S'il vous plaît payer $37 tout de suite

Albert got a parking ticket in the mail yesterday. It was dated July 27. ..... 2007, from Quebec City.

I had intended to return the ticket with a nice letter last summer when we returned home from our trip. But of course it was just one of those things that never got done.

We did indeed get a parking ticket that day in Quebec. But not before plugging a faulty meter with about $12 in coins and receiving 22 minutes on the timer. We thought it would probably be more cost effective to risk a ticket than spend a hundred dollars trying to get the meter to give us 2 hours. And the fact is, we were probably longer than 2 hours anyway, but we did pay 12 dollars to park there.

I had a letter all written in my head as a response but Alb got to the task quicker than me this morning. This is probably a good thing - he's much friendlier than I.

They probably can't even read his English response. We'll see what happens.

Il tout sera bon.

Details, details, details.

This is my blog. Which is essentially my personal diary or journal of a record of what's going on in my life. It's always interesting to go back months or years later and be reminded of things that seemed so important at the time that I felt the need to make a record of it.

Obviously, breast cancer is taking a front seat in my life right now and lucky you, I have given permission for you to become a voyeur and peer inside my life. If you think you might be offended by graphic descriptions of my left breast then by all means feel free to avoid your voyeuristic tendencies until such time as something more pleasant consumes my life.
.........

I cannot believe how much more difficult I am finding it to bounce back after this second surgery. After the first surgery, I basically jumped off the operating table and never looked back. Of course there was lots of bruising and stuff to deal with but I was feeling pretty normal and headed back to work within a few days.

I know the body doesn't respond favourably to having anesthetic twice in two weeks, and the surgery was much longer, so I received a higher dosage of anesthetic, but I am just so exhausted all the time. If I nap too much during the day then I end up awake most of the night and the vicious circle continues.

As far as pain, I am not experiencing a lot because I am basically numb. However in the last couple of days the nerves have been repairing themselves and I get a continuous feeling of little electrical shocks. It's really quite bizarre - probably something that people into sado-masochism would find appealing. I however, am just not into pain for pleasure and it's more like Chinese torture - not extremely painful, just consistent annoyance.

I had my follow-up appointment with the surgeon yesterday. He is really pleased with the results, saying he got a good clean margin around the cancerous area. He explained how he had to take quite a bit of tissue from behind the areola, and had to basically skin graft the nipple back on. I guess this would explain why I looked like a sock puppet when I first removed the bandages. This is already starting to look a little better as the remaining tissue jostles around to fill the vacant spot.

The incision itself is not nearly as neat as it was the first time, but I guess that's to be expected when they had to cut through a half-healed scar. All-in-all I suppose its more attractive than a 10 inch mastectomy incision that would have been the routine treatment 25 years ago.

All of the results from the cancer lab in Vancouver are not back yet so I don't have the staging and class information or any of those interesting details that will determine what, if any, adjuvant therapy is needed. Adjuvant is a new word for me, so I thought I'd throw it in here and look smart. It just means "to assist" or "go along with."

Before the second surgery, Dr Simpson was quite confident that I wouldn't need further treatment. I don't think his opinion on this has necessarily changed, however he has told me that I will now be referred to Dr Bishop, the oncologist, and it will be up to him whether or not to proceed with further treatment.

So currently I am awaiting a call from Dr Bishop's office to schedule an appointment where I will receive the details of the pathology report and any recommended action. It sounds like it's a 2-3 week lead time from when you get the call until the appointment takes place, so I assume that will be sometime around the 20th of November.

In the meantime I am hoping to return to work on Monday the 3rd, but I suppose I should just concentrate on getting through today. It is now 1 pm and I will head to my bedroom, and once I arrive I will have to decide whether to get out of my pajamas or into my bed. Such a complicated life I live.

WARNING! Serious risk involved.

Jed and I were laying on my bed this afternoon discussing the new Wii and the fact that I would need to purchase another controller, a nunchuck, Dance Dance Revolution - one and two, and Wii Music will be released on November 14th.

