Compromised By A Cold

I came home from BlogHer a week and a half ago full of energy and full of ideas. It seems to happen every year, and I spend the first two weeks home trying to mentally sort these new blogging ideas and choose where I want to start first.

Only this year, most of that energy was abruptly stopped four days in when I started to get sick. I had already heard others saying how they came down with the post-conference crud, and by Wednesday I felt certain I was in the clear from it.

But then Thursday, I woke up exhausted. Utterly exhausted. Friday was the same, along with a slight sore throat. I tried to dismiss it as dehydration and not enough sleep, drinking more water and trying to go to bed earlier to combat it.

Over the weekend, the exhaustion continued, and the lymph glands in my throat were swollen. I was definitely getting sick, but I didn’t really have a lot of symptoms yet. It wasn’t until Sunday night that I started to get the stuffy nose and (again) the sore throat to tell me this was a full-blown cold coming in.

And now it’s Wednesday, and I feel like I’m only hitting the peak of this germ infestation. This might possibly be the slowest moving cold EVER.

I’d like to think it took so long because my body put up a valiant effort to fight it off, holding the line for several days before eventually being overwhelmed by the viral enemy. In that case, I’d expect the cold to be weaker from the battle casualties, making only a brief appearance to plant its mucousy flag in triumph before my immune system regrouped and kicked its ass.

Instead, I think this cold virus has taken the lazy approach. Seeing that my immune defenses were already weakened from travel, it didn’t see the need to amass forces quickly, taking its sweet time to build up gradually, completely fooling my stressed out white blood cells, who were only looking for critical mass enemies. By the time my leukocytes sounded the alarm, the cold was already entrenched and easily overcame them.

That’s all a fancy way of saying I’ve felt miserable for nearly a week now and today is the worst day yet and why won’t this cold go away already and waaaaaahhhh!

I was lucky to avoid being sick this summer until now. But no amount of Emergen-C or zinc is helping shorten this long-game cold. I can handle many of the symptoms of being sick – stuffy noses aren’t so bad when I didn’t breathe much through my nose for the first 22 years of my life. (I had sinus surgery to correct that.) The lack of energy, however, is frustrating.

Here’s hoping I’ll be back to my usual self soon, and that my energy will return so I can get back to planning out new blog posts with a brain that isn’t quite so foggy.

We’re two weeks away from the start of the school year, which means I have exactly two weeks to get over this cold and rebuild my immune defenses before the kids bring home shiny new germs from their classmates.

Maybe I’d better have my immune system double-down on those defenses.



I May Be Too Old For General Admission Concerts

Near the beginning of the year, I found out that one of my favorite bands was coming to Columbus on tour. You may have heard of the band Fun. – yes, it’s an unusual band name, and yes, the period is a part of their name. At the time, it was easy to buy tickets because they weren’t an extremely well-known band. Well, then they won a few Grammy awards, had another hit song, and suddenly the show was sold out. Good thing I bought my tickets early.

I had been somewhat-patiently waiting for this concert for months. Aaron occasionally teases me for listening to current pop and rock music all the time, but even he agrees this band is awesome, which is why he was willing to come along with me. And yes, for the record I love current pop music and my iPhone is filled with current hits. At least I’ll always be aware of what my kids are listening to. Also, being able to sing along with their favorite songs makes me the cool mom now, and will absolutely mortify them when they’re teens. I call that a win-win.

On Saturday night, as I was looking up the concert info again, I noticed that there had been a venue change. Instead of playing the PromoWest LC Pavilion – a smallish, outdoor concert area, the concert had been moved to the LC Festival stage, immediately behind the Pavilion. I’m guessing that was done to sell more tickets. As long as it was still a comfortable area, I wasn’t too concerned.

The concert was also general admission. I haven’t been to a general admission concert since I was in college, and before that as a teenager seeing bands at the State Fair. I wish it would have been a location with assigned seating, but I thought as long as we got there early we’d have a good shot at being closer to the stage. I expected crowded conditions and that once we found our spot we’d likely need to stay in that spot or lose it.

