Saturday, November 28, 2015

Phone Call
What did you do today?
I went to work.
The library?
You're probably the oldest one there.
You're probably the oldest one who has that job.
I guess so.
So you're back full force at the massage?
No. I'm only doing one and I come home and my back hurts. 
Yeah well, they chopped my abs so my front support is weaker.  I'm trying tho. It's not like I'm sitting at home doing nothing. 
So I have to go to a different doctor because my primary care can't identify the rash.
Can't you just put a little talcum on them?
Uh no. I can't. This is all over my legs like the measles. 
Did you eat something? Did you wear dirty shoes?
Dirty shoes? My shoes aren't dirty. 
Did your condo government get anything done?
Not really. I would never buy a condo again. It's too hard. Too many personalities. Nothing gets done. 
What would you do? Rent?
I guess so. 
Your blah blah blah blah blah blah and blah blah blah* is going to end up with the most everything of all!!!!! 

(Right here* is where I stop listening. I've recently removed that person from my family tree-twigs and all.)

How's the rats?
Mmm we think we still have one. He wants to be our roommate. He found some empty weird package of sugar in P's stuff and so we went to Dunkin' Donut's and it was like, You want some sugar, you a-hole? So we taped some sugar packs to a couple traps and we're just waiting. 

I didn't realize it was the end of the month and I have to pay bills. 
How's that going?
I don't know yet. I haven't started. I better get going. I'll call you tomorrow. Stay outta trouble. 
You too. 


Friday, November 27, 2015

I wonder if I'm discovering something new here. I looked it up.

Grace- a state of sanctification enjoyed through divine grace.

 'Course then I had to look up: Sanctification. "The generic meaning of sanctification is 'the state of proper functioning'. To sanctify someone or something is to set that person or thing apart for the use intended by it's designer. A pen is "sanctified" when used to write." 

And someone's life. What. about. that?

I've just begun to notice that my stomach (digestive system) has turned into a hard core stress-o-meter. When I'm in the wrong place, my guts-if you will, and you don't have to-won't permit me to stick around. 

I had heard there were studies relating the digestive system to being it's own thinking/feeling system of expression or emotions or something like that?

I asked the dietician about it and she said, yeah. It's very exciting. But we don't know more because there's no funding.

Uggh. Pink Mop Syndrome. 

Oddly-but not really-I've done one whole lotta cancer cure fundraising. One time it was a breast cancer walk and we got to the end in a rainstorm and the only promotional booth still open was the one that had pink mops. Pink mops are to breast cancer as: ____________. 

You tell me. But there are no blue mops-as far as I can tell. Cuz blue mops won't sell. I noticed in the calendar of events at the wellness place? There's no support group for this goo. 


Thanksgiving. The agony (of the exposure to your gene pool) followed by the ecstasy-which is the part where you take off those ouchy shoes and you put on your sweatshirt and you walk over to your friends place and they get their little elf forks out because they know your eating skills are a little whacked at the moment and they tell jokes and funny stories and you talk about bad terrible middle eastern food and the possibility of finding good middle eastern food and you feel as if you've been tucked into an internally bubble wrapped envelope of grace. 

Or something. 

More of the latter, less of the former. Yo. 

#what it is. 

Thursday, November 26, 2015

I'm having trouble, because I'm having trouble.

It is Thanksgiving and you'd think I'd be able to cough up a bit o' thankfulness. Ya know, what with being alive and everything. 

Fer f@#$ sake. 

But on Tuesday, when this happened:

It wasn't too much later when this happened:

That's right. A long-lasting lip stain from Sephora. Uh-huh. 

In addition-the opportunity to make my Dad howl-at his dentist's office when I told him I looked like my IQ had dropped 100 points. 

In terms of thankfulness, I'll go with that.

Have a happy day.

'How did that happen?!', asks our friend Leigh Ann. Oh ya know, I was talking and thinking and I picked up the string of my sweatshirt hood where that little plastic thing is near the end by the knot? I took a little tiny thoughtful chomp and something(a big old filling)flew to the ground and I just put my head down on the dining room table because enough is enough already, no? 

On the positive side, I may have found a new dentist. Dr. Higgins and Moustafa worked FAST with no moronic yakking. 


Sunday, November 22, 2015

A reader writes:
Been reading your blog... Will you continue with the psychologist?  Maybe just keep going because, hell, its something to lock-in how completely life undoing this shit is. I am concerned about you my friend, simply because you are such a special - magnificent - person and I am so happy to know you.