I told him I'll be doing great if I actually get the thing out of the box before the warranty expires. On that note he decided we'd better take it out of the box and make sure everything was there. We inspected the console and contents of the box. He assures me it all looks good.

Then we opened the Wii Fit box.

The first thing to come out of the box is a bright coloured warning sign. I assumed it was a warning that persons with heart failure, broken limbs or who may be pregnant should consult with their doctor before using this equipment.

I was wrong. It clearly said: WARNING! When using this equipment others in the room will be able to see your weight and Body Mass Index.

I turned to Jed and said, "Carefully tuck everything back into the box and find the receipt."

Then I laughed and laughed till I nearly peed myself. Am I the only one who finds this to be the most ridiculously hilarious warning you have ever seen on something.

Happy Albert's birthday to me.

I'd laid around and slept so much on Friday that I ended up being awake most of the night. I sat in my computer chair doing "fluffy" web surfing. That's just clicking randomly on things to pass the time.

Of course no one else is on facebook at 3 am, making phonecalls wasn't really an option, and I didn't have the energy to pull out my paints and whip up a masterpiece watercolour to hang on my new walls.

I received an e-flyer from Superstore and began to flip through it. The coupon this week was for $35 dollars off ... if you spend $270. Somehow I couldn't imagine wandering the hallowed halls of Superstore piling that many groceries into a cart. That is until I "flipped" to the last page of the digital flyer - where they were advertising a Wii for, you guessed it, $270.

It's moments like this that my brain is able to process about 84 simultaneous thoughts:

Hey, I need one of those
Superstore opens at 7 am
It's Albert's birthday today
But he got a hot tub for his birthday
My boss charged me less for the hot tub than I was expecting
...so that should mean I have more disposable income. Right??
If I really don't use it, one of my kids would take it off my hands
I'll probably feel better if I get dressed and get a bit of fresh air today
They say using a Wii indeed qualifies as exercise
I need more exercise to get healthier, I am fighting cancer after all


Yes, there's a little insight into the twisted thought processes of Liana. And that's exactly how I came to use my $35 savings coupon before 8 am at Superstore this week. Perhaps Albert should have left me with a chaperon on Saturday as well.

Mary Poppins saves the day.

Friday Albert had to go to work so Barbee came and spent the day with me while Uncle Jim entertained Jed.

Barbee arrived with beautiful pink flowers in hand not long after Alb went to work, which is practically the middle of the night, so I made her climb into bed with me and have a nap until the painters arrived.

The contractors swear to me that they'll be out of here by the weekend - only a month behind schedule. There must be some kind of lesson or story for the blog here amongst the inches of drywall dust one must drift through while trying to recover from surgery and come to grips with the fact that they have breast cancer. But I for the life of me can't come up with one. It must be the rigid T3 schedule I am adhereing to that is preventing me from finding humour in the situation.


Thank goodness Barbee was here in the afternoon when the wind picked up. I was laying in bed drifting in and out of a drug induced stupor listening to Barbee's sewing machine hum in the kitchen and the wind howl outside.

I could hear stuff blowing around outside and got up to look out the back door. The $1100 pile of styrofoam insulation, intended for under the new siding, was floating across the back yard. Had Barbee not been here to play Mary Poppins as the wind carried her around the yard, the sheets of foam probably would have ended up blowing back to the yard at WR Ventures before Alb got home a few hours later.

Morphine and nachos and I can handle anything.

My second surgery, a partial mastectomy, was a little bigger production than my previous lumpectomy. Well actually as far as production goes, it was probably less involved, but the surgery and time in initial recovery lasted quite a bit longer. I did not have to go through the episode in the frozen mammography room with the vice grips and wire insertion and picture taking, thank God. If they'd have tried that with my previous incision and bruising still not completely healed, let me tell you, I'd either have be frozen from the neck down or someone would have gotten killed.

I was scheduled to arrive at Patient Registration at 11:30. I arrived a few minutes early and was being called into the OR before I even got my gown and slippers on.

