Kate's Point of View

Finding a Gym and Knowing Where Your Motivation Lies

On January 30, 2015

I’ve been itching to go back to a the gym for several weeks now, but didn’t want to join back up on January 1 among the thongs of people trying to keep resolutions for the new year. Thinking enough time had passed, I finally visited an L.A. Fitness. (My beloved, comfortable YMCA is under construction and they don’t have another location close enough for me to be sure I won’t use distance as an excuse not to visit.)

In my mind, many of the chain fitness places, like L.A. Fitness, are where people go to work out but also look pretty. You know, see and be seen. Many years ago I was briefly a member of a similar chain. It was a bad match. But I need to get in shape! And so…

Free visitor pass in hand, I went to the closest location. Upon entering, I was overcome by the noise. Top 40 music was playing and machines were clanking everywhere.

I was directed to the office of a sales guy. It went badly right from the start.

“So, Kate, what brings you here tonight, Kate?”

Um, I want to join a gym??? Why else would I be there. I explained about my YMCA being under construction and needing a new place.

“Well, Kate. Tell me what you liked about the YMCA.”

I decided not to beat around the bush.

“It was quiet. They didn’t have music playing. It was mostly attended by older men and people were there only to work out. I felt no need to dress up or look pretty. It was about working out and it was nice.”

It was a little combative. He knew it. But he went forth as if he clearly had the upper hand, criticizing the YMCA multiple times during his sales pitch and saying my first name no less than 30 times. AS IF I DIDN’T REMEMBER IT.

Before my tour, he asked for my ID so he could fill out some paperwork and then said he needed to keep my ID until after my workout so he could “process some things.” Alarm bells were going off in my head because it meant a repeat meeting, but I played along.

The thing is, my decision would hinge on only a few things. Did they have the brand of elliptical I like? Could I read while I worked out? Did they have the few other machines I use?

I’d work around the noise the the girls working out in full make-up.

I was relieved to see that all off their ellipticals were my favored brand, but disappointed to note that they had personal viewing devices (TVs) mounted to the tops.

“Do you have book holders for your machines?” I asked.

The sales guy pointed out the little lip that comes default on the machines that might, might, hold a magazine.

“Right, but do you have book holders? For real books? Thick books? The YMCA provided that.”

He looked at me like I was an idiot.

After our tour I worked out and it felt great. On my way out I went back to the sales guy so I could pick up my ID. He tried to sign me up right there.

“Um, I don’t think you understand me. I’m not joining tonight. I was testing it out and as I explained, you do not have book holders, which the YMCA did. If I can find a book holder that will work, I’ll join. If not, I will pay more money to attend a further away YMCA.”

I think I blew his mind. And not in a good way.

But you need to know your priorities right? It’s cool they have a movie room where you can work out in a theater. It’s nice they provide televisions on nearly every machine so you can distract yourself during exercise. But my distraction of choice is a book.

So now I am brainstorming ways to create a book holder that will attached around the TV screen. And, if it works, I’ll join that gym and be that girl. The girl with no make-up, stinking and sweating and carrying around her own book holder like the full-fledged book nerd I am.

My distraction of choice while working out is reading.

This book is a dainty collection of short stories. By dainty, I mean fairly thin.
And even it won’t stay in the built-in “book rack” on the ellipticals at the gym.

Entering the Hospital and Leaving Missing Some Parts

By Kate

On January 30, 2015

In uncategorized

My hysterectomy surgery was, I think, uneventful. It was the scariest thing I’ve ever been through, but I made it out the other side.

I went to the hospital with Wonder Boy and my parents. We didn’t have to wait long in the waiting room before my name was called. (While we were waiting, flowers were delivered to me, which was a cute accident because Wonder Boy intended them for me during recovery. I appreciated them more sans pain medication. Beautiful orchids.)

In the prep area I had all sorts of people asking me questions. I met so many hospital staff. I was scared but it all just presented itself as dead calm. Wonder Boy and my parents were briefly allowed to come back and sit with me before I went into surgery. We made silly conversation about nothing important. I was able to do that. How? How was I able to act cool and collected when inside I was so scared.

