I wake, discovering Selma, my left boob, is unwell, a week after surgery.

Me: Selma, you’re hard and you’re red and you’re hot. What’s going on?

Selma: It is my boiling outrage!

Me: Ummm…these are warning signs that something could be wrong, like sepsis.

Selma: This is probably your fault.

Me: My fault?!?

Selma: Remember that dream you had two nights ago, about the boob in front of you that was itchy and you scratched it?

Me: That was a great dream–so satisfying.

Selma: That probably wasn’t a dream.

Me: I’m supposed to do something if you have an abscess.

Selma: I have been mightily abused of late, and I shall have my revenge! I am Furiosa!

Me: That was a terrible movie.

Selma: It was a feminist anthem! I am Furiosa!

Me: [Sighing] Let’s go wake up Dante to take us to the ER.

Selma: [sotto voice]: FURIOSA!!!!!

Me: [sotto voice]: That was a wonderful dream.

I attended my first Dolly Parton concert when I was two, in 1977. I was cooking the other day when my notifications started going off like crazy. Once I was able to clean my hands, I saw why: my friends were giving me their condolences that she was gone. I have a lot to say about her, but since then I’ve also lost Tim Curry and Gloria Steinem, and the world keeps tipping off its axis.

I have cried several times over Dolly’s passing. I still haven’t cried about the cancer, but I have about the outpouring of support I’ve received.

There’s a lot of good and bad right now. Some of the good: Dante is the teacher of record for the first time, I got to see a great play last night at B Street, and I signed the divorce papers (now the state just has to stamp them)!

This morning, I went into Sacramento for another biopsy, this time to put a radioactive seed in me, where the density is. (Maybe this post should be a short story about the density, which I’m bolding because that’s how I pronounce it.) After making sure, with a geiger counter, that it was working, they sent me home and told me no babies or small animals should touch my boob, but my baby girl, Snowball II, jumped right up on it. She’s now pouting, away from me, because I told her she could be on any body part but that one.

Last night and tonight I have to take an antibiotic shower and then put absolutely nothing on my hair or skin (besides pjs) and sleep on clean sheets, before getting to the hospital at 5:30 a.m. for my 7:30 surgery.

I’m guessing since I’m not even allowed to put on under eye cream that I shouldn’t take a magic marker to just above my breasts. I was going to write “Patty” with a 🙂 over the right one & “Selma” with a 🙁 over the left one, just to help, in case the seed or the biopsy holes on Selma weren’t enough to guide them toward the problematic one.

(Maybe this post should be about what kind of radioactive powers Selma will get.)

I’ve gotten my sick bed set up, with special pillows, and a small collection I’ve started of Funko versions of strong women to help see me through. The Dolly one is modeled after her 1977 tour.

I guess this post was about her after all.

About 8 years ago, my son and I were walking into the UCD Comprehensive Cancer Center. I was there to perform my Chronic Pain: A Comedy show. Dante said it was “ironic that you’re doing this in the center for the one thing you don’t have. Yet.”

The time has come for me to walk into the Cancer Center for the normal reason. I will have a lumpectomy in a couple of weeks. About a month after that, I’ll start radiation (every weekday, for 4-5 weeks).

(I will likely have a medical device implanted in my back after radiation but before Winter Quarter classes start, while I’m off for Fall Quarter.)

And then 5-10 years on estrogen blockers.

So many things happened in London, Granada, and Oxford, but this is just a quick wrap up of the last two weeks.

I:

