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So I go to the orthopedist yesterday, and the technician first uses a fluoroscope to confirm everything is still where it should be (cool! moving x-ray! sci-fi!). Since it is, he says we can change me out to a smaller cast. Yay! So he fires up that vacuum/saw thing to cut the purple monstrosity off, and people, that thing is SO WRONG. Eardrum-piercingly loud, enough vibration to shake loose a few brain cells, and also the vacuum part is useless because I still ended up covered in purple particles.

But the worst part was when it came off.

Yes, my arm was pale and skinny and flaky – I could deal with all that. But it HURT. Hurt like the day I broke it! Hurt like HELL! Because it’s still healing, duh. And that’s when I realized that maybe I won’t just “bounce back” from this injury like I thought I would. Three more weeks in this smaller cast. Then, some as-of-yet unknown amount of time in a removable splint/brace type of device. Then…?

The new cast is hot pink, lets me bend/straighten my elbow, and makes some tasks a bit easier. But it’s much, much tighter than the last cast; has rough edges that irritate my skin; and is so far rather painful. I’m dutifully putting moleskin on the edges that bother me, but I have to admit, the whole thing is really uncomfortable. Kinda makes me want to drink or something to distract myself.

Ouch.

What’s a bigger hassle: having a broken arm or dealing with all this snow? How about, “both at the same time?” Ugh.

Typing is a real chore, which is why I haven’t blogged lately. I’m in a lot of pain – it seems worse now than the days right after it happened, but I’m sure that’s because I’m healing. I remember the same deep, non-stop ache when my broken femur was stitching itself back together in 1990. Another week and a half in this giant monstrosity of a cast – then it will be replaced by a smaller model, only to the elbow, for another two weeks. CAN’T COME SOON ENOUGH.

I’m terrified that when they take this cast off, my elbow will be stuck and I won’t be able to straighten my arm! Kind of like what happened to my knee when the cast came off my leg. I have to keep reminding myself that only happened because my knee was also badly injured, and full of adhesions/scar tissue. If my elbow is stiff, thank goodness it will only be temporary.

Office is closed again tomorrow, but so is daycare. Oy vey.

I fell and broke my arm yesterday. On my birthday.

*sigh*

It was stupid how it happened. I was walking down the three stairs between our bathroom/closet area and the bedroom. Still in my pj’s, getting ready to take a shower. Slipped, lost my balance, went airborne. I landed hard on my ass, and would have been sore but OK. But instead, my left arm was flung backwards and struck the edge of the stair at my wrist. I heard the crack and knew it was broken right away.

“Oh shit, some birthday this is gonna be,” I thought.

In agony, I called my insurance company to get approval for a trip to the ER. I was denied. Instead, my hubz had to drive me to our local doctor’s office, where they could only look at it and say, “Yep, that’s broken.” THEN we had to drive 40 miles to a different center where I could get x-rays and see the orthopedist on call. We spent the whole damn day driving and waiting: in traffic, in lobbies, in lines.

I ended up with a purple cast from my palm to above my elbow, and a much-needed scrip for vicoden. One of the bones in my forearm is shattered at the wrist, but if kept very stable, will heal without surgery – hence the giant cast. In three weeks I can hopefully get it removed and replaced with a smaller, forearm-only model. Unfortunately, I’m having to learn how to eat, dress, do my hair/makeup, etc. with one hand, and the wrong hand at that. Writing is out of the question, typing is agonizingly slow, and driving is possible but terrifying.

Let’s not even talk about showering with a garbage bag taped over my arm! Luckily, I found and ordered this, and some of this stuff too. Hilariously, based on those purchases, Amazon decided to show me some other items they think I’d be interested in, including this (slightly NSFW). Um, thanks but no thanks, Amazon.

Where are my drugs?

How appropriate. About a week after my doctor diagnosed me with fibrocystic breast disease (not really a disease, really, but a condition), a news story breaks about possible new recommendations about mammograms. Part of these recommendations didn’t surprise me, that is, that women 40-49 don’t need to routinely have them. Not surprising, because women in this age group (mine!) have notoriously hard to read mammograms. Actually, younger women have even harder to read films, but from 40-49 there’s increased risk of breast cancer, yet the breast tissue has not become easier to read in mammogram, as it does after 50. Another recommendation, that women over 50 only get mammograms every two years, didn’t surprise me too much either. But what really kind of blew me away was the recommendation that women shouldn’t be taught to do self-exams.

What?

Actually, I think what they actually found was that when women do regular self-exams of their own breasts, survival rates are not significantly better than if they don’t examine themselves at all. In any case, this seems wrong to me. I mean, if you’re going to tell women over 40 who don’t have other risk factors that they don’t need to get a mammogram every year, I can maybe get on board with that, as long as they’re still examining their own breasts. Because otherwise, what are they saying – just take your chances for a decade?

You know, I have a funny relationship with all these tests. Last year, I had my first mammogram, and then was told I had to come back for a second, diagnostic mammogram and an ultrasound. Of course, in the weeks before this second appointment, I was terrified. My mother died from breast cancer in 1994. I was adopted, so I’m not necessarily at higher risk because of her diagnosis, but still, it was awful, and I’m very vigilant about my own health as a result. The second mammogram and ultrasound showed I had a cyst (or cysts). Recommendation: do nothing, have another mammogram in a year. That anniversary is coming up in a few months. In the meantime, I started having awful, burning pain in my breasts/armpits/upper inside arms. I was sure it was cancer, even though I couldn’t feel any lumps. That’s when I went to my doctor and got the fibrocystic diagnosis. She started me on evening primrose oil capsules, change me to a lower dose birth control pill (which I’ll probably be taking continuously), and told me to hold off at least a month or two on the mammogram, in hopes that these steps will help make my eventual film more readable.

Then these new recommendations come out, and I’m not a bit surprised. On one hand, I don’t want to take any chances. I’m one of those people that, if I got genetic testing and found out I had the gene that predisposes women to breast cancer, I’d have NO PROBLEM whatsoever having a preventative mastectomy. Just get them off, please. Take away the cancer pillows, just rebuild me some newer, better, bionic boobs afterward (and hey, how about a tummy tuck while you’re at it? ha). On the other hand, false positive results are the story of my life – witness my issues last year. And I know that my breast tissue is hard to read on an x-ray, and I have a high chance of having yet another false positive, which could lead to more x-rays, another ultrasound, maybe even an unnecessary biopsy.

What’s a woman to do? Other than feel confused and frightened, of course – I got that covered.

More reading:

CNN: Task force opposes routine mammograms for women age 40-49

American Cancer Society Responds to Changes to USPSTF Mammography Guidelines

Mammography: What to Do Now?

Lots of deep thoughts swirling around in my head, just ripe for blogging! Except I seem to be lacking in motivation. So for now, I just want to whine and complain a little bit.

- I never have any fun, ever. Here’s a partial list of things I used to do, and now never, EVER do: Go to the movies. Travel. Go out to dinner. Go to museums. Go out for drinks. Wow…so depressing.

- To all the husbands out there: if your wife comes home from the doctor, who she visited because of frighteningly intense breast pain (after she had an abnormal mammogram last year, requiring a second mammogram AND an ultrasound), and tells you that she has fibrocystic breast disease, the best initial response to this news is probably NOT to ask, “Do men get that?” (*Bonus points if your wife had to watch her mother die from breast cancer!)

- I think if I have to watch one more show on Nickelodeon, I’m going to fucking stab myself in the eye. This means that by the time you read this, I’ll definitely be blind.