You wanna know what? Well first of all. I am welcome to return. She said I could see how things go or I had the option to make another appointment but between you and I? Handing me a xerox of (FREE! ) meditation was kind of sad. I guess that was in response to me telling her 27 times just how f-ed I feel financially. (I didn't say f. I f-ing thought it.) 

I think she's probably overburdened because her card says 'professor' but there was no 'do what makes your heart sing' and that-not 'do you use illegal drugs' because with WHAT would I purchase them?-is what I need right now. There's still one rat in our house. He ate the two little Chiclets out of P's tiny UPS package he scored at a Veteran's Fair. Dammit. Even the Chiclets aren't safe. 

I found a good book-I think. At the end of every chapter there are FAQ's and each one seems to start with the phrase 'Is it normal' and that cheers me up. 

The psychologist and that nurse we got to talk to said this Wellness House place might be our next stop so I'm going to try that next. 

This sounded really cool. 

Survivorship Series: STEP Ahead: In Action

Mondays, October 19-November 16 6:00-7:30PM Registration Required 
Treatment is over and everyone around you believes you should be "back to normal" but inside you know your life has changed in profound ways.  Both educational and experiential, this 5-week program is designed for cancer survivors who have completed treatment.  Each 90 minute session will focus on a variety of topics including exercise, nutrition and stress management, in addition to group discussion related to emotional and physical changes post-treatment, social support and coping techniques.  Participants will have the opportunity to explore community resources and create a Survivorship Action Plan.  Attendance at each session is beneficial but not required. 

I could also go back to the art therapy girl-I might. Just for fun. We were gonna bust things out of anger and I thought hey how would it be if you busted a happy life back into this traumaorama. What would THAT look like? 

Strangely-I just massaged a LCSW who specialized in grief and loss and she did an amazing job of cracking my code in about two minutes AND she gave me a huge tip. 

On the good side. She reminded me that I'm still very early in the healing process. She asked me what I liked to do and I said: write. She told me a story about someone she knew who went on vacation and her CAR got infested by mice. She called the dealership and it's a very common thing with car dealers.(My hilarious library co-workers instantly imagined having to drive that mousey car to the dealership. Yoikes.)  That all goes under the category of 'shit happens'. And we talked about the idea of blaming oneself and she suggested that I might find a combination of factors if I really took a good look and that maybe they weren't really all completely under my control. Okay the Jujyfruits. That's on me. 


Friday, November 20, 2015

I went to the cancer psychologist. First appointment-9:00 AM. Lots and lots of paperwork for this one, my friends, and of course, I gave the HIPPA back for recycling purposes. 

Essentially, my question was this: Am I crazy or has my life just spun completely out of control? 

The answer was this: Yes. Yes it has. Thank you for shopping Psychology-Mart. Good day.* 


Came out and there was somebody giving complimentary chair massages and OF COURSE I got one because.    

She was a lovely if not somewhat ridiculously 'Oh-how-I-love-my-healing-career' cliche-ridden and she was pinchy which is massage therapist secret code for 'nobody needs to feel your raggedy thumb in their neck sistah' but it was free. 

This is the front entrance to Hotel Rat. We've welcomed nine juvenile visitors so far. My kitchen is temporarily destroyed in effort to shut the hotel down but it's all okay because I'm going to get my haircut which everyone who knows me knows is my True Therapy. 


Speaking of free, the Psychologist gave me a xeroxed sheet of FREE Apps and Web Resources for Relaxation, Stress Reduction & Sleep. I sampled and immediately wished to jump off a ledge. 


Thursday, November 19, 2015

Went AROUND the ginkgo balls on a street where this is possible. 

A dead-rat-free morning. (This is huge-Do you think someone in the chain of subURBan governmental responsibility contributed to this event? )

A perfect answer to-Do you think I need a coat? Because from my lofty perch in my warm condomanian dwelling, outside looks like this. (It's actually even a nicer shade of blue but I sacrificed it to show you my hand-painted artificial stained glass windows.)

But it feels much closer to Pre-Siberia. So. My psychic reader and advisor told me I better wear the green coat and I did-which was good and I was grateful for someone who has that which coat to put on ability because I clearly do not and that leads me to another cheerful thing.

I had been just a little bit worried, because they lifted my adrenal gland-that there might be a possibility that my internal thermometer would be off and I'd have to move to Arizona. Not that there's anything wrong with Arizona but....uggh, ya know? So paraphrasing the words of my sainted Mother, I "put a swedder on."

