Iron Woman

Did I tell you I have low iron?

Actually low isn't exactly the right word. It's almost nonexistent. Like, it's supposed to be above 20 and mine, at the lowest, was 6.

And turns out that's kinda bad. 

My rheumatologist discovered it first, about a year ago after some routine bloodwork, when I got a panicked call from a frantic nurse who wanted me to drive myself directly to the ER for an immediate blood transfusion. 

I was actually in the car at the time, but I said no thanks.

That's crazy.

"Aren't you tired?" they asked about the main symptom of low iron. "Ummm, show me someone who isn't tired and I'll show you someone who isn't trying," I said. But regardless, this quickly lead me on a journey of iron infusions -- 11 total -- where you sit and read or listen to music or a podcast or watch Netflix or do work to distract you. 

I tried all of that, and guess what? 

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Nothing really distracts you from the giant, dark red bag of iron and other fluids that hang over your head (both figuratively and literally) and slooowly empty into your veins, a drop at a time over two hours.  Mine also took place at the local cancer center, in a giant room for 30+ mostly elderly people all hooked up to something horrible, which added an extra layer of sadness to the whole experience.

Through this past year, my new hematologist (aka blood expert) was remarkably uncurious about what was actually causing this deficiency.  But me, being uncomfortable with my deficiencies of any kind, started digging around and realized the origins were related to my increasingly intense periods, which ripped through ultra tampons and fat pads like they were a piece of toilet tissue stuck to a shaving nick.

TMI? Then you're not gonna like this...

It was the Niagara Falls of Blood meets Sunday Bloody Sunday, except it was every day, for weeks at a time. Only mortally wounded animals on the side of the highway bled more.

So I'm sure you see where this is going. The bloody iron was flowing in and then right back out.  Like a bucket with a big red hole in the bottom.

Charming.

When my last iron level came back lower than when I started, I'd had enough of this bullshit.  A friend at work connected me to an internist, who sent me to a gynecologist, and after a couple exams, a highly invasive ultrasound where the technician should have bought me dinner first, and an extremely painful biopsy that felt like a drill bit went up my hoo-hah, I had a diagnosis. 

Uterine fibroids. Loads of 'em. 

Plus a pretty big cyst, roughly the size of a golf ball. (Fore!) And they all bled whenever the mood struck. Which was... 

All. The. Time.

I was pissed at my dusty old uterus, but I actually really liked this gyno until she told me the next stop was Surgery Town. 

Wait, WHAT? Who, ME? Nooooo!

Yes. 

Somehow I made it 49 years without having ANY surgery, except that rotten root canal, which I don't think counts. This made me a giant fraidy cat and a bundle of overwhelming anxiety that would churn every day like dirty waves on the Hudson.

So my brother jumped on a jet plane to help out with my parents and drive me to this dreaded appointment. Turns out I needed a hysteroscopy, a myomectomy, a cystoscopy, a D&C and some other freakish shit I can't remember. At least I would get to go home afterwards -- so long as I didn't lose too much blood.

I got typed just in case and let's just say I always knew I was an A+ student (haha it's in the DNA!).

We showed up yesterday and met a series of helpful and skilled strangers. My blood pressure was bonkers off the charts, even after 2 doses of something to "take the edge off," and by the time they wheeled me in, I was literally shaking. The fact that the anesthesiologist warned that getting my TEETH knocked out was a risk of a surgery in my UTERUS certainly didn't help.

Spoiler alert: I still have all my teeth. 

And I have no more fibroids, cysts, polyps or other generally unwelcome growths down under. And they examined all that goop and decided it was benign. 

Praise Jesus! 

Although, I do feel like someone took gritty sandpaper and a BBQ brush and gave my lady parts a good scrubbing inside and out. I think my first words when I woke up was that I felt like a scooped-out bagel, but I don't think anyone got the reference.

We're not in Pine Brook -- or NYC -- anymore.

Anyway, twenty-four hours later, sitting up is still pretty uncomfortable but laying back is alright. I think. Good thing because I need to stay pretty horizontal throughout the weekend and probably into next week. 

All of the Ologists agree, I should rest.

I'm told that I have the ovaries of a 30 year old, the stretchy uterus of someone who's had multiple children, and that my periods will be "pristine" moving forward. 

Let's hope at least one of these things is true... wish me luck.

Covid, I Hate You

Both figuratively and literally, I am sick and tired.

For TWO YEARS, we masked, and we vaxxed (3X!!), and we distanced, and we washed, and we disinfected, and we stayed home, and we stayed away, and yet...

My parents and I tested positive for Covid last week.

And it's not the asymptomatic kind that you never know you have.  OH NO!  We're coughing and sneezing, there are headaches and dizziness, congestion and tummy troubles, we can't sleep and food tastes weird.  

And the ANXIETY!  What does that ache mean?  Will this get worse?  When will it go away?

I'm told I should be thankful that because we're vaccinated it's not "that bad." Really?? Is that the best we can do?  Yes, we're home and not in a hospital -- and sure, that's obviously good. But it's not enough! Not for all the sacrifices we, and millions of others, have made. 

No!

Get vaccinated to be protected, they said.  Wear a mask to be responsible, they said. It's not safe to travel or gather or shop or eat or laugh or BREATHE outside your house, they said.

We did ALL the things. And yet, here we are.

Covid, I hate you.

