My new doc spoke with Eric this afternoon. I need to return to Mayo for an ultrasound of ANOTHER questionable area next Thursday. I'm slated for the ultrasound, a possible biopsy (depending on the ultrasound), and meetings with this new specialist and my oncologist (which I would have had anyway, we just hoped we'd be able to cancel them).
As far as we can tell, the area originally flagged by the radiologist in Waterloo was ok, but there's a different area that Mayo has flagged. My mammogram was deemed normal, which is frustrating, but still good news. An abnormal mamm and abnormal MRI would certainly have painted a darker picture.
And it could still be nothing. Thanks for the positive thoughts and prayers.
Oh, to all my cute work people who ask BEHIND me and are nervous to ask me themselves: I currently have ONE breast (the right one) and one VERY good prosthetic (the left one). (Therefore all of these questionable tests are on the RIGHT side... because doing a breast MRI or mamm on the left side is impossible.) It's been like that for a year and a half. And yes, I'm ok with that.
Carpe diem. Trela
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Back In Iowa
There were a few scheduling complications at Mayo this week -- I ended up NOT having an appointment on Tuesday and Wednesday was equally messed up. All's well that ends well, I guess. Yesterday Eric and I drove the 100 miles north and met with a new breast specialist. She was darling, from Ireland, and hoped my whole reason for needing to meet with her was "rubbish." The second I heard her accent I felt better. When I asked her where she was from and she responded, "Ireland," I managed to restrain from rolling my eyes and instead asked her to be more specific. We got on very well. : ) On a medical front (ha), she also didn't feel anything out of the ordinary, so that helped immensely. She was able to squeeze me in for a mammogram (ha again) yesterday afternoon, so we did that before the MRI.
The mamm was fine -- if you remember from my original mammo ordeal, we're in a waiting room (which is much like I imagine purgatory, but with HGTV) sitting around in equally unattractive gowns. They've upgraded since my first go round, now the gowns are a hospital blue color instead of the previous dusty pink. They call you back for your mamm one at a time, do the test (which is only slightly more complex because of my implant) and send you back to the waiting room to - wait -. If your test looks fine (I'm not yet sure if "fine" means "you're healthy" or simply, "we don't need any more pictures") you're free to go. On my previous two journeys to mammography I've needed to be called back for an ultrasound so I fully expected that. The poor woman sitting across from me had been coming to Mayo for 40 years for her yearly check and had NEVER had a problem before -- until yesterday. So I sat there for most of my 20 minutes of waiting chatting with her. Surprisingly, they didn't need more images from me, so I got out of there with just the original mamm -- yippie!
MRI was next and Eric and I were a bit concerned I'd be late. No worries, though -- the computer at Imaging was pitching a fit and my 3pm appointment was delayed until almost 4:15. Delays persisted after I was taken back and changed and I didn't actually get into the tube until nearly 4:45. The scan was no big deal except for my arm falling asleep (it always does) and by 5:30 we were on our way, with complimentary parking for our inconvenience.
We ate at Chipotle on the way home and the extra helping of guac did much to soothe my irritation over an annoyingly long day. We won't hear for a bit how my tests went, but certainly NOT needing an ultrasound and having an expert feel no problems are points in my corner.
Now I'm sitting at work - exhausted - and should finish my kids' warm up for the day. Fortunately I'd already planned a decently easy work day for myself because I'm definitely not up for super high energy teaching today. Don't tell my boss. : )
Carpe diem -- Trela
The mamm was fine -- if you remember from my original mammo ordeal, we're in a waiting room (which is much like I imagine purgatory, but with HGTV) sitting around in equally unattractive gowns. They've upgraded since my first go round, now the gowns are a hospital blue color instead of the previous dusty pink. They call you back for your mamm one at a time, do the test (which is only slightly more complex because of my implant) and send you back to the waiting room to - wait -. If your test looks fine (I'm not yet sure if "fine" means "you're healthy" or simply, "we don't need any more pictures") you're free to go. On my previous two journeys to mammography I've needed to be called back for an ultrasound so I fully expected that. The poor woman sitting across from me had been coming to Mayo for 40 years for her yearly check and had NEVER had a problem before -- until yesterday. So I sat there for most of my 20 minutes of waiting chatting with her. Surprisingly, they didn't need more images from me, so I got out of there with just the original mamm -- yippie!
MRI was next and Eric and I were a bit concerned I'd be late. No worries, though -- the computer at Imaging was pitching a fit and my 3pm appointment was delayed until almost 4:15. Delays persisted after I was taken back and changed and I didn't actually get into the tube until nearly 4:45. The scan was no big deal except for my arm falling asleep (it always does) and by 5:30 we were on our way, with complimentary parking for our inconvenience.
We ate at Chipotle on the way home and the extra helping of guac did much to soothe my irritation over an annoyingly long day. We won't hear for a bit how my tests went, but certainly NOT needing an ultrasound and having an expert feel no problems are points in my corner.
Now I'm sitting at work - exhausted - and should finish my kids' warm up for the day. Fortunately I'd already planned a decently easy work day for myself because I'm definitely not up for super high energy teaching today. Don't tell my boss. : )
Carpe diem -- Trela
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Mayo Week
My Facebook status update this morning says "Trela Hansen Rottinghaus is not interested in spending two days at Mayo this week. If everyone thinks it's fine, why do I have to go prove it?"
Tuesday I have a mammogram sometime in the early afternoon (probably should find out when...) because it's a prerequisite for having a breast MRI with them. They have to do it the day before so I get to make the drive twice. I decided there was no point in staying overnight in a place I didn't want to be, and it's only a two hour drive. So, mam on Tuesday, I'll just head north on my own and get that taken care of.
Eric comes with me Wednesday for a typical "Mayo Day." (Read: Day filled with lots of appointments and probably no time to eat lunch.) We see my dear onc at 8am, a breast specialist at 10 something and finish the day with an MRI. So, yet again, I'll be waiting for a phone call... There's a decent chance my doc will have seen my mam before our appointment on Wednesday morning, but he won't be able to say anything definite until the MRI read is done.
I'm hoping that by Friday I'm looking at this as a HUGE inconvenience and nothing more.
Carpe diem. - Trela
Tuesday I have a mammogram sometime in the early afternoon (probably should find out when...) because it's a prerequisite for having a breast MRI with them. They have to do it the day before so I get to make the drive twice. I decided there was no point in staying overnight in a place I didn't want to be, and it's only a two hour drive. So, mam on Tuesday, I'll just head north on my own and get that taken care of.
Eric comes with me Wednesday for a typical "Mayo Day." (Read: Day filled with lots of appointments and probably no time to eat lunch.) We see my dear onc at 8am, a breast specialist at 10 something and finish the day with an MRI. So, yet again, I'll be waiting for a phone call... There's a decent chance my doc will have seen my mam before our appointment on Wednesday morning, but he won't be able to say anything definite until the MRI read is done.
I'm hoping that by Friday I'm looking at this as a HUGE inconvenience and nothing more.
Carpe diem. - Trela
Thursday, July 30, 2009
When I Am an Old Woman, I Will Wear...
When we were living in St. Louis and voracious Taboo! players, weekend nights frequently saw us sprawled on the living room floor paired off in non-married couples trying to avoid the buzzer. Even Eric would agree (though reluctantly, I'm sure) that Gabe and I dominated Taboo. When I say dominated, I'd ask you to conjur up images of the Bulls Decade of Dominance...J.K. Rowling on the New York Times Best Sellers' List... Finland in educational test scores (long story)... Shakespeare on the stage... you get the idea. As I recall, one of our last games before the guys graduated and moved back to Iowa and Connecticut, respectively, was relatively close. Maybe there was a chance we would lose. Gabe was giving clues, I was guessing words. Just before time ran out, he spat out one final clue: "When I am an old woman, I will wear _________?" When I responded with the answer I knew was correct, Eric didn't blink. He didn't look surprised. He didn't bow his head in the shame of yet another defeat. He didn't do any of these things, of course, because he thought I had lost my mind and blurted out the first answer that came into my head. It never occurred to him that the admittedly strange answer was, in fact, the right one.
(In Bill Cosby fashion:)
Now, I told you that story to tell you this one:
The answer of course, was purple. (It's here if you don't believe me: http://www.aztriad.com/pathmark/purple_poem.html)
I've never been a huge fan of purple. I don't mind it, it's just not one of my top colors. Doesn't look good on me, hard to decorate with. There is, however, one purple thing that I am incredibly attached to. In my writing class this week, I wrote about it. I'm rather fond of this piece that evolved throughout the week... and for me, it was pretty timely. Here it is:
I didn’t hear my mother’s cautious steps as she crept down the basement stairs behind me. Clutching the new box of Crayolas in my left hand, I was far too engrossed in the task on the wall in front of me to hear her stealthy approach. It was a work of tribute to my latest heartthrob.
I was four years old.
His name was Harold.