For breakfast, I enjoyed a drippingly ripe Harry and David pear WITH the accompanying Gouda cheese and crooked pinky and felt ever so fancy. 

The guy who we've been waiting for-his bid to fix our 'situation' was $500 as opposed to the Irish man who started talking $1000 and by the end of his paragraph he'd convinced himself that he really meant $2000. Anyway, $500 has put us off for days and days and possibly weeks and he's now on a clock that if he doesn't get back to me by noon? He's done. Tick tick tick. 

Cancelled the next appointment with the ENT from HELL. 

I walked Grantley this morning. 
It's sorta severely cool to have someone else take a turn or two(or 64 turns in a row) but I think I really require the influx of sunshine to stop me from becoming a gigantic douchebagatron. 


Wednesday, November 18, 2015

I just walked on ginkgo balls.

Our toilet is leaking on the people who smoke pot in their bathroom below us. They blow it out the window and it goes straight up and into our window. It is of the lowest quality. 

The 9th dead rat is in repose in the kitchen. NINE. I think when you get to ten, the Geneva Convention permits the smacking of a condo board member in the back of the head. Really hard. If I'm not mistaken, of course. 

Where once I could SWEAR someone told me the condo would pay for the patching of rat holes? It's a HOLE(uh-huh)different story now.

I went to bed at 8:30 last night because I heard creepy vermin noises in my living room. I brought the cane they issued me at the hospital in case I had to smash anything. If you know me, up until now, you probably wouldn't identify me as a smasher. Generally speaking. 

I forgot my ID for work today so I couldn't punch in. I NEVER do that. 

My nose is chapped. My ear hurts. Some random zoinks of pain here and there. 

I called my Dad who was waiting for 45 minutes inside an examining room at the doctors office and he wouldn't let me hang up and call their front desk and go coo-coo-for-cocoa-puffs-on-their-sorry-asses which in my opinion is opportunity lost. 

I can smell ginko ball juice wafting up from my gym shoes. 

P called and said asked, What are you doing?

I said, I'm making a list of everything that sucks at the moment.

Why don't you make a list of everything that's great? he asked.

Because I can't think of anything.

Ginko balls. 

Sunday, November 15, 2015

How much is that tumor in your colon? 
The one they took out at Loyola. 
How much was that adrenal gland that was glowin'? 
I do hope you've booked your colonoscopy. 

This is just the hospital portion of the bills thus far. In case you were considering not having insurance at any time in the future. 

The lovely Danielle watched me take some sort of non-aspirin pain thing yesterday at work and she said something like, You're feeling okay, right? And I said ummmnope. 

And I type that, not to collect any more Harry and David boxes of Happiness and Joy-I mean apples and pears, but to make note of the symptoms for the next person. Really tired. Like going to sleep at 9:00 tired. (P says I can't say fatigued because it sounds overdramatic. ha.) Bordering on depressed. Weird lightening-bolt pain configurations happening randomly across my abdominal area-which I just put my hand on and say: pain and P says: I'm sorry and that seems to help. I think that back-of-the-nose-camera-thing-from-hell probably disturbed the area that housed the up-the-nose-tube-thing-from-hell when I was in the hospital and I should have been smart enough to get that doctor to stop.  My skin is really pissed off at me. 

But the good news is the physical activity of giving one massage kicked my digestive system into high gear so that were completely right about that. Fake Miralax stirs beautifully into apple cider. Sesame Ezekiel bread is indeed the best-toast~wise. Learned about Aquaphor from Lindz's friends on Facebook so that's been fantastic. And Alana said the Wellness House in Hinsdale is a beautiful place-because Ann the Cancer Nurse told us we should go there for sure AND we caught a rat.

Friday, November 13, 2015

Duck, duck, duck, duck, duck, duck, duck, duck, duck, duck, duck, duck, duck, duck, duck, duck, duck, duck, duck,

"How many people get colorectal cancer?
The American Cancer Society's estimates for colorectal cancer in the United States for 2015 are:
  • About 93,090 new cases of colon cancer
  • About 39,610 new cases of rectal cancer
  • About 49,700 deaths from colorectal cancer
Not counting skin cancers, colorectal cancer is the third most common cancer found in men and women in this country. Overall, the lifetime risk of developing colorectal cancer is about 1 in 20."

