Posted by zoom! on September 10, 2009, at 10:09 am |
Tomorrow’s the big day: my date with the neurosurgeon! September 11th. (I found a little video that illustrates what happens in a microdiscectomy, if you’re interested.)
I’m pretty excited about this surgery. I get to spend a night in the hospital, which is kind of a big deal these days. I’m going to lie in my hospital bed and do puzzles in a puzzle magazine and read my new novel, You Remind Me of Me by Dan Chaon. I might get red jello for dessert. And I should know pretty soon after surgery if the surgery worked.
If the pain is gone, it worked.
The pain fluctuates, depending on whether I’m sitting or standing and when I took my last painkiller, but it has been my more-or-less constant companion for six months. I might be pain-free by tomorrow afternoon! I might be able to walk – like, really walk – again. My life might go back to normal. I might be able to take buses downtown and walk to the grocery store and go hiking in the Gatineaus. I might even be able to walk to my radiation appointments. (Did I tell you? They’re going to be at the Civic Hospital, which is only a 20-minute walk from my place.) In a couple of months, I might be able to go cross-country skiing again. I might even be able to take up running again. And I might start doing yoga. And Tai-Chi. And Poi.
There’s an 80% chance of all that, according to my surgeon. And a 15% chance that there won’t be any difference. And a 5% chance that I’ll be worse off because of the surgery.
So it’s a little bit scary too.
In other news, I accomplished something yesterday that made me glow with pride. Remember back on April 2 when my closet organizer collapsed on my head? Well, a little while later I bought a new closet organizer, and it has been sitting in its box in the closet for months. Yesterday I installed it! It doesn’t sound like a big deal but there were hundreds of parts and one of those complicated schematic drawings and very few words, and I used power tools and everything. I had to take a couple of coffee breaks because my leg was hurting, but eventually I got her done. And it’s nice and sturdy too. I’m so impressed with myself. And wow, is it ever nice having a closet again!
Posted by zoom! on September 9, 2009, at 10:26 am |
I haven’t been to a hairdresser since last February. At that point, Shiraz cut, coloured, highlighted and styled my hair, and told me to come back in six to eight weeks.
The Flip
Shiraz does this thing called “the flip” and it makes my hair look modern and fashionable until I wash it. I can’t replicate it. I’ve never mastered a hair dryer and I’ve been known to get my round styling brush hopelessly tangled in my hair. I can’t do anything complicated while looking in the mirror because the signals from my brain go to the wrong hand. So, between visits to Shiraz, I just let my hair do its own thing, and hope for the best.
Shortly after seeing Shiraz I got diagnosed with cancer. I figured it was only a matter of time til I started chemo, and then all my hair would fall out. I didn’t want to spend money on hair that was going to fall out. (If I’d known it would take six months to see the medical oncologist, I probably would have gotten my hair done, but there’s such an air of urgency to cancer, you can’t imagine anything taking six months.)
I was prepared to lose my hair, but I wasn’t looking forward to it. I’d feel naked without hair. Even though it would start growing back soon enough, it would be very short for a long time, and I don’t look good with very short hair. (Hair grows, on average, a quarter inch per month.)
I recently learned for sure that I won’t be doing chemo, so my hair won’t be falling out after all!
Archeological dig of Zoom's hair
This is great, but now I have to figure out what to do with my hair. In six months of complete neglect, it’s gotten pretty long. And shapeless. The highlights have gotten a lot lighter, and since fresh hair has grown on top, the highlights have shifted lower. I’ve got prominent two-inch roots. My natural colour is dark brown, and it’s got a bunch of silver strands in it. So, working from the top down, I’ve got a couple inches of natural, undyed dark brown hair with silver strands. Then I’ve got about 8 inches of dyed dark brown hair with lighter highlights that keep getting lighter and lower over time.
Me with longer hair (Photo: Milan)
I think I’ve decided to keep it longer for awhile, to celebrate having hair. As always, I just let it do its thing and hope for the best, and some days it looks good. For example, Milan took this unusually flattering picture at his vernissage last week. My hair and I don’t usually look this good.
Less flattering and more typical picture of me and my hair
We usually look more unkempt and dishevelled, like in the zucchini picture.
If I’m going to let it grow, should I do nothing or should I get a hairdresser to thin it out or shape it or do something to help it grow neatly?
