Seriously? Another 3 weeks in the torture device (aka CAM boot)...UGH!

That's right. The short version. Had a doctor's appointment today. Took my actual MRI in for the orthopedist to see for himself. He suspected either a 'bad' read on the MRI or bad pictures. Well, it was neither. The MRI was fine. He agreed that no fracture was noted. So no explaination for my pain. Other than the generic 'stress response'. So, the 'plan' is to 'rest' my foot for 3 more weeks in the CAM boot and go from there. UGH! I really hate that thing.

On a positive note. I can weight bear. So I can work. Yahoo! And they got me an awesome new CAM boot. Much more like a Cadillac model. So at least I'll be a gimp in style. Or, as my dear friend Virginia says, "PIMP with da GIMP is back"! LOL!

Chowder? Teen Drama Island?

I swear. Some of your favorite shows now make me go hmmmmm.... Chowder.

I don't even know how to describe it. Bless your heart, you try to explain it to me, but when you start talking about the rock person, Schnitzl, who only says, "Radda, Radda, Radda" (and then you dissolve into the giggles before you can continue) my mind begins to wander. I can't make it through an entire episode it's so stupid. But when I leave you alone in a room watching it I invariably hear you break out into the giggles multiple times over the 30 minute period. I think the only thing I can compare it to is a tame, appropriate, non-adult content South Park. D. U. M. B. But, hey, whatever floats your boat.

Total Drama Island is another new one you've started mentioning. It's a cartoon, like Chowder, and it's a satire of Survivor & the like. The intentionally one-dimensional teen characters are thrown together in a summer camp setting, then broken up into teams and presented with challenges by their host. At the end of most episodes, someone's voted out and sent home. Again, another 30 minutes that I hear you laughing out loud, talking to the T.V. and generally enjoying yourself.

I can definitely see how your tastes have changed over the past year. While you occasionally watch Spongebob, you're really more interested in Chowder, Total Drama Island, & the like. My little boy's not so little anymore.

Santa Star Wars???

It was a lucky find. We've lived in Omaha for 6 1/2 years and I've never heard of this. Even during the height of Matthew's Star Wars addiction. On the way to school Thursday morning we just happened to be tuned into 98.5 on the radio (I've usually got it on an AM station), and they just happened to be talking to the local Garrison leader. Of course Matthew listened intently. And when they reminded listeners that Santa would arrive at SAC Airspace Museum on Saturday morning and escorted to his F-16 fighter jet by Storm Troopers where he'd take pictures with the kids, I knew my Saturday had new plans!!! Now that is a twist on your traditional "Santa picture"!

We got up early and headed out to make sure we'd be there well before Santa's 10am scheduled arrival. I'm so glad we did! We had to hang around the F-16 fighter a bit, but R2-D4 was there for entertainment. He kept us all entertained. He chattered and 'screamed' as only R2 can. Of course, he posed for pictures too. And he made the crowd laugh & giggle when he started 'dancing'! We were already lined up when Santa landed and was escorted in by the Stormtroopers, The line soon stretched all the way to the back of the hanger. YIKES! Thank goodness we only had to wait about 15 minutes.

When your turn came, you hiked up the stairs and easily slid into the fighter jet. I could see you patiently reciting your list for Santa. Hopefully he had a pen to jot everything down! Then you smiled for a picture before saying good-bye.

Just as you were coming down the stairs from your turn in the cockpit, Vader music started playing. You know the song. The song that always plays when Darth Vader's in da house. At first we were confused, but the employees told us that Darth Vader had arrived. And pointed us in the right direction to find him. Only then did we learn that Darth Vader, various other troopers, and even Darth Maul were here. We quickly headed over to that line and you got a picture with the entire Empire's darkest characters. Cool. Real cool.

Oh holy cow! The ongoing foot drama....

and the verdict is...... we don't have a diagnosis.

Yep, that's right. No diagnosis.