Sunday evening we arrived to the concert two hours before the doors opened. The line was already down two blocks to the highway entrance. Since they couldn’t have people lining up on the highway off-ramp, the line diverted onto a small dirt path beside the concern venue, in a wooded area. (It’s also the path that leads to a downtown homeless camp.) We were in the part of the line still going up the path, with no idea where the line turned to go back to the street.

The line that never ends to see Fun.

A member of the PromoWest event staff came by with a megaphone after half an hour and told the crowd that doors would open right at 7pm, and they would get us all in as fast as possible. He promised that security was tight to prevent line jumping (joking that they would taser line jumpers), so we just needed to stay in line and we’d all get in quickly.

It was hot. Really, really hot. And it felt like we were standing there forever. Finally, it was 7pm, and the line started to slowly move. But just after we made the turn and started coming down the path to the street again, we saw others, further in line behind us, turn and merge in with the downward-facing line. What? People started grumbling about the line jumpers, but the offenders just shrugged their shoulders and shuffled even further down the line, ahead of more people.

As we reached the street, we saw large numbers of people ignoring the very obvious line entirely and walking right up to the entrance, blending in with the crowd and getting in without a wait. So much for that “security” they talked about. I was furious that we waited forever in line when we could have just sat in the shade near the entrance and then walked in when the doors opened.

Once inside, we got to see what the Festival stage area looked like.

The PromoWest LC Festival Stage Exciting, no?

It was the asphalt parking lot behind the Pavilion with a temporary stage set up at one end. Seriously? Half-way back was a huge video screen, meaning anyone behind the video screen couldn’t see the stage at all. Of course, being on a flat surface, their view was going to be mostly blocked by the people ahead of them anyway. I grumbled again about the lousy venue.

While we waited for the opening act, I looked for some water. Every food and beverage booth was cash only. The band’s merchandise tents were also cash only. (Not by the band’s choice – this was the venue’s choice.) Waiting in line for an ATM with a sky-high fee to help the venue profit more wasn’t something I was willing to do, so I had to abandon my hope of getting a tour t-shirt and used the $6 I had for two waters.

Since so many people were in line for beer, we managed to find a decent spot to stand that provided a fairly good view of the stage. At least at first. More people began to crowd into our space. If you had room to look down and see your shoes, then someone was likely to push in front of you to take up that available space. The opening act, Tegan and Sara, went on stage around 8pm, and while it was crowded around us it wasn’t too bad. (Side note: I’ve never heard Tegan and Sara before, but they’re very good. I’ve added them to my Spotify list.)

Tegan and Sara performOur view, no zooming in. The space in front of me was actually a group sitting on the ground on a blanket.

After they were done, there was a momentary exodus as some went for beer refills. It was nice to breathe again. But then the crowd started to pack in tighter. Those who went to get beer came back to their spots, only others had also filled in the open areas, making it impossible for people to fit. Others would then push past, saying “oh, we’re trying to get back to our friends” but would then stop shortly in front of us, never finding those “friends” they were looking for.

A man next to us yelled at one group of women, shaming them for lying to push their way through and then stop in front of him. He wouldn’t let up in his tirade against them , either, and eventually they left the area to escape the verbal abuse. I had to applaud him for trying to make people act like adults.

Another woman and her friend then tried to push through shortly after that. I didn’t even have room to lift my elbows out to the side at this point. The woman beside me, who had been there the entire time like us, looked at the two newcomers and said, “Please, just no. I haven’t seen you here all night, you’re not trying to get back to your spot. Don’t be rude and think you’re better than others.”

The woman blew her off with a “I don’t have to answer to you,” and began to forcibly shove her way between me and the others. There wasn’t room, and the more she and her friend pushed, the more I was being squished and pushed into the others around me. (ouch) The woman beside me lost it at this point, grabbing the pusher’s arm and telling her, “No, you’re not standing in front of us, move to the back, bitch.”

And then a fight broke out right in front of me.

Why did I think I was young enough to still come to general admission concerts?

