Rapier's Wit

A week and a half ago I awoke with pain in my jaw. More specifically, my tooth. This particular tooth has a crown, which by no means equals royalty of the molar world. In the past it has given me a bit of issue, but nothing alarming. X-rays would indicate it was just me clenching my jaw when I slept.In the past, my dentist would readjust it to suit my goofy bite. So, my chemotherapy treatments are scheduled on Wednesdays. Every Wednesday. The treatment I was due to receive is what I call the mega-dyna-whoppin' treatment. That one packs a wallop. Before getting that treatment blood work is done and I meet with my oncologist or nurse practitioner to have vitals checked and to discuss the blood work results. If the stars are aligned then treatment is a go. Sadly, my platelets were not high enough to safely deliver the infusion. So, it had to be postponed. The lighter of the treatments was given with hopes the following week my platelets would be higher. Enter funky tooth. A visit ...

The last time I wrote on this blog was May 12, 2014. So much has happened since that last post. On May 29, 2014 I had an ultrasound guided biopsy on my left breast. There were a couple other lumps that were aspirated. The large lump discovered near my armpit was biopsied. It would only be three days until the call came from the doctor's office. At work, I still insisted the nurse tell me what was discovered. "Invasive ductal carcinoma." I wrote it down on a Post-It along with the appointment to see the surgeon the following day. It was business as usual until I hung up the phone and it hit me. My co-worker said I said catatonic for what seemed 10 minutes. She insisted I just go home which broke my numb state. Sliding the Post-It toward her I broke into tears. In a panicked state, I dialed the doctor's office pleading that he see me immediately. He was in surgery, but the nurse would try to contact him. We hung up and I called my Breast Health Navigator. She talk...

If you've been following this blog since forever ago then you'll know that on a whim I nicknamed my breasts Thelma and Louise. It was a joke during a conversation I had with a guy online back in the late 90s. It started by laughing at the weird things men name their junk. Thelma and Louise seemed far more appropriate than Laverne and Shirley. With that out of the way, please understand that I have never been shy discussing my boobalas. It is like ignoring the 800 pound gorilla in the room.  Usually, the discussion revolves around the impossibility of finding a bra that truly suits me (hence the secondary title of this blog) and the difficulty in wearing pretty much any shirt, sweater, jacket, etc... Today, the Girls need to have a serious talk with all of you. When I was 19 a lump was found in my left breast. Immediately, my gynecologist was notified, he examined me and sent me to a general surgeon the same day. Within a week the lump was subjected to a needle biopsy whic...

Oh dear me! This week has been a smack in the head emotionally. Mother's Day is often such a struggle for me. On one hand, I am ecstatic to have a son who loves and respects me. He fills me with so much pride. On the other hand, losing my own mother in 1981causes me such emotional turmoil from time to time. Not often, but when it strikes it strikes hard. The other day on Facebook I shared that my final memory of my mother was that in the hospital where she spent her last days. She was ravaged with cancer and in dire pain even with pain medication. Toward the very end I wasn't permitted to visit her. However, the time I was allowed in her room she had pushed me away after I hugged her because I was hurting her. It isn't the memory I want to hold on to, but it is there. As her last child, the youngest of eight, there's no doubt she had her reasons. My siblings have assured me, while it wasn't what I wanted, it is what our mother felt was best for me ... or her. It ...

As Mother's Day 2014 quickly approaches, it occurred to me that I haven't blogged in a very long time. My son aka Mancub, is nearly 20 years old. Just the fact that I still refer to him on the blog as Mancub tells you that I'm still quite protective. When I stop quickly in the car I still fling my right arm in front of his chest. You know, the original safety restraint. Every year he gives me the same thing on Mother's Day. Nothing. If I remind him what day it is, he'll wish me a happy Mother's Day and go on about his business of playing video games or sorting through his YuGiOH! cards. Wait. Before your eyes get lodged in your skull from rolling them, let me clarify that I'm not complaining. Every single day of the year my kid celebrates me. As I said earlier, he's nearly 20 years old. One of the first things he does when he sees me after waking is gives me a hug. He wants to. Whenever I leave for work, or he gets out of the car to go to classes...

...glitter on the mattress... Not so fast, cowboy!! The other night the snow was falling as I drove home from work. The temperature was below 15°F. The flakes were small, but not pellet like. Going the speed limit on I-57 wasn't optional. There was no rush to get home because the headlights shining on the freshly fallen snow was magical. Wet, big flakes don't have the same sparkle quality of the colder snow. If you live in a region where it snows you will understand. Don't laugh. For once in my life it seemed as if the roads were paved with glitter just for me. Shut up. I said don't laugh. When you're a woman like me, you have to find moments that make you feel exquisitely special. Those moments often have to be created in the mind. If only it could have been captured in a photo. The snow causes the world to hush. I loathe the cold, but snow brings with it something so ... comforting. At last my path was lined with glitter. I took it as a sign from...

Hello, 2014! Welcome to my life. You bring with you the promise of clean pages on which to write. I won't leave the old chapters behind, but it is time for a new book to be written. A new saga in a series. In general, grand resolutions aren't made in the house of Riss. However, seeing it as a marker for a new start suits me. Making promises and not keeping them seems foolish. Why not adopt something that will bring enlightenment and joy? As I said in yesterday's post, I am ready to take a chance again. Throw some caution to the wind and let my heart soar instead of being sore. Who's with me? Anybody wanna jump on the new attitude train? I was going to say the Riss-train, but that would some how be turned into a perverse notion and the next thing you know invitations to partake in a human centipede would arrive. Yeesh. As part of my new attitude campaign, the look of this blog has changed. It is a tad spiffier and spruced up. We've parted ways with th...