Tuesday, March 26, 2013

I Forgot The Good Part

What is up with me forgetting the good parts of my stories lately?

I even forgot the good part that happened today. What the heck, me?


I love my doctor. We all know this. What you might not know is why.

After the boy was born via c-section (after twenty hours of labor, thank you very much), I had some trouble healing. The incision site wouldn't close. So, I went to the doctor a lot. Just about every day for the first few weeks, then a few times a week, and then gradually scaling back to about twice a month. When the wound finally closed, the boy was six months old.

By the time the boy turned seven months old, I was pregnant again.

For over two solid years, I was a regular at this doctor's office. And, radiant joy that I am, it was only natural that I became his (self-appointed) favorite patient.

In pre-op, the good doctor came in to talk to me before surgery. He reviewed what he was going to do and asked if I had any questions.

I'll spare you the finer points, but one of today's procedures involved looking at my uterus with a wee camera (a hysteroscopy). So, when the doctor asked if I had any questions, I said, "Now, if you get in there and you see an image of the Virgin Mary in my uterus, you have to take a picture."

The nurse in there was trying very hard to be professional, but I could tell she's not used to people as "creatively maladjusted" as myself. She's also not used to this doctor playing around. The reason I know this is because, after the doctor left, she said, "I can not believe that just happened." But then, I am his favorite. And anyway, she should be used to my shenanigans by now.

So, I was all, "Take a picture if there are any miracles in my uterus," and the doctor said, "Sure, of course."

"And then, we can sell the picture to the National Enquirer. People will come from all over to visit my uterus. We could charge admission."

"Absolutely. That's a solid business plan."

And I said, "I wonder why no one has thought of charging admission to a uterus before," but then I realized that people have thought of charging admission to uteri before and that's called prostitution.

That's when I decided that I should probably stick with the bakery as a business plan and that's also when the nurse decided it would be a good time to start my sedation.

That Was a Good One

Today's surgery was probably the last one I'll have at EAMC... I hope. And if it is, I'm going out on a high note. This one was easy peasy.

Here's what I love:

I love my husband. He's the best surgery companion ever. I don't know how I got so lucky, but I swear, I had no intention of all of this when we said, "In sickness and in health."

I love my mom. She's came all the way down here to take care of my kids today while I was in the surgery. And that's saying a lot since the boy is still recovering from his tonsils and the girl had a major allergy attack and ended up looking like a raccoon today.

I love the heaters in the beds I had today. Hot, hot air blowing under the blankets at me... so nice. They even had one in the OR for me. 

I love the nurses at the surgery center. They know me because I've been up there seven times in the last year and a half and because I bring them cupcakes. Today, I brought those cinnamon things that everybody likes, and I hear they were gone before they even called me to pre-op.

I love my doctor. This is the same doctor who delivered my babies and found my cancer. He's a Tech grad like me and he (coincidentally) has the same middle name (Candler) as my son. So, he's pretty top-notch in my book. 

I asked the doctor yesterday what flavor of cake he wanted for today. I need to keep my hands busy before surgery so I don't stress. He picked chocolate peanut butter, "But I'll share it up there." So I said, "I always bring the nurses something too, so you don't have to share," and he was like, "Well, we'll see."

Yes, we will.

So I made him this:

And tons of people asked for Cakeapotamus cards when they saw it which was really nice. 

Talking to the doctor before surgery, I could tell he liked the cake. He was going to take it home for his wife. D'awww. He said, "It looks good, even if it doesn't taste good." 

I know. He's the perfect doctor for me.

After the surgery (which was fine), I was in recovery, chatting with the nurses for the last time. Sniff. That's when I found out the cinnamon things were long gone. So I said, "Well, Dr. P said yesterday that he'd share his cake." And they said, "Nope. He said it's patient's orders that he take it home."

Patient's orders.

I love that. 

Lots of love today. No, I'm not doped up. I'm just taking Advil for this one.

Piece of cake.

Monday, March 25, 2013

Spring Broken

Spring break 2013 is upon us! Time to break out the swimsuits and plant some snapdragons! Except... it's 37 degrees outside. And the boy is recovering from surgery, miserable and in pain. And I'm having surgery in the morning. But other than that, swimsuits and snapdragons and other compound words, all the way.

