Fancy Dancy What?

I had a meeting with a photographer yesterday morning.  Photographers always inspire me to be more spontaneous with my camera work ("camera work" being the little camera on my cell phone).  Yesterday, I was presented with a perfect opportunity to take a spur-of-the-moment picture or two.  

This photo quality, of course, is proof-positive why I'm not a photographer.  It's blurry.  But, I ask you, at first blush, if you saw this mounted on a wall, would you know what it was?  I hadn't seen one before.  I thought it was some new fandangled purse holder, or maybe a baby changing station - oh, did I neglect to mention I was in a restroom?

Turns out, upon closer inspection, it has a more practical function:

It's a HAND DRYER!  You move your hands up and down through an incredibly powerful blast of air.  Turns out, while looking all space-agey to me, it works pretty well.  

Based on the incredulous look I received from the other lady in the restroom, though, it's likely best if I keep my spontaneous photo moments out of restrooms. *giggle*

The song is ended, but the melody lingers on...

My Mother's Father died on Friday.  

I don't know how to feel about it.  I'm sad.  I'm relieved.  I'm a bit numb.  This won't be a proper caithris as he might have had, had he lived and died 200+ years ago in Scotland, but this is what I can do to celebrate his life.

William Wallace McLachlan.

He was Scottish.

He worked for Carnation.  

He was married to Daphne and had four beautiful children: Janet, Katie, Valerie and Donald.

    Janet married Allen and adopted two sons: Brian and Andrew.

    Katie married Greg and had two daughters: Meaghan and Gillian.

    Valerie married Jim and they had two daughters and a son: Katelin, Ellen and Scot.

    Donald married a beautiful woman this year: Kathy.  

    All four children married for love which they had to have learned from their parents.  

He had horses and tractors.

Daphne died all too young.

He always bought us sweet cereal when we visited that Mum and Dad wouldn't let us eat otherwise.

He had a great dog named Hamish.

He used to be called Grandad.  

His nickname was "G'Dad" because Grandad was too long to fit on the stocking we hung for him at Christmas.  

He used to jump over the bollards at the Calgary zoo even when he was in his '60's.

He loved his kilt - he wore it at his second Wedding.

He married Anne Handy and her children became his children too.  

He had a big heart.  

He fumbled a bit - he broke his family when he forgot us.  But he made a new family for himself with Ann.

He was called Bill after this.

He cleared land and built himself a new home.

He loved to watch the finches out his back window.

He got sick; he forgot who he used to be.

He kept fighting until it was okay to go.

He died on Friday, November 26th, 2010.

He will be missed.

In case you wanted an update...

It's a good day.  Mostly.  I don't have all the good news yet but I'm expecting more soon.

You may have read in a post last year that I had cancer.  It's now a year and a half since I had my radiation treatment so after my blood test yesterday, a standard checkup, I was sent in to get an ultrasound.  One short day later (that'd be today) I recieved great news!  There's nothing there.  Well, I mean it's obvious that the thyroid isn't there - I'd be mighty conerned if it was - but there was nothing else there, and THAT'S the good news.  No new lumps, bumps or cancer that they can see.  YIPPY SKIPPY!

So here's the rest of the scoop.  Since the time of my intial diagnosis, the process of treatment and maintenance of thyroid cancer has changed drastically.  Where there used to be no documentation or processes, there is now a 51 page document outlingig the steps the doctors have to put their patients through.  The ultrasound was the first step in the process.  There are two possible next steps:

The first option involves getting two shots of Thyrogen, a day apart, followed by a blood test two days later.  It will likely go like this:  Monday: Ouch, a shot.  Tuesday: Ouch, another shot.  Friday: OUCH!  The blood letting.  The Thyrogen is a drug that tricks the body into thinking that it's not taking Levoxyl (the med I take every day to act in place of the thyroid I don't have).  The best part is that the Thyrogen accomplishes in 4 days what would take my body to do a few weeks.  Not to mention it avoids the crazy-factor that is typically involved with going off the Levoxyl.  If the blood test comes back normal despite the stimulus of the Thyrogen then I'm good to go and will be considered cancer-free.  This, of course, is the optimal option.  However, here's the rub.  Insurance companies don't often approve this process without the inclusion of a radiation scan following the blood test.  The radiation test sucks.  So this brings us to option two, which is far more annoying.  

