So I was in Rochester this past week.
I was productive too. Finished a huge chunk of my insurance licensing course.
I ended up with Strep somehow. So from Tuesday night to Friday night was a little rough. Thank God for antibiotics. I think. Still debating that.
I had a really great trip. We went out one night for Halloween, handed candy out to excited kids dressed as Angry Birds or zombies on Halloween night, saw Perks of Being a Wallflower (finally!) and cooked and caught up on Revenge episodes with Paul. Side note: The beginning of Perks of Being a Wallflower has the tunnel that Paul and I would drive through when he picked me up from the airport in Pittsburgh. It's through a mountain pretty much and comes out onto a beautiful bridge that shows you a good expanse of the city. I remembered it immediately. So cool. The movie was fantastic, for anyone who hasn't seen it yet.
But the real reason I'm writing, which is really difficult to do today, is because Jasper is gone. My 11-year-old, crazy, stinky, always smiling Lab had cancer throughout his entire body. They found it last Monday. Jasper had been throwing up all over the garage last Sunday at Jack's birthday and they took him to the vet only to find problems. He had a piece of steak bone stuck in his intestine and also had cancer everywhere. Even if the bone was removed, the vet said he had two weeks tops because his appetite was pretty much gone. We had noticed he wouldn't eat his dog food unless someone stood over him. And I noticed how he was puking a lot. And he even pee'd on my mom's oriental rug when I let him in the house. We are talking about the dog with steel kidneys here. He had the capability of holding his urine stream all day if we had to go away for something. He was a champ.
So Mom called me Monday afternoon and I almost dropped the phone from my hand. I had just finished running and felt as though my heart had stopped beating entirely. She said that Hurricane Sandy knocked power out at the vet's and they ended up not taking him until Halloween morning. She said he watched Dad with big sad eyes, almost pleading with him to fix him like he so often did. Paul commented that it was probably best I wasn't home to see it all. The poor dog kept drooling and barfing everywhere. He was weak. Monday night we figured out Skype on Jack's iPad so I got to see him one last time. He was just quiet.
Halloween day passed and I tried not to think too much about what coming home to the empty garage with the empty food and water bowls would be like. No Jasper to run up and sniff my jeans for those exciting Rochester and gas station highway stop smells.
We used to laugh about how he would pop his head out from under the garage door as it opened and he would raise his head as the door went up so it looked like his head was raising the door. Silly. Or if all the garage doors were open except one and he was outside, he would wait for the one you were opening at that moment and then enter the garage that way. He was just silly. It's instances like those that made us laugh after a long day at work or school.
And I can't even begin with his personality quirks. He was a wild puppy. Tearing clothes and the yard up in one fell swoop. We left him home in a rush one day to get to school. He was only outside maybe a half hour but we came back to find my mother's precious dogwood tree had lost a rather large limb and it was scattered around the lawn in splinters. Jasper was rather proud of that one and even helped us clean the sticks up. He was proud until Dad got home and started yelling. Then he was nowhere to be found.
We had a similar instance where my mom was watering a plant and Jasper decided he wanted water. So he stuck his nose in and mom batted him away. Rachael Vaughan and I had just gotten home from the barn and watched as the little tyrant spun around and bit the beautifully formed flower head off her plant. Just snapped it off, spit it out, and nonchalantly walked away.
Jasper is a type of stone. Ironic considering Jasper's favorite food wasn't dog food, or even people food. It was rocks. We caught him laying at the end of the driveway chewing. Dad would jack his mouth open and two or three rocks would tumble out as he fought for his head. Not only did he eat them, he passed them. And his love for them only grew. He loved to swim, but was terrified of jumping off the dock unless one of us ran and jumped with him. It took him until he was 9 years old before he would try it. But he had NO FEAR whatsoever of sticking his head underwater and coming up with rocks bigger than his own head. And he would deposit them either on the lawn or the big Jetski dock rock. He had a collection that we would routinely throw back in. Much like restocking a fishing pond. And by the time he turned 11, his teeth were filed down to nubs. Jasper was a show on his own. Moltys and their company would come over, most notably Mr. Ferrarri who was Jasper's biggest fan, and they would watch this nutty dog hunt around for a prize of the sandy variety.
There's other little stories that just show how he grew into our lives and became family. There was the day that Paul took him on the jetski. He wasn't a fan. There was also the day that Paul and Jasper took the surf bike for a ride until Jasper got bored and simply walked off the back leaving Paul to flip over.
And everyone had a voice to narrate his thoughts. It was always your basic, dopey, happy voice that laughed every other sentence. But we all loved giving words to his doggie persona.
I took Jasper for his last car ride with me about a week ago. He passed out in the back seat until I opened the window and he stuck his head out. Ears flapping, nose sniffing, we drove along and he wagged his tail. The Buick and my Legacy were his cars. He didn't want you to ask him to come, he demanded and expected the door to just be opened for him automatically.
But I think the best part of Jasper, and the hardest part of saying goodbye...is the fact he was always there, in the garage or in the kitchen hallway if I needed a neck to hug, or some fur to cry into (no matter how stinky it may have been that day). If I had a bad, I could sit on the steps with him and he'd push his nose around until I pet him for hours. Or we'd go outside and he'd get a superb grooming. The dog shed like no other. He was like another brother for me though. Although he was like an older brother for the simple fact he picked me up when I was down.
You were the best of the best, buddy. I hope doggie heaven has lots of Otises for you to go swimming in and find rocks. You'll never be forgotten
An overload of Jasper pictures:
Monday, November 5, 2012
Thursday, October 18, 2012
Halloweeeenie is near. So I'll take a little trip to the past.
With Halloween coming up, I have to be honest...I already have TWO costumes ready to go. On my GAME this year. I even picked out a costume for Jasper but can't seem to find it online anywhere for sale. I think it's from PetCo. Wahh.
Yup. Love it. He'd be perfect.
So today, I want to discuss Halloween costumes. And true to my original promise of my old journals, this entry is going to probably sift through some fond old memories or zebra costumes, fairy costumes, and sky dancer dolls that helped create a lasting friendship.
