Rockin' the Radioactivity (or A Mind is a Terrible Thing to Nuke)

I am officially quarantined as radioactive.  The good news it's only a couple of days and on Sunday I can both go out in public and eat with out restrictions.  I intend to have an eclair the size of my forearm and a perfectly made grilled cheese sandwich and hard pretzels....and...I digress.

In the meantime I still have a couple of days of exile through which to amuse myself.  I've been working on play lists of music which obviously include this for the classic rock lovers among us and this for those preferring more current tunes.  One friend called me Hot Blooded.  My cousin asked if I was now a Glow Worm.  Another friend offered Great Balls of Fire.  After being ushered to a room with what I presume was a lead lined container, watching a small vial be extracted from it by a gloved technician who then handed it to me to swallow the contents I returned to my family singing, "This little (radioactive) light of mine, I'm gonna let is shine."  I need some more suggestions from all of you.

Pondering music and some of my limitations and side effects, both potentially real and fun to imagine, has led to what I consider to be some good names for rock bands.  For my amusement and, I hope, yours I suggest the following:

Atomic Burp (I have this weird sensation in my throat and digestive system, not intolerable but I am kind of wishing I could just belch to relieve it.  TMI?  Sorry, you may prefer to skip ahead a bit if eructation is disturbing.)

Snot Rockets (We all know what they are but since my dose of nuclear materials I am told the most dangerous thing about me is anything my body secretes or excretes so my snot rockets would have a special potency.  You've been warned.  It's only going to get worse from here on out.)

Spit Glow (Unfortunately this sounds more like a sad 70s era soft rock group than anything I'd want to listen to.)

Nuclear Piss (I'm told my urine is what will be the most radioactive.)

Hot Vomit (I was told by the nuclear safety officer before being discharged that if I puked within 4 hours of receiving my dose I'd need to contact them so they could help decontaminate the area in which I hurl. Isn't that special?)


So, what are your thoughts as to music I ought to be playing or names of rock bands I could form?

Well, You Look Great

One of the early tip offs that something was going very wrong inside my body was rapid weight loss not attributable to the standard disciplines of diet and exercise.  It's been a noticeable drop in pounds, in fact, I now have several pairs of pants I can put on and take off without ever undoing the button or zipper.

Others have noticed as well.  I get comments on my weight.  When it's from someone who has no idea I am dealing with the c-word I just try to acknowledge the comment politely and move on.  When it's from someone who knows my thyroid went completely ape-shit and then we discovered cancer in it I find I have greater difficulty just thanking them when they compliment my shrinking size.  I've tried humorously saying, "Thanks but I don't recommend the weight loss plan."  When they persist with some totally asinine response like letting me know they are jealous of my weight loss.  I tell them flatly, "The palpitations, insomnia, night sweats, high blood pressure, general anxiety, and potential threat to my life left untreated are less than worth it."

I am well aware I was overweight before all this.  I am aware I am still overweight in spite of now being able to slide my pants off without undoing them.  I am under no delusions about being svelte.  Nonetheless, I have heard this compliment offered stubbornly as if to suggest I'm probably not really all that sick, offered as some sort of consolation (Look on the bright side, you're not such a tub of lard anymore!), offered in envy as if I have found some miracle diet, and offered in a state of confusion because someone just doesn't know what else to say (I can sort of tolerate that).  Again, if someone doesn't know what's going on with my health I can deal with it.  If someone does, it's really beginning to piss me off.  Of course, that means I might develop frown-lines and we can't have that as I've learned how I look trumps everything else.

To that end, I am taking my cues from Billy Crystal's Fernando character.  "It is always better to look good than to feel good...and, Dahling, you look MAHVELOUS!"  It helps me laugh rather than scream.

A CURE!!!*

So ya know how people find out ya have cancer and they are sure they have the cure?  We've got our first one.  Mr. Lime was waiting for me anxiously to arrive home so he could give me the simple alternative to surgery involving the words "neck dissection" (and isn't that a fun word for the day, kiddies?) and follow-up ingestion of radioactive isotopes rendering me untouchable for a week or more. (I wonder if that comes with a complimentary goat-hair dress and some groovy temporary tattoos replicating leprous lesions so I can go about alerting passerby than I am "Unclean...unclean!!! Stay away!  I'm unclean!")