I wish we never met.  And I hope we never, ever meet again.

Beat it!
Jen 

Dear 2021

Finally, you're here! 

Billions of people have been counting down the days until your arrival.  So, I'll make it simple for you.  

You have ONE job this year...

Be better than 2020.

That's not hard, right?  2020 was a dumpster fire of a year! Just making it to December was an achievement for us all.

And as you're looking for ways to be better, might I suggest starting with any of these 9 totally taken for granted things that 2020 took away?  

I miss them all terribly, and I suspect others might as well:  

1. Hugs
2. Smiling
3. Eating in restaurants
4. Going grocery shopping
5. Trips to Target
6. Working in an office with people you are not related to
7. Flying
8. Professional haircuts
9. Coughing without getting the stinkeye

While we're at it, here's one thing I do NOT miss.  Please don't mess with it:

1. Wearing actual pants

They are binding and uncomfortable and they squeeze my belly.  Thank you.

Your pandemic pal,

Jen

10 Things I Wish I Knew Before My Mom Spent 5 Weeks in ICU

In my 20s, the worst thing that happened to me was 9/11. I worked in downtown NYC at the time and my dad was in the Trade Center  Thankfully, he got out just in time because he came looking for me. 

In my 30s, it was getting dumped by my fiancé a few months before I thought we would marry. It was a devastating and expensive breakup. Oh, and did I mention I worked for Brides magazine at the time? 

Salt, meet wound.

Now in my 40s, I've officially experienced the worst pain of my life -- suddenly and out of the blue, hearing a doctor I just met say if he didn't operate now, my mom wouldn't make it through the night.

It is an out of body experience hearing those words: She. Could. Die. Like a nightmare with your eyes open.  In a flash, you begin making loads of critical decisions -- literally life and death.

And you aren't prepared. 

So, you cry.  And you google.  And you pray.  A lot.  And still, you have a non-stop sick pit in your stomach because you don't know what you don't know.

It was mid-June when this all happened to my family. By sheer luck I had just arrived in Florida two days earlier. A routine trip, or so I thought.  And everything was fine.  Normal.  

Until it wasn't.

We went from a late night trip to the local emergency room -> to an overnight admittance to a hospital 45 minutes away -> to 2 emergency surgeries at 2 different hospitals in 48 hours -> to 2 weeks in trauma ICU -> to getting discharged -> only to wind up BACK in the trauma ICU 2 days later with complications, where my mom remained for 3 more long, frightening weeks.  

And all this during Covid, where the hospital policy changed from just ONE visitor at a time, to ONE visitor total, to NO visitors at all.

Alone when she needed us most.

Thankfully, I had my brother to lean on. And while my mom had good care in the hospital for the most part, NOBODY'S like family -- and everyone underestimates the healing power they bring. So as a family, my dad, brother and I finally brought my mom home 38 days after she was first admitted -- totally traumatized, hooked up to several scary machines, and completely unable to walk or even stand.

Truth be told, she should have gone to a rehab facility, but I believe with every fiber of my being that if we did that (where again she would be alone due to Covid rules), she wouldn't have made it out.

Instead, we turned my parents' home into a rehab -- with registered nurses, physical and occupational therapists, home health aides visiting daily, and every piece of medical equipment you can imagine.  

Did we know what we were doing?  No.  But we were lucky, in a way, to be ABLE to do it.  To find help.  To afford it.  To dedicate the time.  Though, it definitely wasn't easy.

Now fast forward to today, nearly four months later. My mom had her last physical therapy session, and she is walking once again, with the help of a walker and fueled by sheer determination.  The doctors and therapists initially had very low hopes. 

But they don't know my mom.

Her health journey isn't over, but I feel like I can finally breathe again! (While I still pray the worst is behind us.) 

When I look back, there are SO many things I wish we knew that would have made the process smoother, or could have avoided unnecessary setbacks, or would have made my mom more comfortable, or given us all more peace of mind.  I hope you never need it, but incase you do, I've made a list for people with aging parents.

