The Up-The-Nose Covid Test

Yesterday I went for my pre-surgery covid test. I'm having a partial mastectomy this week so the covid test is a precaution to protect the health care workers just in case I'm harbouring some of that coronavirus in my bod. Unlikely given that I've been pretty much isolated since last March, but you never know. 

I admit I was a little nervous about this test; my son and daughter have both had the up-the-nose test and both told me it was the worst thing ever. All weekend I kept trying to imagine what it would feel like to be probed deep into my noggin.

The hospital test center was solely for pre-surgery patients, so no one was lined up with symptoms. It was really quick! I went in, sat down, and a nice nurse lady explained that she was going to be very gentle. She took out what looked like a very long white mascara wand with a teensy brush on the end of it. Nurse Lady said she had to stick it up my nose and twirl it around for ten seconds. I nodded, ok. I'm ready.

She holds the wand up to my cheek horizontally, as if measuring how far to stick it in. Out of the corner of my eye, I'm thinking YIKES that's like SIX INCHES man! Wat?

Twirl it for ten seconds.

 

And in it goes. It kind of burns. But not much. Nurse Lady says she now has to start the twirling for ten seconds. Ok, let's go.She starts counting out loud, "One Mississippi... two Mississippi... three Mississippi..."

The burning intensifies just a little, and a sound starts coming out of me, "OOOOooooooOOOoooo". I mean it was hilarious, I had no control over this noise, it was completely involuntary.

Nice Nurse lady counts faster, "Five Mississippi, six Mississippi, seven Mississippi,"

Me: "oooooOOOOOoOOooOOOOoOOO!"

NNL: "EightMissippinineMissppiTEN!!!" and she whips it out from the depths of my nasal passage.

The burning stops, and a tiny tear rolls its way out of the corner of my left eye. And that was it. To be honest I felt a little bit let down. And like, somehow, they should do the other nostril as well, just to keep things balanced and symmetrical. I suggested it, but Nurse Lady just laughed.

It was really not as bad as a colonoscopy, or a PAP smear, or even having your teeth cleaned. You don't have to take off any clothes, and it's only ten very fast seconds.

Mind you, this was a pre-surgery covid test with a Nice Nurse Lady. If I had had symptoms, and was stressed and worried about getting sick, or getting my loved ones sick, and burdening the healthcare system, not to mention waiting in line for hours, it would be a different story.

Things that are worse than the up-the-nose covid test.

Have you had the up-the-nose covid test? Let me know if it was better or worse than anything on this list.

Stay safe and mask up!

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How My Dog Saved My Life (probably).

It was the end of July and I was walking my dog Chuck. The weather was warm and luscious and we sauntered together slowly down the sidewalk. Suddenly Chuck pulled sideways towards a parked car; there was a cat sulking underneath it. 

It wasn't a hard pull, just an unexpected tug. Chuck is 150 lbs to my 100 lbs, but he's a good walker and I led him easily away and thought nothing more of it.

Why my boobs got to do me like this.

Two days later I felt a pain in my right breast. Not remembering that cat incident, I immediately thought, uh-oh, something's up with the Old Girl. 

My right = Old Girl. My left = Old Maid.

Having had a lump removed from the left breast in my early 40s (turned out to be just a lump) plus being over fifty, I get a mammogram every year. This year I was thinking, "There's a pandemic out there! I'll just skip it, no big deal." But when I got this weird pain, even though I felt no lump, I got worried and went in for the scan and also an ultrasound.

A few days later, the radiology clinic called me back for another scan. The following weeks they called me back for two more "magnifications" and different views. Weirdly, they were focusing only on my left breast, the Old Maid, while completely ignoring the Old Girl.

Next thing I know, the doctor told me I needed a biopsy because I have some micro-calcifications in the Old Maid. You guys: "stereotactic" is a word. A stereotactic biopsy is a thing where you lie face down on a table with a hole in it. It looks like a massage table! Your boob goes in the hole and hangs down (in my case, to the floor). They freeze your tit, and then do the biopsy whilst simultaneously scanning it for accuracy. For the record, it hurts about as much as going to the dentist; a tiny needle prick, some pressure, and that's it. (The next few days were a bit ouchie though. Just like the dentist haha.) 

