Tag Archives: humour

Still Got a Ganglion – Hear it Roar!

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I had an appointment at the local hospital today. I was all excited, and thought for sure I’d be coming home with a groovy new scar. Sadly, I was disappointed. Instead, I first had an assessment by a fun Indian doctor (we so had the craic) and he sent me off for X-rays.

    Sweet! I LOVE X-rays! 

      
    The pen tip on the right is pointing at the cyst, which doesn’t show up in an X-ray. I can kinda see it? Maybe.

    I was wondering about the round density next to the first joint of my thumb, and my dad asked about it too, so off to the ‘net I went. It is a sesamoid bone (named because they are usually the shape of a sesame seed – I’ll never forget that name, now) and perfectly normal, if slightly mysterious: ‘Sesamoid bones are small more or less rounded masses embedded in certain tendons and usually related to joint surfaces. Their functions probably are to modify pressure, to diminish friction, and occasionally to alter the direction of a muscle pull.’ [emphasis mine, source is courtesy of bartleby.com]

    This is why I love seeing my innards! So educational. 

      
    Side view! I am probably strange, but I think these are rather pretty. And fascinating as hell. It’s astounding that this – my right hand, responsible for the majority of the things I do every day – looks so fragile. Check out the thickness of my ulna and radius in each picture (long arm bones, just in case you aren’t a nerd like me). My thumb bone is thicker than both of them in the side view. That is crazy. From the top view, they are nearly parity with the thickness-win going to the radius. So surprising I’ve never broken any bones but my pinkie toes (not for lack of trying).

    I also like that the veins I can see through the skin on my thumb show up here, too. And all the tendons that must be doing one hell of a job because those bones are…bony.

    Anyhoo, after my irradiation the main doctor who runs the clinic came in. She had a trio of young women trailing behind her, and asked if they could observe. Well, sure! Doc asked a few questions, poked at my still-unnamed cyst (because not one of you gave me a name last time I talked about it, for shame), and said they would schedule me for surgery. Under general anesthetic. I whined (I’ll admit it) when she was leaving; “But…I want to see!”

    Hope you enjoyed these pics as much as I did! Thanks to Dr M for letting me take shots of the X-rays with my phone, changing the operation directive from general to local because I want to see, having a laugh with me, and being able to pronounce my whole damn name with no hesitation (that is huge, let me tell ya). He’s a good doctor, I hope he goes good places.

    Now let’s see how long it takes to get to the next level! October 20, 2015 and counting. 

    Ganglion Aft A-gley

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    I went to the doctor today for the lump in my wrist. Said lump has come and gone for years. Usually it hangs around for a week or two and goes back into hiding. Well, this time I have had about five months of looking like I have a second ulna-knob. Hehe, I said knob. It has been aching at work, and if I whack it on something I don’t cry (I do not cry) but I get angry at the pain, which isn’t fun for anyone. 

    On Sunday I tried to open a jar and not only did it bloody well hurt, it kinda popped inside my wrist in a very unsettling way. That was enough for me to give up and go for professional help. If I can’t open a damn jar, how can I do my job safely with all the lifting and pulling?
      
    Like my new socks? How about the doggie feet? Action shot!

    Doc says it is a ganglion cyst. Not the biggest she’s seen, but not the smallest either (I have another on the side of my right wrist and don’t care about that one as it is sooo weee). 

    Ganglion cysts are pockets of thick goo that grow on the sheath to your tendon. Sounds fun! I can’t find the website Doc showed me, but basically you can aspirate it (suck the goo out), or you can pop it (drop a heavy-ass book on it and hope! Doc did make a quip about Bible-bashing, I swear she did! Awesome). But in either of those options, the pocket is still there and likely to refill.

    So – surgery it is! It doesn’t worry me, and dudes dig scars, so I’m now on the waiting list. The question is – what should we name my passenger before I cut it out? 

    Ha! No the real question is – how long is the wait? Might as well ask how long is a piece of string. I’ll know when I know, and probably with only a few days to a week of notice. Of course I had to post about it today as proof of the time frame. It will be much more interesting to see how long it takes!

    I really hope I can take pictures. I totally want to see what this bad girl looks like. Any glimpse of the rest of my wrist-mechanics is also a draw for me! Stay tuned, kids!

    Ghost

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    Hubby came home early from the pub Saturday night.

    He walked in the door, took a wobbly double take at me sitting in the living room, and promptly told me that I’m not allowed to talk to him because he is a ghost.

    He’s a ghost because usually I wouldn’t have the opportunity to hear his random blather for another two hours, and I’d be asleep by then and avoid it entirely.

    Somehow being an incorporeal being (instead of just, um, early home) made the most sense to him.

    Love that nutter.

    Why, Thank You for Your Permission!

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    We buy toilet paper. TP. Loo roll. Bog roll. Bum wad. Or my new favourite: shit tickets.

    Isn’t that great? Shit tickets. I’m so using that next time we run low. “Hey, honey? Buy some more shit tickets next time you are out!”

    “Hey, honey? I used too many shit tickets and blocked up the jacks again!” [Jacks being the Irish term for the toilet – of which there are wayyyy too many slang terms for me to list.]

    I bet you buy TP, too! Unless you steal it from work. I’m not judging.

    What I bet you don’t have is specific instruction on what to do with your new purchase.

      
    I’d never have figured it out on my own. Whew, I can poop now! Thanks!

    Brown 25

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    If you get the title reference, you are officially not a young’in. It’s okay, I’m not a young’in either. We can grow old(er) and more immature together!

    This is something I could buy:

      
    Now, it is a charity selling these, and I support that of course. But. But. Butt… “brown drops”? 

    Sounds more like something that is coming out of, rather than going into, a digestive system.

    I do buy their licourice allsorts, but this one scares me.

    *Brown 25. Not safe for work, home, the bus, the train, while eating, on a bicycle, on a chair, in a car, or on a motorcycle. And whatever you do, don’t click on this link to Safety Sam

    Laughing at Lokii

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    Short post!
    This scene unfolded an hour or so ago. It happens a lot, but this time I managed to get a photo:

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    Having a bath on my legs, his legs akimbo, as cats are wont to do. So hey, why have cats if you can’t make fun of them now and again?

    To give him some dignity – he was licking his leg, not his furballs!

    Spot Has a New Dirty Trick

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    If you have cats, you probably have experienced what we call ‘Now, where the hell am I supposed to sit?’ wherein said cat(s) immediately curl up in the space your warm butt has just vacated. Spot is a master at this, taking only seconds to claim as His the butt-heated chair/cushion/couch/bed.

    So. A few months ago, I obtained a slightly ripped, slightly dirty but still brand-new duvet. As I had no real need for it myself, I folded it up and put it into Neko’s bed, because it is an old dog bed and rather thin on the padding.

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    (round one of seasonal “blowing the coat”. No freakin clue why she does this in the middle of winter)

    Considering how much fur she has, Neko still likes a nice warm and soft bed to sleep in. Until she gets too hot and lies on the wood floor, of course.

    How do these two stories become one evil cat-habit?

    Spot has learned that if he tries to sleep with (or on) Neko, she gets irritated and gets up out of her bed. I’m sure at first, Spottie just wanted doggie cuddles. Once she left the bed, he suddenly had kitty-acres of warmth all to himself. After a few days, Spot had realised he could make Neko leave her own bed, and he now does it every night. Several times a night. Neko got so disgusted she actually left our bedroom and slept downstairs, the poor thing!

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    (before Spot copped on and they were “sharing” the bed)

    I’m still trying to figure out a way of breaking this habit without having to wake up several times…