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[bornredheadedme-blog]

The Reality of Cancer (cont.)

The first week after my first chemo treatment, my hair began to fall out in large areas. It was so bad that my daughter shaved my head for me and I wore a baseball cap to cover my lack of hair. I also began itching all over my body and nothing took the itch away. The only time I didn't itch was when they hung a bag of steroids at the time of chemo. I tried every antihistamine available and combinations of several. I'm still alive so we know they didn't kill me, but at the time, I began to have thoughts of how much easier my life would be if I were dead. Hopefully I wouldn't itch.

I have Hashimotos disease so I'm already immuno-compromised, and now chemo, which is supposed to suppress my immune system even further, has taken any shred of protection I have. I developed pneumonia from a simple cold, had endless UTIs, and the little cyst on my shoulder suddenly exploded into a giant abscess that required hospitalization.

I only had 4 chemo treatments the first 2 months, and then 1 each week after that for 12 weeks. Then, the surgery, where they cut out the areas where the tumors were and also the lymph glands to check the spread. So I ended up with 4 incisions and breasts that looked like the Ripper had paid a visit. But...I was instantly cancer-free.

A month later the tortuous radiation therapy began. I didn't realize it, but radiation for breast cancer is like exposing the tender skin under and around each breast, and in both armpits to intense sunlight without the brightness. I developed huge blisters in all places mentioned, and nothing much can be done about them. I tried the salve they gave me but that really didn't help. I just had to wait it out. So 3 times each week, I went in and let them burn my boobs.

After 12 weeks of radiation, I got to ring the bell while one of the nurses took my picture. She cut off my head, and left me hoping that wasn't an omen. But I was done! In another few weeks I was pronounced cancer-free and that's what I wanted to hear.

But, once that dreaded word enters your body and psyche, you're never free. I think about it every day and check my breasts weekly, in case a lump appears. I don't want to miss it. I know I didn't the first time, but the two weeks that it took me to get the mammogram made me worry about allowing the cells to multiply that much faster.

Each year, I have a mammogram at the breast specialist, and then I also see my oncologist and they palpate my breasts so I don't feel like I'm waging this battle by myself. I am aware that when I first discussed family history of cancer, I flaked.

I know my dad had a tumor attached to the outside of his large intestine, but his doctors said it was due to his smoking. I still don't have a clue how they arrived at that. My grandmother (paternal) also had some type of cancer, but I'm not sure what kind. My mother had fibercystic disease, but it never developed into cancer. She did have one incident of skin cancer, but nothing more.

Cancer seemed to be more common on my father's side of the family. His father was an alcoholic and died of stomach cancer. His sister died of ovarian cancer, various aunts and uncles died because of it. At one time we determined that out of 12 members of his extended family, 11 died from cancer. Most of my family were smokers, and both my parents died from emphysema so the cancer thing is not a surprise. My mother smoked up to the very end and quite literally suffocated with nothing to be done for her. I try to convince my children and their children not to smoke, but I remember listening to people tell me that in the 25 years I smoked. Fat lot of good that did for me. I have asthma, but not emphysema. I win.

[bornredheadedme-blog]

Family History

Retirement leaves me with tons of time to do stuff. Of course, I have no intention of doing this stuff, since I still haven't been able to clean my room due to mobility issues. I have another cold, the third in 2 months, and I think I may have figured out why I keep getting these things.

I was started on Singular by my pulmonologist and when I finally looked up the side effects, the most prominent one for me is flu symptoms. I already have a weakened immune system and apparently the singular is triggering it. So, I stopped taking it and switched to my inhaled meds. Same side effects but I'm hoping that the inhaled medication works better. We'll see.

So, I've been researching my family tree. I'm amused that after moving to this remote village, I've discovered that many of my relatives, including great-grandparents were born and are buried close by. This gives me the opportunity to visit the local cemeteries to photograph the graves.

