Intentionally Left Blank

It’s not necessarily that there’s nothing to say… I could say a lot of stuff, actually, but probably none is terribly appropriate without hearing the inflection and all that jazz.  Tomorrow I head up to Dana Farber… I originally didn’t have any blood work to do beforehand (there was a brief question the other night about that between Mr. Shoe and I, but after some digging, I found the actual print out of the appointment time, and yeah, no blood work.) Last night I got a call telling me that I did in fact have blood work in the shiny new Yawkey Center for Groovy Adult Cancers (okay, that isn’t what it’s called. But if you’re going to go talking about green buildings using atriums and rooftop gardens and all that lovely stuff, give it a snappy name. And groovy is about as hippy as you can sound without going completely maharishi on the deal). Actually, it sounds like it is kind of neat inside. And the older building really tried, but it was so stuffed to the gills with calming yet confidence inspiring colors, it was actually hard to tell where walls were and what signage was pointing to and if the hallway angled downward or if there was some weird ass forced perspective. You think I’m kidding, but seriously, have your balance thrown off at random intervals for some unknown reason enough, you notice these things.

Anyway, the new place allegedly has windows, which the waiting area in the old main campus building did not. This is a big deal. I mean, it was kind of impossible to put a window in the place because who the hell wants to look at the ambulances coming in to the other hospitals, but that was one big reason why I preferred the Faulkner offices… It overlooked trees and the trees had big birds in them and the parking garage had cat nip planted all around and occasionally you’d find a really intoxicated kitty rolling around in the mulch.

Anyway, I didn’t have blood work, now I do. I am guessing that might have something to do with my visits last week. No idea what this’ll be like, but I guess I get to find out.

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I’m in Ur Hozzpidal Breakin’ Ur Stuff

Care and compassion aside, I realize that too many trips to certain hospitals in a short period tends to make me feel… well, animosity towards the institution. So Monday I spent what was actually a relatively short amount of time in Brigham and Women’s ER… And truth be told, the Brigham does have pretty damn good ER staff. They are always pushed to the limit, of course… The other night was actually just stunning in terms of volume. It was a visit that was made a little easier because (holy friggin’ a!) the system worked. My sweet GP who is not a doctor in the Brigham/Dana Farber network called DFCI, and then the Brigham ER, and then the nurse practitioner for my oncologist followed up to make sure that they knew I’d be rolling in… and, if I were admitted, the nurse practitioner would know where to find me. So I got there, was pre-registered, and… well, still had to wait, of course, because there were people in a lot worse shape than I was (and there were people in a lot better shape… they also are the ones that bitch the most about waiting, I’ve noticed).  But it was smooth, it worked, and for something that seriously sucks horrible amounts of ass, it was nicely handled and I can’t complain.

Today I had my as-scheduled last week (at the Brigham, ahem) CT scan of my temporal bone.  We were slow this morning. I don’t know why. Well, yeah, I do. Mr. Shoe had school last night, and then he did some stuff and he said he’d set the alarm for six, and it went off at six… and you know, if you live just outside Boston and need to be somewhere at 8:30 in town, you need to leave the friggin’ house at six. There’s this traffic thing.

At 8:35 we find a spot in the garage, which is covered, of course, but it is above ground and so the wind and snow and rain blow in and it was icy in the actual garage. A lady was giving a statement to a cop about how she hit the pole in the garage as we waited for the elevator. We didn’t hit anything, but Mr. Shoe claimed he could see where the ice was… no, he can’t, but at least he can regain footing pretty easily.

We get into the hospital, make our way toward where ever this CT machine was hidden (way off) and run into a crowd of… medical sheeple. Then we got closer and heard it. Evidently somewhere in the middle of the hospital a fire alarm was triggered. No idea if there was a  fire, or smoke, or a faulty switch or what… But it actually ended up making us not so late, since it wasn’t like we could get past the security guys.

I went in to the CT, managed to hit a stray head brace/cage combination with my jacket and have it smash all on the floor (it bounced off the chair I had my Kindle on). The nice tech said not to worry about it. I wasn’t really worried about the brace. Just sayin’.  My Kindle was okay.

Then, ten minutes later, I was done. I have had enough of the Brigham for the next month, kids. Thank you. The nice tech asked if I had an appointment with this doctor today, and thankfully I did not. I suppose they prioritize reading. That, and what they look at in the temporal/mastoid CTs looks kind of like a pain to examine. I’d save it for the dude on the next shift. Hey.

