Beantown Bound

It's official, tickets are booked and I'm heading to Boston for the first time in May! The image I'm paying "homage" to is from the Accordion Guy's website, and one of my favorites....hope he doesn't mind me absconding with it for now, as my travel plans involve full-tourist mode and coming back with 2 full camera cards of all that is and is not the fabulous town of B. And, after sorting through the trainwreck of what I thought was endlessly amusing at the time shall hopefully emerge MY perfect Bostonian icon. Now, back to practicing dropping my AHS!


Mmmmmm Doughy! 

The Jentinental

I have but three passions in life. One of which...is fine champagna!

 

The Four Seasons Chicago, She is soo nice, both delicious...and dangerous. Her fluffy downy pillows terminate against the sharp corners of a Louis XIV sidetable, perfect for a quick concussion before proceeding to the spa. There too, a strange world awaits for those with enough cunning and prowness to navigate the labryrinth of the ladies locker room and reach the mecca of an opulent swimming pool/hot tub combo. And, to make the journey from your swanky surrounds to the land of muscle relaxation, this 5-star queen will even bedeck you in the coziest of terry robes and matching slippers to ride the elevator in style.

After a sumptuous slumber beneath a snowy comforter, do not miss her fabulous brunch; we know it is no good for us...but we give in...for the sensual pleasure of savory shrimp salad with the essance of oil from olives of a puratinical nature and a martini glass of pineapple teased with inebriated peaches who are being whipered to by a cloud of creme fraiche.

In other words, I swanked it up this weekend and celebrated the "Day of Dead Rich White Guys" in style; I managed to avoid injury, found the pool 2 out of 4 attempts, proved my plebian roots by uttering "Damn, this is good fish!" in the Seasons dining room and am now the proud owner of a pair of Four Seasons slippers (they expect you to take them, otherwise they are out faster than a certain Simpson's character). Special thanks to M for playing Pygmalion and providing the winter escape.

Join us again later this Spring (if the Boston location is available, fingers crossed!) for another chapter in the life of...The Jentinental.

Trials and Ovulation

Today was the big day of my retest to find out why exactly my cells were atypical and of an undetermined insignificance. Although I was plenty wiped from some raucous bowling at 10pin last night, I was eager to bring this nerve racking little chapter of my life to a close... and even smiled as the alarm started its clarion whine this morning.

As I exited the train and started to walk towards the clinic, I blinked upon seeing a large crowd of people gathered outside...."Wow, guess everyone ran out of Yasmin at once!" I thought, rather amused. To my revulsion, upon pulling closer to the throng, they were revealed to be a creepy little semi-circle of protesters complete with leatherette bible.

Having never been to a medical facility that would draw a crowd, this was a bit of a shock and suddenly I could feel adrenaline start to pump through my system. Fear was the first emotion to strike, "What if they throw something?" or "What if they start shouting at me? I don't think I can really deal with being called a sinner for getting a confirming Pap Smear." Since it was early, I decided to loop the block until closer to my appointment at 11:15. At 11:10, I cruised back around the block to come once again upon the religious zealots...now they were holding hands and praying. But,in addition, there were now two very burly bouncers in yellow "Planned Parenthood" vests guarding the door. I cut a wide swath around the circle, presented my ID to the guards and entered.

This really REALLY flippin' pissed me off. While I respect the right of any group to object and demonstrate, the small-minded pointlessness of their actions is infuriating. On my hike around the neighborhood to gather my courage to pass the group and enter the clinic, I passed a church with a line of homeless people forming for a hot meal; how ridiculous that these demonstrating "Christians" instead of doing something useful for humanity ie: passing out the proverbial fish and loaves down the block chose instead to harass and intimidate women that were not only there for abortions and birth control, which is what I presume incited their wrath, but to be counseled for rape, tested for disease and educated about their bodies.

I almost wanted them to tell me I was going to hell, just so I could shout back "I might have cancer, these people are providing me with an affordable test that if it's positive, will save my life!....What? Jesus doesn't want me for a sunbeam if I have cervical cancer? Go to hell yourself!"

But alas, I am no closer to a diagnostic reprieve despite the rocky path to the waiting room. Once my name was called, it was discovered that the intake clerk had scheduled me too early; my cells hadn't gone through a whole cycle of regeneration and wouldn't be ready to look at until April. So, back to the purgatory of waiting I go!

Rest In Peace

Since ESPN beat me to the graveside some flowers in memorium of the season that wasn't...now can someone tell me where to send these?


 

Estronaut: or "ASCUS, we have a problem."

Apparently sensing the turmoil broiling in other areas of my life, the squamous cells of my more womanly parts have decided to join the party.

Upon returning home last night, I noted my cell phone blinking. A quick scan of the call log revealed a voice message from an unknown number, believing it to be a telemarketer I set the phone back down and rushed off to begin my evening plans as I was running late. An eerie feeling set over me as I was locking my front door, and I turned back inside to retrieve the message. It was the Women's Clinic (thus, the non-traceable number), they needed me to call them back at my earliest convenience.

For those not in the know, clinics do not call with good news. If they call about a test, there is most certainly something amiss. One very unrestful night was spent wondering what they had found or not found and how topsy-turvy my life could very well become.

After an excruciatingly slow train ride in to work this morning, I crept to my desk, steeled myself against the worst case scenario and dialed the number. I was transfered to "Katie" (name changed of course), the counselor who had called. She was disarmingly perky, as she informed me that my Pap Test had come back flagged from the lab and the rundown on what had been found. I was running on autopilot through most of the conversation, jotting things down for future googling....no offense to "Katie", but I wanted to know what to prepare for from the glaring cold and clinical eye of the Internet, not scraping the sugar-coating off her easily digested version. (ie: "diagnostic procedure" is more like "evasive procedure, surgical both in nature and pain.)

Much extensive and exhaustive searching has monopolized my afternoon, and in the end, while having some really great new vocabulary words for Scrabble, I have culled very few hard answers. The definition of the condition is:

ASCUS (ASCUS: An acronym for Atypical Squamous Cells of Undetermined Significance. This term is used in the Bethesda System for reporting Pap smear findings and indicates that some flat (squamous) cells look unusual and may or may not be pre-malignant or malignant.

While being the cold and clinical definition I had sought, it's exasperatingly vague and cannot be confirmed or denied until more samples are taken and processed. Here is a nice image of what they might look like, it seems odd that malevolence could lurk in such a pastoral scene.

So, that's all for now folks! Armed with enigmas, I'm hunkering down for really long February.