light cursed falling in a singular block
                                  exquisitely hashed

(little careful hunks-of-lilac laughter splashed
from the world prettily upward,mock
        and there was a clock.   tac-tic.   tac-toc.

Time and lilacs….minutes and love….do you?and
           (i simply understand
the gnashing petals of sex which lock
me seriously.

                      Dumb for a

god—a patter of kisses,the chewed stump

of a mouth,huge dropping of a flesh from
hinging thighs
                      ….merci….i want to die
nous sommes heureux

                                   My soul a limp lump

of lymph
              she kissed
                               and i

                                      ….chéri….nous sommes

—  e e cummings, light cursed falling in a singular block
Wednesday 27th July. Day 105

Had a mammogram and ultrasound scan this morning and consultant told me that Lionel has shrunk and there is no evidence of cancer in my ancillary lymph node anymore!!!
Lionel’s chemo diet is working and I couldn’t be more pleased/excited/relieved.
I can’t stop crying.
I think I was probably more worried about this scan than I thought I would be.
It makes all the sickness, tiredness and general shittyness worth it and also helps me to focus on what’s to come.

On my birthday I was told it had spread to my lymph nodes.

Today it’s my mum’s birthday and they’ve told me it’s gone from my lymph nodes.

Best day ever…..

Yet another update on me... are you bored yet?

I received some good news today from the surgeon. All the lymph node biopsies came back negative for cancer cells. I am still considered Stage 2, but   the progesterone receptor test on my breast tissue came back negative when they had hoped it would be positive. When it’s negative, it means the tumor came from something other than hormones. At least that is what a friend of mine that works with Breast Cancer patients all the time told me.  I will be seeing an Oncologist soon to see what my next step will be. 

I am in shock, a wee bit emotional that I seem to have been very, very lucky and grateful beyond words that my sixth sense kicked in yet again when I needed it most. Either that or I have one hell of a Guardian Angel on my side.

Thank you all again for all the prayers and well wishes.

Les raisons de la colère

Dans le catalogue universel des sentiments humains, la colère occupe une place de choix. Tout commence avec la médecine du vieil Hippocrate – celui du serment – basée sur une anatomie où la vésicule et la rate jouaient un rôle clé. Or ce toubib grec basait sa science sur l’équilibre des quatre humeurs, à savoir le sang, la lymphe et les deux biles, la jaune et la noire. En somme, pour rester en bonne santé – bon sang, mais c’est bien sûr ! –  il suffisait de ne pas se faire de mauvais sang, ni trop de bile. Et comme Hippocrate était grec et parlait couramment la langue locale, il évoquait plus souvent qu’à son tour la cholè, la bile. Il appelait la noire mélan cholè, et quand il la jugeait trop abondante, il diagnostiquait chez son patient la mélancolie. Dans le pays de Zorba, qui inventa les fêtes dionysiaques –  et plus tard le sirtakis  et l’ouzo –,  la mélancolie était en effet une pathologie sérieuse, qu’il fallait soigner d’urgence.

Keep reading
Mississauga mosquitoes test positive for West Nile virus
Public health officials warn residents to take extra precaution

Mississauga residents might want to load up on the bug spray this summer.

Peel Region public health officials say that mosquitoes captured in a Mississauga trap this week tested positive for West Nile virus.

The sample of mosquitoes was taken in the Derry Road and Goreway Drive area. Out of the 31 traps set up across the region, this batch is Peel’s first positive test result for the virus this year.

Officials say that residents should take extra precaution because the recent heat wave has caused mosquito activity to increase.

Residents can protect themselves by removing standing water from their yards, wearing light coloured clothing and using bug repellant that’s made with DEET, said Dr. Lawrence Loh, Peel’s associate medical officer of health.

The virus is spread to humans through bites from infected mosquitoes. Those who’ve been infected often experience flu-like symptoms such as a fever and swollen lymph nodes.

Health officials say there have been no confirmed human cases in Ontario so far this year.

me and darfin are a complete married couple, we have hit the stage of him sending me memes while he is in the bathroom two rooms away and me dragging him along to get bumps on my boobs checked (it was swollen lymph nodes but better safe than sorry friends!!) and the bickering and taking care of our ‘children’ and me nagging about WHY DO YOU TAKE YOUR CLOTHES OUT OF THE DRYER AND CRUMPLE THEM IN A BASKET, THEY ARE WRINKLED and him suggesting new projects that he never finishes 

Did you know that Manual lymph drainage increases lymph flow by stretching the skin/lymph vessels and it stimulates anastomosis i.e., the formation of new connections between the vessels?

Manual Lymph Drainage reroutes the lymph flow around blocked areas to centrally located lymph vessels that eventually drain into the venous system.

Manual lymph drainage is the most researched massage technique in the world. Professor Collard of Brussels demonstrated with contrast fluid themovement of lymph with MLD, a very light touch of 30 mm Hg.