Let me back up. I saw Dr. Galligan today. He's a partner of Dr. Keiser's and specializes in foot & ankle issues. Dr. Keiser wanted me to see Dr. Galligan as a second opinion for my atypical & perplexing foot pain. I really liked him. And his PA. They both gave me an extremely thorough physical examination of my foot, gait, posture, etc. Side note, did you know I have flat feet? Amazing the things you learn about yourself after 34 years!

The dear PA really gave my 'hot spot' (i.e. the place that when you palpate it wants to make me vomit & jump outta my skin) a work out. When he left the room to pull all my x-rays and present me to Dr. Galligan before he came in, my poor foot was in full on throbbing mode. YOUCH! Then, of course, almost everything hurt when Dr. Galligan palpated.

Dr. Galligan said he did not think I had a neuroma. I had none of the typical symptoms. My tenderness was right over the metatarsal heads on the 3rd & 4th metatarsals. Not in the inner web space. There was no tenderness when he palpated the bottom of my foot. He still thinks I have a stress fracture or a stress response and either it was missed when the MRI was read or the pictures weren't good enough to show it. The plan? I need to obtain my MRI pictures for him to review on my next visit (I did that this afternoon & it was almost too easy). Dr. Galligan also noted that I have significantly 'tight' Gastrocnemius muscles (i.e. the calf muscles), the right one more-so than the left. This lack of motion could be contributing to a poor walking gait and increased pressure on the metatarsal heads. So I have homework - stretching exercises - until my next appointment.

So, another couple of weeks in limbo.

Black Friday musings...

Do you do Black Friday? I do. And I enjoy it. Immensely. I LOVE pouring through the ads, creating a strategy. Which store do I hit first? What's most important to get? It's a challenge. I grew up around Black Friday. My grandma was a pro. She was a petite, unassuming woman who could worm her way to the front of a line lickety split. This was all without anyone realizing what had occured. Of course, things are different now & I'm not sure she could pull that off in today's world, but she was Queen in the 80s! I remember as a child watching my mom, aunt, & grandma develop their Black Friday strategy, scour the ads, & find the best deals on the things we had to have. I always wanted to go. I begged. But, of course, since they were shopping for me I couldn't go. And it made me want to go all the more. The get up before the sun rose. To stand in the cold, chattering amongst ourselves, having the times of our lives.

Now it's my turn. Unfortunately I don't get to share that with my mom. Medically she's just not able to 'do' Black Friday anymore. And my sister never was into the whole Black Friday thing - even when we were on speaking terms. My closest friend moved over a year ago, so it's just me. Last year, in 2007, mom was recovering from her broken ankle/knee & she wasn't at home to watch Matthew, so he became my unwitting Black Friday accomplice. I wasn't sure if he'd enjoy it, but boy, I didn't expect his reaction. He absolutely adored getting up 'in the middle of the night'. He thought it was a hoot. A complete adventure. He had such a good time being my Black Friday helper that he made me promise that we could do it every year. And so I have my Black Friday buddy. Sure, he's unconventional. Did I ever think I'd enjoy going for deals with my 9 year old son? No. But he's a good buddy. Very entertaining. We enjoyed the time together spent in line - talking, laughing, just enjoying one another's company. He never complained. Not once. He's the ultimate buddy!

Black Friday is now our tradition, Matthew's & mine. And I look forward to many early mornings in the future!

Legos, legos everywhere...

Moms can relate. I'm drowning in Legos. Matthew loves them. He needs them. He can't get rid of any of them. I have totes full. I do have to give credit to Matthew: he picks them up when he's done playing with them. Recently I stumbled upon an organization system I think we might give a try.

This invention, the box-4-blox boasts it can hold up to 1700 Lego bricks. At $29.99 each, it's definitely not the cheapest solution, but it gets points for originality. I think I will nudge Santa to bring this one!

And I'll definitely come back to review it for you!

