I got a ticket to ride (TELLU-ride, that is)!

This is the weekend of the fabulous Telluride Film Festival and B and I are leaving for Telluride today! I can’t wait! My friend Joanna flew in from London this week and she will be traveling down with us. I didn’t get a chance to blog yesterday because I was too busy getting life in order and getting ready to go, and today is pretty much the same. I probably won’t be able to blog until next week…so please come back and visit then!

We will be staying with my friend Tim, who has been working the Telluride Film Festival for the past eight or ten years. He’s a filmmaker and somehow he manages to work his schedule each year to take a month or two off and go work as a manager at the festival. Jealous? You’re jealous. (Oh wait, maybe that’s just me.) In 2001 Joanna and I also worked at the festival as interns for six weeks. It was like a summer camp for adults but we got to use power tools for arts and crafts time, and instead of Kool-Aid we drank a whole lot of Guinness.

I have to admit it will be weird to go back this year with crutches and a wheelchair. Mostly, I fear those instruments will make sneaking into to see movies pretty darn awkward to impossible. But, to steal a quote, “Everything is possible, the impossible just takes longer.”

MAJOR GRIEVANCE

Man, O MAN! Is dealing with medical issues a PART-TIME job, or WHAT?!!! Yesterday I spent the entire morning talking to insurance people, my doctors, their nurses, and Apria medical suppliers just to get crutches and a wheelchair delivered.

Today I spent the entire morning dealing with this giant bucket of BS:

August 29, 2006

ATTN: GRIEVANCE
Empire BlueCross BlueShield HMO
PO Box 1407 Church Street Station
New York, NY 10008-1407

RE: Grievance for Physical Therapy

Dear Sir or Madam:

On December 15, 2005 I had major surgery to remove bone cancer (chondrosarcoma) from my left femur at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center, under the care of Dr. John Healey. Since this surgery involved resecting and reimplanting 23cm of my femur and caused major trauma to my knee and the musculature of my left leg, I have required physical therapy over the months.

When I was in New York City, receiving physical therapy at MSKCC, all my sessions were covered. I never had to personally phone in for pre-authorization.

I applied for Away From Home Care Guest Membership in May, to maintain my coverage in both Denver and New York City. In July I was told by Dr. Healey that I could increase my weight-bearing and after seven months on crutches to move to a cane in hopes of learning to walk again without assistance. I needed a physical therapist once again.

I called the number on my Away From Home Care Guest Membership card to ask about coverage for physical therapy in Denver, and the woman assured me that I had 20 sessions covered.

I paid my co-payment of $10 for each session. Suddenly, today, I received a bill for $420 for three of my physical therapy sessions at Denver Physical Therapy, which I picked specifically because it was on the list of covered providers. I have five other sessions that I have not yet been billed for as well.

I am really at a loss as to why I am being billed. I called customer service and the nice woman I spoke to explained that I had needed pre-authorization. I hope you can understand that I didn’t know that Denver Physical Therapy had failed to do so, like my physical therapist at MSKCC had done—I thought that was the procedure. It was my understanding that by providing my insurance information to DPT and by calling HMO Colorado ahead of time to ensure I had sessions available to me, that I was covered.

I have been a member of Empire BlueCross for three years. This is the first complication I have had in my coverage, which I believe is due to the changes of moving and of applying for guest membership and of miscommunication. I am asking you to please understand and to provide a one-time courtesy and cover all the claims for physical therapy from Denver Physical Therapy. If you require more information from my surgeon or past or current physical therapists to explain the nature of my case and how therapy is needed to help me walk again, I am happy to provide that. I’m just a 29-year-old hoping to walk without a limp again! Thank you so much!

What’d you do?