Thursday, November 12, 2015

Normal No' Mo'

We went to the Support Group. It was at a weird time. 6:00 on a Tuesday evening and listen, I was nervous and the electrical pain shooting system in my healing belly was zoinking me like crazy-making me wonder if my belly was channeling some sort of internal distress signal.  In my imagination, this meeting was going to be something like 60 people and they were all going to be feeling not fine and that worried me. My plan was to sit in the corner and listen.  

Nod, nod, nod, hopeful smile. That's how I roll in Cancertown. 

P thought maybe 12 or 15 people and he had it in his head that I was going to ask a lotta questions and gather information in hopes-I think-of getting me feeling better because nobody has to bear the burden of me feeling not fine-more than him. 

And I have been feeling not-fine. 

We got there. Stopped at Security and asked where to go. The Security Officer looked completely mystified. (I know this look because I've done security myself. It's called: I thought this was supposed to be a quiet night.) Lucky thing, P had the actual poster announcing the meeting so we produced that and the guard kinda scratched his head and went to find someone.

Out came a lady from the Wig Department. It's not really the Wig Department, it's the non-doctor sort of service section that looks a little bit like a gift shoppe. She knew nothing about this meeting but immediately started looking into it. 

We were calm. For me-it wouldn't have been the worst thing to get to go home. Know what I mean? 

At 5:59.59, up walked a woman who said she was going to run the meeting. Hmm we thought. It was going to be a meeting of Ann, Ann and Philip and that was all.

Ann is the Cancer Czar's nurse. 

So imagine, we got to spend an entire hour having a gigantic chat with a cancer nurse. 

So cool. 

And we didn't even have to pay the usual 5 bucks to park. 



On the other hand. 

I've been feeling like I have a slice of fabric going down my throat. Maybe like the size of the tail of a very small kite. I can talk. I can eat and drink. My voice is it's normal self-ish, I think. But, it's absolutely not normal and I think this flare up is from the anesthesia tubes or having that 2 by 4 tube thing in the back of my nose or something horrible like that because-like many many systems in my body-It Wasn't Like This Before. (Ahh before. I knew ye well.)

I made an appointment with an ENT a few weeks ago, but I was deep in the elimination negotiation zone so I had to cancel it. Ear, nose and throat doctors are super jammed at Loyola.  Same for dermatologists. The next available was in Wheaton. 

You know how far Wheaton is? I never go there.

I worked yesterday. Hey-it was a bit struggley. I felt absolutely great for the first 15 minutes and the last 15 were the exact opposite. 

I drag myself to Wheaton. The reception lady could not have been lovelier. I waited. And they took me in. The Medical Assistant took my numbers and looked at my record and said: You had both of these procedures at the same time

Like, what, are you nuts?

I tell her that I am afraid-because I am a gagger. I've had to see special dentists that knock you out because I cannot bear having heavy equipment driven through the back of my throat. 

And I think it's gonna be okay because Ann-the Cancer Nurse told us, that if you tell your medical professional that you're scared-they're going to be extra double careful and make sure you're okay because that's one of the reasons they're in this game. 

Compassion. Uh-huh. 

This doctor and his nurse, they sat me in this old time (almost like a barber) chair and they both said, This is going to be easy. It's nothing. You're not going to feel a thing. 

And then he checks my ears, and pokes these nostril spreaders up my nose and says he's going to use some numbing spray, so, he sprays that in my nose holes and leaves the room.

He comes back with two, gigantic tongue depressors. One, he plans to hold my tongue down while he's going to try and scrape out what he calls, 'Tonsil Stones' out of the back of my throat. The very back of the back of my throat. 

I am immediately gacking. 

Next they're going in with a camera. "It's as thick as a piece of spaghetti-you'll be fine. You won't even FEEL it. Breathe through your nose." 

(I hate these people forever.

Oh Ann. You don't HATE them. You just dislike them.

Nope. I hate them forever.)

He shoves this UNCOOKED spaghetti camera thing into my right nostril. 

ACK ACK ACK, says me.

Left nostril. 


I went into full body cringe. I was heaving and retching and gacking and tears were coming out of my eyes and tears were coming out of my nose and and tears were coming out of my ears and I tried to get the guy to take the f-ing thing out but he wouldn't.

And he said: This is alllllll in your head. You're not choking. You're fine. Just breathe through your nose. 


He says I have reflux. I say, I have what? Oh yes, he says, it's very common after GI surgery.(I'm sorry, WHAT? We are like 7 weeks out. This is very common? I'm hearing about it now?) And not the normal kind of reflux. Some sort of magical OTHER kind that requires another pill. 