• found Shaun (my mini) completely covered in pollen
• got my grades in
• had good Mexican and Southern food again
• proofread the divorce papers: almost done!
• had an extremely painful biopsy (they used a drill, which spun around inside me), resulting in a hematoma with a two-inch diameter
• made one of my favorite summer dishes
• finished a few books
• turned 51
• was given a castle cake
• bought myself a tea cabinet and put it together
• was told by a pain psychiatrist that I need to be less stressed
• was informed I have breast cancer: it’s “stage zero,” the best kind, with the highest survival rate
• was advised I will likely need a lumpectomy
• got heat rash between my breasts, partially caused by the hematoma
• followed the directions on a sign when I was checking in for my migraine appointment by telling the staff person I had a heat rash, leading to the computer system freaking out and almost not letting me see my neurologist
• got a hug from my neurologist, with good wishes for my recovery
• confused a shot nurse, since I already had a bruise, from another shot, where she was planning to bruise me
• had 13 health appointments
• got my timing mixed up for two of my health appointments
• knew enough of Snowball’s language to understand that she a) had lost something she wanted to hunt (it’s a low, mournful cry) & b) wanted me to help her (higher pitched, short cry). I moved some stuff around until I uncovered the already-tail-less lizard, whereupon her hunt resumed
• had a bunch of movies on while I puttered: Houseboat; The last two Mission Impossibles; Mars Attacks; The Great Muppet Caper; Palm Royale; The Apartment; Four Weddings and a Funeral; The Birdcage; Good Omens Season 3; Rental Family; How to Steal a Million; Bringing up Baby; Dirty, Rotten Scoundrels; I Was a Male War Bride; It Happened One Night
• sobbed at the ending of Good Omens
• have not cried about the cancer
• gave Snowball her flea treatment, which required holding her hard, which she said hurt; when I went to make up with her, she was still speaking to me, but it was mostly a quiet sound that I think means “why?“
• found Taylor Tomlinson’s latest special quite good
• finished Season 2 of Palm Royale, started long ago
• finished a rewatch of Firefly, started in Oxford
• seriously hurt my back carrying around my book finds at the Library sale
• started this list in the airport on the way to Indy
• set off the alarms through security, which confused me, until I remembered there’s still a piece of metal in my boob

Today is the birthday of my third Great-Grandmother, born in Quebec (1852) as Marie Eloise Pare, buried 92 years later (1945) in Indiana as Mary Louise. (Her married name was Pagin.) I had about twenty years with her granddaughter, Bessie; my grandfather had more years with Mary, though he only saw her a few times.

The records say she was beautiful and that she spoke better French than English. While her official job on the census was “housewife,” she was also a midwife. My grandfather remembers her as stately, with her many children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren being extremely polite to her. When the family was all together, she would sit at the table while the younger generations played cards.

I’m honored to share a birthday with her.

I’m in the waiting room for a contrast-enhanced biopsy of my left breast.

I’ve had to wait too long for it.

I always have my annual mammograms in late May. This year, I got a letter saying leftie had a spot that was denser than rightie and thus I needed a contrast-enhanced mammogram. I called, rather than waiting for them to call me, to ask if it was safe to wait until I got back from Europe. They scheduled that second mammogram right away, though. So it was the penultimate day before I left, June 12th, that we did it.

On Monday, June 15th, I got the news that I needed a biopsy. But I was in a hotel room in London. I wrote to my study abroad boss right away. I also called UCD Med right away (leaving a message), to ask if I should wait until I returned in six weeks or if I should try to set up a biopsy in Oxford in July.

My boss got back to me right away. UCD didn’t.

I had a week in London and then a week in Granada, where I was the keynote for a conference. The whole time, I was trying to reach UCD and to figure things out with my travel insurance, who was assuring me I could have a biopsy if it was “medically necessary.”

They postulated that I needed to see a GP & probably have a mammogram in London or Oxford before I could have a biopsy there. I negotiated, explaining what the second mammogram letter said & how it was actually a waste of their money to have me see a GP and to do a third mammogram.

Reader, I convinced them.

On the day my travel insurance was to schedule a biopsy in Oxford for June 8th, UCD finally got back to me, explaining that their scheduler had been on vacation & that I shouldn’t have a biopsy in Oxford, because they would do a regular one & UCD was insisting on the contrast-enhanced one, which is apparently a brand-new way to do it in our health system.

They said I could wait until the last week in July. Which would have been nice to know weeks before. I lost SO many hours to this, hours I could have been sightseeing or, more likely, working.

I thanked my travel insurance for working with me. However, my journey with UCD wasn’t over. They couldn’t give me a concrete appointment time (the calendar wasn’t open). They said they left a note with the scheduler, to put me on sometime on July 29th. It was only last week that they told me exactly when to come in.

But it’s finally happening.

I’ll find out the results Monday afternoon, aka my birthday.

Q: Don’t you usually do a “by the numbers” wrap up?

A: I am too discombobulated to count.

Q: So you don’t know how many books, etc.?

A: I read a lot of books, had a few mystery bruises, saw a few plays and some stand-up, went to a wine tasting…

Q: So what’s got you discombobulated?

A: This year has been … a lot. I’m leaving for Europe today, and I’ve never been more behind on my work.

Q: Why?

A: Well, grading takes so much longer now, and my body is being particularly horrible.