In addition, I have discovered that I, along with 30,000,000 other lucky people, am a descendant of John Howland, who arrived on the Mayflower. In addition, another of my ancestors and his wife were among the first settlers of the Massachusetts Bay Colony. My family history is rife with important people. The chair is shaking because I'm trying to suppress my laughter. We've all met people who are impressed with their own family members. My commenting on my ancestors doesn't mean a lot if I don't notice my children and my grandchildren, and now my great-grandchildren.

The twins, Anna and Kathrine are amazing. One started in customer service and is now an insurance adjuster for a commercial insurance company. The other got a job as a CNA trainee at a nursing home and is planning on going to nursing school.

Another works in customer service for a bank, and the 4th one, the only boy, is completing training to be an EMT/Firefighter. He loves it and his confidence levels are through the roof. So I don't care so much for the accomplishments of my ancestors as long as my immediate progeny are successful in negotiating their lives.

[bornredheadedme-blog]

The Reality of Cancer

I loved my job. Working with homeless vets and watching them recover from chronic homelessness and other issues gave me such joy. So, in December 2018, I had a mammogram, which was the beginning of a whirlwind of unexpected activity.

Following the mammogram, which indicated cancer, the doctor's office made an appointment at the Breast Center of my local hospital. At the time, I didn't realize that I had a diagnosis. So a biopsy was done on my left breast, and as I was escorted to another room, the nurse began explaining the next steps, i.e., seeing a breast specialist, an oncologist, a radiologist, and a myriad of other "ists" in my future.

"So it's definitely cancer?" I asked.

"Oh yes," she said.

That was the first I was difinitively told "you have cancer." I had to wait until the second week in January to see the Breast Specialist, and while there, I had another mammogram, an ultrasound and another biopsy after another questionable area was located on my right breast. So now it's bi-lateral breast cancer. Now it's time to follow up with the oncologist.

I met with the oncologist and I swear, he looked about 12. I got over my anxiety about his age and qualifications as soon as he began speaking. He drew all over the papers in front of him, pointing out that my bi-lateral cancer was HER2 pos, HR neg metastatic type, stage 2b. He outlined all the steps, letting me know that I would start chemo in February, and yes, I would lose my long red hair. I left feeling a bit overwhelmed but I was ready to talk to my grandkids about the diagnosis and treatment.

We gathered them all at the house, and the first question one of them asked was, "Are you dying?"

"We're all dying." I said.

I explained that yes, I had been diagnosed with breast cancer and had begun a rather intricate schedule of treatment. They took it well, with little or no tears or panic. I found myself masking my own sense of panic for the sake of everyone around me.

The next day I told my supervisor and my team. I explained that I could do work from home at least for most of the time and even from the treatment center while receiving chemo. My team, as always, was very supportive and I made sure they all had all my contact information in case they needed me.

Stay tuned for the next installment.

[bornredheadedme-blog]

A Little Anxiety Goes a Long Way

It took me more than 60 years to figure out that I struggle with anxiety. I have adult ADHD, so anxiety goes hand in hand with that, but today I realized that the free-floating anxiety has taken hold of my brain and refuses to let go.

I've tried to occupy myself with other things, listen to books, watch tv, clean the kitchen (ugh), but nothing takes it away. Meditation would help, but I don't have patience to continue, because my brain simply won't shut down enough to allow it to help.

So I'm checking out sending out my intention to the universe and following that with envisioning the positive result. I will also make a charm to help me stay with the process. The problem with ADHD is that we tend to have trouble with focus. That lends itself to all of those thoughts flying helter skelter though my brain. Because I can't shut my brain off, meditation becomes nearly impossible.

Add to that, I start each day with an ear worm, some song that runs constantly through my brain so loudly that I can actually hear the musical riffs between the verses. What's worse is that none of these songs are currently on any playlist. I read somewhere that if you let the song play though in your brain, it will stop. I don't know who thought that one up or how they came to this idea, but they suck. Even turning on audible or a podcast doesn't help, I just hear the earworm in the background. It's really hard to get the gyst of the Dateline mystery with Barry Manilow singing "I Can't Smile Without You" in the background.