I’m curious how other cancer survivors out there respond—or responded—to people when they saw your bandage/ sling/ crutches/ etc., and said, “WHAT’D YOU DO?” I’ve have been asked this question SO many times over the past eight months, and I find it a funny question to respond to. I find it especially amusing now that I’m back in Colorado because I'm pretty sure people are thinking I was involved in some X-treme sporting accident. They almost always ask--with a smirk on their face--like they know the answer already (skiing, mountain biking, off-road unicycling, etc.). I’ve never been comfortable making up a pretend story, like,
Oh, you know, I got caught in a rockslide in Tasmania while trying to befriend a family of wombats.
Or:
I was attempting to be the first person to land a triple back-flip while juggling wombats, and it didn’t go so well—those suckers are feisty!
Or:
I was attacked at night by a band of marauding wombats.

But I never say any of these things. Sometimes I say, “Well, actually…” (always starting casual-like to ease in) “I had bone cancer removed from my leg…” (and then adding quickly) “…but they got it, and I’m all better now!!!” (big smile). A couple times when I didn’t add the cushion of casualness and the all-better-now assurance, I felt unsettled by the person’s visible shock and discomfort. I mean, I’m young and healthy looking; they were waiting for a great X-treme sport story and I blast them with BONE CANCER.

Now, when I’m feeling too lazy to tell the whole truth, I just say, “Oh, I had surgery.” And somehow, I’ve never been pressed on that answer. It’s nice and easy and we all feel better for it.
I don’t know. Should I stick to the truth or start using my wombat stories?
What do you say about your visible signs of healing?

Pimp My Ride

I received official word from my doctors today. They even (finally) talked to each other about me (I feel so special!). The conclusion is that I should remain on crutches for another month. I will fly to see Dr. Healey mid-October. The good news (well, in addition to not needing surgery at this point) is that I’m on 50% weight-bearing, instead of toe-touch. And you know what that means: I can still do down-dog (one of my favorite yoga poses). That’s great news.

Also, I’ve been working on pimpin’ out my crutches today. After eight months, they are in terrible shape, so I’ve been doing some accessory-shopping online. So far I have a handy-dandy crutch bag and fluffy new arm and hand pads on the way. I also bought a simple water bottle bag with a shoulder strap for $5. (I can’t believe I didn’t invest in THAT from the start.) It’s pretty sweet. I will call my insurance company on Monday to see if I can get all-new crutches, if not, I’ll also be buying some new tips and grips. You’d be amazed at what’s available out there in crutch fashion! I ogled over these fancy-pants “Asian-inspiration” crutches, but they’re ridiculously priced. It sounds like a good organization though, LemonAid—great name too—and half their profits go to Step With Hope.

I’m also working on getting a wheelchair rental and a temporary handicap parking sticker. I’ll be ridin’ in style soon—aw, yeah.

This is what I feel like right now...

(If you can't see the image, click on the white box and it should pop-up)

This puppy looks how I feel. Why, you ask? Okay, sure, I'll tell you...

FIRST: I paid $43 dollars for an iced vanilla latte today. You might be thinking that's a mighty hefty price to pay for a caffeine buzz, and I'd have to agree with you. Let’s break it down:
$1 for the organic 12oz milk I bought to put in the coffee
$2 for the iced Americano with vanilla
$40 for the parking ticket I got because I:

1. Needed to get out of our apartment because it is so hot I feel like a South American Sloth when I’m in it.
2. There were no parking spots available in the coffee shop’s itty-bitty parking lot.
3. I was eight, yes, a mere eight minutes late getting back to my car because I misestimated the time it would take to pack up my stuff and get back to the car in my sloth-moving state.
4. The Denver parking meter police need some other crime to help stop so they don’t have to prey on slow-moving people with crutches who can’t add and subtract minutes properly.

(And yes, I'm just as suprised as you that I've gotten TWO parking tickets since starting this blog just a little over a week ago. I haven't received a ticket since B and I first moved back in May, and then BAM, two in one blogging week.)

SECOND: My muscles itch from being back on crutches again and all I want to do is flop down in exhaustion with my belly up like this little fella. (oh-my-gosh-isn’t-he-adORable!)

