An MRE is a Meal Ready to Eat. These are inedible rations they give to military members to sustain them in the field. Apparently the soldiers are so hungry they taste like ambrosia.
An MRS is a degree one who attends Mississippi University for Women is often said to be earning. This is possibly because there is a large supply of eligible bachelors at the nearby pilot training base.
An MRI is Magnetic Resonance Imaging, accomplished by a giant tube of magnetism into which a person undergoing scrutiny for various anomalies is slid like a loaf of bread into an oven. Jackhammer noises ensue, and the body is photographed in slices. At the same time, a dye creeps into the blood through an IV so that the images will show the monsters the doctors need to see, if they are there.
They were there.
In the breast MRI, a woman is laid face down onto the table, which is similar to a massage table in that it has the face rest, but different in that it has large holes cut out in the appropriate position for the appendages in question. (Honestly, I think real massage tables should have this feature.)
According to the coordinator who phoned me with the results, both breasts “lit up”, indicating that I am the winner of the so-called breast cancer jackpot. So I will be returning for a targeted ultrasound on Monday, followed either immediately by another needle biopsy, this time on the right, or scheduled for an MRI-assisted biopsy if ultrasound isn’t powerful enough to guide the radiologist. One wonders why they would even bother with a biopsy at this point, and I intend to ask that very question at the appropriate time.
Meanwhile, my good friend Pamela offered her skills at research, which I happily accepted. Among other much appreciated information, she provided me with a link to the best site out there for breast cancer: the Dr. Susan Love Research Foundation. It gives forthright and current information, though the telling is sometimes brutal. I should not have started reading it right before bedtime the night before my MRI. I was able to navigate through “newly diagnosed”, “invasive” to get a ton of information, and because of that I was not exactly surprised that I had won the MRI jackpot. Lobular carcinoma is very difficult to detect, and once it shows up on a mammogram it is probably 8-9 years old and it is very possible it has spread to other areas of the body. These ares might have been taken care of by the immune system, but since there is no way of knowing, chemotherapy is usually prescribed. This I was hoping to avoid, but at least I know the reason, if it turns out that I can’t.
I expect that I’ll go “under the knife” within the next 2-3 weeks.
On the fiber arts front, I’ve been spinning away on my little Hansen eSpinner. I was so in love with the poll dorset yarn from Renaissance Dyeing that I bought 8 ounces of some poll dorset roving to see if I could produce a similar yarn. I divided the roving into four 2-ounce lengths and spun them onto four separate bobbins. Right now they are resting, and tomorrow I will ply them and possibly dye them, and they will grow up to be socks!
There is an eSpinner group on Ravelry (of course) and through it I learned of the most marvelous bag to use to tote my spinner around: a Zuca. It is the sports bag, which will hold bobbins, lazy kate and fiber, with a cooler bag on top for the actual spinner. You can actually sit on the metal frame, but I would set the spinner on top instead. Do you think they’ll let me spin from my hospital bed?
If you won the jackpot, does that mean large numbers of coins came spilling forth from your boobs? That’s good, right? (I tease, of course, because I can’t do much else except continue to send good thoughts and San Diego sunshine your way. Although I understand it’s snowing up there today so I’m falling down on the sunshine part.)
I love it! Yes, I think that this is true, however, the coins do not come out until the surgeon has made an incision. This is why surgeons are so wealthy. The patient, being unconscious, is unaware of the heist.
Humor is always most welcome. But the sunshine part would be awesome.
Sheila, I am sending you much white light to get you through this trial. I hope all will be well, and it will all be simply calcium deposits.
Love the spinning, you are a master!
Many Hugs!
Ahh, so *that’s* how surgeons make their money. I would think long draw spinning would be excellent physical therapy- keep those arms moving. I shall be cheering in your corner, Sheila.
Kimmen