I was first introduced to Harold by our next-door neighbor who ceremoniously deposited him in my bright orange trick-or-treat basket on Halloween. He was not the first character she had brought to life in my childhood -- Rae was the all-knowing book lady who understood everything about the books I would come to love. I imagined her days ensconced in the cozy basement of the great department store on State Street downtown, pulling Curious George off of the bookcases, calling the doctor when Madeline’s appendix burst, keeping Miss Rumphius constantly supplied with lupine seeds, and of course, helping my friend Harold on his most recent hunt for his bedroom window.
Throughout my early elementary days, Rae drove me to the library to check out armloads of books at a time – a few she chose, a few I chose, a few we found together. She always finished our trips with a reminder, “don’t worry about a late fine, you just finish those books!” We chatted about various characters as if they, too, were neighbors on our block. We happily played with Laura in the Big Woods, helped Corduroy find his missing button, watched the rabbits’ magical wedding in the meadow, and accompanied Betsy to her first day of school, complete with a secret stuffed koala in her backpack.
But despite being introduced to countless vibrant characters in so many other wonderful books, I always returned to my first love, my Harold. When I packed up the important reminders of home in my move to college, there was, of course, room for Harold in the box. He sat quietly throughout all of my college years, the familiar purple spine peeking from the shelf a talisman connecting me to home.
Years later, pregnant with my first child, I sat on the floor of what would become our nursery unpacking a box from my parents’ attic. I found him there, nestled at the bottom of the box. A little more yellowed and battered, but there in all of his gray, pudgy glory sat Harold, still looking for his window.
I opened the book and for the millionth time gazed upon the familiar little boy coloring his way home. I placed him tenderly in an honored position on this new baby’s bookshelf and hoped that someday I would be that mother creeping down the stairs in order to catch my toddler making his mark on the world.
(In Bill Cosby fashion:)
Now, I told you that story to tell you this one:
The answer of course, was purple. (It's here if you don't believe me: http://www.aztriad.com/pathmark/purple_poem.html)
I've never been a huge fan of purple. I don't mind it, it's just not one of my top colors. Doesn't look good on me, hard to decorate with. There is, however, one purple thing that I am incredibly attached to. In my writing class this week, I wrote about it. I'm rather fond of this piece that evolved throughout the week... and for me, it was pretty timely. Here it is:
I didn’t hear my mother’s cautious steps as she crept down the basement stairs behind me. Clutching the new box of Crayolas in my left hand, I was far too engrossed in the task on the wall in front of me to hear her stealthy approach. It was a work of tribute to my latest heartthrob.
I was four years old.
His name was Harold.
I was first introduced to Harold by our next-door neighbor who ceremoniously deposited him in my bright orange trick-or-treat basket on Halloween. He was not the first character she had brought to life in my childhood -- Rae was the all-knowing book lady who understood everything about the books I would come to love. I imagined her days ensconced in the cozy basement of the great department store on State Street downtown, pulling Curious George off of the bookcases, calling the doctor when Madeline’s appendix burst, keeping Miss Rumphius constantly supplied with lupine seeds, and of course, helping my friend Harold on his most recent hunt for his bedroom window.
Throughout my early elementary days, Rae drove me to the library to check out armloads of books at a time – a few she chose, a few I chose, a few we found together. She always finished our trips with a reminder, “don’t worry about a late fine, you just finish those books!” We chatted about various characters as if they, too, were neighbors on our block. We happily played with Laura in the Big Woods, helped Corduroy find his missing button, watched the rabbits’ magical wedding in the meadow, and accompanied Betsy to her first day of school, complete with a secret stuffed koala in her backpack.
But despite being introduced to countless vibrant characters in so many other wonderful books, I always returned to my first love, my Harold. When I packed up the important reminders of home in my move to college, there was, of course, room for Harold in the box. He sat quietly throughout all of my college years, the familiar purple spine peeking from the shelf a talisman connecting me to home.
Years later, pregnant with my first child, I sat on the floor of what would become our nursery unpacking a box from my parents’ attic. I found him there, nestled at the bottom of the box. A little more yellowed and battered, but there in all of his gray, pudgy glory sat Harold, still looking for his window.
I opened the book and for the millionth time gazed upon the familiar little boy coloring his way home. I placed him tenderly in an honored position on this new baby’s bookshelf and hoped that someday I would be that mother creeping down the stairs in order to catch my toddler making his mark on the world.
In memory of my book lady, Rae, who left us on Sunday, July 26th, 2009.
Stop. Rewind. Replay.
After a little over a week of waiting for Mayo's professional opinion of my MRI we are exactly where we were three weeks ago. Those of you who are math fans will notice that on a calendar, that puts us BEFORE we took said MRI. So what does that mean?
Basically, Mayo doesn't want to weigh in on another MRI when they're not super sure about the images they've seen. There's something odd showing up, but believe it or not, odd isn't always bad. Odd can just be, well, odd. This doesn't mean bad news. Nor does it mean good news. It's just news. A filler story, if you will, threatening to be cut immediately from the broadcast if anything else about Michael Jackson's toenail clippings hits the airwaves.
My oncologist didn't seem super worried, he did indicate that what the radiologist could see didn't fit the "typical" angiosarcoma mold. We all know how typical my journey has been, so I'm taking that with a few pinches of salt... regardless, for both of my oncs not to be all u
p in arms and demanding the delight of my presence immediately, well, I'm ok with that. I do love them, but I'm ok with not seeing them regularly.
They will be scheduling my MRI soon (presumably in the next three weeks... I definitely can't do it next week because of teaching commitments) and I'll of course update then!
Cancer Terror Alert Level: returning from orange to yellow (our constant state)
Carpe diem.
Trela
Basically, Mayo doesn't want to weigh in on another MRI when they're not super sure about the images they've seen. There's something odd showing up, but believe it or not, odd isn't always bad. Odd can just be, well, odd. This doesn't mean bad news. Nor does it mean good news. It's just news. A filler story, if you will, threatening to be cut immediately from the broadcast if anything else about Michael Jackson's toenail clippings hits the airwaves.
My oncologist didn't seem super worried, he did indicate that what the radiologist could see didn't fit the "typical" angiosarcoma mold. We all know how typical my journey has been, so I'm taking that with a few pinches of salt... regardless, for both of my oncs not to be all u
p in arms and demanding the delight of my presence immediately, well, I'm ok with that. I do love them, but I'm ok with not seeing them regularly.They will be scheduling my MRI soon (presumably in the next three weeks... I definitely can't do it next week because of teaching commitments) and I'll of course update then!
Cancer Terror Alert Level: returning from orange to yellow (our constant state)
Carpe diem.
Trela
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Dutifully Doing My Homework...
I start my last Master's class of the summer tomorrow and was assigned chapters 1 & 2 in preparation for class. I'm not actually hating this textbook, but I just came across these quotes:I must write, I must write at all costs, for writing is more than living. It is being conscious of living.
- Anne Morrow Lindbergh
When I began to write, I found this was the best way to make sense out of my life.
- John Cheever
And that's why Trela has a blog.... : )
Carpe diem. - T
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Color Me Annoyed
Ok, first, Rachel is, once again, victorious. CT this morning of the chest and abdomen (first abdominal CT in nearly 2 years, so I was nervous) was initially considered fine when my oncologist looked at it. Of course, last week, that's also what we said about my MRI. Apparently on a second look-see, they found an area of concern on the right breast, about 2cm in size. I can't feel it. My doctor didn't seem to be able to feel it. Hmm. The radiologist recommended a biopsy, but my Cedar Rapids onc called my Mayo onc and between them they decided to first have Mayo look at the images. They'll determine what to do from there after that step. Shrug.
Worst case scenario, this is a NEW fun kind of actual breast cancer which will need to be surgified, chemo'd and radiated. Best case scenario, the radiologist here is a paranoid idiot. Middle of the road scenario is we have to have a biopsy and go from there. Personally, I enjoy slightly modified best case -- radiologist is paranoid, not an idiot, and erring on the side of caution. Mayo will tell him, "thanks for trying, but please leave this stuff to the big kids." Regardless, there's currently no spread, that's good news.
Mostly I'm just annoyed. I do NOT have time for this. : ) Next week I take my last Master's class of the summer, the following week I take a class on how to teach other teachers to use our new technology, the week after that I teach the teachers on the new technology, and then, wham, it's time for school.
I'm cranky, so perhaps shouldn't write more now or I'll lose half of my following. : ) When I know more, I'll write more!
Carpe diem!!! : ) Trela
(And the color of annoyed? Scarlet, of course...with big purple and yellow flames. ARGH.)
Worst case scenario, this is a NEW fun kind of actual breast cancer which will need to be surgified, chemo'd and radiated. Best case scenario, the radiologist here is a paranoid idiot. Middle of the road scenario is we have to have a biopsy and go from there. Personally, I enjoy slightly modified best case -- radiologist is paranoid, not an idiot, and erring on the side of caution. Mayo will tell him, "thanks for trying, but please leave this stuff to the big kids." Regardless, there's currently no spread, that's good news.
Mostly I'm just annoyed. I do NOT have time for this. : ) Next week I take my last Master's class of the summer, the following week I take a class on how to teach other teachers to use our new technology, the week after that I teach the teachers on the new technology, and then, wham, it's time for school.
