So. Long time no post.
I'm on holiday! :) It's funny, because a huge cold front is about to hit us that'll lower the temperature with 10-15 degrees (°C).
But hey, we have shops, there is actually a yarn shop I wanna check out, however small and understated it might be, because sometimes the smallest, most desolate shops can offer the rarest finds of yarn.
I kid you not, last time we went on a roadtrip we ended up in a little town where the yarn shop had that exquisite linen yarn I've been jonesing over for aaages. I'm actually tatting an anklet out of it today... and tomorrow. Speaking of, cold weather is better for tatting as I won't sweat over the yarn. (30-40°C is not fun to tat in, sadly.)
Also, cold weather means trips to the local castle and wine cellars. Not that I' supposed to drink, but a sip or two won't mess with my medication. And really, castle visits are fun. There is also a park I want to visit and maybe we could even pick some fruits at the local orchards for some jam. Jam is good.
Speaking of, I'm still cancer free. Tumour markers are fine, thanks. Yaaay! :)
Sunday, June 29, 2014
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
Tatted Mushroom Lace
On another note, I came up with a pattern. I blame the Insanely Twisted Shadow Planet. It's an adorable little game where you are a little UFO trying to fight off tentacles, wines and whatnot.
There are lots of pulsing sea urchins and weird plants with bright dots.
Here, this is my pattern in progress. I give you... mushrooms:
As for my inspiration....
It's still a pattern in progress.
There are lots of pulsing sea urchins and weird plants with bright dots.
Here, this is my pattern in progress. I give you... mushrooms:
Names... oh, names
Ok, I really need to figure out a cool tatting nickname. I mean I'm pretty jealous (in a good-natured way, of course) of Yarnplayer and Lace Lovin Librarian of their cool names, though the list of brilliant tatting-related names goes on.
I really need to figure out a good name for myself, only I suck at giving names and titles. Some might know. I mean I agonize over the name of every toon I ever played in any MMO, sometimes for weeks! (yeah, it's that serious ^^ )
So the problem is as usual: coming up with a catchy, cool and tatting-related name. Something that describes me, hopefully, broadcasting not just my passion for tatting but maybe for computers.
And no. Lovelace is a bit... presumptuous. I'm not a programmer. I play around with html coding a bit but seriously, I'm nowhere near close to her brilliance. Also, it's an already lived-in name. I'd prefer something brand new that's just my own.
I really need to figure out a good name for myself, only I suck at giving names and titles. Some might know. I mean I agonize over the name of every toon I ever played in any MMO, sometimes for weeks! (yeah, it's that serious ^^ )
So the problem is as usual: coming up with a catchy, cool and tatting-related name. Something that describes me, hopefully, broadcasting not just my passion for tatting but maybe for computers.
And no. Lovelace is a bit... presumptuous. I'm not a programmer. I play around with html coding a bit but seriously, I'm nowhere near close to her brilliance. Also, it's an already lived-in name. I'd prefer something brand new that's just my own.
Sunday, April 13, 2014
Habitual Check-In
Sooo. Still thinking positive.
Caught the cold that went around in the house. I suspect our bar mixer guy brought it in, though shit happens, so it's fine.
Thing is, I stayed positive, I cooked, shopped, packed stuff away, cut hair and made lace. I got some inspiration from seeing Yarnplayer's earlier bracelets, actually!
The spiral was actually fun. I love spirals. Catherine wheel joins are really rather entertaining, though my flatmates think I'm bonkers. :D
Still, I prefer the repetitions more, and the metallic bronze beads fit quite nicely at the joins... but not at the joins really. Not sure about the little flower-like rings at the top. They are pretty, but they will be the first to be pushed out of shape the soonest.
I wish I had some sort of magical substance I could dip my work in to stiffen it up without it rubbing off onto my skin and clothes...
Caught the cold that went around in the house. I suspect our bar mixer guy brought it in, though shit happens, so it's fine.