10 Things I Wish I Knew: A Checklist for Caregivers

1. Appoint a Family Medical Advocate: This should be someone who knows the most about a parent's background, who can speak on their behalf when they can't, ask questions when they don't understand, and be with them as much as possible.
2. Find Out What Hospital System Their Local ER Is Affiliated With: Just because the emergency room is nearby, doesn't mean the hospital will be. Or, that it will have a good reputation.  Planning ahead here may help you make a better decision in the heat of the moment.
3. Know Their Doctors' Names and Numbers: This is especially important for their GP, because everyone will ask who this person is, and if you don't know or they don't have one, it really complicates things, especially after they are discharged.
4. Learn Their Social Security Number: Also required for all admitting paperwork, and often hard to remember on the spot.
5. Get a Pic of Their Meds: The older we get the more medicine we take, so take a picture of each bottle so you have it in your camera roll, and make sure you can read the dosage and frequency on the label. While you're at it, ask what their allergies are too.
6. Get a Pic of their Medical Cards: This includes Medicare, any supplement insurance, and any prescription cards.  If you don't have access to their wallet, or even if you do, it's very helpful to have this info on hand.
7. Find Their Checkbook & Find Out When Their Social Security Check Hits: Depending on how long they're hospitalized, and depending on who normally does the bills, you may need to step in and handle their banking. And if they're anything like my parents, we're talking mailing actual paper checks, not online bill paying, so buffer in extra time for them to arrive. And buy stamps.
8. Know Their Phone Password: It might be easy to guess, like a birthday or anniversary, but make sure you know how to get in so you can access their email and their contacts.
9. Keep a Running Log of What Happens: This could be as simple as a text chain with a sibling, because all the doctors and dates and procedures and test results will start to blend together.  Texting updates in real time will help, especially when you are connecting the dots between different health issues or reconciling conflicting advice (because in all likelihood, you will have a better handle on the big picture than the revolving door of medical professionals they will see).
10. Learn Everyone's Names: About that revolving door, you will meet more people than you can keep straight, but you need to remember them for 3 important reasons: Appreciation, Access, and Accountability.  Appreciation because you can call them by name to say thank you, and they deserve that. Access because when you need something or someone, you can give a name that will give your ask legitimacy and urgency. And Accountability, because if someone knows you know their name they are more likely to follow through.
11. BONUS - Find a Local Medical Supply Store or Rental Company: You can get everything you know you need at home, like hospital beds, lift chairs, wheelchairs, walkers, shower chairs, portable bedside commodes, Ensure -- and everything you don't know you need, like portable oxygen concentrators, wound vacs, nebulizers, gait belts, PureWicks, Hoyer lifts, medical transport services and more. Insurance will pay for most of this too.  Just keep talking to people who know more than you, and they'll point you in the right direction.

I wouldn't wish the year I've had on anyone, but I'm so grateful to be going into Thanksgiving with my mom by my side.

I hope you are able to be with your loved ones too.

Day 60

I normally don't post about the same thing twice in a row, but... these are crazy times we're living in.

Soooo... quarantine, huh?

I always thought it would be awesome to spend MORE time in my apt -- I have a great view of the city, every TV channel and streaming service you can imagine, comfy pillows and good snacks.

Um, I was wrong.

Turns out, MORE time in my apt during a pandemic means more time to wait. And worry. And work. All. The. Time.

You too?

Oh, and all this time inside has given me a solid phobia of leaving my apt for any reason at all. That includes getting groceries (so I ate all the expired soup in my pantry) and throwing away the garbage (so my apt resembled a classic episode of Hoarders).

After 30 days in my Fortress of Solitude in Hoboken, I hit the road.

Now, let me preface this by saying, I realize I am lucky that I could do this.  For starters, I still have a job, and it is flexible so that I can do it from anywhere.  And I have a car, so by driving, I could avoid contact with basically everyone and make my own personal Cannonball Run down 95 to my parents' house in Florida.

In total, I spent about 30 days there too, and it was such a welcome change of scenery.  I felt better, mostly because I worried less.  Plus, no more expired groceries for me! My mom's a great cook and she made more meals than I've had in a year.

Fast forward to today, I'm 60 days into quarantine, and I just got back to Hoboken. In total, I logged:

• 4 travel days (2 days each way)
• 32 total hours of driving
• 2,140 miles round-trip
• 455 songs
• 4 stops for gas
• 4 times I cursed every self-serve state (reason 534 why NJ is the best)
• 0 bathroom breaks (I have a bladder of steel)
• 0 snack breaks (I brought all my own food & drinks)
• 15 Cracker Barrels passed
• 2 nights in hotel rooms that I scoured like a forensic detective
• 3 states requiring people from NJ to quarantine for 14-days (thanks, DE, MD & FL)
• 1 close call with a Georgia State Trooper (he got the guy behind me)
• 1 billion dead lovebugs on my windshield

The whole drive was pretty surreal.  I left on Easter weekend and came back on Mother's Day weekend -- both holidays -- and nobody was on the road.  Just me and the truckers.

I know that's good, because it means people are staying home, but it still freaked me out.

Anyway, I couldn't help but take some pics along the way -- so come on a virtual road trip with me...

I travel light, right?

Drink? Check. Snacks? Check. Tunes? Check. Gas? Check.
Gloves & mask? Check...

This is the New Jersey Turnpike at 11AM on a Saturday.

And this is the toll plaza -- not a single car.

This was Delaware's welcome sign.

Nobody's on the road, so nobody's at the gas station either.
It's barbaric to pump your own gas, but here I am. At least the gas was cheap...

This is 95 in North Carolina -- about 6PM on a Saturday.

After 8 hours of not peeing, I made a beeline for my bathroom. 
The swans were a nice touch.

Not sure if you can read this, but it basically says that they were
only offering DoubleTree's famous cookie on request. A sad but necessary step.

A good place to rest your head, and the mid-point in my trip.

You know you're in South Carolina when you see this.

Georgia, on 95 at 4PM on Easter Sunday.

When I got to FL, there was a mandatory checkpoint at the first rest stop on 95.
Anyone from NY/NJ/CT was asked to fill out paperwork and
quarantine for 14 days.  And they weren't fooling around.
Failure to fill out the paperwork was a 2nd degree misdemeanor,
and failure to quarantine could be punished by 60 days in jail and a $500 fine!
I have no idea how they'd know, but I wasn't taking any chances. 

Home sweet home.

This became my new office.

And this little guy became my co-worker.

This was our sassy office manager who tweeted whenever I was on a call.

Eventually, I headed home.
Again, this is Saturday at about noon on 95 in Florida.