THIRD: After the long week of waiting and all my dramatic philosophizing, Dr. Kelly (who I will admit was much more personable and reasonable today) told me she that she can only guess that there is a small fracture (no mention of the word "catastrophic"--hooray!) but would not be able to tell me more without going in. Therefore, my best bet is to wait to hear from Dr. Healey, since he was actually in there before. (More waiting.) So I’m still in the same place: I might need further surgery, or I might just have to stay on crutches for many more months until the bone and/or fracture heal.

So, without further ado, I’m going to On Demand the first two episodes of the second season of Weeds right now, toast some organic pizza pockets, sip my all-natural raspberry ginger ale, and relax, belly (and leg) up. Ahhhh….

Now

Okay, here’s a thought really quickly (I leave for my appt. in 5 minutes):

Brian and I saw Peaceful Warrior on Monday night. We both read the book a while ago too, but it was a good message to hear again. (It’s a pretty amazing mostly-true story.) It’s all about living in the NOW, and how we are not fully awake in life until we really attune ourselves to the present moment. This morning when I was reading my morning chapter from Shambala: The Sacred Path of the Warrior, this message came up again. The chapter was all about letting go, about releasing all the junk in our brain that takes us away from fully living life and finding relaxation within discipline (the discipline of being present and genuine at all times):

“The result of practicing the discipline of warriorship is that you learn to stop ambition and frivolity, and out of that you develop a good sense of balance. Balance comes not from holding onto a situation, but by making friends with heaven and earth.” (Heaven being vision and earth being practicality.) I have to say, that explains exactly what I strive for in life, but yet, at most times it feels so difficult to fully achieve.

I’ve just been WAITING for over a week now.

It’s a strange place to be: knowing that you are just a day, hours, minutes away from hearing news that could immediately change your life. Of course, we have all been in this place before, whether we knew it or not, and could be there again in an instant.

So during some moments today I felt serene—enjoying being able to go to the coffee shop and work, going to my favorite vegetarian restaurant for lunch—knowing I could be in the hospital again tomorrow makes today a great day. When you know there is no point in making plans for the future when your future is TBD by forces outside yourself, there is also no point in worrying about the future; it’s best to just submit and be totally in the now. Of course, most days aren’t like this--you have to find that balance of living in the moment and having vision for your future and higher self. Now, I’m off…

ARRRGGG!

Beware, a rant…

Okay, I know that surgeons are big, important, busy people, but seriously, if they’re going to easily bat around words like “catastrophic” and “failure” in regards to your leg, couldn’t they at least call a girl back?!

I’ve called Dr. Kelly and Dr. Healey a couple times in the last two days. Neither have reported back to me if my leg will combust soon and if I should take measures to prevent this from happening. Apparently Dr. Healey’s office has not received my x-rays from the Institute for Limb Preservation here in Denver, which means they sent the disc regular mail instead of Fed-ex (thanks). When I spoke with Dr. Kelly’s office on Monday they told me she would look at the x-rays and call me back. I asked if I should make an appointment and they said, No, wait to hear from Dr. Kelly. Well, I waited.

I left messages yesterday too, same deal. Today I finally spoke to someone who tells me my x-rays are still sitting in a pile on her desk and I was supposed to make an appointment as soon as they received the x-rays (hello, how would I know when they received their mail? And why am I being blamed for other people in their office telling me to wait to hear back?!). So now I have an appointment for tomorrow at 3pm, only so she will be forced to look at my x-rays while I’m waiting in her office, instead of just looking at them now and telling me if my hardware is indeed in danger. (The nurse assured me—with much tripping over his words—that this was not “lazy” on the part of Dr. Kelly, it’s just that she’s SO busy…and, basically, saying in different words what I guessed: that me sitting there will be her only motivating factor to glance at a scan.) I’m so annoyed I could scream. I’m so unimpressed with Dr. Kelly. As soon as this mess is sorted out, I will find a new ortho-oncologist in Denver. I miss living near MSKCC.