It didn’t last long, thank goodness, and the pusher lost the fight with some impressive scratches on her arm from the nails of the woman next to me. At that point, the winner glanced back to see three other women, who had also been pushing through until they got to us, right behind her. Our “hold the line” defender glared at them and one immediately said, “We’re not trying to get past you, promise! We saw what you did and we don’t want to fight you!”I had to laugh at this gal’s self-preservation skills, even when she was totally drunk.

Finally (FINALLY!) Fun. was on stage. And the concert was great, even if I was jammed up against other sweaty people (hate touching strange people, ew!), completely dripping in sweat myself from the heat, coughing from smokers blowing smoke in my face, had my view blocked several times by taller people moving ahead of me, and had beer spilled all over me from the drunk woman next to me, including half a cup kicked over onto my TOMS. (Anyone know if TOMS canvas shoes can be safely washed? Hand washed or machine?)

The performance was outstanding, and they played a nice mix of songs from both of their albums. Their voices were better than many live band appearances I’ve heard, and not a single song felt phoned in. Just when I’d start to feel worn out, Fun. revitalized the crowd with their own energy and kept that energy going for the entire show. Although I didn’t feel it that night, my feet, legs and back burned the next day from standing on asphalt for so long.

Fun. performs

Seeing the band live was something I had wanted to do for over a year now, and I was glad to get my wish. Next time I’ll be a little more detailed in my wish, though, and hope they play a better venue, with actual organization, staffing, and assigned seats.

The band Fun. in Columbus

I doubt I’ll ever see another concert at the PromoWest LC Pavilion – their inability to manage a concert was astounding. Moving it to a parking lot just because the band became more popular and they wanted to sell more tickets? Awful. (Also, those who purchased tickets before it was moved weren’t eligible for any upgrades or the chance to get a refund if they didn’t want to be at the new location.)

And I’m sure there are some who would say I’m just old and can’t cope with the way younger folks do concerts. Maybe I am too old for general admission concerts now, if by “old” you mean possessing common decency and manners. The crowd looked, on average, much younger than me, but there were also plenty of older folks behaving badly.

I feel like I should start telling “when I was younger” stories right now. Why, when I was younger, we were still packed in for concerts, but we gave each other a little more space, and sure, beer got spilled occasionally, but we apologized and didn’t try to trample everyone in front of us.

Where’s my cane? Get off my lawn!

(Yes, the camera is swaying a bit in the video. I couldn’t help it – if the crowd was swaying, I was moving along with it whether I liked it or not.)



Birthdays Don’t Stop To-Do Lists.

Today I’m 37 years old. Light the candles, dim the lights! Sing it with me, everyone!

Hap-py birth-day to meeee,
I’m go-ing to the BMV
To get my new li-cense
For a $25 fee!

(And don’t forget the registration renewal!)

Yes, for my birthday I’ll be buying my own present – the gift of continuing to drive. On the upside, four years ago I was heavier and so this photo should be an improvement over the previous one. Then again, better is such a subjective term when it comes to a driver’s license photo. I mean, getting stung by a bee may be better than being bit by a black widow spider, but that doesn’t mean either experience is desired.

Driver's license photos never look goodI think there’s been some improvement since that photo.

It’ll be fun to update my weight on the license and not “accidentally” forget 30 pounds for the official record. For once my weight is currently lower than what’s listed on the card. Oh, who am I kidding? I’ll probably still lie and set a lower goal to aim for. They never question the answer I give, which is why I’ll never complain about the wonderful people who work at the BMV.

And just in case that wasn’t un-birthday-like enough for the day, I’ll be frantically cleaning the house in-between working to get ready for a late-afternoon appointment with a behaviorist for Cordy. When I set up the appointment, I didn’t realize she intended to meet at our house, or I might have made an excuse about being busy until late next week to buy me some time.