In other news, my sweet GP is just… sweet.  It sucks that I have to go through this, and she has to go through this with us, but it is nice to know that she’s there to help coordinate all the now very appropriate medical ducky professionals I have on my side.

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In Other News

Mr. Shoe found some off brand conversation hearts at Stop and Shop. We called them Ghetto Hearts, but that’s not quite fair. One of them said “Dewy Eye.” I mean, that’s nearly poetic. Another said “Boy Craz.” And another said, “I’m [hard to read text resembling the gutteral phrase rowwwwworrrrowr].”

They were so awesome, we bought another bag. They didn’t taste like much. They were endlessly entertaining.

Off Brand Conversation Hearts

Off Brand Conversation Hearts

Off Brand Conversation Hearts

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You Always Hurt the Ones You Love

Mr. Shoe says it’s empathy, and I say it’s probably weird and I shouldn’t feel that way, because my sweet GP signed on for it and I sure as hell didn’t, but man, I always feel bad when I go to see her and then she has to send me some place else — fast. Like, you know, yesterday.

And part of it is of course I hate having to go to any medical appointment, and I hate the emergency room the worst. I also hate that she has to do it (and I understand completely and appreciate that she does).  I know she has to. I know we all wish it were different.

Anyway, the good news is is that apparently it’s more what I was thinking, which was something is slowly doing its drain circle and not necessarily revealing what is causing some of the more worrisome symptoms in my kidneys and lungs and stuff (as opposed to the potentially worrisome but mostly damn annoying ENT symptoms).  My sweet GP was convinced my electrolytes went to hell again… I wasn’t completely in disagreement, of course. But the labs at the ER showed pretty normal or at least close enough to normal (and in the “chronic close enough” sense) that no one was thinking that was the issue. I was worried that a kidney was borking up, or something was hardening up around it, and hell, maybe it is… but we can’t see that yet.

The ER staff suspected kidney stones (not a bad thought… I was wondering. I get them in my salivary glands, thanks to drying out all the damn time but still having low sodium) but didn’t see anything. I had an elevated white blood cell count, but it seemed likely more a prednisone thing than an infection thing (given the fact everything else was okay in terms of infection behavior). Kidneys seem to work.

My blood pressure was, per usual, high… until they stuffed me with some IV stuff, and it went almost normal. I think that I tend to run higher when they take my blood pressure with an automated machine, but either way… I have run high consistently for the past two years. I almost hit normal after a saline IV, which I suppose makes sense. It’s hard though, and I swear if anything is going to cause me serious problems in the short term, it’s the damn electrolytes. I don’t just mean sodium. I’ve had potassium go high for no reason, and calcium tends to waver on the high end, despite my not having had an ounce of vitamin D in my blood stream… ever, apparently. (Again, there’s a test result I doubt highly.)

So they pressed around, and the physician’s assistant made a funny little face when she squished my lower right abdomen. Like, to the point she made the face and I thought… is she going to enlighten me or anything, or does she have a cramp or something?

After nearly barfing up a bunch of ReadiCat (I didn’t get the Crystal Light stuff they had at Dana Farber… I guess it must light different stuff up. The Crystal Light is preferable, but if given the choice between flavored ReadiCat and unflavored… Take the unflavored. It is not any more gross tasting, and you won’t associate barium sulfate with raspberries for the rest of your life) I got a trip through the CT (again).

The verdict: No idea what is causing the larger symptom set I came in with (except I think it’s my normal suck, heading downwards, and not being revealing yet… this isn’t new, it’s just friggin’ intense and I want to catch things before they really, really break. Now I can. This is a good thing. Honest.) However, if I had come in with complaints suggestive of appendicitis… Then I’d have appendicitis. I guess there’s a calcified something or other in my appendix. Whether it means jack in the grand scheme of things, I don’t know. It could be incidental, it could be from the same sort of drying out crap I have go on, it could be more relevant. It isn’t doing much though, now, except making the PA in the emergency room at B&W make funny faces at me.

