I surrender.

 

 

During 10th grade I went to a Winter Retreat for church youth in Pennsylvania, at Mount Pleasant, I believe it was called. It was in the valley of Amish country, something novel to my small life that I was too young and ego-centric at the time to appreciate. I remember that for several days before we left I would have self-talks to myself in the mirror telling Self, that she was NOT going to get too sick for this trip. It worked... mainly because talking to yourself in the mirror as a teenage girl possesses the strange image-altering power that is only equaled to how amazing you sound singing into a hair brush. I also remember of that trip (twenty-six years ago, although I can barely remember what I did in the last week), that we had not even made it out of the mountains before I felt the effects of a bad flu/strep/pneumonia/mono/plague bug settling into my chest and making me feverish, loopy, and completely robbed my voice before arriving back home in Maryland.

 

I am reminded of this seemingly random story today because it was the first in a long chain of intermittent times when my body (mind?) allowed me to defer illness until it was convenient. Yeah, I know how crazy that sounds. I am not proposing some mind over matter super power (because if so, I would use it for way cooler purposes than avoiding snot and vomit), but maybe the effects of adrenaline? Or a little psychological nudge to make it past a hurdle before crashing. I do believe greatly in the power of the mind over physical matters of health. For this reason, since teaching, I have spent many holidays, breaks, and unfortunately chunks of summer time... sick. It's like my body makes it past the deadlines and To-Do lists and then just crashes... because it knows it can.

 

This is not always the case though. Sometimes, my body will just through a Molotov Cocktail of contagions at me to knock me off my feet, when I refuse to give in to its cries for rest. For example, this winter when I had not just the Flu, but a Flu-Strep-Ear Infection Trifecta. Yes, the Husband liked to joke that I have to multi-task everything. I am not in any way suggesting that I am body or health-conscious (ha!), but I am pretty in-tuned with my body and can read the signals it sends me. I just choose to ignore them most often because there is always something I find more pressing to attend to. (This being the cause of my cancelled/not yet rescheduled dentist appointment to fill a cavity... or not having a "regular" physical in 12 years... or "that" physical in 4 years... or ever having a mammogram.) (Yes, I am ashamed of these things.) (No, the shame isn't enough to push me towards actually scheduling, let less keeping, these appointments.)

 

So anyway... I woke up this morning just thinking about how my summers are plagued with one sickness or injury or another. (Yes, I realize the lack of healthcare listed above... despite excellent, free health insurance from Jason's retirement... contributes to this.) (No, it's still not enough to push me towards doing anything about it... right now.)

 

And... it appears Summer 2014 is starting on the same path. Benjamin went to the doctor today for a rash issue. And me? I am officially surrendering to this stomach bug. I allowed myself to sleep it off Friday night and Saturday- for the most part, but then said I needed to move on and tried to get work done on Sunday and went into work today. I'm a fool. It wasn't until I talked to the bookkeeper at school today who described the exact same symptoms late last week and she went to the ER and diagnosed with gastroenteritis, that I thought "Oh, this might really be a thing. I might really be sick." That perhaps my frequent visits to the loo are not related to the dairy in my drink Friday morning or the flax in my toast Sunday morning and I just need to admit "I. am. sick." And deal with it. So, I am giving in. Tucking in. And giving my body 36 hours of rest and appropriate sick-person diet.

 

Because, come Wednesday, I have too much to do.

 

(No, I'm obviously not going to the doctor over a troublesome stomach bug... even if it's been four days...)

Round Two

So... apparently, Wonder Woman wasn't as buoyant as I thought.

I went to bed Thursday night with every intention of going to school on Friday. I even texted with a few Key Clubbers to arrange to borrow Wii games and a popcorn machine for the event after school Friday. During the many times I woke up during Thursday night/Friday morning though, the more apparent it became that plan was not going to work. My throat pain only grew worse and sleep was elusive.

I should have followed my own instinct Thursday and went to the doctor to be checked for strep. However, upon the nurse's recommendation to give it a day's rest first, it was easy to romance myself into following that notion and avoiding the deep-throat assault of a strep test. I did make a doctor's appointment Friday morning though... and, alas, it was strep (making me one of the 5-10% cases that are adult.)

After a day of regularly scheduled Keflex/Tylenol/Sucrets cocktails, the pain has subsided to a mild discomfort. That is an extreme improvement from just laying on my side and drooling onto a towel because the instinctual swallowing we do with the saliva our mouths produce felt like glass shards raking down my throat. (TMI?)

Looking back over the last twenty-four hours, at how easy it was to get into to see the doctor and how easy it was to confirm a diagnosis, and how quick it was to get the prescription filled and how quickly the antibiotic took effect, it has left me pondering on the "luxury" of health insurance.