Thing is, I stayed positive, I cooked, shopped, packed stuff away, cut hair and made lace. I got some inspiration from seeing Yarnplayer's earlier bracelets, actually!
The spiral was actually fun. I love spirals. Catherine wheel joins are really rather entertaining, though my flatmates think I'm bonkers. :D
Still, I prefer the repetitions more, and the metallic bronze beads fit quite nicely at the joins... but not at the joins really. Not sure about the little flower-like rings at the top. They are pretty, but they will be the first to be pushed out of shape the soonest.
I wish I had some sort of magical substance I could dip my work in to stiffen it up without it rubbing off onto my skin and clothes...
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
My plan is to reopen my blog. There have been so many changes in my life (like moving to another country) and I need, hell, have to have a positive outlook, or I'll loose too much.
So here is to a positive outlook on things: I made my blog greener, ready for spring!
I also figured out how to share my Evernote shopping list with my roommate, so he can add stuff to it and check it before shopping.
Brilliant! :)
So here is to a positive outlook on things: I made my blog greener, ready for spring!
I also figured out how to share my Evernote shopping list with my roommate, so he can add stuff to it and check it before shopping.
Brilliant! :)
Tuesday, October 08, 2013
Alive and kicking
I should have said sooner, not that anybody following my blog doesn't have me on his friends list on Facebook, but still.
I survived. At great cost, but I did.
I have my voice. I'll never sing again, but I am still able to speak. I didn't even have to relearn it, which is a relief. But I can't talk too long as it is taxing and my voice will go away. Wonderful, just wonderful.
The great cost? The surgeon, bloody moron as he is, removed a "harmless little lymph node". As it turns out, as lab states, it was my parathyroid. A hormone gland I am missing dearly.
I have to take 6 pills because of that, every day, for the rest of my life. Since it's not something that grows back, I'm royally f*cked until I die. I am constantly low on calcium and magnesium AND parathyroid hormones, and there is little to no chance of ever being able to get pregnant/carry out a pregnancy.
So... no kids. Ever.
I also experience numbness in hands and feet, thanks to the loss of my parathyroid. That will never go away either.
So... now I'm taking about 16 pills a day, am missing not one but two hormone glands and I have a godawful gash around my neck, because this time the surgeon didn't give a rat's ass to patch me up properly and it looks bad. Really bad. Joker bad.
And the worst part is, over here, in my little country the surgeon walks away scot-free, and I can't even sue him, because even if they mess up and it results in your death, they win. Nobody cares about little poor patients who were misdiagnosed or died from a surgeon's error, so someone who got their voice and life fucked up wouldn't get a dime.
As soon as they carted me back to my room I started choking, going into low-calcium induced shock and the fucking surgeon didn't even call the endocrinologist (hormone doctor) on call to check what was wrong with me. They had to transport me with a wheelchair around the hospital, it was so bad. And they kept forgetting giving me my daily calcium pills. *And* they refused to hand them over, never believing that I can in fact count.
A week after the operation I was let out, after that I had to spend another week in bed so as to not open up the godawful, disfiguring wound on my neck, I went to my local doc and asked for a blood test, as I was really really going numb, not just my hands and feet but my tongue, tip of my nose, practically everywhere.
That evening my doc called and told me to go to the oncology's endocrinologist next morning, she will be waiting for me, I will be her first patient. As it turns out, I narrowly missed turning into a vegetable with lots of brain damage.
And over here in Absurdistan, they can do this to you. And nobody cares. They can murder you, ruin your life, cut out the healthy organs you still need by mistake, and they get to walk away without any repercussions.
And this pisses me off like nothing else.
And this is why, after my second godawful round of radiation therapy in the oncology's cellar is done (gods, please let it be the last, they never clean the rooms, it stinks of piss and the nurses treat us like we have the plague), I will say goodbye to this country and leave for another. Somewhere where people have rules and rights and doctors are held accountable if they mess up.
I just hope I can find a job and not stay as a kept woman. That'd be humiliating.