Duly noted, and I see Dr. J next week. And I’ll talk to my sweet GP today. I want to thank her… nay, I need to thank her. I mean… She knows me. She said I was acting loopy (well, shit, I’m overtired, I’m itchy and gross feeling, and I had to piss like a racehorse in her office… I don’t feel good, and I get stupid. Really, really, stupid. It wasn’t electrolyte stupid though, I knew. That didn’t feel stupid… I knew what I was doing. It just took years to do it.) I do think there’s something more than the diabetes insipidus messing with my electrolytes, and I think it’s mechanical and outside my pituitary. I don’t know where, though. Anyway, I want to thank her for knowing me so well. I want to thank her for saying it, because she has known me for so long and that’s why she means so much as a medical professional to me… She said, “You look like hell.”

Yes. I do. I still maintain it’s more I don’t look like me. I don’t always necessarily look like hell, but I’m not recognizable as who I was. I mean, I don’t look sick sick sick, but I have changed, slowly, and they are indicative of… being sick. And I looked like hell enough that it scared her. It scares me too. But it is nice to have someone who knows me, who is a doctor and has that responsibility to say such and the weight and experience and resume to back it up to other medical professionals. I will be grateful for and love that woman till the day I die, which fortunately will not be in the next 48 hours, according to the ER.

Seriously, I am lucky. I don’t feel it, and it feels weird to say, but I know it. The idiot thing is this isn’t inconsistent with what I am thinking I’m going to face… but I’m probably going to have to do this whether treatment is working well or not periodically. And I hate that. And I hate that my sweet GP hates putting me through it. I know it has to be that way.

Poor Mr. Shoe, too. God.  I am happy to report though that finally they are letting him right back into the ER with me, asking who I live with (I point to him and say, “That guy.”) and they ask right there, “Do you feel safe at home?” Yes, it is a perfunctory question, and we all know that he didn’t stick a calcified whatever the hell it is in my appendix, or a lump in my lung and left ass cheek because he enjoys the drama of the ER.

I must have been feeling shitty though. Last night there was tons of drama in that ER. I mean… tons. And I just felt so tired. It also could have been the crap they gave me to keep me from tossing up the barium.

Posted in Getting to the Point, Langerhans Cell Histiocytosis, Living with, Not Otherwise Specified, The Bad, The Ugly | Leave a comment

Aw, Screw It…

Sometimes I mean to come and update and then I just think… It was so damn hard to click the trackpad button that now I don’t feel like writing anything. And the only exaggeration there might b that sometimes it takes a lot less for me to say the hell with it.

Despite the badly timed snowfall, all parties showed up at the ENT appointment today bright and early.  Of course, there could be any number of things causing some of the problems I have in the area that could be directly or peripherally related to the larger histiocytosis picture (as in… I could have bone issues in the middle ear which would be a direct result of the process, or I could have weird swelling and irritation all around due to chronic dehydration thanks to inflammation and diabetes insipidus…)

The gist was we’re looking to see that nothing is there that is leaving a hole (or presumably growing, I guess, but she didn’t feel anything too exciting). In the grand scheme of things, my eardrums aren’t so scarred, and my salivary glands and stuff didn’t feel enlarged freakishly. So I’m getting a CT of my skull and face and ear and jaw regions, and a test for vestibular/balance function and hearing much later on. I am hoping they can find something that might explain something and I can avoid the balance testing, as it sounds like the friggin epitome of suckassiness… and truthfully, all things considered, I still kind of question the worth if they don’t, since…. you know.

A question, dear reader: When the doctor pulls on your tongue and says to say “eeeee” and then takes her mirror and stares way down into your throat and tells you to breathe (while you are still eeee-ing), what would you do? I suggest you don’t try to ask her what the hell she thinks you were doing to make the sound pass out of your diaphragm to start with, because you’ll gag on her mirror… I mean… My god, I am breathing, right? Where is the sound coming from then? Is this something like a zombie moan? I’m undead, but screaming for brains? I gather what was meant now was to actually inhale.

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When Progress Doesn’t Feel Like Progress

First, it must totally suck ass to be a doctor. And of course, there are areas of medicine that must suck even more than others. I think primary care sucks in its own unique way… You’re the first medical professional the patient sees (and sick people suck, I know. I am one.) and because you are a generalist, when you refer someone who isn’t necessarily textbook to a specialist, you get the lovely couplets “your primary care knows nothing about the amazingly complex and awesomeness that is my speciality, and your primary care is supposed to know everything to put together your bigger picture.” I think oncology must suck, of course, and anything that deals with stuff that’s just… hard to fix. Nephrology. Crap like that.

