I find I'm not sleeping well and I'm not sure why. I wonder if it's because I stopped taking my heavy drugs since they just weren't doing it for me anymore. If only I had more pills left, I would hobble down to Queen St and try to sell them; I hear they have a good street value and might help pay for some of this renovation.
I was down at Princess Margaret Hospital this morning for an 8:45 appointment with Dr. McCready (my oncologist surgeon) and after waiting for an hour I finally saw him. I always forget how boyishly cute he is until he smiles. He checked out my chest mound and said with his big toothy grin "that looks just great!" Paul says I should stop calling my chest mound a chest mound, that it might be depressing me. I think he finds it kind of icky.
But I have to say, I have NEVER had so many positive remarks about my breasts until I had to lose one and replace it with a CHEST MOUND. I feel a bit like Pamela Anderson - more than a bit actually.
Anyway, he reiterated that it was strictly DCIS and my lymph nodes were clear but did suggest seeing a radiologist to get their opinion because it was such a close margin. In his opinion he didn't feel I needed radiation. I'm hoping not to go through with it because it would ruin the natural look created by my fabulous plastic surgeon.
On to house news.
Brace yourself, I'm actually including a few pictures. Something my blog has seriously been lacking. I have to tried to make up for this deficiency, mind you, by sharing all the ridiculous drama in my life.
First the insurance company sent over someone to reassess my house so that my insurance payments will only go way up. I did such a sad job tidying the kitchen but thought what a perfect opportunity to finally share what it looks like so far, especially since we picked up a Christmas tree on Saturday. Unfortunately no chance of the tree lasting until Christmas; Haemish, after initially being suspicious of it, now thinks of it as his own personal jungle gym.
After the insurance guy left, Tim arrived to INSTALL THE DOORS FOR THE POWDER ROOM and the entrance to the basement. This makes me so incredibly happy because Jakey has decided that the powder room is his personal pooping room. He arms himself with his Nintendo Gameboy and off he goes for 20 minutes. Longer if I forget about him. The smell is enough to clear the house. And he's such a little guy - he's quite content to just sit there in his own stench for the entire evening, playing his Gameboy, until I pull his little red bottom off of it. And then he complains he's lost all feeling in his legs because the circulation has been cut off forever.
Sorry, I digressed a bit. This living with only guys pushes me over the edge occasionally. Even Arthur the (male) cat refuses to cover his mess in the litter box. He just looks at it with disdain (or maybe it's pride, I don't know) and waddles away.
Here are pictures of the doors.
After Tim left and I finally had a chance to lay down, I heard a knock on the door. It was the electrical inspector to give final inspection. I was cranky because I hadn't been warned he would be coming and you really should never get between me and a nap. But after calls to Paul and to John, I let him in and John showed up minutes later to talk to him. A few things need to be fixed but other than that, everything is fine. The inspector left with the admonition to John to make sure he lets his clients know at least 24 hours in advance before an inspection. John said "Definitely!" and then rolled his eyes.
Now do I try again for what is becoming that elusive nap or do I wait for Ron to show up to finish the plastering and sanding in the powder room before the painters come tonight? I think I just might try.
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