That's A Negative, Ghostrider

Remember when he used to be hot, not crazy?

Despite not being (for me) overly worried about the bone scan, I did have some anxious moments over the past few days.  Mentally penning letters for J to open on each of her birthdays I wouldn't see.  Imagining who would/wouldn't come to my memorial service/street dance.  Wondering whether I would linger bravely or succumb quickly. You know...just being myself.

Anticlimactic, to be sure, as the results were (heavenly/delightfully/amazingly/ joyously) negative.  Oh, yeah, sure there's that degeneration in both knees and in my back.  Nothing I didn't know--oh, wait, yes--some more in my shoulders that  I haven't ever felt--just something to look forward to!   And, yes, I  do love me some objective findings.  A high price for validation...sure.  But while I may be falling apart, it's not because of cancer so who the fuck cares?

I'm not sure if that's the right attitude, but pain, however chronic, however miserable, is fine.  I can raise J with a limp.  I can go to her graduation on crutches.  I can chair dance at her wedding.  I. Do. Not.  Care.  I am FINE!!!

Oh, except for the above-mentioned, and the osteopenia. Which, as it turns out, I had last year but my now-retired oncologist didn't mention that to me.  Letrozole is a rough drug; surgical menopause is not for the faint of heart.  Pass the skim milk and the kale salad--as soon as I'm done with my weight-bearing exercise.  Tomorrow, obviously.

Because--did you hear me?--IT'S NOT CANCER!!!

Bone Appetit!

I had a bone scan today--well, I guess yesterday, since it's 1203 AM now. Though my doctor thinks my recent hip pain is either arthritis or AI-related, she wants to be cautious.  (We seem to have a tacit agreement not to say the M word.) And since I'm always up for a quick shot of radioactive isotopes, I readily agreed.

For an old IV pro like me, the test was no big deal.  You get the tracer; you get a pedicure and have lunch work on your laptop for three hours; you drink a boatload of water; and then you lie still for the camera.  Easy enough.

The bed moves.  I know this now.

And then you wait.  For results that may not be conclusive.  I am having another glass of wine embracing the uncertainty.  

And Monday?  I get a bone-density scan.  So we can all know just how much I am falling apart.  Or to see if the Boniva is working.  One or the other.

Meanwhile, tomorrow I host Bunco. Yes, I said that. And more shamefully yet, there's a theme...Hawaiian Luau.  Which means I am up late making pineapple-upside-down cupcakes and char siu.  But this party did give me the opportunity to make yet another amazing scientific discovery.  I learned that drumettes are not the curiously small legs of misshapen chickens. As it turns out, they're part of the wing.  I know this because I am also making teriyaki drumettes.  When I asked the butcher if Safeway sold them, he said the bags of wings were 50/50 wings and drumettes.  Because, as I said, apparently a drumette is the first (or second?) part of the wing. I admit that is some smart marketing, but the upshot is that I probably will never eat another one.  Well, after tomorrow.

And finally, in other bone and chicken related news, KFC is now serving boneless chicken.  The Millennial Generation apparently prefers nugget-type food items.  I never eat there, so this is not a big issue for me.  But I really do prefer--and yes, it's irrational--when my meat doesn't look like the animal it once was.  Not my daughter, however.  When her 29-cent goldfish died, she looked at me and asked, "So do we eat it now?"

Mmmmm!