Dental Doomsday

I "SHOULD" start doing things in order, more consistently, on time....wait, that would mean I had my shit together, which I clearly do not.

So much has happened that I have a retroactive list of things I need to blog about. Can you do that? Well kids, it's happening. I will start with the most recent, and most ridiculous.

Because of Ehlers- Danlos (MOFO) I need to have my teeth cleaned 4x a year. Yes, 4. All the water pik's, super floss, scope, flex-brush, dental dams will not save me. And like I have said before, I can't have a busted grill.

After sitting with the Orthodontist last week for an hour, here was the takeaway:

1. Are you under any stress? - No sir, none at all.
2. Try knitting or reading the Bible before you go to bed, it will help you sleep. If that doesn't work, take some narcotics.
3. Also - watching the history of Egypt is also good for snoozing.
4. I recommend two "splints" (two huge custom mouth guards) to be worn all day. Yes, you may speak with a bit of a lisp, but you will learn how to minimize it.
5. These splints are not covered by insurance.
6. For both, we can cut you a break, $2015, no payment plan.
7. Did I mention these are not covered by insurance?

Final thought, and I quote: "After reading your medical history - I have say - you must be REALLY angry at God"

And that is when I left. I cried in the stairwell for a good 5 minutes. Then I called Matt and cried some more. Then I came home and had a beer and started grinding my teeth because of the stress.


Next week will be better....no it won't stupid - glass half EMPTY bitch! (My inner voice yells this in Tourette - like tics from time to time - I try and tell that voice to STFU)

This week I call my Dentist, the one with the rumbly tummy? I say - hey man, it's been rough, my insurance won't cover ANY of my dental stuff and I just need a cleaning ( the one, the ONLY thing my insurance seems to cover me for) can you help a sista' out?

"Kate, I see you have an appointment on Friday, I don't think that is such a good idea"

And this is where Dental Doomsday continued. "Because of your "syndrome" I just don't feel comfortable - its really in your best interest."  Um, Doc - I just want my teethers cleaned!  "Go to a periodontist - they can help you" Um, I did and my insurance does not cover it Bro, and $165 - I just aint' got that kind of cash. (Ok so I didn't really get all ghetto on him, but it sounds better than trying to effectively convey my "on-the-verge-of-tears" voice.)

"I wish I could help, but I am but a small family Dentist and with your "syndrome" (interchangeable with cooties) you are just far to COMPLEX for me. Maybe try U Penn.

So, the final takeaway?

-Dental Doomsday rages on...and on....and on....

-U Penn for a dental cleaning? I might just get some scope, a safety pin, rubber gloves and some bubble gum toothpaste and call it a day.

- Dental insurance is not a real thing, its like a unicorn - they make you believe it exists, until you actually need one - like "Hey I need to ride into the enchanted forest and rescue the forrest animals, where the HELL is my unicorn??"

-Plastic hardware + lisp + broke ass from paying for hardware = a very bad time.

Did I mention that last week Aidan went to the dentist and has 4 cavities, one needs a crown and possible extraction? No, I will save that gem for another day.

Remember to floss kiddies...

Blood Bank Blues

To give or not to give...that was the question...

 Aidan and I were a the Y for my weekly post-op workout. I noticed a sign for a blood drive. PERFECT! Here is something I can do to feel "good" about myself, and you know, give back to all my peeps.

I fill out some paperwork. Get my sticker and am cleared for take off...well, not exactly. Let's stop here and assess my not-thinking-this-one-through.  This blog, just being the author of something containing the words "medical" and "mystery" should have been a HUGE red flag to send me running, ok let's not lie - walking/limping to the hills. Nope. Not this determined dumb ass. The nurse checks my vitals, I passed all the "You can't give blood if....." questions, which was either a miracle or HUGE oversight. I'm still on the fence.