As for colour, I like the dark brown with highlights. But I’m not so comfortable anymore with the idea of soaking my head in toxic chemicals for an hour every eight weeks. I used to think skin was a barrier, but I realize now it’s a sponge. That’s why some medications are administered by skin patch (birth control, nicotine replacement, etc.).
So maybe I’ll just grow my hair and go grey gracefully and naturally. But then what do I do about the old coloured and highlighted sections? Do I have to wait years for them to grow long enough to be cut out? Or is there a way to blend the colours more naturally and less toxicly (is that a word?) in the interim?
Considering what could have been, this is a very nice problem to have.
Posted by zoom! on September 8, 2009, at 9:24 am |
Okay, let’s just say, hypothetically of course, that your latest hobby resulted in you plunging headlong into a thick tangle of brambles alongside the Rideau Canal, and while you were in there you found a credit card and a lottery ticket. You took them home, looked up the name on the credit card and got the woman’s phone number. Then, just for fun, you looked up the lottery ticket and discovered that it was worth $2,218.30.
Oh dear. What would you do? Remember, the question is not what should you do, but what would you do.
(Those of you who are reading this from a feed reader or email will need to click on over here in order to vote.)
Just out of curiosity, would your answer change if the ticket were worth four million dollars?
If you like this sort of thing, XUP has a whole series of etiquette dilemmas for you to weigh in on. Etiquette dilemmas are the second cousin of ethical dilemmas.
Posted by zoom! on September 6, 2009, at 1:11 pm |
Milan Ilnyckyj
Milan’s vernissage was even better than I predicted. He’s a great photographer and an engaging host, and the event was a lot of fun.
Hella Stella was adorable performing beside Louie the Puppet.
Astronaut Love Triangle was just as hilarious and entertaining this time as they were last time. Well, almost. (You know me, I don’t like to knit-pick, and what they did do was absolutely five star, first-rate entertainment. But it would have been ever so slightly better if only they’d included that Gilligan’s Island number I like so much.)
Raw Sugar has the perfect ambiance for a gathering like that. It’s homey and cozy and has formica tables, just like the ones you used to play Monopoly and do your homework at. It has milk and cookies and Beau’s beer.
The only disappointment was that – as Nadia warned me in advance – the Banana Butterscotch Cake was a bit botched by the bakery, in that they used the Carrot Cake icing instead of the Butterscotch icing. I LOVE Raw Sugar’s Banana Butterscotch Cake, and it just wasn’t the same without the butterscotch.
If you were to organize all foods by order of preference in a big long line, what foods would be at the ends of your line?
Mine would be peanut butter (least favourite) and raspberries (most favourite).
Posted by zoom! on September 4, 2009, at 12:47 pm |
I met my medical oncologist, Dr. Song, for the first time this morning. It’s kind of like going to the dentist, where you spend 45 minutes with the hygienist and five minutes with the dentist. In this case I spent 45 minutes with a resident and five minutes with the oncologist.
I had trouble understanding the resident because of his accent, but he was competent and thorough and didn’t seem to mind repeating himself when asked.
There wasn’t a lot of new information today; it was more a matter of them pulling together all the bits and pieces from the last six months, and making recommendations.
My cancer is considered gone.
Further treatment is directed towards the goal of preventing a recurrence.
With radiation but no further treatment, there is a 17% chance the cancer will recur (I didn’t think to ask at the time whether this was a timed prediction – ie within five years)
Chemo would provide me with a slight reduction in risk, but the benefits do not justify the risk. So NO CHEMO!
Hormone treatment – Tamoxifen – will further reduce the risk of recurrence from 17% to 11%.
All women face a 10% risk of contracting breast cancer, so my risk – with radiation and Tamoxifen – would be only slightly higher than anybody else’s.
Hormone treatment consists of taking a pill a day for five years.
The serious side effects of Tamoxifen include a 3% risk of potentially fatal blood clots in the legs or lungs, and a 1% risk of uterine cancer. There are other more common but less spectacular side effects, such as hot flashes, vaginal dryness and weight gain.
The oncologist recommended that I start taking Tamoxifen as soon as my radiation therapy is over. However, the choice is entirely mine and I’m not entirely sure I want to do it.
A 3% risk of blood clots is not insignificant. The risk is greater for sedentary people and hopefully I’ll be active by then, as my spine surgery is a week from today. But Ottawa’s favourite bicycle courier, Frank Plummer, died of a blood clot at the age of 40, and he was a marathon runner.