Prior to surgery I had sent Wonder Boy an email that was basically a last will and testament. That might be too grand. It was a list of the very few physical things that are important to me and where I wanted them to go. I trusted Wonder Boy for everything beyond that.

I was scared I wouldn’t wake up from surgery. That was based on watching too many medical dramas. I was scared they would find something else once they had cut me open. I kept asking Wonder Boy questions like, “How long will the surgery take?” “What happens if I wake up during the surgery?” “How much is it going to hurt?” “Do you feel it when they put in or take out the catheter?”

He did his best to answer the questions, referring back to his days as a working nurse.

All of those questions that had been playing on repeat went silent at the hospital. I got into my gown. I filled out forms. I smiled and said hello to everyone who introduced themselves. And then I was wheeled back to an operating room where I vaguely recognized my doctor behind her surgical mask.

The next thing I knew, I was on a medical bed saying, “Ow, ow, ow, ow.” Then I went back to sleep. This happened a few times over. I learned afterwards that it took me longer than expected to get moved out of recovery and into my hospital room because they were struggling to manage my pain.

Wonder Boy and my parents were so sweet in the hospital room. Helping me maneuver myself in the bed, getting me water, not acknowledging the fact that I kept passing out thanks to some delightful pain medication.

There were some weird things about my hospital stay I didn’t expect.

I was in a labor and delivery unit for recovery so I kept hearing babies cry. I’m pretty solid on this no babies decision I made a long time ago, and I have no choice in the matter now, but even for me, hearing newborn babies’ cries was weird. If I had wanted to have children … I just can’t imagine how hard that would have been.
I got to wear the weirdest fishnet underwear! I later learned that this is standard moms in some delivery units. In any other setting it would have been kinky.
I didn’t know I would have to pee with someone watching. I tried multiple times in front of the nurses with no luck. But, I needed to pee in order to illustrate that everything was functioning properly. Finally, we got permission for Wonder Boy to take me to the bathroom instead of my nurse, where he propped a pillow behind my back, turned on the faucet and then stood outside the door. After a few tries, that worked.
I knew it was going to hurt. I was cut open with a five-inch-long incision and body parts were removed. I didn’t know what to expect with the pain though. When the nurses asked me to get up and try moving, it felt like a gargantuan task. It got easier with each time but apparently my way of sitting up was too rushed. Too fast. “Take your time getting upright,” the nurse would say. But that hurt worse. Overall, the pain wasn’t as bad as I expected, but it wasn’t good.
I was told to bring comfortable clothes to the hospital but I felt I should keep it classier than pajamas. Dumb. I brought one of my looser pairs of underwear, jeans that had been stretched out by many, many wears and a flannel shirt. The jeans were pretty stupid but doable. The shirt was fine. That underwear? Idiotic. On our way home, mere blocks from the hospital, I made Wonder Boy stop at a Meijer and asked him to buy the biggest underwear he could find. “If the size isn’t double digits, it’s not big enough. Buy many pairs.”

I was in the hospital overnight. I spent so much of it in a drug-induced haze and sleeping that it went by quickly for me. I’m sure it seemed like much longer for Wonder Boy. But for me, this thing I had fretted about for months and which was scheduled with only a week or twos notice, happened and was done pretty fast.

The recovery. That didn’t seem so fast.

The Perfect Genes

By Kate

On January 29, 2015

In uncategorized

I came back from a two week vacation, during which my body granted me a reprieve from a period that has been going almost non-stop since July, feeling antsy about some test results. I had done pretty well at checking out during vacation and not thinking about my uterus, but in the back of my mind was still this underlying worry about my results.I got tested for BRCA1 and BRCA2, commonly known as the breast cancer genes, right before leaving on vacation. The idea would be that if I tested positive, my ovaries would exit my body during the hysterectomy. If I tested negative, I would get to keep my ovaries and postpone menopause until it’s naturally occurring time. I like this sort of logic because it’s just that – logic. I don’t understand how people are supposed to make medical decisions without concrete facts. You talk to as many people as possible and collect whatever information you can and then you’re supposed to make a decision based on … what? Your gut? I can’t take that. So this letting what to me was the hardest decision rest on the results of a genetics test was wonderful.

