I Got the Mammogram Blu-ues

(WARNING: TMI, and I don't care). Yesterday I returned to the clinic for a follow-up mammogram; not unusual for me. The paperwork queried, “Do you have any other concerns about your breasts?” Well, the right one is a lot bigger than the left one. Should I be concerned?

The technician took several new films of both breasts, really strange angles. “Turn to the side to face me. Now throw that arm over there. Inch closer to the machine. Bend at the waist just a little. Now turn just your lower body so your hips and toes are facing to the front. Lift your chin. Now take a breath and hold it. Hold it. Hoooooold it. Now breathe.” Gumby would've been challenged, and I ain't no Gumby. I said, “That's a lot of new views.” She replied, “Well, there's a lot going on in there.” Hmm. There sure hasn't been anything going on out here.

Just when I thought we were through, she said, “Now I'll do enlargements.” Noooooo! I lunged for the door. That was NOT what I had in mind. (Note to self: never “lunge” when your tit's in the ringer.)

Then wait, wait, wait. The doctor ordered an ultrasound of both sides. Again, not that unusual. I watched the computer monitor and chatted with the ultrasound tech. Suddenly, I swear I saw a tadpole go by. There really IS a lot going on in there!

Then wait, wait, wait. The tech returned with the radiology physician. Uh-oh. This can't be good. Sure 'nough, they found something. I'm having a Stereotactic (should I bring ear buds?) biopsy on Wednesday at 12:30 PM. On the left. “Can't you take the tadpole out of the right side, instead?” No.

As I was leaving, I really wasn't thinking all that much about the biopsy. I was envisioning what my right breast might do when that tadpole grows up.

The End. NOW STOP THINKING ABOUT MY BREASTS!

I Had a Daddy

"I had a daddy, didn't I? He wasn't perfect and he certainly wasn't the one I'd dreamed he would have been, but I had one all the same. And I'd loved him as much as I'd hated him, hadn't I? All that distance, all that time wasted, but the fact that he'd inspired such passion in me meant something in itself. I can honestly say now that I think that's special. Screwed up and turned inside out, we were special, him and me, and I am so thankful that I can say that I had a daddy and that he mattered. All his faults and failures mean nothing to me now.” ~ Melodie Ramone, After Forever Ends

Happy Heavenly Birthday and Happy Father's Day, Daddy.

I remember you.

My Easter Lily

My grandmother's favorite flower was the Easter lily. She was a woman of God, and He blessed her by taking her to heaven on Easter Sunday, 1980. The date was April 6th. Every Easter, when I see the lilies in the church, I see my grandmother smile.

In memory of Martha Marie Deislinger Woltman.
I remember you.

Movies That Move Me

Recently, I was asked to list five favorite movies. Not necessarily my top five, you understand, just five favorite movies. And to put the list in writing.

I fretted over this for daayysss. Somehow, my brain would not allow me just to choose five movies I really, really liked. Oh, no. I had to come up with my five favorite movies. My anxiety level increased steadily for more than a week.

Finally, I made my decisions. I wrote them on the back of a postcard and sent the card on it's way to China. (I'll explain all that in a future post).

As soon as the postcard was gone, I started thinking of other movies that I should have put on the list. I know I've reached ten by now, but I haven't been writing them down, so who knows? Evidently not me!

So here are my five that are in the top ten. But I don't really have a most favorite, 2nd favorite, etc., so they aren't in any order.

Journey to Shiloh, 1968

James Caan, Harrison Ford, Michael Sarrazin,

Jan-Michael Vincent, Paul Peterson, Don Stroud

The Breakfast Club, 1985

Judd Nelson, Ally Sheedy, Molly Ringwald,

Anthony Michael Hall, Emilio Estevez

 Cinderella, 1965

Lesley Ann Warren, Stuart Damon,

Ginger Rogers, Celeste Holm, Walter Pidgeon

Inception, 2010
Leonardo DiCaprio, Michael Caine, Tom Berenger,
Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Cillian Murphy, Lukas Haas

 12 Angry Men, 1957
Henry Fonda, E.G. Marshall, Jack Klugman,
Ed Begley, John Fiedler, Jack Warden

So many of these wonderful actors and actresses are gone now.

But I remember you.

Enough Said

While I Was Sleeping

My journey to the Sleep Study began in 2008 with an "unmentionable" nighttime problem. I figured it was stress. It kept getting worse until, by 2012, I couldn't get through a night without dealing with it at least once. And I couldn't keep up with the laundry: clothes AND linens.

