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Today I went in to the gynecologist to get my ultrasound on that left ovarian cyst. I get there 10 minutes early, pay my $30 co-pay, and get called in at exactly my appointment time. That’s where the good part ends. I sit in the exam room for 45 minutes, waiting for someone to show up. I don’t know if they were backed up, or if they just forgot about me, but I was a wee bit agitated by the time the doctor came in.
We chat for 2 minutes, and she says “I can’t do your ultrasound today.” Um, what? The whole point of me calling 3 weeks ago and scheduling for today was so I could get this taken care of. I even told them over the phone what exactly I needed to have done, and they conferred with the doctor before setting the appointment. Apparently, they need to do an ultrasound when I’m at a different point in my monthly cycle, so they can compare with the original findings. Fine. I understand that. Is that not a policy that could be explained to me 3 weeks ago when I made the appointment? I would have gladly postponed a week and saved myself the time off work and the extra $30 I had to pay. Now I have to miss work, again, to go back and start this stupid thing all over.
I’m sure there’s a very logical, reasonable reason for the mistake. People make them. I do it all the time. I’m just agitated at the incredible inconvenience I was put through, and she didn’t even have the decency to fake an apology.
A-M-A-Z-I-N-G
That’s it. That’s the only word I can think of that fits the awesomeness that I experienced Saturday. Beware: Gushing praise ahead.
At 1:05pm Garth Brooks took the stage at the Staples Center in Los Angeles, and the crowd exploded. It was insane. I’ve been to hundreds of concerts of all different musical genres, and I swear I’d never seen anything like it in my life. Every single person in the place was on their feet and screaming and clapping. And Garth was grinning like it was his very first concert. I’d never seen him in concert before, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. It certainly wasn’t a show with as much fun, entertainment, and energy as he put into it.
I’m not a big Garth Brooks fan. I actually tried to give my ticket away, because I wanted someone to go who was excited about it, rather than me who was just lukewarm about it. Boy am I glad that didn’t happen! The man just goes and goes non-stop. You can tell he absolutely loves what he does. And he’s so humble. At one point he started singing a song, and then abruptly stopped. "Garth 101: Never start a song in a key you can’t finish it in." Everyone laughed. It seems like such a simple thing, but how often do you see such a huge star admitting he made a mistake in front of thousands of people? In fact, how often do you see such a huge star being so generous? He did FIVE complete shows in the course of 29 hours, all five of which sold out in less than an hour. Combined. Not only that, but he gives things away DURING the show. A woman was up front with a sign that said "Can I have a guitar pick?" So, he gave her one. And the gave her the WHOLE FREAKING GUITAR! Just took it right off his shoulder strap and handed it into the crowd in the middle of the song. Oh wait, that’s not all. When the song was over, he took the guitar back and personalized it to the woman and her daughter, and then signed it for them. Holy hell. I mean, yeah, other artists give away picks and drumsticks and stuff. But who puts on FIVE concerts for charity in 2 days, raises over TEN MILLION dollars, and yet still hands out his guitar mid-song? The man seriously has my respect.
The whole show was amazing. Energetic, funny, and with an excellent mix of new ad old, fast and slow songs. If you only get to see one performer in your entire life, make it Garth Brooks. Even if you’re not a huge fan of his music, he’s by far the best musical entertainer I’ve ever seen.
Yesterday was the meeting with my surgeon. Since it took me THREE hours to go 65 miles, I was late for the appointment, and was terrified they were going to make me reschedule. The receptionist took pity on me, however, and I was seen almost immediately. The doctor who came in wasn’t the doctor I was expecting, but I liked him anyway. He took a quick medical history from me (I don’t get why they do that EVERY time I come in. Isn’t all the information in the file already?), and then got down to business. We started talking about my weight, and how it’s not ideal, and that I need to have a BMI of 30 or less (I’m currently 30.8, according to him). I must have made a face when he mentioned the BMI, because he paused and asked me what I was thinking. I explained my loathing for the BMI and how it’s not fair, and doesn’t take in to account muscle mass, body type, age, gender, etc. I was amazed when he totally agreed. He used Shaq as an example. According to the BMI, he’s about a 38, which is morbidly obese. However, when you look at him, you can see that the weight is muscle, not fat, and therefore he gets a pass. I, however, am not all that muscular (I am, it’s just buried under the fat), so therefore I need to lose weight. He agreed that I’m not obese, as the BMI says I am, but I am overweight, and that’s a slight problem. So until I lose 10-15 more pounds (preferably 15), he’s not clearing me for surgery. I was devastated. I nearly started to cry. The reason I can’t donate is because I’m too fat? Are you kidding me? He said all I had to do was lose the weight and then call them and they’d schedule surgery. He made it sound like no big deal, but inside I was dying. I felt like I’d totally let Kelly down.