Tomorrow morning's surgery should be pretty easy. I'll be in and out, four procedures, and then home the same day. I'll be back to making wedding cakes in no time! And by "no time", I mean Saturday.

There's more good news: The boy can almost make it to two hours before he's begging for more pain meds. So that's pretty good.

Even better: I got a pre-surgical pedicure to go with my fancy pre-surgical shower scrubs.

And the best of all: I got a radiation date! April... something! I wrote it down on something in my purse. Woo hoo! The plan is:
Monday: drive to Birmingham, get a shot, drive home
Tuesday: drive to Birmingham, get a shot, check into a hotel
Wednesday: get some labs, then check into the hospital, get dosed with radiation, spend the night in isolation
Thursday: drive to mom's house, hole up in the downstairs for a few days while the radiation works its way (mostly) out of my body
The next week, I'll head home (as much as I can), return to UAB on Wednesday for a scan, and then be back at work on Thursday.

No problem!

It's a huge relief to have this much settled before I confine myself to my bed for a couple of days to recuperate. Although, I am looking forward to watching movies and eating frozen girl scout cookies...

Seven Things

There's a really great article on the "We Are That Family... you know the one..." blog about the seven things we should tell our daughters. As the mother of a little girl, I identified with where she's coming from. I've thought these things for years. I've wondered how to explain them to my daughter and I've, in one way or another, made an effort to say all of these things to my kids for the past six and a half years.

As the mother of a little boy, I wondered how many of those seven things apply to boys as well. I think all seven.

I also think adults could benefit from hearing those seven things as well. Especially number one. And three. And six. And four and seven. And three. And five and two.

So then, I started thinking about the take-away message that I need to get from this list. You know, for me... what do I need to hear?

Thus, may I present, The Seven Things that I Must Tell Myself

1. I am valuable: according to humanforsale.com, I'm worth almost two million dollars. And that's just if you sell me for parts. And that's including all the cancer and whatnot. So really, if you add in my powers of sarcasm and ability to write in cursive, I'm a freakin' treasure trove.

2. My worth is not based on my appearance: about a hundred years ago, I saw on Oprah that the average woman spends 474 days and over $164,000 on makeup in her life. That's over a year of your life, staring in a mirror. That's a lot of money- you could buy a house for that. I was twelve when I saw that Oprah and I remember evaluating those numbers. Is it worth over a year of my life? Is it worth that much money? Do I want to be a person who looks back and sees that she spent all that time looking in a mirror when I could have been doing something important? I decided that the answer was no. And so, I've never* worn makeup. And you know what? To my knowledge, I've never been compared to Joseph Merrick.

3. I don't need a guy: OK, this is where I differ most significantly from the original. I would contend that I don't actually, technically, need a father (though I ended up with a pretty great step-father). In fact, I probably would have been better off without any contact with my biological father at all. And I'm pretty darn dependent on my husband- I need that guy. So... yeah. I don't need a guy. Except my husband and son and step-father. And my brothers, I need them, too. You know what? Guys are pretty valuable too, let's appreciate them.

4. I am amazing: Huh. This one is hard to accept. But, on paper, I could debate it. If I look back on my life, I've accomplished some things. I graduated from Georgia Tech (in four years, even). I have a Master's degree and a black belt. I beat cancer, and I got to sing at The Fox Theater once. I have a great life with a wonderful husband, two healthy kids, a house, and a brown dog. I get to make cakes for people, and I don't waste a ton of money on makeup. Holy crap, I am amazing. Who knew?

5. I don't have to believe what I hear: In business school, they taught us that the Rumor Mill was pretty much as accurate as any other form of office communication. That seems to be true for things like approaching deadlines and the presence of cookies in the workroom. It is also true, however, that you can not work and say ugly things about other people at the same time. And anyone who chooses to spend their day bad-mouthing others is not someone who deserves my respect or attention. If they'll say it to me, they'll say it about me. And being a part of that is not amazing. More importantly, if I listen to the bad things that people say about each other, I might believe it. And then I might make myself miss out on the chance to get to know someone  as amazing as me.

6. I have me:  It's true. I've always been here for me. And I'm one of the few people who almost always knows what I'm talking about.

7. I can change the world: This has never been in dispute. What I struggle with is... should I? Who am I, amazing though I may be, to exert my will on this world? Why should my opinions, amazing though they may be, count enough to significantly affect others? I've heard throughout my life that, because of all the weird medical stuff I've overcome, I am meant to do something great. But who am I? And so, I am content with my own little world of mill houses and cakes, babies and brown dogs, husbands and Darth Vader collections.