Another edition of This Old Bone…

I’ve been thinking a lot about this idea of having “hardware” inside of me, and of its failing. It’s weird being a human with internal hardware that needs a fixer-up. I thought maybe the fact that it’s failing might be because I had a surgeon do the internal construction instead of a carpenter (silly me!). My dad is a carpenter and I used to watch This Old House with him all the time. I thought maybe TOH would have a solution for securing my metal plate (let’s call it femoral “siding”), so I went to their web site and they did! All I had to do was replace “house” with “bone.” Perfect!

Welcome to This Old Bone:
Whether it’s cracked, rotted, or the victim of a woodpecker’s bill (we really, don’t know what happened to cause things to fail, and I was in nature a few weekends ago), a damaged strip of siding is an open invitation for leaks to wreak havoc on a bone. So when a piece needs fixing, it’s a task that merits a big red flag on the “To do” list (too true!).

Replacing broken siding isn’t that difficult (oh goody!), but as This Old Bone general contractor Tom Silva shows it’s a delicate process that takes patience and precision. “If you’re not careful, it’s easy to break the surrounding bone,” he says, “and then you’ll end up ­installing much more new siding than you intended.” (Good advice, Tom! Let’s be careful!)

Power tools are out for this job (phew!): too much vibration (and too bulky!). ­Siding repair is best done with hand tools—with one exception. “Forget the tape measure,” Tom says (noted). Instead, you can size the ­replacement using the old siding as a template, a simple technique that virtually guarantees a tight fit on the first try. (Sounds good!)

There’s a good lesson for you: When it comes to hardware, never send a surgeon to do a carpenter’s job!

Best. Cure. Ever.

For more helpful cures, visit my favorite site: http://www.cuteoverload.com/

Upside

NOTE: I’ve finally figured out how to change the comments section so now anyone can post a comment even without a blogger account. (I am sooo techno-savvy.)

B and I had a nice weekend at his family’s house in the mountains. It’s beautiful there! That mountain-pine smell (especially after a little rain) is my favorite. Sitting on the porch overlooking the mountains, the lake, the shimmering aspen, I had time to reflect on the positive. What I’ve failed to highlight so far is that the x-ray didn’t show any signs of the tumor being back. So, really, that’s fantastic news, right?

Also, spinning off of sknu’s poem about crutches (which you can read in the comments on Things That Are Puffier Than My Knee post), here are some other things crutches are handy for:
1. closing cabinets doors (go, go gadget crutch!)
2. dragging shoes and socks closer to where you’re sitting
3. turning the printer on and off without having to get up
4. turning light switches on and off without moving your bum
5. stopping elevator doors from shutting without risking your limbs (but I warn you, if you do this really swiftly and efficiently, you may scare your elevator neighbors)
6. getting out of vacuuming, sweeping, taking out the garbage, and many, many other chores (yeah!)

Hm, looking at this list, it looks like crutches support all-around laziness!

Some other positive things in my life, in case you thought I forgot: I have a good job with an understanding boss so I’ve been able to work from home and earn a paycheck throughout all this; a wonderful, adoring, fiancé who keeps me laughing; a super mom; extremely awesome friends and family who are loving and supportive and help me keep my head on straight; the fact that I’ve met some really cool (and inspiring) people since starting this blog last week.

Okay, now I have to call my doctors and see if they’ve swapped info yet…

Lil' fatty

Okay, so for those of you who read about my plight with last-minute shopping at Target for interview clothes (BTW, I successfully returned them all, even the mean little shoes); you know I've gained some weight since surgery. Now, that's okay--considering I went from walking several miles around NYC and doing an hour to two of yoga everyday to doing absolutely nothing, it's to be expected. It's uncomfortable and inconvenient, sure, but if it means I get to keep my own leg, a little extra girth is hunky-dory with me. To celebrate payday today I went to Buffalo Exchange (a trendy 2nd hand store in Denver) and purchased a $9 pair of pants. Nice. However, I noticed they were THREE sizes bigger than the size I was pre-surgery last December. To add to the cruel awakening, the pants I picked had...wait for it...elastic. That's right, elastic in the waist. A few more months of this and I'll be shopping for muumuus.

