Small Favors

Penny has been taking her synthetic thyroid stuff for nearly a week now… Lemme tell ya. Monster, our gnarly old peke, shown here, being himself:

Monster also had a thyroid issue (again, not the bug eyes) that came on at about thirteen years old. We had no clue, because, um, thirteen is a pretty old dog. The vet (who loves pekes as much as pugs) said Monster had essentially a completely non-functional thyroid. Did we notice anything odd about him? (See above video. Do you notice anything off about him?) Vet was specifically mentioning odor, which… we’d noticed for years his back end smelled way better than his front end. But that wasn’t it either. Anyway, within about three weeks, while Monster’s thyroid levels were still pitifully low (and we opted to leave them sort of low, given that he was going to risk liver failure otherwise), he was a new peke. He was a new, energetic little bastard. It was stunning.

Penny, because she’s younger right now and doesn’t strike me as the type of dog who would have been inclined to run around the house with her dad’s underwear stuck on her head even in her youth, we don’t think is going to seem quite as dramatic. However, it’s pretty obvious she feels better than she did a week ago.  Just like it was kind of hard to explain what seemed a little off (and it didn’t seem like it was always off, but sometimes she seemed a little bleh), it’s difficult to put a finger on why she seems a little better.

She does, though. She’s got a little more sparkle in her eyes, and a little more goof in her face, and she runs a little bit faster after mama. Or food. Or mama carrying food. And that at least makes me feel better before she goes for her dental work and her weird little leg-titty excision. Okay, at least, I feel like her leg-titty and nasty teeth aren’t making her feel yucky. It was her thyroid. It shouldn’t be surprising, I suppose. Where is her thyroid? I mean, where the hell is her neck?

Penny's Incredibly Silly Face Day

Since I think this week is just going to be a stressful thing anyway, I’m really glad for that teeny little favor. And the giant, lolling glottis.

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Update: The Pug’s Waistline Not Entirely My Fault

I feel mildly less like a killing with kindness mama as it appears my dear Penelope does have an underactive thyroid. I mean, for a little dog she had put on a goodly amount of weight. And while she’s a pug and they are not visions of athleticism, I did notice it took extenuating circumstances to get her really moving… like mama coming in from outside or seeing anyone walk by her goodie stash. So she starts thyroid supplements.

Next week she’ll have the teeth cleaned (and yanked, some of em) and the what the vet is sure is a mast cell tumor taken off. He’s sure now thanks to Mr. Shoe giving him a more accurate timeline of warty growth. He is also very, very relieved now to hear it took about a month to hit that size, and not a week (as he was told originally). Much less threatening, much more normal sounding.

She’s getting her nails trimmed too. Pug nails are just merciless things.

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It’s Not a Supernumerary Nipple

Trust me!

Penny, if you hadn’t noticed, is an odd girl. There’s the tongue, and the trick knees, and as the Dorktor who made the housecall here mentioned, “Hey, doggy, you’re wall-eyed!” She has an odd amount of pug mammaries, too. My family and friends spent many hours debating how many nipples a dog should have, and finally, I googled it… Evidently, six to ten are the norm, and odd numbers are not unheard of. Penny has nine titties. It’s part of what makes her awesome.

I noticed about a month ago a little balding spot on her right front leg. A week or so later, I noticed it looked a little warty. Okay. So it got a little bigger, but not anything overly huge. Last week, however, I looked at it and it just seemed a little too big, and a little too… not quite right. I told Mr. Shoe to make Penny an appointment with the vet, hoping that since the vet is a pug man himself he’d be able to say, “Yeah, that’s her mystery tenth titty!”

Not a leg boob.

Since pugs are prone to things growing on them that aren’t necessarily good to leave on them, our dear vet suggested that it be removed. It’s not huge, but it is hard and round and on her leg, and he suspects it could be a mast cell tumor. It could be a wart or callus too, I guess, but it doesn’t do anyone any favors to wait around. He said that since it is definitely anchored to her skin and not her bone or muscle, it should be an easy removal (if she were a person, it could be done without general anesthesia). Because it is on her skin, and is potentially a mast cell tumor (as pugs are prone to get) it is best to get it now, because this way she should not have to lose part or all of her lower leg and paw. It sounds like it isn’t that big a deal, and with any luck it’ll just be sliced off, and we’ll have to watch her for more weird bumps (especially on that particular site) from here on out.