And here was my souvenir, a billion dead love bugs smashed on my car.
In other news, they don't come off, no matter how fast your wipers go. 

So, that's the trip. Amidst all the scary stuff going on right now, this was a bright spot for me.  And it was nice to spend some bonus time with my fam, which we'd never be able to do for a month under normal circumstances. Since we're not going back to the office until July, I'll probably do it again.

I hope you all are able to get a change of scenery too to clear your mind.

Be well and keep washing those hands!

My Corona

Sooooo, this is fun, huh?

As the news gets more horrible by the millisecond, we all learn new phrases like "social distancing" and "shelter in place" and we hear how every company we've ever given our email address to is handling COVID-19...

I thought it was a good time to blow the dust off this blog and share a few thoughts.

By now, most of us who are fortunate enough to work from home are doing so. Indefinitely. And we know anyone who still has to work outside the home and put themselves in harm's way are the real heroes of this story.

But while we're all trying to avoid getting the Coronavirus, it's v easy to catch Cabin Fever.

Here are 8 things we can do to stay sane in these uncertain times:

LEARN SOMETHING NEW
For me, I tried washing my hands for 20 seconds.  It's waaaay longer than you think.  Suffice it to say, I've been doing it wrong for 46 years and it's a wonder I don't have trenchmouth and pink eye.  You might set your bar a little higher and learn a language.

KONDO YOUR CLOSET
Use all this time at home to surround yourself with things that spark joy and keep the Boogieman at bay.  It's a great time to get organized!  The inventory will be especially helpful if we all have to start selling our handbags and shoes in order to afford the roof over our heads.

PLAY CHOPPED AT HOME
Gather all the random crap you have in the back of your pantry (hello, cream of mushroom soup!) and in the depths of your freezer (when did I buy chicken patties?).  Suddenly, it's Casserole O'Clock.

GROW A BEARD
I don't have an old lady beard (yet) but for all you dudes out there, now's the time to experiment with the facial hair.  Grow a full beard, then trim it like a bonsai.  Leave the goatee, then decide it's creepy.  Shave it off AND your eyebrows too. Who cares? It will grow back by the time we emerge from this crazy nightmare.

WEAR WHAT YOU WANT
No bra? No problem! PJs all day? Yes, please! Even with video calls, you only need to look presentable from the shoulders up. It's the Golden Age of Athleisure -- make the most of it.

QUARANTINE & CHILL
STOP watching the news -- it's all awwwful.  Our brains need cotton candy -- like Love Is Blind.  Rather watch a comedy? Binge Schitt's Creek or Curb Your Enthusiasm.  Prefer documentaries? Check out McMillions or Cheer.  Watch anything, really.  Just don't watch Contagion.  And don't be surprised in 9 months when a TON of babies are born.

SUPPORT LOCAL BUSINESSES
Many big companies -- chain restaurants, retail stores, etc -- can afford to shut down and pay employees (for now), but most of the mom and pops out there are struggggling.  So, order delivery, buy something from their website, give them a 5-star review, or get a gift card, and help them stay afloat if you can. Good karma will come back to you.

DON'T BE A JERK
Let's not travel when we're sick, like this jerk. Let's stay home when we're asked to, unlike this jerk. Let's not hoard 17,000 hand sanitizers, like this jerk. Basically, let's be decent humans. It's really the best thing any of us can do.


If I know one thing about people, it's that we're resilient. And this too shall pass.  So, hang in there everybody.

As Coach Taylor says.. clean hands, full hearts, can't lose!

Here's to Your Health

This might be the longest I've ever gone without posting. So Happy Hanukkah, Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and Happy (almost) Valentine's Day.

Now that's out of the way, I should prob explain why I've been MIA!

About a week ago, I produced a huge event for work -- #BlogHer18 Health, where about 1,000 health & wellness social media influencers joined us for 2 days.  And it has been ALL consuming.

It's extremely hard for me to do anything a little bit. If I'm going to spend my time on something, I'm generally all in.

So by the time this incredible experience was over, I was sick (isn't it ironic?), my feet were full of blisters, I'd neglected my friends and family (and YOU), there was zero food left in my fridge, and my apartment was in a shambles.

The good news is it was a really great event, and I'm SO proud of my team who pulled it off.

But one thing is clear: I need some balance.  I think they call it "self care" -- that phrase makes me barf.  But there's def a middle ground that I'm missing.

Do YOU have any suggestions for still having a life while making a living?  I'll take whatever tips or tricks you've got in the comments below.

And while you think, take a look at these pretty pics... I wish you could have been there!

Pretty cool kickoff ringing the closing bell at the Nasdaq.

Acoustic performance by super-talented Brynn Elliott.

(Non-alcoholic) rose for days...

The calm before the storm.

Selfie wall, inspired in part by an Old Navy commercial.

So proud of the Hatch Kids, who gave an award to Chelsea Clinton.

Dance moves with the sweet, petite Julianne Hough.

Keynote speaker and total badass, Jillian Michaels.

The lovely Kate Walsh played a doctor on TV!

Camila Alves McConaughy & Pitch winner,
Bethany Edwards who invented a flushable pregnancy test!

The iconic Arianna Huffington.

Blue & green smoothies? Don't mind if I do!

Raise your glass.

A venue with a view.

A friend of mind posted this -- made me laugh.

