move it or lose it
the experts are not kidding
leaves not to return
JSmith 02/04/2017
Today’s drama on As the Eye Turns …
01 Mar 2015 Leave a comment
March — it’s what time DOES. Snow fell all day yesterday and the ground is white, but spring is, even as we speak, gathering up little robins and crocii and dandelions, wheee, and it will all be showing up here any minute now!
The passage of time is so very relative, and that effect seems to be accentuated when your brain is on the fritz. The day of the initial biopsy my surgeon said, “If it’s malignant we’ll do an excision, and if necessary a skin graft ….. you’ll come back in five to six weeks, we’ll remove the stitches, and you should be good to go.” Crap, what did I know from what he actually said, I don’t hear for beans!
The day before my six-week check-up we figured out that I’d misunderstood parts of the process, but it was not yet clear just how delusional I was. And then the appointment took all of ten minutes, not counting iPad time in the waiting room. I’m not complaining, let the record show, my doctor and his assistants are lovely people who excel at what they do and I adore them. But it was quickly apparent that no stitch-release stuff would be happening at that present time. Ninety-degree turn in the Expectations Hallway.
THE GOOD NEWS: The graft site is healing beautifully and we’re right on schedule (the correct one). After the next six weeks there’s an appointment to see how much longer the graft needs to cure. I was indeed self-deluded, but now I know and all is well. Most important, this is neither fatal nor permanent. And life goes on.
So it’s at least a year-long process to reach total healing — I have friends who will deal with health issues for life. One lost an eye at age two … and I’m whining about stitches holding an eyelid down for a few months.
NOTE TO SELF: You are not allowed, for the duration, to apologize for looking demented, not to anybody, even if you happen to bump into President Obama on Mass Street next week. {Sorry, deal’s off for the president.} But you’ll get to walk away from this at some point, maybe even by summer, and that’s almost not even fair. Your friends who’ve had to actually give up body parts are hoping nobody notices, too, and they don’t get a pass, so own your I’ve-been-drunk-for-a-week eye and live your life.
So yeah, “March is the month that God designed to show those who don’t drink what a hangover is like.” –Garrison Keillor
ENJOY!
Feels like a HumpDay …
25 Feb 2015 4 Comments
4:00pm. Good news and bad news so far today. Rewind to …
10:45am. Kim returns from his annual cardiology exam/report full of great news — the sonogram shows no sign of muscle damage, his blood pressure read 116/63 in the office, and he is, in clinical terms, healthy as a horse. Everybody hugs and does the happy dance and the house feels warm, and safer than it did at 9:45 before his doctor said to him “You should be around for a very long time.”
11:45am. My surgeon’s assistant calls to remind me about tomorrow morning’s appointment, which I think is for finishing the graft and freeing my eyelid again but is simply a check-up, at which time Dr. Khan will determine how much longer the graft has to “bake.” I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry.
11:46am. A meltdown may or may not take place, after which Kim takes me to Hog Wild BBQ for a loaded baked potato bigger than my head. Carb therapy.
2:00pm to present. Lying prone in a darkened room does wonders for temporary insanity, and by darkened room I mean Facebook and WordPress. By *lying prone* I mean I’ve intentionally flat-lined for a while, and by *temporary insanity* I mean batshit crazy.
4:15pm. It’s all good news, of course. A delay in ditching an irritant does not a tragedy make, the graft looks like it’s healing perfectly, and my well-worn face has not been further marred — the scar is going to fade beautifully and who really cares!
Staying cozy tonight with Kim and Madison and feeling grateful. Another HumpDay conquered.
It’s like life …
24 Feb 2015 1 Comment
I fell asleep last night thinking “Two more dayszZzzzz.” Yes, kids, this Thursday morning the finish work on the skin graft will happen and the stitches at the inner and outer corners of my eye will be released and life will go on. Just like that. Moment of silence, please, while I pay homage to the preceding two months that passed in spite of me. Thank you.
So … as I was saying, anything can derail us from writing. It’s a challenge for me to stay focused on the best day, and because I’m a pansy-ass I have to say that the past sixty days or so, taken in their entirety, will not make my “best” list. Parts of them were excellent, of course … but I digress.