I was asleep by noon and I was crying when I woke up about 1:10. I don't cry easily and I can only assume it wasn't caused by some tender touching dream I was having, but rather the extreme pain that I felt in what was remaining of my left boob. A nurse arrived right away and started pumping Gravol and morphine into my IV. If I'd had more energy I'da jumped off the bed and kissed her feet.

There was no "wide awake" feeling this time. I went through that "sleep for 15 seconds, wake for 15 seconds" routine that is more my normal way of awakening from anesthetic. I was not nauseous and my throat was hardly irritated at all.

I remained hooked to monitors and my IV, receiving hits of morphine, in the recovery room for 2 hours before they wheeled me to the day surgery room.

I could only see part of the waiting room from where my bed was and I couldn't see Alb.
"Is my husband here?" I asked the nurse.
"Not yet," her reply.

I was a little surprised by this since it had been three and a half hours since he left the hospital.

We repeated the same conversation a few times over the next half hour till finally about 3:40 I asked if anyone had actually called him yet. Of course they hadn't. So they did. And 10 feet away, on the bench in the hallway his phone vibrated. The poor guy had been waiting out there - with Jed- almost the entire time.

It took all the energy I could muster, along with help from Alb, to get dressed. I gladly accepted a wheelchair ride to the truck this time.

While I was exhausted, sadly surgery did nothing to suppress my appetite. I swallowed a couple of T3s and ordered up a plate of nachos from the kitchen. Probably not most people's first choice of meal after not eating for 20 hours and having surgery, but being a nacho-a-holic it's all I could think about.

Unlike the previous surgery, I didn't phone half my family, send out emails and blog immediately upon arriving home. I spent the rest of the day fading in and out of sleep and eating massive amounts of food.

It's hard to tell with all the bandaging (significantly more than last time) but there is a definite noticeable difference in size. The sister on the left, who used to be the dominant one, will spend the rest of her life in the shadow of her now larger sister on the right. Had I not just broadcast this to the entire world, no one besides me probably would have noticed.

Notice the bowl nearby just in case the nachos didn't sit well.
Turns out I didn't need it.

Na na na na, hey hey-ey, goodbye

That's the sound of me, kickin' breast cancer in the butt on it's way out the door today.

Once again, today I am "not eating after midnight" (last night) and "not wearing jewelry and hair products" as I prepare for surgery. A partial mastectomy they call it. It comes with a lovely drain tube and collection bag - I can hardly wait.

By this time last surgery day the procedure was pretty much over with, however today I'm in the afternoon group so fasting and coffee avoidance is a little more difficult. I had the pot of coffee half made before I remembered I wasn't allowed. It smelled yummy.

But I'm not complaining, I'm just thankful that I managed to bump someone and get in within 3 days. God is good. I want to think the bumped person gave up their spot voluntarily for their own reasons. Either way - God bless them with something super cool today.

The C-word

To me "The C-word" has always been a pseudonym for that disgusting word that means female genitalia.

Ever since I was called in for re-examination in the mammogram clinic in August, people have been great - praying for me and giving me encouragement and quoting encouraging statistics, and I appreciate all of that, but the entire time I knew that I knew that I knew that I was going to be in the 1-in-8 women who will be diagnosed with breast cancer.

So in the meantime I accepted that and delved into research. Once again I thank God for Google and the amazing mind-boggling internet. I checked out treatment options, read other women's blogs, and even scoped out wigs. (I am not a hat and scarf type of girl) I wondered if I'd be able to get fake eyebrows. I think that's what I notice most about people going through chemo - they have no eyebrows. (And honest Jesse, I don't have an eyebrow fetish.)

People often asked me what is the percentage of breast lumps that are benign? I know I read that more than once, but I never paid much attention cuz I just knew benign was not something that I was dealing with. (For those who care, it's about 80% - good news for most women)

When I checked-in with reception to receive my results from the surgeon today, there was a stack of newspaper style newsletters on the desk called Abreast in the West. I tucked one into my purse. The lead article was entitled The Other C-Word. I turned to Alb and said, "That's the title I've had in my head for my blog announcing the fact that I have cancer." My second choice was I Don't Even Like Pink!

