So it is the night before the surgery and I want to write about what I am feeling. The part of me that would rather run away than go under the knife is the same part that would like to be cloaked in darkness and not talk about it.
I am doing this to help purge myself of the fear and loathing so I will stick to honesty as I know it will make me feel better.
As I take a deep breath, I can tell you that above everything else, I am tired. My primary care physician wrote me out a script for something to help me sleep. He said I needed a good night's sleep prior to surgery day. I didn't ask for it; I told him I didn't need anything. He wrote it out anyway. I'm not going to fill it. Because I slept for crap last night I have no doubts that my body will be happy to collapse into bed tonight.
Off and on during the day when I would think about tomorrow I tensed up and could feel my heart rate escalate. At those times I felt like a stuffed animal coming apart at the seams. The fight or flight response also kicked in ergo the feeling of wanting to run away. This is probably another reason why I am tired.
I am sad, too. I don't like putting my loved ones through this kind of stress. I learned a long time ago that if I melted into the scenery, the spotlight wouldn't be on me. If the spotlight wasn't on me then I wasn't the focus of any other's emotions nor would I be the cause. In this case, the attention from others is nothing but love and concern and it means the world to me. I just don't like being the source of concern.
In the end, I will be strong with intermittent lapses of weakness. I think that is all one can expect. I hope this surgery will rid my body of all of the cancer cells that were left and no more will be found. It is not hard for me to hope for that. I will get through this because I have to be ready for whatever lies ahead.
My Mom is upstairs singing and humming. It makes me smile and I know everything will be alright.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Random thoughts - I'm stressed!
Ahhhh! I'm a bundle of nerves and it is hard to focus enough to write about the trial.
My brother in the Air Force is somewhere in the Middle East but can't say where and why. My boss has experienced an unexpected issue that has kept her out of the office for a week and she won't be back for a while so I'm taking on extra responsibility at work. The surgery is next week.
I've never really been a people person. I am never going to be the life of the party. I do not like to be around a lot of people and I am kind of a loner. Those that are close to me are few. I am bluntly honest and this can offend although I don't do it on purpose.
Those that appreciate me for who I am stick by me. Others are attracted like a moth to a light and then when it gets too hot leave. Sometimes I push people away all on my own.
On the flip side, I have enough empathy for two people. Some say I am a bleeding heart. I just shake my head at their obvious lack of humanity. I will always listen. I will care unless you burn me.
So, at this time when I feel like I am vibrating or one of those spinning tops completely out of control let loose on the kitchen floor, I am telling those that will take the time to read this that I am.....scared. I feel like such a wimp just saying it.
Since I wanted to know what was going to be done to me, I went online and looked up the procedure, the neck dissection. Ew. Double ew.
Having said that, I feel better! I suppose just writing about it makes it less scary. My rpms have decreased to a manageable speed, too. Thank you.
My brother in the Air Force is somewhere in the Middle East but can't say where and why. My boss has experienced an unexpected issue that has kept her out of the office for a week and she won't be back for a while so I'm taking on extra responsibility at work. The surgery is next week.
I've never really been a people person. I am never going to be the life of the party. I do not like to be around a lot of people and I am kind of a loner. Those that are close to me are few. I am bluntly honest and this can offend although I don't do it on purpose.
Those that appreciate me for who I am stick by me. Others are attracted like a moth to a light and then when it gets too hot leave. Sometimes I push people away all on my own.
On the flip side, I have enough empathy for two people. Some say I am a bleeding heart. I just shake my head at their obvious lack of humanity. I will always listen. I will care unless you burn me.
So, at this time when I feel like I am vibrating or one of those spinning tops completely out of control let loose on the kitchen floor, I am telling those that will take the time to read this that I am.....scared. I feel like such a wimp just saying it.
Since I wanted to know what was going to be done to me, I went online and looked up the procedure, the neck dissection. Ew. Double ew.
Having said that, I feel better! I suppose just writing about it makes it less scary. My rpms have decreased to a manageable speed, too. Thank you.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
A Trial? - Part 5
The murder took place in November, 2008. I hadn't heard anything from anyone after I gave my statement so I didn't know if they caught the guy and if they had did he agree to a plea? If he hadn't, would I still be needed? The whole episode went off my radar. Every so often I would look out the living room window and think about it, but that lasted all of 1 to 2 seconds.
One day this past January I got home from work and there was a message from Det. Lewis. Please call him back as it is in regard to blah, blah, blah. Great. I guess this thing wasn't over yet. I was also called by the Assistant State's Attorney (ASA). She told me how important by testimony was as it backed up what Shirlonda said in her statement. What a good witness I was because of the details I remembered. By the time I got off the phone with her I was dripping flattery.
After a couple of trial dates came and went it became real. There was an assigned courtroom on an assigned day with a real jury, judge, lawyers, and defendant. Det. Lewis would again be my chauffeur. It's actually a part of his job I never would have thought was the norm for a homicide detective. I suppose babysitting the witnesses is important, too. We don't want them to run off, now, do we?
Every Monday and Friday is casual day at work. On Monday, April 26th, I went to work dressed not in jeans but business casual. That's always fun getting sideways glances from other employees. Was I being snooty? Was I too good for jeans today? Why is Nancy not following the rules?
I was waiting on Det. Lewis' call letting me know a jury was picked and he would meet me out front to take me downtown. This was supposed to take place around lunchtime. As I slogged through the morning the minutes moved in slow motion punctuated by frequent trips to the bathroom. I hadn't heard a thing so at 12:30 I called the Assistant States Attorney to find out what was happening. The call was spotty so the ASA ended up texting me. Apparently it was proving to be difficult picking a jury. I would be picked up by Det. Lewis tomorrow morning from home. I don't think I visited the bathroom again that afternoon.
That evening I spoke with Det. Lewis to firm up the next day's plans. The issue was some kind of big accident somewhere that impeded the jurors from making it in. The court's switchboard was lit up all morning. Det. Lewis would be calling me some time between 11 and 12ish to pick me up. Okey dokey! It's not like this dragged on before so this was different!
Let's turn the page to the next day and Det. Lewis has pulled up. After I get in the same crummy car from almost two years ago, Det. Lewis and I fall into the same easy chatter. We ended up talking about his kids and his life. I think I've said it before, but he really is a nice man. We have formed an easygoing rapport that is very enjoyable.
After we pull up to the courthouse and park, he texts the ASA to find out the current status as that morning someone scheduled our courtroom for a bail hearing. What? Yes. It's true. Do you think the jury has been picked yet? You are correct. It hasn't.
Instead of waiting in the witness room, Det. Lewis takes me to, I think, the ASA office area. It is comfortable with a couch and TV. Det. Lewis sat on the far end of the couch and I sat on the other end. The secretary has the TV tuned to one of the soaps. It hasn't been since 1982 that I have watched one of those. I saw a couple of actors that I recognized from General Hospital even though I don't think we were watching General Hospital. I could not believe the cheesiness and started interjecting my own lines into the script. I was sure I was the only one enjoying my one-sided banter so I decided to read the book I had taken with me instead. Det. Lewis did a sitting up recline and quickly fell asleep. He snores.
One day this past January I got home from work and there was a message from Det. Lewis. Please call him back as it is in regard to blah, blah, blah. Great. I guess this thing wasn't over yet. I was also called by the Assistant State's Attorney (ASA). She told me how important by testimony was as it backed up what Shirlonda said in her statement. What a good witness I was because of the details I remembered. By the time I got off the phone with her I was dripping flattery.
After a couple of trial dates came and went it became real. There was an assigned courtroom on an assigned day with a real jury, judge, lawyers, and defendant. Det. Lewis would again be my chauffeur. It's actually a part of his job I never would have thought was the norm for a homicide detective. I suppose babysitting the witnesses is important, too. We don't want them to run off, now, do we?