Standing in the too-cool changing room I had a scary thought...but first, let me take a moment to describe the setting to you: These changing rooms are tall cylinders with brightly colored Plexiglas walls, and they are on wheels. It was a psychedelic experience standing in the small space surrounded by neon-kiwi bendy walls. Plus, they don't provide a real seat--it might cramp the cylinder's style. All they have is a metal T-shaped bar sticking out of the wall, which I think you're not actually supposed to use to rest your rump, but perhaps just as a spot to place your foot as you delicately untie your laces. How did I come to this conclusion? Because--being on crutches and needing a seat--I tried to sit on the unforgiving bar and what happened? The entire cylinder-on-wheels tipped. Yes, that’s right. My newly-fat ass made the DRESSING ROOM TIP. It went WA-WOMP. So here I am hopping around, dizzy from the Fun-house effects, trying to get my leg through a pair of pants while making sure to not a. put weight on my one leg that's at risk of catastrophic fracture and b. trying not to put any undo pressure on the “room” so I don't make the giant cylinder go WA-WOMP again, or worse, tip over completely, with me inside like a pig in a blanket. And that's when I had my scary thought:

What if the reason my hardware is at risk is because I've gotten too fat?! Maybe the doctors specially designed the plates and screws for the original-sized Sara, and now my rapid weight gain is making the hardware sag under the pressure of me, like an IKEA bookshelf with too many hardcover books.

Things Puffier Than My Knee:

Ode to Cane

Cane, my cane, oh my wonderful cane,
Last week I thought you were such a pain.
You made me look old before my time
“I’m only twenty-nine!” I would whine.
But now I consider you sublime.

Again with crutches under each arm,
To my pits and palms they cause such harm.
I do not even have one hand free
To carry a cup or plate, you see.
For my cane-dependence I do plea.

Privacy, be gone!

Okay, well I’ve already decided to dump this blog-being-anonymous idea. I should have known myself better—I’ve never been one to keep my own secrets. I mean, the first thing I did when I found out I had cancer was to write and perform a show about it. Right.

So here’s something about me: every morning I read one chapter from Shambala: The Sacred Path of the Warrior. This morning’s chapter was “Renunciation and Daring.” I had to laugh because the whole chapter is about dissolving your own privacy so you are more available to help others: “Renunciation is about making yourself more available, more gentle and open to others. Any hesitation about opening yourself to others is removed. For the sake of others, you renounce your privacy.” That pretty much sums it up. That said, I will still respect my family’s privacy, and will limit the blog to only discussing me and my recovery. (I will open a SECRET blog to dish about them! Ha ha! Oh wait, no…warrior path, warrior path.)

Another quote at the end of the chapter says, “By renouncing his private world, the warrior discovers a greater universe and a fuller and fuller broken heart.” I like that. Maybe a broken heart doesn’t sound like something to strive for, but in the path of the warrior it is. And if we’re honest with ourselves, we all have a broken heart. Broken heartedness means you are truly able to feel the sadness in the world, and it doesn’t make you depressed, it makes you tender and this tenderness gives birth to fearlessness.

Okay, maybe not so funny, but true.

Crutches, man, crutches

UPDATE: The swelling in my leg has gone down considerably. Hooray! I will have my latest X-ray from the Institute for Limb Preservation sent to Dr. Healey, so he can review it before deciding if I really need to fly out to NYC last minute. Thanks to everyone for your suggestions and kind offers of help. I have received so many calls and emails and it makes be feel less alone and hopeless. Thank you, thank you.

Now, I would like to discuss being on crutches again. I’ll start with the positive. One good thing about being on crutch-arrest is that life is much simpler. Mainly, I have fewer choices. Since I can’t get around easily, or carry things all willy-nilly, and have to keep my leg up, iced, many hours of the day, crutch-arrest equals house-arrest. And the good thing about house-arrest is I spend less money and get more work done. I can’t be tempted by worldly temptations like yoga classes or walking to the mailbox or something crazy like that.