Anyway, one of the things that was mentioned at my follow up was that the road ahead would depend on a number of things. Dr. J is not overly fond of the idea of doing chemo because of my decidedly lackluster response to the prednisone (and what does it say about me that I still think lackluster beats no luster at all… but truth be told, this is doing it again well and truly. And I fear what I would be feeling like without any prednisone at all. No… I don’t merely fear it.)  The idea is that some patients with a pretty piddly response don’t see a good return on the time and effort put into chemo, so perhaps a longer term approach as a chronic thing is better from the start.

But it’s hard to tell, and sometimes I am guessing they do have to step in with bigger guns (and then smaller ones, hopefully) now and again. The problem with histiocytosis as a whole is that it is variable from person to person within the same set of disorders… and the disorders all tend to look the same either symptomatically, clinically, or pathologically… until they really, really don’t. So you have to play wait and see. Wait and see what helps. Wait and see what breaks, and then what they can tell you about what’s broken.

Prednisone isn’t going to cut it. Maybe in a good stretch, as a pre-emptive, along with something else… But this is not going to fly. The good news is there’s not been a complete crash and burn (and I know that this is an impossible thing to say for sure, but I am feeling as though I would not be lying in my bed at home with a laptop and a gurgling pug if I were not on it right now.) I am definitely taking another spin around that drain, and I am thankful we at least know what the process going on actually is, even if science knows very little about it from there.  I am thankful it is very clear this is an untenable situation… I mean, it was beforehand, but it remains so and is still doing its thing, even if I’m holding up a little better than I probably would have been.  But the last week or two have made it abundantly clear that stopping this in its tracks has probably been impossible from the get go, and that slowing it down and staying on a more stable course could happen via several means. I think we know prednisone is a booster now, and not much else.

This is how we learn. Yep. That’s me. Science in frickin’ action.

Posted in Getting to the Point, Langerhans Cell Histiocytosis, Living with, Not Otherwise Specified, The Bad, The Ugly | Leave a comment

Never Mind the Typos, Here Comes a Post

Yeah, so I am updating on the Droid this post. Why? Because it is in my little girlie hands and I don’t have to sit up. I don’t know if I have girlie hands. Every time the nurses at the Brigham (and yes, it seems it is always at the Brigham they do this) try to start an IV in my hands they tell me how lovely my veins look (I’m dehydrated so they poke up but are unpokeable) and then they whack them hard to make the poke up more. I am bad at showing pain. There are three times I have ever involuntarily screamed in pain at something done… and yes, I had those biopsies and wire positionings without sedation… but the last hand IV got a good yip. Actually, I still have the knot from where it was spanked. That was… three months ago?

So, uh, my brain is working reasonably okay still with 40 mgs of prednisone. I am not going to be doing any quantum physics calculations, but usually I can find the door knob when in a room with a door.

Stamina sucks as much as ever since dropping the prednisone dose. I definitely do have happier kidneys, which might not be saying much… since kidneys aren’t known for being the most emotive organs. Personally, I feel like a big motherhonking angry ass spleen… but who wouldn’t? And last night was awesome in the sweating department, and we can just let imagination take over from there how my skin responded…

I do like having my brain moreso, and you know, I know these things do have their moments. And I know I am feeling really impatient. We know what is going on about as much as is possible with much of this stuff… but truthfully, the stuff science doesn’t know about much simpler things can curl your hair.  Well, probably. Or straighten it.  But it’s sort of a good idea to try the least crappy, safest, most likely to help things first and that isn’t so clear. I get it. I appreciate the thought being put in… I just friggin’ hate waiting. I hate THIS.

I see the ENT next week (she is an oncologist as well). I don’t know what she’s been briefed on in my case (I am sure she will be… the good part is that at this point, nobody is waiting till appointment time to read up on me). I always felt so bad that my sweet GP would send my records with a letter explaining that it would behoove to at least scan a day or two in advance of me (that’s a great sign… ugh) and it was pretty damn clear her note was shredded or has some stupid ass looking doodles of adrenal glands on it somewhere on the specialist’s desk. This might be the one place it does pay to be interesting medically.

Nah, the pay still sucks.