She is also getting her teeth cleaned, which is actually probably far more involved and risky, but hell, since they have to knock her out, they might as well do the works. And she has fishy breath.

Due to the possible nature of the possible mast cell tumor, the vet wants her to have this done this week or early next week. (Again, I think it’s mostly because he has pugs, knows that these things aren’t easily determined from the outside, and that early action not only saves lives but also legs, and trust me, Penny has a hard enough time getting around on the four she has. As he put it, with his awesome South African accent, “It isn’t going to get better if you leave it there, and I wouldn’t bet on it not getting worse.”) He took a bunch of blood on Saturday, which completely pissed Penny off (he did give her a sticker for her troubles). I guess this blood work will help determine if she’s okay for the general anesthesia, but also can help decide what the course of action  might be if her lump is a mast cell tumor.

He also ordered a thyroid test. See those buggy eyes? Not because of them. There’s been some, er, um, weight gain. I think I can explain that. See those buggy eyes? They’re so… cute. So we tend to feed them. I can’t get around much (we’re not even going there right today… let’s just say I’ll be happy when my tests are done and hopefully acted upon quickly.) and Mr. Shoe doesn’t have a lot of time to walk her, and it’s hot and you would not believe how pugs overheat (heat, with an H). She’s not gotten boatloads of exercise. So I am pretty damn sure we’re the ones to blame on that end.

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Inner Panoramic Cameras

I think the only reason I’d go into medicine is because they do have some awesome tech toys. Sometimes awesome in their high techniness, sometimes awesome in their simplicity. I did the cardiac stress testing thing yesterday. It was expected to be not much of anything, but as the cardiologist rightly said, “I’d feel like a real jerk if I missed something that is fairly common.” And there could be some information there. I don’t know. I do know I haven’t gotten a call as of yet, and he said that usually if there’s earth shattering news you know by evening on test day.

I totally dug the scanners. I guess… It was myocardial perfusion imaging, and I believe they used SPECT. I got to see the first scan, which… looked like a colorblind impressionist painter was having a seizure, but it was cool to watch the pictures update as the cameras spun. I’m easily entertained.

If I ever have to do this test again, however, I am taking my chances with a skewed result and using the damned treadmill. I am sure the “simulating exercise” injection did give a clearer picture than the treadmill would have… because my heart rate does not behave normally during exercise. Evidently, neither does my blood pressure (they both should… well, not be so erratic). But good god almighty, that was some horrid shit. I mean… It takes a lot to make me say that. My chest felt much like it does when I… stand up. I mean, it was hard to breathe. It is hard to breathe. But with that came what felt like my muscles being first crushed and then liquified… not in my chest. My chest always feels that way. My hips, my shoulders. I guess I also turned reddish purple, and the cardiologist asked if I was getting hot (the cardiologist overseeing this was a fellow, and looked like my cousin’s son. He was adorable, except I know he was about my cousin’s son’s age, too… I felt friggin’ old).

I wasn’t. I was turning to an oily mass of liquified muscle, it seemed, but I wasn’t feeling flushed at all. When I told them that, they took my blood pressure, which started out sort of high going in (but not bad for me) and shot up (but not to a level I think would correlate to how awful that felt… I mean, it’s been higher at doctor’s visits with me just sitting there) and then it dropped to a higher level than when I came in, but not at all unusual high level for me.

They kept telling me that if the effects weren’t wearing off, they could give me some stuff to counteract the exercise simulation medication. It hit its peak and was absolutely horrendous. I don’t know what my heart rate was… I actually only felt it pounding right before and right after it went full on, but the feeling of having no damn control (I can stop walking on the treadmill, you know?) was really lousy. I obviously have control issues, at least when it comes to making my insides do what I want. Jeez, I wonder why?

But I guess they thought I might be feeling the effects longer than I should, as they offered the stuff to counteract, and I said, “It’s lessening.” About a half minute later it was suggested again, and halfway through the sentence I interrupted, “Wait, it’s…”

And the nurses and cardiologist looked at the EKG and said, “Better now?” I actually said better now with them, but without the raised inflection at the end. I guess it was obvious. And I guess at the very least, my feeling better correlating with it looking better is something. (It’s actually what the Brawny Towel Respiratory Tech guy said after my walk/stair test. Every incident of my reporting increased discomfort coincided with an unexpectedly large jump in heart rate… the idea being something is definitely happening, but we’ve not hit on where or why yet. It’s also why the comprehensive cardiopulmonary test was ordered at a hospital where three or four different specialists review it. It’s why my cardiologist here and my sweet GP said they’d rather see it happen there too… If any arterial lines are required or not, it is a test that needs review from all angles.

