Today is supposed to be worse than yesterday.
It isn't.
Yesterday I needed Tylenol; today I need nothing.
Was expecting to wake up to a black eye.
Even considered canceling my plans to see Cardinal tonight with Zelia and Susan — a play that got mediocre reviews.
But I awake to zero pain.. and just a little discoloring under the eye.
And while I'm a bit freaked over 7 stitches on my face, I see Shaun White being interviewed on The Today Show. This past October he fell and had 62 stitches on his face; his face looks flawless today. But then, I'm not 31-year old Shaun White superstar.
And lest I forget the big picture, the cancer is gone. And for that I am immensely grateful.
At 6:33 this morning M calls to wish me luck. Today I'm having Moh's surgery to remove a basal-cell carcinoma on the top of my nose, opposite my left eye.
The appointment is for 8; I arrive a few minutes early. And, Dr. Becker is also ready a few minutes early.
Rosa (the doctor's very bubbly and re-assuring assistant) preps me. The local numbing agent she injects barely hurts.
And Dr. Becker begins. I feel nothing, and it takes little time. By 8:07 he's done.
I'm told to wait until the biopsy is complete. It's done in the office and takes about 20 minutes or so. I text M in the meantime, thinking and hoping it's over.
It's not.
A nurse comes in and tells me matter-of-factly that they need to cut again; some cancer was still showing on the biopsy. She re-numbs me, and minutes later Dr. Becker is back. The surgery this time takes a little longer.
Before the doctor leaves, I hear him tell Rosa something about "cauterizing my blood vessels" and getting "eye repair." I'm hoping that maybe he'll surprise me and do a brow lift, but no... the blood vessel reference is to stop the bleeding and the "eye repair" is some kind of kit needed for the stitches (I was hoping not to have).
I wait another 20 minutes. This time the nurse comes in and says, "The biopsy was clear." I am relieved. She gives me an ice patch to hold on my eye for 15 minutes, and then the doctor comes in to stitch me up.
Dr. Becker explains that he is doing something called a flap to minimize scarring. This involves two levels of stitching — one on the inside layer and another on the top layer. "How many stitches are you doing?" I ask. "I don't know; I don't count," he responds.
After he leaves, I ask Rosa. "Seven on top." I don't care about the inside ones that will dissolve. I look a mess, but the cancer is gone. And it's only 9:03.
I'm told to expect bruising around the eye and maybe some swelling. The pain is not too bad, but there is an annoying bandage that is uncomfortably close to my eye.
By 9:31, I'm in a Via on my way home.
My new pet requires no care.
It doesn't need to be fed.
Go for walks.
Be cleaned
Or get hairs (or worse) on my furniture and rugs.
And, she can stay alone for hours, days, weeks or even years.
I finally give in and buy an Echo Dot.
WIth a coupon from Staples, it costs me $19.99.
I wirelessly connect it to my Bose Mini Bluetooth speaker.
And I love it.
This morning, while still in bed, I say, "Alexa. What is today's weather?" She gives me the dreary, rainy forecast.
Then I ask her to play some Ed Sheeran. She automatically connects to my Bose speaker. Alexa is pretty smart. Then I ask for some Pink, and when I tire of that, I request Lady Antebellum. Later it's Lady Gaga and Bruno Mars. And then I let her surprise me with some Top Trending Songs.
I have Amazon Prime (worth every penny) and because of that, I get lots of free music —though I was disappointed when Alexa told me I'd have to pay for Amazon's music service if I want to hear Frank SInatra sing New York, New York.
I'm getting ready to leave and say, "Alexa, stop the music." Immediately she does. I wish my son listened to me as well as Alexa does.
I know there's a lot more she can do.
I'm hoping to train her to vacuum and do laundry!
Get up early on Thursday to go a BAFTA Board Meeting, The meeting concludes and I grab my coat to leave but can't find my gloves. Fortunately someone later finds them and will mail them to me. But in the mean time, I'm walking around with cold hands.
Decide to work on Thursday because we are having a special gift-card promotion. This turns out to be a bad decision. I have more returns than sales. End the day having to give back money in commissions earned in previous weeks.