I'm cranky, so perhaps shouldn't write more now or I'll lose half of my following. : ) When I know more, I'll write more!
Carpe diem!!! : ) Trela
(And the color of annoyed? Scarlet, of course...with big purple and yellow flames. ARGH.)
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
It's Officially Summer
I know this because I start my second grad class tomorrow. Technically my third, I started an on-line class last Monday, but I was still working then, so I don't think it counts. I also don't think I like the on-line version, but I'll make it work. If you talk to me later, my assignment is due June 22nd, so tell me to get crackin'.
Well, my life as a teacher at Logan Middle School is over. We officially finished work last Thursday with two days of Promethean Board training (if you don't know what that is, google it, they're super cool. Six of us had one this year, we all will next year.). Our classrooms got packed up Monday and Tuesday, and thankfully we had relatively cool weather for June in which to do the packing. I ended up with 47 boxes, which doesn't include the six or so that I brought home to work on or re-sort over the summer. Phew.
We're not sure yet when our new school will be ready to open -- at least, we're not sure how much time we'll have before the kids arrive, but we're hopeful. I'd toured the building early this spring and again last week. It's gorgeous, and my room looks pretty close to done. The technology and the furniture are about all that remained to be put in, but some rooms didn't have carpet yet, and others still didn't have lights. The kids will be going to uniforms next year and the staff going to a much more "business professional" dress code (ie, no jeans, ever), so that will be a change. Oh shucks, guess I have to shop. : )
I abandoned Eric and the kids last weekend for a trip to Chicago to see Cara and Andrew and Andrew's sisters. It was great to be able to get away for a couple of days, even if downtown Chicago on Saturday morning was best traveled with a submarine.... which we didn't have.
I've never seen rain like that down there before. Of course, by Saturday night the weather was perfect and the view from the 95th floor of the Hancock Building breathtaking as always. On my way home Sunday, because of typical traffic, I shopped at the Chicago Teacher Store (Cara and Andrew conveniently bought a house just a few blocks from it for me) and avoided the highway for a while. It was fun driving along city streets that I know well, but kind of forget. Chicago is such a vibrant city to watch. I miss it.
One of my friends put together a photo album recently that she called "My Other Life." It was her work pictures as opposed to the family and vacation shots we usually see. While I drove on Highway 20 back toward Iowa, missing the city I'd just left, I passed through the little towns just before Galena. Farms and rolling hills shone in the sunlight, the temperature was perfect, the breeze just right, and I couldn't help thinking of Becky's album title. Yep, still missed Chicago, but my other, more countrified life has it's perks, too. (Especially since it's just a four-hour drive from Chicago...)
Carpe diem.
Trela
Well, my life as a teacher at Logan Middle School is over. We officially finished work last Thursday with two days of Promethean Board training (if you don't know what that is, google it, they're super cool. Six of us had one this year, we all will next year.). Our classrooms got packed up Monday and Tuesday, and thankfully we had relatively cool weather for June in which to do the packing. I ended up with 47 boxes, which doesn't include the six or so that I brought home to work on or re-sort over the summer. Phew.
We're not sure yet when our new school will be ready to open -- at least, we're not sure how much time we'll have before the kids arrive, but we're hopeful. I'd toured the building early this spring and again last week. It's gorgeous, and my room looks pretty close to done. The technology and the furniture are about all that remained to be put in, but some rooms didn't have carpet yet, and others still didn't have lights. The kids will be going to uniforms next year and the staff going to a much more "business professional" dress code (ie, no jeans, ever), so that will be a change. Oh shucks, guess I have to shop. : )
I abandoned Eric and the kids last weekend for a trip to Chicago to see Cara and Andrew and Andrew's sisters. It was great to be able to get away for a couple of days, even if downtown Chicago on Saturday morning was best traveled with a submarine.... which we didn't have.
I've never seen rain like that down there before. Of course, by Saturday night the weather was perfect and the view from the 95th floor of the Hancock Building breathtaking as always. On my way home Sunday, because of typical traffic, I shopped at the Chicago Teacher Store (Cara and Andrew conveniently bought a house just a few blocks from it for me) and avoided the highway for a while. It was fun driving along city streets that I know well, but kind of forget. Chicago is such a vibrant city to watch. I miss it.
One of my friends put together a photo album recently that she called "My Other Life." It was her work pictures as opposed to the family and vacation shots we usually see. While I drove on Highway 20 back toward Iowa, missing the city I'd just left, I passed through the little towns just before Galena. Farms and rolling hills shone in the sunlight, the temperature was perfect, the breeze just right, and I couldn't help thinking of Becky's album title. Yep, still missed Chicago, but my other, more countrified life has it's perks, too. (Especially since it's just a four-hour drive from Chicago...)
Carpe diem.
Trela
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
DVD Delivery!
My chest x-ray was fine today -- I'll have an MRI between now and July (standard protocol now to do that yearly) and then a CT scan of the chest and abdomen toward the end of July. Then we'll eliminate one CT a year to replace it with a chest x-ray... cuts out some radiation exposure, so we're pretty happy about that. It means I'll still go to the oncology office four times a year, but I'll only be in full-panic mode once. : )
We delivered the Team Trela binder of DVD's to chemo today. There were a couple of all-dayers already in the chairs, so hopefully they'll be put to good use very soon! I forgot to grab the DVD player we'd also gotten, so I'll need to make another run down there at some point.
Overall a good day! And it's only 1 o'clock -- and GORGEOUS outside, so no offense, but I'm outta here!
Carpe diem. - Trela
We delivered the Team Trela binder of DVD's to chemo today. There were a couple of all-dayers already in the chairs, so hopefully they'll be put to good use very soon! I forgot to grab the DVD player we'd also gotten, so I'll need to make another run down there at some point.
Overall a good day! And it's only 1 o'clock -- and GORGEOUS outside, so no offense, but I'm outta here!
Carpe diem. - Trela
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
In the Eye of the Beholder
I was chatting with some colleagues today when a reference one of them made reminded me that today was April 15th. Now to a lot of you, that date could mean any of a few different things:
1. The obvious, Tax Day.
2. Happy Birthday, Chris! (Ok, that only applies to one of you, but still, it deserved recognition.)
3. McDonald's Day: On this date in 1940, Dick and Mac McDonald opened a barbecue restaurant in California. (It was another 8 years before they became burger and fry kings.)
4. Take a Wild Guess Day: I'm sure that has nothing to do with #1...
5. In 1947, Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier in Major League Baseball. 50 years later on this same date his number was retired.
6. In 1865, Abraham Lincoln succumbed to the gunshot wound inflicted by John Wilkes Booth the evening before.
7. The H.M.S. Titanic sank at 2:22 in the morning in 1912.
8. National That Sucks Day: Perhaps a reaction to #'s 6 and 7. (it's true, I swear www.thatsucks.net)
9. In 1783, the American Congress ratified Peace with former parent, Great Britain. Awww, we CAN just all get along!
As interesting as the above list may be (in fact, I didn't know the significance of the date in terms of Jackie Robinson and a few others until I started writing this tonight), to me the 15th of April represents something far more important -- one year of health.
A year ago on this date, I spent most of the day unconscious on an operating table at the Mayo Clinic having (are you ready? say it with me now...) a left chest wall resection with litisimus flap procedure. (Say that 5 times fast. I can.) I've gotten really good at saying that in the last year. And I've gotten a little proud of it.
That, of course, was just the beginning of a healthy year. And it was probably the most boring part...
This year...
I've traveled to Las Vegas, Naples and Orlando
I've again taught full time, and have only missed 2 days due to illness this year (not including the days I've had onc checkups... but those don't really count)
I've started finishing up my Master's degree, 15 credits between now and the end of July
I've spent evenings (including yesterday's) wrestling with Kile and Cavanaugh (who "helps" her brother by jumping on his head)
I watched my sister, one of my biggest champions, get married... and I got to wear Chuck Taylors at the reception
I perked up to the T-Mobile commercial shot at Liverpool station (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mUZrrbgCdYc )
I've raked my flower beds, planned new gardens and planted over 150 bulbs (which are rapidly appearing much to my delight)
I started growing out my hair again
I changed my mind about growing out my hair and practically begged my hairstylist to cut it off
I have learned to, well, maybe not LOVE my scars, but definitely accept them as totally normal for me
I made Britain's Got Talent's Susan Boyle my new hero ( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9lp0IWv8QZY )
I've wished I could sing
I have, fingers crossed, continued to pass my Oncology Exams with flying colors
... not bad for a year. Not, maybe, as significant as the historical events I referenced previously, but significant enough for me!
I have my next quarterly check (chest x-ray this time for those keeping score) next Wednesday, but I'm almost looking forward to going. Oh, no, not because of the check up -- that still slightly terrifies me. I'll also be delivering a huge batch of DVD's to the chemotherapy area courtesy of the Team Trela benefit basketball game held this winter. Hopefully they will help pass the time for patients sitting there getting their "cocktails."
And hopefully if my nurses read this ahead of time, they'll still act surprised. : )
Oh... one more "event" to add to the list of my year -- I posted my 100th blog entry. Right. Now. Thanks for reading.
