Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Just a quick note to apologize for all you've had to put up over the years, and to say thanks for all you do and for not giving up on me completely.
I realize that in the past I've treated you like you were, well...disgusting. From about the time I was 10 or so...heh heh, guess it's been going on awhile. I'm sorry for every time I called you names, or asked you to live on water alone, or asked you to live on ice cream alone, or made you throw up, or just generally didn't appreciate you.
I'm sorry for being ashamed of you; for missing out on fun things because I egomaniacally believed anyone cared what I looked like in a swimsuit, or that time I wore JEANS in 8th grade into the pool...what was that?!
I'm sorry I didn't believe you were worthy to continue playing soccer past 8th grade; and you were even good at that. I'm sorry I never took you to try outs for track, or cross country, or anything else that would have greatly improved your abilities, health, and my self esteem. Frankly I was embarrassed by you, and thought you were somehow less than. Sorry.
Thank you for hanging in there. For climbing mountains with abandon and joy on weekends in high school despite being provided zero nutrition. For getting me through school and night shifts at the hospital. For beating every stomach virus and cold that came your way, and staying robustly healthy throughout every stress and every depressive episode.
Thanks for carrying my babies to term in luxuriously padded style, even when the doctors said surely, surely any body would miscarry under the circumstances. Thanks for holding on to those girls with ferocious tenacity, even though we had to go in with scalpels and retractors to get them out. Thanks for recovering from three c-sections with speedy ease so I could spend more time with my babies, especially Lily. Thanks for not exploding before we could get her out. That must've been a struggle, but you saved us both. Thanks for providing AMPLE nutrition for my kids, along with the happy favor of ample boobies, even if just for a few months. That was fun.
Thanks, yesterday, for running nine miles and for giving me a few glorious moments of effortless, natural rhythm. Like flying. Before, of course, collapsing back into huffing and puffing. Thanks for making me work for it. And today, thanks for reminding me of those 9 miles with proud and contented soreness. I promise to treat you to a spinach smoothie and a soak in the pool after swimming lessons.
So Yes, you tend to require more sleep than average, but at least you enjoy it to it's fullest. And you have no natural love of any food green, and instead crave cookies like air, but at least I've learned to supply both. And you tend towards roundness, except where it counts, and you decided your 20s were a good time to have teenage acne, and you are apparently eating your own thyroid, but I am very proud of you. And grateful. So thanks for putting up with me. I couldn't have done, well, anything without you.
Also my husband seems to like you. So thanks.
Monday, June 11, 2012
Biopsied like a Boss
So here's the deal...I'm most likely to blog during the following times:
*Something happens worth reporting
*My kids have been especially bad and funny
*We've been to Disneyland
*I'm training for a half marathon and ran two horrid miles out in the sun earlier and have at least 6 to go for the day, and my kids are sleeping and I'm all outfitted in my running togs and ready to head down to my parents treadmill but man I just would rather sit in a quiet house with a blanket on my lap and a diet coke.
So you can probably guess what is going on today. Reminder: I will never be pregnant again.
I keep getting all fired up to start blogging regularly and then I take a tiny break that somehow stretches into almost a month. Although those videos of The Boof were worth at least a couple weeks worth, don't you agree? So, so dear.
So here's what's going on in case you are still stopping in from time to time:
*Training for aforementioned Timpanogos half marathon. If you had told me when we got married, or a year ago, or at Christmas, for that matter, that there would soon come a time that my husband and I would go out for a fun 5 mile run on a Saturday evening with our two children in tow, I would have laughed heartily. I have been frequently re-amazed at how after a couple miles I can just keep plodding along now, at a slow but steady 11-12 minute mile pace, without walking (although some would argue my pace IS walking) and enjoy it. To actually feel like it is a little break from the life and all I have to do is turn my volume up or down as needed, take a chug of water now and again, and wrestle my two year old back into the stroller while she screams at full capacity or run back to retrieve my 3-year old from the top of a slight incline that she feels she cannot ride her scooter down, despite having recently learned to use her break. It's relaxing in a mother-of-two-toddlers way. Like going to work for 8 hours. Or standing alone in the bathroom with the door locked. A mini-break.
Anyway, the marathon is on July 28th, and I'm still on schedule. Although most of my runs have been in the breezy evening air or in the quite chilly basement bedroom-now-gym where I grew up at my parent's house. Today while Ella was at a birthday party I took Ava out for a spin around the neighborhood in punishing 68 degree sunlight, and was ready for death a little two quickly...especially since the run only totaled 2.18 miles. I really, really hate the sun. Why do I hate the sun so much? It's not even heat so much...just blinding hateful sunlight. Hmmm.
*Thyroid blob. My dental assistant a few weeks ago found a blog on my neck that she thought I should have checked out. She made me feel it and I felt nothing. But I went to the clinic at work dutifully and had the doc there check it. He also didn't feel anything, or least reported that it was "subtle." He ordered an ultrasound anyway, which I hurried up to last Friday after receiving an electric shock from some equipment in a patient's room, a wheelchair ride to the ER, an EKG and a naked all over body search for the exit wound. (none found.) But I made it to my ultrasound on time and the patient's procedure was also completed. Also after thorough inspection of the machine it was quietly returned into service and assumed that my heat-sealing technique was to blame...which I concur with at this point.
Anyway, the doctor called later that day to tell me the blob was on the threshold of needing a biopsy, but really nothing to worry about unless it gets bigger, but in any case come back in a year. And that was that.
*Just Kidding! The doctor called back on Monday to say someone had changed their mind and would I come for a biopsy. On Thursday. At 10. So despite another grueling patient schedule that day I made it to my biopsy, during which the doctor and I discussed Chick-fil-a, and I got four needles in the thyroid. Five if you count the numbing shot, which you should. However it really wasn't bad at all, I would say receiving an epidural is less painful and an amniocentesis is more painful. So there ya go. Also during the biopsy I found out they really weren't concerned with the blob on the left which I had finally found, but the one on the right which was solid and who knew even existed? Geez. So I got a bandaid on my neck, took the above picture of myself for posterity and went on my way. They called back the next morning so say it wasn't cancer, which no one was really worried about as it's rare even with thyroid blobs, and most of the time easy to cure. But it did look like my thyroid was full of attacking white cells which would point to Hashimoto's thyroiditis, a common autoimmune disease. Very stereotypical middle age woman disease. How disappointing. I may or may not get back to the clinic to have more testing done this afternoon, depends on how long my blog keeps me and if I get to my 6 miles. Darn it!
Anyway, it would explain my crazy woman troubles the past year which I feel should have left me dead blood loss by now, my constant state of frozenness, my blue finger tips and lips, my increasing dopiness and forgetfulness, and the progressing dulling of my formally sharp as a tack wit. And maybe with all this running I really should weigh 20 lbs less. Wouldn't that be a treat?
*Ella wore a princess dress to a party this morning and LIKED IT. She has always been quite violently against princess dresses. But there ya go. She is still wearing it to show Grandpa E and Aunt Snap later, after having worn it all night as well. (There, I admitted it.) She smells like a grubby toddler but looks like a sweetheart. Not that I am a big supporter or princess culture, nor am I against it. Moderation in all things, right?
Fine fine, off to the treadmill.