My Lovely Lady Lumps

Not what they were singing about. And yes, it's a little awkward for me to write about, but if I really want to go into maternal and child health, I need to start overcoming the stigma.

Ovaries.

I thought maybe my appendix was about to blow on Friday. Severe pain radiating to my belly button, nausea, slight fever - all signs point toward yes. Albert the amazing drove me through rush-hour, 4th-of-July weekend traffic to make it to UCDMC for an ultrasound before the weekend hit, while I downed a giant glass of iced tea to fill my bladder (needs to be transparent so they can better see your organs when they jam the probe up your - well, you get the idea). The sexist technician on duty said, "well, you better pee before you leave here, or you'll make your boyfriend pull over, and demand that he find a CLEAN gas station for you to go at."

"Actually," (and mind you, this is small talk during while a metal probe is taking images of my lower abdominal region), "I spent two summers working in the slums of Calcutta, so I can go pretty much anywhere."

"Oh. Wow."

Sometimes, you need those small victories in the midst of such indignity imposed by being sick for a long, long time.

I was told I'd have to wait a couple of days for results, but if the pain got worse, I could always go spend a couple thousand dollars at the emergency room. I decided that with the help of WebMD, I could do just as good a job at diagnosing myself, especially with the helpful little symptom checker. It's like playing with a paper doll, except that instead of dressing it up in different clothes, you get to assign different diseases to Jane or John Doe.


Ok, the abdominal pain was the most important part. You get to pick the quality you want to assign to your pain - dull, achy, sharp, tingly, feels like fireworks are igniting from a vital organ. But my left big toe had also started hurting quite suddenly along with my left hip, with no apparent external damage. And I had a throbbing headache. And my teeth were itchy. So I plugged all of these symptoms into WebMD, and it gave me the diagnosis: hypochondriac.

Anyway, my appendix is fine, but they found a giant hemorrhagic cyst - in the test results, the doctor wrote that it had basically taken over my right ovary (???). So the right ovary is something like six times bigger than the left and filled with blood. That image creeps me out, especially since I can feel the warmth radiating from the small protrusion from my right side, which did I also mention hurts A LOT? Still waiting to hear what this means, but cysts are a pretty common painful-but-benign ailment.

Why did I decide to tell you all (assuming someone reads this entry) this?

1. If we had talked about hanging out, or if I haven't responded to a message, this is probably why. I'm still trying to make it through the full work day since I am way out of sick leave, and that's about all I have energy for. Thank you for understanding that I still love you!

2. This makes me think: if ovarian cysts are so common and not generally caused by diet, environment, etc, how do women in the community I worked in handle this type of pain without any kind of drugs or the ability to take a break from working so that their kids might be able to have a meal that day?

3. With all of the health issues that have come together for me this year, it can be cathartic to share as an (un)health humorist. Laughing at the ridiculosity of a situation is powerful AND fun, as is making up words.

this is what happens when you analyze contracts for a living

I’ve always had an active imagination. There are scores of embarrassing stories and pictures to document this fact. I was raised in a family that values kids playing outdoors and in dress-ups, so in my life I’ve swam with the mermaids, joined Belle in a small French village, hosted my own decorating show, delighted the masses with my tasty culinary creations, written novels out of the tiny broom-closet turned office, been several nationalities outside my own, and served as queen over an entire empire known as Secret City, among other things. It follows me in my sleep as I have flown above the fields, traveled to countries I’ve never seen, and saved the world many times over.

But this imagination also has a darker side. I’ve dreamt up murder mysteries, been chased far too many times by a variety of villains, and been party to the worst-case scenario. This, too, has followed me into my everyday life.

For example, this morning. The microwave in our office, seeming so cheery in its red shell, was counting down toward zero. I pressed every button on the screen to turn the timer off, but to no avail. As I waited for my tea to brew, I became more and more anxious as I waited for the microwave-turned-bomb to ignite and destroy our entire office. Heroine that I am, I lunged to unplug the evil machine as was mildly electrocuted in the process. When I go to file for worker’s comp, I will bravely explain, “I was afraid the microwave was actually a bomb, you see. You’re welcome.”

Dear Customers, I am not your biotch...

Amber messaged me this morning and said, where’s your snarky gmail status?

I responded, just wait.

It took until 10:30, which might be a new record.

Our office was reorganized about 10 months ago, and it was decided that our number one priority was customer service – customers being department administrators, professors, and sponsors. The world of contracts and grants administration is pretty convoluted, so even the veteran researchers have questions at times regarding agreements, forms that have to be filled out, etc.

I understand that. But if you would read my carefully crafted email, you would see that I’ve already anticipated all of your needs, concerns, and questions, and made you feel like the most important customer in the world. If only you would read it.