I survived. At great cost, but I did.
I have my voice. I'll never sing again, but I am still able to speak. I didn't even have to relearn it, which is a relief. But I can't talk too long as it is taxing and my voice will go away. Wonderful, just wonderful.
The great cost? The surgeon, bloody moron as he is, removed a "harmless little lymph node". As it turns out, as lab states, it was my parathyroid. A hormone gland I am missing dearly.
I have to take 6 pills because of that, every day, for the rest of my life. Since it's not something that grows back, I'm royally f*cked until I die. I am constantly low on calcium and magnesium AND parathyroid hormones, and there is little to no chance of ever being able to get pregnant/carry out a pregnancy.
So... no kids. Ever.
I also experience numbness in hands and feet, thanks to the loss of my parathyroid. That will never go away either.
So... now I'm taking about 16 pills a day, am missing not one but two hormone glands and I have a godawful gash around my neck, because this time the surgeon didn't give a rat's ass to patch me up properly and it looks bad. Really bad. Joker bad.
And the worst part is, over here, in my little country the surgeon walks away scot-free, and I can't even sue him, because even if they mess up and it results in your death, they win. Nobody cares about little poor patients who were misdiagnosed or died from a surgeon's error, so someone who got their voice and life fucked up wouldn't get a dime.
As soon as they carted me back to my room I started choking, going into low-calcium induced shock and the fucking surgeon didn't even call the endocrinologist (hormone doctor) on call to check what was wrong with me. They had to transport me with a wheelchair around the hospital, it was so bad. And they kept forgetting giving me my daily calcium pills. *And* they refused to hand them over, never believing that I can in fact count.
A week after the operation I was let out, after that I had to spend another week in bed so as to not open up the godawful, disfiguring wound on my neck, I went to my local doc and asked for a blood test, as I was really really going numb, not just my hands and feet but my tongue, tip of my nose, practically everywhere.
That evening my doc called and told me to go to the oncology's endocrinologist next morning, she will be waiting for me, I will be her first patient. As it turns out, I narrowly missed turning into a vegetable with lots of brain damage.
And over here in Absurdistan, they can do this to you. And nobody cares. They can murder you, ruin your life, cut out the healthy organs you still need by mistake, and they get to walk away without any repercussions.
And this pisses me off like nothing else.
And this is why, after my second godawful round of radiation therapy in the oncology's cellar is done (gods, please let it be the last, they never clean the rooms, it stinks of piss and the nurses treat us like we have the plague), I will say goodbye to this country and leave for another. Somewhere where people have rules and rights and doctors are held accountable if they mess up.
I just hope I can find a job and not stay as a kept woman. That'd be humiliating.
Saturday, January 05, 2013
Well. I'm going in tomorrow. The date of my operation is Monday, although it can happen anytime... first thing in the morning or noon... hopefully not in the afternoon, but possible.
They'll be removing the rest of my thyroid and all the other stuff the cancer might've spread to in that region. Radiation therapy prolly won't start until I have recovered from this second operation. (Which we could have avoided if the bloody surgeon checked if my thyroid cysts were benign or malign... but he didn't, hence this second op.)
I just hope, that my voice won't be damaged any further than it already has been.
And it is damaged, as the doctor at the laryngology declared yesterday. He said "oh, the vocal chords are compensating nicely" but sure, he doesn't care it's not him who lost his pretty voice and ends up screeching instead of talking, so thanks, but no thanks.
All I can do is ask the doc to pay more attention to my vocal chords this time and hope against hope that I will be able to speak when I wake up after the operation. I don't know what I will do if I wake up and I'm unable to make a single sound.
I mean then and there. Everything I've learnt, both teaching and tourist guiding requires speaking, I literally built my career on my voice functioning, and I don't even have my nice speaking (and singing) voice anymore.
Sure, I could sue if they render me mute, but it's really not what I want. I want my voice, dammit. I don't want to lose any more than what I had already, and I don't want any more bad news.
