A Perplexing Situation

All week I've had pain in my right hand extending from my ring finger to my wrist. It hurt so badly, I thought I'd managed to fracture a bone. My hands are small and my bones tiny. I hadn't fallen or whacked it on anything, so I had no idea why it was hurting so. To remedy the situation, I pulled out an old wrist brace I'd saved in my medical equipment box. (It was from a time I'd fallen in a hole in the backyard and fractured my wrist.)

Several days after wearing the brace, the pain got better. That helped me realize 2 things: 1. My bone was not broken 2.;There was a logical reason. 

Trying to figure out the cause was hard. I went over multiple factors, but I finally think I have the answer- my cell phone.

My phone is big and heavy. I looked up the weight, 6.6 ounces. Add an Otter Box on top of it and I've probably been lifting 8 ounces a day repeatedly. My poor little bones were screaming out for relief. 

When I solved the problem, I decided to only pick up my phone when necessary, to use my earbuds, and to switch hands often if I had to hold the phone. 

I wish I had a lighter phone. I guess I could always go get a burner, but I like all my bells and whistles so I won't. 

There is an article will some helpful info if you have "phone wrist fatigue" too. 

~ Random musings from yours truly

Read more about smartphone wrist fatigue

Weighing in

My Daddy was a complicated and complex man. You'd never know it by the looks of him. He was very quiet and reserved, rarely speaking unless absolutely necessary. I didn't realize it when I was kid, but he weighed his words carefully, never wasting a one. That's a virtue according to the Bible - "Be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry." James 1:19. He did pretty good with 2 out of 3. Not only did Daddy weigh his words, he also loved weighing babies. Whenever a new baby was born into the family, Daddy would pull out a set of old grocery scales. He'd set it up on the kitchen table, line it with a small hand towel, and carefully place the baby onto the curved metal bowl of the scale. Slowly and tenderly, he'd move the weight until the scale was in perfect balance. A gentle smile of satisfaction would cross his face. He'd done it again. After recording the baby's weight, he'd put the scale away until next time. My siblings and I marveled at the way he took such pride and care of that scale. 

As a child, I'd seen that scale in its old rusted state. I don't remember where Daddy said he'd gotten it, but it was unique. I'm pretty sure the scale was iron, it was heavy as lead, that's for sure. 

Daddy scrubbed all the rust off of it with a wire brush and after he'd cleaned it well, he painted it with gold spray paint. It looked almost as good as new. He was proud of it. 

During my childhood, before Daddy painted the scale, Mama would put plastic fake fruit in the bowl of it and sit it on the kitchen table for decoration. Those purple, rubbery grapes and other fruits looked pleasing to the eye, but they were far from it taste wise. I remember plucking a grape off once and trying to eat it. Blech! I spit it out as quickly as I'd popped it in my mouth. 

The Bible speaks a lot about scales, weights and measures. I would love to see photos of some of the tools used for measuring during those times, but I'm not sure there are any available. 

As I was reading my Bible the other day, I came across a verse found in Psalm 62 -

One thing God has spoken, two things I have heard: that you, O God, are strong and that you, O Lord are loving" (Psalm 62:11-12)

That verse made me think back to the scale. I could imagine a heavenly scale. On one side, God's strength. On the other, His love. Both of those attributes to His character were in perfect harmony and balance. 

God is a God of order. Nothing gets out of balance where He's concerned. Even when things seem to be off kilter, He rights them in a hurry because according to His perfect plan, all things are worked out for our good. 

My Daddy was skilled at getting the scales balanced, although it took time and patience. God balances everything via His righteousness. I'm glad He's got it all under control and I can trust Him to keep our crazy world in check, aren't you? Balance - an even distribution of weight enabling something to stay upright or on course. Yeh. He does a good job at that, my God. Yes, He does. 

Instant weight loss

It's been a while since I've written and while I never meant to go that long of a stretch without writing, that can only mean one thing - I've been doing well and I've been busy!

For the past few months, I've focused on a new hobby, acrylic pouring. It's a process where you create paintings without the use of a brush at all. By mixing the paint with a combination of pouring medium, water, silicone, and other ingredients, you pour the paint onto the canvas and manipulate it by moving it back and forth. As the paint settles, it often changes forming a new painting until it's finally though moving. It's a very unique and fulfilling process.