Take a Via home and the driver is a newbie. He rides the break, making me slightly nauseous, having only eaten a muffin all day.. And, he drives multiple blocks in the wrong direction, causing the ride to last 15 minutes longer than it should.
Friday is no better. I have over $6,000 in returns and only a marginal bit more in sales. I've earned basically nothing for two hard days of work.
Then I trip on a big Lucite display box (housing some kind of artsy broken mantle) that someone has left in the middle of the floor.
I land on the same knee I had fallen on last week. Customers and colleagues rush to my assistance. I am too embarrassed to let the hurt show.
Then, a short time later, I over-react to a not-worth-detailing incident that results in my apologizing to two people. I feel so bad that I end up crying, and I rarely cry.
This job should not elicit such emotion. And it certainly shouldn't make me cry. And yet I do. And then I ask myself, "How did I end up here?" and start feeling bad when I have no good answer. But I work with some really great people and they get me out of my momentary and unwarranted bout of self-pity.
By the time I leave work, my head is fine, my knee — not so much. It's twice the size of my
right. Am hoping ice and Advil will help.
I have washer-dryer envy.
For the past year or so, I have been sending my laundry out. The cost is only slightly higher than doing it myself. The machines in my building cost a lot ($5 per large wash, $3.50 for regualr wash, and $3.25 for one dryer cycle that never completely dries my clothes). Plus, doing laundry is such a major pain.
Three trips to the basement. Lugging all my clothes while carrying laundry detergent or dryer sheets. Plus having to deal with an incovenient laundry card that has to be filled with money from my debit card.
But then I really don't like having people I don't know touch all my clothes. And they always seem to fold everything in mysterious, inconvenient ways.
So on Thursday I do my laundry for the first time in a few years (exclduding when I visit my mom; I actually like doing laundry there; it's such a novelty).
Anyway, I'm matching up my favorite BOMBAS socks (the best) and see two lone ones.
So I go back to the laundry room and check. Not in the dryers. And the washing machines I used are now spinning with someone else's clothes.
I write a note about my lost socks and tape it to the two washing machines.
This morning I open my door to get my paper, and see this.
And inside are my Bombas mates. I now have cozy feet again.
On Sundays, I generally work from 12:30 to 7:15. So unlike most mornings, I have time to eat a filling breakfast.
I go to Agata and buy:
- scrambled eggs with tomato (only a 1/4 pound as I don't like scrambled eggs, but want the protein to get through the day);
- something Agata calls breakfast potatoes;
- and a small apple-flavored turkey sausage.
I heat it up. Then decide to add a touch of salt to the potatoes, using my once-reliable little bunny salt grinder.
Only this time the bottom falls out (literally).
I leave for work hungry, and pick up a muffin on the way.
Addendum: I go on the Chef N' website to order a new one and see that my salt grinder is guaranteed for life. My free replacement is on its way!
One of the high points of my job (yes, there are a few) is my boss. I've been using the pseudonym Marlin but now that he's leaving, I have his permission to use his real name.
A couple of weeks ago I was having a very bad day. Sales down. Returns up. Not getting credit for an online sale that I believe I should have. Brandon choses that day to tell me his news. He figures getting a lot of bad news at once is better than spreading it out. I almost cry. A few of my colleagues do.
In a sea of questionable management policies, Brandon stands out for his candor, intelligence, and understanding.
Brandon and I have had our moments. There was a two-week period where we barely spoke. That was awful. And there have been times when this very calm, unflappable manager has gotten frustrated with me (likely deserved). But I think our disagreements have helped make our relationship stronger.
I adore Brandon. And I'll miss him terribly. As will the rest of his large team.
Joy organizes a little party for him in a small office near the freight elevator. It's supposed to be a surprise but twenty plus assoicates leaving the sales floor at once is pretty hard to keep secret. Some associates who aren't even working today come in.
We all gather in a small space waiting to say good-bye to our much-loved leader.
The hugs good-bye are all twinged with sadness.
But we wish Brandon well. And I know that for me, it's not good-bye. His new job is in Boston. And, I finally have his up-until-now-heavily-guarded cell number and personal email.
I plan to use them both.
