So all the cardiac testing has been completed. Nothing like having to run uphill on a treadmill all wired up, wearing a paper vest. Also, EKG leads make me look like I've been attacked by an amorous octopus.

All my results are basically normal. I still have a PFO, and apparently it's pretty significant, or at least the shunting is. I'm trying to get an appointment with a neurologist, but they keep not getting my referral..it's been approved for 2 weeks, but they can't find it. Cardiologist is re-faxing that now. I can't say enough about that office. Just nice, competent care. I, personally, could wish for more explanation, but I'd think that the approach is probably appropriate for most people - it's very non-technical and nonthreatening, which is probably the right approach when you're dealing with something that can be scary.

I'm pretty sure that the plan is to get an MRI to make sure there isn't any sign of stroke-like damage from my migraines, and then go from there. If there isn't any damage, it'll likely be an ASA regimen, if there is, it's likely a percutaneous closure, based upon my internets research.

Gyno stuff is scheduled to happen tomorrow after yesterday's fuck up. Still pissed about that. One stinking returned call and some honesty from the insurance company would've saved everyone a lot of hassle and aggravation. I don't mind playing by the rules, just tell me what they are.

So, I was inspired by a blog written by a woman who buys $1 clothes at the Salvo, and remakes them into things that are cute (ostensibly...I question her love of color and weird 70s patterns, but the clothes are much more flattering when she's done with them. I am a goth...color and florals tend to elude my sensibility). I decided that I was going to convert a skirt that I had into a cute, bustle-y overskirt number.

So I should've been smart, and done the blogger-photo thing, but I dove in willy-nilly and just got started. Originally, the skirt was a sort of flimsy flamenco inspired number - some pathetic tiers trimmed in lace, and a high-low hem that did zippy for my legs.

I dove in and started pinning - and realized why serious tailors have dressforms. Straight pins ended up being fail - they slid out of the fabric I was pinning up as I'd look at it. Then Spooky started HALPing. He HALPed by laying on the skirt. He HALPed by grabbing the pearl ends of my pins and pulling them out of the pincushion. Seeing that this was going to end on an expensive trip to the e-vet, I put away the straight pins, and switched over to my giant safety pins. I managed to get the layers up in a cute bustled skirt- much more flattering. I can't decide what to do with the liner. I was going to just cut it out. D suggested leaving it, but I think it's a little weird that way. I think I'll just rouche that up, too, and let it be like a petticoat.

I am unduly proud of this small foray into restyling my clothes. Next, I think I'll tackle pants to skirt, and maybe some bloomers based on scrubs....

My Planned Parenthood story is not big or dramatic. In fact, it's pretty prosaic. I'm okay with that. My quiet story is exactly why we need to be funding Planned Parenthood.


Planned Parenthood was my primary source of health care when I first moved out of my house though. They did my PAP tests, they prescribed my birth control, they answered my questions. They kept me safe and child-free, and they never once made me feel ashamed that as a student, going to school 35 hours a week, and working the rest, uninsured, I was at the dead bottom of the sliding scale. I walked in and out for over two years, and I think I paid maybe $20 total for everything they did for me. It may not have even been that much, but I think, towards the end, I started having to pay five lousy bucks for a three month supply of pills. Three months of the freedom to be sexually active, and worry much less about pregnancy because I controlled when I took my pills. Three months of lighter cramps, which meant less money on Advil, and more time to work. Three months of the freedom from my crippling mood swings that allowed me to move out, to be independent, and to go back to school - something I'd thought I'd never do.

The staff at my Center City Philadelphia PP was always great - some of the best medical care I've had the privilege to receive. They decorated the stirrups with silly oven mitts, so your feet wouldn't get cold. There were cheerful posters on the wall and ceiling. They warmed the lube, they warmed the speculae. Small things, those, but they make a difference. The big things, too. They never asked about my scars. They never treated me differently when they found out I was bipolar. In fact, knowing my history in full, when I asked for Depo-Provera, the physician chuckled and said that if she prescribed that to me, with my history, the board should have her license. I didn't get what I wanted, but I got a doctor who was aware of what she was prescribing, and saw me as an individual, and I appreciate that.


We need Planned Parenthood in this country because every woman has the right to go to a doctor who can listen to her, and provide her with the care she needs, no matter what. PP gave me the help I needed, when I needed it, without question. They gave me the tools I needed to live my life, without judgement. I don't know that Planned Parenthood saved my life - I did a lot of that work myself - but they do save the lives of others, in so many different ways.

So I had a transcranial Doppler yesterday. It has shown that there is some sort of defect between my left and right atria. Doc didn't tell me if it was an ASD or a PFO, just that there was something, he wants me off my pills, off to see a neurologist for an MRI, and to have the stress echo and the echo done.

