July 17, 2017, marked 20 years from the day we lost my father. He was the 9th son of immigrants, and the best dad I could have asked for. My time with dad was split into two phases. One, was of my youth … before he got sick. The other, was the last 9 years of his life, which were hard for everyone, but most assuredly the most difficult for him. I knew there was something about 7/17/17 that meant something … but it just hit me today. 20 years without dad went by, and it feels like an eternity.
My best friend from the past has been down here visiting. She is great. I miss having her around but also like knowing she’s out there in the world doing things. She reminded me of this blog when she asked if I still keep one.
It’s amazing and scary how easy it can be to fall out of exercise routines when injuries occur. Since the pain in the arch of my foot wasn’t going away, I stopped walking long distances and discovered any form of cardio caused more pain. Of course, I could try swimming, but that’s not as convenient with my work schedule.
I had my first colonoscopy and endoscopy way before the routine age to get one, back on May 6th. The prep wasn’t terrible, but it was tiresome. I drank all the colyte, and my advice to anyone going through this is to do your prep correctly. The doctor informed me I have some acid reflux and a hiatal hernia, so I should eat smaller meals. She also removed some polyps from my intestinal tract. One polyp in my cecum was a pre-cancerous sessile serrated adenoma about 15 mm long (which she said was considered “big.”) She said it was hard to spot, and if I hadn’t done a good job with prep and cleaned myself out well, there’s a good chance they could have missed it. (which is why I said earlier to do your prep correct. Do not cheat.) Doc advised that I should never allow more than 3 years between check-ups, and said if I had left it alone and waited until the usual age for this procedure… “we’d be having a very different conversation.”
I don’t know ’bout you, but using the bathroom and expunging waste from the day before was a morning ritual I looked forward to. I’d wake up, take my poo, feel good about life, and be on my merry way. At some point this year it became clear to me something had changed. My poos were no longer a relief, but a burden. They were physically different. It also took longer, and I had to strain more even though I was not constipated.
I was diagnosed with severe endometriosis that required laparoscopic surgery in 2008 which has me wondering if the two are connected. Back then, the surgeon told me to get used to the thought of having multiple surgeries. The endo was all over and he removed excess tissue from 17 different spots. One of my fallopian tubes was held shut by the offending tissue, and a large nodule was found way back in my womb. I spoke of my concerns to my (relatively new) gynecologist this year, and he suggested metamucil and seeing a PCP.
I got a PCP who was a little bit off, and riffed about how he has 2 patients a few years older than me who have ovarian cancer, and since my mom had it, he was kind of implying he thought this could be related. Then he talked about how if he was a woman he’d do a double-mastectomy, and remove his ovaries. I was like .. um??? What? And then he said, “Let’s just wait for the lab results.” He did not order a CA-125. BUT my cholesterol and blood sugar are excellent. Yeah. I won’t be going back there.
As I sit typing this marginally embarrassing blog post–at the age of 42, I reflect upon my life. I still feel young … though my body says otherwise. Tomorrow, I have a consultation to see if I can get someone to take a gander … up my butt.
I haven’t updated in almost two years. Where the heck have I been all this time?
It’s February, and I’m getting ready to graduate in May, and then onwards to employment. There are still obstacles to clear. Reports to be written for my current internships, and an oral examination where I have to speak about my philosophy and an administrative, public, and technical scenario related to archives. Thinking positive since the alternative is not an option.
Currently reading: Modern Romance. Written by Aziz Ansari, who I find to be quite funny. It’s not just a humor book, which is pretty neat. As someone who has never been married, reading about the state of modern romance is incredibly (as of page 126) bleak. I’m not partial to meeting people online. Simply have never had good experiences with that. I hate that I never met anyone earlier in life who I felt was my soulmate, but at the same time why the fuck did I believe in the notion of a Continue reading
The pool I get to swim in.
I bought jeans for the first time in many years, and realized I fucking hate jeans now. What’s with all the skinny jeans? (It’s been more than a decade since I’ve worn jeans). I don’t want mom-jeans, but christ. I don’t like skin-tight denim on me. I don’t know how many pairs I’ve bought and had to return to the store because even though they fit, I can’t see myself wearing them. After all the working and working out I’ve been doing these past few months, I discovered I can fit into a size 0, or 2 in said jeans. Sometimes, depending on the cut, even the size 0 is roomy. But I don’t truly understand what goes into all that. Why is it so complicated? Was it always this fucking complicated? Am I a failure as a woman? If you said yes, Fuck you! lol.
The other day, I sat on the hip abduction / adduction machine, and made the mistake of putting too much weight on for the adduction part. I also feel like I was taking it lightly (pun intended) and wasn’t properly positioned with my back against the backrest. Continue reading