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Silly Mortal, Easy is for… Other Silly Mortals

I went for the four week follow up at Dana Farber on Friday, which was good. By good, I mean, I was really incredibly grateful to be there, because for the past week and a half, I felt pretty crappy, with the last two evenings being… a little more exceptional in the presentation of what was worrisome. Now, the good news is I am sure I have prednisone to thank for being able to think clearly enough to decipher the truly scary from the potentially scary down the road from the merely annoying.  The bad news is is that in some way I think I have to say the prednisone was at least contributing mildly to the truly scarier aspects. It is a good thing to know, though, and one I probably should have expected, given that it is something that periodically threatens to go nuclear and then quiets a bit. It’s a kidney thing, or something at the very least related to the kidney area — and I can say without reservation it is in no way, shape, or form related to the diabetes insipidus. Except that maybe I have an impaired thirst response, which probably would complicate both ends of the spectrum.

So I guess my kidneys are still testing fine (then, I guess they do until they are really messed up) but my left in particular is being a real douchebonnet, so we are being careful. I was also feeling quite bloaty… Part of that was water retention, part of that was the fact I swear my lymph nodes just get their jollies trafficking huge amounts of crap into the most inopportune places whenever I hurt.

I am now taking 40 mg of prednisone, and truthfully, the lessening of the kidney annoyance makes up for the lower dose (and I smell a lot better… I am sorry. I mean, it is a hard thing to say. It is insult to injury.)

That’s kind of the good news, though.

Truth is, I should feel a lot better. I mean, I do feel better. Do not misunderstand. But just like when this hit three years back, I took the prednisone, and I felt… well, not like I was going to just drop dead instantly. And that’s about it. But it is better than feeling like dropping dead, right? Right. I knew then I should have felt better on it. I have taken it in the past for shorter stints on lesser doses and felt better in a few days… and not just the normal old “cortisol makes everything zippy” reaction. Things felt better. I was surprised last time the reaction, while positive, was not… like it used to be.

Things do not necessarily feel better in this case. In fact, my stupid ass carcass is doing what it does when it acts up pretty much to the letter. This is historically one of the times of year it is really, really bad.

And that is why I really wish it had been lymphoma. Because here’s the deal: histiocytosis comes in many flavors and forms. These have overlapping symptoms, sometimes. Sometimes they have distinctive ones, and very few are documented enough to say what works or what doesn’t and things indicate what might help one person could potentially harm another or at least might be worth holding off on until it is clearly the only option.

The fact that I’m kind of really not responding to the  prednisone — I feel better, but the disease is continuing on its merry way like it does — is not really a good thing. In my case, there’s a disconnect where they found the histiocytosis and where the other very-histio-like features exist, and the idea of trying chemo doesn’t sit well. It might well work, but based on what we have seen, it’s not really easy to tell, and you don’t want to go killing off cells indiscriminately. I seem to be one of those cases that’s kind of… widespread. And those generally aren’t so clear cut.

So we back off on the prednisone, in deference to my kidneys and the possibility that side effect and benefit balance might work out better this way… and I see an ENT next week.  I have no clue if that will shed any light on anything, but certainly the inner ear and balance issues and lovely tonsils will be entertaining and are consistently part of the picture… with or without prednisone. Then there’ll be some discussion with some neuromuscular and rheumatological people (yeah, my two favorites. I requested again that the rheumatologist that I saw at the Brigham please not be brought into the conversation. That man needs to spend the rest of his career in a freakin’ time out. Sorry) to see what we can possibly try to improve quality of life (or maybe achieve quality of life) and then maybe keep the stinker at bay.

I am not surprised that the idea of this going into remission has been laid to rest… And I can’t say I feel any more or less disturbed by the idea of interferon or biologic management over chemo. Whatever gets the best results with the least amount of heartache… and truthfully, this is a time for me that would be trial by fire for anything I might try, so I believe there are times of year prednisone might serve me better if we need to cycle through.

My mom asked if I was discouraged… which I thought was kinda funny. Well… Not as much as I was a year ago. Or a year and a half ago. I am slightly pissed at myself for allowing myself to believe it might really be that easy. Again, I wasn’t so sold on the idea that this was going to just pack it in and go after all this time and six to twelve months of treating with anything. But I was hoping it wasn’t going to be one of those sorts of all over the charts deals where sometimes the best you can do is recognize that any new problems could potentially be related to the histiocytosis, and test accordingly in order to save said organs.  And it seems I am all over the charts.