Sounds like best case, I'm on low dose ASA for stroke prevention. Worst case, I have to have a closure done. Right now, he's not sure if this is what's causing my irregular heartbeats (but I'm inclined to think that it is. The discussion of structure problems has come up in all three appointments, more than anything else, including "it's nothing to be concerned about")

I've made my echo appointments, so hopefully they'll give me all the answers that I need. I'm mostly really irritated that I got the off BC notice right before a holiday weekend. I have to wait until Tuesday to call my PCP to see if she can do an IUD insertion, or if I need to find a gyno. Until then, it's the end of the pack, and I've been on the pill for 13 years without a hitch. I can sitck it out another 3 days

I'm going to post about this here because I can. Because is my personal blog.

So, for the past few weeks, I've been having palpitations. Random, mild, and presumably anxiety based, because that's what Dr Tran, professional asshole, said last year. I ignored them, and went about my life.

The past few weeks, they're nigh constant, and strong - like something in my chest is trying to get out. They keep me from sleeping, and more worrying, I feel more breathless, more quickly when I'm running, and it doesn't seem to make it better like it used to.

So I went to see my doctor, the good one, who listens to me, on Monday. They do an EKG, same as last time, only this time, clear as day, are a bunch of extra heartbeats. I'm assuming they're PVCs, since that's basically what the EKG looked like, but no one's verified that with me. Doctor said that she wasn't too concerned - there was no worrisome groupings in the extrasystole, but I've never had a problem, never had an abnormal EKG, and I'm pretty fit. She thought it could possibly be thyroid, although my bloodwork from Jan was normal, and she wanted me to see a cardiologist.

So I saw my very laid back cardiologist today. They really didn't do anything much today, honestly - took my vitals (my pulse and BP were much higher on the left than the right, oddly...and both were VERY high for me...). He wants more tests, so I have to wait for approval on those next - an echo, a stress echo, and a transcranial doppler, since I'm a migraineur.

So I wait again, and ask for video of these tests, which I will post later.

Jamming...

So, since the ShadowSpouse is doing the deadline tango (go buy ELDRITCH!, I thought I'd spend yesterday making stuff. The stuff I made was Strawberry-Lime-Vanilla marmalade (it's a marmalade because there is citrus rind in it), and an Onion Apple Ale relish.

The process was not particularly difficult. For both the jam and the relish, you chopped the ingredients, and let them sit - in sugar for the berries, and in salt for the onions. In the case of the fruit, this made an amazing, rich, vanilla scented syrup, and it would've been delicious on it's own. For the onions, my house smelled a bit like a hot dog stand, and the onions released a lot of their water (osmosis - it works, bitches!).

Then there was cooking. And more cooking. It seemed to take forever for the jam to reach temp. I realized, as I was panicking, that what needed to happen was for the syrup to reduce enough to actually get higher than the boiling point of the water. Again, science works, bitches, so just let it be...no need to freak. The jars for the jam needed to be sterilized. I let them boil away happily for ten minutes in the pot I would later use to process. Being cheap and a punk, I made a rack out of tinfoil. Worked a treat, although next time I may invest in a cake rack and a jarlifter, to avoid the splashing. Then I filled hot jars with hot fruit, popped on warm lids, screwed on the bands, and popped them into the pot to process - 5 minutes from rolling boil. These instructions came from the USDA food safety folks, so I'm pretty convinced I won't get mold. I know I won't get botulism, because it doesn't like the acid in the fruit.

Relish was much the same. I think I chopped the apples a little large. Smaller next time. I sterilized the jars, just because, but I didn't need to because the processing time was over 10 minutes. All my jars sealed, and they look lovely on my counter. I have yet to taste the deliciousness, though...

I will totally can again. I enjoyed the process, I enjoyed the results, and I love the idea of being able to share what I've made with people. It's why I cook....

"A good day ain't got no rain"

There were all these words this morning. Important thoughts about resilience and dreams and how sometimes "#fuckPlanB" is about the dumbest idea ever, because just rolling can get you where you need to go. They're mostly gone now, though. Apparently, I'm only thought-full when I'm driving.

Now that I can type, I'm being all domestic and wanting to make jam. So I'll leave you with the quote that made me all speculative, from Paul Simon's "American Tune". It's one of the songs I listen to when I need to feel sad and happy at the same time.

"And I don't know a soul who's not been battered
I don't have a friend who feels at ease
I don't know a dream that's not been shattered
or driven to its knees
But it's all right, it's all right
We've lived so well so long"

It just resonates with me, deep in my guts. I've given up just about every "plan A" dream I've ever had - I've watched them shatter into dust. I've been broken on the floor more times then I can count, and my body and soul are covered in scars. I'm not going to say "Fuck Plan B" or "Fuck Plan A", but rather "Slide".

Also, this says it better than me.