Aidan hangs out at the after-blood-donation snack area and chats up a new friend while eating Utz pretzels.  Then, dun dun - dun dun...it's like shark week but scarier - it was time for the dreaded iron stick. The nurse informs me 12.5 was the "magical number" and I said, well what about an 11.8? No bueno said she.

I send all my super duper iron rich blood to the tip of my middle finger (it should be used to this by now - I do it so frequently) small stick and wait. It felt like the wait of a pregnancy pee test, only no red lines,  and not near the fan fare. Um......

I get the thumbs down. But first, she calls over another nurse, take a look at this she says. I thought - damn yo, I was just working out I know I look bad but give a girl a break. No, they did not care about me and my sweat stains, just my sad iron score.  I felt like I was in the olympics and just totally fucked the final vault. Even Kerri Strug got a second try...and a Wheaties Box.

I failed. Plain and simple. But you know when I do anything, I have to do it big - EPIC FAIL.
 12.5 - hell I would have taken a 5.5....see below for the sadness and the shockness that bestowed my nice nurse. "Maybe next time"......

Seriously, 0.0 ????

And so Aidan left with his free snacks and our Dunkin' Doughnut coupon - free doughnut and iced coffee for your blood, I mean troubles. My head hung in shame.  I shrugged my shoulders at the woman at the check in and said "denied" she looked like she understood, probably why she was working the booth.

One day...I still have dreams of making a Wheaties box, minus Béla Károlyi...and the leotards. 

The hip hip a hop, and you don't stop...

I always put off these posts. Why? Not because I DON'T want to write them, but because I DO want to write them. Make sense? Ya, I know - me neither.

I try and come up with these really cool, witty and smart tag lines. Take this one for example. I wanted to give an update on my hip. But what the hell would I call this post?? I already used the ever cool "hipster" and the Khia song from he debut album, Thug Misses,  "My Neck, My Back" - what else is left in this world?!?!?!?

So I turn to google.

Creative? Nah. Google it mo fo's! So I type in "hip" and sure enough - google saves me - how could I have forgotten about Rappers Delight Lyrics???  HIP HOP HIPPITY HOP! DUHHHHH.

Ok, so in an effort to try and assuage some of my anxiety that every post need be awesome, stellar, perfect, original, informative yet humorous, thoughtful and compelling...this ain't Oprah's Book Club Kate. ok ok ok. Here it is, without further b.s - or adieu, the 6 week update.

Drum Roll...........

6 WEEK Thoughts...(mostly rambling)

- From 2 crutches to 1 to NONE
- Driving automatic, 2 foot style - eekkkkk!
- If you are gonna use 2 feet, might as well go back to 3 pedals - zoom, zoom back to stick shift!!
- Sutures FINALLY fall out
- Still no actual strengthening work
- Leg severely atrophied does not look cute in shorts, wear pants or mumu
- You can paint your toenails! Screw that, go get a pedicure you deserve it! (HOT Pink!)
- You can run errands
- You can stop having people asking, "What did you do to your knee?" (I know, this makes no sense to me either)
- You can get blitzed - ok, a little now that you are not a hazard on crutches
- You can stop watching Toddlers & Tieras and Honey Boo Boo marathons
- You can shave your legs - needs no explanation
- You can stop playing the part of Boo Radley from TKAMB and go out and get some sun on your pasty self
- You are FREE.....ok, you are not free. No running, no skipping, no hopping (definitely no hip-hopping) no running, no "the splits", did I mention that you are FREEEEEE
- Physical Therapy only 1x a week and in the pool (since thats where you are doing most of your Boo Radley detoxification anyway)
- You can start writing your blog?!?!?

Hip Surgery...now I'm a real hipster!

So the date was set June 28th. I was to have my "deformity" un-deformed. First case of the day which meant 5:30 am call time...and we live 1.5 hours away. Do I go to sleep or just keep watching the Law and Order marathon? Tough call.

Off we went, my last time on two legs for 6 weeks.

My uniform. These hairnets and socks never stop looking...well, blue and butt ugly. I think a serious revamping in hospital fashion is in order. At least my feet will be warm in toasty while I'm in traction.