Carpe diem. -- Trela
1. The obvious, Tax Day.
2. Happy Birthday, Chris! (Ok, that only applies to one of you, but still, it deserved recognition.)
3. McDonald's Day: On this date in 1940, Dick and Mac McDonald opened a barbecue restaurant in California. (It was another 8 years before they became burger and fry kings.)
4. Take a Wild Guess Day: I'm sure that has nothing to do with #1...
5. In 1947, Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier in Major League Baseball. 50 years later on this same date his number was retired.
6. In 1865, Abraham Lincoln succumbed to the gunshot wound inflicted by John Wilkes Booth the evening before.
7. The H.M.S. Titanic sank at 2:22 in the morning in 1912.
8. National That Sucks Day: Perhaps a reaction to #'s 6 and 7. (it's true, I swear www.thatsucks.net)
9. In 1783, the American Congress ratified Peace with former parent, Great Britain. Awww, we CAN just all get along!
As interesting as the above list may be (in fact, I didn't know the significance of the date in terms of Jackie Robinson and a few others until I started writing this tonight), to me the 15th of April represents something far more important -- one year of health.
A year ago on this date, I spent most of the day unconscious on an operating table at the Mayo Clinic having (are you ready? say it with me now...) a left chest wall resection with litisimus flap procedure. (Say that 5 times fast. I can.) I've gotten really good at saying that in the last year. And I've gotten a little proud of it.
That, of course, was just the beginning of a healthy year. And it was probably the most boring part...
This year...
I've traveled to Las Vegas, Naples and Orlando
I've again taught full time, and have only missed 2 days due to illness this year (not including the days I've had onc checkups... but those don't really count)
I've started finishing up my Master's degree, 15 credits between now and the end of July
I've spent evenings (including yesterday's) wrestling with Kile and Cavanaugh (who "helps" her brother by jumping on his head)
I watched my sister, one of my biggest champions, get married... and I got to wear Chuck Taylors at the reception
I perked up to the T-Mobile commercial shot at Liverpool station (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mUZrrbgCdYc )
I've raked my flower beds, planned new gardens and planted over 150 bulbs (which are rapidly appearing much to my delight)
I started growing out my hair again
I changed my mind about growing out my hair and practically begged my hairstylist to cut it off
I have learned to, well, maybe not LOVE my scars, but definitely accept them as totally normal for me
I made Britain's Got Talent's Susan Boyle my new hero ( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9lp0IWv8QZY )
I've wished I could sing
I have, fingers crossed, continued to pass my Oncology Exams with flying colors
... not bad for a year. Not, maybe, as significant as the historical events I referenced previously, but significant enough for me!
I have my next quarterly check (chest x-ray this time for those keeping score) next Wednesday, but I'm almost looking forward to going. Oh, no, not because of the check up -- that still slightly terrifies me. I'll also be delivering a huge batch of DVD's to the chemotherapy area courtesy of the Team Trela benefit basketball game held this winter. Hopefully they will help pass the time for patients sitting there getting their "cocktails."
And hopefully if my nurses read this ahead of time, they'll still act surprised. : )
Oh... one more "event" to add to the list of my year -- I posted my 100th blog entry. Right. Now. Thanks for reading.
Carpe diem. -- Trela
Friday, February 20, 2009
It's a Good Thing Eric's Sick, Too
I am at home. On a Friday. I was also home yesterday. I am sick. I have a sore throat. My sinuses hurt. I have a fever. Sounds like a cold, right?
In fact, my logical brain KNOWS that I have a cold.
Kile is also home for day 2 with a fever and sore throat.
Eric is home with a fever.
Logic dictates, overwhelmingly, in fact, that this is a cold.
Cancer-brain moron that I am wonders if we all have some weird blood disease that came from my cancer and not only infected me, but found a way to leap out of my body and settle in the bodies of my husband and son (Cavanaugh has been sent to Grammie's under quarantine).
This is the way my brain works now. Any time I have a bump, a bruise, a sore throat, a displaced rib, a twisted ankle, whatever... my brain works out how, logically, this said malady could be a recurrence of the cancer. If you know me, you know I'm a relatively smart girl, so my brain works really well. Therefore, it puts up some pretty convincing arguments backing up my varied "ohmygoditsback" theories. Highly annoying.
Usually it takes Eric shooting me a glare and my dumb brain knocks it off, or at least it stops verbalizing. After a few more whithering looks, it gets the idea and slinks off into normal body functioning again... until the next time. Super, hugely annoying.
I definitely spent a panicked 10 minutes examining a bruise on my arm yesterday (ok, it's on the left, that's the same side, it traveled just a little ways, it's a little red, too, yadda yadda) until I put my sweatshirt back on and saw a hole in the sleeve in the same place on my arm and remembered I'd caught both sleeve and arm on a hook earlier in the day. Moron. Ten minutes I can't get back. Ha. And even though I'm currently typing what an idiot I am, I definitely just took my hands off the keys to DOUBLE CHECK the bruise on my arm, which, shockingly enough, is smaller than it was yesterday. But I had to check...
I'm all for a cure for cancer, God knows. But if someone could figure out a way to fix this cancer survivor brain of mine, let me know!
For today, I know I'm fine. Since Eric is also home sick he will be pressed into service to remind me that this is, after all, just a cold.
I think.
Carpe diem. -- Trela
In fact, my logical brain KNOWS that I have a cold.
Kile is also home for day 2 with a fever and sore throat.
Eric is home with a fever.
Logic dictates, overwhelmingly, in fact, that this is a cold.
Cancer-brain moron that I am wonders if we all have some weird blood disease that came from my cancer and not only infected me, but found a way to leap out of my body and settle in the bodies of my husband and son (Cavanaugh has been sent to Grammie's under quarantine).
This is the way my brain works now. Any time I have a bump, a bruise, a sore throat, a displaced rib, a twisted ankle, whatever... my brain works out how, logically, this said malady could be a recurrence of the cancer. If you know me, you know I'm a relatively smart girl, so my brain works really well. Therefore, it puts up some pretty convincing arguments backing up my varied "ohmygoditsback" theories. Highly annoying.
Usually it takes Eric shooting me a glare and my dumb brain knocks it off, or at least it stops verbalizing. After a few more whithering looks, it gets the idea and slinks off into normal body functioning again... until the next time. Super, hugely annoying.
I definitely spent a panicked 10 minutes examining a bruise on my arm yesterday (ok, it's on the left, that's the same side, it traveled just a little ways, it's a little red, too, yadda yadda) until I put my sweatshirt back on and saw a hole in the sleeve in the same place on my arm and remembered I'd caught both sleeve and arm on a hook earlier in the day. Moron. Ten minutes I can't get back. Ha. And even though I'm currently typing what an idiot I am, I definitely just took my hands off the keys to DOUBLE CHECK the bruise on my arm, which, shockingly enough, is smaller than it was yesterday. But I had to check...
I'm all for a cure for cancer, God knows. But if someone could figure out a way to fix this cancer survivor brain of mine, let me know!
For today, I know I'm fine. Since Eric is also home sick he will be pressed into service to remind me that this is, after all, just a cold.
I think.
Carpe diem. -- Trela
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
I Told My Doctor I Loved Him...
Eric was in the room. I think they're both ok with that. Especially considering that moments after the love profession both my oncologist and my husband started picking on me. What else is new? Boys...
So, the upshot of a rather complicated morning (wrong orders, no yucky drinks -- oh, darn -- and failure to prescribe premeds) is that:
1. My bloodwork is fine
2. My CT looks fine
3. I'm free until the 22nd of April from any more tests
4. Yippie!
In the last two weeks (read: Trela insane with nervous energy) I've painted my hallway, the trim in the hallway, the kitchen, and the doorway between the kitchen and living room. I also (randomly) painted a tree (which I must say looks pretty cool... and even Eric likes it). I had to sleep (and then work) or the back hall also would be re-wallpapered (one wall in my house MUST always be wallpaper in recognition of my Aunt Mary) and painted.
The problem is now I have coats in my office, pictures to be rehung, shoes under my table, and no curtains. (They're in the garage, patiently waiting to be hemmed.) Since I've been given the all-clear, my motivation is slacking a bit... if only I could harness that energy and use it when I'm tired! We have company coming this weekend so hopefully I'll pull it together before then. I've decided it's much like the nesting I went through before the kids were born -- except I'm a lot more mobile and now it happens quarterly instead of only once a year. Hmm. Probably no oncology study on that... my doctor claims I'm normal, but frankly I think he was just trying to make up for picking on me.
I texted a bunch of people with my happy results and one of those was my new principal. He texted back a very simple, but appropriate "THANK GOD."
I did.
I am.
I will continue to do so.
But thanks for the reminder.
Carpe diem. -- Trela
So, the upshot of a rather complicated morning (wrong orders, no yucky drinks -- oh, darn -- and failure to prescribe premeds) is that:
1. My bloodwork is fine
2. My CT looks fine
3. I'm free until the 22nd of April from any more tests
4. Yippie!
In the last two weeks (read: Trela insane with nervous energy) I've painted my hallway, the trim in the hallway, the kitchen, and the doorway between the kitchen and living room. I also (randomly) painted a tree (which I must say looks pretty cool... and even Eric likes it). I had to sleep (and then work) or the back hall also would be re-wallpapered (one wall in my house MUST always be wallpaper in recognition of my Aunt Mary) and painted.