*OK, I've worn make up a few times in my adult life. I wore it on my wedding day and again a couple of times that I had pictures taken. And I'll probably have to wear it again if I have publicity stills taken for the bakery. But all that adds up to maybe three hours of make up total... so that's not too bad, I think. Still... I could really use three more hours of sleep right now.

Saturday, March 23, 2013

Stupid Radiation

Here's where we are:

Tests show that there's still some thyroid tissue in me somewhere. Most likely, it's just a speck in my neck that the doctor missed in the surgery (because it's about impossible to get it all out surgically- it just doesn't happen). But there is a minuscule chance that it's a bit of cancer that's broken off and is growing somewhere inappropriate.

With thyroid cancer, treatment is pretty straightforward because thyroid tissue is completely killable. Your thyroid absorbs iodine. Thus, if you deprive your body of iodine for a few days, then add in some iodine laced with radiation, any thyroid tissue you have will absorb the iodine and be ablated by the radiation. Cool, right? So then, any thyroid tissue (or cancer) that lurking anywhere will be fried and you'll be all 99.9% good to go.

We've been looking at the radiation therapy since the cancer was first diagnosed in late November. Because my tumor was big but not huge, radiation is not mandatory but not immediately ruled out either. I'm in the gray area.

Doc. #1 was on the fence (but seemed to be leaning toward radiation) and referred me to Doc. #2 to make the final decision. Doc. #2 said yes, let's do radiation but then his office completely screwed up the scheduling process (and acted like it was my fault). So I made my way to Doc. #3. I was finally able to get an appointment at the end of February.

Doc. #3 also approved radiation, ordered it, sent me for the consult with nuclear medicine, and everything seemed to be moving right along. The pharmacy company called me so that I could personally authorize the release of the meds to the clinic. I did. The head nurse at the clinic said she would call me to schedule the radiation treatment when she had the meds in hand.

Now, scheduling the radiation is easy for her. She just puts my name in the schedule a couple of times and clicks "save". For me, it's a process of coordinating work and lesson plans and substitutes. Child care and Skype and cell phones (that will be exposed to radiation and will have to be replaced). Cakes and places to stay when I can't be near my kids because I'm radioactive. Hours in the car to get there and back for daily injections. There's a lot to do. And I was hoping to have it all settled before my surgery on Tuesday.

So when the pharmacy company called last week and said that the meds would be delivered on March 14th, I was pretty excited. I thought I could have the schedule nailed down by the 18th, easily.

Boy, was I wrong.

When I didn't hear from the clinic, I called up there on the 21st. Scheduling redirected me to endocrinology who told me they could only do drug refills. Endocrinology redirected me back to scheduling who told me I need endocrinology and transferred me back. This went on for about 40 minutes. Finally, one of those departments said, "Oh! You need Prolia. I'll transfer you to Infusion," and I was sent to a whole new department. My treatment has NOTHING to do with Prolia or the Infusion Department.

I was frustrated.

I remembered the doctor's instructions: "E-mail me when you're curious about something but before you get irritated." So I e-mailed him:

"Please help? I called up there today to see about scheduling the I131 treatment so I can get the time off of work. I was bounced back and forth between scheduling and endocrinology a few times. Finally, they said what I needed was prolia(?) and they transferred me to infusion to leave a message.

Your office told me last week that I could schedule when they had the Thyrogen in hand. The pharmacy company called me Thursday to say it had been delivered there. What am I supposed to do next?

Thank you,"

The auto reply said he was out of the office for the week.

Whatever, I'll try one more call. On that call, after only three or four transfers, I was put through to the head nurse who I'd spoken to before. The one who said she'd call me when she go the meds. Finally! Someone who knows what I'm talking about!

She checked the computer and said that the meds had not been delivered, and she'd call me back when they got there.

She finally called me back on Thursday that the meds were there! Hooray! After... where are we now, three months?... it was finally time to get this part over with! She took my preferred dates and  said she'd call back after she coordinated with nuclear medicine.

I had a small hope that she'd call back yesterday and it would all be settled before spring break... but I wasn't going to hold my breath.

Are you caught up, so far?