Back to my story...Matthew can't get enough Legos. Of course, they are always the $90 sets that never stay put together. But I digress. It keeps him happy & busy for hours. They keep him creative. And he loves them. Adores them. Has for years.

This year he made out his Christmas list for Santa and there were 2 Lego sets listed. I wasn't familiar with either set so I innocently inquired how much each cost (hey, gotta watch out for dear Santa's budget, ya know). $10 each. Shocked, I was. He wants 2 little Star Wars sets. Wow. Yoda didn't prepare me for this one. I think Santa can handle that. Good boy!

Of course, it's only November 17th and we have well over a month for him to find more expensive sets to add to his list. And we will be visiting the Lego Store when we are at DisneyWorld next month. So my joy for Santa may be short-lived, but I'll bask in the glory -- for now.

A, You're Adorable....

As I was flipping through old pictures, I found one of you with a book strewn next to you. The book. The book I read...actually sung...to you so often. Of course I pulled that picture out because I had to tell that story.

I tried to sing it again. To see if I remembered the lyrics. And I did. Now to record them for posterity. The book. It's A You're Adorable by Martha Alexander. A beautiful little board book that we read (sung) so many times. You'd always giggle when I'd get to the part..."K you're so kissable". And, of course, I'd have to steal a kiss every time. Ahhhh...baby kisses.

I hope we still have the book.







Everything is from Misty Cato's kit, "Sweet Safari". This kit will be available at Sweet Shoppe Designs on November 29th.

Matthew's room...

Jessica's assignment today is to look through the "Family" story sparks and write about one. Here's what I chose...

How was your child's room decorated? What was on the walls?

In the beginning there was no flood of pink or sea of blue. You were stubborn. You refused to let us peek into your world in utero and reveal to me your gender. So, of course, I had to be "gender neutral". What to do with the nursery? At the time I was living with my mom in a rented duplex. You had your own room, acutally it was a 'den' (no windows so it couldn't be billed as a bedroom), but it was yours. So, unfortunately, I could not paint or decorate in that sense. I finally decided on Winnie the Pooh. Not the classic, the bright, cartoon-y Winnie & friends! And to brighten things up, I bought stick on Winnie wall decorations. They worked perfectly! It was bright and finished. A cute beginning for you.

When you were between 1 & 2 we moved. We moved to a brand new little house that had just been constructed. Our landlord, Ace, was awesome. He didn't care if we painted, what color, or anything. I was hyped! At this point you still didn't have an opinion as to decorating so I got to make all of the choices! And what did I choose? Cars & trucks, of course. Big, bright, blocky cars and trucks. What color did your walls end up? Red. Yep. Bright red. Man, for my first painting job that was DIFFICULT. I swore it was never going to really be red (it looked pink for the first 25 bazillion coats). Definitely an advanced choice for a beginning, but I was happy with the results. In this room you became a little boy instead of my baby. You went into the room with a crib and came out in a 'big boy bed'.

When we moved to Omaha for me to start nursing school you were 4 years old. We moved into another small house. Things were status quo. No real new decorating and definitely no wall painting. The following year when we moved to a larger house (on R Street), against the lease I painted your room a soft blue. I painted it back to white when we moved 2 years later into the house I bought.

I went wild in your new room. The walls were orange and atomic vomit green. Yes, you read the color correctly. Atomic VOMIT green. Basically a bright-ass lime green. Your new bedding was horizontal striped. It had most colors: blue, red, orange, lime green, yellow. It was adorable and the walls just finished off the look. For about a year & a half this was your room. Until you became a Star Wars fanatic. Then the walls were repainted white with black accents. Very different from before. You new bedding was black. I sewed Star Wars fabric pillows. And I even sewed a Star Wars rag quilt for your bed as well. This bedding has served you well. It has been your bedding for the past 3+ years.

What will you want next? Only time will tell!

Poor Dr. Keiser...