There Will Be Blood

Spoiler Alert: This post is gross.  Skip it if you're squeamish...

Back in April, I got the worst news ever: I needed a root canal.

Crap.

I just finished the 3 STEP process today.  It's June.

You know how root canals have this reputation of being a horrible experience?  Well, if you read anything about them recently, everyone says that's a myth.  They say with today's advanced techniques it's really not so bad.  Some might even say it's a breeze!

They lie.

Let me tell you the truth about my toxic tooth...

It all started because a filling cracked off when I was eating guacamole.  How that happened, I'll never know.  Anyway, we're talking about the molar waaaaay in the back of my mouth on the left side (the middle tooth in this pic).

Meet my rotten/robot tooth.

That stubby tooth next door is my deeply impacted wisdom tooth.  See, I have giant horse teeth and a tiny jaw.  I also am lacking the standard amount of choppers a grown adult should have (32) because a bunch of them were yanked out when I was a kid to prevent crowding.

Then I wore braces for 4.5 years.

The net-net is I have a nice smile, 26 visible teeth, and a massive phobia of dentists.  So wisdom and his 3 buddies are staying put.

Forever.

Anyway, it turns out when you lose a filling in that hard to reach spot, it's not great.  I say this because in all likelihood, the filling cracked a while ago but I didn't know.  And bacteria wormed its way around and killed my tooth from the inside.

Didn't even hurt.  So it wasn't until my guacamole was suddenly extra crunchy that I knew I had a problem.

It was like eating a driveway.

My sweet hometown dentist said, "uh oh," when he looked at the black spot my xray (see above).  Never a good sign.  Once he said the words "root canal" I basically zoned out of the rest of the words coming out of his mouth.

Blah, blah, blabedy, blah blah.

He referred me to an endodontist.  Apparently, that's a guy who does root canals, all day, every day.  And I'll be honest, I didn't look up much about this procedure.  Mainly because there was no sense in freaking myself out about the inevitable.

I'd rather just not know anything and let sheer horror wash over me in the moment.

Really test my fight or flight instincts.

So I'm in the chair for appointment #1 and I'm sitting next to a giant tray of truly medieval shit.  I don't even know what I'm looking at, but I know it's scary AF.

Doc comes in and makes a knock knock joke.  And I instantly know I'm in for a long day.

I brace myself for the actual root canal (which I naively believe is the worst part),  And it was no picnic.  After all, he's about to drill and scoop and stuff my roots with God knows what.  But first, he shows me this giant piece of rubber with 2 bars to keep my jaw open and a clamp to hook on my tooth.

Now, it's a party.

In all, 7 disturbing things were said:
1. Just so you know, your co-pay will be $550.
2. I call this tool Mr. Bumpy!
3. Has anyone ever told you that you have a very high threshold for pain?
4. Would you like to see your nerve?
5. Your roots are REALLY long.
6. Boy, that was kind of hard.
7. You have very beautiful eyes.

That last one made me throw up a little in my mouth.

After 2 hours in the coal mines, he patched me up and sent me on my way.  Before I left, he told me I need to see my regular dentist next for a crown, which is essentially a fancy slipcover for my weak, sad tooth (my words, not his).

He says the filling he used is temporary, but it should last several weeks.  Maybe a month!

Here's what actually happened:

Awesome.

Also, I received no antibiotics or pain meds, as stated on this form.  Granted, I had no infections or pain.  But still...

On appointment #2, it was time to get measured for my temporary crown.  In my mind, the worst was behind me.  This would be easy peasy!  Like going to the tailor to hem a skirt.

I was super effing wrong.

Here I am, back in my hometown that I love. I took the day off, thinking I might go shopping afterwards.  I flick on the TV and kick back for my "fitting."

Oh, and I also ignored it when they told me this appointment would take an hour and a half.

They must be wrong, I thought... and they were!  It actually took TWO and a half.

This time, 5 disturbing things were said:
1. Good news -- you don't need any novocaine today!
2. Your tooth has no nerve so you won't feel anything when I remove some of the root canal filling and screw in a post.
3. Your gums have grown over a bit, they will need to be shaved down.
4. It's perfectly normal to bleed.  Do not be alarmed.
5. That will be $408.80.

I'm not sure how to explain what happened here.  I think I joined Fight Club.

Except I'm not allowed to talk about Fight Club.  So let's just say it was like Game of Thrones combined with Gladiator combined with all the gory bloodfests ever made in the history of cinema.

Kinda like that. 

Turns out "shaving" my gums meant cutting around all the edges of my tooth like a mom trims the crust off a PB&J sandwich.  

So it hurts. And it bleeds more than you can imagine.

Good thing he did the post and re-building of my tooth first, because after the cutting I rinsed at least a dozen times and it was still bright red.  Like the shower scene from Psycho (if it was actual blood and not chocolate syrup).

I think I even made my dentist nervous.  So he put a solution on my gums to try and stop the bleeding.  

It tasted like pure evil.

Eventually the flow slowed, but it was still fresh on the purple oozy mold he took of my mouth.  And also on the temporary crown he put on my tooth (while dental elves were busy making the real one off my bloody mold).  

Afterwards, my gums felt like raw chopmeat.  I left completely sick to my stomach.  Needless to say, I did not spend the afternoon shopping.

Fast forward to today, appointment #3.  My temporary crown was still firmly in place when I sat down in the chair.