So that stuff was unpleasant, I guess mainly because I hate not calling the shots. I am happy, at least, that the next heart and lung one has to be done on a bike, or a treadmill.  I hope that I am in a place that if I ever should need one of these again, it can be done on a treadmill. I probably would have had a lot more residual discomfort had I used the treadmill (I was not right for a good five days after the stair test… well, I’m never right, but it was worse.) The moment when that stuff really kicked in was horrific though. It passed fairly quickly and I felt my usual crappy self for the rest of the day. But what if something had been completely craptastic? These people in there with me didn’t have poker faces, and trust me, if I didn’t feel great and it was a little freaky feeling, if they’d had “oh shit” looks on their faces, I can’t see as that wouldn’t have made me feel a lot worse. I mean, at least if they had “oh shit” faces on the treadmill I could sit down.

I was asked if it felt like that at home. It does, actually. The chest stuff. I said it comes on differently, more gradual. You know, I might feel like I’ve been smacked in the chest, and then it’s kinda hard to breathe and move and I feel cold and I turn blue, and then I’m tired so I go sit down and it starts to feel better hopefully. (Sometimes not, but usually it at least makes me less blue and I do tend to warm up.) I told the baby faced cute as a damn button cardiologist fellow, “If it happened that fast and all at once at home, instead of each stage having its time to peak and be most annoying… If it happened at home exactly like that, I’d be on my ass.”

I was told that was the reason I was lying on a gurney.

Med school is expensive, but I bet that pearl of wisdom was complementary.


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Well, Phew

I may feel like absolute poop on a stick (there’s an image fer ya) but at least, for now, it seems I have dodged riding an exercise bike with a wire in my heart. I hate to be one to settle, but I can pass this one up at the moment. I got the paper explaining (well, it actually explained absolutely jack) the test I’m waiting on at the Brigham. I suppose I’m waiting for is the wonderful expertise and boatloads of imaging technology that’ll have to be on standby… I fear I’m just waiting because of an outside chance any of those things are required.

I guess the cardiopulmonary stress test I am getting is a full tilt one, focusing on PPL. I guess it looks at direct and indirect oxygen levels and other metabolic crap and how heart rate will make that change. Ppl is actually I guess the going theory of what they’re focusing in on, which is intrapleural pressure. Know how I said I feel like my lungs work fine, like I could usually bust into song (not always, not as much lately, as I feel pretty damned hoarse), but that my chest doesn’t like to move? I mean, it does, but it doesn’t. Evidently, there’s the real possibility I’m not a total idiot.

I guess they can sorta see that stuff on an echo, but it’s not easy to tell unless there’s huge amounts of damage or if it’s all watery. I have no idea if they have a stronger reason to suspect that moreso than… I dunno… some other P based acronym. I suspect they do based on my neurological, tumorific and generally stiff history, as things that cause this (like histiocytosis and immune crap and neuroendocrine and all sorts of you don’t want it proliferative stuff can make this happen in any number of ways… tumors, blood, lymph, you name it, it’ll mess with your heart and lung communication.)

So anyway, I’m glad I’m not getting a wire stuck in my heart and then forced on to a bike. What does that mean when learning that constitutes a good day? Holy Jeebus.

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There’s a Name for This

Maybe no one will recognize me

I was actually told last night that the name was “Ridiculous.” Seems right. Dread Pirate Ridiculous Penelope Glottis.

It’s a cute little pirate suit. Let me tell you, pugs are oddly shaped. I at least felt like this was something that if I had to alter it, it’s a damn pirate costume. It’s not supposed to look fresh. Also, there’s a damn dog inside it, which… y’know…

So this one wasn’t too bad to get to fit her. I had to give the sleeves the Larry the Cable Guy treatment, because Penny has massive shoulders, but the belt/coat all closed up right and it wasn’t like it was even that long. I also got her a much needed new harness, but unfortunately I overestimated the size there. Pugs aren’t even standardized between pugs.