Yes, it could happen, but I really don't want to lose what remains of my voice. I can't talk loudly, not to mention scream (ha, they can't hear me a room away, I need to clap my hand if I want to be heard) so at least I wish to keep this.
They'll be removing the rest of my thyroid and all the other stuff the cancer might've spread to in that region. Radiation therapy prolly won't start until I have recovered from this second operation. (Which we could have avoided if the bloody surgeon checked if my thyroid cysts were benign or malign... but he didn't, hence this second op.)
I just hope, that my voice won't be damaged any further than it already has been.
And it is damaged, as the doctor at the laryngology declared yesterday. He said "oh, the vocal chords are compensating nicely" but sure, he doesn't care it's not him who lost his pretty voice and ends up screeching instead of talking, so thanks, but no thanks.
All I can do is ask the doc to pay more attention to my vocal chords this time and hope against hope that I will be able to speak when I wake up after the operation. I don't know what I will do if I wake up and I'm unable to make a single sound.
I mean then and there. Everything I've learnt, both teaching and tourist guiding requires speaking, I literally built my career on my voice functioning, and I don't even have my nice speaking (and singing) voice anymore.
Sure, I could sue if they render me mute, but it's really not what I want. I want my voice, dammit. I don't want to lose any more than what I had already, and I don't want any more bad news.
Yes, it could happen, but I really don't want to lose what remains of my voice. I can't talk loudly, not to mention scream (ha, they can't hear me a room away, I need to clap my hand if I want to be heard) so at least I wish to keep this.
Thursday, December 27, 2012
Congratz! It's Cancer!
Yeah.
Fuck.
I dunno in what sort of mindset I'd be if family members would leave me the fuck alone to get used to the idea. But the thing is, they don't.
My mom keeps telling me how it's nothing and I can just do one more operation to remove what was left of my thyroid after the first operation - they've found cancer in the removed right lobe so all of it must go - and then get some radiation and all will be fine and not to worry.
I'm scared shitless. I got through that first operation by sheer will. The first two days I had severe nausea but I told myself to just survive this, after that I can go home and I'll be left in peace.
The hospital was horrid, the beds were impossibly uncomfortable, unless you liked to imitate a hunchback, you could not raise your upper body, and since they pushed a tube down my throat during operation I kept coughing up the residue from that for days.
Also, they left me in my own stink. I didn't piss myself, but severe coughing fits... well, they have the side effects of letting a few drops out - and they didn't change my bedding until I left, which meant the smell was also upsetting my stomach. And yes, not only did I throw up as soon as I woke up, but I also threw up after the first time I got some food in me - because they kept to light little nips and my stomach was moving too much. The only way to feed me when I have sea-sickness or anything similar is to give me enough food to weigh my stomach down so it stays down. Proven correct by many rides spent in the backseat of our car.
What else? Ah yes. The bed was slippery and creaky. They've covered the mattress in some kind of thick thing that was so slippery my sheet and pillows kept slipping down - with me along for the rise and it was extremely uncomfortable to fall asleep.
Oh and there was no hot water. Only ice cold. After a serious operation I had to bathe in ice-cold water in winter.
See, this is why I'm scared of the operation. Not because of the operation itself, but because of the rest of it. Unless I can for over a crazy amount of money for a private hospital, there is no way I could comfortably spend my days recuperating.
And that's just the operation. I have no idea if I will still have my voice after it - well, what's left of it anyway. Because my voice is already damaged from the first op. I can't shout for instance, can't even really raise my voice, so I'm the ideal rape/robbery victim.
And after the operation, I've still got the radiation therapy To get rid of the cancer. 6 months, my doc said.
There go my plans and dreams and everything in between.
So back to my mindset. According to the Kübler-Ross model there is
Denial
Anger
Bargaining
Depression
Acceptance
What I felt was
Shock
More Shock
Fear, a lot of it
I'm not in denial and I'm not angry with anybody, because hell, who is to blame? Chernobyl? That's where my cancer comes from, but really, it's just terrible bad luck and fuckery. I'm not bargaining, I'm just terribly, terribly scared and sad and afraid.