So, this morning, I got this e-mail reply from the doctor, cc'd to the nurses:

"Head Nurse:

Please contact her ASAP and let me know the status.

Doc. #3"

Oh, no! That nurse had been so nice on the phone. I didn't want her to be in trouble since I'd talked to her after I sent that e-mail. So I quickly sent the doctor this:

"Head Nurse called me Thursday- she has the Thyrogen :) 
She was going to coordinate with nuclear medicine and then let me know the dates so that I can get the time off of work.

Thank you,"

I thought it would be OK. I had hope that I might still, maybe, somehow, get the radiation scheduled before Tuesday's surgery. And then this e-mail rolled in from the head nurse:

"I called  her on Friday (3/22) to inform her that the drug had been delivered; she requested the last week of April.  I have notified NM of her requested dates.   I apologize that she is continually  emailing you as I had told her that when I had the drug in hand, I would notify her.  I am not sure where she got the info re Prolia."

Ummmm... no. Just... no. First, we spoke on Thursday, not yesterday, and you said you would get right back to me. You didn't. Not that I expected anything different. Next, you don't need to apologize that I'm "continually e-mailing" and I told you on the phone about the Prolia mix-up. It's not my fault if you didn't pay attention. You know what else you should pay attention to? The cc list on the e-mail when you hit "reply all".

So I sent an e-mail apologizing for bothering everyone and started looking for an endocrinologist in Columbus, just in case this mess gets even more fun.

Yay for exit strategies.

I probably wouldn't be this concerned about the radiation if it weren't for the tumor in my uterus. Yeah. That's got me a little overly cautious. And irritable, apparently.

And, I swear, the next person who tries to tell me that thyroid cancer is the "easy" cancer to treat is going to hear some uncomfortable truths about themselves.

*Palm Sunday Update*

E-mail from Doc. #3 this morning in response to my apologizing for bothering everyone:

"No worries at all, I was out of town and wanted to make sure it was handled. Obviously you were given some erronious info, and that is what the email is for, so don't feel bad. Our fault.  I'd strongly prefer you keep me posted of any confusion, that is what the email is for.

My nurses didn't realize that your email was a few days old, so disregard those comments.

Start the low iodine diet two weeks before the treatment, and let me know if there is any further confusion.

Doc. #3"

So I feel a little better. Still wish I knew when radiation will be so it's one less thing to worry about. But, hey. If that's my biggest problem, I'm crazy lucky.

Wednesday, March 20, 2013


When I was pregnant with the girl, things got pretty rough. I carried her high. Very, very high. So high that she kicked my rib and cracked it... in my seventh month. She was up so high that it got hard to breathe. My diaphragm was smushed and I couldn't take a deep breath for three months. They gave me breathing treatments and all sorts of stuff to try to help me oxygenate... nothing.

When they finally took her out... you have to remember, I'd been oxygen deprived for months... they pulled her out and my diaphragm dropped. I took my first deep breath in forever, and my head was reeling with the abundance of oxygen. The feeling was so overwhelming... I forgot why I was there. I completely lost track of where I was and why I was there. I was just dizzy with oxygen.

So when they stuck this pink, cheesy, angry, screaming thing over the blue curtain, my first thought was utter confusion. What the heck? I recovered quickly (thanks to all the oxygen now circulating my brain) and decided that the pink, cheesy, angry, screaming thing was a keeper. But I will always remember that euphoric rush that comes from ending air deprivation.

Not many people understand that experience. So far, I've met none. Until today.

Today, I was privileged to watch my son experience air euphoria.

With his "monster adenoids" yoinked from his head, there's so much more room in his passages for air. I watched him realize it when he ate something after his surgery. For the first time, after four and a half long years of trying to chew with his mouth closed, the boy succeeded. And there was much rejoicing.

In the past, he's not been able to breathe through his nose. At all. But all that changed today. His face was filled with wonder as he finally understood how everyone else has been able to eat and breathe at the same time. My poor little man. I wonder what else he'll experience from today's surgical adventure.

From the Other Side

Today, we made our fifth trip into the wonderful world of surgery since New Years 2012. We're getting really good at it. It's kinda weird... I heard, "Yay, the cupcake lady is here! I was so excited when I saw your name on the schedule! When does the bakery open?" more than once this morning. I knew bringing cupcakes to all my surgeries would pay off.