Some parts of my childhood were spent uninsured, others I had Medicaid. The Emergency Room was my doctor's office, because you didn't have to pay when you went. I would venture to guess many of those bills were left unpaid altogether. It took a while for me to mature into the adult role of being insured, or seeing the importance of having medical insurance. It was during an appointment at the free clinic for birth control when I found out I was pregnant with my oldest son (I always was a bit of a procrastinator.) I had sat in the waiting room of that free clinic often through my childhood waiting for my mother during her appointments.

Working for the hospital was probably my first "real" job, certainly the first time I ever remember being offered health insurance. It was a much higher monthly charge during the first 3 or 6 months of employment, so I chose to hold off until the rate dropped to enroll. Doing so, gave me the very unique experience of enduring the exact same medical issue twice, once as an uninsured patient and once as insured.

I had a peri-rectal cyst that was extremely painful. When I was uninsured, the doctor sent me back home and told me to try Aleve for a couple of weeks to see if it helped. It didn't. I remember laying on the couch, in agony, trying to lie perfectly still as my mother cared for Justin. When I went back two weeks later and the cyst had only become more aggravated, and the surgeons scheduled an outpatient surgery to drain it.

Fast-forward a year or two, following the physical stress of Cameron's birth, when the cyst returned. At this point, I had insurance. Upon my first doctor's appointment, for which the cyst was less painful than my previous experience, I was admitted directly into the hospital, given a private room in the case there should be drainage issues, given narcotic meds for pain, and stayed overnight following the drainage for follow-up care, then sent home with more meds for any discomfort.

Quite the different experience. It was eye-opening.

There are many things for which I am made thankful from Jason's military career. His paid college education and the retirement check that pays a big chunk of our mortgage are indeed high priority on that Thankful List. Also, equally high (if not higher) is the medical insurance we will have for the rest of our lives... at no cost. A couple of years ago, something with the insurance or military medical ticked me off. It was so nominal I can't even remember the circumstances now. But as a knee-jerk reaction at the time, I said I would just get insurance through the school and not worry with it any more... then I found out for the first time how much my co-workers pay for health insurance... like $800/month for a family. I cannot fathom that! I cannot fathom paying HALF of that monthly! We would have to make a financial sacrifice or change a significant part of our living style, such as our house/mortgage to be able to afford that!

I know that Healthcare and Healthcare Reform are political hot topics. I am not informed on the issues and have no real opinions on such. It's just hard to believe that SOME kind of reform somewhere is not in order. In the mean time, I am just so very thankful for that "luxury" of being able to go to the doctor and being able to get medicine that I or my children need. My heart aches for those mothers who cannot afford that same "luxury."

moley-moley-moley

I am not an Austin Powers fan. I have only seen a few clips from a few movies.
However, I could not rid my mind of this lil' chant today.

In my quest to be more pro-active about my health, I went to a Dermatologist to have a Mole Check. I had been advised to do so several times when I had my yearly exam but never did. Shortly before Relay this year, I began to feel a bit guilty... maybe ashamed is a better word. Here I was stepping into a position with Relay for Life to be one of the "faces" of our local committee, as well as working with the high school kids to raise money for ACS, and I wasn't practicing basic life-saving cancer screening.

So, today I did.

I remember in my early twenties counting how many moles I had and the number was in the thirties. I remember years later counting again and the numbers were in the high sixties. Now, it would not even be feasible to count how many there are. In part, because there is such confusion between what is a mole and what is a freckle.

When I think of "mole," I think of the large hairy appendages  dangling from a cartoon witch's chin.

And, when I think of "freckle," I think of cute red-headed kids.

Pippi Longstocking! Do you remember Pippi? Oh, how I loved that rambunctious lil' tomboy!

But, what about all those other markings that are neither?

Are they freckles or are they moles? Can a freckle become a mole? Do all moles have the potential to be dangerous?

Seriously, why hadn't I gone to the Dermatologist before? Both the older boys had seen Dr. Buckley- for moles(!)(oh how we mothers take care of our children, and not ourselves!), warts, and acne- so I was comfortable with him and the office.

Although, as I waiting, I did think it was rather intimidating to keep this big red (but transparent!) jug FULL of used needles right there in the room. For me to look at. While I waited.  I guess I am more used to being at the Pediatrician's where they don't exactly display the needles so kids start crying long before they have to get a shot.

What they did have was this thing though...

Which takes your blood pressure on your WRIST! It was awesome. I abhor having my blood pressure taken. I don't know if it's because I'm overweight that the nurse always feels the need to crank that arm cuff to tourniquet level despite having a history of good bp readings, but I am always moments from ripping the the thing off before she starts letting air out of it.