So often , I get responses back that essentially tell me that I’m stupid. I already sent you that, why do you need to know this, the University doesn’t care about this detail. Thank you so much, I write back with teeth clenched into a forced grin (employee handbook page 425), I so appreciate you sending me these documents. Please note below that I actually asked you a completely different question, and it is the law, and has been for some time, that you need to fill out this very complicated form that consists of six whole check boxes.

Sometimes I get a sheepish email response. Oh. And begrudgingly they answer my question, or say they’ll send the form. They never apologize for not reading my email, or admit that it was there fault. The most I get is, I’m sorry for the confusion.

But you see, my friend, there was no confusion. You’re simply a dumbass.

Thank goodness for my fifteen minute break to share this with you all. Please comment with kindness.

Laundry Day

I saved up a month’s worth of laundry for Sunday. I don’t have 30 pairs of underwear, but I am grateful that my mom got me in the habit of hand washing my delicates at a young age. Wouldn’t you know, it would be so windy that small branches and leaves are whipping around the lawn in front of our apartment complex, wafting the smoke fumes from our neighbors' directly into our open screen door. As the Laundromat is right across the street, I don’t feel justified driving just a few feet. However, the look I receive from the driver of a car waiting patiently as I navigate the crosswalk, checking back to see if I have (once again) dropped my underwear in a public place, perhaps I should have driven after all.

I made it right before the Sunday afternoon rush. The next two hours prove to me that I don’t have to move far out of Davis to find America in all of its diversity and adversity.

As I walk in, two women are scolding a young boy in Spanish, as he turns out to be as rambunctious as he is darling. One of them is extremely pregnant, and I marvel at how her protruding belly does nothing to slow her deft motions as she folds the family laundry. Soon, a very tall white man walks in with a woman who appear to be his mother trailing behind, looking pained as she pushes her walker toward the industrial machines. They both look like they’ve lived a hard life, and they have little patience for the boy who is pushing the cart around and around and around with accompanying screeching. A young African American couple occupies the machines next to them, going in and out of the Dollar Store a few storefronts down as they wait for their laundry. They’re pretty cute together, both tall, and it’s clear who wears the pants in the relationship (she does). A woman walks in from the International Market next door with her two daughters in tow; all three wear colorful salwar kameez, and memories of streetside curry swarm around me as I smile at them. The younger girl is shy, but I catch her looking at me later when she’s not flirting with the little boy. A Chinese-American woman who appears about my age politely asks if she can borrow my cart to transfer her laundry (yes – if you give me that adorable sundress in exchange). Another man enters and circles the machines; I wonder if he was looking for the navy sock I found in my own laundry pile a few minutes later.

And all of us are carefully counting quarters as we look to make it through another week.

5 Things You Should Never Be Without

duct tape
can hold just about anything. And now, you don’t have to choose between function and flare – you can have both! My current favorite is the groovy tie-dye pattern. You can even use it in place of a bra for tricky wardrobe situations

a sharpie
It just makes you feel powerful. Useful for sending a message and filling in the scrape on your heels, as well as, you know, general writing.

peanut butter
goes with everything and is a delicious form of veggie protein. Also good for removing gum or using as an adhesive.

febreeze
Makes you smell good without drawing attention to your perfume. Useful for freshening hair, clothing, work station, car…so I don’t usually wear deodorant since I don’t really produce sweat or odor in that particular body area, but I wasn’t thinking when I put on my dress shirt this morning – it doesn’t really breathe. I’m very into hygiene, so even the slightest scent bugs me. But then I remembered HEY, there’s febreeze in the bathroom! Two squirts and the day was saved. Do they make travel sizes?

chapstick
helpful in multiple hydration locations. Also, you can eat it if desperate. Or if you're five years old and allured by the magical cherry scent of Bonnie Bell lip smackers.

Basically, thinking about these things is how I entertain myself during work hours.

My Needy Friend

Fibromyalgia has been a needy friend to me. Sometimes, I just have to give in to it (I haven’t decided yet whether or not it’s male or female, so it’s an androgynous entity for now). I gotta let it have its way, and get back in to bed and cuddle with it, place a heating pad on its aching joints and muscles, and devote all of my attention to it. No other friends or responsibilities may take precedent when Fibromyalgia is at its neediest. But most of the time, I just have to show it some tough love. Kick its butt outta the house even when it just wants to stay in and rest its weary bones. Remind it that others have it much worse, and that it’s not the only thing in my life – just one friend who’s seemed to latch on a little tighter than the rest.

floozy

I've co-opted this word for my own use. It happened like this:

I had a bit of a reaction to my last flu shot, dizzy, slow-minded, nauseous...

I decided that I felt floozy. Not in the urban dictionary definition of the word, but in that I felt like the word sounds. Floooooozy. Say it slowly and roll your eyes around a little to get the dizzying effect.