I’m sure I’m not alone in having a panic attack when a professional comes to the house for the first time. Our house is cluttered, I’m never on top of the dust, the carpets have a few stains, and there are some cobwebs in hard-to-reach corners, but it’s not unsanitary. And yet I still have this moment of freaking out that this woman will come into our house and quickly make a mental note to call child services for raising our children in an unfit home. So I toss all the clutter in boxes and shove them in the closets or in the garage, hoping she’ll think we’re a respectable family.

(I know, I know…hiding clutter still wouldn’t make us respectable. Quit laughing.)

I’m not sure what to expect from this behaviorist. She works with the psychologist who evaluated Cordy, and the psychologist recommended that Cordy begin behavioral therapy soon to help with adaptive skills. (Daily life stuff that she refuses to do on her own.) I’m hoping the initial meeting will be short since, you know, birthday.

So that’s what’s ahead for my birthday. The kids get the Chuck E. Cheese birthday parties, while the grownups realize it’s just another day and there’s stuff to get done. However, gifts of Jeni’s Ice Cream in Rainbow Frozen Yogurt will be graciously accepted for when the stress of the day is over.

And the one lesson I’ve already learned this morning about turning 37: apparently at 37 you just don’t care about being as critical and start liking some of the photos of yourself.

Not a bad selfieExhibit A

 



Because I Know You All Care About My Health

You do care, right? Or at the very least, you’re interested in learning about my health woes so you don’t make the same mistakes. Hey, I’m OK with that. I’m a giver.

Not only did I have a big area of skin removed from my back last week, but on the same day I had an appointment with my primary care doctor as well. During the appointment, I mentioned that I have been feeling so tired all the time, even when I try to get enough sleep, and nothing seems to help. She decided that it would be best to have bloodwork done to check if something might be imbalanced and causing my fatigue. Tuesday really was human pincushion day.

I expected that maybe my thyroid was out-of-whack, which was why I was tired and struggling to not gain weight. Or maybe I was anemic.

The results were back on Friday, and for the most part they were normal. Except for one line of the report: Vitamin D. Last year when she checked my vitamin D levels they were very slightly low, and she recommended including more foods with vitamin D in my diet and taking a multivitamin. I’ve been doing that as much as possible, but the new test results showed my vitamin D levels were much lower than last year,  outside of the recommended levels and into “deficient” classification.

I’m not quite sure how my vitamin D levels managed to go even lower after I started taking a multivitamin more regularly. But if it’s related to feeling tired, well, I can’t question the results. I’m sluggish all the time. Exercise will give me energy, but finding the energy to get started is hard. And once I do start moving, my muscles want to give out on me far sooner than they should.

Vitamin D - Super Vitamin!Since getting the blood results, I’ve been reading more about vitamin D and it’s link to different health issues. I knew that being deficient in vitamin D could lead to weak bones, but there’s also solid research linking it to muscle weakness, metabolic disorders (including weight gain, increased risk of type 2 diabetes, and having difficulty losing weight), and fatigue. Huh. I didn’t realize vitamin D was the super-vitamin. Look out B-12 – vitamin D is coming to take you out of the spotlight.

I now must focus on getting more vitamin D. And this is where it gets ironic. Vitamin D supplementation is good, but the best way too get vitamin D is from the sun. Spending time in the sunshine is the easiest method for building up vitamin D in the body – the skin soaks in the sunshine, which triggers the body to make it’s own vitamin D in large quantities. Supplements work, but the body’s natural production is far more efficient and requires less time to raise vitamin D levels.

So spending more time with my skin exposed to sunlight would be a big help. However, wearing sunscreen blocks 95% of the vitamin D production. Which means to get my vitamin D sun therapy, I’d have to be in the sun for 15-30 minutes a few days a week without sunscreen. But because I’m a high risk for skin cancer, sunscreen is a must for being outside.

I’m damned if I do, damned if I don’t.

(And we won’t even discuss the fact that 15-30 minutes in the sun without sunscreen would have me a painful shade of pinkish-red, because this pale girl gets a pink flush just thinking about the sun.)

