Monday, January 22, 2007

On The Internet No One Knows You're a 10

Over Thanksgiving I was shopping and found a pair of jeans I liked. The store didn't have any more, do I decided to use the power of the internet. I find the jeans and order them in 3 different colors. (As different as blue denim can be in colors called "Eve", "Ocean", and "Serenity".)

They arrive, and I begin wearing them. (Notice how I don't mention trying them on? A little foreshadowing.) I feel as though I've put on the average American's 7 pound weight gain over the holidays rather quickly, however. And then one day, while doing laundry, I notice I've got 3 pairs of jeans that are a size too small.

Why do I blame the internet? Because nobody knows your size on the internet--I can be 5'6" and 110 pounds on the internet, and that's apparently how I ordered these jeans.


Tuesday, January 16, 2007

Good News, Bad News

I had my latest oncology visit, a six month checkup. It was all cheery and happy, and even the phone call I received later that night telling me that my thyroid was failing was cheery and happy-sounding. "But we expected that", trilled the nurse, "What with all the radiation you had." Well, I didn't expect it, but then again, it's always better to be surprised than worrying about it.

Here are the symptoms I was asked during my visit if I was experiencing:

So I go home a Google the rest of the symptoms, courtesy of the Mayo Clinic:
Why isn't there an easily recognizable symptom, like peeing blue? Something definitive, rather than a list of complaints that if you went to your doctor with they'd tell you that they were just that--complaints--so shut up already! And I know that's what they'd say because a friend of mine went to the doctor with that very list of complaints I was asked about and said she thought she had thyroid problems and the doctor nearly laughed at her. "I'll do the blood test anyway, but you don't have a thyroid problem. You're just getting older."

And going to an oncologist and complaining about being tired is, well, just not done. Their attitude is that if you're alive, you've really got nothing to complain about. They may not come right out and say that, but when you're walking through a waiting room full of cancer patients, you lose the nerve to tell the doctor that you're tired, can't poop, and your hair and skin aren't as lustrous as you'd like.

So now I know why I had to have my OB/GYN test my thryoid levels throughout my pregnancy. I thought they were being super-safe, but they were waiting for that other shoe to drop. My thyroid indicators are low, but not low enough to start thyroid replacement right now. "We'll probably start you after your next visit in June, after we test you again", says the nurse. But what if I need replacement therapy before then, I ask. How will I know? Oh, she says, I'm sure you'll be fine. See you in June!



I was pulling out of our street, turning left onto a busier cross street and some young college girl nearly took off our front bumper. I swear she didn't realize what she had hit until some guy on the sidewalk pointed us out to her. She was flying down the road, trying to get back to UC Davis to take an exam. She was so flustered by the whole experience that when I asked for her insurance, she handed me her Blue Shield card. I felt like Kathy Bates' character in Fried Green Tomatoes. "Face it girls, I'm older and have more insurance."

We've had the car fixed, and the front bumper is shiny and clean and perfect. There's not even a license plate holder on it, just a vague indentation of where one might go. It looks like a Ken doll's genitals to me.


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