The eye thing is turning out to be a bit of a watershed event (one in a continuing series) in ways I’m still figuring out. At first it was the teensiest bit scary, and then it was painful, and then it was, and still is, just a nuisance. It knocked me off my writing rocker, but lonnng since I could see in stereo again I’ve just hung around down here on the floor hoping nobody would notice. The horse waits …
My dearest, sweetest, most wonderful, funniest, very possibly smartest WordPress/Facebook/Real True Friend Cristy Carrington Lewis triple-dog challenged me to a write-off, first poster wins. This is me posting but I hope she wins, she’s so precious. Go say hello at http://paltrymeanderings.com. She answers to Miss Snarky Pants and she writes a “Humor Blog for Horrible People.” I ❤️ her.
Here’s to you, darling girl. Much success as you travel through the blogosphere, and not only in besting silver-haired adolescent seniors (my truth is safe with you, no?) … but in making your mark, of course.
Yes. Most emphatically still here.
15 Feb 2015 8 Comments
Anyone between 40 and 65+ gets this — once it starts you’ll do everything cheap and painless to make it stop. And by it of course I mean aging. I squandered at least 25 years’-worth of primo brain cells cursing every line, gray hair, and extra pound — “STOP! STOP IT!! STOP THIS RIGHT NOW!!! GIVE ME SOME TIME TO MENTALLY PREPARE!! {Interweave creative language of your choosing.}”
Over the years it’s inexplicably gotten more challenging to match up the two realities: I don’t feel any older in my psyche, I’m in fact regressing and there are those who own evidence to prove it, but my exterior road map is relentlessly becoming more detailed, my once-blonde/brown/henna-ish hair has at long last come out of the closet as its own true amazing silver, and my late-life-acquired supplemental mass is stubborn and sneaky so I’ve decided to own it for warmth, comfort, and familiarity.
The rush in all of this is that it doesn’t feel like I’m giving up. I only have to adapt to the kindergartener around my waist until winter’s over — it’s cruelly cold outside — and then I’m thinking I’ll work on it again. Or … you know ….. just possibly not, really, not in any stressed-out sort of way. Because even though my lines and veins are more visible now, I’ve survived to a point where this body’s pretty freaking okay for its years and experiences. And I’m in love with my shiny silver hair that Shelby at the barbershop cuts for $10+tip and gives it a life of its own so that I might have 99 problems but my hair isn’t ever one of them. (If I wanted to pull senior rank on her she’d cut it for $5 and probably say about her tip “Oh honey, that’s fine, go buy a coffee or something.” But WTF, are you kidding?! Baby Jesus, don’t ever let me get THAT kind of old!) So anyway how truly awful could it be to haul around more pounds than my body was designed for? Oh, wait … right … wasn’t taking the whole Life & Death thing into account. So … you know … erroneous THERE, but …
Well, so I’m going with two out of three unless or until I can change, but meanwhile that tiresome head-voice has gone strangely silent. After all those years of fighting my body … okay, it was a half-hearted effort at best … she and I are starting to feel like real friends. Not like, hey I forgive you for being such a biotch and embarrassing me … just … hey … no forgivey-stuff required, I’m you and you’re me and we like each other fine and this feels good. And wow, hey, look at all the options that just opened up!
“Having work done” was never part of my bucket list, and after having my face sliced and stitched up last month I can tell you that there’s no way I’d do it voluntarily just because things weren’t close enough to perfect. The twelve women in the slideshow linked here are some of my best role models — I hope you’ll revel in their happy stories!
http://www.purpleclover.com/entertainment/3543-12-stars-say-no-to-plastic-surgery/
I love this woman like Kanye loves Kanye!
Really? Are you kidding me?
04 Feb 2015 4 Comments
See the post before this one? Okay … GUESS. WHAT. DAY. IT. IS!! Yes. Again.
So it may or may not have been a somewhat challenging week in which whimpering, bitching, and one hugh-jass meltdown happened. Pretty sure there was an afternoon where somebody cried for two or three hours and totally freaked out her husband and fluffy little dog. The upside is that the eye — the sumbish in our story — actually felt better afterward, so there’s that.
The days have slipped by and the weather outside has gone from cold to warm to cold again. We’re hibernating … but ready to be sociable. Not today so much, because it’s snowy and wet and feels like 10 degrees Fahrenheit, and what you hear me saying is that unless you’re coming to our house we won’t be seeing you yet, because the fireplace is just too nice, and Maddie and I are snuggled at my desk with the divine little radiant heater Kim got us today, the same Kim who’s adorably zoned out “watching” TV … and we’re just not leaving, you can’t make us leave.