I guess when you're a kid, Halloween costumes are a big deal because you ARE someone else for that day. I had a horse thing. So any animal that resembled one was fair game. When I was 4, that was a zebra. My mom got really into it. She bought fabric and a pattern from JoAnne's and set down at her old sewing machine to make me the best damn zebra on the planet. We had a stuffed head too. Although I'm not one hundred percent sure how she made that/bought it. Only problem, the head sat on top of my head and she had to walk around me the entire night HOLDING it upright. And it was hot. And itchy. Can you see where this is going? A whining 4-year-old with a grouchier parent chasing after them, holding a cumbersome zebra head (that was almost true to size if I do recall) more like a leash than a prop. Yup. That costume was never re-gifted to another fortunate soul.
Then we have the fairy costume. The BEAUTIFUL fairy costume that Lisa once again slaved over her sewing machine to make. Years later she overheard me describing it as having cheap fabric or how it was an awful color. Can we just discuss the glare and retort I received in about 0.2 seconds? It really was a nice costume. I must have remembered it wrong. I have a great picture somewhere of me at Nonna's table with a big cheesy grin on my face and a cookie in my hand.
A few years previous I was Jack Sparrow. I had some eye liner issues considering my mass of black gunk far surpassed even Johnny Depp's masterpiece of eye art. I think it was halfway down my cheeks by the night's end. But that costume was SPOT ON. Props to my creativity with that one.
Then there were countless wizard, M&M, jungle girl, and flapper costumes. I am repeating my Twister costume. Tried to be Rosy the Robot from the Jetsons (too expensive), and was even Tom Cruise last year.
But I also need to talk about my Halloween partner in crime. My neighbor in the blue house next door, Emily. We were best friends from the moment I walked through the little archway of trees and saw her playing with her SkyDancer. I was crazy for those things. They were cheap plastic with almost grotesquely perfect Barbie faces and crummy foam wings. And they had rather large chests for such dainty dolls that were supposed to "float" through the air. So you'd pull their little string/pullstart/whatever that spun them in a circle of death and they'd launch into the air and most always crash to the dirt, tree stump, driveway with a wing crunched up underneath them. They made better knickknacks to look at it in an 8-year-old's room rather than a serious toy to play with. And if it was muddy out? Forgettaboutit. So anyways, I walked over and played SkyDancers with Emily all day. Boom! Instant friendship. One silly day we sat and watched our neighbor's house across the street because she babysat us and let slip that she knew a friend, who knew a friend, who knew a friend's cousin, that knew Leonardo DiCaprio. So in our minds, that meant he was DEFINITELY gonna show up in a limo and instantly want to spend allllll day with two 8-year-olds. Chyea. Dreaming big on that one. Halloween also came EVERYDAY for us. We constantly played dress up in my mom's old clothes and dresses. One dress was a perfectly awful pregnancy dress with all buttons down the front and dragged across the floor. Whoever was the villain wore this beautiful masterpiece of ugly clothing. Seriously. It was a work of art making this thing as atrocious as it was. And then we would act. These intricate stories of knights or Batman or Backstreet Boys groupies. I don't remember any exact stories, just that we would hide under beds or run around the yard and our surroundings were so much more than our drab neighborhood.This ceased as we got older, obviously. Instead we ended up sitting on the grass with my old radio, listening to KC101 all day in the shade. Or in the winter, building snow forts and chasing our brothers through the yard. Then we moved on to watching movies instead of acting them out. Emily eventually moved away but we caught up last winter. Sometimes it hurts to look back on memories because no matter what you do, you can't bring them back. Because I'd give anything to have a carefree snow day with Em, playing dress up and making hot chocolate.
What made me think of this was a fairy commercial on TV the other day. It made me think of all of this - Halloween. SkyDancers. Emily. Dressing up.
As a little kid, dressing as someone or something else is so much more enticing. You escape being a little kid. Now, Halloween is more of a laugh rather than something to be taken seriously. I miss Emily. And Halloween as a kid. I don't even know where my SkyDancers are. Probably the trash. But the nice part is having these memories written down. Even though my 1st grade journal has a terrible hand drawn picture of a SkyDancer and one sentence saying "Tuday I Played with Emly." I was a champ speller when I was 7 or 8. hahaha.
My advice - GO DRESS UP AND BE MERRY!!!! Halloween is a pure excuse to act like a kid and GET AWAY WITH IT.
:)
Happy Howloween!
So today, I want to discuss Halloween costumes. And true to my original promise of my old journals, this entry is going to probably sift through some fond old memories or zebra costumes, fairy costumes, and sky dancer dolls that helped create a lasting friendship.
I guess when you're a kid, Halloween costumes are a big deal because you ARE someone else for that day. I had a horse thing. So any animal that resembled one was fair game. When I was 4, that was a zebra. My mom got really into it. She bought fabric and a pattern from JoAnne's and set down at her old sewing machine to make me the best damn zebra on the planet. We had a stuffed head too. Although I'm not one hundred percent sure how she made that/bought it. Only problem, the head sat on top of my head and she had to walk around me the entire night HOLDING it upright. And it was hot. And itchy. Can you see where this is going? A whining 4-year-old with a grouchier parent chasing after them, holding a cumbersome zebra head (that was almost true to size if I do recall) more like a leash than a prop. Yup. That costume was never re-gifted to another fortunate soul.
Then we have the fairy costume. The BEAUTIFUL fairy costume that Lisa once again slaved over her sewing machine to make. Years later she overheard me describing it as having cheap fabric or how it was an awful color. Can we just discuss the glare and retort I received in about 0.2 seconds? It really was a nice costume. I must have remembered it wrong. I have a great picture somewhere of me at Nonna's table with a big cheesy grin on my face and a cookie in my hand.
A few years previous I was Jack Sparrow. I had some eye liner issues considering my mass of black gunk far surpassed even Johnny Depp's masterpiece of eye art. I think it was halfway down my cheeks by the night's end. But that costume was SPOT ON. Props to my creativity with that one.