The downside is that the palms of my hands are already hurting again! It only took a day on crutches! Second, whatever I did in the horrible red Target shoes I wore to my interview on Monday, messed up my right foot (the foot that needs to support all my weight now). I only wore those cheap shoes for a half hour, and I’ve been nursing bloody blisters for two days and managed to form some sort of bone spur on the outside of my right foot. Seems impossible, but the pain tells me it must be true. Third, I can’t carry cups again! I’m back to choosing to go thirsty or invest in creative measures to get a cup of tea from the kitchen to my desk. I mean, sure, I already had seven months to create good systems, but they seem even harder to employ after being told I didn’t need to be on crutches anymore. Being on crutches after surgery I could understand, it was somewhat tolerable because I was working towards a goal. But I thought I reached that goal. Being put back on crutches feels like a cruel punishment.

Need to finally invest in that crutch cup holder I’ve been dreaming about.

So You Think You CANcer Dance

I just finished watching the finale of So You Think You Can Dance! I am a bona fide sucker for that show. I LOVE IT! It gets me all jazzed up. I only left my house once today, and the rest of the time I sat on my butt being mindful not to move, keeping my leg elevated as much as possible. (Praying that if I just don’t move it, it will heal by itself and the nice little screws will find their way back home--go screws, go!) But now I have a little jig in my bum.

When I first found out I had cancer I was told that after surgery I’d never be able to bend or straighten my leg again (why are doctors such downers all the time?). The doctors estimated I would only regain 90-110 degrees of rotation, when full rotation is 135*. Obviously I was devastated by this news; yoga and dancing are an important part of my life. My friend M and I used to make up dances together in high school and when we learned that my leg was going to be cut open from knee to hip we agreed to form a different type of dance group—the Cancer Dancers. That’s right I’m proud to be a Cancer Dancer, a CANDANCER!

I’ve learned that even if I can’t flip and twist like the limber little fireballs on SYTYCD, I can still get my groove on. For instance, while sitting on the couch I can crump from the waist up—watch out! And if you thought my my robot was good before I was on crutches, well you should see how the long metal extensions under my arms add to the effect! And while balancing on just my crutches I can achieve some awesome leg kicks—and the air suspension is unbeatable. Boo ya. Candancers unite!

* A month ago my PT measured my bending at 135! Full rotation. Woohoo!

Jedi Power

After my surgery I did a lot of visualization, imagining my bone healing. It seemed to work because Dr. Healey called me a “good healer” and said my bone looked like it had healed faster than expected. (Yeah, I felt pretty powerful.) But that was my bone, a physical part of me. Once I heard that the two places where my bone had been cut had healed nicely, I stopped visualizing bone growth and started visualizing walking without a limp—visualizing a strong leg hiking and biking again. I should have stuck with the bone healing visions!

Now I have to envision screws screwing themselves back in place in the metal plates along my femur? Can I be that powerful? My friend suggested I get a really big magnet and hold it on one side of my leg and turn the magnet in circles, which would twist the screws back in place. I said it was a brilliant idea, minus the fact I have screws on both side of my femur, so securing one side would result in loosening the other. Bummer. Then he told me what I really needed was some Jedi power. That way I could just wave my hand over my leg and the screws would twist back into place. I think Jedi power is the way to go. That’d be sweet.

If anyone out there happens to have Jedi power, can you just use a little of it to put my hardware back in place so I don’t have to have another invasive surgery? THANKS! That’d be AWESOME!

The price you pay to have your leg not go away

Arg! First, the medical records department is going to charge me $58 to send the disc with my X-rays and CAT scans from Memorial Sloan Kettering to my new doctor in Denver. That is bullshit. That is also more than I currently have in my checking account or on my credit card combined. Why do I have to pay for it? What about insurance? Or hell, if it’s on disc, couldn’t the nice medical centers just email the pertinent files? Second, Dr. Healey (my doctor at MSKCC) wants to see me on Monday. Yes, this Monday, as in five days from now. As in a $500 ticket from Denver to NYC. Why do these people think patients recovering from cancer have all this extra cash to go on last minute trips? Let me tell you, if I had that extra cash, I would put some of it towards shampoo and conditioner (the nice Aveda kind) because I’ve run out and have had to get creative with ways to wash my hair this week while waiting for payday on Friday. Oh, and the rest of it I’d use to take a trip somewhere pretty, not to the city I tried to leave three months ago.