I have been taking some pictures, but it’s rough. I mean, I know, but it really is rough. I am happy if you have no idea, and I’m betting a lot of people don’t, though they can empathize. That’s all well and good. And hey, I don’t ask much, and if I have a day a decent photo comes along, that’s pretty cool.


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I Heart Cardiologists (Get it?)

Well, come on, one did save my dad, now. How can I not heart them?

I spoke with my sweet GP on Saturday and decided I would go see the local cardiologist guy. As I said to her, “I suppose at the very least, I really rather liked him and if it all hits the fan, it’s more likely to do it here, so it’d be good to have a few specialists in the know backing you up with the hospital dorks.” She told me that she’d rather the fan get hit in Boston. She doesn’t deny fan hitting any more. I’m actually thankful for that.

She said that the local hospitals don’t do the testing that the nice pulmonologist ordered. We’ll get to that.

So I went to see the cardiologist, who really is cool. I mean, I tend to like cardiologists just because they tend to be honest about hearts… hearts are bits of machinery and really essentially simple. They are either not working correctly mechanically or working correctly but getting bad signals. It seems everyone still believes I fall into the latter camp (which is I guess better than the bad signals making my heart bust.) Based on family history, he said, he feels like he’d be remiss in not sending me for a cardiac stress test to look for artery disease. He also said that despite family history, given everything else and all, he doesn’t think it is. I don’t either. I mean, I’ve seen how that stuff goes down in my family, and it isn’t quite like this has been. He also called me kiddo and didn’t sound like a total dweeb doing so. That was funny.

So I would really have rathered a treadmill stress test. But here’s the deal: He said that if difficulty breathing should cause the test to end prematurely, the results won’t be nearly as clear or accurate, and he thinks while it’ll be pretty normal, he thinks a good baseline right now is important. While I think I could  push myself, I don’t think (alas, I’ve been told) it is not a great idea. So I am having the crap injected and the pictures taken. I don’t like the injected crap idea. Don’t ask me why. I feel like a wuss — not because of the injection (oh please, wait till you hear the next bit) — but because I can’t do a fifteen minute walk on a freakin’ treadmill anymore.

He asked if I exercised. I said (honestly) that I did until it became obvious that putting on my sportsbra was a workout, never mind releasing the platform on the treadmill.

So that’s going on next week. I told him about the pulmonary stuff, and he said, “You’d better be doing that in Boston.” He like… squeaked it out, all high pitched.

Heheheheh. Yeah, I found out what they do. Um. I am not going to sleep until mid August. Actually, I know it’s all safe and they do this stuff and blah blah, and the Brigham is very diligent on making sure pain management and such starts prior to a procedure so that really the pain (and therefore, often, recovery time) is shorter (the hospitals out here? Not so much.) but the idea is creepy. It kinda skeeves me out. It is friggin’ cool they can do this sort of thing, but it is scary.

The pulmonologist left his take on things like this, in this order: You have an issue with heart lung communication. By the way, how are you feeling? Your PFO is not an issue and no one thinks a closure is needed. I’m ordering a specialized test that measures oxygen exchange and how things pump through your heart and lungs when you are working. You’ll wear a respirator thingy and electrodes and we measure your blood levels.

Okay… so the cardiologist asked what was meant by communication issues… given the test that was ordered, was my pulmonary pressure elevated on the echo? I am not sure. It was only after the fact when I spoke to my sweet GP and then looked up the exact test done by said name at the Brigham that I realized I’ll be doing this second stress test with a heart catheter.

See, a catheter in my heart makes me think about all the things one might do with a line into their chest, and not one of them involves a bike (it is, of course, necessary that I do exercise on that test.) Now, I know this is something that sounds freakier than it is, but come on…. I hate having IVs stuck in the crook of my elbow, because nurses think the line is so flexible that not only can you sign paperwork or change out of your johnnie with the thing in, but they want you to play tennis and ping pong with them. I swear. And trust me, it isn’t that flexible, especially over the course of a few hours.

I am neither expecting that test to be pushed forward and I am actually somewhat surprised it was this soon. Also, I guess I’ll be moving from naproxen to tylenol again shortly.

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What We Have Here Is A Failure to Communicate

Some medical terminology is so awesome. I like immune system derangement. I like when something that is absolutely life threatening is described as “inappropriate.” I also like the fact that heart chambers and lungs actually exhibit diplomacy skills insomuch as they are described as communicating with each other (whether or not they’re supposed to, eh. Wikileaks, mitral valve style!)