Then there were countless wizard, M&M, jungle girl, and flapper costumes. I am repeating my Twister costume. Tried to be Rosy the Robot from the Jetsons (too expensive), and was even Tom Cruise last year.
But I also need to talk about my Halloween partner in crime. My neighbor in the blue house next door, Emily. We were best friends from the moment I walked through the little archway of trees and saw her playing with her SkyDancer. I was crazy for those things. They were cheap plastic with almost grotesquely perfect Barbie faces and crummy foam wings. And they had rather large chests for such dainty dolls that were supposed to "float" through the air. So you'd pull their little string/pullstart/whatever that spun them in a circle of death and they'd launch into the air and most always crash to the dirt, tree stump, driveway with a wing crunched up underneath them. They made better knickknacks to look at it in an 8-year-old's room rather than a serious toy to play with. And if it was muddy out? Forgettaboutit. So anyways, I walked over and played SkyDancers with Emily all day. Boom! Instant friendship. One silly day we sat and watched our neighbor's house across the street because she babysat us and let slip that she knew a friend, who knew a friend, who knew a friend's cousin, that knew Leonardo DiCaprio. So in our minds, that meant he was DEFINITELY gonna show up in a limo and instantly want to spend allllll day with two 8-year-olds. Chyea. Dreaming big on that one. Halloween also came EVERYDAY for us. We constantly played dress up in my mom's old clothes and dresses. One dress was a perfectly awful pregnancy dress with all buttons down the front and dragged across the floor. Whoever was the villain wore this beautiful masterpiece of ugly clothing. Seriously. It was a work of art making this thing as atrocious as it was. And then we would act. These intricate stories of knights or Batman or Backstreet Boys groupies. I don't remember any exact stories, just that we would hide under beds or run around the yard and our surroundings were so much more than our drab neighborhood.This ceased as we got older, obviously. Instead we ended up sitting on the grass with my old radio, listening to KC101 all day in the shade. Or in the winter, building snow forts and chasing our brothers through the yard. Then we moved on to watching movies instead of acting them out. Emily eventually moved away but we caught up last winter. Sometimes it hurts to look back on memories because no matter what you do, you can't bring them back. Because I'd give anything to have a carefree snow day with Em, playing dress up and making hot chocolate.
What made me think of this was a fairy commercial on TV the other day. It made me think of all of this - Halloween. SkyDancers. Emily. Dressing up.
As a little kid, dressing as someone or something else is so much more enticing. You escape being a little kid. Now, Halloween is more of a laugh rather than something to be taken seriously. I miss Emily. And Halloween as a kid. I don't even know where my SkyDancers are. Probably the trash. But the nice part is having these memories written down. Even though my 1st grade journal has a terrible hand drawn picture of a SkyDancer and one sentence saying "Tuday I Played with Emly." I was a champ speller when I was 7 or 8. hahaha.
My advice - GO DRESS UP AND BE MERRY!!!! Halloween is a pure excuse to act like a kid and GET AWAY WITH IT.
:)
Happy Howloween!
Monday, October 1, 2012
Stress Test Champ
I really don't have much to write about today...
It was a quiet weekend. I possibly came up with a new story/book concept but it needs some serious hashing out before I begin my foray into the world of fiction.
I had my stress test last week. What an experience that was. My heart rate never got over 173, although I felt like I was really tired and light headed. Apparently I was fine. I went for 17 minutes, which I was informed was one of the longest times in their office. I'm so stupidly competitive though that I wanted to try and hit the 20 minute mark that two other runners had requested to hit a while ago. My mom was in the corner laughing when I asked them why they stopped the machine. This is why I'm always hurt. I wouldn't want to do another stress test again though. I am the slowest walker on planet Earth, most likely. So walking, uphill, for 12-15 minutes, was NOT my idea of a good time.
And that wasn't even the end of the whole ordeal. I had to wear a holter monitor for 24 hours right after. That meant no shower and no "real" clothes. Sweats alllllll day. The no shower thing was really annoying especially due to the fact that I sweat an obscene amount no matter what I'm doing. Embarrassing.
So I spent my day, reading, on the couch. Sean came by later to get froyo and watch a ridiculous episode of South Park ("Sarcastaball"). My love of football made me laugh even the next day when I just thought about it.
I removed the monitor Friday morning and I'm pretty sure China heard me yowling in the bathroom when I tried to rip the tape off. For some reason, the nurse put X's over each of the little stickies. Actually, I KNOW why she did it and it was just protocol. Doesn't make any less excruciating the next day. The X's were mostly just to keep them from falling off when I slept. But they itched like no other and then took pieces of skin with them when I finally tore them off. OW. I shudder to think of it right now.
BUT...and here's the silver lining...The nurses said my stress test looked very normal and my heart warmed up and cooled down "beautifully" (their word choice, not mine). So I left there feeling a little more confident and positive. I haven't received any immediate phone calls about my holter results. So...until then, life looks a little more sunny. Although they did say my Bradycardia could pose a problem in the future if my heart rate continues to drop. Then I'll need a pacemaker.
I think it just stopped beating at the pure dread I feel toward an impending surgery.
I am a doctor's worst nightmare. Seriously.
I'll try for a more interesting/exciting/colorful post either end of this week or next week :)
I'm going to try running again today too. Someone tell me how taking a week off causes my adductors to seize up and be angry like they were last year? They had a break from running and they hurt MORE.
Doctor/PT's WORST nightmare. I really wasn't kidding.
It was a quiet weekend. I possibly came up with a new story/book concept but it needs some serious hashing out before I begin my foray into the world of fiction.
I had my stress test last week. What an experience that was. My heart rate never got over 173, although I felt like I was really tired and light headed. Apparently I was fine. I went for 17 minutes, which I was informed was one of the longest times in their office. I'm so stupidly competitive though that I wanted to try and hit the 20 minute mark that two other runners had requested to hit a while ago. My mom was in the corner laughing when I asked them why they stopped the machine. This is why I'm always hurt. I wouldn't want to do another stress test again though. I am the slowest walker on planet Earth, most likely. So walking, uphill, for 12-15 minutes, was NOT my idea of a good time.