The doctor entered the room, shuffled my file a bit and said, "I have good news!" I was actually surprised and in disbelief because I was expecting the C-word diagnosis. But then he went on, "Well, actually I have not-so-good news as well. You do have cancer. But it's a best case scenario. Well, as best case as having breast cancer can be."

He went on to tell me that he will need to do further surgery sometime in the next couple of weeks. He will adjust his schedule and bump someone for me. (Sorry, bumped person. I wish a special blessing from God upon you.) The doctor is confident that another surgery is all the treatment I am going to need. He doesn't anticipate the need for chemo or radiation or a mastectomy. Which will mean no wig, no pasted on eyebrows and no play dough boob to fill my bra. Hallelujah.

So while the diagnosis of cancer is a major event in one's life, to me at this point, the diagnosis I received actually feels like a relief. That's the explanation I had for the doctor when he asked why I appeared so calm.

He turned to Alb and asked how he was feeling and if he had any questions. Alb explained that he couldn't help but feel that God was watching over us - with the timing of me going for my first ever mammogram and everything. The doc said, "That's exactly it." And explained that he couldn't be happier with the prognosis. Even though the cancer is so small it could not be felt, the mammogram picked it up. Had I waited until a lump was felt, who knows how many months or years it would have had to grow and spread before it was noticed. He said I was a poster child for the reason they do screening mammograms - it's because they work for early detection. (He actually said I was a "classic case" but the term "poster child" sounds more prestigious to me.)

As I originally intended, I have titled this blog entry The C-Word. However, in thinking about using a pseudonym for the word cancer, it somehow gives it a looming scary unspeakable presence that I refuse to allow it to have.

So from here on, cancer will be cancer and I shall stare it in the face and not tip toe around it, nor back down.

Trying to make dollars and sense of my budget.

I've been doing online banking for quite a number of years now. There's always a "click here to download" link at the bottom of the page. This allows you to copy your banking activity to Quicken or some other program for easy bookkeeping.

I've never "clicked here to download." What would be the point. The whole reason I bank online is so that I don't have to book keep.

With my recent surgery, renos, dealing with Community Living, and all the other excitement life brings, my mind is feeling a little cluttered lately. At least that's the excuse I'm using for forgetting to make a time slip at work this month. Who forgets to make a time slip? Apparently me. My punishment? No pay cheque this month.

I will get paid for the hours eventually - probably next pay period. Which is a good thing because, coincidentally, Canfor informed Alb that he'd recently been over paid for some vacation time and they will be taking it back next payday. So, you see, God works things out in mysterious ways. I just hope He remembers that double my pay cheque is still less than half of Albs.

And coincidentally, this is the month truck insurance is due, both vehicles need new tires, city utilities were due for 2 houses, Alb's licence needs renewed, the siding for the house needed to be paid for, the tv pay-per-view package is up for renewal. Oh, and I bought a hot tub on a whim at work.

We are very blessed. I know this. However on occassions, such as this month, my blessings require a bit of a numerical juggling act. I set out to do that this morning and logged into my online banking.

Just for fun (you know I lead a dull life when I call banking "fun") I pressed the "click here to download" button. I saved every banking transaction from January 1st to October 17th into a spreadsheet.

Spreadsheets are fantastic inventions, eh? At the click of a button you know that you've spent about $150 on banking fees so far this year. And Tim Hortons - not counting the times we have used cash or Tim Cards - we have visited 102 times and sipped back just pennies short of a thousand dollars. A THOUSAND DOLLARS!! When I think this through, it totally should not shock me. But it did.

I had some other shocks too. Truthfully, too many to list. But let's just say, we will either start making our own wine again or start drinking water. And if I return all the empties, I could probably pay for the new tires.

This is about as political as I get.