Anyway, so I get my echocardiogram and bubble study done. Echo sonographer questioned why I was having a second bubble if we knew I had a hole… Evidently, though, it isn’t uncommon when hospital systems have a failure to communicate that tests have to repeated. It’s stupid, yes.

So here’s the deal, so far as I can tell. You know, it’s always a little squenchy when the doctor calls you back and doesn’t know quite where to begin. I have a feeling I missed some key information because of… well… I think there are blanks to fill in all round still.

I do in fact have that little teeny hole. It is teeny. They saw it, I think even without the bubbles, but the bubbles let them know that really, the hole is not my problem. The pulmonologist was curious as to whether it was worth measuring the hole now (or even in the future) based on what the cardiologist saw, and it was clearly not.

What I do have, apparently, is some failure in communication between my heart and lungs. What does that mean? How the hell do I know? Actually, since my heart seemed normally sized and not overly thick or weirdly shaped or anything, and because my lungs are pretty damn okay, I am guessing that means the arteries that go between them are being snotty little jerkwads for whatever reason. I guess this was something they could see on the doppler… But my heart is basically okay for now and doing what it should with what it’s being given to work with, as are my lungs. So my problem is somewhere in between.

I suspect that they are thinking some form of pulmonary hypertension (maybe, I mean, these little episodes did precede my blood pressure going sky high by a year and a half or so, which would kind of jive) I guess it could be something else, or it could be there’s something squishing they didn’t see on the imaging (the countless freaking pictures they have, actually)… Usually stuff that causes scarring and inflammation and such stuff causes that kind of thing in your lungs (okay, outside your lungs)… So it wouldn’t be beyond the pale to see, as weird as my history has been, this sort of crap happening. A lot of adults with histiocytic stuff (or any odd blood or immune issues) of various flavors and colors have weird fibrotic and stiffening things happen, sometimes in the organs themselves, sometimes just in the areas all around them.

So I get to go do a stress test that involves an echo at either end, a lung test and the usual old cardiac monitoring during the middle. Since my heart is okay, and my lungs are too, and it’d be awesome to keep them this way as long as possible, it’d be nice to figure out where my issue is from. If we could, we could stop things from happening like, um, heart failure. I understand that this would be a real possibility (both that it could be happening, or happening soon, and that it could be prevented or minimized if we can sort out why. It can probably be minimized now that we realize that we have a damn problem. Finally. Jeez. Sorry. And it’s no one’s fault… it actually really does work this way. This slow. I don’t know if that’s comforting or not. Nah, but at 38 years old it sort of is. But not really.)

So I was going to the cardiologist out here in the suburbs on Monday, but I think given the overall picture now, it might make more sense to do in town. First, though I like this cardiologist out here, I couldn’t stand the local pulmonologist, and the dude at the Brigham/Farber is really so nice. I also sense this is more going to be a vascular/hematology thing than a purely pulmonary/cardiac thing, and thereby weird, and thereby… I might as well be where I know the doctors know I’m weird and have the means to make the connections to other doctors who enjoy weirdness (which my poor GP has been butting her head against for years… I adore that woman. I have no choice but to push through this crap and get something figured out… she had a choice as to whether she wanted to continue to work with me. I will love her forever for this. Of course, same goes for Mr. Shoe, you know.)

Of course, I asked how long this test took to schedule… I told the nice pulmonologist that while I’m not keeling over, this isn’t at all pleasant or right and I can’t do this much more. He said if it was more than a week and half out, let him know… He’d see if he couldn’t make some stuff happen.

It’s scheduled. It is more than a week and a half away. The scheduling lady let him know, and I’m going to call him as well. I think the sticking point is it is done one day a week, in two time slots, because it requires a few different trained medical peoples to do (think, echo, probably some radiology nurses, cardiologists, pulmonary techs at the very least). I do not know if he can work this magic, but if he can’t, I’m going to ask if he has any ideas what I could do that might make the next month or so less unpleasant. I worry most about losing what I have left here, and a month is a long friggin’ time. It won’t kill me, but it might make it worse. Pushing through the pain and heaviness is not really making it better. But I get bullshit at it so I do, and then… I am not helping anyone that way.

The rule: nothing is ever simple. Ever.

