The Braided Inkwell

One thing I am learning from these infusion center visits is that perspective is something else.


Nosey me (as if that’s anything new)… I was chatting up a colon cancer patient in the next recliner. I’ll call her Ms. Barbara. I assume she is Christian because she had a bible among the things she brought along for her hours-long chemo pre-treatment. Interesting thing about this Christian lady. She received her cancer diagnosis three days after Christmas, 2009. So I am listening while thinking life really has a habit of playing cruel jokes.


So I asked her questions about her treatment, the medicine port on the right side of her chest, the 48-hour chemo drip and how she deals with the effects of her regimen. A rather convincing “I’m thankful” left her mouth during one of her responses. So nosey, Christian born and raised, and mostly practicing me is always baffled by people’s heartfelt thanks in these situations. I always wonder if they are sincere. So I asked: “How? Why are you thankful in this situation?” I just wanted to know why she chooses not to follow the advice of Job’s wife and curse God, deny any divine existence, roll over and die?


One thing she said.., “I can see others who are in worse shape than me. I can walk, I can talk, I can see, I have a home…” She also said that she lived to see her children grow up, able to now take care of themselves. Her grandchildren are almost grown, also. That’s more than what she asked for in prayers uttered long ago, but not forgotten.


Then I thought about the experience with my monsters. They are frustrating, nerve wracking, emotionally draining and physically tiring. But I can still walk, I can talk, I can see, I have shelter. I can care for myself, I have friends who love me and pretty swell acquaintances, too. It could be worse. Besides, everyone has a burden to bear. And this is one of mine.


Yes, perspective and attitude are something else. A good something else.

No Comments | In: Health and Well...Cuteness, The Fertile Fibroid | tags: navigating the 30s, The Road. | #

Today, a visit to the Washington Hospital Center’s Fibroid Clinic for a consultation. I expected to find a doctor that would perform the procedures my main OB-GYN recommended. Instead they hipped me to my possible eligibility for a procedure that my Doc in California wouldn’t even discuss with me four years ago.

Uterine Fibroud Embolization, or UFE, wasn’t even on the table when I told my doctor in Cali that I wanted my monsters out. It wasn’t considered because there isn’t scientific evidence indicating long-term data that show how the procedure effects fertility on women of childbearing age. I wasn’t hankering for a baby four years ago. I am still not hankering for a child today, but that’s beside the point.

At WHS, I saw an OB-GYN, Dr. B., and an interventional radiologist. The OB told me mostly what I already knew, but he suggested that UFE might be an option, because I’ve had multiple surgeries, and the monsters rebound. I asked him my doc suggested another hysteroscopic procedure and trying a laparascopic procedure. But Doc B. said it’s better with fewer fibroids.

Well, I have a a bunch of the critters. My fibroids have fibroids… They’re probably grandparents. There are generations incubating in the bag. Maybe we’re at the third and fourth generation, and I surely hate them, but let me get back to the point.


Particles that are injected in the uterine artery during the UFE procedure.

The radiologist showed me a chart with the possible procedures I could have, including hysterectomy and endometrial ablation, which eliminate possibility of childbirth. We checked off the other measures I’ve tried, including medication and two types of surgeries. Maybe I had a look on my face that said “Tell me something I don’t know” or maybe they just reviewed my medical history.

“So we’re preaching to the choir here,” Dr. O said.

I nodded.

Now, children are not an impossibility with UFE. Some women have gotten pregnant after the procedure. The radiologist, Dr. O., told me the oldest child born to a UAE woman is a teenager–about 17 years old.

So Dr. O and and a nurse practitioner spoke with me… Dr. O explained how UFE works. In a nutshell, they make a small incision in the groin and inject Emposphere Microspheres into the uterine artery that leads to the fibroids. These microspheres block the blood flow to the monsters and cause them to shrink. My next question was what would happen to those Emboshpere Microspheres. Will the body absorb them? No, I was told. They will just stay in the body. *Insert quizzical expression and Scooby-Doo “Urrr?”*. But they say it is safe, that the microspheres are too big to flow into the blood vessels of the healthy uterine tissue, and also too big to flow into the vessels leading to the ovaries. Before injecting the Microspheres, they will inject a dye to make sure the spheres will flow in the right direction.