The problem is now I have coats in my office, pictures to be rehung, shoes under my table, and no curtains. (They're in the garage, patiently waiting to be hemmed.) Since I've been given the all-clear, my motivation is slacking a bit... if only I could harness that energy and use it when I'm tired! We have company coming this weekend so hopefully I'll pull it together before then. I've decided it's much like the nesting I went through before the kids were born -- except I'm a lot more mobile and now it happens quarterly instead of only once a year. Hmm. Probably no oncology study on that... my doctor claims I'm normal, but frankly I think he was just trying to make up for picking on me.
I texted a bunch of people with my happy results and one of those was my new principal. He texted back a very simple, but appropriate "THANK GOD."
I did.
I am.
I will continue to do so.
But thanks for the reminder.
Carpe diem. -- Trela
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Perspective: Cancer Sucks, so 7th Graders Can't be THAT Bad
Every so often, tending to be more often than not, I'm asked to teach a section of 7th grade language arts instead of an additional section of 8th grade. In my current job, where I've been since January of 2003, I'd estimate I've taught that single 7th grade section 4 or 5 times. Sometimes it's been for the entire year, a few times for just a semester.
It's not that I have anything against 12 year-olds. In fact, my student teaching gig, eons ago, was 12 weeks of 7th graders in Dubuque and I absolutely adored them. They were a big part of the reason I'm a middle school teacher now. They were fabulous. Since then, however, 7th graders as a class have lost a bit of their charm for me. In my first teaching job, the 7th graders were completely and utterly horrendous, though when they morphed into 8th graders over the summer all of that nonsense (for the most part) was left behind. In my second job, the "7th grade" concept was easily replaced by sophomores. I still talk to several of the students in my first sophomore class... but only because I also knew them as juniors. (hey, reed-maker -- that doesn't apply to you!) When people are befuddled by my love of middle school teaching, I know that the image they have in their brains involves a group of 7th graders. Likely tying their teacher to a chair. And laughing.
7th graders, especially in our district, are stuck. Firmly implanted in the ghastly middle of middle school. They're not 6th graders, so they're not the babies. Not 8th graders, as the 8th graders so frequently remind them, so they're not cool. Just awkward, goofy, self-centered, peer-focused 12 year-olds whose bodies are practically screaming "NOTICE ME!!!" As I pluck them down off of the ceiling of my classroom and wish that duct tape was, in fact, a standard teaching tool, I try to remember that this isn't their fault. I too, was 12... and awkward, feeling unloved, uncoordinated, unaccepted and totally and completely uncool. It's just the age.
My great understanding (thank you Magic in the Middle guru) however, does not diminish my dismay whenever an administrator of mine oh-so-nicely asks, "so, Mrs. Rott, how do you feel about teaching a 7th grade section this year?" The formality of asking is nice, though I feel I could say "gobledygookywacamoledoodly" in place of an answer and the result would still be 18 hormone-festering children in front of me. Drooling, most likely, at nothing in particular. They do that, too.
What I'd like to say, of course is, "actually, dear administrator of mine, I would MUCH prefer you use the serrated spoon so often seen accompanying grapefruit halves at fancy brunches and delicately remove both of my eyeballs from my head. But if you think teaching 7th graders might be less of a hassle... well, hand me the spoon. I'll do it myself."
Hormones notwithstanding, teaching one section of anything is a pain. It's extra prep working toward a class that I only do one time a day. It's changing my frame of reference when I grade their papers. It's... well, annoying.
I bring this up instead of all of the usual cancer related drivel because I found out today my lovely 7th grade class has been granted permission to continue for another semester... despite my best efforts to the contrary. I've had less than 20 in this class all year, and let's just be delicate and say that they are incredibly interesting (spoon, anyone?). Actually, to be fair, most of them are fine examples of festering hormones, many will grow up to be fabulous 8th graders some day, but a few of them are actually spewing fountains of goodness-knows-what and they drive me straight up the 15 foot high ceiling to join them. Due to scheduling conflicts, having them leave me for the rest of the year isn't an option, so we're powering through. I think I may have thrown a dictionary upon hearing the news...
In retrospect, of course, a biopsy, CT scan mastectomy, six months of chemo, two hospitalizations, another scan, two chest x-rays, biopsy #2, a recurrence, five weeks of radiation, a left chest resection, litisimus flap surgery and another x-ray sound much worse.
Perspective.
I love 7th graders. I wonder what we'll do tomorrow.
------------
I have had 6 exceptional teachers in my schooling. Some have influenced my career choice, some simply my life in general and, at the passing of one of them, I realized I should have told them ALL that more often.
My first grade teacher, who STILL makes me feel like I'm in the smart group and always manages to give me emails or notes at exactly the right time.
My 8th grade history and Language Arts teacher who desperately tried to get the history part through to me by reminding me that it was just another story to read...
My student teacher/sophomore English teacher and friend who WILL edit my book some day (who I still proofread my blogs for), and who I will repeatedly tell how important she was in my life because she deserves it
My junior year teacher who piled more wit, wisdom, gosh darn good sense, caring and dance lessons than one would ever have thought possible into American Literature. We'll miss you, James. I hope you're proud of all of your Marillac girls.
My college advisor who was kind, comical, and wise... and gave me an A- on my Oral Comprehensive Exam (but he said even Jesus wouldn't have gotten an A... so he was a bit radical, too).
My cooperating teacher who scared the heck out of me, ate lunch with me every day, and taught me my most valuable career lesson -- if you love the content, teach high school. If you love the kids, teach middle school. It saddens me to know he's not a teacher anymore because he was one of the BEST ones.
They, with lots of help from others, have made me the teacher I am. And some days they might even be proud of that fact... probably not 0n dictionary-throwin' days (don't worry, no one was in the room).
But all of those teachers, I'll bet, no matter how good they all are, at some point, all wished for snow days... we're expecting 4-7 inches tonight.... fingers crossed!
CT scan next week.
Carpe diem. Even for the 7th graders. Groan.
- Trela
It's not that I have anything against 12 year-olds. In fact, my student teaching gig, eons ago, was 12 weeks of 7th graders in Dubuque and I absolutely adored them. They were a big part of the reason I'm a middle school teacher now. They were fabulous. Since then, however, 7th graders as a class have lost a bit of their charm for me. In my first teaching job, the 7th graders were completely and utterly horrendous, though when they morphed into 8th graders over the summer all of that nonsense (for the most part) was left behind. In my second job, the "7th grade" concept was easily replaced by sophomores. I still talk to several of the students in my first sophomore class... but only because I also knew them as juniors. (hey, reed-maker -- that doesn't apply to you!) When people are befuddled by my love of middle school teaching, I know that the image they have in their brains involves a group of 7th graders. Likely tying their teacher to a chair. And laughing.
7th graders, especially in our district, are stuck. Firmly implanted in the ghastly middle of middle school. They're not 6th graders, so they're not the babies. Not 8th graders, as the 8th graders so frequently remind them, so they're not cool. Just awkward, goofy, self-centered, peer-focused 12 year-olds whose bodies are practically screaming "NOTICE ME!!!" As I pluck them down off of the ceiling of my classroom and wish that duct tape was, in fact, a standard teaching tool, I try to remember that this isn't their fault. I too, was 12... and awkward, feeling unloved, uncoordinated, unaccepted and totally and completely uncool. It's just the age.
My great understanding (thank you Magic in the Middle guru) however, does not diminish my dismay whenever an administrator of mine oh-so-nicely asks, "so, Mrs. Rott, how do you feel about teaching a 7th grade section this year?" The formality of asking is nice, though I feel I could say "gobledygookywacamoledoodly" in place of an answer and the result would still be 18 hormone-festering children in front of me. Drooling, most likely, at nothing in particular. They do that, too.
What I'd like to say, of course is, "actually, dear administrator of mine, I would MUCH prefer you use the serrated spoon so often seen accompanying grapefruit halves at fancy brunches and delicately remove both of my eyeballs from my head. But if you think teaching 7th graders might be less of a hassle... well, hand me the spoon. I'll do it myself."
Hormones notwithstanding, teaching one section of anything is a pain. It's extra prep working toward a class that I only do one time a day. It's changing my frame of reference when I grade their papers. It's... well, annoying.
I bring this up instead of all of the usual cancer related drivel because I found out today my lovely 7th grade class has been granted permission to continue for another semester... despite my best efforts to the contrary. I've had less than 20 in this class all year, and let's just be delicate and say that they are incredibly interesting (spoon, anyone?). Actually, to be fair, most of them are fine examples of festering hormones, many will grow up to be fabulous 8th graders some day, but a few of them are actually spewing fountains of goodness-knows-what and they drive me straight up the 15 foot high ceiling to join them. Due to scheduling conflicts, having them leave me for the rest of the year isn't an option, so we're powering through. I think I may have thrown a dictionary upon hearing the news...