You can learn more practical and theoretical things about Manual Lymph Massage in August by joining our next class in Perrysburg Ohio!
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Thursday, July 21, 2016

Dr. Pilz just called: no spread.

Cancer is limited to liver and sigmoid colon.

There may be nearby lymph involvement at the colon, but it shows as one mass.

The liver tumors are not calcified and metabolically active, as in prime for radiation therapy!

Prayers being answered.

Love you all,


July 26, 2016

My armpit hurts because I think I have a swollen lymph node. I was sitting at my desk fidgeting because of my armpit, drinking coffee, and just generally enjoying the morning, writing yesterday’s blog entry, etc., and the words were flowing. I was hardly trying. It was like that thing David Foster Wallace said about your ass hovering above the chair, when you’re writing and are hardly even…

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I am sick today. Yung swelling lymph node ko masakit, pati yung ulo ko. Nagchechest pain din ako. Tapos ang balitang makukuha ko sa school, di pumasok ang mga students ko knowing na wala ako. Grabe. Hindi ko matanggap. Nakakahiya sa nagsub saakin. Hayy. Sana pala kahit masama pakiramdam ko, pumasok nalang ako.

Common Medical Root Words

The root of a word is its main part, the basis of a number of other words. Here are some common medical root words. They are often used to help in specifying a body part.

Abdomino: Abdomen

Adeno: Gland

Antero: Front

Arterio: Artery

Audio: Hearing

Brachio: Arm

Bronchi/o: Bronchus

Carcino: Cancer

Cardio: Heart

Colo: Colon

Cyto: Cell

Derma/o,dermat/o: Skin

Dorso/i: Back or posterior

Encephalo: Brain

Gastro: Stomach

Gyneco: Female

Hemato: Blood

Histo, histio: Tissue

Intestino: Intestine

Laparo: Abdomen, loin or flank

Lympho: Lymph vessels

Myo: Muscle

Myelo: bone marrow

Neuro: Nerve

Oculo: Eye

Ophthalmo: Eyes

Optico, opto: Seeing, sight

Oro: Mouth

Oto: Ear

Patho: Disease

Pharmaco: Drug

Pulmono: Lungs

Septo: Infection

Thoraco: Chest/thorax

Thyro: Thyroid gland

Trachelo: Neck or necklike

Tricho: Hair or hairlike

Ventri/o: Front of body

Viscero: Viscera (internal organs)

animehead  asked:

I can't find your submission box. But just know that I'm thinking about you, and care about you so very much. I have my fingers crossed and am truly hoping for the best. Please don't hesitate to contact me whenever you need to. Stay strong. If you need me I am 100% here for you. <33333333333333

Thanks my sweet sweet! Turns out it’s only spread as far as my lymph nodes so some chemo and a clip thing to shrink it and I might even be able to avoid a mastectomy!!! Holy shit!!! Gonna kick this thing’s ass!! 🙏🏼❤️💋💋💋

us, leaving las vegas.

“Perhaps home is not a place but simply an irrevocable condition.” ― James Baldwin

I woke up first. Our six-year-old was breathing raspy, through his mouth, a sudden summer cold having taken hold of him. He’d been waking and crying all night, complaining of burning eyes and burning skin. I hated when he was sick, I got scared that it wasn’t congestion, but tuberculosis. I groped his neck, checking lymph nodes, tender spots. Because he was small, skinny, weightless, my baby now and forever, and every bump under his skin, every bruise on top, any slight imperfection (like that wart on his toe, what the fuck?) was glaring and frightening. But I was forty now, and hoped this kind of worrying would stop.

I’d gotten home at 1:15am, to find him in our bed, snuggled up against my husband’s broad back, asleep but tossing and turning. I’d gotten back to the hotel room, is what I should say, but home is always where the three of them are - my two sons, and Patrick.

The hotel room was ridiculous. A two-floor loft, fancy and spotless, with giant floor lamps that stood over us like glowing giants, and velvet blackout curtains adjusted via remote control. We paid too much money, but it was my birthday, my fortieth. There were two lofts, because there were twelve of us. Twelve people who really, really loved me.

I’d spent the evening throwing money to the wind, and walking my eighteen-year-old cousin up and down the strip, where we took selfies and stopped every so often in front of cooling stations - whirring fans that lambasted us with a cold mist. It was late, and the streets were alarmingly, amazingly crowded. We had to fight hard at every crosswalk to make it to the other side. Back at the MGM Grand, I found my husband, said goodnight my boys, who were worn out from a magic show, but so happy, despite their colds. I kissed their soft, warm faces, and went away to win the jackpot on Wheel of Fortune. Sure, sure. The concierge ladies nodded and smiled at me and my gold fanny pack, which held nothing but room key and cash. Have a nice night, Mrs. Wilson.

Extravagance like that is not a daily thing, but it is possible, and it is something I still struggle with. It represents what America has to offer, what Americans and immigrants can achieve if the stars line up - the beautiful overwhelming success that can happen with luck, hard work, and faith. Luxury is a word I am still making friends with, and when it surrounds me I react to it from a place of disbelief, gratitude, glee, and embarrassment. It’s a strange thing to be poor one day, and wealthy the next, even though we are not talking days but years. But I digress.