As I'm pulling my drippy eyeballs back into my head, the nurse appears with a prescription. She tells me not to expect it to work for at least three weeks.

I get home to Kristy McNichol-our personal Osco pharmacist. I tell her about the three week thing. She looks at me like I'm insane. No, she says. It should start working in about a day.

Here's why I'm never going back to Wheaton:

If I tell you I'm going to have a problem with your procedure? What I want you to do is think of a strategy. Do not tell me it's all in my head. You AND your nurse. 


Tuesday, November 10, 2015

I want to write more, but be on the computer less.

Oddly, some people don't like to hear the entire list of rainbow-colored, phytonutrient-filled, salad ingredients read aloud while they're watching a football game.

If your manfriend buys you generic Miralax, is this a reflection on the relationship?

When I found out I didn't have to have chemo-I looked at my hair and thought, oh god, now I have to find someone to deal with this hair-like this was some sort of tortuous nightmare.

Speaking of hair, do you think this image is from the era in which Elvis worked at a cafeteria and wore a hairnet?

I got a copy of a little publication called 'tlc' put out by the American Cancer Society. It's hats and wigs and bras and I picked it up and wondered if I could find any cute hairstyles and then I wondered if that thought qualified me for a one way ticket to H-E-double hockey sticks.

The girl from grade school that used to say 'H-E-double hockey sticks' unfriended me on Facebook because I was crazy liberal(?) and I wonder if I'll see her again in 'H-E-double hockey sticks.'

Someone complained of their annoying cold symptoms and I thought, umm I just had cancer, for god sakes and right after that is when I started sneezing.

A lot.

Soon, we leave to go to our first try at the Gastroenterology Support Group. If we have to stand in a circle, hold hands and chant: Keep coming back it works if you work it. I'm never going back.


Monday, November 9, 2015

Today, I went back to work. 

People could not have been kinder to me. (What-do I work in Candyland or something?) One guy looked at me funny--like when you've been waiting for someone who's really late and you're furious and at the same time overjoyed to see them again. Julie-the sweetest individual on the planet-she made sure I was okay and Lori-my boss-SHE was extra-double nice and Kelly-sent messages of cheer via cellphone and everybody was exceptionally gentle and for that I will be eternally grateful. 

I worked for four hours and came home and slept for 2.5. I forgot how much I like to look at the people. There was a woman with a cinched-kinda peachy-orange jacket and she had a sheer peachy-orangey scarf over her hair-like a loose hood and dark blue rolled cuff jeans and boots. It was quite fantastic. 

I feel like Bill Cunningham sometimes. 


Saturday we took a trip. We left late. Destination: cheese country.  The thinking here was like-hey as long as you're gonna be sitting around, why not be sitting in a car that's changing your scenery? 
All was swell, except I wore the worst jeans ever. Not covering my ankles(duh)and slicing into my tender underbelly but it was sunny and we were rolling and we were getting hungry and we saw a Taco Bell. 

I could eat a taco, said me. You sure? said P. 

But it was not to be. The drive-thru wasn't moving and when I went in-everyone was just standing around. We left late-I thought, we can't lose an hour over a schtoopid taco. So off we rolled. And we kept passing food signs but I wanted to eat something Wisconsinesque. And Wisconsin kept offering me Subway. (?) And by the time Subway started sounding doable-we stopped seeing Subways. 

We got to Lodi. There was a gas station/food combo(in retrospect ALWAYS suspicious) and I was probably too hungry but I designated myself as the chooser and I saw this pizza brand I'd never heard of and it promised 'Real Wisconsin Cheese'. Rocky Rococo? I picked us out a giant slice and I scored us a root beer float from the A&W. Another terrible selection. 

I think the pizza might have been what's known as 'Detroit-style'. Featuring pop-n-fresh dough-type crust, 5000 lbs of cheese and some nice mushrooms. It was really hot, so we focussed on the A&W and started in on the pizza and that's when I started feeling sorta queazy. 

We got to a cheese place. It was Very Far. 

A cheese place-in this case-amounted to a couple of very tidy low buildings and a tiny store with 2 cases that featured their handcrafted cheese. I think they also recycled their cheese- crafting water in the next building. I didn't check it out because the counter lady squinshed her nose and said it was fragrant. 