Q: Do you have more students or something?

A: No. It’s taking longer because they’re doing so much worse than ever before. It doesn’t take long to grade a great or even adequate paper. They’re saying things in their papers that just aren’t true.

Q: They’re lying?

A: Not intentionally, I think. Part of it is that their reading comprehension is incredibly bad. And some of them aren’t reading at all: AI is summarizing everything for them. Thus, they’re saying things that aren’t true, and they’re saying them badly. People who don’t read can’t write well.

Q: Isn’t that kind of snobby?

A: Could you write a decent scientific literature review if you’d never read one?

Q: Ah…nope!

A: And they’re cheating with AI so much more–so I have to fill out all this extra paperwork. Some admit it right away and apologize, but some maintain their innocence for months and then don’t apologize, even though they both cheated and lied. One was outright rude in class, playing on her tablet with noise cancelling headphones: god forbid my lecture might make it hard to hear her media. I’m not done with my grading for this term, and I haven’t got the Canvas page up for the course that’s starting any minute now. And don’t even ask about the keynote talk I have to do next week.

Q: I’m guessing the stress is aggravating some of your chronic pain.

A: A few weeks ago, I couldn’t chew on my right side because of jaw stuff. After paying almost a thousand in various treatments, I can chew, but it still hurts. I have to have a surgery when I get back for my lumbar spine: they’re going to put a do-hickey in to give me electric shots.

Q: What? A do-hickey?

A: That’s the technical term. And something’s really wrong with my GERD: the acid is affecting my vocal cords. This morning, I haven’t eaten anything, but my GERD thinks I’ve had spicy Indian food while lying down, Roman-style. I’ve had a rib go out…I’ve had nine health care appointments just this week & three pharmacy visits.

Q: Nine?

A: I cancelled one, to make more time to work. My mental health therapy [laughs].

Q: [Laughs] Kind of on the nose for you to put off mental health for work. What good memories will you have of these last four weeks?

A: My son’s hooding ceremony for their Masters, walking in hurricane-y winds with Michael to find a restaurant whose power was on, a Delorean rising in the air on stage in front of me, Meyer lemon margaritas with Rae, getting my certificate in Teaching for Global Learning, an Anarchist Solar Flair Albarino, Luis finding a new favorite thing, Snowball saying “yeah” when I asked her if she wanted me to open the bedroom door so she could yell at me better (I’m not allowed to go upstairs during the day), being interviewed for a news story, my seniors’ stand-up comedy show, having Japanese with Dante to celebrate the end of my gluten tolerance test month, my nephew acting out a scene from a musical while Melissa and I ate dinner, Heather encouraging me to not take it personally that some students aren’t putting the effort in, getting to see a few other friends, the gladioluses (gladioli?), which are in season, peaches and plums from my friends’ trees, a student coming up to me with tears to thank me for an inspirational talk…that last one sounds weird.

Q: Yeah, I little Trumpy.

A: [laughs] Big student, strong student, with tears in her eyes…Speaking of tears, Giles the Watcher died. I’ve had to watch Buffy while doing my packing.

Q: You’re about to get on a plane. Do you have all your medical stuff?

A: The overstuffed backpack has the prescriptions, a back brace, etc. What I’m missing is the results of the month’s second mammogram.

Q: What?!?

A: Oh, yeah. The first mammogram wasn’t “symmetrical,” so something was either wrong with the picture or with lefty here.

Q: Lefty?

A: Selma.

Q: You call them Patty and Selma?

A: [Laughs] Just thought of that now, actually! I’m taking them to see 8 plays in my 5 days in London. Hey, I can count again!

Q: Can we go back to how you’re waiting on mammogram results? That must be part of the discombobulation.

A: No time! The play’s the thing!

Q: That’s about catching the conscience of the king.

A: The play’s the thing to change the consciousness of this queen!

About a month ago, my jaw started giving me problems–more than usual. I have had TMJ (now called TMD) since I was a teenager. I’m really careful about what and how I chew (no gum, etc.), and while I don’t usually grind my teeth in the daytime, I definitely do at night. Night guards sometimes make this worse.

My teeth: There’s something in here! Fuck! Let’s grind whatever’s keeping us apart to dust!

The muscle tension keeps pulling me out of alignment, and I keep having my massage therapist and chiropractor line me back up again, but the pain got so bad. I can feel the muscle tension on my jaw’s right side pulling my lips, my eyes, my cheek bone.