So I unloaded on him today. Had a full and total breakdown during my appointment. Complete with tears, sniffles, and chest-heaving sobs. I really didn't realize it was in me until everything just came pouring out.

I'm scared. And tired of the pain. And I just want it to all be over and not be encompassing my life. I'm scared these last 2 injections won't work. Then I have to make a decision that will affect the rest of my life - surgery or not. And I just don't know what to do. I don't want to make that decision. It's not fair!

I want to go to Disney in 3 weeks and not worry about the pain. Or be in pain during this trip.


He decided that he wants me to see his partner, Dr. Galligan for a 2nd opinion. In their practice, Dr. Galligan has been the foot & ankle man for the past couple of years. So, he deals with this much more than Dr. Keiser. And should I need surgery, he thinks Dr. Galligan should do it simply because he has done them more frequently & more recently than Dr. Keiser. So, I left with my 2nd cortisone injection and an appointment with Dr. Galligan. Ugh.

Tigger in February!

Since we last were talking about my history of illnesses, my memory was sparked of poor Matthew's bout with Rotavirus. For those of you who don't know what Rotavirus is, it is the DEVIL. It causes its victims to projectile vomit all the while pooping themselves. And this is no regular poop. Again, anyone who has been around someone with Rotavirus will attest. It has a special smell. And that's special in not a good way. Of course, it's not your regular poop either. It's liquid diarrhea. N. A. S. T. Y.

I was completely unprepared for this occurance in February of 2000. Poor Matthew was a trooper through it all. He smiled after throwing up. Giggled even though his poor bottom was raw with diaper rash from all of the stool. Thank god my gag reflex isn't that strong. At its worst, poor Matthew kept blowing out diapers. I was exhausted. He was exhausted. And, frankly, laundry wasn't at the top of my list. Until we ran out of clean clothing. Yep. Out of clean clothes. Nothing left. Everything in a dirty poop pile. And this is February. It's not as if I could let poor Matthew hang out in his diaper. It was cold outside. So I frantically threw everything in the wash and searched for any possible option. Hanging in the closet was Matthew's Tigger outfit from Halloween. It was way to small. Your little arms and legs stuck were now way too long for fabric. But it was our only option. So, I had a little Tigger in February. And you were such a happy sick baby. I have a sweet picture of you, pale as a ghost, smiling, in that Tigger outfit.

In the end we went to the doctor that day. Dr. Krenzer wanted to admit you to the hospital for some hydration, but they were full. No room at all. So we sat at the Grand Island clinic for several hours, you hooked up to an IV. And you didn't complain. You were such a happy sick baby. Thank goodness this didn't last long.

I created the layout to the right for my Stories in Hand book (not sure what I'm going to call it at this point - I'm open to suggestions). Credits include: white paper: creashans, doodles (ouch, bandaid, stethescope, clipboard): Kate Hadfield, doodle border, starburst heart: Weeds & Wildflowers, paint swipe: Jen Wilson, and staples: Jenn Patrick.

Bumps & Boo-boos!

Ready for another story? Current events have made me think about all of the times I have truly been "ill" since childhood. First, the current story.

I'm a pretty well person. I don't take medications. I'd be a horrible chronically ill person because I simply cannot make myself take medicine everyday! So, when my right foot started hurting over the weekend on 8/21/08 I figured it was simply because we were incredibly, unusually busy at work over that weekend. I'm a nurse who routinely works 3 12 hour shifts a week on my feet. So that was nothing new. But usually when I have achy feet they are better after sleep. Not this time. My right foot ached. A horrible, deep pain. And I felt it on the top of my foot. Odd. Of course, it didn't get better. It got worse. To the point that I was hobbling & limping. First thing on Monday morning I called Dr. Keiser (my go-to orthopedic doctor - he's SO awesome) and he got me in right away. From everything I read I was absolutely certain that I had a stress fracture. The symptoms all fit. We did x-rays & he saw an area that he thought could be a fracture (I later learned not all stress fractures show on x-ray - some never do). So home I went with pain meds (Ultram: love it, cuts the pain without making me feel 'out of it' and Naprosyn: anti-inflammatory) and "the boot". Yep, you've probably seen them around. A sexy cam-walker boot. Um, well, probably more like a medieval torture device. The thing was heavy and bulky. It made me walk funny (which in turn made my back hurt). But, it did make it so I could walk without pain. It was odd, though. If I had it on & was sitting still/had my foot propped up, the pain of non-movement in my ankle was unbelievable. And I did this for 6 weeks. Six very, very long weeks.