If Tamoxifen gives me a six percentage point advantage with respect to breast cancer, but a 4% disadvantage with respect to blood clots and uterine cancer…well, doesn’t one practically cancel out the other?
These are things I need to consider when making my decision.
Still. Tamoxifen or no Tamoxifen is a good problem to have. I remember when I first got diagnosed, Lori was saying reassuring things about treatment, and I turned to her and said “Honestly, I don’t care about the treatment. I just want to live. I will happily do whatever it takes to survive.”
And I meant it, absolutely. Mastectomy, chemotherapy, radiation, side effects, whatever it takes. I’ve been incredibly lucky that it has taken so little.
Posted by zoom! on September 2, 2009, at 10:42 am |
The Shepherds of Good Hope just purchased a hotel about two blocks from my house. It will provide supportive housing for about 50 clients, including frail elderly people, people who are succeeding in the Managed Alcohol Program, and people living with mental illness.
Carlington has reacted with the predictable community rallying cry of “Not in My Back Yard!” I’ve heard comments about property values plunging, and even about Ottawa “dumping its garbage” on Carlington. It’s gotten ugly. Some people are angry that they only found out about it in the paper. They believe the community should have been consulted beforehand, and should have had a chance to prevent it.
The format of the two-hour meeting was that several people spoke briefly – City Councilor Maria McRae, Wendy Muckle from Ottawa Inner City Health, Police Chief Vern White, Paul Soucie from the Shepherds, and Marian Wright from the Canadian Mental Health Association. Then the floor was opened to questions and comments from the community.
Wendy Muckle attempted to allay people’s fears by describing the population of clients who will be permitted to move to Carlington. They are not drug users or panhandlers. They are elderly and frail. This move is considered a privilege, and there are crystal-clear behavioural expectations to which the clients must adhere. “Absolutely, unequivocally, no they will not be walking around the neighbourhood drunk or stoned. We might not be able to solve the existing drug and alcohol problems in Carlington, but we won’t be adding to them.”
There were some angry people in the audience. People who yelled and heckled the speakers. People who insisted on being heard but refused to listen. Much of their anger seemed to be only peripherally related to Shepherds.
There were other comments too, like “My back yard is full,” and “How do we know that it won’t be turned into a safe injection site in a year or two?” and “It’s time to help us.”
I was actually prepared to stand up and speak at this meeting, even though public speaking rattles me to my very core. But this is where my neighbourhood and my values intersect, so I was willing to put myself through the rattling.
I would have said something like this:
“The one thing Shepherds’ clients all have in common is that they have problems. But just because someone has a problem doesn’t mean they have every problem, and it doesn’t mean they have nothing but problems, and it doesn’t mean they are problems, or that their problems are going to contaminate their neighbourhood.
As for property values, there’s nothing intrinsic about the Shepherds that will cause our property values to fall. But property values are sensitive to public opinion. If we go around insisting in advance that Shepherds will force our property values down, then we run the risk of creating a self-fulfilling prophecy. It’s to everyone’s advantage that we avoid casting speculative aspersions.
I hope Carlington will rise to the occasion and be open-minded and open-hearted enough to be good neighbours and to give our new neighbours a chance to be good neighbours to us.”
But I didn’t speak. It was a huge and surprising crowd. There were more Shepherds’ supporters than I expected – perhaps a quarter of the crowd. And of those who objected to Shepherds, it turns out they weren’t so much afraid that Shepherds was going to come into the neighbourhood and destroy it – it was more like they were angry that Shepherds was going to come into the neighbourhood and not fix it. Person after person talked about the existing problems in the neighbourhood. Prostitution. Drugs. Panhandling. Crime.
I find this fascinating, because I honestly don’t see a whole lot of any of that around here. There’s one old woman who panhandles outside Mac’s. The 2-day prostitution sweep netted the arrests of two sex trade workers and two clients, which is hardly indicative of a huge prostitution problem. Chief Vern White said the crime stats show that Carlington has been improving dramatically over the last couple of years. But clearly people’s perceptions are at odds with the statistics, because they were adamant that things are getting worse.
My own criticisms of Carlington centre more on what’s missing from the neighbourhood. We need more good stuff. Recreation facilities. A grocery store. A library. A coffee shop. A yarn shop. Supportive housing.
Anyway, it was an interesting, if volatile, meeting. And I’m more pleased than ever that Shepherds is coming to my neighbourhood.
Posted by zoom! on September 1, 2009, at 9:35 am |
The whole blogosphere is abuzz with the news of a triple-header this Friday at Raw Sugar!