Then he starts in on all the bad things that could happen during surgery. Infections, hematomas, lymph leaks, death, etc. Quite the upbeat conversation. That part doesn’t really bother me. I could just as easily get hit be a truck on the way back home after my appointment, and I told him so. He tried to tell me that it’s different. I don’t have to have surgery, and put myself at risk for these complications, but that I have to drive home. I disagreed. I don’t have to do anything. Every time I wake up, I make a choice to get up, drive to work, do my thing, and drive home. I don’t HAVE to work, but my life is a helluva lot nicer because I do. He paused for a sec, thinking about it, and then said I was right (yay me!). So he finishes his spiel, and says to hang on, because the chief surgeon wants to come in and meet me. While I’m waiting, I send Kelly a text: "Too Fat. They won’t clear me for surgery until I lose 10-15 pounds. I’m so sorry." It didn’t go through, since I was in the underground portion of the hospital, which just upset me more. I stood up to pace in the room, and as I turned around, the doctor came back. "I checked your CT Scan again, and you are very skinny on the inside. So I’m changing my decision and I’m clearing you for surgery." I’m fairly certain my eyes bugged out of my head. Skinny on the inside? Is there a greater phrase than that? He said he still wants me to keep trying to lose weight before the surgery, but they won’t postpone it if I don’t. HOORAY! I nearly tap danced out the door and back up to the main level. I was so grateful that the text to Kelly hadn’t gone through. I wouldn’t have wanted her to go through the emotional roller coaster I was just on. I called her and told her the great news, and she was just as excited as I am. (Still feels weird to be excited about a surgery, by the way). Our transplant coordinator is trying to schedule us for the beginning of March, or even late February if possible. So I have a month to drop 10-15 pounds, just to prove that I can do it.
Surgery, here we come!
"It’s not that I dislike many people. It’s just that I don’t like many people." – Bryant Gumbel
I completely identify with that sentiment. It sounds harsh and mean and rude, but it’s totally how I feel. I have very few close friends, a few more friendly acquaintances, but you could probably count both groups on two hands. I know that it’s my choice, and that I am probably missing out on some great people. I’d rather have a few really great friends than a ton of semi-ok friends. Quality over quantity, you know?
Sometimes people just drive me crazy. There’s one specific clock watcher at work who I often want to punch in the head (figuratively speaking). 15 minutes before their shift is over, they’ve completely packed up their things and are ready to walk out the door. 5 minutes before their shift is over, the computer screen is off, and they’re standing inside their cube, holding their car keys, waiting to bolt out the front door. Every. Single. Day. Overtime? HAHAHA! Not a cold chance in hell. I’m here late almost every single night. Sometimes 30 minutes, sometimes a few hours. I never watch the clock. I also come in late in the morning, and that arrangement works for me (and my bosses). The other afternoon, Clock Watcher worked exactly 15 minutes past the end of their shift. FIFTEEN WHOLE MINUTES! The way CW carried on, you’d think the cure for cancer had been found! CW made it sound like it was quite the accomplishment (though with the amount of Clock Watchers we have here, I’d say that’s almost true). It’s little things like that which bother me, and I know they shouldn’t. CW got a big pat on the back and thanks for all the extra work because they stayed 15 minutes late. I’m sorry, but I don’t think it’s that big a deal. Sometimes you need to go above and beyond for your job, especially when they treat us as well as they do. 15 minutes here or there shouldn’t be a reason to bake a cake and have a parade. Color me bitter, but that’s how I feel.
(Let’s just pretend it hasn’t been a week since I’ve posted, shall we?)