I get my nerve block in my hip, to help with the pain after, however it did not take as soon as they were hoping. I had some down time so I grabbed the binder with my name on it and thumbed through my chart. I came across a note from Dr. Love (cardiologist) clearing me for surgery, in his letter he referred to me as "educated and lovely patient who was a pleasure to treat" - I was feeling the love. Then they took away my binder. Boo. They wheeled me in and all of a sudden images of Sigourney Weaver in Aliens came to mind....whole new meaning to "getting on the table.

AHHHHHHH!!!! Traction Table

Mind you, they did not give me the sweet orange unitard. I thought this only happened once a year at the OBGYN...nope. My leg still was not numb so I put my own legs in the boot, they put the oxygen mask over my face and counted backwards from 10, I remember 8 then I awoke in recovery with my nurse, Mim.

Matt came in. Nerve block still not working so pain, lots of pain. Mim came to the rescue with some morphine and then performed a bedside Reiki treatment. Yes folks, this happened. Mim, the wonderful of the West and East. Lucky me...like I said, i'm always one for a bargain. I hung in recovery for a few hours and was moved to my recovery suite (don't be fooled, you only get to stay here once the juice wears off). Nerve block - finally working!!!!! - I think it was the magic of Mim. 

Matt and I had time to snap this for the family photo album

We left at 4am and got home just 12 hours later. For 6-8 hours a day, I would be strapped to yet another bionic looking machine. You know when you get the cart at the grocery store with the jacked up wheel? That was my version of the CPM machine for my leg. The sales rep got into an accident on his way to delivering it a mile from my house, I think they forgot to total the machine along with the car. poor guy had to come out on Saturday to replace it. They put the fuzzy fake sheepskin on it to entice you to use it, like "oh hey, that might be comfy - so comfy I could sleep in it!" LIES!

CPM Machine + Ice + Pink Pj Pants

2  Week Post - Op Thoughts:

- Crutches suck...hard. Cup Holder?

- Modesty goes out the window - you need help with EVERYTHING

- If you have any responsibilities at all, you can't do them so stop trying

- Yes, you need to have someone pick up your leg for you for a month

- If you drop something on the floor, fuck it - you can't bend over

- Shaving your legs? Get a friend with a steady hand whom you trust...a lot

- Leave a light on when you are crutching to the bathroom. in the dark.

- Close your eye- poof! - you are an infant trapped in an adult body - completely dependent for your basic needs.

- You are not alone. Lady Gaga and A-Rod had the same surgery. World Tours and World Series -      think of the things YOU will be able to do!

- Your arms are gonna be buff, look out Michelle Obama

- Netflix instant queue - I will dominate you!

 

My neck, my back...my HIP?

After years of ignoring, dismissing and resenting my knee I decided I owed our relationship more than just the brush off. I was in it, we needed to "heal" and get back to doing what we both loved: running. But we needed outside help - this was well beyond us "working it out ourselves." Knee and I went to see  Dr. Bones to see what could be done.

At the appointment I move my leg this way and that, up and down and all around. Bones looks at me and says, it's not your knee, it's your hip! All these years I had been blaming Knee! It wasn't knee - it was me (and my raging stupidity). He wanted me to have an arthogram done to further asses the damage.

Matt and I drove back 2 weeks later, I had a nice long needle with dye injected right into my hip joint under x-ray guidance - ouch! And then I was wheeled over to MRI. I get placed in the tube, the whirling of the machine begins and then I hear the tech in my headphones interrupting my Taylor Swift moment to say he needs to readjust me. He pulls me out of the tube, I scootch down, then up and then down some more. He loads me back in. This time Michael Jackson is playing! It is my moment! Then...errrp...the tech, again - he needs to readjust me, again. He pulls me back out, I scootch up, down, a litle more up, a little to the left. All the while I am missing my MJ moment in the MRI tube ( it was on my bucket list!) Finally, back in I go. MJ is over and Bieber is on. I sigh. The whirling starts..then errrpp....."Are you wearing a belly button ring? - Yaaaaaaa, I am gonna need to pull you out...again."