Every Monday and Friday is casual day at work. On Monday, April 26th, I went to work dressed not in jeans but business casual. That's always fun getting sideways glances from other employees. Was I being snooty? Was I too good for jeans today? Why is Nancy not following the rules?
I was waiting on Det. Lewis' call letting me know a jury was picked and he would meet me out front to take me downtown. This was supposed to take place around lunchtime. As I slogged through the morning the minutes moved in slow motion punctuated by frequent trips to the bathroom. I hadn't heard a thing so at 12:30 I called the Assistant States Attorney to find out what was happening. The call was spotty so the ASA ended up texting me. Apparently it was proving to be difficult picking a jury. I would be picked up by Det. Lewis tomorrow morning from home. I don't think I visited the bathroom again that afternoon.
That evening I spoke with Det. Lewis to firm up the next day's plans. The issue was some kind of big accident somewhere that impeded the jurors from making it in. The court's switchboard was lit up all morning. Det. Lewis would be calling me some time between 11 and 12ish to pick me up. Okey dokey! It's not like this dragged on before so this was different!
Let's turn the page to the next day and Det. Lewis has pulled up. After I get in the same crummy car from almost two years ago, Det. Lewis and I fall into the same easy chatter. We ended up talking about his kids and his life. I think I've said it before, but he really is a nice man. We have formed an easygoing rapport that is very enjoyable.
After we pull up to the courthouse and park, he texts the ASA to find out the current status as that morning someone scheduled our courtroom for a bail hearing. What? Yes. It's true. Do you think the jury has been picked yet? You are correct. It hasn't.
Instead of waiting in the witness room, Det. Lewis takes me to, I think, the ASA office area. It is comfortable with a couch and TV. Det. Lewis sat on the far end of the couch and I sat on the other end. The secretary has the TV tuned to one of the soaps. It hasn't been since 1982 that I have watched one of those. I saw a couple of actors that I recognized from General Hospital even though I don't think we were watching General Hospital. I could not believe the cheesiness and started interjecting my own lines into the script. I was sure I was the only one enjoying my one-sided banter so I decided to read the book I had taken with me instead. Det. Lewis did a sitting up recline and quickly fell asleep. He snores.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Two-way Mirrors - Part 4
Did you know that on the same street that the police headquarters is located and just one block down is where all of the stripper shows/bars and other X rated goodies are located? It's called "The Block" and is famous in Baltimore. Det. Lewis couldn't help but point out the irony of it all as we drove by all of the lit up signs advertising girls, girls, girls. Crazy, huh? Believe it or not, all parties concerned peacefully coexist.
We walked into the HQ's main entrance. It was a very small area with a large cop wearing a protective vest underneath his shirt sitting behind a big wraparound desk. There was room for one small table and a bench. There may have been a chair on each end of the table. Det. Lewis made small talk w/the cop while I signed my name in a notebook similar to a loose leaf binder. Once that was completed we walked through a pair of double doors and I was in.
It was a labyrinth of hallways and elevators. We made it to Homicide and it was just like as it was depicted in "The Wire". It was an open room with cubicles making up the center and on one wall was a large wipe-off board. There weren't a lot of personnel milling about. We did pass a guy sitting in his cube. Det. Lewis said hello to him. When he looked up he seemed surprised to see a civilian looking back at him.
I was shown to a weird kind of room that was the waiting area. There were magazines and a TV tuned into some kind of moronic programming. It kind of felt dirty in there like I should expect bugs to start showing up. I didn't want to touch anything so I just sat there amusing myself with my own thoughts like why was I put in this room? Am I secretly being watched? How long will I have to wait for Det. Lewis to come back? Speaking of Det. Lewis...what the hell was he doing now?
As my imagination pushed and pulled me in and out of different compositions, Det. Lewis showed back up. I really don't think I was sitting there even ten minutes but when one is in the Homicide Dept. waiting to give a taped statement, it is a little unnerving.
As we were walking to one of the interrogation rooms, he explained that he was going to tape this and another detective would sit in with us as a witness. He was going to ask me questions about that morning and all I had to do was answer honestly and to the best of my ability. It was probably right about then that my mouth went dry and I had an idea of what desert dwellers felt.
We walked down a long hall with rows of doors on the right until we came to the one especially made for us. I really am no good with estimating measurements, but the room was probably 7 x 6. The white table and chairs took up almost all of the area and the chairs were secured to the floor. I was sitting in the one that forced me to have my back to the mirror. To my right at one end of the table was the detective who I am sure was glad he had nothing better to do and across from me was Det. Lewis. The left side of the table was against the wall. The room was colorless. Was this so that it could be easily cleaned up.....if you know what I mean?
Det. Lewis introduced me to Det. I'd Rather Be Anywhere Else But Am A Polite Nice Guy And Now You Owe Me One and then turned on the tape recorder. My heart rate doubled.
It ended up not being bad at all. We went through what we had already discussed and the other Det. asked some questions of his own that made no sense to me as to what bearing they had on anything but who am I to say? Do I wear a badge? Did I promise to serve and protect?
It was over and I had to use the ladies room. So what else is new, right? After I powdered my nose I met back up with Det. Lewis and he drove me back home. He would keep in touch. He promised.
We walked into the HQ's main entrance. It was a very small area with a large cop wearing a protective vest underneath his shirt sitting behind a big wraparound desk. There was room for one small table and a bench. There may have been a chair on each end of the table. Det. Lewis made small talk w/the cop while I signed my name in a notebook similar to a loose leaf binder. Once that was completed we walked through a pair of double doors and I was in.
It was a labyrinth of hallways and elevators. We made it to Homicide and it was just like as it was depicted in "The Wire". It was an open room with cubicles making up the center and on one wall was a large wipe-off board. There weren't a lot of personnel milling about. We did pass a guy sitting in his cube. Det. Lewis said hello to him. When he looked up he seemed surprised to see a civilian looking back at him.
I was shown to a weird kind of room that was the waiting area. There were magazines and a TV tuned into some kind of moronic programming. It kind of felt dirty in there like I should expect bugs to start showing up. I didn't want to touch anything so I just sat there amusing myself with my own thoughts like why was I put in this room? Am I secretly being watched? How long will I have to wait for Det. Lewis to come back? Speaking of Det. Lewis...what the hell was he doing now?
As my imagination pushed and pulled me in and out of different compositions, Det. Lewis showed back up. I really don't think I was sitting there even ten minutes but when one is in the Homicide Dept. waiting to give a taped statement, it is a little unnerving.
As we were walking to one of the interrogation rooms, he explained that he was going to tape this and another detective would sit in with us as a witness. He was going to ask me questions about that morning and all I had to do was answer honestly and to the best of my ability. It was probably right about then that my mouth went dry and I had an idea of what desert dwellers felt.
We walked down a long hall with rows of doors on the right until we came to the one especially made for us. I really am no good with estimating measurements, but the room was probably 7 x 6. The white table and chairs took up almost all of the area and the chairs were secured to the floor. I was sitting in the one that forced me to have my back to the mirror. To my right at one end of the table was the detective who I am sure was glad he had nothing better to do and across from me was Det. Lewis. The left side of the table was against the wall. The room was colorless. Was this so that it could be easily cleaned up.....if you know what I mean?
Det. Lewis introduced me to Det. I'd Rather Be Anywhere Else But Am A Polite Nice Guy And Now You Owe Me One and then turned on the tape recorder. My heart rate doubled.
It ended up not being bad at all. We went through what we had already discussed and the other Det. asked some questions of his own that made no sense to me as to what bearing they had on anything but who am I to say? Do I wear a badge? Did I promise to serve and protect?