There was NO WAY they were going to pry it loose.  I assumed there would be another solution.

I was wrong.  Again.

On this final visit, 2 disturbing things were said:
1. Let me do it, you're too weak. (said the hygienist to the dentist as she muscled my temp off -- they're married, btw)
2. Let's watch Valerie Bertinelli make a salad.

To be fair, we had Food Network on while we were waiting for the permanent bonding agent to set so my new crown wouldn't fall off.  Or down.  Whatever.  Still, I'll never look at old Val the same again.

So FINALLY, it's over.  Aaaannnd I have a robot tooth.

For anyone who's still reading this (and keeping score), that's:
- 2 days off work
- 5 HOURS and 15 minutes in the dentist's chair
- 6 shots of novocaine (maybe more, I lost track)
- 2 crowns -- one acrylic, one porcelain, zero fit for a queen
- And $958.80 out of pocket -- and I have insurance!


There you have it.  My cautionary tale on why you never, ever, ever, EVER want a root canal.

Now, be safe out there -- make good choices!


tags: gross, health, rants

New View

Remember when I mentioned I was moving?  Well, I did! 

Goodbye Big Apple, hello Garden State. 

I spent the first 5 years of my life in the Bronx, and the last 6 years in Manhattan.  And I liked it!  But let's face it, it's not like I was out at da club every night.  Or any night.  Ever. 

Aside from my easy breezy commute and delivery of absolutely anything to my doorstep, I don't know that I took advantage of all NYC had to offer, and that's on me.  But I don't have the free time, the wardrobe, or the energy to keep pace with the city that never sleeps.

I do know this: It feels good to be home. 

And probably not a minute too soon, as a lingering black mold situation in my old apt was probably killing me.  Or at the very least was "the match that lit a flame in my immune system," according to one of the docs I saw.

Anyhoo... my new digs are nicer, newer, 50% bigger, $600/mo. cheaper, and 100% more Jersey.  Yeah.  I may need my head examined next. 

Why didn't I do this YEARS ago?

Oh, and did I mention my view?  Remember my old view?  Now, this is what you'd see if you were standing on my terrace.  Not too shabby, right?  Come over sometime and I'll grill you up a juicy burger!

I've always said New York looks prettiest from New Jersey.  And when I'm not working, I can still keep an eye on her, but live in peace and quiet across the river.  Win win. 

With all this savings, I may even get a car again!  You didn't think I would actually SAVE the money, like, in a bank account, so I could buy a place and stop flushing $ down the toilet on rent -- did you? 

Silly.

So, a few days ago this blog officially had its six year anniversary.  Sadly, I've been blogging FAR less than I would like to, but I still love the old girl just the same.  And I love YOU for still reading it!  I know it's been a little stale lately.  Ok, ok, okaaaay.  A lot stale. 

I'm sure I will get inspired by my new view...

Now, as I did in 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, and 2013, here's a fond look back:

Total Posts I've Written (including this one):
253

Average Number of Posts I Write Per Month:
1.9 (down from 3.2 last year)

Average Number of Unique Visitors Per Month:
282 (up from 245 last year)

Average Pageviews Per Month:
1,490 (up from 1,071 last year)

Most Traffic Comes From:
Pinterest

Most-Read Blog Posts Ever:
It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Pinterest (December 2012)
20 Apps I Adore (January 2012)
Pepe Le Pew (June 2011)
Comfort Food in a Storm (October 2012)
Miss Jennifer Goes to Washington (August 2012)
How the Hell is John Stamos 50? (August 2013)
Let Them Eat Jelly Beans (February 2011)
Facelift (July 2010)
Leftovers (November 2012)
Time (November 2010)

Most-Read Blog Posts This Year:
Dear Verizon
Spring Fling

Posts Nobody Gave a Crap About:
Rejected Candy Hearts
Jingle All the Way

Most Comments:
Dear Rheumatoid Arthritis

Most Popular Poll:
I Heart Rodolphe Lindt (this year)
Please Fix Voting (It Is Broken) (all-time)

Most Frequently-Used Tag for the Posts I Write:
Pop Culture

Most Popular Search by Visitors:
Dating


Here's a look ahead -- soon I'll update you on why I'm in a big fat fight with Ikea, and Fall TV is finally back, so the Loveseat Potato can't be far behind.

Thanks (as always) for reading!

PS: I took this pic one night outside my building, I think it's time to update the header...

tags: city life, health, holidays, jersey, writing

You Wouldn't Like Me When I'm Angry...

Well, today's my birthday.  And guess what?  A wish came true!  Turns out, I don't actually have Rheumatoid Arthritis!

Instead I have loads more horrible stuff. 

I won't bore you with all the nitty gritty deets, but basically my body is attacking my muscles, and my lungs and liver are inflamed.  My joints just got caught in the crossfire.

So, after 50+ blood tests, x-rays, cat scans, an allergic reaction to a malaria drug, and a couple of months where I've been sicker than I've ever been (x10), I finally have a diagnosis everybody agrees on. 

I think. 

And some meds.

Five days ago, I started on steroids.  Like the maximum amount any human can take to try and knock this shit out of my body. 

I'll be on overdrive for at least a month, and then they'll taper it down over the next few months after that. Then, the immunosuppressants kick in. This, of course, is very bad for you and has lots of fun side effects including gaining weight. 