Yes folks, with just a little cannabinoid oil I can be cancer free!  According to this reputable source, it's derived from.....(looks around suspiciously)...marijuana!  In case we're worried about the hallucinogenic effects we are to fear no more because the oil distills out all the nasty stuff and leaves us with the godly bits intended for our health and healing.

I kid you not.  This was the recommendation given to us.

Here then is the subsequent conversation at Chez Lime.

Mr. Lime: I'm telling ya, this is it...we have to move to Seattle now.  Forget the states where it's only medical marijuana that's allowed.

Isaac: We don't need to move I can hook ya up with all the pot you need.  I know about 50 kids at school who sell it.

Calypso:  Yeah, just down the block we can find four kids who sell it.

Me: Ok, you all are talking about moving to where pot is legal and everyone but me knows where to buy this stuff locally and yet I am the one regarded as the crazy hippie liberal.  I can see my job is done here....

One thing I know for sure is we had a good laugh.  And good laughs are good medicine.


*Cure may cause cravings for snack foods

Slice of Lime-Laptops and Melons

Here I am setting up my new laptop.  I am not happy for the need to have a new laptop but I am glad to have had the resources to replace the one Isaac drowned...even if it dips into the car fund.  I figured since I will probably be feeling less than perky the next few days it would be nice to have a means to diddle around online and with some of the zillion pictures I have taken in the last couple of weeks.  Yes, that look in my eye says, "Woe to the one who damages THIS laptop."

In anticipation of Monday's surgery a friend sent me a few quotes both serious and silly about dealing with stress.  Among them was an exhortation that when life hands you lemons find a friend with vodka and have a party.  I responded that if I were dyslexic I might read that as life giving me melons.  I also joked that I did actually get melons and I hoped to keep them mostly intact.  Since laughter is the best medicine here is an old melon-related story I posted on a long since defunct blog over 6 years ago.


I've very open with my kids and dinner time is often the scene of some rather interesting discussions. One night the then 8 year old Isaac announced over his mashed potatoes, "I call my little willy Freddy Jones." We all chuckled and asked why. He said it just seemed a good name for it. Ok, Freddy Jones it is.


Then Diana, who was 12 at the time, informed us that she referred to her blossoming booblets as George and Herman. I remarked that it was intriguing she chose male names and then she asked, "Well, Mom, what do you call yours?" I simply said, "The twins." She said, "Oh no Mom, you gotta call THEM Pride and Joy!" Guffaws and grins and nods of agreement all around the table.


At this point 10 year old Calypso piped up, "What about me? What about me? Mine need names too!" Isaac regarded her form and deadpanned......


"Hope and Faith."

It's an Emergency!

This particular item sits at work on the side of my desk where patients check out.  Before I say anything more about it think about what your immediate reaction would be.  Would you push the button without a moment's hesitation because curiosity would be too overwhelming?  Would you reach out then pull back before asking, "What happens if I push the button?"  If I told you to go ahead and see what happens would it embolden you or make you more leery than before?  Would you refuse to push the button unless you knew for certain what the result would be?  Would you ignore it completely?

It's been an interesting informal psychological experiment watching the various reactions to this emergency button before people know what it will do.  I get as much of a kick out of seeing who reacts in which way as the brave patients get when they push the button.  It's daily entertainment.

So are you dying to know what happens?

Are you?
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It makes a sound like this.

Now..how many of you hesitated before clicking the link and how many forged ahead boldly?

I'm pretty sure I didn't have to ask how many of you laughed.  I'd like to think that would be unanimous because if you've been coming here any length of time you must have some sort of appreciation for absurdity.  Watching patient reaction has been another interesting set of observations as well.  The overwhelming majority laugh or smile, some push it every time they come in, but there are a few who look at me as if I am not quite right and ask what it means.  I just tell them it's for all their yodeling emergencies because you never know when you need a good yodel....or a chuckle.

If you need one of your own you can get it here.  I'm hoping they soon come out with a Tarzan yell model.