Two hours later, Matt drooling in the waiting room - we get our complementary CD and bounced. A week later, we head back to see Bones.

He pulls up the MRI and says:
You have a labral tear and FAI -femoral acetabular impingement - in your hip joint.  You have a mixed impingement type. In laymen-kate speak : the top part of your femur is deformed, it looks like a cam shaft while your socket pinches any soft tissue that might be dangling around. Your femur rubs abnormally in the socket and impinges the pinches labrum (soft squishy part of hip socket) resulting in a tear.

Um ok, so that means.....

That means you have premature hip ostoarthritis. You know, what old people get and need a fake hip.

Shit. And that means?

That means we need to do hip preservation surgery to try and put off a total hip replacement. But don't worry - I am a man with a plan!

Deformed, impinged, torn - is there any nice adjectives used to describe me today?
Matt says, "How about spritely?"

Plan: Arthoscopic surgery to perform periacetabular osteotomie(kate-speak: bone cutting and shaving to rid me of aforementioned deformity) and repair torn labrum with sutures and plastic anchors (kind of like what you used to hang up that a naked picture of your first born in the hallway. Crutches for 6 weeks, no driving for 6 weeks, no life - I mean no fun - I mean recovery for the whole summer, use a continuous passive motion machine (aka sit on floor with leg in fuzzy sheep cloth witha machine raises and lowers your leg) - for 6-8 hours a day - for 3 weeks, PT 3x a week for 2 months, and 6 months until you are back to full activity.

Thoughts: Running, you seem so close yet so far. Knee, I'm sorry about that misunderstanding, it truly was not knee it was me...Bones interrupts my processing and says, " I think you have the same thing going on in your left hip - just something to keep in mind as we move forward.....

Final Thought:  LIFE, whenever you want to get around to tossing, throwing or hurling that bone at me, I'm ready....

Here it is, like Shakira always said, "My hips don't lie"

Holey Mole-y!

So back when I could compartmentalize my vast amount of medical issues...wait, no that never happened. Lets try using the old calendar, back in January, my Oncologist said he wanted my itty bitty freckle on my lip removed. Here, I always thought it was cute. Well, after already having Melanoma, getting it again would not be cute, not at all. I said ok and put it on my to do list.

I decided to see a plastic surgeon, who I call Guy Smiley, because let's face it - with the Bells' Palsy, my face was already a hot busted mess. My surgeon told my how wonderfully symmetric and beautiful my face was, you know - minus the paralyzed eye and drooping lip. If anyone knows perfection, it's this guy - I was feeling pretty good up until he said he was going to "punch" out my freckle and stich me up. Wait, no glue? No steri strip? No band-aide? Oh snap.

So in April, I went "under the...hole punch?" He injected my lip and apologized all the while, it was agonizing - As I left with what appeared to be a bad filler job and some blue stitches - non desolving of course, you know - to add to the inconvenience. I came home, the numbing medication wore off and poof - I look like Shrek...

I return a week later to get the hideous stitches removed and be on my merry way. Errrrrrr, nope. Guy Smiley had other plans.  Upon inspection of the pathology report he stated he was "afraid of my genetics" and it needed re-excision. Great. More stitches - come on man, things were just starting to turn around in the face department! He also tells me to get the once over by his broski Dermatologist friend - you know, JIC there were any more "suspicious" freckles. So off I go, stich-less and hope-less.