After we made our purchases, we asked directions to get back to some sort of natural bridge and the woman became seriously Coo-coo for Cocoa Puffs. She'd nearly missed colliding with six deer driving herself home the day before, she said. 

It was as if, she'd just become convinced we were certain to die in a deer accident on Saturday night. 

She went all Stephen King on our sorry asses.  

It was mating season, she said. The females are nuts. The males are always nuts. And this fine weather is making it worse. They'll leap out from the ditches along side the road and right up into your car. 

The only deer I'd seen so far were sliced up the middle and strapped to the back rack of a pick up truck. 

A to P: Ya know, you don't have to drive right behind them. 


Well. The next section of the ride was a tortuous nightmare. It started getting dark and I'd determined that my job was: Professional Deer Spotter. AND the root beer/pizza. The bad, bad pizza. 

The Red Roof Inn was hidden behind The Rodeway and Siri had to talk us in and my intestines were doing The Lambada and for the first time ever, we got a room on the second floor in the second building and stomach-wise, I was frantic and poor P, he got me up there and scoped the room for-I don't know what-and that's when I saw this: 

I'm still doing a lot of looking around for things to make sense here. I think, is Mrs. King representative of the cancer dance and how crazy everything got? 

Ya know, one of the best things about going to work today, was that I came home with an armload of library books and one of them? I made certain was not a cancer book. 

Saturday, November 7, 2015

This is Really Weird and not Good Weird. 

I was digging for information-I remembered Katie Couric's husband who died from colon cancer. I just went hunting for information. Nothing in particular. 

I found one line that hit me nicely. 

They said(about Jay Monahan)that people used to joke that he had a 'roll of Tums in every pocket'. 

You see what I have here in my car? A roll and two halves of Rolaids. I also used to pack The Pink Stuff in it's tablet form. I never knew what to expect.

 Check your pockets.  Get the test.


I had a private showing of my art on this fine day.

I made a drawing to bring to my Primary Care. I get kinda wound-up(understatement) sitting in the doctor's office(My Mah had white coat syndrome. She had to take her pressure at home.) and I cannot be trusted to remember everything, so I brought my own chart. Laugh if you will, she went out the door and came straight back in. She said: We forgot to talk about your foot! 

So many of my systems went weirdly wacky on this road to wellness. (And it was a genius idea to check back in with the Primary Care-it was a Loyola nurse who suggested that when I couldn't get in to see a skin doc.) 

I had throat things from the anesthesia. Terrible headaches from the connection to the throat things. Foot things possibly from hospital stuff. Weird skin things just from being in the hospital and random crazy sparkling pain from the incision site. Exhausting, really. 

I like my Primary Care Doctor a lot. She's way smarter than I am and when she asked me if I wanted to go have a mammogram-I was like, are. you. kidding. me. 

We agreed we can put that off till new year.  

For weeks and weeks and weeks, I've had a ticket to go see something super cool and fun last night with Lindz but I haven't sat in a crowd yet and I just wasn't sure I was up to it. (Perfume worries me. Also bad drivers.) Last night, my new configuration gave me SEVEN(!) skips to the loo. 

As you can see, my pipes and I-we are still working things out. 

Thursday, November 5, 2015


Now then. who wants to invite me to Thanksgiving so I can make one of my new specialties? Form a line! Form a line! 

(Did you know junkies were constipated? Takes some of the fabulocity out of that whole thing, no?) 

Yesterday, I got to meet with Cara who is a Clinical Dietician. It was an 11 on the fun scale and not just because it was maybe the first appointment I've had where I didn't feel horrible before or after. I felt like I was doing stand-up and I was KILLING. 

I learned that the average person needs between 25-35 g's of fiber. I need to start with 5. 

Everyone is supposed to be sipping at least 64 oz of water daily, duh. Physical movement is important-that makes sense. And for further reading, she recommended a website called which I haven't looked at yet but she says there are recipes. Yikes. 

Because I got my © removed at Loyola-her services are free and I can even e-mail her. That is pretty fantastic and she was awfully cool. 
Clap clap clap.


Today, I wore pants, and drove in the car. I will tell you what, I was a little bit worried. (Not about the pants.) Yesterday, I was still throwing up-not like out of being ill. More like not knowing how to run my new carburetor. I'm still kinda finding out how it works. Or how it doesn't. 

Tomorrow, I'm going back to see my Primary Care. I was asking P-what exactly is collateral damage? Because while the big zipper on my belly is healing up(it already looks different than it did)all these other things got messed up in the process.

Go figya.