It was over and I had to use the ladies room. So what else is new, right? After I powdered my nose I met back up with Det. Lewis and he drove me back home. He would keep in touch. He promised.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Just the Facts, Ma'am - Part 3
So here I was in a car with a Baltimore City detective because I witnessed the aftermath of a murder. I was nervous, anxious, and excited all at the same time. Detective Lewis, AKA detective 2, turned out to be a very nice person that knew how to put me at ease. He was also quite the Chatty Cathy. Since I tend to clam up when in awkward situations, that was a good thing.
He explained to me where the interview would take place and what kind of questions would be asked. Nothing to be nervous about. We are just going over what happened that morning. It is just a chat between the two of us that happens to be taped in a room with a mirror with another detective as a witness.
I brought up the condition of the car. How could The City send out detectives in such crappy looking vehicles? Detective Lewis whole heartily agreed. I said it is embarrassing. Detective Lewis agreed again. I guess this is a sore spot with some of the personnel. He said if I felt that strongly about it maybe I should write the Mayor. That suggestion went straight to the bottom of my list of things to do. I was sure a deaf man would more easily hear me than the Mayor.
I brought up "The Wire". How close was it to reality? He said it was very close, actually. The comradery, the crimes, the politics all were pretty true to life. He brought up the show "CSI" as an example of the opposite. He said there is no way that a crime is solved by a finger print from a car's dashboard. He then demostrated this by putting his fingers on the dashboard. He hates these shows because they oversimplify the process and cause citizens to become frustrated when the crime fighting process doesn't happen like that in real life.
Detective Lewis brought up the murder. He said that because of what I heard, they knew that the woman knew the killer. She finally confessed to that after much prodding on their part. The murderer had fled the state but they were in hot pursuit and not to worry. They have law enforcement contacts that are helping. They will find him and bring him back. He will not get away with this.
He also explained the situation. The murderer was the former boyfriend of the woman. The victim was the current boyfriend of the woman. Let's give them all names. These aren't their real ones. The thought of using their real names makes me hinky. The murderer is Travis. The woman is Shanel. The victim is Bob.
Travis waited in the car for Bob to show up. Travis confronted Bob on the front lawn and it moved up to the front porch. While this was happening, Shanel heard the arguing on the porch and went downstairs to break the two up. Before Shanel got out the front door, Travis had taken out a knife and stabbed Bob in the lung. The lung puncture caused Bob to not be able to take a breath and scream and that is why I didn't hear the actual murder. Travis then stabbed Bob 6 more times. Detective Lewis didn't go into any further detail except to say that Shanel is the one that called 911.
We made it to HQ and parked. I will get to see where the detectives work and a real interrogation room!
He explained to me where the interview would take place and what kind of questions would be asked. Nothing to be nervous about. We are just going over what happened that morning. It is just a chat between the two of us that happens to be taped in a room with a mirror with another detective as a witness.
I brought up the condition of the car. How could The City send out detectives in such crappy looking vehicles? Detective Lewis whole heartily agreed. I said it is embarrassing. Detective Lewis agreed again. I guess this is a sore spot with some of the personnel. He said if I felt that strongly about it maybe I should write the Mayor. That suggestion went straight to the bottom of my list of things to do. I was sure a deaf man would more easily hear me than the Mayor.
I brought up "The Wire". How close was it to reality? He said it was very close, actually. The comradery, the crimes, the politics all were pretty true to life. He brought up the show "CSI" as an example of the opposite. He said there is no way that a crime is solved by a finger print from a car's dashboard. He then demostrated this by putting his fingers on the dashboard. He hates these shows because they oversimplify the process and cause citizens to become frustrated when the crime fighting process doesn't happen like that in real life.
Detective Lewis brought up the murder. He said that because of what I heard, they knew that the woman knew the killer. She finally confessed to that after much prodding on their part. The murderer had fled the state but they were in hot pursuit and not to worry. They have law enforcement contacts that are helping. They will find him and bring him back. He will not get away with this.
He also explained the situation. The murderer was the former boyfriend of the woman. The victim was the current boyfriend of the woman. Let's give them all names. These aren't their real ones. The thought of using their real names makes me hinky. The murderer is Travis. The woman is Shanel. The victim is Bob.
Travis waited in the car for Bob to show up. Travis confronted Bob on the front lawn and it moved up to the front porch. While this was happening, Shanel heard the arguing on the porch and went downstairs to break the two up. Before Shanel got out the front door, Travis had taken out a knife and stabbed Bob in the lung. The lung puncture caused Bob to not be able to take a breath and scream and that is why I didn't hear the actual murder. Travis then stabbed Bob 6 more times. Detective Lewis didn't go into any further detail except to say that Shanel is the one that called 911.
We made it to HQ and parked. I will get to see where the detectives work and a real interrogation room!
Still That Morning...and more - Part 2 May 8, 2010
I'm not sure what time Jamie and I woke up that morning but I do know that at 9 am a detective came knocking on our door. Jamie answered. Had anyone in the house seen or heard anything in regard to what had happened in the middle of the night? Again, Jamie poked his head in the house to get me. Since I had just gotten out of the shower, they had to wait for me to put some clothes on before I could step outside on our front porch. (Do you see a pattern here?)
The detective asked if I knew anything about the murder that took place. Well, now I knew someone had died except it wasn't the woman. Apparently there was a third person I hadn't seen or heard and he was the dead one. I started telling him my story. It didn't take long for him to stop me so that he could call across the street to, I was guessing, his partner to come right over. When the other detective was in earshot in the driveway detective 1 said to detective 2 that he would find what I was saying very interesting. I started from the beginning and retold my story. They peppered me with questions in a very non-threatening way. What exactly did the woman say? Do you know what kind of car you saw? What time was this? How do I know the exact time? Was I sure I only clearly saw one person? Was I sure of his build? Did I definitely not see anyone else?
They asked me if I would be willing to go downtown to make a statement. I said sure. No hesitation there. This was my civic duty. I felt the only right thing to do was to help get the bad guy.
I can't remember how long it was...maybe within a week or two...detective 2 called me. He left a message on our answering machine that he would like to set up a time for me to come in and give my statement. I called him back. He would pick me up after work, take me down to police HQ, I would give my statement, and then he would take me home. Again, no problem. This was turning into an exciting adventure anyway. I would see what it was like inside where the detectives work. Hey, I watched "The Wire". So cool.
I didn't know which detective I would see since I didn't know their names. I waited by the living room window for his car to pull up. The dogs make a racket with strangers and I didn't want to hear it. I see a crummy grey piece of crap car pull up and there is detective 2 in the driver seat. Can't the city afford nicer vehicles? It's kind of embarrassing. I get in the car, we reintroduce ourselves to each other and we're off.
The detective asked if I knew anything about the murder that took place. Well, now I knew someone had died except it wasn't the woman. Apparently there was a third person I hadn't seen or heard and he was the dead one. I started telling him my story. It didn't take long for him to stop me so that he could call across the street to, I was guessing, his partner to come right over. When the other detective was in earshot in the driveway detective 1 said to detective 2 that he would find what I was saying very interesting. I started from the beginning and retold my story. They peppered me with questions in a very non-threatening way. What exactly did the woman say? Do you know what kind of car you saw? What time was this? How do I know the exact time? Was I sure I only clearly saw one person? Was I sure of his build? Did I definitely not see anyone else?
They asked me if I would be willing to go downtown to make a statement. I said sure. No hesitation there. This was my civic duty. I felt the only right thing to do was to help get the bad guy.
I can't remember how long it was...maybe within a week or two...detective 2 called me. He left a message on our answering machine that he would like to set up a time for me to come in and give my statement. I called him back. He would pick me up after work, take me down to police HQ, I would give my statement, and then he would take me home. Again, no problem. This was turning into an exciting adventure anyway. I would see what it was like inside where the detectives work. Hey, I watched "The Wire". So cool.