And that wasn't even the end of the whole ordeal. I had to wear a holter monitor for 24 hours right after. That meant no shower and no "real" clothes. Sweats alllllll day. The no shower thing was really annoying especially due to the fact that I sweat an obscene amount no matter what I'm doing. Embarrassing.
So I spent my day, reading, on the couch. Sean came by later to get froyo and watch a ridiculous episode of South Park ("Sarcastaball"). My love of football made me laugh even the next day when I just thought about it.
I removed the monitor Friday morning and I'm pretty sure China heard me yowling in the bathroom when I tried to rip the tape off. For some reason, the nurse put X's over each of the little stickies. Actually, I KNOW why she did it and it was just protocol. Doesn't make any less excruciating the next day. The X's were mostly just to keep them from falling off when I slept. But they itched like no other and then took pieces of skin with them when I finally tore them off. OW. I shudder to think of it right now.
BUT...and here's the silver lining...The nurses said my stress test looked very normal and my heart warmed up and cooled down "beautifully" (their word choice, not mine). So I left there feeling a little more confident and positive. I haven't received any immediate phone calls about my holter results. So...until then, life looks a little more sunny. Although they did say my Bradycardia could pose a problem in the future if my heart rate continues to drop. Then I'll need a pacemaker.
I think it just stopped beating at the pure dread I feel toward an impending surgery.
I am a doctor's worst nightmare. Seriously.
I'll try for a more interesting/exciting/colorful post either end of this week or next week :)
I'm going to try running again today too. Someone tell me how taking a week off causes my adductors to seize up and be angry like they were last year? They had a break from running and they hurt MORE.
Doctor/PT's WORST nightmare. I really wasn't kidding.
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
A broken heart...the physical kind
So some people have already heard this story from me...while to others, this may come as a bit of a new shock.
I'll just go in chronological order and try to make sense of this whole ordeal.
I was in Rochester for the weekend. Drove up Friday afternoon. Did a 6.2 mile run around the campus. My hamstring and groin were tight, but were loosening up as I ran. So I went easy. Went out Friday night for a couple hours and then just went back and went to sleep. Normal, unassuming night right? Exactly.
Saturday morning rolls around. Paul and I decide, Let's make a big breakfast/brunch type deal! So I cleaned a little and chattered about going to finally get registered for my half marathon. I was seriously pumped to run at this point. Paul joked around with me and asked if I had ever had cumin before because he was putting it on the potatoes. It's in Taco seasoning, so yes, yes I have. We sat down, ate. And I took a sip of my iced tea and felt like a hard burp/air bubble/something catch high in the middle of my chest. It almost feels like heart burn. So I tried to ease it out. I've gotten it before and it just hurts for a minute. So I put my arms up and tried opening my chest. Started to tell Paul it hurt. I guess I slurred it and then went face down on the table.
Next thing I know, I'm "opening" my eyes (apparently they were open the whole time which freaked poor Paul out. I have huge eyes as it is). I was clammy and shaking. Paul was blowing air into my mouth and my exact reaction: "What the hell are you doing?" and I tried shoving him away. Yeah. Poor kid. I immediately knew where I was. I thought I had woken up from a ridiculously long nap or something though. Then I got scared and started shaking more. He said my color was back though. And he had literally caught me in one arm and called the ambulance with his other hand. So I could hear the sirens in the distance and the EMTs were there within minutes. Scary. I was pretty with it though. They asked me a bunch of questions and other than being cold, I told them I was fine. Asked them NOT to rip or cut my Marist sweatshirt off of me. So they gently helped me out of it. They did an EKG and all these tests and then told Paul I NEEDED to go to the hospital and they gave me a choice. Not being from Rochester, I just said take me to the one you like more. So I ended up in Strong-Memorial attached to the University of Rochester. Right where the race would be going around the next morning. Irony at its finest.
I also informed them they would NOT be sticking me with an IV in the back of an ambulance because, even though I'm sure they're pros at stabbing people with needles in moving vehicles, a random pothole can really ruin someone's day. I did let them prick my finger and get my sugar level. It was fine.
Paul called my parents and followed the ambulances. He sat in the ER with me after they did another EKG and got a bracelet on me. And then we waited.
One doctor said I seemed fine and could probably run the next day! Paul gave him the death stare.
Two more doctors came in and said my EKG was deeply concerning and I would need to be kept overnight and have labs done aka NEEDLES. The waterworks began at that point. I was terrified. One doctor elaborated to inform me that I could have the problem that some athletes have been having where they just go into cardiac arrest O_O Yes. Panic more. The heart rate monitor I was hooked to proved entertainment of a sort for Paul who had never actually witnessed how slow my heart rate actually is.
I was cruising in the low 40's, mostly 38's the entire time I was there.
I dropped to 28 when she finally held me down and put the damn IV in and drew blood. And no painful IV is complete without a steaming side dish of guilt about how I should be donating blood because I have marvelous veins and I'm healthy. That nurse and I were NOT friends. So once that was done, they finally took me upstairs to observation. Got Paul a much more comfortable chair because he wouldn't leave me (Thank God. I kept telling him to go get food or a sweatshirt. He wouldn't. It was 9 and he was afraid they wouldn't let him back in. And my sweatshirt was like a girdle on him). He actually brought two bags of stuff that he grabbed quick before we left. My purse and some clothes. Bless him, he forgot underwear but remembered a sports bra and pants. hahahaha. I never even changed so it wasn't an issue. And my purse had sandwich crackers and granola bars so I'm guessing he was pretty glad he grabbed it.
We watched Angry Beavers on his tablet and he tried distracting me from the useless thing that was my IV ladden right arm. I was never even hooked up to medication or fluids.
They did an Echo cardiogram. Came back clean. The doctor that did it was new though and bruised up my ribs a little. "Ribs really get in the way, huh?" JAM JAM PRESS PRESS. You wouldn't say?!?!