Around this time I was diagnosed with Old Lady mononucleosis. And tummy troubles exacerbated by my osteoporosis medication (barf). The Huz was away in the UK visiting his mum. My friend Kym was struggling with her cancer. There's a raging pandemic. The world is on fire. And now a looming breast issue. It was a lot.

So it turns out I don't have cancer! I have pre-cancer. Also known as stage zero Ductile Carcinoma In Situ. And I'm having surgery next week to carve that bitch out. Partial mastectomy. It sounds dramatic, and I know it's going to hurt, but I'm not scared. As my doctor said, "We caught it early. This is why we do mammograms." 

I was listening to NPR in the car and there was a medical expert saying that in two to three years, something like 20,000 women were going to die because they delayed their mammograms due to the covid situation. That might've been me. So basically, if Chuck hadn't yanked me, I probably wouldn't have gone for my yearly mammogram. The dangerous micro-calcification clusters would have laid undiscovered until possibly stage 1 or 2 DCIS. Thanks Chuck: you saved my life (probably).

Yes, I still have to get over the wretched mono and tummy troubles as well as surgery and whatever that reveals. But the good news is I have every chance of good results in the future. Also the Old Girl doesn't hurt anymore.

Please tell Chuck what a good boy he is. And if you feel so moved, give a small donation to SOS Quebec Newf Rescue. Don't delay your mammograms!

PS Wear a mask. I don't want my surgery canceled due to Covid overload.

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Kym and me.

One can say a heck of a lot about Kymberli Barney. Beyond her family and friends, Kym touched many people with her gifts. I'm sifting through my memories of her and it actually blows my mind not only how much she accomplished, but also the precious communities she blessed with her heart. It's not a surprise to see how loved she was. I only met Kym in person once, but I first got to know her as a fellow blogger, and so that's what I'll spring from here.

To be a blogger, and to spark and nurture the very specific kind of friendship that exists on the Internet, is a new and divergent behaviour in the realm of human connection. It's a relationship that can expand very quickly from casual witticisms to sharing the intimate intricacies of our lives. Like pen pals on steroids, thanks to technology. Quite often bloggers share the subtle nuances of hopes and fears with their blogging community that they may never feel safe or comfortable sharing with In Real Life loved ones. The intensity of such a friendship has baffled those who exist in-person; how can you feel this depth of caring for someone you've never met?

How, indeed? The written word is powerful, and so are drawings. Words and pictures open doors. And that's pretty much what happened with Kym and me.

It was 2011. There I was, happily blogging my drawings right here, when some lady called The Smartness started waving at me on Twitter. She said she'd drawn me (usually it's me who draws people) and put it on her blog and was terrified that I'd be mad. 

I
Kym's drawing of me, on a mug. I'm actually terrified to break it now.

Well. As if. LOL.
I clicked the link and promptly fell in love.

Kym had dubbed me an Honorary Gangsta in her drawing, complete with baddass attitude and hefty bling. Gangstas and Bling were identifiers she often invoked in her writing to connect her readers, and sometimes as a trope to push a point, as only a Black woman could. Kym's sense of humour was both mightily sophisticated and steeped in the Brew of the Potty; damn she was funny. I can't count the number of times she showed herself out. 

That's how it started. Kym drew me, and in so doing, drew me to her. I drew her right back and sealed the deal, Gangsta 101. 

As Kym would say: WORD.

What I saw in Kym was a kindred creative spirit. Her humility, thoughtfulness, curiosity and sheer brains, it all shone through in her writing. She was a natural leader, organizing fundraisers and support for others. We put our heads and hearts together on projects, as friends and bloggers, as teachers and artists, as mothers and wives. She inspired me. Kym was generous with her light. 

The rest was history. Eight years of comments on blog posts and social media, advice asked and given by email, endless meandering conversations via private messages. Always there, just one click away. Even when she got sick. I did my best to make her laugh.

Radio Kym!

Kymotherapy!

I told her I loved her. She said she loved me too. And then she was gone. 

*****

Kym had often ninja-posed for photos after some of her cancer treatments. When her mum asked me to draw a cartoon of Ninja Kym to print on their Celebration-Of-Life t-shirts, I thought about drawing her in the usual way: cute, hilarious and kicking cancer's ass. Kym was funny but she was beautiful too, and so much more than a simple stick-figure cartoon could convey. 

So I went with my super-hero style; classic ninja pose, ascending with dreamy heart-shaped radial wings, and a halo, the ultimate Bling.

Did you know Kym?

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