This second option would involve all the steps noted above, but would also include the necessity of me going off Levoxyl and getting an additional blood test to check for pregnancy... blah!  As IF!  Then, once my body is rid of the Levoxyl I've taken for the past year and a half (and my emotions are off the chart and everyone around me hates me) I will have to get another dose of radioactive iodine (yes, that's radiation), and then go back under the full body scanner to make sure there's no cancer left in my body.  And honestly, that's the worst part.  It doesn't hurt in a traditional sense.  No one is poking you, or cutting into you, but you have to lay still for 40 minutes consecutively while they run this machine over your body.  The "bed" that is provided is a 24" wide (approximately) board with a sheet of the doctors hygienic paper over it.  There's no support, no padding.  It's awful.  And I can't read, or listen to music, or talk.  I have to lay still.  Alone.  In a room that is white.  No one else is in there.  So what do I do?  I count the seconds to see how close I can get to the finishing time of the scan.  BOR. ING.  And even worse than this is the human deprivation that I have to endure after I'm given the radiation.  It's like being trapped in a glass cell.  I can't kiss my husband.  I can't cuddle with my dog.  I can't cook.  I can't visit with people.  And I can't sleep in the same bed as my husband.  For four days.  It's SO weird.    And THIS.  This little gem of a process?  This is the procedure that the insurance companies approve.  Go figure.

So obviously I'm hoping for option 1.  If you wouldn't mind keeping your fingers crossed for me that my insurance will approve option 1 I would really appreciate it.  

Thanks for checkin' in.  I'll try to include updates when I can.  I'm hoping for more good information shortly.  I fully expect to kick this cancer's ass!

I'm a Movie Star

Kinda.  Sorta.

My pal Sean of Resolusean Photography recently did a photo session with Hubband and I.  His wife and I are good friends and I've let my freak flag fly a few times lately around her - she's discovered my obsession with sharks.  Apparently I've shared a tidbit or two with Sean too.  Here's his latest creation.  It's too good not to share!

Personalize funny videos and birthday eCards at JibJab!

Rough Night

Last night left me shaking.  I'm still trying to deal with all of my emotions about it.  Here's what happened:

Hubband and I were just sitting down to relax for an hour to watch a TV show when we hear a crazy noise.  We had the TV on so we weren't sure quite what we were hearing but it didn't stop. So we paused the show and ran to the backyard.  It sounded like the neighbors dog may have caught a cat and the cat was losing the battle.  It wasn't quite that simple... (note: I don't wish ill on any cats, even if they are the spawn of Satan)

The neighbors dog is a very bouncy 90lb boxer who doesn't get enough attention or exercise, so naturally he takes out his boredom by running around and playing with objects in the backyard.  Unfortunately, one of these objects is a decorative, metal food dish stand.  The decorative metal is about a 1/4" thick.  It looks something like this:

PLEASE DON'T BUY THIS FOR BIG DOGS!

Not exactly something that I think of to put out for a Boxer - a Chihuahua, or some other foofy dog, perhaps, but not a Boxer.  Nonetheless, this is what his owners have decided to give him.  In all of his frivolity, the dog (we assume) pounced on this stand in his boredom and managed to get his paw through one of the curlycue's on the side of the dish.  He. Was. SCREAMING!  If you've never heard a dog scream in terror and pain, consider yourself lucky.

Now here's the catch.  The owner's are out of town.  They've left the dog at home with their cousin.  This cousin has dogs, two foofy dogs as a matter of fact, so he knows how to handle himself around animals.  But he's not from San Diego.  He's from Yuma.  So he knows nothing about the vet centers in San Diego.  And why should he?  Who would have expected this to happen?  He calmed the dog down a bit but not before Hubband and I rushed over there to see what had happened.  It's amazing what your mind stops worrying about when you see an animal in pain.  I was in my pajamas pants and tank top, no bra, no shoes or socks, trying to take care of this dog in a backyard that hasn't seen water in years (literally - two years).  When I came home I realized I was covered in burrs, and dead grass.  I didn't care.

And then it hits me - I got into emergency management mode.  Deal with this situation.  The tin snips aren't going through the dish.  We can't move the dog - he's not only in a lot of pain, and we don't have the right equipment to immobilize him in a vehicle, but he's going to hurt himself or us when we try to move him.  Hubband calls an Animal Rescue center to see if they can send someone to come get him.  Nope - but they did tell him that if they came to get the dog, it would be considered abandoned and the owners would never get him back.  Assholes.  Uh... not an option (even if I think he might be better in another home).  

I call the Emergency vet center and they give me three phone numbers.  The first is an emergency, mobile veterinarian.  She doesn't answer.  The second is a mobile, in-home euthanasia veterinarian who the vet clinic thought might have some information about transporting hurt animals.  They also don't answer.  Finally, I find an angel by the name of Damian Mitchell.  He specializes in animal transportation. He's trying to talk me into how I can move the dog because his services are expensive ($225 to pick up the dog).  Then he hears the dog screaming.  He says "I'll get in my car NOW!".  

30 minutes later this angel arrives at our house (he drove down from north county) and completely takes over the situation. He's calm, authoritative, but not pushy, or rude.  He calmed the dog down.  He calmed us down.  He was truly a hero.  By 9:30 last night (this all started at 7:10) we had the dog at the emergency vet clinic.  The ultimate cost of the night was 2+ hours of heartache.  I don't care if it cost us $225.  I wouldn't have cared if it cost us $1,000.