The night was awful. The IV bugged me ALL night. It was in the crook of my arm/elbow/whatever and I was keenly aware of it ALL night. I could not get comfortable. Taking my contacts out was rough (and then I couldn't see my cute doctors the next morning! No glasses with me. DAMN). Plus, the poor guy on the other side of my curtained room (these weren't actual rooms, just three-sided curtain rooms. So you could hear EVERYTHING) was deaf and constipated. So he was tossing, turning, moaning, groaning. They helped him video chat with a friend, but he laughed or made noises the ENTIRE time. Probably until 2:30 am. Normally, I'd have fallen asleep, but....not in these circumstances.
They released me in the morning. I was refusing to eat their food because it was making me feel sick. And I wanted a shower. AND MY DAMN IV OUT. They said I appeared to have had a vasovagal syncope episode, which is common. It's a fainting spell when that vagus nerve in the chest gets squeezed or compressed, exactly as mine had probably been. But my heart was still concerning to them with its reversed t-waves and slow rate. So I needed to immediately see someone at home. But they let me go.
Paul and I could finally go home, get cleaned up, get real food. He watched me eat and made sure I ate slow. He said going in the kitchen freaked him out because everything was all disheveled. I felt terrible :( And then he drove me and my car down to Albany and my parents put him on the train home, since I wasn't allowed to drive. Especially not 5+ hours alone.
It was a mess. I owe Paul big time. First, for saving me. Second, for staying with me in a hospital all night. Third, for driving me home after all this. And fourth, for just being genuinely nice and understanding the entire time.
To update the situation:
I saw Doctor Chien at home. He is AWESOME. He thinks it was a vasovagal syncope and told me how to try and avoid them, because I'm obviously prone to them as some people are. He wants to do a stress test soon, once my insurance clears it. But otherwise, he thinks it's just my make-up. My reversed t-wave is actually normal into the mid-twenties. Especially for an athletic female he said. And he thinks I'm just very healthy. Nice to hear. And when Paul helped me lay down on the floor after I fainted, that's why my color returned. Although I'm sure the breath of air helped. I was only out 10 seconds. To alleviate these episodes, either lay down or cross your legs and lock your hands and pull across your chest.
So I'm hoping from here on out, it's good news. I've definitely been nervous all week and my ribs and back have been achey from the hospital stay.
The real kicker...the winner of the half marathon ran 1:28. I could have definitely won. I was pissed. And the doctors coming in saying, "All the roads are closed because of the marathon. Couldn't get to work haha" made me want to take an ultrasound probe and jab them in THEIR livers for an hour and see how THEY liked it. Grrr.
I also miss running. I feel lost after work without worrying when to go for my run and where. Who'd a thought I'd miss that!
I'll just go in chronological order and try to make sense of this whole ordeal.
I was in Rochester for the weekend. Drove up Friday afternoon. Did a 6.2 mile run around the campus. My hamstring and groin were tight, but were loosening up as I ran. So I went easy. Went out Friday night for a couple hours and then just went back and went to sleep. Normal, unassuming night right? Exactly.
Saturday morning rolls around. Paul and I decide, Let's make a big breakfast/brunch type deal! So I cleaned a little and chattered about going to finally get registered for my half marathon. I was seriously pumped to run at this point. Paul joked around with me and asked if I had ever had cumin before because he was putting it on the potatoes. It's in Taco seasoning, so yes, yes I have. We sat down, ate. And I took a sip of my iced tea and felt like a hard burp/air bubble/something catch high in the middle of my chest. It almost feels like heart burn. So I tried to ease it out. I've gotten it before and it just hurts for a minute. So I put my arms up and tried opening my chest. Started to tell Paul it hurt. I guess I slurred it and then went face down on the table.
Next thing I know, I'm "opening" my eyes (apparently they were open the whole time which freaked poor Paul out. I have huge eyes as it is). I was clammy and shaking. Paul was blowing air into my mouth and my exact reaction: "What the hell are you doing?" and I tried shoving him away. Yeah. Poor kid. I immediately knew where I was. I thought I had woken up from a ridiculously long nap or something though. Then I got scared and started shaking more. He said my color was back though. And he had literally caught me in one arm and called the ambulance with his other hand. So I could hear the sirens in the distance and the EMTs were there within minutes. Scary. I was pretty with it though. They asked me a bunch of questions and other than being cold, I told them I was fine. Asked them NOT to rip or cut my Marist sweatshirt off of me. So they gently helped me out of it. They did an EKG and all these tests and then told Paul I NEEDED to go to the hospital and they gave me a choice. Not being from Rochester, I just said take me to the one you like more. So I ended up in Strong-Memorial attached to the University of Rochester. Right where the race would be going around the next morning. Irony at its finest.
I also informed them they would NOT be sticking me with an IV in the back of an ambulance because, even though I'm sure they're pros at stabbing people with needles in moving vehicles, a random pothole can really ruin someone's day. I did let them prick my finger and get my sugar level. It was fine.
Paul called my parents and followed the ambulances. He sat in the ER with me after they did another EKG and got a bracelet on me. And then we waited.
One doctor said I seemed fine and could probably run the next day! Paul gave him the death stare.
Two more doctors came in and said my EKG was deeply concerning and I would need to be kept overnight and have labs done aka NEEDLES. The waterworks began at that point. I was terrified. One doctor elaborated to inform me that I could have the problem that some athletes have been having where they just go into cardiac arrest O_O Yes. Panic more. The heart rate monitor I was hooked to proved entertainment of a sort for Paul who had never actually witnessed how slow my heart rate actually is.
I was cruising in the low 40's, mostly 38's the entire time I was there.
I dropped to 28 when she finally held me down and put the damn IV in and drew blood. And no painful IV is complete without a steaming side dish of guilt about how I should be donating blood because I have marvelous veins and I'm healthy. That nurse and I were NOT friends. So once that was done, they finally took me upstairs to observation. Got Paul a much more comfortable chair because he wouldn't leave me (Thank God. I kept telling him to go get food or a sweatshirt. He wouldn't. It was 9 and he was afraid they wouldn't let him back in. And my sweatshirt was like a girdle on him). He actually brought two bags of stuff that he grabbed quick before we left. My purse and some clothes. Bless him, he forgot underwear but remembered a sports bra and pants. hahahaha. I never even changed so it wasn't an issue. And my purse had sandwich crackers and granola bars so I'm guessing he was pretty glad he grabbed it.