So finally, last fall, I went to see my primary care physician. Since we were both concerned that my problem may be related to my female surgery in 2006, she referred me to a uro-gynecologist.

After office visits and exams and tests and home "assignments" and trial medications, the uro-gynecologist came to the conclusion that my problem had nothing to do with my female surgery, nor was it related to the, uh, uro- part of her expertise. She referred me to pulmonologist.

A respiratory doctor? For my, um, unmentionable nighttime problem? How could those possibly be related?

Well, you know how we've heard that in times of physical crisis, our adrenaline shoots up and we can do extraordinary things? As a former Registered Dietitian, I know for a fact that all non-essential bodily functions, such as digestion of food, shuts down at times like that. The body is concentrating on its priority.

For the same reason, the pulmonologist explained, some sleep disorders have many symptoms unrelated to the respiratory system. Sleep apnea prevents the body from obtaining enough oxygen during sleep. The body wants to sustain the heart (good choice!), so it pulls as much fluid as possible out of the blood to ease the pumping burden on the heart muscle. And where does the fluid go? To the kidneys, of course!

So last night, I reported to a Sleep Disorders Study Lab at 7:30 p.m. and got wired. (I'm posting some photos here: please remember that I was NOT at my best).

My beautiful and comfy room.

Not to make me anxious or anything...

The infra-red camera that videotaped me all night.

(Ignore the television...I didn't watch it anyway.)

The intercom was also on all night.

Continuous positive airway pressure (CPAP) device

(red arrow), just in case they discovered I had sleep apnea.

12 leads to monitor my brain (continuous EEG),

nose cannula to monitor my air flow pressure,

leads on my jaw and neck to monitor any teeth grinding or talking,

leads on my chest to monitor my heart (continuous EKG),

chest band to monitor lung action,

stomach band to monitor deep breathing,

leads by eyes to monitor REM sleep,

2 leads on each leg to monitor erratic muscle electrical impulses...

And there might have been more that I don't remember.

It took about 45 minutes.

 GRAND TOTAL: 30

So a little after 11:00 p.m., about my usual bedtime, I settled in for the night. And, of course, I couldn't fall asleep. I was tossing and turning, which was no small feat under the circumstances, let me tell you. And suddenly I had to go to the restroom.

All I had to do was say, "Georgette?" in a normal voice, but I wanted to put it off as long as possible. After all, I hadn't been in bed all THAT long, and she had another patient, too. Just as I was about to call her, she knocked on my door.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, but I just finished reading all your completed forms you brought with you, and I really think I need to put more leads on, to monitor some other things the doctor's going to want to know."

WHAT?!

I went to the restroom, then let her work on me some more. The wires kept getting tangled, she ran out of paste, etc., etc. Another 25 minutes. She put leads on both my upper arms, and 8 more on my head! New GRAND TOTAL: 40, and 20 of them were monitoring my brain. Wow.

Finally, I fell asleep. Later, Georgette came in and woke me gently, asking me to move from my side to my back. I fell asleep again, then had to call her so I could go to the restroom. I told her I was starting to experience the all too familiar gastric reflux. She said, "I know, I could hear you, and I kept thinking, 'please don't throw up, please don't throw up,'" as is common with me. "Have I been snoring?" I asked. "Oh, yes," she said emphatically, "Both on your side and on your back." Well, that's just great, I thought.

(You didn't know you would have to suffer a play-by-play, did you?)

Back to sleep on my back, as instructed. I had a bad dream, as per usual, that included some physical elements that made me wake up. I was under strict orders to call Georgette if that happened, so I did, and we discussed it. She said, "I could hear you talking but couldn't make out what you were saying. I have to document all this for the doctor." Sheesh. Maybe I could lay on my side now? No.

Asleep again. Georgette gently waking me: "I'm going to go ahead and put the CPAP mask on you now. Then you can turn on your side again." Hmm. So it was true. I have sleep apnea. But my focus then was, "Hallelujah! I can sleep on my side!"

This is what the nasal mask looked like;

the hose connected at the bottom.

(Photo courtesy of Philips Respironics).

I woke up with a headache. "Georgette." And there she was. "I'm getting a headache." "Maybe the straps are too tight." She loosened them; much better. "I was about to come in here anyway," she said. "I need you to turn on your back."

You have GOT to be kidding me!