My doctor knows sunlight therapy isn’t an option for me, and didn’t even recommend it. I’m now on 5000 IU of vitamin D a day for at least the next six months. That seems like a lot to me. For reference, the average recommended daily value is 400-600 IU a day. She believes that getting my vitamin D levels raised should give me more energy and an overall better feeling of wellness. I’m willing to try just about anything to give me the energy to get more done.

I’ve been taking my supplements (they’re itty-bitty liqui-gels, so they’re easy to take) for five days now and I’m not sure when I’m supposed to notice any difference. I’ve been more awake the past couple of days, but that could be just from having the kids at camp and not being distracted when I work. I’ll re-assess in a few weeks to see if I think it’s making a difference.

I wouldn’t be surprised if more people have lower vitamin D levels now that sun safety has become such an important topic. We’re all wearing more sunscreen and trying to cover up in the sun to avoid skin cancer, but are we possibly setting ourselves up for other problems? I doubt  many adults drink a lot of vitamin D fortified milk, and there aren’t a lot of foods with high levels of it.

Here’s hoping this is the key to what’s been dragging me down.

Holy-Moley update:

The incision from having my mole and surrounding area removed is healing nicely. I’ve had to remind myself not to twist or bend too much, or it pulls at the stitches and hurts.

A few people have asked what it looks like. I’m not going to insert the photo in this post, because I respect that there are some squeamish folks out there who really DON’T want to see it. But if you do want to check it out, you can click here to see the incision. It’s about 3″ long with several stitches, just an inch or so away from my spine. It hurts if I lean back on it the wrong way, and sometimes the stitches poke me. I can’t wait to get them out next week.

The photo is, for me, a fantastic reminder of why sunscreen is important. If you or someone you care about has any moles that you’re concerned with, the image of my incision can be great motivation for making an appointment with a dermatologist.

Early screening saves lives – this will leave a nasty scar on my back, but I also feel good that we caught it before it had any chance to turn into cancer.

Edited to add: Just in case you think I’m endorsing the brand of vitamin D in the photo – liqui-gels were recommended, and this brand was selected because I recognized the name and it was on sale when I was at the store. I mean, I’m happy with it so far, but it’s not sponsored in any way.



No Really, Wear Sunscreen

It was just last month that I was reminding all of you to check your skin. Back in April I had a small mole removed, and when the pathology results came back, it was revealed that it was abnormal, but not cancer. I’ve had several moles removed that came back like that, so there was no surprise there.

But when they called with the results of this one, they said they’d like to take more of the edges just to be safe. That was a first for me, but this was a new dermatologist, so I figured she just did things differently. The man on the phone told me that this time it would be stitched closed. I’ve seen others who have had moles entirely removed, and they usually had one or two stitches in place – no big deal.

I went back to the dermatologist’s office yesterday, ready for a semi-repeat of the last visit. I suited up in my oh-so-stylish paper gown.

Rocking the Paper GownRocking the paper gown!

The nurse sat down with me and started to explain the results again, only her explanation seemed more…heavy. That abnormal mole was a special kind of abnormal mole. There are three types of abnormal: mild, moderate, and severe. Mild and moderate are often just watched with no further action needed. But severe, well, that’s abnormal cells that are as close to melanoma as you can get without actually being melanoma.

It’s not skin cancer, and might not ever turn into skin cancer, but there’s a much higher chance that it could. And since there was a very large mole (I’ve named it Bertha) that this smaller mole was now touching after hovering near it like a moon before (I’ve now named the smaller mole the Death Star), they needed to take both out, as well as a decent border around all of it.

So this wasn’t going to be a tiny spot with one or two stitches then? No, not at all. The nurse explained that there was going to be a scar, and due to the position on my lower-mid-back, it’ll likely be an ugly scar. It’s impossible to keep the scar small when that part of the body is constantly being twisted, stretched and pulled.

The nurse left, and I sat in the room alone, my mind racing with this new information. Suddenly I wasn’t feeling so “no big deal” about this anymore. This was serious, and this was seriously going to be a minor surgery. That abnormal mole was setting off the cancer spidey-sense for my doctor, so I possibly dodged a big bullet by getting it removed now. What scared me even more is that she had looked at that one back in the fall and wasn’t concerned, and didn’t seem too concerned when she biopsied it back in April after I insisted that it looked like it had changed a little more in six months.