Nobody can tell me if this will actually fix things (silly rabbit).  Maybe it will go into remission, or maybe I'll have flare-ups forever. It's anybody's guess. 

For now, it's the meds. 

So, I'm dealing with it the best way I know how -- through self-deprecating humor.  I've given this some serious thought.  If given the choice of how to handle my personal brand of  'Roid Rage, I'd prefer to channel the 70's-style Bill Bixby/Lou Ferrigno Incredible Hulk with those bad blue contacts, spotty green body paint, and torn up cut-off jean shorts. 

Now, when I bulk out and Hulk out, you'll know why.

Before I go stomp on a village, just wanted to say thanks to everyone who's reached out to me recently.  Your comments, texts, emails, phone calls, lunches, dinners, and hugs have warmed my little green heart.


tags: health, holidays, rants

Dear Rheumatoid Arthritis,

We first met 9 years ago when my mom got sick and you've interfered with my family's health and happiness ever since. 

Now, you're knocking on MY door?!

Well guess what?  I'm moving.

(No really, I am moving -- more on that in the coming weeks.)

I knew it was only a matter of time before we met face to face, but it's pretty shitty that you've shown up when I'm just 40 years old. 

You know I've always expressed myself with my hands. So, it's a low blow to make my fingers so inflamed that I can't properly hold a pen or open a bottle of water -- let alone type or cook.  I also can't wear my rings or bracelets or watch.

The last 6 weeks have brought a pain that's difficult to describe.  Shooting cramps from my shoulder to my elbow as I shower.  Aching in my ankles when I step off a curb on my walk to work.  Stiffness in my jaw when I try to eat a sandwich at lunch.  The most basic things have become pretty difficult. 

You are a sneaky little coward who likes to jump from joint to joint -- hiding in my wrists one minute, my knees the next, my knuckles right after that. 

And I'm left feeling weak and swollen from head to toe, like I just got a beat down from the inside out.

Nighttime is worse than the days.  I slept like a baby until YOU showed up.  Now I'm up every 20 minutes (also, like a baby?) and I've seen every late night infomercial ever filmed.  It's a special kind of torture to be laying in bed and not have the strength in your arm to reach the remote to change the channel.  So I watch.  And I listen. 

Most are total junk, but I think I actually will buy a Shark vacuum. 

That just makes good sense.

Of course, I eventually had to go in for an official diagnosis. I wasn't fooling around, I went straight to NYU.  They took so much blood, I'm surprised I had any left. Then came the tests and x-rays and NSAIDs and steroids, and who knows what's next? 

Oh, wait... I do!  Because I've been living through it with my mom for years.

My doctor says I'm in the early stages of something that has no cure.  Most of the medicines that keep the symptoms at bay have potential side effects that are worse than the disease. Plus, they lower your immune system so you can catch all sorts of rotten stuff.  Oh, and forget about having kids, unless you like serious birth defects.

Hey, salt... meet wound!  Now rub.

So far I've found just 3 good things about this awful mess:
1) I tested negative for scarier things like Lupus, Psoriasis, MS and Hepatitis.
2) I can't use my hands, so my nails look totes amazing.
3) I can't put on pants, so I've been wearing dresses which makes me look much fancier than I feel.

But guess what?  Even though I can't make a fist, I'm NOT going out like this. 

There's a showdown in my joints and I'm pulling out ALL the stops.  Medicine is just the tip of the iceberg.  I'll go gluten free, or do yoga, or transcendental meditation, or get acupuncture, or do the hokey pokey if it helps keep YOU in my rearview.

FU, RA. Lose my number.  You're not welcome in my home.

Unfondly,
Your #1 Enemy


tags: health, rants

Dear Cough,

Please go away.

I haven’t been sick since May 2010.  I had bronchitis.  Maybe you remember? I sure do because I got dumped that week.  Since then, healthy as a horse!

That is, until last month when YOU came around.  Jerk.

I flew into Del Boca Vista and my throat started feeling a little funny.  Before long, I had coughing fits.  Hack, hack, hack, hack, haaaaack. Gasp for breath. Hack, hack.

Then came the chills.  Then the aches.  Never the green boogers. Then everything went away.

But YOU stuck around.

That was 4 weeks ago!  Officially, my lungs are clear and I had a severe upper respiratory infection.  Unofficially, I’ve got a huge pain in the ass.

I’ve taken full rounds of Delsym, Mucinex, Alleve Cold & Sinus, vitamin C, prescription cough pills AND cough syrup with Codeine, Z-packs, and more mentholated Halls than I can count.  That last one actually helps, for a minute (more on that below). 

Now, I’m on the Zyrtec.

Yes, I can hear you laughing.  I know it’s too early for seasonal allergies, but I’m at my wit’s end. I cough so much I’ve given myself a headache, which, incidentally, I treat with Advil liqui-gels. It doesn’t help that I’ve been on 5 flying germ farms (aka planes) during this time. And I had to give not one, but TWO, presentations in front of 100 people! Nothing says classy like coughing into a microphone.

But you knew that.

Also, attention makers of Pine Bros. chewy cough drops: You stink.  I don’t know why Martha Stewart is shilling for you.  I bought you in a haze of nostalgia and sickness and you did nothing but turn my tongue red.  You immediately disintegrate as though my saliva were made of acid.  And somehow you manage to both be bland AND taste horrible.  A rare skill.