My next question: “So, outside of death, what other risks might I face from this procedure?”
I’m not sure if Dr. O was expecting me to pose the question in such a manner, but she didn’t look at me crazy (comfort level points) and answered my question.

Now I have more to ponder. I will go to another fibroid clinic in the area for another opinion. I really don’t want surgery. But I must reclaim my quality of life… quality that I’ve let lapse for far too long. I hardly know what normal is anymore.

Next step: An MRI. That will also determine if I am a candidate for this procedure.

And the fight against me continues.

No Comments | In: Health and Well...Cuteness, Nagivating the Thirties, photography, The Fertile Fibroid | tags: navigating the 30s, The Road. | #

I absolutely must eat breakfast before having iron shoved into my veins. Honestly, this whole Second Personal War with uterine fibroids is nerve-wracking enough, without exciting my anxiety about the possibility of multiple needle sticks that have happened during my first and second visits. So far, I’ve accumulated 13 needle sticks in my three treatment visits. So a whole day with no food, my natural anxiety, plus inadequate hydration that day and general weariness with fibroids was not a good combination.

The infusion session started relatively well. It only took two sticks to find a good vein. The first day of treatment, it took five sticks. The second day, six. I stressed to the nurse Sally that I didn’t want multiple pokes. She said she didn’t either. So yes, we were already on the same page. What I didn’t tell her is with the summer months coming, I am not interested in looking like a drug addict when my arms are exposed. I don’t want marks on my arm to prove what doesn’t exist for me. Of course, addicts don’t always use clean needles, so markings probably won’t be a problem.

I saw a lady who started her second round of treatment when I was starting my first. We talked about why we are each receiving treatment, and I learned that she is on her second series. Her iron levels just won’t go up. We talked about my uterine fibroids and her man-friend, her children and my non-existent man and kids. I enjoyed the conversation and our friendly race to empty our sacs of Venofer. We talked about our work-places, and found out that we belong to the same religious denomination. My Venofer emptied into my veins first. Nurse Sally was about to remove the IV from my hand (that’s where she put it on the second stick.. and it hit red gold) when I started feeling strange. I thought I would faint, and I told her so. Nurse Sally immediately attached another saline drip and took my vitals. Blood pressure was up from the initial reading, but still within my range. She took my temperature, which was also normal. She asked if I felt itchy. I didn’t.

I felt if I stood at that point that I would and fall right back down. They observed me for a little while. I felt better after about 30 minutes, two bags of saline and two cups of water, a trip to the restroom, and a lecture from nurse Sally about the importance of eating before treatments. I got another cup of water and three granola bars as parting gifts.

Lesson learned. Eat. Regardless of the anxiety and it’s resulting stifling of my appetite. Doesn’t matter how I feel. Eat anyhow. I should also drink about 20 more gallons of water than a camel.

While we’re talking about water, let me chug more. There’s another infusion tomorrow.

No Comments | In: Health and Well...Cuteness, The Fertile Fibroid | tags: navigating the 30s, The Road. | #

Infusion #1. Sounds like a perfume name.


I was stabbed in both arms four times today, twice in each arm. At least it felt like a stabbing. It took the nurse four tries to find a plump, cooperative vein. I was surprised it took so many piercings because I drank tons of water as instructed.  Besides, that is what I usually do. I’m always toting a bottle of water.


See, I went to kick it with chemotherapy and other anemic patients today in what I call the IV bar… The bar is located in my hematologist’s office and would be quite the pleasant place to relax if they were serving an intoxicant other than the drippy Benadryl that made my elderly chair-neighbor seem plumb drunk.


This was the first of five iron infusion treatments, because I am chronically anemic. Oh joy. That’s why I never want to do anything or have any fun anymore, because I’m just plain tired.


According to WebMd (and at least four doctors in my growing physician history list), iron deficiency anemia can be triggered by excessive blood loss, such as menstruation, an iron-poor diet, and certain drugs. There are more reasons listed, however, these are the ones I think affect me most… pregnancy was another reason listed, but I know I am not carrying any chilluns in my Bastard Baby Bag. I have uterine fibroids, the nasty little bastards, and I am a also vegetarian who needs to ask the neighborhood deer if there is an iron lick near their salt source, because I don’t get enough iron from my diet. I’m sure my tongue wont like licking rocks or masticating strange forest leaves, but I am confident it will toughen up. Just like Hobbit feet.