I know it's a valuable right that we, as citizens, are entitled to help determine the governing body of our country. But a person should really make a bit of an effort to make an informed decision before placing their check mark. It would be preposterous to chose because of someone's age, sex, race or hometown.

58% of registered voters actually made the effort to vote. Count me in the minority group of the other 42%.

It's not that I'm totally uninformed. Mostly, but not totally.

It's not that I'm totally complacent. Mostly, but not totally.

The candidate I would have voted for has won in this area by at least a 3-1 margin in the last few elections so I figured why bother.

As suspected, nothing was achieved by this pointless enormous expense - other than it was a minor diversion from the overwhelming invasion of American politics.

Besides, there's something totally wrong with the system when a party that receives only 10% of the country's votes manages to get 50 seats in the house (or 18% of the total seats) and another party gets 7% of the votes and zero seats. blah blah blah

I just didn't have the energy to participate.

However I had to rip up my voter card and get rid of it so my son would quit harassing me about not doing my civic duties.

Ha ha ha. I have to share this with you.

Yeah, so I have this basket of towels, candles, shells and paraphernalia in my bathroom. I was sitting doing my business last night and I totally had a moment of pure vision. (That's an art term for seeing what's really there, not the whole picture, or what you think you see.)

The shells, which I collected at Jamie and Ara's wedding, have been there collecting dust for two years. It wasn't until last night that I saw them as a representation of my boobs. I guess I never saw it because until now, my left boob wasn't dark and colourful.

My apologies, but I just had to share. Just be thankful that I've tucked the actual photos away, resisting the urge to be an exhibitionist.

When curiosity gets the best of you.

Have you ever tried to stop yourself in the midst of an action, knowing full well you intended on carrying it through? I mean more than just trying to stop peeing mid-stream.

I did that yesterday.

My instructions on leaving Day Surgery on Thursday were to "not shower for a few days" and "leave the dressing on." However they gave me two fresh dressings "just in case" I needed them.

After 48 hours the incision was obviously healing cuz, as incisions do, it started to get itchy. I gently rubbed the area to relieve the itch. And each time I did, I couldn't resist "accidentally" hooking my fingernail under the edge of the bandage and giving it a little tug. Because if the tape "fell" off, then I would have no choice but to change the dressing and investigate just what sort of damage had occurred at the hands of the surgeon.

I armed myself with a fresh dressing and my camera and stood topless in front of the bathroom mirror. I managed to get the adhesive picked and peeled away from the "unaffected areas" but when it came to pulling it away from the incision, I lost all colour and I felt nauseous. I was a little woozy.

"Just let it go," I told myself. "Re-apply the tape and forget this insane morbid curiosity."

Of course, I knew the entire time there was no way I was not going to follow through. I even had to sit on the toilet seat for a moment to recompose myself. I told myself that if I passed out and ended up on the floor, it was going to be my drywall contractor that was going to find me half naked, camera in hand, with a black, blue and purple boob that had had the nipple cut nearly off then re-attached. Regardless, I continued to pick away at the adhesive until I was completely exposed.

To be truthful, it wasn't as bad as I was expecting, however there are some things a person just shouldn't see. (I was thankful that I did get stitches rather than the expected staples.)

I was reminded of a time years ago when in the hospital after giving birth, the girl in the bed next to me used a hand mirror to investigate the aftermath of an episiotomy. Her reaction was enough to deter me from doing so for four births. ... sadly, 26 years later, her reaction had faded from my mind.

It was worth it.

I don't think I'd be willing to go through surgery every week just to get obedience and respect, but for this week, it worked.

I know when it comes to my blogging, Jed is a hot topic because he provides so much material on a daily basis. But to be fair, I must also show that he does have a touch of sensitivity and love for his mother on occasion.

The night before my surgery he had to dig out his Superman costume and get our picture taken together. I think somehow he was trying to rescue me.

It was touching.

After I'd been home from the hospital for a few hours I wanted a stir fry or some sort of veggies. Jed offered to order Chinese food and insisted on finding the phone number in the book and writing out the list:

Somehow from this list we ended up with:

1 Almond Chop Suey

1 Large Prawns

1 Chicken Chow Mein

1 Sweet & Sour Pork

1 Small Spring Rolls

It was delicious.