I usually give into it by cleaning or doing something that requires physical effort. I can fill the time with meaningless activities and the earworm doesn't bother me. I can actually sing along with it. But lately, I've been announcing the song to my daughter in hopes that I make myself stronger than it. I'm so taken with the range of the songs I am hearing. It's kind of hard to make them stop when I find that I can identify the singers from as far back as the 40s. I guess having a musician for a father influenced me.

[bornredheadedme-blog]

I don't want to live here anymore. I love my daughters, and appreciate all they do for me, but I can't help but wonder if I'm experiencing a sort of learned helplessness. If I can't do it, they will. Everyday, I make a mental list of things I want to accomplish, and everyday, I get nothing done.

I get the dogs out, I load the dishwasher, a particularly unpleasant job since my daughters put dishes in the sink with food still on them. We don't have a disposal so all that food sits in the sink and rots, especially on hot days. We have quite a collection of fruit flies and they love my daughters. The smell is particularly lovely.

I have installed some flying insect traps throughout the house, made a wine trap (small glass, a little wine, covered with cling wrap with a few holes poked in it. They fly in but they can't fly out), and even some sticky flypaper. At least they no longer attack my face when I go near the sink. when the kitchen garbage can overflows, I grab a white bag and start filling that with the new trash and leave it on top of the can. So then they have to keep the dogs out of the kitchen so they don't shred the bag. They get the message and take that bag and fill it with stuff from other areas and then take both bags out.

Today I had to collect the bathroom garbage which was overflowing into two different bags. I collected all of it into a big black bag and left it at the top of the stairs. I know, it's pretty passive aggressive, but I'm tired of asking.

[bornredheadedme-blog]

Both my adult daughters are sick right now. My eldest, Jen, was diagnosed with Lyme disease after a week in the hospital and is now home dealing with the neurologic aftermath. My youngest, Melissa, is down with symptoms of the latest version of Covid, and is isolating in the lower level of the house. I'm caught in between them, hoping against hope that I don't catch what Melissa has, and afraid to go out on the deck for fear of getting bit by the dreaded tick that caused Jen's illness.

Melissa's doctor told her to get tested for Covid and she did. She was negative. So I don't have to hide in my room. But it's really awful watching both of them be sick and not being able to do anything about it. I can't even cook anything for dinner because eating is not recommended.

I'm reminded of when my husband was struggling with liver failure in his last months. He would start out the day lucid and able to carry on conversations, but as the daylight ebbed, so would his lucidity. Jen's symptoms do the same thing. She can get up and take her dog out, and have a cup of coffee, but the within a few short hours, the headache becomes worse even with Tylenol arthritis formula. She spends most of her days lying down in her room.

It's later, a couple of weeks later, both the girls have been seen by their doctor, and Melissa is due back at work Monday, and Jen is thinking of requesting permission to WFH 1/2 days for next week to test out her increasing stamina. If she can manage next week, she will return to work the following week. I admit I blamed Melissa's symptoms on her Siamese twin-connection with her sister, but then I developed a headache that Tylenol didn't touch for about 5 days, and nausea to go with it. We are all doing so much better.

And now, the hot weather seems to be leaving us, in the 60s today, and I'm looking forward to working on my room and closet. It's been nearly 2 years since we moved in. It's time for me to get busy.

[bornredheadedme-blog]

Sciatica

I signed up for physical therapy and chiropractic in November to address some issues with my neck and long-term sciatica. We worked on my neck stretching but sadly I was told I should not expect much in the way of change in my neck position. I'm glad I listened. No change. We worked on stretching the muscles around the sciatic nerve, and while I have improved strength and mobility, I have almost constant sciatic pain.

I was released after 3 months due mostly, I think, to them getting tired of this old bag coming in 3 times a week and not improving. It didn't help that I got sick in November and I couldn't shake the wheezing. After I stopped going to PT/Chiro, I maintained my wheezing state until I returned to my doctor in April. I had told everyone who "treated" me that I thought it was asthma, but no one paid much attention to the old person.