Back to the IV bar. I was very nervous, so I called my sister and a doctor friend to chat. I also posted some nonsense on Facebook. Talking to them helped, along with eavesdropping on the conversations around me, trying to determine why people came to the bar, and to see if it has a “Cheers” familiarity to it. Some patients were in the bar undergoing chemo treatment. One middle aged lady, a couple of older people, and a couple of people who appeared younger than I.. and one “together”, professionally dressed young lady who appeared to be in her mid 30s… Not much older than 40.


I saw people from different races and cultures, in each stage and season of  life… all being treated because some body cells decided to go rogue.


I didn’t hear any complaints and no one seemed filled with terror or dread. They seemed peaceful. But then again, I didn’t talk to any of them. I wonder if I’ll get the chance to be more nosey next time… I didn’t ask anyone’s name, but I am glad they came to the IV bar… Just wish none of us had to…


Maybe, during my next four visits, I can turn the IV Bar into a place where everyone knows my name?


We’ll see.

No Comments | In: Health and Well...Cuteness, Nagivating the Thirties, The Fertile Fibroid | tags: navigating the 30s, The Road. | #

I’ve signed up for one of these internet dating sites, and I’m finding it interesting to read through the profiles these slews of gentlemen have posted, and I notice lots of write-ups that declare that these men are searching for a woman with “goals.”


A noble pursuit.. a woman with goals instead of just a pretty face. I do agree… people should have goals. However, it is quite nebulous what “goals” are acceptable to the seeker. See, a woman’s goal to keep her kitchen clean, the laundry under control, or to bake a better banana bread, cook more healthy meals, to just to exercise daily, or catch the elusive mouse might not be deemed a “goal” by one man. And the goal to simply crawl out of bed each morning, or to maintain a positive attitude may not be considered a worthy “goal” by another. But these are goals of the immediate sort… with long-term effects. They can definitely affect how a man interacts with a woman. If anyone finds a man who doesn’t want a woman who can throw down in the kitchen, or wants a woman with a negative attitude, just let me know and I will stand corrected.


I sometimes want to question these gentlemen via the site’s secure email system just to see if they think “goals” means a woman who wants to buy a home, complete a home improvement project, work her way up the promotional ladder at work, run a marathon, or write a book. What if her goal is to maintain a prayer or poetry blog or watch all the episodes of Good Times or Welcome Back Kotter? Is a woman who wants to conquer a recipe setting her goals too low, especially if she can hardly fry an egg right?


Maybe a woman with “goals” doesn’t mean someone with high and lofty aspirations… A goal-oriented woman could just be a lady who can see a potential area of self or community improvement–be it financial, career, household, physical, or skill-based–who also pursues that improvement goal with wild abandon or with systematic plans. But I suppose that’s part of the getting-to-know process in any relationship, even if it is online with only photos and a posted profile as a guide. With these early exchanges, people can discover the individual definition of worthy personal “goals” and whether or not they… ummmm…. Match.


Other profiles say they want a woman who knows who she is. I’m wondering how men who want a goal oriented woman feel about a lady who has character improvement aspirations. Take the woman who knows she’s a liar. She can also know she’s a hoe. If she knows she’s a liar and a hoe, she knows who she is, but I seriously doubt a man would want to knowingly engage with a woman who is a liar or a hoe, unless she is a hoe with a goal of decreasing her whorishness. But depending on the man, that may not be what he wants. He may want her to scale the ladder of hoe-cess and be in her bed as she reaches for those stars.


But seriously, when is it appropriate to reveal imperfections in the get-to-know process? Maybe I shouldn’t worry about that, because they will inevitably reveal themselves. And, again, the two involved in the get-to-know will determine if they possess complimentary imperfections.

No Comments | In: Dating, General life, Nagivating the Thirties, Relation-Shipping, relation-shopping | tags: navigating the 30s. | #