Then the magical day where I was to remove my boot and hopefully be 'cured' came. Yeah. Right. It so did not happen. Youch. No change what-so-ever. I was devastated. Not only because I was in pain, but because Dr. Keiser had stated that if I was still in pain after taking the boot off I'd probably have to go 6 weeks non-weight bearing. That meant no work. No driving. Crutches. Not a good thing given I'm a single parent responsible for getting my son to/from school, my mom to/from doctor's appointments, etc. It would not be a good thing. So I sat in the office terrified. Another x-ray. It was weird. The 'possible' stress fracture he saw last time was no longer there. No fracture noted on the x-ray. Again, not surprising. It happens more than you think. But this time Dr. Keiser stated that my description of the pain - now more burning, pinpoint, sometimes even when I wasn't walking/bearing weight- sounded like a neuroma. Hmmmm...I'd never heard of that. I wasn't prepared for this possibility. So we had options. He stated I could get a MRI to make 100% sure I didn't have a fracture. That would be a definitive answer. The MRI may or may not pick up a neuroma. But, if it wasn't a fracture it'd have to be a neuroma. The downside was the cost. MRIs aren't cheap. Luckily my insurance rocks and if I have the MRI at Creighton it doesn't cost me a thing. So that was the plan. A MRI and develop a plan of care when we have the results. I left the office and was able to breathe. No jail sentence for me...yet. Oh, did I mention that Matthew & I had a Christmas trip to Disneyworld planned for 12/10-12/18 and I know he would have been devastated if we had to cancel.

After a comedy of errors in getting a MRI appointment since Dr. Keiser doesn't have privileges at Creighton, the day finally came. Let me be blunt. MRIs suck. They are uncomfortable. In every sense of the word. The scheduling lady made me anxious, leading me to believe I might be too fat for the machine - gee thanks. So when that was not the case I was triumphant. The MRI tech positioned my foot. He put some things around my foot to help hold it, but didn't want to disrupt any pictures, so it wasn't packed in tight by any means. I had to keep my foot still, with the ankle at a 90 degree angle. Let me tell you, that is NOT comfortable. Just fall asleep, the MRI tech said. Sure.....it took every bit of my self control to make sure my foot stayed in position. Did not move. And it hurt. Very uncomfortable. And the MRI table isn't a padded bed either. So I was fighting foot pain, back pain and general discomfort for all of 40 minutes. UGH! And the feeling. No one ever tells you about it. I swear I could FEEL the MRI in my tissues, muscles, and bones. I felt it. It was the oddest feeling I think I've ever had. Again, thank goodness it was only 40 minutes because I'm not sure how much more I could have taken.

And the waiting game began. Dr. Keiser's office has notices all over to all 5 days for the doctor to call you for MRI results. My MRI was at 6am on a Monday morning. I figured by the following Monday I was ok to call for results. I had to leave a message. On Tuesday Dr. Keiser is in surgery all day so I didn't bother to call. By Wednesday I left another message and was getting more frustrated. And I was downright hostile by Thursday. And when the MA finally called me back on Thursday I was less than thrilled to hear that they didn't have the MRI report. Well, silly me would have thought my phone call on MONDAY saying I had the MRI the previous week would have cued you to call Creighton to inquire about it. Silly me. I didn't expect to hear from Dr. Keiser til Friday, but he called me at about 5:30pm Thursday night. The results? There was no evidence of fracture, but no evidence of neuroma either. Again, Dr. Keiser stated that neuromas aren't always shown on MRIs due to positioning or size of the neuroma. It was decided that I would call for an appointment for a cortisone injection.