Later, I asked him to make me a cup of tea. I have 2 mugs I drink from: my purple pansies mug from Terri at work, and my blue cat mug from Alb that, 5 or 6 years ago, originally held a flower arrangement.

My tea arrived in a mug he had dug up from the depths somewhere:


No comment, just the mug of tea and honey.

It was refreshing.

Run Forrest Run

Did you know they give you boxers to wear with your open back hospital gown? I sat in the Day Surgery waiting room for only 15 or 20 minutes before they called me to go to the mammography room. This is a good thing because I don't think I could have listened to Spongebob blasting on the waiting room tv for one more annoying minute.

"I thought I was getting some freezing before coming here," I said to the nurse as she was leading me to mammography. The thought of a 10 inch wire being poked into my breast au naturale was not all that appealing to me.

"They do that in the room," she responded.

As we entered the room, otherwise known as a walk-in freezer, I realized my whole body was probably going to be frozen in no time.

They had me lay on the bed on my right side and wangled the bed around so they could stretch my left boob into the vice machine. That didn't really work so I had to flip my head to the foot of the bed and lay on my left side sort of propped up with wedges.

It was sort of bizarre the way it seemed like trial and error to get me positioned. It was almost like they'd never done this before and it struck me as funny that they would have a difficult time getting the large mass of floppy flesh to get into position.

I asked, "How the heck do you do this with women with peanut sized breasts?" They laughed but didn't have an answer.

Once they got me squeezed into the jaws of the vice I'm sure they could have pulled the bed out from under me and I'da hung there by my boob. I suspected that they probably wouldn't even need to put freezing in because all feeling and sensation was soon gone from the massive pressure.

Then I had a thought: I could probably avoid surgery altogether if they'd just tighten up the machine one more notch. My breast would have popped like a giant zit and the whole procedure would have been over with.

They took some images and put them on the screen. These were not nearly as beautiful and awe-inspiring as the recent ultra sound images of Baby X that I got to see 2 weeks ago when I went in with Jade and Ken.

For some reason I was expecting to see a defined little spot like a peanut or kidney bean, but in fact it looked like I was housing a fuzzy tarantula or something.

"Ok, we are lined up nicely. Dr Chewy(I'm sure his name has a more Chinese spelling) will been here momentarily. Don't move." Yeah. Like that was an option.

It didn't take long for the freezing to take effect and Dr Chewy expertly inserted the fine wire needle. They call it a wire. It's more like a sword.

Since the wire was inserted on the underside, and the girls are heavy and hang low, especially when unsupported, it was obvious that I was going to have a belly button piercing by the time I got back to the OR. So they covered the wire with a paper cup and taped it to my chest. I looked just like Madonna in the 80's.

I wished I had brought my camera. Oh well I thought, I'll get Alb to take a picture with his phone when I get into my bed back at Day Surgery.

I didn't even get to get into a bed. They met me half way across the floor and said they were calling for me in the OR already.

Before I knew it, I was laying on a block of ice in another equally cold freezer room getting hooked up to wires and needles. I reminded them not to over anesthetize me, I had to be awake for the first Canuck puck drop of the season. At 10:05 I closed my eyes.

At 10:40 I heard the Dr say, "Mrs Ziemer everything went really well." I opened my eyes and I was awake. It had been my intention to take advantage of the situation and sleep all day, but no. I was awake. I wasn't groggy. I wasn't nauseous. Thank God for His mercies large and small.

My throat was irritated from the tube that had been inserted. I coughed and hacked like a smoker for half an hour before they got tired of listening to me in the recovery room and wheeled me to the Day Surgery room. I knew that I just needed a coffee and all would be well. They don't serve coffee in bed there so I called for my jeans and shoes. At 11:30 I was walking out of the hospital feeling in fine form.