When she woke me again, I was on my side, so I had actually turned over in my sleep without waking up. That never happens. Georgette said, "Your study is over. Time to let me get all these leads and wires off you." I sat up, but I was groggy.

Georgette asked, "How was the reflux?" I thought a moment. "It went away after you started the CPAP." She smiled. I asked, "How much did I snore after that?" She smiled again. "Absolutely no snoring in any position, no tossing and turning, no talking in your sleep." Wow. Was that even possible? "How do you feel?" she asked. "More rested than I can remember feeling in years," I replied.

After I was completely unhooked, had received instructions on how to get all the glue and paste out of my hair, and received a $5 coupon for coffee, Georgette said goodbye and I started packing up to leave. I found my cell phone and checked the time. 7:20 a.m. Whaaat?

Unhooked but sticky, sticky!

When I got down to the lobby, I saw that my coupon would buy things other than coffee. I walked out of the hospital with an almond croissant, 2 bottles of Dr. Pepper, and a smile on my face!

Next step: follow-up appointment with the pulmonologist on September 9th, at which time I'll get my CPAP machine. I'm not happy to have sleep apnea, but I sure am looking forward to less laundry!

Already Gone

♫ Craaazy ♫

Today I was asked, "What is the craziest thing you've ever done?" I've done a lot of crazy things in my time, and I hope to do a lot more, but this is what came to mind. I was 21 years old.
 

I decided to go for a walk (I didn't have a car), alone (but during the day), while visiting San Antonio, Texas, in order to have my first alcoholic drink. I stopped at this little "hole-in-the-wall" Mexican restaurant (more like an open-air store front) and ordered a margarita on the rocks (but no food). It was the strongest margarita I've had to this day, and I'm almost 53!

 

Now tipsy, I got lost in the worst part of town without money for a cab or even a bus. And, of course, I hadn't taken a map with me on my walk.

 

Since all the drunks and junkies across the street were watching me with a great deal of interest, I decided I'd better test the pepper spray my dad had recently given me. So I gave it a little squirt right at eye level. Not only did I spray it into the wind, but I walked right into it and totally incapacitated myself. The locals were literally rolling on the sidewalk with raucous laughter and shouting at me in 3 languages.

In all likelihood, my story is entertaining the disenfranchised of San Antonio to this very day. Well, it's nice to be remembered.

My Revolutionary War Ancestors

These are my ancestors (that I've located so far) who have been vetted by the Daughters of the American Revolution to have served in the War for Independence (spellings per DAR):

Minute Man Jesse Street, Connecticut
Private Hieronimus Carnrike, New York
Colonel Thaddeus Cook, Connecticut
Private Joel Hall, Connecticut
Lieutenant Joel Potter, Connecticut
Private John Potter, Connecticut
Patriotic Service - Asahel Hall, Sr., Connecticut - Member of Committee
Patriotic Service - Aaron Harrison, Connecticut - Member of Committee

These ancestors are through the line of my grandfather, Leslie J. Canright, Sr. Based on the evidence I've obtained, most of these men never met. Yet here I am, celebrating the creation of The United States of America. Wherever you are, gentlemen, thank you for your service.

I remember you.

Torchwood...

...a spin-off from Doctor Who.

I'm usually very good at word scrambles, but I just now got it.

So now I'm trying to turn Captain Jack Harkness into the Face of Boe, but it's not quite working...

The Monster

"It sounds like the combination of water being poured into a glass," Miss Hawkline said, "A dog barking and the muttering of a drunk parrot. And very, very loud."   ~ Richard Brautigan

Marilyn was a 14

and WHY?

Tears

"There is a sacredness in tears. They are not a mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition and of unspeakable love."  - Washington Irving

11th Hour, 11th Day, 11th Month

In memory of Air Force Lieutenant Colonel Charles Wayne Stratton, MIA Laos, January 3, 1971, to July 5, 2007. DNA determination KIA Savannakhet Province, Laos, January 3, 1971, age 30.

And in everlasting love for and support of his wife and their sons, my playmates, Butch, Scotty, and Stephen.

 

"The Star Spangled Banner"
by
Madison Rising

 Chuck, I remember you.

"Missing in Action," May 2, 2011

Speaking German

I'm German. Born American, born Texan, and proud of both. But the blood in my veins is German.

When I was growing up, my mother's parents and siblings frequently would speak to each other in German. They most often did so when any of the children were around and the adults didn't want us to know what they were saying.