I guess if I can leave you with nothing else, when in doubt about moving an animal, call Damian.  His company is TLC Pet Care & Transport and you can reach him at 760-809-8953.  I want everyone in San Diego County to know about this man - he's truly a gem.  

Thanks for reading... I know it's not the standard, upbeat post, but I had to share about what happened.  I'm still pretty shaken.  And an update on the dog - they were able to get the dog dish stand off him in 5 minutes.  I know it seems like a lot of anxiety for us for them to remove it and make it all right in 5 minutes but honestly, I'm not a vet.  I couldn't imagine trying to force it off myself, and we could have been hurt ourselves.  Lovely, adorable Havoc is fine.  He'll be back at the fence in no time!

Adventures in the Kitchen: Buns

If I haven't mentioned it before, the Hubband is quite a catch.  He cooks.  He cleans.  He brings home the bacon so I can have a career I love.  The cooking is almost always an adventure though.  He's not so into making meals he's made before.  He always wants to "go big or go home".  Since he's always at home when he cooks the only option left is to "go big".  And yesterday's meal was no exception.

We have a bit of a battle in the house - who makes the best chili?  I argue that I do as it's a more "traditional" chili (and by "traditional" I mean that it's the same delicious recipe that my Mum gave to me that I've been using for years and years).  He argues that his is better because it's always different.  And I have to admit, his is VERY good (wipe that smug look off your face, Hubband).  However, after the last chili event we ran into a bit of a situation.  It was SO spicy it was a bit hard to eat.  So instead of drinking lots of milk or water to reduce the spice we found a way to add more calories and fat to the meal - we decided to use buns to aid us in eating the chili more slowly rather than just taking smaller bites.  I know - it's ingenious!  

This time when the Hubband made the chili he used 2 1/2 jalapeños so we weren't sure how spicy it was going to be.  So he planned ahead and looked up a recipe to make homemade buns rather than buying them at the store.  Infinitely more tasty, but arguably far more work.  

They turned out GREAT!  They're a very dense bun because he found a recipe that doesn't require them to rise but here's the process.  I thought it was picture-worthy.

 

 

Mm, mm, good!

The Cleaning Sickness

There's an obvious trend emerging when I get sick.  No, not the gross trend where the cold develops from a small tickle into a monstrous annoyance full of runny noses, sleepless nights and tender glands.  It's "The Cleaning Sickness".

I'm not very good at being sick.  I think I got it from my Dad.  At least if my  Mum had any say in this, she'd agree that my Dad is a bit of a baby when he get's sick.  And so am I.  Of course now that I actually sit here and think about it, I suppose it's a strange opinion.  I don't know anyone who says "Yay! I'm sick! I LOVE getting sick.  Now I can take some time off".  Well, maybe high school students do, but otherwise, many of us suffer through being sick as if it's the worst thing that's ever happened to us.  I'm no exception.  

I get weepy - I'll cry at books.  I'll cry at movies.  Heck, even just thinking about the fact that I'm sick makes me cry.  But it's the last few days of the cold that really surprise me.  On the 3rd last day of the cold (that was yesterday) I am a mess - I lie on the couch, reading books, watching bad TV and movies I've seen umpteen times.  I don't shower.  I eat ridiculously  high amounts of sodium in an effort to drown my sorrows about being sick in a dehydrated fog.  I get sore from lack of mobility.  Basically, the worst version of myself takes up residence on our couch and pouts at the Hubband to please get me Diet Ginger ale and cookies.  He does the first.  He won't give me cookies.  He knows that if he gives me cookies I'll pout at him a week later because for "some reason" my pants no longer fit.  They've shrunk! ;-)

And then the 2nd last day of being sick arrives.  Today.  YAY!  Well, sort of yay.  My voice isn't really up to par and my nose is still runny but I'm a CLEANING MACHINE!  I empty garbages that have needed it for the past week but have gone unnoticed in my daze of illness.  I start organizing - filing, packaging, labeling, reviewing emails long forgotten.  I make the bed.  I get ridiculous amounts of work done for my clients.  I don't know what it is other than my body saying "Ok!  You're almost human again.  To make up for the past week, today you must be SUPER HUMAN!".  And so I go for it.

The last day of the sickness, which is tomorrow, is the day I dread most.  I'm 98.77777% better.  I don't have a stuffed up nose.  My head is clear.  I'm ready to get back to life as usual.  Except, I'm a coughing maniac.  Talking makes me cough.  Sleeping makes me cough.  Cough drops hardly get rid of my cough, though they help a bit.  Sigh...

So, I'm excited about the rest of today.  I shall continue to be uber productive until midnight tonight, at which point I predict the coughing shall commence.  I hope you all sleep well; I know Hubband and I sure won't!