Ode to My BFF

From the day we met in our Sophomore year of college we were finishing each other's sentences.  Even when distance and laziness kept us out of touch, when we reconnected it was like we had never been apart.  The death of our beautiful friend Karen brought us together in a new way.  For the first time, we realized there was no getting out of here alive.

So when my mammogram came back suspicious, she was the first person I told.  And when it turned out I had cancer, she was there.  Not with thoughts and prayers, but with real support.  She bought a one-way ticket a few days before my bilateral mastectomy and vowed to stay as long as I needed her.

Anyone who knows me well knows that my talents don't lie in housekeeping skills.  My priorities are elsewhere; my cats and chickens, cooking delicious food, politics.  Anything but vacuuming, mopping, or laundry.  My BFF went to work immediately getting my house and yard in order.  The mountain of laundry dwindled to nothing, and those chores I kept putting off got done.  She finds joy in cleaning; who knew? 

She accompanied me to the hospital and waited hours for me to be out of surgery.  When my surgical drains leaked, she changed my bed and my bandages.  She looked unflinchingly at my flat chest with incisions from armpit to armpit.  She played endless games of Gin Rummy, learned the names and personalities of 11 cats and 6 chickens, tried every kitchen gadget I own. 

Her name is Denise, and she is my family.

Miracle Morning

After a nasty cold all week, a 24-hour migraine, and a cough starting last night, I woke up (late!) feeling pretty good.  My poor chickens were anxious to get outside to start their day, so I opened their coop door and headed back inside to make the coffee and feed the cats. 

Even with all the windows closed (it's gonna be a hot day), I heard the noise, like hundreds of screaming hawks.  Looking out the sliding glass door, I could see a couple of my chickens by the house, not moving and looking to the sky.  Intrigued, I stepped outside and heard the racket up close.  Whatever was making it was circling my house - now it was in the front with a few stragglers in the back near me.  Hearing them on the move again, I moved to the side of the house and saw a hawk, followed by hundreds of smaller birds.  Blue Jays, and they were chasing that hawk away from my house!

My chickens were huddled together in fear, and Rhoda, my Rhode Island Red, was making a noise like a rumble rumble rumble, repeated low and constant. 

I stood there until the racket subsided, then noticed that several of the Jays had perched quite close to me.  I silently thanked them for watching out for my friends, and looked around at the rest of the yard.  A dragonfly had flown into the coop run and couldn't find it's way out, so I gently picked him up and got him to freedom.  A Monarch butterfly was nearby perched on a yellow dandelion, and a gorgeous black and white butterfly or moth flew nearby.  A hummingbird buzzed me, reminding me that I needed to fill his feeders, and the woods sighed in contentment.  Summer is here, the air is warm, and all is as it should be. 

And I am exactly where I am supposed to be.

The Big C

My mammograms have rarely gone smoothly.  I have "dense" breasts, which means they can't really see what they should.  I've had to go back many years for more pictures, ultrasounds, and even a biopsy on my right breast.  It's just one of those things I have dealt with...no big deal.

This time felt different from the very start.  It started the same way...more pictures, followed by an ultrasound, then a biopsy, this time of the left breast.  All completely painless, but the look on the radiologist's face told me volumes.  So I was prepared when he called two days later with the biopsy pathology report. 

"It's unfortunately cancer", he said.  "The most common type - Invasive Ductal Carcinoma, and it's small - about 4.5 mm.  You'll need to meet with a surgeon and oncologist to talk about options, but they will likely tell you either a lumpectomy with radiation, or a total mastectomy without further treatment".

Did I tell you that the phone call came when I was at work, and that I have to smile and actually talk to people?  I'm not sure I remember the next few patients I registered - I felt like I was having tunnel vision, and in a vast echo chamber where I could hear, but it all sounded so far away.  Once it slowed down a bit, the nurse and provider surrounded me with hugs and advice...should I have reconstructive surgery?  Who is the best plastic surgeon in the area?  And look at the great tattoos I can get to cover any scarring!