It’s the opening of Milan’s first photography show! (He’s having a contest on his blog right now, by the way – you can win stuff just by commenting.)
If that weren’t enough, Hella Stella is providing first-class musical entertainment!
And if that weren’t enough, Astronaut Love Triangle is performing some of its charming fusion of comedic musical theatre skits for ADD grown-ups. ( I’m the self-appointed #1 fan of the Triangle, and this is a rare opportunity to see them without a special invitation.)
So – cancel all your plans for Friday evening and go to Raw Sugar instead. You’ll be happy you did.
Raw Sugar
692 Somerset Street (at Cambridge)
7:00 pm (better come early)
I’ve been so busy the last few days! I know the freelance job is just a few days a month, but it’s these few days this month, and they just happened to coincide with our road trip to Lindsay to visit my sister and brother-in-law at their trailer. (We had a lovely time talking and eating and drinking and playing euchre and hanging out with the dogs and making up Halloween candy games.)
Even though we were only at their place for 24 hours, it took us a crazy amount of time to get there and back. GC and I love road trips but we spend almost as much time in restaurants and ditches and forests and meadows and dirt roads as we do in the car. And sometimes we’re so exhausted we have to pull over to the side of the road and have ourselves a little snooze. (I don’t like to fall asleep when GC’s driving because I secretly suspect he’s a hard-core narcoleptic, so I stay awake to keep him awake so we don’t crash and die.)
GC Searching for Treasures on the Banks of the Crowe River
The GPS estimated it should take us four hours and fifteen minutes to drive from Lindsay to Ottawa. it took us seven and a half hours. That’s partly because we found three geocaches along the way. The first one was on a cliff behind the Windy Ridge Conservation Area, near Lindsay. The second one was a toughie in a forest on the banks of the Crowe River – it took us an hour and a half. The third one was a slam-dunk at the Silver Lake rest area (I highly recommend it as a place to stop and eat your picnic lunch, but try to avoid using the washrooms. I refuse to go into the details; just take my word for it. Please.)
I did a fair amount of knitting in the car, but I’m not very happy with the results. I bought two skeins of a luxury variegated yarn (Araucania Ruca Multy) to make a baby sweater. I did one front using one skein and the other front using the other skein. One is much pinker while the other is much bluer. At first I tried to convince myself it was all in my imagination.
“Do these look okay to you?” I asked GC. He glanced from the road to the two sweater fronts on my lap. I swear, he only looked for about half a second before looking back to the road.
“They look like completely different colours,” he said helpfully.
So much for that. If a man can see it in half a second, it’s not all in my head. Not that there’s anything wrong with men, but they seem to have fairly primitive powers of colour differentiation. I’m not a whole lot better. Both my sisters can spend five minutes describing a colour, whereas I run out of things to say after the name of the colour and one or two adjectives. “A fairly bright red” is about my limit. But my sisters can wax eloquent about the undertones and flecks and mid-ranges and seasons and temperatures and crispness and depth and texture of a colour.
Do these look okay to you?
Anyway. It wasn’t all in my head. The two fronts are different colours. Maybe it’ll be less noticeable when I get the frill done. And the sleeves. (I did the back using both skeins, so any differences between the colours would be absorbed and evened out….but I didn’t want to be carrying two skeins up the fronts, with all the increases and decreases. Too sloppy.)
Duncan is so happy I’m home again. He licked my face for about fifteen minutes, while simultaneously purring, as I tried to fall asleep last night. And this morning he joined me in the shower. My old dog, Sam, used to join me in the shower from time to time too, whenever there was a thunderstorm, but Duncan does it every day. I’ve rented a bath chair temporarily because sometimes when my back is really bad I can’t stand long enough to take a whole shower. I never get to use the bath chair because Duncan likes to lie on it while I’m showering. He doesn’t even care that he gets damp.
I haven’t been sucked into the pre-operative vortex – I’m still here but I’ve been unusually busy with the usual medical stuff, PLUS I’ve managed to pick up some consulting work for a few days each month. It’s interesting work – I’m adapting a print magazine for the web. Among other things, I get to read articles about Insite and health care wait times, which is the next best thing to writing articles about Insite and health care wait times.
Anyway, coffee break’s over – it’s time to alt-tab back to the virtual office.
Duncan sends deep rumbly love from the only sunbeam in the entire house. (Photo credit: GC)
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