It’s gray here, and cold. I’m glad that never lasts. Grass and leaves and sunshine always feel slow coming back, just like health and well-being, but it all gets here, and mostly on time.
Coming back. Might even be back again tomorrow …
Finally over THAT hump …
21 Jan 2015 12 Comments
Today was the day, kids — Quasimodo for the win!! The cunning little Basal Cell Surprise has been routed, three cheers for the good guys!
Muy painful, but that won’t last long, right? The eye will remain surgically closed for the next six to eight weeks while the graft (skipping right over the details here) establishes itself. Meanwhile, functioning with one eye when I’m used to two is an adventure in staying upright. Depth perception and a gyro are dicey for me on a good day, so all respect to people who manage to excel at this!
Wanna see what the MOHS procedure-thing looks like? Holy cow, what a poor sport!
Okay, I’ll just post it for my aunt and that one friend …
DISCLAIMER: Possibly NSFW
WARNING: GROSS!! ICKY!!
FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, CAN YOU NOT READ???
And yet here you are … lord knows I tried.
Sharing to say this: IF YOU HAPPEN TO NOTICE AN ODD BUMP, DON’T IGNORE IT.
Here’s a picture of Maltese puppies to make up for that!
Life in the unicorn nursery …
06 Jan 2015 5 Comments
Today we get the pathology on my eyelid biopsy and find out where it goes from here — nowhere, or back for more carving. Either way, we dance — it’s Tuesday. Stay tuned.
Meanwhile, if anything potentially negative is coloring your day, focus on the unicorns!
Not going down without a rant …
22 Dec 2014 6 Comments
My tolerance for whining is minimal, so I try not to do it.
Just the facts then.
If you’ve never experienced an auto-immune disorder there’s no way to explain it to you, but I’m willing to try because at least a dozen people on my Facebook feed, including me, deal with fibromyalgia and/or other auto-immune malfunctions on a daily basis. If you’ve somehow formed the opinion that we’re lazy, unmotivated, hopeless weenies, at least scan the information below. Most of us, like you, have dreams and plans, if only our bodies would get in the game.
Part of the frustration that comes with fibro is its unpredictability — one day you’re flying high, the next you can’t get out of bed. More often, the transition takes place between one hour and the next. A second frustration is that, plan as you might, there will be social opportunities missed and projects that never really get off the ground. A third, if you can call it a frustration, is that when flares hit they’re fairly relentless and the prolonged pain and hypersensitivity in bones, joints, muscles, tendons and other soft tissues let you know that everything is on hold for a while. A fourth is that while researchers are on the brink of several breakthroughs, the root causes of fibromyalgia remain elusive, ergo no effective treatment yet.
I’m blessed that my husband gets it and doesn’t see me as dead weight to haul around, but not all are so fortunate. It can be a lonely walk, so for friends and family who have to carry the burden of all we DON’T know about the auto-immune spectrum in general and fibromyalgia in particular, here are the fruits of my highly-personal, mostly-unscientific research into the disorder known among the ranks as “the invisible beating.” (Click pics to enlarge.)
Omigosh, you’re still here? You are either a really caring soul or you have a vested interest in the subject, or both. We can all help make things better for each other — that’s the truth. I’m glad you’re a part of that …
Sometimes you just go ahead and dance …
16 Dec 2014 3 Comments
So I noticed a weird little goober on my lower eyelid, oh, months and months ago and when it started to resemble an expanding snot bubble I made an appointment with a specialist — I’m not one to rush into things unless it’s something I really want. Anyway, today was as much fun as a poke in the eye with a sharp needle — biopsy done and now we have the inevitable wait. But even if it’s basal cell, as Dr. Specialist surmises, it won’t be a biggie — Dr. Specialist #2 will biopsy the whole thing in layers and if I end up with a divot in my eyelid Dr. Specialist #1 will Bondo it for me and my eye will be good as new. Also basal cell carcinoma doesn’t metastasize or send out runners. Yay!
Hey, it’s Tuesday, the day we dahnce, dahlings, and I say we get on with it. Choose your libation — I’m having NZ Starborough Sauv Blanc — and distract me while the anesthetic wears off and reality hits. That’s what friends do.
Playing for Time 
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