The good news is that surgery can be done here in my small town hospital.  The bad news is that if I choose a lumpectomy, the radiation treatment is an hour away.  And treatment is 5 days a week, up to 16 weeks.  The prognosis is good, and about the same with either option I choose.  If insurance covers it, I'm leaning toward total mastectomy...of both breasts.  I've never been a girly girl, and am not defined by my extra female bits.  I wonder if it means that I can go shirtless in the summertime?  When I first started developing, I was so mad at my Mom for making me put a shirt on around the boys.  Didn't seem fair to me, when they got to run through sprinklers bare chested.

So many questions to answer.  I feel like I'm back in school again, learning a new subject that I better know backwards and forwards 'cuz there will be a final exam.  Have no doubt - I will ace the exam.

Stories From the Front Line of a Walk-in Clinic

Really bad ideas, based on real life incidents from yesterday alone:

1. If you're 85 and took a tumble, don't go to a walk-in clinic because there's never any parking at the ER. We're gonna see you and send you to the ER anyway.

2. If you have a history of cardiac issues and have pain in your chest, don't go to a walk-in clinic and say it's just a liver infection. We're gonna see you and send you to the ER anyway.

3. If you have emphysema, COPD, and asthma, and your throat is closing shut, don't go to the walk-in clinic because the emergency room is too expensive. We're gonna see you and send you to the ER anyway.

4. Don't let your kids play with your wallet and destroy your insurance card. I'm good, but not psychic, and if we don't have it already, I can't magically conjure up the number. You're gonna get the full bill, and then deal with the insurance company on your end.

Really good ideas:

1. If you have flu symptoms, come see us within the first 48 hours for testing. After 48 hours, Tamiflu doesn't work, and you'll just have to ride it out.

2. If you're a man with a sense of humor, come see us with your wife in tow and say "I'm dying" when I ask what your symptoms are. That way, when you're in the treatment room, your wife and I can laugh at you and your "man cold". :)

Long Winter, New Job, and First Year With Chickens

 My 4th winter in Minnesota has been brutal, and much closer to the North Dakota winters I remember growing up.  The snow never seemed to stop, and the Polar Vortex made me rethink the notion of not heating the chicken coop.  My Barred Rock, Florence, got frostbite on the ends of her comb, so now the tips are whitish gray instead of red.  And poor Georgia - she lost her back toes to frostbite.

During the Polar Vortex I noticed a spray of blood on the plastic surrounding the run, and blood running down the wall underneath the roost.  All the chickens seemed okay, and there wasn't enough room in the run to check them out more thoroughly.  Weeks later, as I was in the run refilling their food, Georgia jumped up on the roost, looked at me, and walked over so that her head was on my shoulder.  It was then that I saw the source of the bleeding - her back foot looked like it had been chopped off, and it was bleeding profusely.  I sprayed it with Vetricyn, and hoped for the best.

The next day at work I was telling the provider and nurse (eek - I work in healthcare now!) Georgia's sad tale, and they immediately said to use DermaBond (actually Gary said to use Super Glue, but I've learned that it's almost the same thing).  There just happened to be a tube of it about to expire, so was sent home with it.  That night Georgia subjected herself to the treatment, and all has been well in chicken land since then, and Gary the Chicken Doc got a dozen blue eggs as a thank you.

About my new job: technically, I'm a patient registration rep, but in reality I'm the office manager, registration, urine drug screening collector, breath alcohol tester, hospitality, cleaner, and sometimes triage.  I work in a small walk-in clinic, so there are only 3 of us working on a given day.  Ten hour shifts with no lunch (we can eat, but can't leave, so we usually eat a few bites, tend to a patient, and come back for more, sometimes several times).

I love most of the people I work with - without any one of us, the clinic has to close, so we truly work as a team.  And work is good for me - I've lost 10 pounds eating mostly salads for lunch, and get a lot more exercise than a job at my computer.  And some of our patients are so interesting to listen to - I seem to learn something new every day. 

The snow is finally starting to melt, green clover is visible in places, my chickens are laying, and I have tons of compost in the chicken run, just waiting for the garden. 

All is well with my soul.