Finally, my doctor told me he thought it was asthma. Now, keep in mind, I had told him this before. Now, he says it like he has just made a miraculous discovery. He prescribed an inhaled steroid and within 5 days, the wheezing stopped. Finding that inhaled steroid in any local pharmacy was another story. The COVID pandemic had decimated pharmaceutical stores and I had to change pharmacies to get the script filled. Then, since I tried first at Walgreens and couldn't get it, when I transferred the scripts to my new place, Walgreens told them that I had already filled it. It's pretty sad when the customer has to do the legwork to get them to call corporate to switch it back to unfilled so I could finally get relief.

Did I mention that the sciatica is still with me stronger than ever?

[bornredheadedme-blog]

I once worked with a trans client who was a veteran. They constantly spoke of their time in the service in a time when women were not allowed to serve in anything other than nurses and office associates. She would tell everyone within earshot about serving in Vietnam on a ship in the Navy. Another hint that she was trans.

She always wore dresses, and sat in particularly unladylike poses, displaying a package not often seen on a lady. Despite this, we liked her and encouraged her to be herself. She was a news junkie and requested that she be allowed to teach a current events group, which once started, failed abysmally because she was unable to allow discussion. She was unable to stop talking about her personal history and would take more than half the class telling it. When I tried to steer the conversation back to current news, she would flail and get very flustered. The current events group was sidetracked.

She had no intention of having surgery and I'm not sure she was taking any hormones. But one of the good things that came out of our interaction was that while her brain convinced her that she should have been born a female, her body produced male hormones and as such there were parts of her anatomy that required checkups to avoid problems as she aged. Because she was identified female in her chart, the typical flags for annual tests were not there. Her prostate had not been checked for several years as her psychiatrist pointed out, leading him to research what other physical issues had been overlooked. It's likely that this realization saved her life and the lives of future trans people serving in the military.

[bornredheadedme-blog]

Adults and Children

I was 12 years old and learning every day about people. How some people were great and others weren't? At 12, I really didn't know about what my body was able to do and at that age, I was much more interested in riding my bike, climbing trees, catching toads by the creek, and other normal tomboy things.

I'm pretty sure that my dad would never even think about any of his daughters as anything other than children growing up. He spent lots of time teaching us about art, car repairs, animals, and music. And I was incredibly lucky that none of my male relatives leaned toward pedophilia.

So, when my sister began dating a very cute young man, my parents didn't bat an eye when his 40-year-old uncle began hanging around our house. He was a nice enough sort, but when there were no adults around, his comments to me made me uncomfortable. Even at that tender age, I recognized that he was grooming me, even if I didn't have a word for it.

My parents didn't get the red flags that were all around us, even when I told them I didn't want to be around him. Finally, we were sitting outside one evening when I saw his car turn into our street. I jumped up and ran into the house yelling, "I'm not here." I guess my mom finally got a nudge of how uncomfortable I was and began to curtail the family gatherings in the front yard. And Terry stopped dating the nephew.

But, just because I picked up on the signs, doesn't mean everyone does. I wish we could give our children a mental red flag system that could protect them from the stalkers and pedophiles that endanger them. Maybe we could make a phone app that could identify them. I have an app for identifying plants and bugs, why not bad guys?

[bornredheadedme-blog]

Cinderella: a new ending

When the clock struck 12, Cinderella was able to run home without the missing slipper and her coach and footmen all returned to their original state. By the time her stepmother and stepsisters returned, she was already asleep in her little room.

The next day, she heard that the prince was searching for the girl who left the glass slipper on the step. He didn't even think about the fact that he was basing his search on her foot size, and not the face he fell in love with. Cinderella did think about that. She reminded her stepsisters that the shoe might not fit and they should make him look them in the eyes. The stepsisters didn't listen. They didn't care if he loved them for their looks. The shoe would be the test.

Cinderella went to the market, where the prince was holding all the young women in the kingdom in the square offering them the opportunity to try on the glass slipper and be his queen. Cinderella stood near the prince, and asked if he remembered what the girl looked like. Did he remember her hair color, or her eyes, or perhaps if she was a good dancer? The prince denied that he noticed those things during the ball and didn't seem to notice that he was speaking to the young woman he sought.

Cinderella laughed and went home with her parcels, and deliberately avoided the prince and his entourage.