I didn't know which detective I would see since I didn't know their names. I waited by the living room window for his car to pull up. The dogs make a racket with strangers and I didn't want to hear it. I see a crummy grey piece of crap car pull up and there is detective 2 in the driver seat. Can't the city afford nicer vehicles? It's kind of embarrassing. I get in the car, we reintroduce ourselves to each other and we're off.
That Morning - Part 1 Wednesday, May 5, 2010
At 1:51 am on November 8, 2008, my eyes flew open to the sound of a woman screaming. I had woken up about an hour earlier from a hot flash so I wasn't in a deep sleep when I heard her horrifying words, "Oh my God! Oh my God! You have to go! You've got to leave!" Think of the worst horror movie you ever watched where someone sounds scared and then double the emotional impact.
I got out of bed, moved the shade, and looked out the bedroom window to scan the street. Even though it was foggy out, there is a street lamp in front of my neighbor's house to the left of our house and the front porch light was on at the house to the left of the one directly across the street. I saw a man's outline standing on the top of the steps connecting to the porch. He was not tall but was bulky. He had mass. He was thick. I couldn't see the woman, but he was talking to someone on the porch and I assumed it was her. I couldn't make out what he was saying. Only that he was talking. You know how the fog can sometimes amplify noise instead of muffle it? That is what happened that early morning. There was a car parked on the other side of the streeet partially blocking the house's driveway and it had its parking lights on. I could tell it was a 4-door sedan. I realized I really had to pee so I walked to the back of the house, went to the bathroom, and came back. I didn't hear anymore talking but as I looked out the window again the car squeeled its tires as it left. I didn't see anyone on the porch. I figured that she told him to leave and that is what he did. End of story.
I laid back down in bed and not two minutes later I heard all kinds of sirens. What the hell?? This time I put the shade up and there was an ambulance and fire trucks and police cars. I raced down the hall and screamed to Jamie that something bad was going on across the street. Poor guy! Here he went to the back bedroom because the dog and/or I was snoring and then gets woken up with me screaming something bad is happening. We both ran downstairs and looked out our front window. Someone was getting CPR and the street was inundated with uniforms and strobe lights in primary colors. I told Jamie what I had seen and heard.
Now the neighborhood awoke and people made their way to the scene. I didn't move from the living rooom. Occasionally Jamie hung out on our front porch and reported back in. The sound the woman made when she screamed those words kept replaying in my head. I thought the guy had surely killed her and then tore out of there.
Someone was loaded in the ambulance while CPR continued and after the ambulance left we could clearly see the blood on the steps and the front porch. There was a lot of blood on the steps. I became nauseous thinking that I may have heard her last words.
We saw plain clothes detectives with flashlights searching the front yard, street, and sidewalk. Those little markers were being set down. The crazy lady that lives directly across the street came out of her house in her bathrobe holding her flashlight and added her detective prowess to the professional's. She was walking straight into the murder scene! I could not believe what I was seeing! In her stupidity she was going to contaminate the scene. What was going on in her mind?? That she was helping?? Did she even know what she was helping to look for? Every law enforcement person must have seen her at the same time because anyone that was official started yelling at her to stop. She said something about she thought they were looking for one of her cats. Don't even try to figure it out.
The techs pulled up and did their job. Family members drove up.
A uniformed cop came to our house and asked Jamie if anyone had seen or heard anything. Jamie opened the storm door and poked his head inside to tell me what the cop wanted. I told him I didn't have clothes on. He would have to tell the cop I had to get dressed and would be right out. I was shaking trying to get on a pair of pants and a T-shirt. I couldn't bother with a bra. At that point it was a way too complicated task.
I briefly told the cop the basics. He interrupted to ask a few questions, jotted down some notes, and then left to continue his house-to-house canvasing.
Eventually the street cleared. The excitement petered out and the neighbors all went back to their houses and back to bed. As Jamie and I were getting ready to do the same, a fire truck pulled up to the house. What was going on now? The firemen unloaded a hose from the truck and meticulously sprayed the blood off the stairs and the porch. I had no idea they did that. I thought it was one of the nicest things I had ever seen anyone do.
We finally went back to bed, too.
I got out of bed, moved the shade, and looked out the bedroom window to scan the street. Even though it was foggy out, there is a street lamp in front of my neighbor's house to the left of our house and the front porch light was on at the house to the left of the one directly across the street. I saw a man's outline standing on the top of the steps connecting to the porch. He was not tall but was bulky. He had mass. He was thick. I couldn't see the woman, but he was talking to someone on the porch and I assumed it was her. I couldn't make out what he was saying. Only that he was talking. You know how the fog can sometimes amplify noise instead of muffle it? That is what happened that early morning. There was a car parked on the other side of the streeet partially blocking the house's driveway and it had its parking lights on. I could tell it was a 4-door sedan. I realized I really had to pee so I walked to the back of the house, went to the bathroom, and came back. I didn't hear anymore talking but as I looked out the window again the car squeeled its tires as it left. I didn't see anyone on the porch. I figured that she told him to leave and that is what he did. End of story.
I laid back down in bed and not two minutes later I heard all kinds of sirens. What the hell?? This time I put the shade up and there was an ambulance and fire trucks and police cars. I raced down the hall and screamed to Jamie that something bad was going on across the street. Poor guy! Here he went to the back bedroom because the dog and/or I was snoring and then gets woken up with me screaming something bad is happening. We both ran downstairs and looked out our front window. Someone was getting CPR and the street was inundated with uniforms and strobe lights in primary colors. I told Jamie what I had seen and heard.
Now the neighborhood awoke and people made their way to the scene. I didn't move from the living rooom. Occasionally Jamie hung out on our front porch and reported back in. The sound the woman made when she screamed those words kept replaying in my head. I thought the guy had surely killed her and then tore out of there.
Someone was loaded in the ambulance while CPR continued and after the ambulance left we could clearly see the blood on the steps and the front porch. There was a lot of blood on the steps. I became nauseous thinking that I may have heard her last words.
We saw plain clothes detectives with flashlights searching the front yard, street, and sidewalk. Those little markers were being set down. The crazy lady that lives directly across the street came out of her house in her bathrobe holding her flashlight and added her detective prowess to the professional's. She was walking straight into the murder scene! I could not believe what I was seeing! In her stupidity she was going to contaminate the scene. What was going on in her mind?? That she was helping?? Did she even know what she was helping to look for? Every law enforcement person must have seen her at the same time because anyone that was official started yelling at her to stop. She said something about she thought they were looking for one of her cats. Don't even try to figure it out.
The techs pulled up and did their job. Family members drove up.
A uniformed cop came to our house and asked Jamie if anyone had seen or heard anything. Jamie opened the storm door and poked his head inside to tell me what the cop wanted. I told him I didn't have clothes on. He would have to tell the cop I had to get dressed and would be right out. I was shaking trying to get on a pair of pants and a T-shirt. I couldn't bother with a bra. At that point it was a way too complicated task.
I briefly told the cop the basics. He interrupted to ask a few questions, jotted down some notes, and then left to continue his house-to-house canvasing.
Eventually the street cleared. The excitement petered out and the neighbors all went back to their houses and back to bed. As Jamie and I were getting ready to do the same, a fire truck pulled up to the house. What was going on now? The firemen unloaded a hose from the truck and meticulously sprayed the blood off the stairs and the porch. I had no idea they did that. I thought it was one of the nicest things I had ever seen anyone do.
We finally went back to bed, too.
The Child Within Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Yesterday I was again out on one of my lunch hour walks. I took note of everyone else enjoying their lunch hour outside...same as me. Suits, ties, high heels, dresses. Everyone looked so mature! They walked and talked as we passed on the sidewalk. I heard bits of conversation about company stuff. Everyone was so businesslike. I started to try to picture them when they were kids around 6 or 7. What were they like then? At what point in their lives did they jump from who they were to what they are now? Did they mature gradually or was there an event in their life that forced them to grow up? Or, are they still that child and are only acting the part to fit in with society's rules?