And that's where we're at. Almost 3 weeks ago I had my 1st cortisone injection. It hurt like hell. And it worked for the first 2-3 days. Of course it was still numb from the lidocaine in the injection, but I was hopefully. Then gradually the feeling came back At first all I felt was pressure. Sometimes uncomfortable, but there none-the-less. Then it progressed to pain. But definitely less than it had been before the injection. Progress. It was tolerable. Unfortunately, by week 2 I was back to the same intensity of pain I started with. And I'm ready for my 2nd shot next week. I can have a total of 3 shots, 3 weeks apart. After that I will have to weigh the pros and cons of surgery. I hope it won't come to that.

Boy. That was long. And I told you I was a healthy person! Other childhood illnesses I can remember include:

1. I broke my right arm when I was about 4 years old. I had this awesome dark wood captain's bed. Of course I remember it being up to the ceiling, but realistically it was short enough that I could stand up on the bed and not hit the ceiling with my head. I was simply doing something I did all the time - pulling my covers back to get ready for bed. And how did I do that? By standing on the bed, walking backward toward the foot of the bed pulling the covers down. Duh. I don't know if I misjudged where I was at in the bed, tripped, or what, but soon I was on the floor. Some of the rest of it is a blur to me, but I know I didn't have a cast. Just a splint. And I hated it. I wanted to play outside with no restrictions. Of course mom told me not to run, but did I listen? Nope. With very little time before I was to get my splint off I was running, like I was not supposed to, tripped, fell, & re-broke my arm. So, I got to spend even more time in the splint. Not an easy thing to go through when you were so young!

2. As a little girl I loved to take bubble baths. One of the favorite things my Grandma would buy me was Avon bubble bath. I could spend hours in the bath. Unfortunately I paid for them! I developed multiple, chronic urinary tract infections. So much so that the doctors wanted to perform a cystoscopy and inject antibiotics directly between the kidneys & bladder (at least that's what I've been told was done). Of course, being so young I went to the hospital and was put under general anesthesia for the procedure. Again, I don't have lots of vivid memories, but I distinctly remember waking up from general anesthesia. I hollered. I cried. It hurt. I was having horrid, painful bladder spasms. I remember. Thank goodness they did not last for long. Another memory? My first grade class, led by my very favorite teacher, Mrs. Hough, made me a get well card. Mrs. Hough made the huge card herself. She hand-drew the jack-in-the-box that adorned the outside of the card. I still have it packed away in a box somewhere.

3. My dad's been sick for a long time. Since around the time I was in junior high school. He had Epstein Barr Virus - later know as Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. And now suffers with Fibromyalgia too. So when I became severely fatigued my mom was worried. After consults with our Pediatrician I was diagnosed with mononucleosis. And I had it bad. I don't remember pain so much as just no energy. No desire to do anything. I could sleep 20 hours a day, every day, easily. And it took me a long time to recover. I missed weeks from school. And in the end my mom was so desperate to help me recover that she followed my Pediatrician's recommendation and got me a dog. Dear Doogie was a loved member of our family for years before going to live with my dad.

