Don’t tell Mr. Shoe. I have a crush on Teddy Roosevelt. Okay, fine, you can tell him. He already knows. I mean, here’s a guy with asthma, whose mother described his laugh as being similar to creaking door hinge, who wrestled guests in the governor’s mansion and probably planted the idea in his kids’ heads to take the pony up to the second floor of the White House in the new elevator. He was shot during a campaign speech, for the love of Pete, and then continued speaking with his spastic little gestures for another hour and forty five minutes or some such. I bet his wife was friggin’ thrilled with him over that one.
Black care rarely sits behind a rider whose pace is fast enough.
To some degree it holds true, of course — Teddy did use rarely as a modifier. I’m not sure if I’ve been an “outrun it” sort of patient or the sort who just is in denial. I think it’s a combination for me. I’d deny it was happening while trying to outrun it, and then when it caught up with me, I didn’t even recognize it as what I was running from. I get this. I mean, it makes it hard because I have no clue I am doing it. When something gets pressed and I am asked, “Does this hurt?” I have to think about it. It doesn’t hurt per se, but I wish to hell you’d stop pressing on it now because… it doesn’t not hurt.
At any rate, I am off to see some guy at Dana Farber in exactly (jeez, almost to the minute) one week. I really hope to get from this visit one thing: further tests. I mean, there is obviously something going on. I am annoyed that the things very certainly clinically objectively identified — central diabetes insipidus, a cyst of some sort on my posterior pituitary, and a thymus that was far too large to be normal (even if it wasn’t malignant) or even stay in my chest for much longer — are often just shrugged off. The good part is they are not necessarily horrendous things in and of themselves. The bad part is they are weird, so many doctors aren’t getting that just because you don’t see them often doesn’t mean there’s not a relationship between them, or that they’re inconsequential. Maybe there’s no relationship, maybe they’re each a separate sign of something else — but they just kinda don’t happen in well people.
I think that it’s time to start rephrasing the questions we ask about what’s going on. I think that’ll probably require some nastier testing and biopsies and stuff, and that sucks, but fine. My blood work always seems to be rather unrevealing. The trick is asking the right sort of questions at that point so that we find or can say definitively what we see or don’t see in anything sampled. My sweet GP is so down with this step, and she’s been pushing for someone to poke at the beefier lymph nodes and my skin for a while. Nobody out here, however, is really able to help her get that done so that pain, agony, and time spent in either state are minimized. Eddie the neuro agrees — it’s time to stop beating the hell out of that horse we’re riding so fast and start thinking in the saddle.
And for those who may or may not have realized… You can check out other pictures on my Flickr photostream (clicking on the pictures I link here should take you to Flickr as well). Still trying to get the hang of manual shooting (darkness is not my friend) but finding the photography truisms are, um, true. Lots of bad pictures for every one good one… And saving files in the RAW camera format gives you a lot more control over the image in post processing — and you’ll need to do some no matter what. Usually it seems color and lighting need a little help, but post processing can’t make a crappy shot look good. I do decently well with not wobbling so that the picture is blurry (though I have a lot to work out in terms of focus areas), so that’s a good start.