In retrospect, of course, a biopsy, CT scan mastectomy, six months of chemo, two hospitalizations, another scan, two chest x-rays, biopsy #2, a recurrence, five weeks of radiation, a left chest resection, litisimus flap surgery and another x-ray sound much worse.
Perspective.
I love 7th graders. I wonder what we'll do tomorrow.
------------
I have had 6 exceptional teachers in my schooling. Some have influenced my career choice, some simply my life in general and, at the passing of one of them, I realized I should have told them ALL that more often.
My first grade teacher, who STILL makes me feel like I'm in the smart group and always manages to give me emails or notes at exactly the right time.
My 8th grade history and Language Arts teacher who desperately tried to get the history part through to me by reminding me that it was just another story to read...
My student teacher/sophomore English teacher and friend who WILL edit my book some day (who I still proofread my blogs for), and who I will repeatedly tell how important she was in my life because she deserves it
My junior year teacher who piled more wit, wisdom, gosh darn good sense, caring and dance lessons than one would ever have thought possible into American Literature. We'll miss you, James. I hope you're proud of all of your Marillac girls.
My college advisor who was kind, comical, and wise... and gave me an A- on my Oral Comprehensive Exam (but he said even Jesus wouldn't have gotten an A... so he was a bit radical, too).
My cooperating teacher who scared the heck out of me, ate lunch with me every day, and taught me my most valuable career lesson -- if you love the content, teach high school. If you love the kids, teach middle school. It saddens me to know he's not a teacher anymore because he was one of the BEST ones.
They, with lots of help from others, have made me the teacher I am. And some days they might even be proud of that fact... probably not 0n dictionary-throwin' days (don't worry, no one was in the room).
But all of those teachers, I'll bet, no matter how good they all are, at some point, all wished for snow days... we're expecting 4-7 inches tonight.... fingers crossed!
CT scan next week.
Carpe diem. Even for the 7th graders. Groan.
- Trela
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Pictures, Pictures and More Pictures
Here are some pictures as promised in my last post. They're in reverse order because my blogger upload is being highly obnoxious today...
Know what else is obnoxious? Dry air. Really, really, really horribly dry air. I spent most of yesterday at work blind... or mostly blind,
having had to pop out my contacts because everyone kept asking me if I had been crying. Clearly they don't know me that well...
For some reason, presumably dry air, I looked like that ad with the giant fake RED eyeball that they pour eye solution on and it magically turns clear again. Actually, I looked like TWO of those commercials... so of course, I ran out of class and got the drops, thinking it was a no brainer! Not so much luck with that -- I ended up at my eye doctor at 6:45 last night and heard more "hmmmm's" than I was really comfortable with. The upshot seemed to be that he didn't know the cause, but suspected dry air combined with my contact usage as a possible option. So, prescription eye drops four times a day in both eyes for 10 days, then another appointment and stern instructions to moisturize. Clearly a nice man, but a man who hasn't been in a not-so-new school building in a long time, therefore not realizing that the heat, when it is actually delivered, is of the dry variety. Like Arizona. Yippie.
I pushed it today and went to work even though I felt lousy. (I feel like that could also be the title to a memoir...) We're expecting a whopper of a storm tonight and I HAD to get my homeroom kids their Christmas ornaments in case we don't have school tomorrow. After my nose protested the dry air by gushing nasty stuff for 5 minutes resulting in my needing to dash out of class and stuff Kleenex up my nose oh-so-professionally, my eyes started stinging and I snapped at a few kids, so I thought better of it. I asked to leave and was granted... or maybe they just don't want their teachers looking high? I took a two hour nap this afternoon and that seems to have helped my mood, but I definitely could still audition for that eye drop commercial. So, I'm sitting in the office, lights off, monitor dimmed posting on my blog. I feel a little pathetic. But whatever, no one will yell at me for not posting! : )
Stupid gigantic Styrofoam eye, eat your heart out!
Carpe diem (in the dark... hmm, that sounds bad...) - Trela
Know what else is obnoxious? Dry air. Really, really, really horribly dry air. I spent most of yesterday at work blind... or mostly blind,
having had to pop out my contacts because everyone kept asking me if I had been crying. Clearly they don't know me that well... For some reason, presumably dry air, I looked like that ad with the giant fake RED eyeball that they pour eye solution on and it magically turns clear again. Actually, I looked like TWO of those commercials... so of course, I ran out of class and got the drops, thinking it was a no brainer! Not so much luck with that -- I ended up at my eye doctor at 6:45 last night and heard more "hmmmm's" than I was really comfortable with. The upshot seemed to be that he didn't know the cause, but suspected dry air combined with my contact usage as a possible option. So, prescription eye drops four times a day in both eyes for 10 days, then another appointment and stern instructions to moisturize. Clearly a nice man, but a man who hasn't been in a not-so-new school building in a long time, therefore not realizing that the heat, when it is actually delivered, is of the dry variety. Like Arizona. Yippie.
I pushed it today and went to work even though I felt lousy. (I feel like that could also be the title to a memoir...) We're expecting a whopper of a storm tonight and I HAD to get my homeroom kids their Christmas ornaments in case we don't have school tomorrow. After my nose protested the dry air by gushing nasty stuff for 5 minutes resulting in my needing to dash out of class and stuff Kleenex up my nose oh-so-professionally, my eyes started stinging and I snapped at a few kids, so I thought better of it. I asked to leave and was granted... or maybe they just don't want their teachers looking high? I took a two hour nap this afternoon and that seems to have helped my mood, but I definitely could still audition for that eye drop commercial. So, I'm sitting in the office, lights off, monitor dimmed posting on my blog. I feel a little pathetic. But whatever, no one will yell at me for not posting! : )
Stupid gigantic Styrofoam eye, eat your heart out!
Carpe diem (in the dark... hmm, that sounds bad...) - Trela
Tuesday, December 02, 2008
I Know, I Know
Ok, I've only published about 10 percent of the comments I've received about my lack of posting... sorry!
Incredibly busy school year here. My classes continue to be challenging and my time seems to get less and less each time I glance at the clock. Ok, realistically, that IS what's happening, but it seems to do so at warp speed. I've been called out into meetings a lot recently and, as I well know, my students tend not to do well with subs, so I'm often left clearing up yesterday's mess and never quite getting a grip on tomorrow. Phew.
Otherwise, life is good. I managed to get Eric's clinics decorated for Christmas before the snow fell (which was November 30th, by the way). I have less than 12 inches of papers to grade (down from nearly 18, and it's only midterm). I actually know what I'm making for dinner tonight, as it's already marinating in the fridge (chicken tikka masala with basmati). I have very few Christmas things I need to make this year, short of a stocking which needs to be done this week, but is not a big deal, and an art table for the kids. Oh, and I need to paint Cavanaugh's doll bed. And make Eric's present. And find something for the dogs. And... you know what, never mind.
Had my 15 year high school reunion a couple of weeks ago -- super fun! Especially going with short dark hair! The girls all recognized me, but it was hysterical watching them skip a beat or two. As awesome as the reunion was, the best part of the weekend was getting to see my very favorite high school teacher for brunch the next morning. If I could have had a very slightly older sister, I'd have wanted it to be her. And yes, Jeanne, I'm working on thoughts for a book, just keep after me!
I know this is short and not nearly as exciting as normal, but I'm still at work and need to get cruising to get Kile soon. I promise I'll post pictures of Cara's wedding and the kids soon!
And no, facebook isn't taking over! I've hardly had time for that either!
: )
Carpe diem. Trela
Incredibly busy school year here. My classes continue to be challenging and my time seems to get less and less each time I glance at the clock. Ok, realistically, that IS what's happening, but it seems to do so at warp speed. I've been called out into meetings a lot recently and, as I well know, my students tend not to do well with subs, so I'm often left clearing up yesterday's mess and never quite getting a grip on tomorrow. Phew.
Otherwise, life is good. I managed to get Eric's clinics decorated for Christmas before the snow fell (which was November 30th, by the way). I have less than 12 inches of papers to grade (down from nearly 18, and it's only midterm). I actually know what I'm making for dinner tonight, as it's already marinating in the fridge (chicken tikka masala with basmati). I have very few Christmas things I need to make this year, short of a stocking which needs to be done this week, but is not a big deal, and an art table for the kids. Oh, and I need to paint Cavanaugh's doll bed. And make Eric's present. And find something for the dogs. And... you know what, never mind.
Had my 15 year high school reunion a couple of weeks ago -- super fun! Especially going with short dark hair! The girls all recognized me, but it was hysterical watching them skip a beat or two. As awesome as the reunion was, the best part of the weekend was getting to see my very favorite high school teacher for brunch the next morning. If I could have had a very slightly older sister, I'd have wanted it to be her. And yes, Jeanne, I'm working on thoughts for a book, just keep after me!
I know this is short and not nearly as exciting as normal, but I'm still at work and need to get cruising to get Kile soon. I promise I'll post pictures of Cara's wedding and the kids soon!
And no, facebook isn't taking over! I've hardly had time for that either!