Catastrophic juicy fruit

I just got back from my first visit with my new doctor at the Institute of Limb Preservation in Denver. First of all, I hate the name of the place, I mean, they really don’t hold back with that name, do they? On most days, recently, I can still feel like a normal person, and if I walked into some non-descript place called, say, Rose Medical, or something, I could maintain the façade. I could think, just going for a check-up like we all do. But when you hobble into the Institute of Limb Preservation, it’s like they’re telling you: just feel lucky you still have your real leg, lady—it’s been preserved. And of course, when I walked in today the only other person in the waiting area was not so lucky—his limb had clearly not been preserved; it was missing. Nothing like being in a “limb-preserving” institute and seeing a missing limb to sober you up.

I thought I was getting back to being “normal.” I know normality is a ridiculous notion for anyone—cancer survivor or not--to hold to, but after seven months on crutches and one month on a cane, I’ve been getting stronger, limping a little less, and letting myself start planning again, for my future, because I get to have one! I like making plans: figuring out ways to earn more money, mapping out my creative pursuits, house-hunting, starting to teach yoga again, eating healthy--the plans of a relatively “normal” person. Well today I learned my plans are to be waylaid once again. I received BAD NEWS today.

My doctor said I was at risk for “catastrophic fracture.” No, really, tell it to me straight lady. Wow, that sounds dramatic. Yesterday I was a “miracle healer” and today I’m at risk for “catastrophic fracture.” The status shift is disappointing, to say the least.

My quad, near my knee, has really been hurting for the past two weeks. A few days ago the area behind my knee started feeling stiff and painful, and last night the area around my knee swelled up to the size of a grapefruit. I had a squishy grapefruit knee! I think I started to gross My Good Fiance out (“Look! Look how squishy it is! A juicy fruit knee!). I hadn’t experienced swelling in months—since my post-surgery days when it was expected, so I was a bit scared. Fortunately, I had this appointment scheduled for today. When I got there they took new X-rays. I hate getting X-rays. I can’t believe they’ve become a regular part of my life—getting that stupid lead protector apron sloppily strewn over only half of my reproductive system (hope one healthy ovary will be enough!), all the machinery, the clicking, the not knowing if the constant X-raying will cause more damage than the cancer would have. (I mean, they learn new things every day, we don’t really know the damage all this every two-to-three month X-raying will do. Do we?)

The new doctor says it looks like the “hardware is failing”--that the bone wasn't healed enough to be as active as I've been. Super. She says this quickly and severely, like it’s my fault my hardware is failing. Like I’ve been running marathons and should have expected the consequences of my cement-pounding actions. Well let me assure everyone that there has been no rigorous activity. I was excited to simply be able to do the stationary bike, some gentle yoga and PT. Not too raucous. Even so, I have to go back on crutches and might need another surgery to “secure the hardware.” Now I really do feel like a car that needs a tune-up! (That story later.) I can't believe it. This is horrible.

Plus, I was supposed to start an 8-5 temp job next week to earn back some of the debt from my health expenses not covered by insurance. I interviewed yesterday at ING. There were two other candidates and they picked me (triumph!). It was a three-week gig that would have let me pay off my American Express card that is currently maxed out. Today I had to make the embarrassing call to the temp agency to tell them I couldn't work (because if I’m on crutches again and my leg is going to be swollen like a grapefruit sitting from 8-5 at a desk and running around an office won't work—my loser hardware will get even crankier). I didn't want to, but I started explaining the story to the girl who is not my normal (nice) contact, and she was so mean and short. She said, "Well, guess we'll have to them that! Hope you feel better." But she said it like she didn't even want to say the last part and like such a snoot. I felt so exposed and raw. I was so shocked by her meanness I couldn't even say thank you and just hung up. Oops. Guess no more work for me. Just more surgery.