I understand why they didn’t tell me all of this on the phone when they set up the appointment. I would have been a nervous wreck for the next three weeks.

When the doctor came in, she went over everything again, telling me much of what the nurse had explained. Football-shaped incision to remove all of the skin down to the fat underneath, with a double layer of stitches – the inner layer would dissolve, the outer layer would be removed in two weeks. The doctor demonstrated how she’d pull the surrounding skin together when stitching it up, and I joked that it was a good thing I lost so much weight in the past few years so she’d have plenty of loose skin. She also made a point to tell me that this would likely be an ugly scar. I replied that I didn’t have any plans of being a back model anytime soon, and I’m far past any years of wearing a bikini, so it was fine. Humor – easy to use as a shield when dealing with hard news.

The whole procedure lasted about 45 minutes. I expected one or two shots of lidocaine to numb the area, but it was more like 10-12. The bee-sting feeling slowly faded to nothing, and they were then ready to begin. I laid on my stomach, wondering if I needed to not breathe too deeply so I didn’t affect the depth or direction her scalpel was moving.

(Warning: This next paragraph is graphic – if you’re easily squeamish, skip to the paragraph after it.)

I felt the nurse pressing against my back several times, and when she sat the gauze on the tray I realized she was dabbing away all of the blood coming from the area. Then the doctor pulled out a little tool that made several beeping noises. I wasn’t sure what it was at first, until the smell hit my nose. She was cauterizing blood vessels – the smell of burning flesh is hard to mistake with anything else. There was a lot of blood.

(OK, the worst is over, squeamish people continue reading.)

As she was finishing the stitches – and that part took awhile, too – I realized this was likely going to hurt when the numbing wore off , and started asking about restrictions while it heals.

Clean it daily, apply petroleum jelly to keep it moist and keep it bandaged. No ibuprofen or alcohol for a few days because of a risk of bleeding too much. If it starts to bleed, apply pressure and call the doctor or go to the ER if pressure doesn’t stop the bleeding.

Limited movement and no lifting for the first couple of days, too, then slowly allowing more movement, but cutting back quickly if it starts to bleed. No stretching or strength training exercises for several weeks – yoga is right out. Running/walking is OK in a week or so as long as I don’t twist too much in my torso when I run.

I realized my plans for exercising more have been temporarily put on hold because of this.

The new section of skin that was cut out will be sent to pathology again to confirm that there were no abnormal cells around the borders, and to take a closer look at any remaining abnormal cells in the sample. If the borders are clean, then all is well and I can go back to regular skin check appointments. If not…well, then I’m guessing we do this whole process again and take more out.

I have a large pressure dressing on my back that I’ll be changing for the first time today, and finally getting the first look at the stitches. As I got dressed in the doctor’s office, the pressure dressing was solid white. Two hours later I had already done too much, as I could see the blood in the gauze. It hurts, and I forgot just how much we use our backs for practically ANY movement.

Still…there’s a bright side to this story, and it’s an important one. It wasn’t cancer. OK, I guess I can’t say that for certain until the pathology report on the new skin cells comes back, but we’re pretty sure I’m good. Regular dermatologist skin checks are important for detecting changes early and removing anything suspicious before it could become cancer.

And wear your sunscreen. All the time. Especially if you’re a fair-skinned Irish-blood like me. My skin might not be trying to screw with me had I been better at applying my sunscreen and didn’t try to be tan as a kid.

Irish Girl SunbathingMy childhood summers, summed up in one photo.

The sun worship is long over in this house. I’ll admit to being more than a little scared of my own skin now. Will it decide to turn on me? Will I catch it in time? Could I have prevented this by taking better care of it when I was younger?

And if ever I need a reminder to wear my sunscreen daily and put it on the kids as well, I need only look at my back and the ugly scar that will be forming there.

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