My meeting with the surgeons is scheduled for Friday. Can I just tell you how much that scares me? I mean, I knew it was coming. I’d even called to try and get it done sooner, because they were originally not going to see me until February. But it’s next week! I think it’s the title that scares me. In my head it sounds much more like Attack of the Surgeons! I’ve already been warned that they’re going to do everything within their power to scare the hell out of me. They want people who are serious about this, and not people who are going to back out at the last second. (Although that didn’t work so well the last time.) I really don’t think there’s a whole lot they can tell me that’s going to scare me further. Yeah, I can die. I could also be in a car wreck tomorrow and have the same fate. I could get an infection and stay in the hospital longer than normal. That would suck, but I’d manage (more vacation from work!). I could develop kidney problems when I’m older and go on dialysis. That’s true even if I don’t donate a kidney. Really, I’ve thought this through completely. I don’t understand how someone could go into this and not over analyze it like I have, but apparently that happens. I’m prepared. Scared to death, but totally prepared. I hope.
I started my workouts with a new personal trainer on Wednesday, and I already feel better about my weight loss path. I haven’t lost a pound since I started training. Not a single one. In fact, despite my mass consumption of water, my resolve to only eat healthy foods, and my 5 days a week cardio program, I have GAINED weight. What the hell? I can’t figure out why. So I explained this all to Mike, my new personal trainer, and together we came up with a plan. Already this is a vast improvement over the last guy, who never asked me anything about what I wanted out of this training, and just dumped me on a machine so I could work and he could watch the hot chicks wandering around. (Sidenote: Am I the only one who is completely intimidated by the hot chicks at the gym? I always picture them thinking “Oh look at the poor fat girl.” I know this is my insecurity rearing it’s ugly head, but please someone tell me that I’m not the only one. Lie if you must.) Mike, on the other hand, didn’t have me do anything until we went over what my goals were. I don’t want to be able lift a car. I want to lose weight, and firm up the leftover skin. That’s about it. I need to lose 15 pounds to meet UCLA’s requirements (They changed my goal weight to 5 pounds less than the original weight. I think they’re trying to make me cry.) and I don’t want my triceps flapping in the wind when I wave hello to someone. I also store most of my fat in my thighs and stomach, so I wanted to concentrate there. So he designed a program to fit my needs, and off we went! He pays attention to me when we’re working together, and he’s pretty damn funny. Trust me, trying to do a sit up while laughing hysterically does much more for your abs than doing 100 stomach crunches with a straight face. Try it.
Yesterday, Duke and I took a trip to the Huntington Library to pretend we know anything about photography. It was awesome. They have all these beautiful gardens you can wander through and look at. There’s a Japanese Garden, Desert Garden, Lily Pond, Herb Garden, and Rose Garden, just to name a few. I was most looking forward to the rose garden, but was disappointed to find that January is not Rose season. There are quite a few spots within the grounds that would be perfect for just sitting quietly and reading a book, or having a chat with a friend. In fact, I’m very much tempted to go back and pay the $20 entrance fee (thieves!) to do just that. There was one particular spot that was so blissfully peaceful, I just wanted to lay down and take a nap right there in the middle of the grass. But alas, I could not, for a stampede of loud children descended upon the place and shattered all the blissful peaciness (yes, peaciness, because I am The Denora: Inventor of Words that Shouldn’t Exist). Altogether, the three hours we spent there were some of the best hours I’ve had recently. As I’ve written before, I always enjoy hanging out with Duke, and today was no exception. I sure wish we could do it more often.
I leave you with some of my favorite photos from our excursion. They’re not retouched, nor anything spectacular. Just the ones that made me smile.