I was still feeling wide awake when I got home so I had toast and coffee and made some phone calls then flicked on the tv. About 1:00 my body was reminding me that my left breast had been frozen and this was no longer the case. I took a couple of T3's and life was good again.

God is good. Thanks for all your prayers. It'll be 7-10 days before I get the results from pathology.

And that's all I have to say about that. Life is like a box of chocolates, so run Forrest run.

I cheated just a little.

It's surgery day. I was awake by 5. That sucks.

I tossed and turned until 6 and decided since its only an hour and half till I have to leave for surgery I may as well get up and get ready. No coffee and no breakfast this morning. My two pills and a mouthful of water will have to carry me through.

"No jewelery," they said. And no lotions. No make up. No deodorant. No hair products. No bra. So it took me a minute and a half to get ready. Now I wait.

Ok, I cheated a little. I used hair products. I know I went all week last week simply spraying my hair with water, but I had to use a little dab of mousse. And a few shots of hair spray. I mean really, why is it necessary to have flat hair so they can puncture a hole in my breast with a knife. It makes no sense.

There'll be no big 80's hair for me this week.

I've needed a hair cut for a couple of weeks. I was having a hard time coordinating with my hairdresser because her working hours are just about exactly the same as mine. I could get in on Saturday, but I really don't like going on Saturdays so I decided I could OD on hair spray and get by until next Tuesday. And instead I pampered myself with a new raspberry swirl bubble bath bar from Lush for $8.95.

That night I had the typical "I'm fine! I don't need a shower" fight with Jed. I always win.

He emerged from the shower smelling fantastic, and then running for his life, when he informed me he had used my bubble bath bar as shower soap. It had dwindled down to about the size of a nickle - enough to make bubbles in a teaspoon, not a bathtub.

He eventually did give me an honest-to-goodness apology. I've probably only gotten about 5 or 6 of those from him in his life. Usually it's, "Well sor-ry!" He also offered to to buy me a new one. I was stilled ticked off, but tried to get over it because he truly was sorry.

I cannot stress how much I hate hate hate sharing a bathroom.

By the end of the week I came to realize there was no way I could make it to Tuesday before getting my hair cut. It didn't matter how much hair spray and gunk I used my hair was weighted down and flat within 20 minutes. I called and changed my appointment from Tuesday to Saturday.

Of course when I got home today from the hairdresser, I had to wet my hair, re-dry and fluff it the way I like it. It's quite short, but I like it. I finished it off with a quick burst of hairspray and it immediately went flat. What the ****?

I tasted my hairspray. Sure enough, Jed had felt so bad about wasting my bath bar that he topped up my hair products for me. Yup, I'd been spraying my hair with water all week.

Oh, Scorvana

I had about 150 customer file folders to go through at work. I needed to take them from their drawer in the cabinet to the desk in the other room. I had to do this in 3 trips.

As I was piling the first batch into my left arm I realized that I was in fact carrying the pile as much with my boob as I was with my arm. For some reason this struck me as funny and I blurted out to the 5 or 6 fellow employees and customers nearby, "If I have to get my left boob cut off, I'll never be able to carry this many folders." For the most part this was met with shocked silence. Except for Nikki, who always has something to say, "Oh, Scorvana. You scare me."

I have no idea where "Scorvana" came from, but that's what most of the girls in the office, including the boss, call me.

A while later, one of my male coworkers called me over to his desk. "Are you really gonna lose one of the twins?" he asked.

He is a huge Edmonton Oilers fan and we are always bantering back and forth about hockey, so my first thought was, "Are there rumours about the Canucks separating the Sedins?" But then I realized he was referring to my earlier comment.

"Oh. Nah. At least I'm not expecting to."

"Oh, okay. I was just gonna say that Beck and I just bought some tubes of play dough. We could make a new breast for you, if you need it."

Now that was funny. I know many would be offended, but I could sense the under tone of serious concern covered up with sarcasm. And I appreciated it.



Surgery to remove my lump is scheduled for Thursday Oct 9. I expect to emerge with an intact boob containing a couple of staples.