I like to believe that everyone has an inner child. Some let this child run rampant in their lives as it jumps on the furniture with unabashed glee creating havoc around them. Others keep their inner child securely locked in the attic pretending it doesn't exist. I don't think that inner child ever dies but instead is dormant waiting for the chance to be free of the daily restraints. Which of these people allowed their inner child out to play?
Within reason, and also so that people don't think I'm totally nuts, I allow mine to run the show sporadically. I mostly do this at home. I talk to the dogs in silly accents. I put on my favorite music and break into free form dance. I just act silly. How much fun is one able to have if one always has to act maturely? There is a freedom in just being oneself. When you were 6 or 7, you were just yourself.
I remember the first time I acted goofy around Jamie. All of a sudden out of my mouth sprang sillines. I whipped around embarrassed and looked at Jamie to see if he heard me. His reaction? He said he liked it as it showed I had an active imagination. I knew then that he would never try to change me and would accept me for who I was. That was important to me.
I made it back to my building and held both the outer and inner door for someone that looked like she may have been just slightly physically impaired with some kind of limp. We both got to the elevator at the same time and the doors opened. I walked in first and she followed. I pushed the button for my floor and she did nothing. I looked over at her. She still did nothing. I was fully confident that she was not so dull that she didn't know what to do in an elevator. Finally I asked her what floor she wanted. Her response was to say she thought she wanted the second floor and looked at me as if I would know if that was correct. Inside I rolled my eyes and harrumphed. Outside I turned from her and pushed the button. All I could think of was just because I waited for you and held the doors doesn't mean that I also want to push the button for you.
I like to believe that everyone has an inner child. Some let this child run rampant in their lives as it jumps on the furniture with unabashed glee creating havoc around them. Others keep their inner child securely locked in the attic pretending it doesn't exist. I don't think that inner child ever dies but instead is dormant waiting for the chance to be free of the daily restraints. Which of these people allowed their inner child out to play?
Within reason, and also so that people don't think I'm totally nuts, I allow mine to run the show sporadically. I mostly do this at home. I talk to the dogs in silly accents. I put on my favorite music and break into free form dance. I just act silly. How much fun is one able to have if one always has to act maturely? There is a freedom in just being oneself. When you were 6 or 7, you were just yourself.
I remember the first time I acted goofy around Jamie. All of a sudden out of my mouth sprang sillines. I whipped around embarrassed and looked at Jamie to see if he heard me. His reaction? He said he liked it as it showed I had an active imagination. I knew then that he would never try to change me and would accept me for who I was. That was important to me.
I made it back to my building and held both the outer and inner door for someone that looked like she may have been just slightly physically impaired with some kind of limp. We both got to the elevator at the same time and the doors opened. I walked in first and she followed. I pushed the button for my floor and she did nothing. I looked over at her. She still did nothing. I was fully confident that she was not so dull that she didn't know what to do in an elevator. Finally I asked her what floor she wanted. Her response was to say she thought she wanted the second floor and looked at me as if I would know if that was correct. Inside I rolled my eyes and harrumphed. Outside I turned from her and pushed the button. All I could think of was just because I waited for you and held the doors doesn't mean that I also want to push the button for you.
Leaf Blowers Monday, April 12, 2010
I took a walk during my lunch hour today. When the weather is nice I try to get out of the office like that. It helps me for when I have to go back inside and face the long afternoon. I end up leaving a lot less tear stains on my work and my staff needs a lot less medical attention.
Today I walked past two gardening professionals tending to an office building's lawn. The major mowing was done so one was doing the edging and the other was using a leaf blower on the grass clippings in the street. I don't understand the concept. He walked, blew, and the grass moved down the street. What is the point? I can understand using a leaf blower to create a pile of, oh, let's say...leaves, to get them together for bagging. That I can understand. What is the point of blowing grass clippings around? Is this the lazy man's way of dispersing the evidence? How is this finishing the job? Plus, if you're not bagging it, what are you doing with it? I just don't get it.
Doesn't it seem that the one that has the leaf blowing responsibility is a little cocky, too? You've all seen the lawn care workers (if you can pick a better name for them then go for it) doing their jobs. They all descend on the patches of green like lions on a fresh kill each one ripping at a different part of the freshly dead except for the leaf blower. He is the one on the horizon with the sun to his back lollygagging along until the frenetic activity is over. Only then does he enter the scene. His motor is loud as he blows the stuff around and walks....very....slowly.
I don't know why it irritates me but it does. It's like everyone is working hard except for him. Well, maybe it is a job just to carry the contraption on one's back all day long. I'll give the guy that much. I will also be sexist and say it is a guy because I don't think I have ever seen a woman working one of those kinds of leaf blowers. I have seen women working construction, though.
Now that I feel like Andy Rooney, I will end my story here. Does this mean I'm becoming like a curmudgeon? I can hear Jamie now...what do you mean becoming?
Today I walked past two gardening professionals tending to an office building's lawn. The major mowing was done so one was doing the edging and the other was using a leaf blower on the grass clippings in the street. I don't understand the concept. He walked, blew, and the grass moved down the street. What is the point? I can understand using a leaf blower to create a pile of, oh, let's say...leaves, to get them together for bagging. That I can understand. What is the point of blowing grass clippings around? Is this the lazy man's way of dispersing the evidence? How is this finishing the job? Plus, if you're not bagging it, what are you doing with it? I just don't get it.
Doesn't it seem that the one that has the leaf blowing responsibility is a little cocky, too? You've all seen the lawn care workers (if you can pick a better name for them then go for it) doing their jobs. They all descend on the patches of green like lions on a fresh kill each one ripping at a different part of the freshly dead except for the leaf blower. He is the one on the horizon with the sun to his back lollygagging along until the frenetic activity is over. Only then does he enter the scene. His motor is loud as he blows the stuff around and walks....very....slowly.
I don't know why it irritates me but it does. It's like everyone is working hard except for him. Well, maybe it is a job just to carry the contraption on one's back all day long. I'll give the guy that much. I will also be sexist and say it is a guy because I don't think I have ever seen a woman working one of those kinds of leaf blowers. I have seen women working construction, though.
Now that I feel like Andy Rooney, I will end my story here. Does this mean I'm becoming like a curmudgeon? I can hear Jamie now...what do you mean becoming?
Bread Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Wednesday, April 7, 2010 at 4:14pm | Edit Note | Delete
While at work this morning I was listening to "Bread". I have this great 2-cd set of their music that has all of their best work included.
I had been left alone for a prolonged period of time, if one can define 10 minutes as prolonged, and realized that my surroundings were fading away. The thoughts, pictures, and feelings in my head became my present. Memories from my past were competing for attention now depending on which song was playing. Old feelings, ones from my teenage years, walked out of the darkness and stood in front of me. Smells, tidbits of conversations, places, people I used to know patiently took their turn. Suddenly I realized I had been daydreaming and that my heart rate had slowed and I was calm.
About ten years ago, a new Classic Rock radio station had started on the air. Part of their advertising was that they would be playing the real classic rock we all wanted to hear. The wait was over! I called them asking if they would play "Bread". The guy laughed at me and asked, "Who's that?" They didn't have "Bread", but how about bagel? Toast?
We had a summer home on 3rd Lake in Old Forge, NY. There were afternoons when I would take an inner tube out on the water and just be. I loved the rocking motion the waves caused. There was always a breeze so the sun beating down on me felt good. Plus, my feet, hands, and butt were in the water and that kept me cool, too. That kind of peace, that kind of quiet, that kind of calm is what I felt listening to "Bread" this morning.
While at work this morning I was listening to "Bread". I have this great 2-cd set of their music that has all of their best work included.