But, today, I was not the patient. My sweet, precious, baby boy was going under the knife. And I must say, the view from the other side of the waiting room... I don't care for it. 

You know what I DO care for? Coloring books. I freakin' love to color. It's a huge stress-reliever for me. It's like free therapy. And guess what? That low-down hospital has been holding out on me. When we got to Boo's curtain in pre-op, there was a spankin' new coloring book and crayons laid out, just for him. You better believe I'm going to ask for my own next Tuesday. I don't care if they're supposed to be for kids, dadgummit. Or maybe I'll just bring my own... that'll show them.

He was nervous before the surgery. He just wanted to go home. I really know how he felt. And I feel guilty for putting him through that part.

Boo's surgery took about 40 minutes. 42 minutes, actually, not that I was counting. 42 minutes of waiting and worrying. That part was new to me. I don't recommend it.

And then I got to experience all kinds of other new things. Like watching the patient come out of anesthesia. And talking to the doctor... we met with the doctor in a little room after the surgery. Turns out, Doss has been meeting with doctors like that after all my surgeries. Huh. Who knew? 

The doctor said that Boo did beautifully. Hooray! His tonsils were huge but his adenoids... oh, his adenoids. The good doctor called them "monster adenoids". He assured us that we would see an immediate difference in Boo's voice, breathing, and hearing (from the ear tubes placed today). 

He was right. 

Boo has never sounded like this when he breathes. I never realized how much air he wasn't getting. Even his snoring sounds different. His voice is much less nasal. And he had to cover his ears when a loud car went by on the street- an absolute first for the boy who, until today, was rocking a 30% hearing loss.

See how good he looks now? With his new sock monkey and the balloon the doctor gave him...

But here's the thing... when the boy woke up, it was terrible. He was upset and incoherent. His throat hurt and he was dizzy and disoriented. He was hurting and crying and didn't understand what was happening. And there was nothing I could do about it. No balloons or stuffed animals could make it better. He wanted them to fix it. And he wanted to go home. And all I could do was hold him and feel completely useless. So far, that was the worst part. He said, "I feel badly," and all I could come up with was, "Good adverb, buddy." Oy. 

He's better now. He's got some meds in him for pain and he's eaten. He's eaten a lot.

Get-Well messages from little sister help a lot.
He's better now,  I'm better now. And, with only two more school days until Spring Break, I almost get to spend lots and lots of recovery time with him. But going to work tomorrow is going to be tough.

*OK, this post wasn't nearly snarky enough. So here's a true story:
Today, I went to the (all too familiar) pharmacy to get the boy's pain meds. The pharmacist was reviewing the side effects and whatnot and he got to the part where alcohol messes with the medication. So he said, "I guess he's not going to be drinking in the next few days anyway," trying to be funny.


So, with a perfectly straight face, I replied, "No, he hasn't been hitting the sauce as much since he started kindergarten. I mean, don't get me wrong, the boy can still tie one on. But I don't think that he found kindergarten to be quite the party scene he was expecting."
And the pharmacist was laughing because, well, he's used to me by now.
And so I went on, "I mean, I think he was expecting the ladies there to be more in tune with his... proclivities. But it's just been disappointing to him. Meh, there's always first grade."
And the pharmacists (there were two cracking up at this point) were enjoying the story verily.

It was at that point that I noticed the elderly woman standing a few feet down the counter. To say she did not approve would be a gross understatement. Meh. 

Tuesday, March 19, 2013

Tonsils, Adenoids, Ear Tubes, and Cupcakes

The boy is having his tonsils out tomorrow. And his adenoids. And getting tubes put in his ears.

I'm worried.

So is he. He had a hard time falling asleep tonight.

The doctor doing his surgery is the same one who did my thyroidectomies. (Shut up, spell check, that IS a word.) I asked the doctor what kind of cupcakes he wanted this round and he said, "The same as last time." That's lemon.

So I'm working on cupcakes to distract myself from the terrible ideas that accompany my baby going under anesthesia tomorrow.

Things should look much better this time tomorrow.

Friday, March 8, 2013


My world is super sweet right now. Why?

1. The boy has been on green all week! Thank goodness.

2. The girl loves vintage (Adam West) episodes of Batman which means I get to watch Eartha Kitt as Catwoman. Because Eartha Kitt was the best Catwoman. There, I said it.

