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Dec. 2nd, 2015 10:54 amA nurse called me back about two and a half hours after I initially called the doctor’s office yesterday. She seemed to have difficulty grasping what I was talking about. I kind of shrugged at that because I figured that, if I was going to have ill effects, they’d have started by then.
My doctor didn’t see the message about the whole thing until some time in the evening. She called me about 7:00. She and I talked about it and concluded that I shouldn’t take my normal dose of ranitidine last night but should pick it up again this evening.
I’m not sure that was a good call— I had reflux most of the night, nothing major, just enough to be uncomfortable, and things still haven’t settled this morning in spite of my having taken omeprozale (Prilosec). I’m really hoping that this will resolve quickly. It made me really iffy about my morning coffee, and I’m still not convinced that eating anything at all was a good idea, just going by how I feel, two hours later.
My sister called me this morning. She’s fairly cranky about all of the things the plastic surgeon didn’t tell her about the reconstructive surgery and about the fact that they gave her much bigger implants than she’d asked for (and, apparently, once in, that can’t be changed). She’s going to have to wear a compression bra 24/7 for the rest of her life to keep the implants where they’re supposed to be because, if they shift, she’ll need more surgery. If she wears a compression bra, she can still do her job. If she doesn’t, she can’t lift anything and so can’t do her job. At night, there’s a risk that, if she lies on her side, one of the implants will end up in her armpit.
She also wants me to emphasize to the medical oncologist that she had at least two distinct cancers. There may, based on where things were, have been as many as four distinct, unrelated cancers, but they didn’t do pathology on all of them. She’s pretty sure that this increases my chances not of a recurrence but rather of a completely new tumor.
Our other phone rang twice while I was talking to my sister. Once, it was the pharmacy. The other time, I have no idea as they didn’t leave a message. Most likely some form of robo call, probably telling us that we’ve won a free cruise or that there are no problems with our existing credit card accounts.
Scott and Cordelia took care of the string replacement yesterday as soon as Scott got home. It was, indeed, covered under our rental agreement.
The new school project for the upcoming quarter is a study of sugar in our society and in biology and all of that. I’m not sure exactly what the creative part of that will be, but that’s what they’ll be focusing on, and they’ve been assigned to groups for it.
Cordelia is not enjoying Disease Ecology at all. It’s scaring her because they’re talking about antibiotic resistance which, yes, is pretty damned terrifying. I’m not sure what to do about that. I think it’s an important issue, one that all adults should be thinking about, but I’m not sure what twelve year olds can do about it except worry.
My doctor didn’t see the message about the whole thing until some time in the evening. She called me about 7:00. She and I talked about it and concluded that I shouldn’t take my normal dose of ranitidine last night but should pick it up again this evening.
I’m not sure that was a good call— I had reflux most of the night, nothing major, just enough to be uncomfortable, and things still haven’t settled this morning in spite of my having taken omeprozale (Prilosec). I’m really hoping that this will resolve quickly. It made me really iffy about my morning coffee, and I’m still not convinced that eating anything at all was a good idea, just going by how I feel, two hours later.
My sister called me this morning. She’s fairly cranky about all of the things the plastic surgeon didn’t tell her about the reconstructive surgery and about the fact that they gave her much bigger implants than she’d asked for (and, apparently, once in, that can’t be changed). She’s going to have to wear a compression bra 24/7 for the rest of her life to keep the implants where they’re supposed to be because, if they shift, she’ll need more surgery. If she wears a compression bra, she can still do her job. If she doesn’t, she can’t lift anything and so can’t do her job. At night, there’s a risk that, if she lies on her side, one of the implants will end up in her armpit.
She also wants me to emphasize to the medical oncologist that she had at least two distinct cancers. There may, based on where things were, have been as many as four distinct, unrelated cancers, but they didn’t do pathology on all of them. She’s pretty sure that this increases my chances not of a recurrence but rather of a completely new tumor.
Our other phone rang twice while I was talking to my sister. Once, it was the pharmacy. The other time, I have no idea as they didn’t leave a message. Most likely some form of robo call, probably telling us that we’ve won a free cruise or that there are no problems with our existing credit card accounts.
Scott and Cordelia took care of the string replacement yesterday as soon as Scott got home. It was, indeed, covered under our rental agreement.
The new school project for the upcoming quarter is a study of sugar in our society and in biology and all of that. I’m not sure exactly what the creative part of that will be, but that’s what they’ll be focusing on, and they’ve been assigned to groups for it.
Cordelia is not enjoying Disease Ecology at all. It’s scaring her because they’re talking about antibiotic resistance which, yes, is pretty damned terrifying. I’m not sure what to do about that. I think it’s an important issue, one that all adults should be thinking about, but I’m not sure what twelve year olds can do about it except worry.