Sucks to be the prince.

[bornredheadedme-blog]

Camping

My father's (and my) first camping trip was in a large canvas tent, in Nicolet National Forest in northern Wisconsin. A heavy rain was predicted and Clyde and Marge tightened the guy ropes - a mistake as they were to find out. The accumulation of rain caused the already tight ropes to pull out of the wet ground causing the canvas to sag on both ends. Clyde and Marge were doused when the ropes on their end gave way and the canvas collapsed from the weight of the accumulated water.

They knew the tent at the other end where the children slept was about to do the same thing so they got up and went outside. Did I mention they slept in the nude? So there they were crawling around outside the tent attempting to drain the water off the top of the tent over their girls. They managed to get it fixed up enough to allow them to go back to bed. By the time they came back into the tent, they were covered in mud and leaves and soaked but they went back to bed anyway.

In the morning, my mother got up early and, after putting on her clothing, went out to see the damage. Since they had been unable to pound in new stakes during the night, they tied the ropes to the nearest trees. When my mother saw the tent in it's comical glory, she laughed out loud. My father followed her out to see what she was laughing at and joined in. They took a photo of the tent, and for years we couldn't identify what the slide was until my mother pointed to the rope tied to a tree.

This trip was in 1955 and I wasn't quite 5. Everything was new and fun. The only bad thing about the trip was that I couldn't stay and play in the water for very long. After about 20 minutes in the water, my lips would turn blue and they made me get out. I hated it.

I remember my dad got up really early and went out fishing, and brought back trout which my mother cooked for breakfast. 68 years later, I can still smell and taste how wonderful it was.

[bornredheadedme-blog]

I Know a Lot, I Know a Little

I'm a clinician. I've treated many people who struggle with addiction. I've watched clients win and lose but they always keep battling. Why is it that I can't allow my daughters the same understanding that I have for my clients. They smoke cigarettes. In January, they told me that had quit on NYE. I congratulated them but said no more. Saturday they bought cigarettes because, "It's been a tough week."

In my mind (and in my experience), as long as you quit with the idea that you can always have another cigarette if you have a tough week. The best way to quit, in my experience, is to commit to never having another, whether it be drink, smoke, or whatever detrimental addiction with which you struggle.

When I quit, I convinced myself that the smell of cigarette smoke would make me nauseous. It worked. But a funny thing happened when I quit. One day at lunch, with my still smoking sister, she lit a cigarette and left it smoldering in the ashtray on the table. She would get in my car and crack the window a half an inch and light up. She knocked the cherry off her cigarette and burned a hole in my upholstery. I opened my window all the way down to get away from the smoke (it was January) and she complained that she was cold.

Now, 33 years after I quit, I have asthma, but recently I found out that I don't have emphysema. I worry about my children and grandchildren and their future health issues. There's no guarantee that they will avoid the dreaded E but given their family history of cancer and emphysema they have a much greater chance of developing one of those. The smoking simply adds to that chance.

[bornredheadedme-blog]

Neighbors

DesPlaines

As I mentioned in my first post, I have a tendency to attract people who need to talk. I, of course, love to talk. So indulging that need in others is easy. I made friends with a woman who lived across the hall from me. Alice was lovely, in spite of her mom, who desperately wanted to control her. We had parties where people would go back and forth between the apartments and that was fun until one of her guests drank too much and came over to my place to throw up on my carpet.

Alice went through some tough times and her friends helped her through it, and eventually she married. We lost touch after that. Then there was Bonnie, who let me know shortly after they moved in that she had spent a considerable amount of time hospitalized for some serious mental illness issues. She took her meds and did well, and was married to a young chef who was like a teddy bear. He took such good care of her.

