when one lives with dogs.

Today was a long and frustrating day. What's worse, it appears to have cloned itself for tomorrow. My quarterly oncology checkup was rescheduled for tomorrow, without being communicated to me before I arrived this morning. I went over to discuss a volunteer situation, intending to see how easy it would be to decline it, and ended up with an application and appointment for an interview tomorrow. (One does not simply say no to the person who voluntold me. She is very persuasive.) And finally getting in to see the ENT in person resulted in an order for more imaging to come once insurance approves it. You know how tired I was Monday, when I was only through one day of an overwhelming week? It hasn't gotten any better.

That floofy puppy is telling me it's time to shut off the lights and hope the whole house fan can cool us off tout suite. Neither one of us is enjoying this early heat wave, and it is only getting worse over the next week. We are a little jealous that the Mr and the older dogs are spending the weekend at 10,000 feet. The air is crisper up there.