The key thing is that I am right here, right now, in probably the best place with the best people who have access to the best research and technology that there is… and that there hasn’t been any significantly huge amounts of damage yet. I was given a real pass there, and it puts me in a really good position and I am lucky. I don’t think I am going to get a blow off from anyone there now… If I were, it would have happened already, and truth be told, if they were so inclined to believe it could be the case, my ass  cheek histiocytes would be relegated to the weird-but-people-all-have-weird-things-happen-to-them file, with my thymic hyperplasia and my pituitary stalk thickening and my diabetes insipidus. Uh, yeah, and my lung nodule. And the real kicker is the lung nodule is the only thing that might actually be just one of those weird things that kinda sometimes happens.

Anyway, computer making me motion sick. I figured someone might be wondering though.

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Things That Go Duh in the Night

There are things you just shouldn’t feel dumb about doing but you just do. For instance, through some weird inexperience on the part of the scheduler (at Dana Farber) and the schedulees (us) my follow up appointment was set for five weeks instead of the usual four.

I figured no big deal. A week. What’s a damn week, right? And the prednisone helps a little, and it’s a week, it’s not like… months. Or years.

Prednisone makes me feel much more with it. This is awesome because I don’t like the feeling of not responding appropriately to anything life might throw at me. For instance, it is, believe me, a really good thing to be able to recognize pain and discomfort and prioritize it based on likelihood of being a real threat, a mere annoyance, or some linkage thereof.  The bad news is I have a lot of ominous sorts of signs (I was aware of them, but had no energy to bother) that I still can’t quite reconcile with what we know. The left sided kidney pain, swollen legs and eyes and weird blood pressure stuff – related? Related to the diabetes insipidus (probably not)? And my damn skin and ears and eyes oozing – is that related to the diabetes insipidus? (Probably?)

Not to be overly graphic, but the skin stuff is just nasty. I mean, annoying, mostly, except that it is screwing with my hearing. It doesn’t even seem like it is inside my ears… more on the frontal area around my ears and eyes and jaw line, and of course behind my ears and my neck. It isn’t dandruff, but there are big dime sized dried up bits of… oil that just bust off and take little oily stringy friends. It doesn’t itch until it gets stuck in your hair and holds it down and then you get that horrible crawling feeling.

So I had to call and ask if maybe we could move my follow up to the four week mark. I felt like a dork. I mean, this is going to take time to get better, and what’s a week (and clearly prednisone ain’t enough). And I feel like a jackass asking to squeeze in earlier with an oncologist. Why? I mean, I need to see one obviously… but it is just one of those things you feel silly about. A week is a long time and it is no time at all.

Anyway, we are moved up and I hope that gets us a good seven days ahead. BTW, I love them at the Farber.

Posted in Getting to the Point, Langerhans Cell Histiocytosis, Living with | Leave a comment

Those Drive By Posts

I have indeed been meaning to update more (and I did get a little page up earlier), but the sad fact is, I look better than I feel, and man, I look kinda ass like today. I kinda have for a little bit. See?

I look like hell

Like, do I have a ginormous gumball stuck in my cheek? It isn’t the dreaded moon face… or if it is, I’m waxing on one side and waning on the other and not actually gaining weight. Do I have mumps? And don’t ask about the ooze. Ooze.

Of course, I used the awesome portrait macro lens that Mr. Shoe got me for Christmas. It is a great lens, but it is a heavy little bastard and I don’t trust the old freebie tripod we have to support it… so it ain’t the best angle.

I did however do the massive nerd girl thing and get a monopod. It’s a stick. It’s a stick you use to steady yourself when taking pictures, and it’s easier to adjust than a tripod, and therefore a lot easier to use when you have complete ADD and like to take pictures of that and that and that and that. It’s also a hefty stick that can be used as a walking stick, or a weapon. And while that’s lovely, it’s not complete without a good supportive head positioning system (which is where the freebie tripod failed — and isn’t interchangeable, alas). So I got this ball mount tilt head that supports eight pounds, locks in place, and I actually think I’m in love with this crazy little tripod attachment.

Because it’s easier to take pictures of stuff that doesn’t look like hell if you aren’t wobbling at low shutter speeds.

Penny is Stylin'

Posted in Langerhans Cell Histiocytosis, Not Otherwise Specified, Photos, Hobbies and Worthwhile Stuff, The Bad, The Ugly | Leave a comment