Mt Prospect

We moved to another city because my MIL wanted us closer to her. I was not comfortable living so close to her, but Gary wanted to and it was actually closer to his work also. We lived above a family with teens who loved playing their music at ear-splitting decibels and I learned to live with it. My daughter was still little enough and could sleep through a freight train going by. We got to know them somehow. Did I mention that I was a freak magnet? The oldest daughter was experiencing some pretty severe mental health issues and attempted to self-injure herself and the kids came to me for help. I spent time with her over several days and convinced her father to seek professional help for her. Gary and I were invited to have dinner at a Greek restaurant he managed as a thank-you. It felt a bit like we were surrounded by members of the Greek mafia because the place was so dark and subdued. But, I had the opportunity to sample some pretty amazing Greek food and felt more comfortable as the evening went on.

Several weeks later I heard noise outside my huge living room window, and when I looked out, I saw the family handing things out their identical window one floor below. They were skipping out on the lease/rent. The office was closed and on the other side of the two-story building we lived in so it was not likely they were noticed until a few days later when I knew they were moved out. I called the office and suggested that they check the apartment.

The family moved a couple of miles away and invited us for lasagna. They wanted to say thank you again for keeping their move under wraps until they were safely out. Watching the couple, I could tell he doted on her and she wanted so much to please everyone. Being the stepmother to teens was not an easy job and she knew she wasn't the most popular. Somewhere along the way, I suggested that she provide guidance rather than parenting and leave that part of the family relationship to hubby. Anything to help the kids be less afraid.

Stay tuned for the next installment.

[bornredheadedme-blog]

Getting Tired

It was bad enough when my 68 year old former neighbor died last year of cancer. I expect people in our age group to die and while it was a shock, it wasn't the same as the recent passing of a school chum of my youngest daughter. I remember her from grade school. Always dressed in pretty dresses and a beautiful little girl. My daughter and she remained friends throughout their lives, and suddenly, I find that she has died with no warning.

The possibility of this happening to me slammed me in the side of my elderly head. Worse, her death follows the passing of another of my children's friends two weeks ago. I don't want to think about the other possibility that I could be dealing with the loss of one of my daughters. One has brittle diabetes and the other is morbidly obese. I've already lived through the loss of my son 14 years ago, and while I never thought I could survive that, I did and continue to do so.

I'm the only one left of my family of origin, having outlived my parents and both of my sisters. My husband has been gone 7 years so my support system is pretty thin. I don't want to outlive my kids.

[bornredheadedme-blog]

An offer you can't refuse!

So I saw an article on ABC.com stating that users could get in on the payout from Facebook. I clicked on the link in the article and was prompted to enter my information. Name, address, email(s), phone, credit card info, bank info...wait, what?

Why would I give that information to a mystery website? The credit card box offers that if you want a Mastercard you can click here to apply. I backed out immediately. So Facebook, if you didn't want people to apply for payment, you may get your wish.

[bornredheadedme-blog]

Every time I look in the mirror, I see no color in my face, and I'm reminded that right now, I look as gray as I feel. Since early November of last year, when I caught a little cold, which turned into bronchitis, and I haven't had a moment's peace since then. I saw my doctor, who didn't seem too concerned, noted that I was not wheezing, but "crackling." He said this was more likely congestive heart failure. I reminded him that I have no history nor excess water build up anywhere of this. He ordered a chest x-ray which showed "nothing."

He prescribed doxycycline, which did absolutely nothing. My inhalers did nothing, and I was using them way too much and couldn't refill them quickly enough. One evening, I felt so short of breath that we went to the ER to get some relief. After chest x-ray and chest CT, the ER doc came in and actually asked me why I came in since there didn't appear to be anything wrong with me. I suggested that it was asthma, so they gave me a nebulizer treatment, and a script for an oral steroid for 5 days.

The steroids worked really well, but 2 days after I stopped, the symptoms came back with a vengence. We tried a vaporizer in hopes that maybe the dry air was causing the severe cough and wheeze. Didn't work, but this seemed to be just a continuation of my luck so far. I was still sick at Christmas, New Years, Valentines Day, and messaging my doctor, sending him my test results at the ER, and still no answer.

My doctor did tell me that I needed a pulmonary function test and they ordered on at Kish which is the closest hospital to me. When I called to schedule, they told me that since there was "no rush" on the order, the first available appointment was 6 weeks in the future. So, I'm still stuck with no end in sight. I began to think about living the rest of my life like this, with no sleep (too much noisy from the wheezing) and too exhausted to do anything. It made me understand how quickly one can go from a stable thought process to suicidal ideation in a heartbeat.