: )
Carpe diem. Trela
Wednesday, October 01, 2008
A Shout Out to My Nurses / Rachel: 4 for 4
I guess it's an indicator of how strongly I feel about these women that every time I go into my Oncology office, I need to stop back by the chemo desk and say hi. Knowing that my "reward" for handling my testing is a visit with some of my favorite medical people ever is probably what gets me through.
So, to the rest of my readers, you're welcome to keep on readin', but this post is for them.
Ladies, I can only imagine how difficult your job is, and as a result, I'm sure you never get the praise and thanks you so truly deserve. Knowing you were there, fighting with me, cracking jokes, laughing at mine, remembering my kids' names, sharing parts of your life with me... it meant everything. It meant I was simply another person, not just a patient, and I know you're like that with everyone. It's all we cancer vixens want, and you understand that, probably better than we do.
Had our paths crossed differently, I'm sure we would have been friends.
Crossing as they did, you are my angels. I could not have done it without you.
And Rachel? You rock, girl. Keep those clean x-rays and ct's comin'!
I'm just determined to be one of your success stories.
All of my love, and piles and piles of respect,
Carpe diem. - Trela
So, to the rest of my readers, you're welcome to keep on readin', but this post is for them.
Ladies, I can only imagine how difficult your job is, and as a result, I'm sure you never get the praise and thanks you so truly deserve. Knowing you were there, fighting with me, cracking jokes, laughing at mine, remembering my kids' names, sharing parts of your life with me... it meant everything. It meant I was simply another person, not just a patient, and I know you're like that with everyone. It's all we cancer vixens want, and you understand that, probably better than we do.
Had our paths crossed differently, I'm sure we would have been friends.
Crossing as they did, you are my angels. I could not have done it without you.
And Rachel? You rock, girl. Keep those clean x-rays and ct's comin'!
I'm just determined to be one of your success stories.
All of my love, and piles and piles of respect,
Carpe diem. - Trela
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Normal and Boring
Ok, I admit it, I was pouting. Someone posted a comment on my last blog that asked if hot dogs were really all I had to talk about, insinuating that my blog was trivial and unimportant. I hope this was a stranger, someone who doesn’t know me, hasn’t read my writing, and is someone that in person I could verbally annihilate. Clearly no one I know would say such a thing. To think that two years ago I was terrified I’d never be able to write something as “trivial” as a commentary on
The school year is going. I'd say well here, because it's the correct part of speech, it being an adverb and all, but in truth, this year's been a bit tough. I'm teaching about 25 more kids than I have in the past few years, and I have one class (interestingly and thankfully enough my smallest) that is just a continual challenge. And I'm being nice there.
My new administration team is truly fantastic, zero complaints in that department, but let's face it, my job is never NOT stressful, and adding a bunch of difficult kids to a schedule that includes most classes over 25, well, it's been interesting. I've been blowing off steam three mornings a week at a gym and that's been helpful, if not tiring. Kile and Cavie are doing well, both are usually upset to see me at day's end. Eric is awesome, really. He just completed his first ever Olympic length triathlon this weekend and I couldn't be more proud of him. Not proud enough to join him, but proud. : )
Ian and his girlfriend, Aga, came to visit yesterday which was a treat. He lives in Poland these days so seeing him is a rarity. They're in the states for Cara's wedding this Friday, an event we're all looking forward to. Her dress is of course, beautiful (it is Cara, after all!) and the dresses we picked out together in the Twin Cities while I was doing radiation last year look amazing. Can't wait!
I have an appointment in Cedar Rapids tomorrow morning to have my chest x-ray, so hopefully that will go well. I hate even thinking about it, but I guess that's to be expected
Totally boring post, I know, but I wanted to let you know what was going on with me. Just don't post a comment saying, "really, that's all you have to talk about?" I'll smack you. Promise. : )
Carpe diem. - Trela
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Playing Catch Up (Not Ketchup)
I know, I know. The good news is my darling friend Anita keeps me in check. Whenever it's been just a little tooooooo long in between posts she reminds me what I'm supposed to be doing in my five seconds of spare time. (Which reminds me -- Anita. Facebook. Seriously.)
So since my last post life has been slightly more hectic than normal, but that's like saying that today was 98 degrees instead of 96... really, what's the diff?
Eric and I took a mini break to Chicago (not related to this sentence
, but so cute: Kile, upon first seeing the skyline on our drive in on 80 Friday night: "Look Cavanaugh! That's Chicago, it's Mommy's favorite because it's beautiful." Cavanaugh: "Ohhh, Kile, it's beuuuuuutiful!") for a summer wrap up/happy anniversary two weeks ago. We ditched, I mean carefully delivered, the two darlings to my parents so that we could enjoy a few Chicago evenings without our favorite tagalongs. We hung with Cara and Andrew, dined Cuban and something else which escapes me, ate turtle sundaes, played LOTS of Wii Bowling, enjoyed a superhero double feature at the Vic's Brew and View and slept as late as we wanted.
Tuesday we reclaimed our little people and headed into the heart of Chicago. Our first stop was at Marina City
(also known as the corncob towers) to see the condo my parents are renovating. Following that, we hiked over to Millennium Park so Eric and the kids could see "The Bean." We then trooped over to the "spitting fountain" (which I'm sure has another name, but whatever, it's what it does) and played in the water for a while 
then headed back towards the Theater District (which Chicago didn't used to have, so I find it amusing) to the Broadway McDonald's. Clearly this was the highlight of the day! Actually, smart Mommy remembered there was an upstairs to this Micky D's, so we wandered up and spent nearly an hour reminding the kids to eat while they stared out the window at all of the traffic (and all of the flowers! Oh my goodness, I'm glad I don't have to pay taxes there, Mr. Daley, but wow, that city is beuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuutiful!). We reclaimed our car, said a silent prayer for a happy trip on Lakeshore drive and went to the Zoo. I was super impressed with how much better the zoo looks than it used to (though what's up with the polar bear?) and the kids absolutely loved it. We spent a good two hours and saw just about everything, though 
we did bypass the farm animals because, really, what's the point for us?? I think the day's favorite were the giraffes, if only because we could get so close to them. (Though we did love the new kids' area even if we didn't stay long.)
We scampered back around the swan boat pond and beat the meter maid to our car (only about 2 minutes over, but still!), picked up my car at Cara and Andrew's place and headed onto the Kennedy. At 6pm. On a Tuesday. During summer (aka, construction season in Chicago). Unbelievably, it only took us 45 minutes to get to our next destination, and that included Eric totally missing his exit and me hightailing it on Touhy to catch and redirect him, no small feat in rush hour traffic. (And yes, Iowa pals, 45 minutes is truly amazing, no traditional Trela sarcasm there.)
My favorite part of arriving at our next destination was Kile's reaction: (yelling... REALLY yelling) "Hey! Mommy! Mom! Those hot dogs!!! You have pictures of them!!!" as if it were a surprise to me that first, Superdawg did in fact exist, secondly, that I knew how to get there and thirdly, that we were actually turning into the parking lot.
Now I sort of digress, because it factors in later: While we were in line some poor soul was attempting to order a dog for what I assumed was his elderly mother. He asked for a bun without poppy seeds on it, and lots of ketchup. Everyone else in the place looked at him as if he were from another planet and several customers and I exchanged looks. Eric seemed oblivious, which only foreshadowed the disaster yet to come.
In Chicago, hotdogs come two ways -- with peppers or without. It's a poppy seed bun. That's it. There are onions and mustard and relish, usually an unnatural green color. Anything red in color is either the hotdog itself or random tomato slices. Ketchup and these dogs do not mix. Every Chicagoan knows this. (If you don't believe me... http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chicago-style_hot_dog and http://www.chicagohamburger.com/html/royko7.htm) Cavanaugh had half of her hotdog in her mouth before Eric took his first bite, mine was (obviously) already gone. Kile was protesting that he didn't like hot dogs, a flat out baldfaced lie. (Hence Eric being behind in the eating, because he was trying to reason with Kile... silly Eric.) It was a big moment for me, first time taking Eric to my old stomping grounds, first Chicago hot dogs for the kids, vague reminiscences of high school hot dogs, and bonding with my oncologist over those magical neon dogs in the sky. I stared at dear husband waiting for that first bite and outwardly cringed when he took the ketchup packet out of the bag (there are, after all some
tourists in Chicago who clearly don't know the rules). I looked around panicked, thinking my cover might be blown, but fortunately no one saw him. I hissed at him, "at least TRY it before you put the ketchup on it!" and since it was my big moment, he obliged (Cavanaugh, at this point, was totally covered in mustard and mint-green relish, but she's still eating. Kile is eating a pickle which looks like a hot dog, so we were ignoring him for the moment). Eric took a few bites, redirected Kile, talked to 
Cavie a bit, all the while I was sitting there waiting for a verdict. I was nervous -- What's wrong with our non-hot dog devouring son? Did the combination of Iowa genes with a Chicago girl's genes cause a hot dog hatred complex in one of our children? (Kile continued eating the pickle and eying his dog warily.) Is there a Punnet square that can show me the dominance or recessiveness of the Chicago hot dog gene? Shouldn't the Hot Dog gene beat out a Sweet Corn gene? Why was none of this covered in my high school genetics class? I mean, Cavanaugh was clearly ok, but she also eats dog food so I wasn't putting much stock in her taste.