Sorry, Halle Berry
3. The upcoming treatment for the tumor in my uterus will not affect my pre-planned radiation. Woot!

4. All my cakes for the entire weekend are done and done. Already!

I love this cake, but it's not getting much love on the Cakeapotamus Facebook 
5. I get to take a road-trip tomorrow for cakery goodness with a super sweet friend.

6. It's almost Doss's birthday. Something fun is sure to go down...

7. Bacon cheeseburger meatloaf.

8. I know there are people reading this. I know you're out there. Why not leave a comment with what's making your world sweet today?

Thursday, March 7, 2013

He Knew What He Was Getting Into

I am no stranger to having my spare body parts removed. The complete list of things I've had removed from my body ranges from a lumpy finger thing that the pathology report called a "mixoma" (but I think they just made that up) to an entire human being (did that one twice). I've had a big hunk of colon removed and my gall bladder removed. I've had a bunch of breast tissue removed and my tonsils removed. Adenoids, spleen, appendix, wisdom teeth, and thyroid: if you can live without it, I don't have it.

You'd think I'd weigh less.

I've had a few things removed that were not factory-original. This is how my husband and I courted.


When we were dating, my now-husband would go with me when I had weird things removed- and he usually watched the procedure.


There was the plantar wart surgery where that man put that shot deep into my foot to numb it. I said some colorful words about his mama during that injection... but then my boyfriend watched the doctor cut my foot open and pull the little thing out. Because that's romantic.

I mean, we went to movies and stuff like normal people, too. But... a large part of our courtship involved me getting cut open. What would you expect from a couple who met at a karate school?

Like the time I had this weird lump in my lip. It was pretty big- about the size of a large pea- and made my lip feel all funny. So, one day, my boyfriend took me to the ENT to get it excised... the same ENT who would, years later, take out my cancerous thyroid. But anyway, we went there and the doctor shot a bunch of fluid into my lip to make the thing- a mucocele- easier to get out. After the thing was removed, my face is partially numb and my lip is all swollen and a little bloody. Naturally, we chose this time to go to a local casual dining restaurant.

What happened next... yeah. In my defense... nope. I have no defense.

So we're at Niffer's and the poor, young waiter comes to take our drink order. Bless his heart. He did a double take at my swollen lip and it didn't immediately occur to me that there was any explanation for a swollen, busted lip other than minor lip surgery. So I just asked for diet coke with a straw. And the waiter looked at me... and he looked at Doss... and he looked at me... and there was concern on his face... And then I got it. He thinks this man hit me. I thought that was hilarious.

So, being a good girlfriend, I caught the waiter's' eye and discreetly shook my head. The waiter left and I tell Doss what happened. And I couldn't stop laughing. Doss was significantly less amused.

The waiter returned with our drinks and got ready to take our orders. Doss reached for some Splenda for his tea and, because I'm hilarious, I flinched away from his outstretched hand as it came across the table. The good-guy waiter gave Doss the dirtiest look and I thought it was the funniest thing ever.

I know. It's a wonder that this man stuck around. And he married me.

I tell this story because people sometimes ask what Doss thinks about all the medical stuff going on.   Our answer is, he knew what he was getting into.

This is relevant again because there's more surgery on the horizon. I'm going in for some female stuff. The details are available on a need-to-know basis, but the upshot is my thyroid is not causing the problems I've been having for the past few months. I'm going to have a couple of small procedures to try to fix it so that I won't have to have a hysterectomy.

I know. What can you do?

This is a good thing! Today's tests showed that there are some things amiss that can be fixed. So, once again, trust your gut.

This surgery will be on the Tuesday of spring break so that I won't have to miss any work or cakes. And my mom can come help with the kids for a few days. So no problem.

Tuesday, March 5, 2013

Dear me.

Dear self,

You don't get normal headaches. Ever. When you think you have a headache, you're wrong. How many times are you going to learn this lesson?

You get migraines. And where were the migraine meds today? At home. And where were you? At work. Sigh.

You get migraines and they all aura differently. Every. Time. Tunnel vision, wavy vision, tiny headaches, metallic taste... they always start differently. They always end the same.

Today, your migraine started with violent nausea. Remember when you were like, "Could this be a migraine?"? Yeah, the answer to that question has never been "no".

Put the freakin' meds in your purse. Drink your coffee in the morning. Stop missing work for lame stuff like this. You need to save your sick days for radiation.