I made so many paintings that my office began to get full of them and so I started an Etsy shop at the insistence of one of my daughters. There I was able to sell many of my paintings and jewelry but after about a month, I got tired of the hassle of packaging and mailing off my art so I closed shop and decided to start giving my works away. To me, that was much more rewarding.

Yesterday, instead of painting, my husband and I left early in the morning to head to Atlanta for a doctor's appointment. We knew traffic would be heavy and it would take over an hour to get there, so we gave ourselves enough time to have an enjoyable, unrushed ride.

When we arrived, the waiting room was packed and we knew it would be a while before I was called back. About thirty minutes passed before my name was called.

The nurse took me back and as always, began with vital statistics. I hate that they always want to weigh you first, but I stepped on the scale as she instructed. I could tell by the look on her face that I'd gained weight since my last visit. She looked at me and before she was going to open her mouth I said, "You know, I can lose that weight in an instant." She quizzically looked at me and I continued, "I couldn't decide whether to wear the lightweight prostheses this morning, or the heavyweight ones. I chose the big girls which weigh about 4 pounds." She smiled and said, "Really? Well I can deduct that amount from your chart." I smiled the biggest smile and replied, "Would you really? That would be awesome!" And she did!

When I received the paperwork with my statistics on it, she had entered a 4 pound loss in weight. I was so happy she hadn't counted the weight of my false breasts.

The appointment went well and we returned to our side of town only to head for 2 more appointments. It was time for my to reorder my compression sleeves for Lymphedema and it was also time for new boobs! The insurance company allows me to get new sleeves every year but boobs and bras are every two years.

After completing those errands, we took time out for lunch and then headed back home. It was a good day and I was thankful my hubby could accompany me on this trip.

Wouldn't it be wonderful if we could all lose 4 pounds as quickly and easily as I did today? I am thankful the nurse was sensitive to my plight. I wonder if other breast cancer survivors have been through the same scenario...

The case of the missing boobs

In my house, you never know where my boobs will turn up. Wait a minute you say...what is she talking about??? I'll back up and explain for those of you who don't know. Almost 3 years ago,  I had both of my breasts removed due to breast cancer. After surgery, I chose not to have reconstruction. I didn't want to go through the pain of more surgery. The breast surgeon said if I didn't choose reconstruction I'd have to either be flat chested forever or wear prostheses. I figured my best choice would be to remain flat chest for most of the time and wear prostheses only when necessary. It's worked out pretty well for me.

My first set of silicone breasts were a large C cup. The fitter at the little boutique selling after care items for breast cancer patients encouraged me to go with a large cup size. She said the prostheses needed to match my body. (I guess that was her way of saying I was overweight or of large stature?) I had no idea what I was doing so I trusted her. I went home with those heavy breast forms. The first time I tried to wear them, I felt so weighted down. My natural breasts hadn't been that heavy and certainly weren't that large. Needless to say, I only wore them once.

Around the house, I don't wear my prostheses. I'm more comfortable sans breasts. My husband and children have gotten used to seeing me this way and think nothing of it. When I go out in public, I do wear the prostheses. I'm still not comfortable being without breasts when I'm around others. I guess I don't want to disappoint them or have the constant stares that come with judgmental eyes.

We were on the way to the nursing home recently to visit my mother so I slipped on my mastectomy  bra and prostheses. I knew we'd be gone all day and would probably go out to eat. Although uncomfortable to wear all day, the prostheses were going with me.

The ride to the nursing home was long. We had a good visit with my mother and on the way back home, stopped for a quick dinner out. On the way home, I told my husband I was tired of wearing my boobs. He said, "Why don't you take them off then?" (I've made a point to remove my boobs whenever I felt I couldn't wear them one second longer. My family is used to me whipping them off at random places and times.) I've gotten quite adept at removing my bra and prostheses without removing my blouse. I smiled at him in silent agreement. "Here they go," I said as I unbuttoned the sleeves of my blouse, reached inside, grabbed my bra straps and pulled them down until I could slip my arm through. After getting my arms free, I reached up and under the back of my blouse to unhook my bra. Next I grabbed one of the bra straps through the armhole of my blouse and gave it a quick yank. The bra and prostheses came out easily. I threw them into the back seat of the car and breathed a sigh of relief. I was so thankful to have the excess weight removed. When we reached home a couple of hours later, we were both exhausted. We went inside just as it was getting dark and got ready for bed.