I also found a pulmonologist near me and called to schedule an appointment, and the next available one was the end of May. Yet another month of this crap. I called my doctor to schedule an appointment for "follow-up and meds refill" and thankfully it was 4 days away.

He could hear me wheezing through the closed door. Again I suggested that it was asthma, and he agreed that everything pointed to that. He wanted the results from the function test, and I explained that since no rush was put on the order, the appointment was for the end of April. I suggested an inhaled steroid such as Advair. He agreed to order that.

When I went to Walgreens, I was informed that inhaled steroids were on backorder nationwide due to Covid. As I pondered that at home, I began looking at my insurance coverage, and discovered that Walgreens was out of network which was why they couldn't bill my tertiary insurance. So I transferred my scripts over to another pharmacy that was in network and waited to see if they could obtain the drug. They could but Walgreens showed that I had just filled the script a week ago. I did not. They called my insurance and were unable to get anything done until Walgreens fixed the problem. Walgreens denied they were the problem and I remained suffering in limbo, wheezing away.

I suffered another day until I was calm enough to call Walgreens, and I told the young lady who answered in the pharmacy about my problem. She repeated that their system indicated that they did not fill the prescription. I took a breath and as I let it out, she could clearly hear my wheeze, and told her that the app showed that they filled it on the 29th of March, and Humana agrees. Suddenly, the light went on and she said she would call their 3rd party biller and tell them to release it since it hadn't been filled after all. She called me back to tell me that they had agreed to fix the problem.

This leads me to wonder if Walgreens would have been paid for my medication regardless of the lack of delivery. I wonder if ethics should be questioned here.

The next morning, I went on my new pharmacy app and put in a refill request and it went through. I was finally able to pick up my Advair by 1:30. The wheezing is nearly gone after 3 days. It only took 5 months of asking for help to get to this place. I'm over the age of 65, and therefore expendable and not worthy of consideration.

[bornredheadedme-blog]

Terry (still)

I completed my associates degree and was accepted at UIC in the Jane Addams College of Social Work. I couldn't tell my best friend my good news, because her pedophile husband was more important. Without him, she wouldn't have money. It's amazing what money can do for friendships. Money is why my mother and sister Suzy couldn't be peeled away from Terry's side.

Meanwhile, I graduated with my bachelors degree in social work and was accepted into the advanced standing social work masters program due, in part to my academic standing, but also because I was an older student, late 40s. At the same time, I had applied to the Study Abroad program to spend a month in London comparing Chicago's welfare system to London's, and was accepted. No postcards or souvenirs for Terry or family.

My husband of 29 years, Gary O. and I divorced in 1998, following my graduation, but remained close friends. Holidays were still spent together as a family for the most part. I dated a man for a couple of years, who taught me, with amazing examples, all about narcisistic personality disorder, and I ended the relationship with a feeling that if I stayed, it would end with violence. Since he was an artist (with a huge ego) who worked with steel as his medium, I knew who would get the worst of the damage. We agreed to "take a break" but when he called to invite me back, I politely refused.

Not long after all of this, Terry needed a quadruple bypass and I received a call from her husband stating that this is a time when the family should be together, and so we should put all the bad feelings aside and be supportive. She and I talked later, but I knew it would never be the same. I was unable to trust her again, and I suspected that her husband didn't think he could take care of her throughout the process and was hoping for care-giving respite from me for a few hours each week. I helped a little, but I was working full time and my heart wasn't in it.

It took a long time before I stopped thinking about what I had lost, and began to realize what I had gained. My children, now older, felt safer, and more trusting of their mother because I wasn't seeing Terry. I no longer had to feel sad that we weren't a part of that family.

We began with new traditions and enjoyed it immensely. My nephew Ray, Suzy's son, met a woman from the Philippines, Amy, and they married and had 2 children. Now our family holiday dinners included pancit which we all loved. Amy brought a cultural slant to everyday things. And I learned to roast Prime Rib.