At any rate, a word for my mom: They will do something to make this easier to live with at this point, because they have to. It might not work or nuthin’, but there’s no way that ethically they can’t tackle what they are seeing even if they can’t put together why it happens exactly.

I did have my propranolol bumped up. Can’t say it is doing much for the blood pressure (yup, still causing people to bleed out when I look at them) but my heart rate is down a little, which at least is less crappy feeling. I don’t have any more difficulty breathing so I guess that’s a start. They can do more, and I do know this, even though I kinda doubt this will be clearly fitting into a still very pixellated but pretty clearly present bigger picture any time soon. The bad news is the good news: they have to, because if they don’t, we are all in for a world of hurt. But I also know that at this stage, this is stuff that even simple interventions can have a pretty positive impact longer term.

My flow and pressures are high, but I am not deformed. Oh, stop laughing… or I will make your retinas detach. Don’t think I won’t.

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The Grind

Okay, while browser crashing is far less frequent with my 32bit Ubuntu install, it does not use my RAM in the same efficiently awesome manner the 64bit version did, so I tend to find my photo editor crashes a freakin’ ton if I load a batch of raw image files. This isn’t overly shocking, or terribly disappointing, but it is still disappointing, I think it’s a trade off I’ll have to live with for now.

Speaking of living and trading… Yesterday I had a physical with my sweet GP. It turns out, I wasn’t due for a pap smear till January. She actually said I could put it off till then, and then I realized I was all in the “this is going to suck” mode and it isn’t like it will suck less in a few months, so I might as well get it done since I was all steely eyed for it anyway.

Also, my blood pressure was so high throughout the visit that it actually caused two of her office staff to have retinal ruptures during my appointment block. Okay, no one ruptured, but in the good chance that my echo today comes back pretty unremarkable and that follow up there takes another three weeks to get done, she made an appointment with the local cardiologist to see what he recommends in terms of (she said in particular) stress testing.

I should hear tomorrow if anything looked amiss (if it isn’t all clear and lovely, I can tell you what won’t be the problem — the PFO they thought they’d see. It’ll be something else entirely. I mean, I imagine that was a factor in going to echo first anyway. If I am obviously weird or something is moving completely oddly that we hadn’t seen before, it might be good to know now.)

So my GP did an electrocardiogram, which didn’t look normal, but since normal is what an old white guy’s heart should look like (her words),  she just wanted to be sure she wasn’t seeing anything that was immediately ominous. She didn’t. She did up my propranolol so that I don’t cause nose bleeds when I direct my gaze at people, in hopes that maybe it could bring my blood pressure and heart rate down a little. I dunno, I think I can feel a difference… I mean, I think it might be taking a bit more to completely make everything scream in agony, but truth is, it’s only been a day and it doesn’t take much, so I might be mistaken. At any rate, it hasn’t made my breathing worse (which was a concern.)

I fell going up the stairs the other day, and it looked like it was promising to bruise something nasty on my upper arm. Then they drew blood at the lab yesterday, and the phlebotomy chick ties off that arm (yowch) and almost got the vein the first time. So now it is pretty damn purple on top of my usual purple. I am hopeful that the puncture point that they used for the IV saline bubbles today doesn’t bruise too. I think it is scaring people. I look like Violet Beauregard, post-Wonka-gum-chewing-incident.

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It’s Not Me, It’s You…

At any rate, I thought that perhaps maybe a few off BIOS settings were screwing with my system enough that I couldn’t keep Firefox up and running for love nor money. So I switched them over in Kubuntu 11.04 64bit and discovered while things seemed a little happier, they were still so damned far from acceptable that it wasn’t even funny.

Since Mr. Shoe wanted a 32bit pendrive system and Windows and Bit Defender were getting in the way of my making it work effectively with his computer, I said the hell with it and tried to install a 32bit version of Ubuntu on the laptop.

Got to change some BIOS settings again, because boy howdy, my CD drive can’t keep up with the hard drive, and there were input/output errors all over. So now I’m running a 32bit Ubuntu desktop (and so far, Unity crashed out, but um… Firefox didn’t seem affected, even though it was indeed open. I suspect I hit some function keys I wasn’t thinking worked to do such things in combination). So far, I’ve not lost Firefox though.

I also can’t seem to get my checksums to work on this here drive I’m making for Mr. Shoe. Heh.

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