We watched Angry Beavers on his tablet and he tried distracting me from the useless thing that was my IV ladden right arm. I was never even hooked up to medication or fluids.
They did an Echo cardiogram. Came back clean. The doctor that did it was new though and bruised up my ribs a little. "Ribs really get in the way, huh?" JAM JAM PRESS PRESS. You wouldn't say?!?!
The night was awful. The IV bugged me ALL night. It was in the crook of my arm/elbow/whatever and I was keenly aware of it ALL night. I could not get comfortable. Taking my contacts out was rough (and then I couldn't see my cute doctors the next morning! No glasses with me. DAMN). Plus, the poor guy on the other side of my curtained room (these weren't actual rooms, just three-sided curtain rooms. So you could hear EVERYTHING) was deaf and constipated. So he was tossing, turning, moaning, groaning. They helped him video chat with a friend, but he laughed or made noises the ENTIRE time. Probably until 2:30 am. Normally, I'd have fallen asleep, but....not in these circumstances.
They released me in the morning. I was refusing to eat their food because it was making me feel sick. And I wanted a shower. AND MY DAMN IV OUT. They said I appeared to have had a vasovagal syncope episode, which is common. It's a fainting spell when that vagus nerve in the chest gets squeezed or compressed, exactly as mine had probably been. But my heart was still concerning to them with its reversed t-waves and slow rate. So I needed to immediately see someone at home. But they let me go.
Paul and I could finally go home, get cleaned up, get real food. He watched me eat and made sure I ate slow. He said going in the kitchen freaked him out because everything was all disheveled. I felt terrible :( And then he drove me and my car down to Albany and my parents put him on the train home, since I wasn't allowed to drive. Especially not 5+ hours alone.
It was a mess. I owe Paul big time. First, for saving me. Second, for staying with me in a hospital all night. Third, for driving me home after all this. And fourth, for just being genuinely nice and understanding the entire time.
To update the situation:
I saw Doctor Chien at home. He is AWESOME. He thinks it was a vasovagal syncope and told me how to try and avoid them, because I'm obviously prone to them as some people are. He wants to do a stress test soon, once my insurance clears it. But otherwise, he thinks it's just my make-up. My reversed t-wave is actually normal into the mid-twenties. Especially for an athletic female he said. And he thinks I'm just very healthy. Nice to hear. And when Paul helped me lay down on the floor after I fainted, that's why my color returned. Although I'm sure the breath of air helped. I was only out 10 seconds. To alleviate these episodes, either lay down or cross your legs and lock your hands and pull across your chest.
So I'm hoping from here on out, it's good news. I've definitely been nervous all week and my ribs and back have been achey from the hospital stay.
The real kicker...the winner of the half marathon ran 1:28. I could have definitely won. I was pissed. And the doctors coming in saying, "All the roads are closed because of the marathon. Couldn't get to work haha" made me want to take an ultrasound probe and jab them in THEIR livers for an hour and see how THEY liked it. Grrr.
I also miss running. I feel lost after work without worrying when to go for my run and where. Who'd a thought I'd miss that!
The hospital
Emergency Department....couldn't resist some pictures in this long post.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Red Fox Red Fox!
So I had to accomplish a long run this weekend before I attempt to tackle the half marathon on Sunday. Well, it was beautiful weather on Sunday. I skipped Friday and Saturday. Achilles woes. So, I got started, had some good music blasting, and I made it down one road and was going down the street to turn down the next little section. Well, there was a rather large red fox running along the scrubby weeds along the side of the road. He was just ahead of me, bounding along.
So I grinned a little and was like, "Oh, this is pretty cool. My school mascot was the red fox. I'm running with a red fox. Awesome."
You would think.
So I go down the road, turn around and I'm heading back. Music blaring. Feeling good. I'm starting to round the corner and stop dead. The fox is SITTING in the middle of the road, watching me. His head was following me when I moved side to side. I stopped my watch by this point and bent down to pick up a handfull of small pebbles to toss in front of me to try and scare him back into the woods/defend myself. I know. I'm so capable of protecting myself against a fox. Pshh. I was screwed. He had me cornered too. I needed to go that way to get home. So I looked up from picking up the rocks and he's gone. I have my headphones off and I hit the start on my watch again. The coast seems clear.
FALSE.
I'm maybe 100 feet from where I stopped and he dashes across the road in front of me. So I SPRINT home by this point, but still had like 5 miles left.
Well, the fox was gone the next time I went by the spot about 15 minutes later.
So yeah. That was my encounter. It made me a little nervous considering it was like 3 p.m. and this guy was just hanging out in broad daylight. At the same time...maybe it was a good sign...Maybe. I mean, I would really like that.
So the half is on Sunday. I just did a treadmill run last night and today is downpours. All day. So....treadmill again. Yup.
All I want today is to take a nap on the couch and listen to the rain.
Some foxy photos in honor of my new BFF
So I grinned a little and was like, "Oh, this is pretty cool. My school mascot was the red fox. I'm running with a red fox. Awesome."
You would think.
So I go down the road, turn around and I'm heading back. Music blaring. Feeling good. I'm starting to round the corner and stop dead. The fox is SITTING in the middle of the road, watching me. His head was following me when I moved side to side. I stopped my watch by this point and bent down to pick up a handfull of small pebbles to toss in front of me to try and scare him back into the woods/defend myself. I know. I'm so capable of protecting myself against a fox. Pshh. I was screwed. He had me cornered too. I needed to go that way to get home. So I looked up from picking up the rocks and he's gone. I have my headphones off and I hit the start on my watch again. The coast seems clear.
FALSE.
I'm maybe 100 feet from where I stopped and he dashes across the road in front of me. So I SPRINT home by this point, but still had like 5 miles left.
Well, the fox was gone the next time I went by the spot about 15 minutes later.
So yeah. That was my encounter. It made me a little nervous considering it was like 3 p.m. and this guy was just hanging out in broad daylight. At the same time...maybe it was a good sign...Maybe. I mean, I would really like that.