The following day, I had a doctors appointment. After showering and getting my makeup on, I was ready to get dressed. I'd already picked out my clothes and had them lying across my bed so they wouldn't get wrinkled. I slipped on my pants, socks and shoes. I went to my dresser drawer to pull out my bra and prostheses. I keep my silicone breast forms in two small round zippered cases with built in sling hammocks. The little hammocks are to keep the forms from being damaged. As I looked inside the cases, the breast forms weren't there. Now where in the world had I put them? I went into the kitchen to look. Sometimes I leave them on the kitchen table when I come in from a trip. They weren't there. I looked in all the usual places and couldn't find them. That's when it hit me. My boobs must still be in the back of my husband's car! Quickly, I sent him a text and asked if he'd take a look. He left the warehouse and went out to the parking lot. Sure enough, my bra and boobs were lying in plain view on the backseat of his car! I couldn't help but laugh as he told me. I wondered what his coworkers thought as they passed by his car and noticed the intimate apparel with flesh colored silicone breasts peeking out. Did they think he was a transvestite or transgender person??? Heaven forbid!

I remembered I some microbead breast forms I'd made last year for a summer trip to the beach. I dug them out of my closet and put them into another mastectomy bra. Without weights in them, the bra kept crawling upward as I moved. Pretty soon, the bra and boobs were practically under my chin! This was inconvenient! I stripped that get up off and decided I'd just go to the doctor without anything on. If I chose a print or checked blouse, it wouldn't be quite as evident that I was flat chested.

When my husband came home from work later that evening with my bra dangling from his fingertips, I was so embarrassed. I asked if he got teased by any of the guys at work. He told me none of the guys had seen my gear. I was so thankful! I guess I'm going to have to be a little more selective about when and where I strip off my boobs. I'd certainly hate to have them turn up unexpectedly at a most inopportune time.

Boobs or no boobs, that is the question

If there was a stronger word than hate, I'd be using that word right now. Well, maybe there is...how about detest, abhor, or loathe? No, hate says it best. I hate, hate, hate going to the doctor, but today I had an appointment with my primary care physician so I had to go. Boo! So, I got up early and got a shower. I don't know why I made such an early morning appointment...note to self, don't do that again!

After my shower, I got on the scale. I wanted to see how much I weighed before I actually had to get on the scale at the doctor's office. First, I weighed without clothes and then I weighed with clothes. I was surprised to find a 2 pound difference with my clothes on. Next, I had to decide which shoes to wear. I wanted to wear some lightweight ones. I had two pair from which to choose...Crocs and leather sandals. Before putting them on, I weighed the shoes...yes, I know, a little obsessive but hey, we do whatever we can to keep the numbers on the scale as low as possible, don't we? The Crocs were the winner at just under a pound. I got back on the scale. Hmmm... with my shoes and clothes on I was up almost 3 pounds! Now, the real dilemma - should I wear my boobs or shouldn't I? I wasn't trying to be overly sensitive about my weight, but I knew my lightest weight prostheses weighed over 2 pounds. If I chose to wear my C cups, I'd be adding more than 4 pounds to my current weight. Decisions, decisions...what to do?

The last time I was at the doctor's office, he chided me on my weight. I hadn't gained anything since my last visit but he was encouraging me to try to lose weight. His reasoning was "Excess fat produces excess Estrogen in your body and the excess Estrogen feeds cancer cells." And since my specific type of cancer was fed by both Estrogen and Progesterone, I didn't want to take any chances on my body producing excess Estrogen. Since he'd given me that information, I'd become a little more concerned with watching the numbers on the scale and I'd started restricting my diet. Although I'm not currently presenting any evidence of disease; I haven't been declared cancer free. But for the next few years, all of my medical team will be watching me closely.

I put my scale back in the closet. I'd made a decision. I chose not to wear my prostheses to my appointment. Not only would I weigh less, I would be much cooler. The silicone breast forms warm up quite rapidly against my skin and make me feel uncomfortable. I don't like going sans breasts because I'm very self conscious about my appearance. But doing so would be far easier than trying to explain my dilemma to the medical assistant. I could just imagine her rolling her eyes as she held the clipboard and looked at the scale as I cleared my throat and said, "By the way, you are going to deduct 4 pounds for the weight of my prostheses aren't you?"

Why do we let our weight define us anyway? Is there really a perfect weight? Medical doctors have specific guidelines we're supposed to fall into based on our gender and height, but how many people actually fall into those ranges? In America, where food is plentiful and TVs constantly barrage us with commercials of tempting morsels, aren't we all a little overweight? If not, why do so many people slip off their shoes when it's time to get on the scale at the doctor's office? I rest my case.