The Monday I returned to work, I started calling for test results first thing in the morning. Because not everything revolves around me, I found myself leaving messages and pleading with front desk staff explaining that I needed the results in time for a 8 am appointment on Tuesday with my doctor.

Finally I got through. The counselor said to me, “When I left you a message saying your results were ready, I tried to imply that the results were good. I hope you could tell that.” Um, not so much. But the results were good! I tested negative for BRCA1 and BRCA2 and it was like an immediate weight lifted off my shoulders.

Although my results don’t really affect my extended family too much – they would have to get their own tests done – I did share everything I learned. It was fascinating to me that I could get a test, 100% covered by my insurance, that gave me such valuable information. I’m not sure if I’d be as enthusiastic had I tested positive because it would have other ramifications in terms of my likelihood of being diagnosed with breast cancer, but for now, the information just feels like great power.

Dealing With Nausea in the Healthiest of Ways

By Kate

On January 28, 2015

In uncategorized

In the period right before and after I was diagnosed with a fibroid tumor, I was nauseous and queasy and my appetite was terrible. I lost about 8 pounds in as many weeks. Some of it was just being nervous but some was food just not tasting right.Then I figured out what tasted just fine. Froot Loops. Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Honey Nut Cheerios. Lots of lots and Jolly Ranchers. So many Jolly Ranchers

You will note that not a single item in the above list is healthy. Or diet friendly.

Eating like a stoner / college student has led to a few side effects:

The 8 pounds I lost over 8 weeks was regained in 3 weeks.
I’m eating all day at work, as well as popping Pepto and avoiding certain foods, leading to the pretty obvious assumption by people that I’m pregnant. This is fair since I also alternate between looking really bloated from the tumor to not showing anything at all. On days when I feel skinny, I dress just shy of inappropriate for work so that people might think I’m a little slutty but at least know I’m not pregnant. If there are rumors going around about me, I want to control them to some extent.
Grocery shopping becomes fun and Wonder Boy embraces this opportunity to buy junk cereal.
So much of the cereal that sounds good is not good, inspiring a future series where I taste test forbidden cereals from my youth.
Your bathroom business includes colors that are not present in nature, but do appear in a box of Froot Loops.
You realize that for the most part, your mom was right to not let you eat junk cereal.

Researching What Organs Should Be Removed From Your Body

By Kate

On January 27, 2015

In uncategorized

After getting a recommendation for a complete hysterectomy (uterus, ovaries, cervix … along with a softball-sized tumor), I went into information gathering mode. That presented a few challenges. First, I had to tell people what was going on. And get to a point where I could do that without crying. Second, I had to get information that would help me make the decision that was best for me.My first step was emailing out close friends in small, but increasingly large batches explaining what was happening. I’d say the first 20 responses I got resulted in me sobbing. No one said anything mean. It was all sweet, supportive and nice. But I respond so poorly to sympathy. And was feeling so sorry for myself that sympathy almost was like ammunition to go further in the dumps.

But after a while, it got easier. I received an email from a friend complimenting me on leaning on others. She had been through some hard times and pushed herself out of her comfort zone to rely on the help of others. I’m not sure she realized it, but it was that example I used when contacting people. I admired how she created a support network.

My next step was to get health information. Here’s the thing about researching health. Everyone has opinions. Very few of those people have opinions based in any fact. Articles online? So many are terrible. They are written from very clear points of view that aren’t neutral. And I decided, quickly, that I was only accepting input from experts, which included people with a related medical background or people who had themselves had a hysterectomy while under the age of 40 so their experience might be like mine.

There were more of that latter group than I expected. I approached them with a series of the most intimate questions, sometimes with things implied rather than explicitly stated, and everyone answered everything. It was like being welcomed into this really supportive community I wish I had no connection to.

Through family, I found the name of another OB-GYN to meet with for a second opinion. A friend connected me with a gynecological oncologist / surgeon who was willing to talk to me on her personal cell on her personal time. I talked to someone in genetics who looked at my crazy family history of cancer and told me it wasn’t all that crazy.

You can get all of the information you want. At the end of the day, the task presented was this: “Learn what you can. Think about your options and decide what’s best for you. Then go on vacation and forget all about it! When you come back, we’ll decide what to do and schedule things.”

Forget all about it? I could think of nothing else.