4. On 9/11/07 I had a horrible head/chest cold. I contemplated calling in ill to work, but decided that I could make it through 1 shift. Little did I know how incredibly busy we were. I was miserable. And the patient I was caring for didn't help any. She was a frequent flier & we were all used to how difficult she was. Luckily, though, the decision was made that it was time to deliver her via c-section. Back in the OR I started to feel worse. I was all sweaty and my chest hurt. I was miserable. Linda, our OR tech, noticed how ill I looked (even behind the mask) and I told her that I did not feel well. Of course, I mentioned the magic words, "CHEST PAIN". Dr Khandalavala looked up from the c-section and said if I was having chest pain I needed to be seen in the ER. Again, I assured everyone it was simply a cold and the pain I was having was from that. He was not convinced and after the surgery was over he again said I needed to be seen. Maybe later, I said. There was no one to care for my patient during recovery. So I managed to get through the next hour. I told myself maybe it was heartburn, so I took some Tums. I bargained with myself. If I still had pain after taking Tums I would go the ER.

After handing my patient off to Post Partum to care for I relented and headed for the ER. I refused a wheelchair and told my co-workers that I'd be back in an hour or 2. Of course, the "magic words" got me whisked back to a room right away. Things were quick. I had an EKG, oxygen applied, an aspirin shoved in my mouth & being told to 'chew' it (YUCK!), and the doctor came in. Again, I was still certain it was nothing. Then they gave me nitroglycerin. I had no headache with that and the pain, while still there, had lessened slightly. The nurse was at my side starting an IV, drawing blood. Finally the doctor came in & said they were going to start me on a nitro drip. I think I laughed at him. Really? Mind you nothing abnormal had been detected up to this point. My EKG was normal with a PVC here & there (hello, CAFFEINE) and a smidge of tachycardia (heck, you slapped all these things on me and I'm sick to boot and you wonder why my pulse is in the 100s?!?!). I will give them that my initial BP was 140/90. High for me, but I was SICK. I didn't feel well. I got some IV Lopressor for that. The ER doc said that anyone with unexplained chest pain needed to be started on nitro and observed at least overnight. The kicker? Because I was on a nitro drip I would have to be admitted to Cardiac ICU. Seriously. Wow! I gave up. Whatever, I could use the rest. I called upstairs to give them the great news. They were all appropriately concerned. I took a nap on the stretcher and watched some horrendously bad middle of the night TV while they prepared a room for me. The chest pain was fading.

By the time I hit Cardiac ICU the chest pain was gone. After answering all of the fun admission database questions I was allowed to get some rest. In the morning someone wanted to give me PO Lopressor for my blood pressure (it was currently hovering at my normal: 88/44). I politely declined the offer. :) The medical student came by and I think I had the most comprehensive physical exam that I've ever had. And, unfortunately, I had to make the phone call I dreaded. I had to call mom and tell her where I was. Luckily she was calm. Finally my doctor came around with her medical students and I got to meet Dr. Anna Maio. She is awesome. I love her. She pronounced me fine. I just had to get a clean echocardiogram and 2nd set of cardiac enzymes before I'd be allowed to leave. I love her because she didn't make me do an exercise cardiac stress test (YAY!). Like me, she suspected heartburn. Later that morning I had my echocardiogram (dang they press hard over your bones and it HURTS) and 2nd set of cardiac enzymes. Both were normal so I was given my walking papers and a prescription for Pepcid. What an experience!

5. After mom broke her ankle/knee in October 2007, I slowly developed pain in my left shoulder. It started that I thought I slept wrong. I'm usually a pretty heavy sleeper and tend not to move or change positions much in the night. So when I woke up I was miserable. The shoulder joint hurt. I had full range of motion, but couldn't lift the arm over my head without horrible pain. I wanted to see if it'd pass, but, of course, it didn't. I soon saw my Internal Medicine doctor, Dr Maio. She gave me pain medication and Naprosyn as an anti-inflammatory. She wanted me to 'rest' it for a week and if I continued to have pain/problems to call and she would make an appointment for me at the Rheumatology Clinic for a cortisone injection. After a week of no improvement I decided to see mom's orthopedic doctor, Dr. Keiser, instead. He diagnosed me with tendonitis, performed a cortisone shot (barely hurt at all!) and sent me on my way. It was cured. No further pain or pressure. So, of course, if anything orthopedic ever happens to me I will definitely see Dr. Keiser in the future.