Anyway... the doc checked me over, told me that the two blips (because mole is such an ugly word) on my nose were of no concern, and referred to most of what was on my back and shoulders as "sun freckles." He did, however, want to remove one from my back to send for a biopsy. I know this is standard procedure so I wasn't too freaked out by it. However, my zen-breathing techniques (as opposed to calling it frantic hyperventilating) had him concerned that I wasn't "ready" for this today. Well, I don't know that I would ever be "ready" for a razor blade to slice a piece of flesh off my back... I just hadn't come to the appointment thinking I would be leaving with a little less skin than I arrived with.

But I did. The only thing I felt was a little burning from the numbing injection. (After which I had the recurring thought that I do following all shots... I could totally get a tattoo... with a lil' zen-breathing.) And I have a one-inch circle band-aid protecting the battle wound, trooper that I am.

I almost asked to see the hacked off little piece of flesh in the lab cup.

Almost.

Pains

My 9 Honors class reads The Sky is Gray by Ernest Gaines. It is the story of a young black boy that has a bad toothache. His family is poor and the setting is during the shade of time when desegregation laws have passed, but were not especially being followed- especially in the South, where the story takes place. Of course, being a notable peice of literature, there is a lot more going on behind the tangible plot. It is a story that uses a lot of color symbolism to comment on racial issues and attitudes during this transitioning time in American history. The dentist and his nurse, wearing all white and being the only prominent white characters in the story, are the only ones that can bring relief to James's pain. However, they also create many obstacles which James must endure and overcome to experince that relief.

Today, I had a dentist appointment. When I think of a dentist though, I don't imagine the sterile guy behind a mask wearing all white and weilding a drill. No, instead I think of this...

It's been well over a year since I have been to the dentist (but not more than 2 years). I had found a practice that I liked. The office was fun. The staff was nice. There was this whole beach island theme going on, from the office furniture to the Hawaiin shirts worn by staff. You're not going to trick me into thinking that going to the dentist is paradise, or anything akin to a vacation though. No, me at the dentist is...

What led to this most recent leave of absence in dental care, because I won't pretend it was my first, was that it had just gotten too dang painful to keep going. Every single time I went there was something more that needed to be done. And in the past, while I had been numbed with Novacaine and had no problems, it had come to the point that I could get no relief from the pain... and I would be in pain for days afterward. This wasn't "Back Alley Dentistry." I had health insurance and was pretty regular about my appointments, yet the experience kept getting worse and worse. The final straw for me was that the dentist just wouldn't explain what he was doing to me. He would give me a shot of "something else" to help the Novacaine work, which was even MORE painful, but was flippant about explaining to me what it was and what he was doing. So, I found myself cancelling appointments, and then just not rescheduling them.

However, I have a goal to "Get Better" about my healthcare this summer, so I scheduled a check-up and cleaning with a NEW dentist.

And...

It went really well. As soon as the dentist walked in the room, he recognized me as one of his son's English teachers. (I had not known this in advance.) Then, in that romanticized small town way we discussed my family, his family, and I found out a ton of history about our house from the dental hygeinist. I didn't feel judged poorly for neglecting my dental care and he thought things looked pretty good, without yet having my xrays from the previous dentist to review... which is interesting since I still had a list of dental "issues" from the previous doc to resolve.Yes, I realize they may be more obvious on the xray, but if they were THAT bad, shouldn't SOMETHING have been evident upon visual exam if neglected for two years?

I'm not going to dwell on the questionable practice of the previous dentist and just focus on the good feeling I have about the new office.

As the song says, "You take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have... The Facts of Life." The dentist- good. The other issue I'm dealing with right now- bad.

After waiting nearly a week, I guess because of the July 4th holiday, I was able to get in to see my family doc about 4 painful cysts under my left arm last Friday. He diagnosed it as folliculitis. Yeah, go ahead... Google it. Because that little "ingrown hair" or "rash" nonsense they list is nothing compared to this searing pain. Yes, I know it's gross. I know my arm pits are not likely a reading matter to attract the masses to a blog. But, it's right now. It's my life. And it's painful. I am on a 10 day antibiotic... and realllly hoping I am not going to have to wait 10 days for relief. Some days have been fine. Some days have been bearable. Today has been Hellll. The only relief is to keep my arm in the air... but then my arm muscles are sore instead... and it's kind of beyond the point of that helping today. I am trying to endure it. Wait it out, only because I know the next steps would involve scalpels and drainage... and, yeah, well it's becoming a bit of dilemma to decide which is worse right now.