Finally, while my head swims with visions of all of the nature vs. nurture scenarios, Kile succumbs to hunger and takes a bite of the hot dog. He simply (and rather anticlimactically) declares it the best one he's ever had. (Ok, some prompting from his mother there.) But what of the husband? The life partner, the one to whom I have pledged my everything? The stress, the anxiety, the FEAR of not knowing his reaction to my first true love... Did I throw away 9 years of my life on a non-Chicagoan? Eric, clearly not sensing my angst, calmly continued eating the dog, sans ketchup, without a single reaction visible in his face. Just when I couldn't bear the suspense any longer, he turned to me and said, "Hmm. I think I like Nathan's Famous better."
I'm contemplating filing divorce papers next week.
Carpe diem. -- Trela
So since my last post life has been slightly more hectic than normal, but that's like saying that today was 98 degrees instead of 96... really, what's the diff?
Eric and I took a mini break to Chicago (not related to this sentence
, but so cute: Kile, upon first seeing the skyline on our drive in on 80 Friday night: "Look Cavanaugh! That's Chicago, it's Mommy's favorite because it's beautiful." Cavanaugh: "Ohhh, Kile, it's beuuuuuutiful!") for a summer wrap up/happy anniversary two weeks ago. We ditched, I mean carefully delivered, the two darlings to my parents so that we could enjoy a few Chicago evenings without our favorite tagalongs. We hung with Cara and Andrew, dined Cuban and something else which escapes me, ate turtle sundaes, played LOTS of Wii Bowling, enjoyed a superhero double feature at the Vic's Brew and View and slept as late as we wanted.Tuesday we reclaimed our little people and headed into the heart of Chicago. Our first stop was at Marina City
(also known as the corncob towers) to see the condo my parents are renovating. Following that, we hiked over to Millennium Park so Eric and the kids could see "The Bean." We then trooped over to the "spitting fountain" (which I'm sure has another name, but whatever, it's what it does) and played in the water for a while 
then headed back towards the Theater District (which Chicago didn't used to have, so I find it amusing) to the Broadway McDonald's. Clearly this was the highlight of the day! Actually, smart Mommy remembered there was an upstairs to this Micky D's, so we wandered up and spent nearly an hour reminding the kids to eat while they stared out the window at all of the traffic (and all of the flowers! Oh my goodness, I'm glad I don't have to pay taxes there, Mr. Daley, but wow, that city is beuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuutiful!). We reclaimed our car, said a silent prayer for a happy trip on Lakeshore drive and went to the Zoo. I was super impressed with how much better the zoo looks than it used to (though what's up with the polar bear?) and the kids absolutely loved it. We spent a good two hours and saw just about everything, though 
we did bypass the farm animals because, really, what's the point for us?? I think the day's favorite were the giraffes, if only because we could get so close to them. (Though we did love the new kids' area even if we didn't stay long.)We scampered back around the swan boat pond and beat the meter maid to our car (only about 2 minutes over, but still!), picked up my car at Cara and Andrew's place and headed onto the Kennedy. At 6pm. On a Tuesday. During summer (aka, construction season in Chicago). Unbelievably, it only took us 45 minutes to get to our next destination, and that included Eric totally missing his exit and me hightailing it on Touhy to catch and redirect him, no small feat in rush hour traffic. (And yes, Iowa pals, 45 minutes is truly amazing, no traditional Trela sarcasm there.)
My favorite part of arriving at our next destination was Kile's reaction: (yelling... REALLY yelling) "Hey! Mommy! Mom! Those hot dogs!!! You have pictures of them!!!" as if it were a surprise to me that first, Superdawg did in fact exist, secondly, that I knew how to get there and thirdly, that we were actually turning into the parking lot.
Now I sort of digress, because it factors in later: While we were in line some poor soul was attempting to order a dog for what I assumed was his elderly mother. He asked for a bun without poppy seeds on it, and lots of ketchup. Everyone else in the place looked at him as if he were from another planet and several customers and I exchanged looks. Eric seemed oblivious, which only foreshadowed the disaster yet to come.
In Chicago, hotdogs come two ways -- with peppers or without. It's a poppy seed bun. That's it. There are onions and mustard and relish, usually an unnatural green color. Anything red in color is either the hotdog itself or random tomato slices. Ketchup and these dogs do not mix. Every Chicagoan knows this. (If you don't believe me... http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chicago-style_hot_dog and http://www.chicagohamburger.com/html/royko7.htm) Cavanaugh had half of her hotdog in her mouth before Eric took his first bite, mine was (obviously) already gone. Kile was protesting that he didn't like hot dogs, a flat out baldfaced lie. (Hence Eric being behind in the eating, because he was trying to reason with Kile... silly Eric.) It was a big moment for me, first time taking Eric to my old stomping grounds, first Chicago hot dogs for the kids, vague reminiscences of high school hot dogs, and bonding with my oncologist over those magical neon dogs in the sky. I stared at dear husband waiting for that first bite and outwardly cringed when he took the ketchup packet out of the bag (there are, after all some
tourists in Chicago who clearly don't know the rules). I looked around panicked, thinking my cover might be blown, but fortunately no one saw him. I hissed at him, "at least TRY it before you put the ketchup on it!" and since it was my big moment, he obliged (Cavanaugh, at this point, was totally covered in mustard and mint-green relish, but she's still eating. Kile is eating a pickle which looks like a hot dog, so we were ignoring him for the moment). Eric took a few bites, redirected Kile, talked to 
Cavie a bit, all the while I was sitting there waiting for a verdict. I was nervous -- What's wrong with our non-hot dog devouring son? Did the combination of Iowa genes with a Chicago girl's genes cause a hot dog hatred complex in one of our children? (Kile continued eating the pickle and eying his dog warily.) Is there a Punnet square that can show me the dominance or recessiveness of the Chicago hot dog gene? Shouldn't the Hot Dog gene beat out a Sweet Corn gene? Why was none of this covered in my high school genetics class? I mean, Cavanaugh was clearly ok, but she also eats dog food so I wasn't putting much stock in her taste. Finally, while my head swims with visions of all of the nature vs. nurture scenarios, Kile succumbs to hunger and takes a bite of the hot dog. He simply (and rather anticlimactically) declares it the best one he's ever had. (Ok, some prompting from his mother there.) But what of the husband? The life partner, the one to whom I have pledged my everything? The stress, the anxiety, the FEAR of not knowing his reaction to my first true love... Did I throw away 9 years of my life on a non-Chicagoan? Eric, clearly not sensing my angst, calmly continued eating the dog, sans ketchup, without a single reaction visible in his face. Just when I couldn't bear the suspense any longer, he turned to me and said, "Hmm. I think I like Nathan's Famous better."
I'm contemplating filing divorce papers next week.
Carpe diem. -- Trela
Friday, July 18, 2008
Horrid Cancer Humor
Whatever, I'm totally allowed to make cancer jokes.
Ok, so a friend of mine sent me a card, one of those nifty new ones that had a detachable magnet, which has been hanging on my fridge since early spring. It's a lovely quote by Maya Angelou -- "I can be changed by what happens to me. I refuse to be reduced by it."
Now clearly we all know my friend was sending me encouraging messages, not to get down about all of the medical issues, etc. However, I walked past it last night and cracked myself up... don't get reduced by it? Well then why the heck have I had two mastectomies??? Jeez. Doing this ALL wrong!!
Oh come on, it's funny.
Carpe diem -- Trela
Ok, so a friend of mine sent me a card, one of those nifty new ones that had a detachable magnet, which has been hanging on my fridge since early spring. It's a lovely quote by Maya Angelou -- "I can be changed by what happens to me. I refuse to be reduced by it."
Now clearly we all know my friend was sending me encouraging messages, not to get down about all of the medical issues, etc. However, I walked past it last night and cracked myself up... don't get reduced by it? Well then why the heck have I had two mastectomies??? Jeez. Doing this ALL wrong!!
Oh come on, it's funny.
Carpe diem -- Trela
X-Ray/Ct
Ok, take a deep breath people, I know I did. My oncology office called this week and they don't need to see me until August or September. Nice to know they're so worried about me! They also are just going to require a chest x-ray, so that's good on the radiation front! Radiation front. Ha.
Been a long day with the kids, can you tell?
That's really it! I'm currently involved in reorganizing my work room, so far I've also ripped up the floor, made new curtains (ok, should say, made curtains since there weren't any before), and painted (of course). I'm hoping this project is done by Monday or so, but let me know if you see a really cool comfy chair for it... in orange or gray would be fabulous....
Back to the paint!
: )
Carpe diem. - Trela
Been a long day with the kids, can you tell?
That's really it! I'm currently involved in reorganizing my work room, so far I've also ripped up the floor, made new curtains (ok, should say, made curtains since there weren't any before), and painted (of course). I'm hoping this project is done by Monday or so, but let me know if you see a really cool comfy chair for it... in orange or gray would be fabulous....
Back to the paint!
: )
Carpe diem. - Trela
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