So the half is on Sunday. I just did a treadmill run last night and today is downpours. All day. So....treadmill again. Yup.
All I want today is to take a nap on the couch and listen to the rain.
Some foxy photos in honor of my new BFF
Friday, September 14, 2012
Family Foundations
So I was doing my usual Facebook stalk around lunch time today and found this gem of a picture that my cousin used when she made the Facebook page for my Aunt's organization.
It's my Nonna and Poppa :)
My photography background loves this photo. But what I love more is that she used it as the head photo for the non profit Marie and Pat Ciochetti Foundation. My Aunt Ginny founded it in 2008 and collects various items to help families/kids/whoever who have fallen on some hard times. One example is her Thanksgiving food drive. Another is the coat drive. My favorite is when she collects books and backpacks from anyone willing to donate. I think the books are the best because of my Nonna's love for reading. I think if she could take a look at the Foundation today she'd be proud to say she was helping some kids enjoy a good book now and then.
I remember when I was little she would be sitting in her black recliner with the brass and glass light stand next to her. It was usually scattered with tissues, rosary beads, and prayer cards. But she ALWAYS had a book or two. I was little and would try to thumb through them, mostly because I liked how they felt in my hands. Heavy, comforting. And they just reminded me of afternoons at Nonna. When we would sit outside and eat Jello and Italian pastries/cookies that she kept in the oven in metal tins. My Poppa would be in his favorite spot on the couch if we were all inside. Michael would sit inside with him and ask him for Navy stories. He was intrigued by the invention called SPAM. I recently got a pair of RayBans for Christmas from my Uncle. The Wayfarers. My mom calls them my Poppa glasses because those were his eye wear of choice. He was blind and mostly deaf. So let's pain the scene: a young, dimpled Michael in his high socks and plaid shorts yelling in Poppa's best ear to tell him stories. Poppa loved these moments. In earlier days, we would all sit at the kitchen table, eat those tins of cookies or butter crusty Italian bread. And there were always tissues and a book. Sometimes nail polish.
My memories are chunky, somewhat blurred. I get a warm feeling when I think back to Nonna and Poppa. Not because I remember distinct moments, like Polaroids, but because I remember how I felt as a little kid. Nonna picking up my jean skirt to pinch my butt cheeks before I could scoot away. Her trying to speak Italian and I would obstinately refuse. How she would always have ice-cream (even the Neopolitan that not everyone was a fan of) or Jello at the ready. I remember her homemade pizzas and Christmas eve dinners. And the smell of their house that I cannot accurately describe but can still smell if I close my eyes.
The Foundation is a great thing. No one was more dedicated to their religion. And it wasn't for the sake of being religious. It provided a foundation for a family to grow on. And now it's a foundation for others beyond our family to grow and learn upon. Keep on reading. Keep on donating.
Here's a few links for more info:
Blog: http://ciochettifoundation.blogspot.com/
Facebook page: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Marie-and-Pat-Ciochetti-Foundaion/353794734696741
And of course, Mount Carmel Church in Waterbury is the home base.
My photography background loves this photo. But what I love more is that she used it as the head photo for the non profit Marie and Pat Ciochetti Foundation. My Aunt Ginny founded it in 2008 and collects various items to help families/kids/whoever who have fallen on some hard times. One example is her Thanksgiving food drive. Another is the coat drive. My favorite is when she collects books and backpacks from anyone willing to donate. I think the books are the best because of my Nonna's love for reading. I think if she could take a look at the Foundation today she'd be proud to say she was helping some kids enjoy a good book now and then.
I remember when I was little she would be sitting in her black recliner with the brass and glass light stand next to her. It was usually scattered with tissues, rosary beads, and prayer cards. But she ALWAYS had a book or two. I was little and would try to thumb through them, mostly because I liked how they felt in my hands. Heavy, comforting. And they just reminded me of afternoons at Nonna. When we would sit outside and eat Jello and Italian pastries/cookies that she kept in the oven in metal tins. My Poppa would be in his favorite spot on the couch if we were all inside. Michael would sit inside with him and ask him for Navy stories. He was intrigued by the invention called SPAM. I recently got a pair of RayBans for Christmas from my Uncle. The Wayfarers. My mom calls them my Poppa glasses because those were his eye wear of choice. He was blind and mostly deaf. So let's pain the scene: a young, dimpled Michael in his high socks and plaid shorts yelling in Poppa's best ear to tell him stories. Poppa loved these moments. In earlier days, we would all sit at the kitchen table, eat those tins of cookies or butter crusty Italian bread. And there were always tissues and a book. Sometimes nail polish.
My memories are chunky, somewhat blurred. I get a warm feeling when I think back to Nonna and Poppa. Not because I remember distinct moments, like Polaroids, but because I remember how I felt as a little kid. Nonna picking up my jean skirt to pinch my butt cheeks before I could scoot away. Her trying to speak Italian and I would obstinately refuse. How she would always have ice-cream (even the Neopolitan that not everyone was a fan of) or Jello at the ready. I remember her homemade pizzas and Christmas eve dinners. And the smell of their house that I cannot accurately describe but can still smell if I close my eyes.
The Foundation is a great thing. No one was more dedicated to their religion. And it wasn't for the sake of being religious. It provided a foundation for a family to grow on. And now it's a foundation for others beyond our family to grow and learn upon. Keep on reading. Keep on donating.
Here's a few links for more info:
Blog: http://ciochettifoundation.blogspot.com/
Facebook page: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Marie-and-Pat-Ciochetti-Foundaion/353794734696741
And of course, Mount Carmel Church in Waterbury is the home base.
Monday, September 10, 2012
Fairs do make you feel like a kid again...
Last Friday night was the start of a local tradition - The Bethlehem Fair.
Short of arriving home with a monster headache and obviously unrelenting earache, I decided to skip the run for the afternoon and traipsed out into the sticky night to go to the Fair.
Best. Decision. Ever.
My mom's reaction: "I'm so glad you decided to join us! This is like taking you to the fair when you were little and rode the elephants and ponies!!"