Well, it turns out I’m not crazy. At least not according to the psychiatrist I met with on Wednesday. He’s writing a glowing letter to the donation committee telling them that I’d be a wonderful candidate for donation. Yay! The evaluation took all of 20 minutes. He asked all the expected questions, and some that were a little weird. Apparently, sometimes after surgery a patient can become very confused and not remember exactly who they are. I’d never heard that before, but that’s what he said. Hearing that, I thought it meant he was going to ask questions about me. Likes, dislikes, education experience, etc. Boy was I wrong. He wanted me to interpret cliches (People in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones, Two heads are better than one, etc), explain similarities between two objects (bikes & cars, trees and flies, rulers & scales, etc.), and name cities in different parts of the world. First three cities in California, then three in the US, three in Europe, three in Asia, and three in Latin America. I rocked the first four categories. And then we came to Latin America. The silence in the room was deafening. I just blanked. Couldn’t think of ANY cities at all. Countries? Sure! I practically named them all. But that wasn’t the damn question. I felt like such an idiot. I finally squeaked out Tijuana, which I was completely not confident about (I couldn’t remember if Mexico was considered part of Latin America. I always equated Latin America with South America, and I knew Mexico wasn’t in South America). The psychiatrist was laughing at me because I was SO upset about not being able to remember any cities. I was so embarrassed. Finally I just gave up. I was certain he was going to fail me. He told me that they perform the same type exams on their medical students, and that I performed better than 95% of them (which, by the way, does not instill me with confidence in the medical staff at UCLA). I felt so relieved! I still felt like an ass for not remembering any friggin cities in Latin America, but at least I passed the exam!
While I was at my appointment with the psychiatrist, the transplant coordinator left me a voice mail with the results of some of my other tests. Everything came back looking great! The only exam they hadn’t received at the time was the CT scan that I had last week. Those results came in on Friday, and they were also good. They did find a small cyst on one of my ovaries, and I have to get it evaluated by a gynecologist. I freaked out a little when she first told me, but she assured me that they are very very common, and that it’s nothing to worry about. Most women have them and never even know it. They shrink and swell with your menstrual cycle, so it’s completely possible that if they’d done the exam the week before or the week after, it never would have shown up on the scan. Alas, since it did, I have to get it checked out via ultrasound with my own doctor. The good news is that UCLA feels it’s such a minor thing, they’re already scheduling me to meet with the surgeons. That’ll be in the beginning of February sometime. I was so excited when she told me that they were going to set up that meeting. I mean it’s weird to get excited about having surgery, but I was so relieved that nothing (major) was wrong with me, and that I’d be able to go through with this. I told anyone who would stand still long enough to hear. Thankfully, I was at work, where everyone knows what’s going on with Kelly, so they were all very excited to hear the good news.
So that’s the most exciting thing that’s happened in the last week. I wish my life was more exciting, because I’d have more to post about. But, hey, giving away an organ is a pretty exciting thing. Maybe that temporarily makes up for the lack of things to post about in other areas.
While being off work 9 days was wonderful, being back at work is…not. I’m so exhausted. I want nothing more than to go back to being on vacation. It’s not like I was lazy while on vacation, either. I traveled, cleaned, did laundry, saw a play, baked 11 dozen cookies, shopped, bowled, got poked and prodded, and spent time at home with my dog and husband. But man, two days of work have nearly killed me. I love my job, don’t get me wrong. But I didn’t think getting back into the swing of things was going to be so difficult. I had trouble focusing on more than one thing at a time, which is a huge handicap in my line of work. I spent most of the time wanting to be back at home, or for some magical fairy to come and finish all my projects. Neither of which was going to happen. So I keep plugging along, hoping for something to click in my brain, so that I can function again.
Part of my distraction lies in my impending Psychiatric Evaluation tomorrow at UCLA. I know I’ll be fine. They’re basically just evaluating me to make sure I’m fit to make this kind of life changing decision for myself. But I, being the eternal pessimist, am nervous. What if I say the wrong thing, or don’t answer the questions properly? I know I’m freaking out over nothing. Logically, I understand that I am over-analyzing and overreacting and that I should shut the hell up and move on. Emotionally? Hello mess! What’s worse is that I’m going to freak out about it all night, not sleep, and then be a total bear tomorrow. (Ok more bearish than usual, thanks.) Sometimes I wish I had a switch so I could just shut off my brain for a while. (Yes, yes. Wide open door for comments. I’m aware.) At least then I could sleep.
I’m supposed to get the results of all my testing on Thursday. This doesn’t mean I find out if I can be a donor, however. This just means the donation coordinator takes a look at my file and lets me know if anything in there could be a problem. I find out if I need to repeat any tests, or if any tests came back with a positive result. (Positive for negative things, that is.) So that’s a little stressful as well. I’m sure I’ll be fine. I keep telling myself I’m fine. I just wish I’d believe me.