© bonnie annis all rights reserved

The easiest way to lose weight

Today I had to go to the doctor. I hate going to the doctor...well, I don't really hate going to the doctor, I hate going to see the doctor and having to get on the scale. I hate that they have the scale right out in the open in a hallway where anyone who passes by can see what you weigh. For me, that's scary. I want to keep my weight private. Shouldn't there be a HIPAA law or something to protect me from having my weight scrutinized by prying eyes? Surely there should be. Anyway, as much as I hated going to see the doctor today, I went. This was a follow up visit for an esophageoendoscopy I'd had done recently. I already had the results so I didn't really understand why it was necessary for me to go in for an office visit, but I'm compliant, so off I went.

I arrived at the gastroenterologist's office about fifteen minutes early. I'm always early. I like to have a few minutes to just sit in the waiting room and chill out before my appointment. For some reason, I get white coat syndrome...you know, where you're heart rate speeds up and you feel panic and you want to run?! Well, I sat in the waiting room listening to the receptionist giving out social security numbers and other private information over the phone to an insurance company. I was checking Facebook on my Iphone so I was half listening and half not. If I'd wanted to steal someone's identity, I could have done it easily. I wanted to chide the receptionist for being so careless about sharing very valuable personal information within earshot of those in the waiting room, but I did not. I used to work for a doctor's office. I knew it was not standard procedure for something like this to be done. That receptionist was going to find out from some irate patient, at some point in her career, that she wasn't being very professional and rightly so. A few minutes passed and I was being called back.

A heavy set nurse took me right to the scale. I don't usually mind getting up on the scale if the nurse is larger than I am so I stepped right up. I glanced over my shoulder to make sure no office staff were peering at the number on the scale. Thankfully, no one was in the hallway but the nurse and I. She didn't even tell me what I weighed and I hadn't been able to see it. (Earlier today, I'd taken my glasses off and put my sunglasses on as I was driving. The sun was so bright I could barely see without them. I have artificial lenses in both eyes and they're for distance so I only have to wear my glasses for seeing things up close.) I wished I'd had them on. I wondered what the scale had said. The nurse took me back to the exam room and began asking the normal questions. I gave her all the answers and she said the doctor would be in shortly.

I didn't have to wait but a couple of minutes before the doctor came in with his scribe. The scribe sat down at the computer and as the doctor asked questions, she typed away. Dr. R asked me if I was still having issues with not being hungry. I told him yes. He said, "Don't you ever have an appetite?" I answered, "No. I really don't. I just eat when it's meal time because I know I'm supposed to eat then." He looked at my chart and said, "Well, the last time I saw you for an office visit was about 4 months ago. You weigh the same today as you did then." Hmmm...I wondered if that was accurate. I knew what my home scale said this morning before getting dressed. I asked him what the scale showed today and he told me. "HA!," I almost shouted. He looked at me stunned. I said, "I know why there's no weight loss showing." As I finished my last word in that sentence, I reached inside my shirt and whipped off my bra with my prostheses still in it. I held it up with sheer delight and waved it slightly back and forth. "Here's the five pound loss that should have appeared on your office scale today. I forgot to take them off before coming in to see you." The doctor turned a bright shade of red and his scribe had a look of shock on her face. I sat there and laughed because I thought it was so funny. The doctor took a few minutes before he commented and then said, "Well, Mrs. Annis, I guess you can lose weight whenever you choose, can't you?" I smiled and wanted to tell him, "Damn, Skippy!," but I didn't. I just shook my head and grinned.

I'm finding myself getting a little more brazen in my old age and it's kind of scary. It's also kind of fun. I'm liking the element of surprise and how I can use my fake boobs to make medical professionals think about breast cancer when they least expect it. Maybe the next time a patient steps up to the scale, the nurse should ask, like they do in the customs offices, if the patient has anything to declare. It would be funny to see how many prostheses come off before the weigh in. Can you just imagine a pile of limbs or breasts stacked in the corner while patients are being weighed? I bet that would prompt them to move their scale into a small room instead of keeping it out in the open in a hallway. There needs to be some standard of privacy and respect for folks with artificial pieces and parts. HIPAA needs to get on board and revise their policies but I bet no one's ever considered something as silly as this, except maybe me...of course.

© bonnie annis all rights reserved