I want my $4 back.

In other cough drop news, Luden’s you look and taste like a Jolly Rancher, which does nothing for me and rots my teeth. Riccola, you taste like a cherry covered in grass and you did zilch for my tickly throat.

My best bet is your archenemy, Hall’s.  I love you in all your sugar-free glory.  Keep fighting the good fight.

NOT in health,
The Girl Who Can’t Stop Coughing


tags: health, rants

Hot Mess

I’m not saying it was hot today or anything, but I think a pigeon spontaneously combusted outside my window.

I saw a ton of pics on Facebook with the temperature on people's phones and in their cars.  It was 103, after all.  So you may wonder why you’re looking at a medicine cabinet? Well, for starters, it’s MY medicine cabinet.

You may also wonder why it’s jam-packed with 10 deodorants? That’s because I think I might smell. I don’t believe I stink or reek (yet). But I’m pretty certain I smell. I mean, who can possibly stay fresh in this heat?

I have become a Crazy Deodorant Lady.

I'm obsessed. The human underarm is like a Petri dish. It’s loaded with bacteria. Sure, I’ve tried your typical girlie deodorants. Secret, Dove, Ban, Degree, Lady Speed Stick.

Child’s play.

So I upgraded to clinical strength – the kind you practically need a prescription to buy.

Sniff, sniiiiiff.  Nope. Still smelly.

How could this BE? I shave and shower! Daily! Since when is that not enough?

(Side note: While I'm oversharing, I should also mention I have sensitive pits. I once tried Tom’s all-natural deodorant, which had an apricot flair and was supposed to be gentle. And it was. So gentle, in fact, that I would have had similar success rubbing an actual apricot under my arms. Turns out aluminum is a pretty important ingredient. Won't make THAT mistake again.)

So, back to the medicine cabinet. 

You might also be wondering why I have Degree man deodorant in there? It's because I believe I have found the solution to my problem. See the cap? That’s Bear Grylls’ mug on there – he's the Man vs Wild guy on the Discovery Channel. That dude’s climbed Everest, eaten snakes, wrestled alligators, drank urine, given himself a guano enema AND used the corpse of a dead sheep for a sleeping bag.

If it’s good enough for THAT guy, it should be able to handle my 20 minute walk to work.

Let’s pray it does the trick. If not, I will have no other choice but to resort to this… (and you know how I love infomercials -- no, really, I do -- I'm helpless to resist):





I'm particularly horrified by "Lanny F." and his "odors in special places."

So, is this TMI about BO? Do YOU have any secrets for smelling sweet in this heat?  Don't make me sweat it out.

Share below...


tags: commercials, gross, health

Don't Let the Bedbugs Bite

I was in a meeting this morning and a colleague of mine whipped up her skirt and pointed to a raised red mark on her thigh.

“Does this look like a bedbug bite to YOU?” she asked, with a twitch in her eye and tremble in her voice. “I just got it on the subway.”

I shook my head and said, “Nooo!” (But honestly, I don’t know what a bedbug bite looks like.) Every few minutes, I inched my chair a little further away from hers just in case she had a stowaway in the hem of her skirt.

I read that somebody actually found an alligator in a sewer over the weekend. An ALLIGATOR! But bedbugs are all anyone can talk about. I’m guessing they’re Public Enemy #1 because, um… they live in your BED! At least cockroaches have the decency to form their dens in your walls. And rats rest their sleepy heads in underground nests, far, far away from your pristine memory foam.

Total amateurs like roaches, rats and alligators do NOT signal the apocalypse. Biblical plagues of locusts signal the apocalypse. Well, locusts and now… bedbugs.

Bedbugs are pure evil.

Paranoia is running rampant, with the bloodsuckers being found across the city in hipster retail stores, posh magazine offices, and iconic building basements. Even the movies aren’t safe!

What’s most disturbing is that the bugs can’t possibly originate in these places because nobody sleeps a la Costanza under the desk at work. So it stands to reason that they are hitching a ride from people’s HOMES into stores, offices, tourist traps, and theaters. Which means that NO amount of commercial fumigating will actually get RID of this residential problem, because they’re not attacking the SOURCE of the infestation.

These businesses are just a rest stop on the vermin highway. I’m itchy just THINKING about it!

I’ve known perfectly clean people who got hit with a case of the bedbugs. They are awful to get rid of. At first people live in private shame, scratching and stomping the bloody carcasses out with the heel of a shoe. When they realize the problem is bigger than their Birkenstocks, they call in exterminators with bedbug sniffing dogs. They throw out mattresses, bedding, and dressers full of clothes that may have been “compromised.” They rip up rugs and tear down curtains. They wrap their new beds and pillows in anti-bedbug plastic shields and sleep with the lights on. Even still, their eyes play tricks on them and their skin crawls, driven batty by bedbugs.

It’s like being a modern day Lady Macbeth. “Out, damned bedbug!  Out I say!”

I guess I should take comfort in the fact that I live in Manhattan. The most populated US city is only the 7th most bedbuggiest. Now, if I lived in Ohio, with THREE cities in the top 10, (or the Midwest in general), I’d really be in trouble.

Maybe the pests prefer the Midwest’s friendly hospitality. So stay mean, New York. Grrrrr!

And sleep tight…


tags: city life, gross, health