An improvised life

Alder and I had a rockin’ dance party in the living room this afternoon. I looked and felt like a cross between the Tin Man and a shy sixth grader at her first dance [i] , but it felt great. We blasted CDs made by Brian and Nell and, when those ran out, we blasted top-40 on the radio. I got so sweaty I had to take a break on the balcony. When I got tired, I laid on the floor and danced with my legs in the air. Then I sat and accompanied Katy Perry on our new garage-sale drum.     I’m sure we looked ridiculous, Alder doing running flips onto the couch and showing off his “moves,” me needing my hips oiled, but my body and soul rejoiced. I thought of Deborah Cohan, whose video went viral after she and her surgical team danced in the operating room (OR) before she hopped on the table for her double mastectomy. I don’t know Deborah, but she’s my age and had surgery about the same time I did (and it turns out we have mutual friends). Several people sent me a link to the video of

My pericarditis broke through yesterday, to use my cardiologist’s term. I noticed the subtle but unmistakable chest pain on inhalation, and didn’t need to see a doctor or even have my vitals checked to know what was going on. Pericarditis is inflammation of the pericardium, or sac around the heart. In its moderate form, it causes pain on inhalation; in its more severe form it can cause tamponade. This is when the pericardium is rigid or inflamed enough that it squeezes the heart, restricting the heart’s ability to pump. Consequently, blood pressure falls, and heart rate rises as the heart tries to compensate for reduced efficiency by pumping faster. I first contracted pericarditis in February, when it landed me in the hospital for two extended-stay-deluxe visits. This is my fourth recurrence. I have become so familiar with the symptoms I can almost guess my blood pressure and heart rate. So I’m starting the cycle over with high-dose steroids to beat back the symptoms, and t

The technician who did my initial mammogram last June looked familiar – she lives in our neighborhood and takes walks with her family. If she recognized me, she didn’t say so, a silence I appreciated as she coaxed my breasts and torso into a series of awkward poses. Finally, she asked me to have a seat in the inner waiting area, but to stay in the bathrobe in case the radiologist wanted more images. I waited, relaxed and comfortable, availing myself of the tea and magazines thoughtfully provided. When Lorie returned, she called me in for more images. This time we worked at squashing my armpit – site of the offending lump – into submission. Picture trying to turn your armpit inside out: it just wasn’t meant to work that way. Lorie was gentle and apologetic. And supremely poker-faced. My friend MK MacNaughton debuted an art show at the Juneau-Douglas City Museum a few weeks ago, and sent me a version of the exhibit printed on card stock. Called “Secrets,” the show features M