My right side has TMJ and arthritis: overachieving in terrible ways.

I remembered that I had terrible TMJ pain the last time a wisdom tooth came in, and so I found myself at the dentist’s office this week. My one remaining wisdom tooth is just hanging out, we found.

My dentist, feeling my jaw from the inside: “Yeah, this is your TMJ–you’re insanely tight.”

He said I needed Botox in my jaw, stat.

I’m supposed to get Botox in my jaw every three months, actually. It’s just that my neurologist, who administers it, is usually booked up so much that it’s four-five months between visits.

This time, I haven’t seen him since early November. I’m not on his calendar again until August. (In addition to his having too many of us to see, he had some kind of injury a few months ago that meant we all got our appointments cancelled.)

I’m leaving to teach overseas in three weeks. My dentist and I weren’t keen on me going to a beauty place for help: they’re notorious for not having actual training and not using actual Botox. He thought one of my neurologist’s peers should help. UCD didn’t seem to think so.

Luckily, my work wife told me last night that Planned Parenthood does Botox now, at a lower cost than the beauty places.

Oh, Planned Parenthood, who did so much for me back when I didn’t have insurance, whom I still donate to monthly.

I’m thankful that it was there for me, but it shouldn’t have to be. UCD pays thousands of dollars for my insurance each month. I pay a couple hundred.

My copay for my Botox treatment at my neurologist’s office is usually $30. (Some years, it’s been $100.)

I got in to Planned Parenthood today; I took my doctor’s clinical notes, so we knew how much to try and where. I’m hoping it does something (it takes days to weeks to kick in & sometimes doesn’t kick in).

I put almost six hundred dollars of hope on a credit card today.

In the last month:

Letters of recommendation written: 3

Trips to Chicago: 1

Conference presentations on Weird Al Yankovic: 1

Endings of Weird Al Presentations with Daniel Radcliffe’s “She’ll Be Coming Round the Mountain”

Unhappy patterns broken: 1 (When I discovered NPR’s new music Friday, I listened to the 5+ hours each week, even though I would only really like 2-3 songs. It was hard to stop and to go back to listening to my music, the playlists I’ve curated over decades, which make me happy. I’m not sure if it was FOMO or my OCD or both that made it so hard to quit.)

Days being convinced that menopause is making my ADD worse: all of them

Visits to the Blue Box Cafe, where I had an excellent Rueben sandwich surrounded by Doctor Who memorabilia.

Days Tiffany and co spoiled me wildly: 5

Servings of fish and chips: 2

Cambodian cuisine tried for the first time: 1

Crepes that ended up being burritos: 1

Beginnings of a gluen-free month, to see if it’s making my IBS/GERD symptoms worse: 1

Times Dante broke my heart by reminding me that soy sauce has gluten in it: 1

Discoveries that gluten-free bread is simply disgusting: 1

Movies: 8 (Dumplin’; Muppets from Space; Get Out; Poltergeist; Ghostbusters; E.T.; Splash; The Shape of Water; Wuthering Heights)

Times I quoted Lisa Simpson after Ancestry told me my DNA indicates I have stubby eyelashes (“My God: They are stubby”): 1

Wonderful niece’s dance recitals attended: 1

House chickens petted: 1

Times I tried to make a project so much easier for my students, by giving them the answers in a PPT they could go back to, but then they did worse than any class ever, because they tried to use AI instead: 1

Gold Cadillac Cocktails at Poor Red’s Bar-B-Q: 1

Times I blew out a candle and somehow got blowback, which left wick soot on my face: 1

Days Canvas was down & screwed up my classes: 3

Days Canvas has been glitchy since: all of them

Episodes of The Simpsons watched with my niece and nephew: 5

Shopping trips with Du: 1

Health appointments: 14

Picnic days avoided: 1

Bruises on my eye from my son’s asshole cat: 1

Books finished: 3

Pinkie rings attained: 1

Paula Poundstones seen live: 1

Family crises keeping me up at night: 2

Book club meetings: 1

Professional development meetings: 2

Wine club shipments finally picked up: 4

Days celebrated: 11 (Cinco de Mayo; Star Wars Day; Cheddar Fries Day; British Tea Day; Talk Like Shakespeare Day; English Day; Spanish Day; St. George’s Day; Neck Care Day; Whacking Day; Mother’s Day)