I woke up first, and padded around the suite, listening for coughing and sniffles, packing dirty underwear and socks, phone chargers, watching the sun rise over Las Vegas. The weekend had been wonderful and bizarre, as if lifted from an ordinary time and place. Like a dreamscape. Saturday night, I’d still been 39, and I wanted to hold onto that number for dear life. I was clinging ferociously, as much as I knew it was an impossible task. So I left the gaming floor, and came back to loft ninety-five, and cried a lot. 

But what the fuck was I crying about? 

It felt like there was a current carrying me far far away from my youth or something like that. I could sink, or let it wash me ashore. My sisters came upstairs at one point, trying to cajole me, to shake my shitty mood, but I shouted at them to leave me alone. What was so big and bad about forty, they wanted to know. Nothing, and everything.

When they left, disappointed and resigned, I ate a lot of Pringles and cried some more and then I heard my six-year-old stirring and whimpering. He’d woken up from a nightmare, and I ran to him. It made me feel like I’d made the right choice, stealing away from the frivolity of slot machines and the company of family who adored me, who just wanted me to drink and celebrate my milestone birthday like a grown-up, and not be a brat. My son needed me, turned out.  

I soothed him, smoothed his forehead, and then, after he’d fallen back asleep, I played solitaire in bed, on my iPhone. I was a hot mess but only for a moment. It was a part of me I would accept now.

I would turn 40 surrounded by my most favorite people in the world, in a city that was full of energy and hope and desperation. Facade and optimism. A lazy river, and frozen beverages in containers the size of small animals. The dry heat felt like we were dough, not sizzling, but baking like what happens to puff pastries. So hot, it quietly destroyed me.

My birthday was the twelve of us in one of the crazy lofts, laughing and stuffing our faces. There was a hilarious video made by loveliest friend, and thoughtful, gorgeous gifts -and a cake that was out of this world. (My husband, just a word on him though he deserves tomes - my husband is EVERYTHING.) My panic had passed. I welcomed the moment, and those flickering forty candles with a sense of humor and an overwhelming sense of being loved and cared for. 

In his card, the six-year-old had scrawled “HAPPY BIRTHDAY SENIOR SIDISIN.”

We left Las Vegas this morning, stuffed noses and clogged ears, ‘broke’ and happy and tired as fuck. I worried all weekend, because my sons had come down with fevers and sore throats, headaches. I worried because that’s what mothers do. All mothers worry; how we worry varies. I worry hard, and constantly. 

The flight was bumpy, but nobody seemed to care. The clouds looked like menacing whorls, like they would swallow our airplane in one gulp, and I couldn’t stop staring at them. Nothing seemed real. We landed hard, swaying and bucking. 

But we were home, so soon, and finally. 

I currently have four open sores in my mouth, one of which is also causing an earache and swollen lymph nodes, and all of which are making eating and speaking hell.  I would be lying down feeling sorry for myself, but instead I have to pack up and move all the stuff in my sister’s bedroom because that floor of the house is being renovated.  In moving things, so far today I have broken glass by accident and cut myself on said glass.

Today sucks.

Coming home

If home is where the heart is, then I have many. My two flights to my sister’s house have not been made without sacrifice.

The day of my flight to the US, we, my surgery nurse and I, have been a bit too desperate to encourage draining, and in the process, slightly split my healing suture.

Since then, I have dealt with intermittent changing of bandages to sop up the ever flowing of this lymph fluid/old blood, the color of a 20-year Merlot.

Did you know that if you have swelling in your body, it is sensitive to changes in pressure? Good thing there is an outlet for all that fluid to go, otherwise it would be pretty uncomfortable.

I have many flights planned during my stay here and beginning to rethink certain itineraries.

Since the day of my operation, I have been forewarned of signs of infection. Now there is real reason to be concerned. Bathrooms would seemingly be logical places to change dressings, but I reassess that logic and choose other discrete spaces where there is less chance of the presence of e.coli. Never in airplane bathrooms. I double up the absorbency. Bedrooms, changing rooms in department stores are better options. I am quick and tidy.

Now I live on a double edged sword. On the one hand, I am grateful to see the swelling finally progress. The bruising is finally on rapid descent, and I have much more mobility than ever. On the other hand, each change produces risk. I limit activity in attempt to not disturb the wound. Not part of my plan. Remember the running thing? I feel like a sloth.

Have I loosened one of my steri-strips? A quick call to my sister’s doctor friend coaches us by phone on how to change the strip. She’s unable to make a housecall, but we send her a picture of my site. Technology is fabulous. It’s feeling a bit M*A*S*H like, except this is not triage. She gives a thumbs up to say it’s not necessary and it looks like it is healing nicely. Keep up on the cleanliness and keep it dry.

I can rest assured.

Originally posted by jambociao