tumescently cloudy tuesday
Tuesdays are running days, but I'm not training for a particular race, and so there was absolutely no good reason to push myself outside into this drizzling gray day, despite having most of the appropriate gear to do so. Instead, I stayed in with my running buddy and we co-opted an empty office to do the P90-X Core video. This video is pretty kick-ass hard, as are all of the P90-X videos, but we've been doing it for some time and I have to say we are showing marked improvement. We are doing push-ups like military trainees these days.
I also got a call from my doctor today. I had a few procedures done on an outpatient basis at the hospital on Friday. Procedures that are often required for women of a certain age. Let's face it folks, while we have made major advances in medicine, still, biologically, there are parts of us that make us best suited to having babies at 15 and dying by 50. (A friend of mine posed the suggestion that a woman's uterus should just drop out with the last kid. I'm a little unclear what would signal "last".) The doctor informed me that while what he removed was a myoma, aka tumor, it was completely benign. This is very good news. The funniest part of the whole thing (for me, there is pretty much always a 'funniest part', even during hard stuff) is this little gem of a story: The nurse was trying to get a needle into the vein of my hand to start an IV. I have, what my husband calls, tiny little monkey hands. My tiny monkey hands apparently have tiny veins and the vein rolled, and he stabbed, and it rolled, and he stabbed, until I got quite nauseated and he had to stop while I put my head down. Then he asked me, "Are you doing ok?" and from behind him came the small, green voice of my dear husband saying, "I think so." The nurse and I both looked over into the corner where husband had his head between his knees. Poor guy. He was sympathetically nauseated.
I also got a call from my doctor today. I had a few procedures done on an outpatient basis at the hospital on Friday. Procedures that are often required for women of a certain age. Let's face it folks, while we have made major advances in medicine, still, biologically, there are parts of us that make us best suited to having babies at 15 and dying by 50. (A friend of mine posed the suggestion that a woman's uterus should just drop out with the last kid. I'm a little unclear what would signal "last".) The doctor informed me that while what he removed was a myoma, aka tumor, it was completely benign. This is very good news. The funniest part of the whole thing (for me, there is pretty much always a 'funniest part', even during hard stuff) is this little gem of a story: The nurse was trying to get a needle into the vein of my hand to start an IV. I have, what my husband calls, tiny little monkey hands. My tiny monkey hands apparently have tiny veins and the vein rolled, and he stabbed, and it rolled, and he stabbed, until I got quite nauseated and he had to stop while I put my head down. Then he asked me, "Are you doing ok?" and from behind him came the small, green voice of my dear husband saying, "I think so." The nurse and I both looked over into the corner where husband had his head between his knees. Poor guy. He was sympathetically nauseated.
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