Hmm, I guess this entry isn’t as uplifting and humorous as I’d like it to be. I’ll try again tomorrow.

Blistered by Corporate America

Corporate America SUCKS ASS. I had an interview this morning through a temp agency I signed up with last week. I really need a second job, since my work as a virtual assistant isn’t allowing me to catch-up on the costs of moving back to Colorado and my extraneous health expenses. The temp agency called me at 9am to tell me I had an interview with ING at 11am. Well, I had not one single acceptable interviewing outfit--NOT ONE. I’ve worked from home for three years and long ago gave away the last of my suit jackets, and even my business casual outfits. Plus, of the two nice pants I do still own, I don’t fit into either thanks to the fact I’ve been sitting on my ass for the eight months since surgery and have gained 12 pounds. It doesn’t seem fair you should not only lose your ability to walk normal but also your physique. They should give us orthopedic patients a fat-stopping drug once they take the painkillers away (which served as a nice, though psychotropic, diet pill for the first month). I know this is shallow thinking (yes, I’m thrilled I have my life and my leg!), but mostly it’s expensive, uncomfortable inconvenience! I’m too broke to buy new outfits just so I can get a job to help me from being so broke. It’s a vicious circle of fat brokenness.

I flew to Target and tried on outfits as quickly as possible. The only decent looking outfit I could find did not go with my black shoes (the only nice shoes I own) so I quickly picked out a cheap red pair. I spent $70 on the ensemble—which sufficiently maxed out my American Express card. I sped home, changed, ate a spoon of almond butter so I wouldn't pass out and then left with fifteen minutes before my interview, applying my makeup at the red lights. The stupid temp agency rep wasn't sure what the cross streets were but said it was two blocks away from their building. Unfortunately, I assumed the two blocks in the opposite direction. I learned this only after I parked, put the last of my quarters in the meter--realizing my Good Fiancé had pilfered almost all my quarters for laundry without telling me--and hobbled around looking for the stupid building. When I realized my error (and the fact that the distance was hardly a mere two blocks away from the temp agency), I got back into my car, drove as fast as possible--getting all the red lights--parked, put the few nickels I could dig up into a meter, which only provided enough for twenty minutes, and limped (sans cane—didn’t want them to think I was defective goods!) to the building. I was two minutes late for the interview. Not too bad, but not ideal. The interview went well, but when I get back to my car, there was a $40 ticket waiting for me. Plus I felt three blisters had formed. Ticket, blisters, money shelled out for an interview outfit. Was it worth it? I think, no. We’ll see if I get the job.

In good news, on my way back from my yoga camping retreat this weekend I decided I didn't want to wait any longer to start teaching yoga again. When I got home my massage therapist called saying this guy at the yoga studio he works at is looking for a teacher for a restorative class and he recommended me! I met with the owner yesterday, and will starting teaching a one hour therapeutic/restorative class on Sundays in September! Yay synchronicity! Now I just need to find some students to attend my class!

A little introduction

I’ve become so overwhelmed by recent events in my family’s life that I want to explode. It seems at once absurd and hilarious. I mean the whole scenerio is RIPE with comedy! (Lets just hope I can find it.) I feel it’s better to let words explode out of me, as opposed to whatever other explosion options are out there. Plus, since I recently moved back to Colorado from NYC and almost all my friends and family are not in Colorado with me, this will provide a way to share my daily stories with everyone at once. Also, my hope is that other people recovering from or fighting cancer, or other people who are shocked by where they find themselves in life right now—for good or bad—will stumble across my blog and want to connect and share their own experiences. My hope is to be able to find some humor in these moments of humanness, because otherwise, what’s the point? If we can’t laugh at the heartache, then the heartache laughs at us.