Flash back....

So we were talking about earrings last night. Getting your ears pierced, etc. When was the right time. Blah, blah, blah. Of course, that sparked one of my first story-memories for the class I'm taking with Jessica Sprague. I've always said that I have very few memories of childhood, but that's really not true. When I sit down and think about it, or hear other people talk about things, my memory is sparked.

Teddy bears. I loved them. They were tiny, gold bears. So delicate. I was afraid I'd lose them. Perhaps that's what cause me to tighten the back so tightly onto my ears that my lobes swelled. And got infected. And painful. And no one noticed, until I finally told them. I remember sitting in the kitchen. Poor mom and dad. They looked worried. As I sat on the kitchen chair mom tried and tried and tried to get the earrings unhooked. They wouldn't budge. I told you I wedged them on tightly. I didn't want to lose those beautiful earrings. How old was I? I was young. Maybe 1st grade. They hurt. My ears were swollen. Hot. Weeping with infection. Trying to get them out hurt. Poor mom. Poor me. Finally dad got his pliers from the garage. Scary. But there's no way those earrings were coming out without more force than fingers could provide. Poor me, the earrings had been in long enough for the backs to almost grow into my swollen earlobes. I just didn't want to lose them. I didn't know any better. Finally, after much effort, they were freed. And those teddy bears were never the same. I never again looked at them with longing. Especially after weeks of hydrogen peroxide and healing. Ouch.

I've joined the present!

That's right. I've joined you. All of you. For awhile now I've silently read and collected fun blogs. Peeking into the minds and lives of people I don't know. Of course, I feel like I know them because I spend so much time reading about the mundane things...and the joys...and the tears.

And what made me want to put myself out there? It's funny. I'm taking a class from http://www.jessicasprague.com/ called "Stories in Hand". And one of the challenges is to put memories down in a form that you're not used to....handwriting, typing, blogging, videoing, scrapbooking, etc. For me, I figured blogging was the thing to do. It'd be an easy way to capture those memories and have them available to transfer to my true love - scrapbooking! So, grab a cuppa joe (or diet Coke) 'cause I've got lots to say!

Who am I? That's the question. I'm a single mom. I'm a daughter. I'm not a wife. I'm a nurse (labor & delivery - so you may have to excuse me if I get "gross" because nothing phases me!). I'm a friend. I'm me.

My name is Angela. I'm 34 years old - yep, not AMA yet. Not that I'm going to procreate before I turn AMA (AMA, or advanced maternal age, is a label slapped on women who are or will be 35 years old when they give birth). Seeing that there's only a little over 6 months until I turn 35 AND I'm not in a relationship I'm pretty safe from being AMA any time soon! I live in Omaha, NE (that's Nebraska, not the 'northeast' for those wondering - yep, I can't tell you the number of times people think the abbreviation "NE" stands for the northeast. YIKES!). As I said before I'm a nurse. Currently I am a "unit shift supervisor" (nice euphanesim for charge nurse - i.e. overworked & underpaid) at a local high risk Labor & Delivery/Family Birth Center unit. I love my job. L. O. V. E. it. I love our clients - definitely not the 'traditional' married couples with insurance, etc. Nope, we get lots of single moms, teens (as young as 12 - I guess that would be pre-teen), non-English speaking patients, drug addicted patients, and, of course, a smattering of your average married couples (few & far between). I can't imagine myself working anywhere else.

The most important part of my life? My 9 1/2 year old son, Matthew. Hence the name of my blog. For almost a decade I have been 'just matthewsmom'. If you want to email me, matthewsmom is in the email address. Want to find me on a message board? matthewsmom is my username. So, it'd be fitting to name my blog it too! Dear Matthew is in the 4th grade and is the source of most of my stories: the good, the bad, & the ugly.

Anyway, that's about all for my hodge-podged introductory posting. Hope to see you all back soon!