I had been left alone for a prolonged period of time, if one can define 10 minutes as prolonged, and realized that my surroundings were fading away. The thoughts, pictures, and feelings in my head became my present. Memories from my past were competing for attention now depending on which song was playing. Old feelings, ones from my teenage years, walked out of the darkness and stood in front of me. Smells, tidbits of conversations, places, people I used to know patiently took their turn. Suddenly I realized I had been daydreaming and that my heart rate had slowed and I was calm.
About ten years ago, a new Classic Rock radio station had started on the air. Part of their advertising was that they would be playing the real classic rock we all wanted to hear. The wait was over! I called them asking if they would play "Bread". The guy laughed at me and asked, "Who's that?" They didn't have "Bread", but how about bagel? Toast?
We had a summer home on 3rd Lake in Old Forge, NY. There were afternoons when I would take an inner tube out on the water and just be. I loved the rocking motion the waves caused. There was always a breeze so the sun beating down on me felt good. Plus, my feet, hands, and butt were in the water and that kept me cool, too. That kind of peace, that kind of quiet, that kind of calm is what I felt listening to "Bread" this morning.
Necessary Adjustments Friday, March 26, 2010
If you have read my other notes, you know that I work on the top floor of an office building. It is located in a mixed section of town that is both residential and commercial. Depending on what window on what side of the building you look out of your scenery will be one or the other.
This afternoon I was at one of my staff's cubes as I needed to speak to her about something. To all those managers out there, I assure you, it was work related. Since she was finishing up a conversation with someone else, I decided I would rather bide my time there and wait instead of walk back to my cube only to get a call from her that she was ready to talk to me just as I was bending my knees lowering my butt into in my chair. The windows she is situated near have a residential/commercial mix. This means that some of the houses are just for living and others are the home of a business. I turned to look out the window and across the street movement caught my eye. One of the houses is a daycare. At the front door made of glass and wood I noticed a little boy holding a stuffed animal standing inside looking out. Many things crossed my mind in a matter of seconds because, you know, I'm really quick like that.
Was he sad? Was he lonely? Was he bored? Where was everyone else? Did all the kids play that close to the front of the house? Where was the adult? Was he looking out the door for any signs of his guardian?
That last thought triggered a very clear memory. My first day of nursery school. It isn't even called that anymore. Raise your hand if you feel old. Doesn't nursery school sound better than pre-k in an innocent kind of way?
Back to my memory.
I remember sitting in the back seat of the car while my mom chattered away about how she was taking me to a place where I would have so much fun and there would be other kids to play with and everyone would be so nice....la di da di da. We pulled up to this unfamiliar building and there must have been some kind of religious symbol out front because I remember thinking that if I am Jewish why am I being taken to a place that wasn't? I don't know if I said anything or not but I do remember my mother reassuring me that that was ok. Now that I think about it some more, I probably did say something. At 4 or 5 I was actively questioning my mother's decision-making prowess.
Mom took my hand and I remember walking up some stairs and down a hallway. We got to the door and I panicked. I did not want to cross the threshold into the room. I did not want to be away from my mother. It was a bright, sunny, and welcoming room but it may as well have been the abyss to hell.
The teacher had short dark hair piled high on top (it was the sixties) held together with hairspray and teasing. She seemed very tall to me as she came over quickly as, I'm sure, she was correctly assessing the situation and needed to take control of it before it got out of hand and scared the other kids. The details of the three-way conversation are sketchy, but I remember being assured that I would have fun and it was ok because my mom would be back for me in a little bit. As my hand slipped out of my mother's and the teacher took it into hers, a wide gaping empty whole formed in my body. I had never felt so empty. How would I make it?
The teacher nodded to my mother and my mother left. I have to hand it to whoever this woman was because she just kept talking to me and brought me to the play area where the boys had their section and the girls had theirs. The sections were marked off by the back wall, the side walls, and a short wall in between. We could see each other over it and stand in front of it to talk to each other but we were not allowed to enter the opposite sexes area.
The girls section had the play stove and an assortment of kitchen items. It had dolls and other stupid boring stuff. I looked over at what the boys had and was immediately jealous. They had those cardboard fake bricks and cars and trucks. Why did they get the all the fun stuff? Why was I not allowed to play over there just because I was a girl? This was not fair at all and I had to find a way to be able to play with their toys, too.
My emptiness became manageable as indignation filled my chest and I had something other than sadness to focus on. My mom did pick me up that day as promised and each day after that when she dropped me off, as that emptiness returned, I reassured myself that she would be back again.
I know as I grew more accustomed to my surroundings on a regular basis I argued with my teacher about this secularization until I had a small victory. I remember the day I was allowed to play with some of the stuff in the boy's section and vice a versa. I stayed on the periphery because I didn't want to venture in alone but I was so happy to have the freedom, to have the choice. I also recall the other girls wondering why I wanted to play with the boy's stuff so much when our things were so great. I didn't try to explain. Come to find out, there were some boys that wanted to play with the girls things, too.
I'm not going to get all philosophical. It's just a slice of life from a little girl.
This afternoon I was at one of my staff's cubes as I needed to speak to her about something. To all those managers out there, I assure you, it was work related. Since she was finishing up a conversation with someone else, I decided I would rather bide my time there and wait instead of walk back to my cube only to get a call from her that she was ready to talk to me just as I was bending my knees lowering my butt into in my chair. The windows she is situated near have a residential/commercial mix. This means that some of the houses are just for living and others are the home of a business. I turned to look out the window and across the street movement caught my eye. One of the houses is a daycare. At the front door made of glass and wood I noticed a little boy holding a stuffed animal standing inside looking out. Many things crossed my mind in a matter of seconds because, you know, I'm really quick like that.
Was he sad? Was he lonely? Was he bored? Where was everyone else? Did all the kids play that close to the front of the house? Where was the adult? Was he looking out the door for any signs of his guardian?
That last thought triggered a very clear memory. My first day of nursery school. It isn't even called that anymore. Raise your hand if you feel old. Doesn't nursery school sound better than pre-k in an innocent kind of way?
Back to my memory.
I remember sitting in the back seat of the car while my mom chattered away about how she was taking me to a place where I would have so much fun and there would be other kids to play with and everyone would be so nice....la di da di da. We pulled up to this unfamiliar building and there must have been some kind of religious symbol out front because I remember thinking that if I am Jewish why am I being taken to a place that wasn't? I don't know if I said anything or not but I do remember my mother reassuring me that that was ok. Now that I think about it some more, I probably did say something. At 4 or 5 I was actively questioning my mother's decision-making prowess.
Mom took my hand and I remember walking up some stairs and down a hallway. We got to the door and I panicked. I did not want to cross the threshold into the room. I did not want to be away from my mother. It was a bright, sunny, and welcoming room but it may as well have been the abyss to hell.
The teacher had short dark hair piled high on top (it was the sixties) held together with hairspray and teasing. She seemed very tall to me as she came over quickly as, I'm sure, she was correctly assessing the situation and needed to take control of it before it got out of hand and scared the other kids. The details of the three-way conversation are sketchy, but I remember being assured that I would have fun and it was ok because my mom would be back for me in a little bit. As my hand slipped out of my mother's and the teacher took it into hers, a wide gaping empty whole formed in my body. I had never felt so empty. How would I make it?
The teacher nodded to my mother and my mother left. I have to hand it to whoever this woman was because she just kept talking to me and brought me to the play area where the boys had their section and the girls had theirs. The sections were marked off by the back wall, the side walls, and a short wall in between. We could see each other over it and stand in front of it to talk to each other but we were not allowed to enter the opposite sexes area.
The girls section had the play stove and an assortment of kitchen items. It had dolls and other stupid boring stuff. I looked over at what the boys had and was immediately jealous. They had those cardboard fake bricks and cars and trucks. Why did they get the all the fun stuff? Why was I not allowed to play over there just because I was a girl? This was not fair at all and I had to find a way to be able to play with their toys, too.