I meet with Creepy Dermatology Broski two weeks later. Upon entering the room, he ALSO proceeds to tell me how distinguished and coveted my cheek bones, lips and jaw line are, "A lot of women pay me a lot of money to look like you" I wanted to ask if that included the Bells Palsy, or he just threw that in as a freebie? He then talked to me about his love of redheads as he scanned all 3.4 million of my freckles. After the "full body scan" I had but 1 questionable freckle on the back of my thigh, which with a little lidocaine and a scrape - was biopsied. He slapped on a band-aide, told me if I needed anything he was my "personal Dermatologist and I could get in to see him...anytime." He said the results would be back in a week but no news was good news.

A week later, my phone rings. Creepy Dermatologist calling! Your pathology came back and you have a dysplastic nevus that looks to be pre-cancerous. Gulp. Pause.Throw-up-in-my-mouth-a-little. We want to rule out melanoma so we need to re-excise the lesion and see if we can get clean margins. How does that sound?

Pause. Are you fucking KIDDING ME. Listen man, It's been a HELL of a year, to be honest - that sounds like BULLSHIT. But I refrained. Sounds...great Bro. 

I elected to have Guy Smiley give me a two-fer and redo the lip and throw in the thigh while he was scraping and sticking me. Thanks Doc. I schedule my double procedure for May 31st - keeping in mind I would once again have the bad-Kardashian-look for a few days. The day arrives, I am sitting anxiously awaiting the onslaught of injections to numb me up and swell me out. Guy comes in, takes one look at me and says, "What the hell is going on here" pointing to the dreaded Holter Monitor. I explain, he gives me the squint face and long pause. "What, what, WHAT?" I practically yell. Guy responds in typical Guy Smiley fashion, " You are going to hate me but..." Me - Please don't say I have to reschedule, I don't want to come back! At this point I am on the verge of crying or cursing. For Smiley's sake - I hold it together. He reschedules me 2 weeks later, at the convient hour of 7:30am.

This morning I arrive - ready for action! Guy comes in, apologies profusely as he stabs me a total of 13 times in the leg and lip to numb me up. Ding, ding, ding - removal of Kate's  potentially cancerous skin lesions - Take 3!

It's all over in 20 minutes. Guy talks about a tattoo artist he works with doing breast reconstructions who tattoos on aerolas as he sews up my lip. My face is covered in beta-dine and a plastic sheet. I can only imagine what tattooing an aerola is like - as I try and distract myself from the horror I would face if I were to look in a mirror right now. Yikes! I schedule my stich removal for next Friday. Hopefully, Guy is all Smiles next time I see him. Until then...Shrek Take 2  *Warning: Pictures are NOT CUTE*

Pump it up...

Kardashian-esque-Pale-Pucker

The two-fer...I'm a bargin shopper - always

Let the fast begin!

Never have I ever been more un-excited, un-thrilled (yes, these are made up words) and unfilled (this last one is real - and true). For the 3rd time this year I will go "down under" not in the Kangaroo, great barrier reef, and outback way. I will take a glorious Propofol induced siesta as my Gastroentrologist tries to "get to the bottom of things"...literally. Colonoscopy here I come! Wu-hoooooo

Let me count the ways in which I am enjoying my fast...oh wait, zero. It is only 10 am and despite eating left over gluten free pancakes at 11pm - I am starving. I have 30 hours to go until I can scarf down anything that does not go through a straw. A popsicle is not solid food - STOP the lies! Jello doesn't count when you have to eat the green flavor! Ok, ok deep breaths. 

Top Ten Prep Steps:
1. Do NOT watch Food Network
2. Do not go to the grocery store
3.Lay on couch and pretend not to think about food
4.Drink gatorade and veggie broth, and BULLSHIT popsicles
5. Avoid the kitchen like the plague
6.Crochet - except I crochet miniature food, last night I was working on a doughnut, scratch that plan.
7.Forbid the use, by all family members, of the downstairs bathroom
8.Stock said bathroom with various entertainment: ipod loaded with Enya, magazines, a nice candle
9.Avoid Facebook, Twitter and Instagram - food porn is rampent and no good for your fragile state
10.When you are done, start over at #1

Congrats Kate!!! - you have survived hour 1 of 30. Just keep swimming...