Maybe if I got five minutes to myself I could cry myself out - technically what I'm doing right now - and maybe after that I could actually come to terms with what I'm feeling, but right now I'm just scared shitless, harried and wish my family would stop bugging me so I could SLEEP and curl in on myself and sob myself hoarse. Well... more hoarse, if that's even possible.
If I weren't due to a damn blood test tomorrow I'd stuff myself full of chocolate, and pass out in a sugar-coma. (the good kind, not the real kind)
You know, I think writing this helped a bit. And maybe, if I would say the Kübler-Ross model worked, maybe I started with Depression and now I'm slowly sinking into Acceptance.
Maybe.
Fuck.
I dunno in what sort of mindset I'd be if family members would leave me the fuck alone to get used to the idea. But the thing is, they don't.
My mom keeps telling me how it's nothing and I can just do one more operation to remove what was left of my thyroid after the first operation - they've found cancer in the removed right lobe so all of it must go - and then get some radiation and all will be fine and not to worry.
I'm scared shitless. I got through that first operation by sheer will. The first two days I had severe nausea but I told myself to just survive this, after that I can go home and I'll be left in peace.
The hospital was horrid, the beds were impossibly uncomfortable, unless you liked to imitate a hunchback, you could not raise your upper body, and since they pushed a tube down my throat during operation I kept coughing up the residue from that for days.
Also, they left me in my own stink. I didn't piss myself, but severe coughing fits... well, they have the side effects of letting a few drops out - and they didn't change my bedding until I left, which meant the smell was also upsetting my stomach. And yes, not only did I throw up as soon as I woke up, but I also threw up after the first time I got some food in me - because they kept to light little nips and my stomach was moving too much. The only way to feed me when I have sea-sickness or anything similar is to give me enough food to weigh my stomach down so it stays down. Proven correct by many rides spent in the backseat of our car.
What else? Ah yes. The bed was slippery and creaky. They've covered the mattress in some kind of thick thing that was so slippery my sheet and pillows kept slipping down - with me along for the rise and it was extremely uncomfortable to fall asleep.
Oh and there was no hot water. Only ice cold. After a serious operation I had to bathe in ice-cold water in winter.
See, this is why I'm scared of the operation. Not because of the operation itself, but because of the rest of it. Unless I can for over a crazy amount of money for a private hospital, there is no way I could comfortably spend my days recuperating.
And that's just the operation. I have no idea if I will still have my voice after it - well, what's left of it anyway. Because my voice is already damaged from the first op. I can't shout for instance, can't even really raise my voice, so I'm the ideal rape/robbery victim.
And after the operation, I've still got the radiation therapy To get rid of the cancer. 6 months, my doc said.
There go my plans and dreams and everything in between.
So back to my mindset. According to the Kübler-Ross model there is
Denial
Anger
Bargaining
Depression
Acceptance
What I felt was
Shock
More Shock
Fear, a lot of it
I'm not in denial and I'm not angry with anybody, because hell, who is to blame? Chernobyl? That's where my cancer comes from, but really, it's just terrible bad luck and fuckery. I'm not bargaining, I'm just terribly, terribly scared and sad and afraid.
Maybe if I got five minutes to myself I could cry myself out - technically what I'm doing right now - and maybe after that I could actually come to terms with what I'm feeling, but right now I'm just scared shitless, harried and wish my family would stop bugging me so I could SLEEP and curl in on myself and sob myself hoarse. Well... more hoarse, if that's even possible.
If I weren't due to a damn blood test tomorrow I'd stuff myself full of chocolate, and pass out in a sugar-coma. (the good kind, not the real kind)
You know, I think writing this helped a bit. And maybe, if I would say the Kübler-Ross model worked, maybe I started with Depression and now I'm slowly sinking into Acceptance.
Maybe.
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