My emptiness became manageable as indignation filled my chest and I had something other than sadness to focus on. My mom did pick me up that day as promised and each day after that when she dropped me off, as that emptiness returned, I reassured myself that she would be back again.
I know as I grew more accustomed to my surroundings on a regular basis I argued with my teacher about this secularization until I had a small victory. I remember the day I was allowed to play with some of the stuff in the boy's section and vice a versa. I stayed on the periphery because I didn't want to venture in alone but I was so happy to have the freedom, to have the choice. I also recall the other girls wondering why I wanted to play with the boy's stuff so much when our things were so great. I didn't try to explain. Come to find out, there were some boys that wanted to play with the girls things, too.
I'm not going to get all philosophical. It's just a slice of life from a little girl.
We Have a Date Wednesday, March 17, 2010
The surgery is scheduled for May 27th at 12:15 pm. We have to be at the hospital two hours prior. I wish it were earlier in the day, but I don't have control over that. I'm sure it is all for the best. The procedure is scheduled for five hours. Just writing that gives me a tremor. I need to find peace in the fact that this surgeon is well practiced in what he does and cares about the outcome his work will have on the rest of my life. I need to find comfort in the fact that I will have family with me to support me and hold me up if I feel weak. I know I am loved and with that I cannot lose.
All That's Left is the Scheduling Friday, March 12, 2010
My doctor called me this afternoon with the results of Tuesday's biopsy. It wasn't any big suprise that the test came back positive for cancer on the lymph node against my windpipe.
I have been transparent in all of my notes so I'm not going to give in to my inclination to protect my feelings now.
I've never been the type to raise my fist to God and ask, "Why me?" It is a waste of energy and unproductive. I am not angry. I don't feel sorry for myself. I think I am disappointed. Disappointed that there is another hurdle I have to navigate after I have navigated so many already. I am frustrated that I have to find that inner strength again when I think it should be ok to have the opportunity to do some gliding for a little while. Even after a hard winter there is a window of time prior to the overbearing heat of summer in the spring when the weather is perfect.
Enough indulging. I will keep you posted as to when the surgery is scheduled. Stiff upper lip, y'all.
I have been transparent in all of my notes so I'm not going to give in to my inclination to protect my feelings now.
I've never been the type to raise my fist to God and ask, "Why me?" It is a waste of energy and unproductive. I am not angry. I don't feel sorry for myself. I think I am disappointed. Disappointed that there is another hurdle I have to navigate after I have navigated so many already. I am frustrated that I have to find that inner strength again when I think it should be ok to have the opportunity to do some gliding for a little while. Even after a hard winter there is a window of time prior to the overbearing heat of summer in the spring when the weather is perfect.
Enough indulging. I will keep you posted as to when the surgery is scheduled. Stiff upper lip, y'all.
This Needle Biopsy (which leads to surgery continued) Tuesday, March 9, 2010
This afternoon was a follow-up fine needle biopsy. This was scheduled as a result of my visit a couple of weeks ago to the doctor that is going to perform the surgery on my neck.
The company at which I work takes up one whole floor at the very top of the office building. So, I get into the elevator, choose the 1st floor, the door closes and just as the elevator starts to descend I realize I left my paperwork on my desk - proof that a mind riddled with anxiety makes mistakes. I ride the elevator back up, walk to my desk, grab the paperwork, and confirm for a co-worker in the hallway that yes, she did just see me leave in the elevator.
As I am walking to the parking garage I realize that I forgot to find the directions I had written down for the first two visits to the downtown medical facility. I know. After having driven it twice I should remember how to get there but it is my crutch. I get in the car and paw around on the floor on the passenger side. Dirty napkins and old shopping lists but no directions. Oh, well. I run the route through my head and figure I should be alright.
The first two times I was taken right on time. This time I had to wait for an extra 25 minutes. I find that I have slouched in the chair and probably look like a very old recalcitrant teenager. I give myself a strong talking to and sit back up, as my mother would say, "Like a lady".
Before the procedure, I was put in a small friendly room so that I could meet with my endocrinologist to discuss the details. I went there thinking that I would have to endure two biopsies again as the discussion with the surgeon was that the lymph node on the right was still questionable and now there is another lymph node that doesn't look right on my windpipe...still on the right side.
My endo pops his head from around the door as his entrance. He is a nice man with a somewhat different sense of humor. We start discussing the procedure and he is only talking about the windpipe. I tell him of my discussion with the surgeon so he takes out his cell and calls him. Come to find out, the two docs had discussed my case after my office visit and now the surgeon agrees that I definitely have bilateral cancer. I will only have to get stuck for the windpipe. Yay for that. Boo that it has been confirmed that I have cancer on both sides of my neck and this means a 6 hour surgery.
Since I have already described what this feels like and how not swallowing is hard when one is being told not to swallow, I won't bore you with the details again. This time someone in the room was patting my thigh as the needles slid in. I almost asked them to stop as any show of sympathy would make me cry. In the end, I concentrated on that instead of not swallowing. I also was wondering why I got this from someone this time and not the last. It gives me a headache thinking about it. Do I look like I'm losing it even when I try to put a brave face on? Maybe the smell of anxiety was palpable. Who knows. I got through it and the outcome is that there are cells that are suspicious so it is being sent out for further testing. This lymph node mirrors the other one that was suspicious in that it is cystic w/cells that are abnormal. The earliest I will hear anything is Friday. Monday for sure.
I am experiencing more pain afterward this time. I think it is because of the different location within my neck from the last time. I am overwhelmed right now but will eventually do better as I move through the steps in dealing with this news.
I did ask Nigel this morning if he would like to go with me to hold my hand during this. He was all for it, but we didn't want to chance him not being allowed in as he is a dog.
The company at which I work takes up one whole floor at the very top of the office building. So, I get into the elevator, choose the 1st floor, the door closes and just as the elevator starts to descend I realize I left my paperwork on my desk - proof that a mind riddled with anxiety makes mistakes. I ride the elevator back up, walk to my desk, grab the paperwork, and confirm for a co-worker in the hallway that yes, she did just see me leave in the elevator.
As I am walking to the parking garage I realize that I forgot to find the directions I had written down for the first two visits to the downtown medical facility. I know. After having driven it twice I should remember how to get there but it is my crutch. I get in the car and paw around on the floor on the passenger side. Dirty napkins and old shopping lists but no directions. Oh, well. I run the route through my head and figure I should be alright.
The first two times I was taken right on time. This time I had to wait for an extra 25 minutes. I find that I have slouched in the chair and probably look like a very old recalcitrant teenager. I give myself a strong talking to and sit back up, as my mother would say, "Like a lady".
Before the procedure, I was put in a small friendly room so that I could meet with my endocrinologist to discuss the details. I went there thinking that I would have to endure two biopsies again as the discussion with the surgeon was that the lymph node on the right was still questionable and now there is another lymph node that doesn't look right on my windpipe...still on the right side.
My endo pops his head from around the door as his entrance. He is a nice man with a somewhat different sense of humor. We start discussing the procedure and he is only talking about the windpipe. I tell him of my discussion with the surgeon so he takes out his cell and calls him. Come to find out, the two docs had discussed my case after my office visit and now the surgeon agrees that I definitely have bilateral cancer. I will only have to get stuck for the windpipe. Yay for that. Boo that it has been confirmed that I have cancer on both sides of my neck and this means a 6 hour surgery.