At our family Christmas gatherings, the adults would sing "Ihr Kinderlein Kommet" (O, Come Ye Little Children) while I would sing "Oh Kinder and Comet, la lah, la la lah." They would sing "Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht" (Silent Night, Holy Night) while I would sing "Still a knot, la lah-ah a knot." And then there was the perennial favorite, "O Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum" (O Christmas Tree, Oh Christmas Tree), which I sang out as "O tannin bowm, o tannin bowm, la la la lah bletter, O tannin bowm, o tannin baum, la la la lah oh summertime..."

Certain German phrases were common in our household, though; we thought nothing of it. Words and phrases like Gesundheit (bless you), das ist gut (that's fine), vas ist das (what is that?), bitte (please), danke (thank you), danke schön (thank you well), ach du liebe Güte (roughly, oh goodness gracious), and, the one that has persisted through the generations and the family tree, schlaf gut (sleep well) and it's companion, du schlaf auch gut (you sleep well, also).

My father's nickname for my mom was Schatzi (sweetheart, darling), and whenever we asked my mother "how much?" of something, particularly when we were learning to cook, she'd say, "dumme Junge, bis es genug ist!" (dumb young one, until it's enough!). I never could say that one, though, so I'd ask, "how much? the hibiscus thing?"

I always assumed that when I entered high school, I would learn the German of my heritage and be able to converse with my family. As my two older sisters went to our neighborhood high school, though, we were horrified to learn that the school did not offer German! My cousins were happily learning the German language in their school, however, which was hardly fair.

But then a strange revelation occurred. When my cousins tried to speak to their parents and especially to our grandparents, they discovered they could not be understood! It was not poor pronunciation. It was not poor teaching. It was almost like, well, a different language.

That's when I learned that there were apparently two German languages: high German and low German. Apparently the American schools taught high German, and my family spoke low German. (I understand that now low German is called Swiss German). My great-grandparents, and their parents before them, were born in Germany, but, as an adult, my great-grandmother prepared French cuisine for a wealthy family in Switzerland, and my grandmother and her two younger sisters were born in Switzerland before the family moved back to Germany and then immigrated to America.

After my grandmother joined her Heavenly Father, and my grandfather could no longer speak due to strokes, my mother and her siblings gradually stopped speaking German. By the time of my mother's Homegoing at the age of 78, she could barely translate a few words of spoken German and spoken Russian.

So here I am. Now a genealogist, struggling with correspondence and newspaper articles and recipes that the translators such as Bing and Google don't seem to know how to handle. And I still can't speak low German. Or high German. Or any German.

But you know what? I can still hear, on the outermost edges of my consciousness, the tenuous voices of my Nanny and PaPa singing, "irh Kinderleine kommet..." To all my German-speaking family who are now with God in Heaven, Ich erinnere mich an Sie.

(Addendum 09/13/2012: It appears I may have the low German and high German reversed according to Wikipedia. I just need some help to figure out what my documents are written in and which aspect of the language I want to learn).

Living with Regret

The New Abortion Caravan

A big Texas "thank-ya" goes out to my sister for providing the follow-up information regarding "The Abortion Debate Changes Forever," a teaser video that I posted back in May. To get the scoop, click here.

You Can Take the Gal Outta Texas...

Jeremiah was a Bull Frog! da DA

His name was Bruce, and he lived across the alley from me. We went to the same elementary school. We were 11 years old.

When I think of Bruce, I see him in a bright yellow button-down shirt and khaki colored pants. (Boys weren't allowed to wear T-shirts and jeans in my school in those days). He had a slight build, bright eyes, and brown hair in a crew cut.

I recall running down the hallway with him after school one day, hoping we'd reach the Exit door before we were caught. We were singing at the top of our lungs: "Jeremiah was a bull frog, da DA, was a good friend of mine, da DA, never understood a single word he said..." About that time, teachers spilled out of classrooms and we slammed out the Exit door, doubled over in laughter.

One morning, toward the end of the school year, I got to class and heard deafening whispers. Bruce was dead. No one knew how or why. Some said he was POISONED. There was going to be an AUTOPSY.

I never heard or learned any more. I don't even remember hearing about a funeral. I think his family moved away. He was gone. The End

But Bruce, I remember you. "Singin' JOY to the world, ALL the boys and girls now; joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea, JOY to you and me."

Good Girl!