Needless to say, I was not the only one having a good time. Not only was I entertained, I was the ENTERTAINMENT.
I pretty much RAN to the livestock barns and laughed at the chickens with the weird afros. Looked at the cows with their runny noses and dirty butts. Picked out an energetic gray bunny that I would never be allowed to bring home. And then, finally, shopped at all the vendors to find the best price on this stupid Baja hoodie. It was made more difficult by the simple fact that a size small clearly doesn't exist nor will it ever. I managed to snag one by the end of the night, along with a completely ridiculous/obnoxious/outofthisworld costume ring. I seriously love this thing and it is probably worth less than nothing. I know. Not possible. Continuing on...
I almost convinced myself into paying 10 bucks to climb this rock wall for little kids. The prize of 50.00 for staying between the lines was really tempting. The harness that was made for 8 year-olds, was NOT tempting. I passed that one by.
We found my dad and the parents ate. I wanted to go in the Mother Goose barn aka the PETTING barn. It got to the point where I said I was hungry, when I wasn't, and ate part of my mom's chicken sandwich thing just to help her finish it faster. Then I was in mini pony/mini donkey/mule/llama heaven for about an hour. The mule, Sarah, had just about the most gorgeous coat ever. She was so soft. All I wanted to do was play with her massive ears though. She started braying and my mom blamed it on me. There were two Shetland ponies there too. The mare was full of hell. They both had blue eyes too. Really striking against their dark brown.
Yeah. I had fun. Lots of fun. The smell of my clothes was evidence enough. And my hands were brownish black from petting everything within arms reach. Oh, and I had hobbit feet from scurrying around in flip flops the whole night.
And yes, I did have a tomboy moment as well. Saw a Polaris Pro R snowmobile for sale and HAD to stop to admire it.
My advice to everyone - go to fairs! They will make you happy.
I'm beyond excited to attend the Big E at some pojnt. My weekends are usually a mess and my parents are planning to take some vacation weekends in September. But I WILL GO. Even if it's the last weekend available. It's worth it for a few hours of lost childhood happiness.
In other news,
My body is having a weird freakout. I think it knows it should be doing workouts and running harder than it currently is. Hopefully a race will fix that. It definitely is all out of wack right now though.
I actually joined this new website that Kevin told me about... www.fitocracy.com
You get points for the work outs you do and if you have friends already on it, it's even more fun. They give you challenges and you join groups for extra motivation. It's definitely interesting. I need to start doing my planks again! haha Go check it out.
And it was close-up weekend in Otis. All the toys are out of the water. We started bringing stuff in and the lift is winterized. I woke up yesterday morning to brisk September air. My favorite. I definitely will miss certain things about summer, but Fall is my favorite. I think the only season I dislike is Spring. Fall and Winter are my favorites. Yup. Ok. I think I have things to do. Actually, I definitely do. Until next time - Go exercise and go to fairs!
Short of arriving home with a monster headache and obviously unrelenting earache, I decided to skip the run for the afternoon and traipsed out into the sticky night to go to the Fair.
Best. Decision. Ever.
My mom's reaction: "I'm so glad you decided to join us! This is like taking you to the fair when you were little and rode the elephants and ponies!!"
Needless to say, I was not the only one having a good time. Not only was I entertained, I was the ENTERTAINMENT.
I pretty much RAN to the livestock barns and laughed at the chickens with the weird afros. Looked at the cows with their runny noses and dirty butts. Picked out an energetic gray bunny that I would never be allowed to bring home. And then, finally, shopped at all the vendors to find the best price on this stupid Baja hoodie. It was made more difficult by the simple fact that a size small clearly doesn't exist nor will it ever. I managed to snag one by the end of the night, along with a completely ridiculous/obnoxious/outofthisworld costume ring. I seriously love this thing and it is probably worth less than nothing. I know. Not possible. Continuing on...
I almost convinced myself into paying 10 bucks to climb this rock wall for little kids. The prize of 50.00 for staying between the lines was really tempting. The harness that was made for 8 year-olds, was NOT tempting. I passed that one by.
We found my dad and the parents ate. I wanted to go in the Mother Goose barn aka the PETTING barn. It got to the point where I said I was hungry, when I wasn't, and ate part of my mom's chicken sandwich thing just to help her finish it faster. Then I was in mini pony/mini donkey/mule/llama heaven for about an hour. The mule, Sarah, had just about the most gorgeous coat ever. She was so soft. All I wanted to do was play with her massive ears though. She started braying and my mom blamed it on me. There were two Shetland ponies there too. The mare was full of hell. They both had blue eyes too. Really striking against their dark brown.
Yeah. I had fun. Lots of fun. The smell of my clothes was evidence enough. And my hands were brownish black from petting everything within arms reach. Oh, and I had hobbit feet from scurrying around in flip flops the whole night.
And yes, I did have a tomboy moment as well. Saw a Polaris Pro R snowmobile for sale and HAD to stop to admire it.
My advice to everyone - go to fairs! They will make you happy.
I'm beyond excited to attend the Big E at some pojnt. My weekends are usually a mess and my parents are planning to take some vacation weekends in September. But I WILL GO. Even if it's the last weekend available. It's worth it for a few hours of lost childhood happiness.
In other news,
My body is having a weird freakout. I think it knows it should be doing workouts and running harder than it currently is. Hopefully a race will fix that. It definitely is all out of wack right now though.
I actually joined this new website that Kevin told me about... www.fitocracy.com
You get points for the work outs you do and if you have friends already on it, it's even more fun. They give you challenges and you join groups for extra motivation. It's definitely interesting. I need to start doing my planks again! haha Go check it out.
And it was close-up weekend in Otis. All the toys are out of the water. We started bringing stuff in and the lift is winterized. I woke up yesterday morning to brisk September air. My favorite. I definitely will miss certain things about summer, but Fall is my favorite. I think the only season I dislike is Spring. Fall and Winter are my favorites. Yup. Ok. I think I have things to do. Actually, I definitely do. Until next time - Go exercise and go to fairs!
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