Hi! Happy New Year! I know I’m almost a week late, but it’s the thought that counts! It feels like yesterday I was leaving to celebrate the new year in Arizona. We had a great time. Jas and Tony went golfing, and Kerry and I went along as riders. It was fun for a while, but then it got really cold, and all we wanted to do was go back home. After a minor golf cart fender bender (Reverse and Forward are not the same direction. Whodathunk?) we got through the round, and went back to Tony and Kerry’s. Jenn and her daughter Emily came out to join us Sunday night, and we played cards until the wee hours of the morning. I love playing cards at home, rather than a casino. We played for 3 hours, and I lost a grand total of two bucks. Of course, minimum bet in a casino is like $2 per hand, and minimum bet at home is a nickel, so that probably explains it. But I still prefer the non-smoking, much joking atmosphere of a home game. We rang in the new year quietly, playing cards, and watching the drunks from the kegger across the street. The visit seemed really short, since we had to come back home on the first.
The 3rd was my second day of kidney donation testing. The only word I can think of to describe it is weird. I spent the night up at a hotel across from UCLA, because I didn’t want to get up at 5am to sit in 3 hours of traffic and I was able to walk from the hotel to my appointment. The test was called a CT Urogram, and it’s basically a portfolio of pictures of my kidneys and bladder to make sure they’re all in the right place and not deformed or anything. They made me drink a full glass of water every 15 minutes for 45 minutes (for the math challenged, that’s 4 full glasses) before the exam. Then they stuck an IV in me and had me lay on a table that was connected to what can best be described as a giant doughnut. The table moved independently of the dough nut, so I was moved up, down, left and right throughout the entire exam. It was easy enough to keep my eyes closed, so I didn’t get motion sickness or anything. At first, it was a piece of cake. The table moved, the doughnut made noise and I just tried to go to sleep. But then the dye was released. Holy hell, people. They warned me ahead of time, but it was still the strangest feeling ever. If you’ve ever gone swimming when the air is freezing and you’re shivering, and then you dive into warm water, your body sort of flushes with heat, and then evens out to normal temperature. That’s what this felt like, except it was one body part at a time. First my fingers felt feverish, then my head, then chest, and it spread down all the way to my toes. Once the dye was in, they flushed it through with saline. That’s when the panic started. The excess fluids pushed a little on my chest, and while I could still breathe fine, I started freaking out. It felt like the pressure was increasing, and I wanted to tell them to stop, but I didn’t want to look like an idiot, but I didn’t want to die, and I was afraid that momentarily I wouldn’t be able to speak due to lack of oxygen, etc. (It’s glaringly apparent that I watch WAY too much House and Grey’s Anatomy). Mind you, the panic is making my heart race, and further amplify the feeling that I can’t breathe. I managed to hold it together long enough for the feeling to subside, thank goodness. They made me get up and walk around (so the dye would move through my kidneys and bladder better) and after a couple minutes started the doughnut up again. The whole process took about 15 minutes, but I swear it felt like an hour. I was very glad they’d canceled the psychiatric evaluation I was supposed to have right after the CT test, because I sure needed some time to get my head together again. In retrospect, it wasn’t a big deal at all. And if I had to do it again, I wouldn’t even hesitate, since now I know what to expect. But during that 15 minutes, I was ready to quit the whole process.
I rewarded my fake bravery with a trip to the yummiest place on earth. They don’t have locations where I live, so I make a point to visit one every time I’m out in the area. Due to the extra fluids I’d just had pumped in me, I had to pee every 7 minutes or so. The waiter must have thought I was on drugs, since I kept getting up. I felt like I was pregnant or something. It became funny to me after a while, which probably added to my waiter’s opinion of me, as I was by myself and giggling. But hey, I entertained him for a while, right?
I guess that’s it for my week. I saw Wicked yet again yesterday. A huge chunk of the cast was new, including the girl who plays Elphaba. I really liked her, but I think I prefer Eden Espinoza, who I’ve seen 4 times now. Her voice is a bit stronger, and blends together better with Megan Hilty (Glinda). Either way, if you’re in the LA area, I still strongly recommend you go see it. It’s fantastic. And if you need someone to go with you, let me know!
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