Since I have already described what this feels like and how not swallowing is hard when one is being told not to swallow, I won't bore you with the details again. This time someone in the room was patting my thigh as the needles slid in. I almost asked them to stop as any show of sympathy would make me cry. In the end, I concentrated on that instead of not swallowing. I also was wondering why I got this from someone this time and not the last. It gives me a headache thinking about it. Do I look like I'm losing it even when I try to put a brave face on? Maybe the smell of anxiety was palpable. Who knows. I got through it and the outcome is that there are cells that are suspicious so it is being sent out for further testing. This lymph node mirrors the other one that was suspicious in that it is cystic w/cells that are abnormal. The earliest I will hear anything is Friday. Monday for sure.
I am experiencing more pain afterward this time. I think it is because of the different location within my neck from the last time. I am overwhelmed right now but will eventually do better as I move through the steps in dealing with this news.
I did ask Nigel this morning if he would like to go with me to hold my hand during this. He was all for it, but we didn't want to chance him not being allowed in as he is a dog.
Which Leads to Surgery Saturday, January 30, 2010
The fine needle biopsy is not something I wish to experience again. It was kind of weird walking into the same room I had just been in one week prior except this time there was not only the ultrasound tech but also the pathologist and my doctor. Once again I lay down on the table with a pillow under my shoulders and my head back. The same picture was up on the ceiling except this time it was lit from behind and I could make out the details of the boats, water, and mountain. Let's not forget the waterfall.
I told the doc that when I went to the dentist my experience had been that it takes longer than normal for the novocaine to work and then I end up getting injected with more than necessary.
After the tech found the spot on the right side of my neck using the ultrasound wand, the novocaine was injected, and then the needle. Oh, boy. I was feeling that but when the needle is in I am not supposed to make any noise, swallow, or move. Yes, I was given another dose of novocaine. The doc went in again to try to get a better sample. He gave it to the pathologist and we waited a second time. Then he went in a third time. I was never really fully numbed up. After the third time, he told me he wouldn't go in on that side again. I wouldn't have let him anyway. I had had enough. The result - inconclusive. The cells were not what they were supposed to look like but further testing was needed.
Doc then moved on to the left side of my neck. Once again the tech found the spot and the doc went to work. Again a second dose of novocaine was needed. At least with this side I didn't feel anything but pressure when he went in the second time. The result - cancer.
So, Monday the results of the sample from the right side of my neck should be back. I will then know if surgery will be on one or both sides.
Five years ago when I had my first surgery, it was a relief as I had finally convinced the doctors that something was wrong and forward progress was being made. This time the cicrumstances are different and I am emotional. My goal is to not have this dominate my thoughts. I am not always successful but at least I am trying.
I told the doc that when I went to the dentist my experience had been that it takes longer than normal for the novocaine to work and then I end up getting injected with more than necessary.
After the tech found the spot on the right side of my neck using the ultrasound wand, the novocaine was injected, and then the needle. Oh, boy. I was feeling that but when the needle is in I am not supposed to make any noise, swallow, or move. Yes, I was given another dose of novocaine. The doc went in again to try to get a better sample. He gave it to the pathologist and we waited a second time. Then he went in a third time. I was never really fully numbed up. After the third time, he told me he wouldn't go in on that side again. I wouldn't have let him anyway. I had had enough. The result - inconclusive. The cells were not what they were supposed to look like but further testing was needed.
Doc then moved on to the left side of my neck. Once again the tech found the spot and the doc went to work. Again a second dose of novocaine was needed. At least with this side I didn't feel anything but pressure when he went in the second time. The result - cancer.
So, Monday the results of the sample from the right side of my neck should be back. I will then know if surgery will be on one or both sides.
Five years ago when I had my first surgery, it was a relief as I had finally convinced the doctors that something was wrong and forward progress was being made. This time the cicrumstances are different and I am emotional. My goal is to not have this dominate my thoughts. I am not always successful but at least I am trying.
Which Leads to More Tests Monday, January 25, 2010
I have the ultrasound results. Bottom line is that there are suspicious lymph nodes on the right side of my neck 1/2 way between my jaw and collarbone deep in my neck. The left side has a bigger tumor and because that side of my neck is where the cancer mostly was is of more of a concern. Doc believes that these are the reason my thyroglobulin levels continue to increase and that these were there but not seen or removed during the initial surgery. So, I am having the needle biopsy for everything. There will be someone from the Pathology dept. during the biopsy so I will be able to get some kind of initial answer immediately. If it is all ok, that's it. If further research is needed, I will know that then, too. If the final report is positive for cancer, surgery is the next step.
At first I was very upset by this news. I am calmer now. I will keep you posted.
At first I was very upset by this news. I am calmer now. I will keep you posted.
Just Another Test Monday, January 18, 2010
Writing for me is cathartic. It helps me sort through my feelings and gain perspective. In that vein, I write about my future.
I recently switched endocrinologists as the one I had since my thyroid surgery 5 years ago seemed to be more interested in creating commercial health plans/foods to sell than doctoring. I decided to get a second opinion and in a roundabout way was directed to a doc that practices out of Johns Hopkins. His specialty is thyroid cancer. After discussing my history, answering his questions, and him reading my 2- inch thick medical file, he bluntly told me that my previous doctor did wrong by me. That was quite a shock for a number of reasons. The first was that he did not ascribe to the "doctor not criticizing another doctor" protocol. The second was that after I was given the first radioactive iodine treatment I never should have been given the other two. The third was that I should be followed for Vitamin D deficiency. The fourth was that after the surgery an ultrasound of my neck should have been performed every 8 to 10 months. I hadn't had one since my surgery.
The blood work proved him correct. I was definitely Vitamin D deficient. That answered the question as to why when I walked down a flight of stairs I felt as if my leg bones would splinter apart.
Tomorrow is the ultrasound.
It took me 3 years to convince my Primary Care doc that there was something wrong. The blood work kept coming back as normal. Through those years I suffered weight gain, hair loss, and extreme fatigue. Also during that time, the cancer grew unchecked moving towards the back of my neck instead towards the front. My surgeon was shocked by what he saw when he opened me up. No one had a clue.
So, my new doc insisted that a Johns Hopkins technician perform the ultrasound. He didn't want to leave it up to anyone else. It will take about an hour. I am nervous not about the test itself but the results.
Something else my previous doctor did was ignore my ever rising test results that indicate any cancer left in my body. Another reason why I left him.
This time tomorrow it will be done. The anticipation alone is making my stomach queasy.
I recently switched endocrinologists as the one I had since my thyroid surgery 5 years ago seemed to be more interested in creating commercial health plans/foods to sell than doctoring. I decided to get a second opinion and in a roundabout way was directed to a doc that practices out of Johns Hopkins. His specialty is thyroid cancer. After discussing my history, answering his questions, and him reading my 2- inch thick medical file, he bluntly told me that my previous doctor did wrong by me. That was quite a shock for a number of reasons. The first was that he did not ascribe to the "doctor not criticizing another doctor" protocol. The second was that after I was given the first radioactive iodine treatment I never should have been given the other two. The third was that I should be followed for Vitamin D deficiency. The fourth was that after the surgery an ultrasound of my neck should have been performed every 8 to 10 months. I hadn't had one since my surgery.
The blood work proved him correct. I was definitely Vitamin D deficient. That answered the question as to why when I walked down a flight of stairs I felt as if my leg bones would splinter apart.
Tomorrow is the ultrasound.
It took me 3 years to convince my Primary Care doc that there was something wrong. The blood work kept coming back as normal. Through those years I suffered weight gain, hair loss, and extreme fatigue. Also during that time, the cancer grew unchecked moving towards the back of my neck instead towards the front. My surgeon was shocked by what he saw when he opened me up. No one had a clue.
So, my new doc insisted that a Johns Hopkins technician perform the ultrasound. He didn't want to leave it up to anyone else. It will take about an hour. I am nervous not about the test itself but the results.
Something else my previous doctor did was ignore my ever rising test results that indicate any cancer left in my body. Another reason why I left him.
This time tomorrow it will be done. The anticipation alone is making my stomach queasy.
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