G'morning

Last year we had party on New Year's Eve. There was no Phil/Dead show, and no out-of-town friends or houseguests. It was very, very, fun.

The dance party gave us an opportunity to ring in the year with good friends who, having no interest in meandering jam bands, we'd never been able to spend NYE with.

I hung a pretty gold bag filled with little slips of paper by the fireplace and invited folks to burn their burdens by writing their troubles on the papers and throwing them in the fire.

I had several ideas for what I wanted to burn, but at first I was busy being a hostess and then I was a hostess who had been drinking... so I didn't get a chance until a few minutes before midnight. The burden I burned was a hastily scribbled "fear".

I had become increasingly fearful of a recurrence of cancer. I guess that one woman's fear is another woman's premonition.

The longer I went while maintaining my NED (no evidence of disease) status, the more convinced I became that I wasn't done with cancer (or that cancer wasn't done with me).

I don't know what other folks burned, but most of the little slips of paper were gone by the end of the night.

This year I plan on kissing Eric at midnight, just like the year before, and the year before that, and the year before that...

Still Sleepy

I really enjoyed the holiday and our houseguests -- my sister Mary, nephew Scott, niece Luwana, and great nephew Dusty. By the time everyone left Tuesday morning, yesterday, I was exhausted. Eric and I spent the day lying about and napping. then I went to bed at 10:00 PM and didn't get up until 9:00 AM.

Now there's much to do. We have to clean our house for our New Year's houseguests... work on Camp Martha, although it's hard to have a Camp Martha without Sean.

I have a bone scan tomorrow. That takes four hours, although much of that time is just waiting for the radioactive isotopes to dissipate throughout my system.

I owe people phone calls and emails. I've been too tired to keep up.

I wish I had taken pictures of the Christmas festivities. As usual, I was too much in the moment to remember.

Christmas is good.

I enjoyed Christmas -- I really do have the most wonderful friends, and I was so happy to have my family and friends with me. I missed people who weren't there, as well.

I stood up to make The Speech before dinner, as I always do, but I didn't want to cry. I didn't want to cry, I didn't want to cry, and I started crying before I said a word. So I just cut it short and sat the hell down.

Mary and Scott, my sister and nephew, are still here today, and my oldest niece, Luwana, and her son Dusty are coming today. I'm sooooo psyched to see Luwana and Dusty.

I need to drink coffee now. Bye!

I can't help it! It's not interesting!

I've been reading blogs lately, and I've decided that mine is among the most boring. The very worst blogs are the teenage blogs with names like "My Boring Life" and "Meaningless Ramblings". My blog isn't in that category, but it's close.

I've been feeling better. I have more energy, and less pain in general. I don't even care if my new "good" is closer to my old "bad" than my old "good". I just feel better, and I'll take it!

I started my new drug today -- another aromatase inhibitor, similar to the Arimidex I was taking until the fracture of my clavicle. So, for the blog-record (and this is just one the reasons my blog is so generally unentertaining), my current treatment is:

A monthly, 2-hour infusion of Aredia (a biophosphonate class drug, which reduces bone pain and the risk of fracture),

A monthly, abdominal, injection of Goserelin (a drug that inhibits the production of leutenizing hormone by the pintuitary gland, which leads to a reduction in estrogen), and

A daily dose of Aromasin (a drug that stops the enzyme aromatase from turning adrogen into estrogen... meaning less estrogen floating around my bloodstream to lock onto my estrogen-friendly cancer cells and encourage their growth).

None of these treatments are considered chemotherapies, which are generally not as well-tolerated. I'm still holding on to the notion that I can have a good run with hormonal treatments.

I am having a bone scan next week and the two injections, two days apart, the week after.

That's all the medical news from my corner of Oakland (and another unimpressive blog entry, I know).

Hump Day

Eric and I met with my new oncologist this morning.

I slept in just a bit... got up a half hour later than usual. Eric and I drank coffee and wrapped Christmas presents, then sat and looked at the tree for a while. It was a nice morning with Eric.

The appointment with the new oncologist went well. Nothing new came out of it except a small change in my medication, but I have more confidence in this doctor's knowledge of breast cancer than I had in the last.

I went to work after the appointment. After work, Eric and I went to the lab at Kaiser to have blood drawn. While we waited we sat across from two women, a daughter and elderly mother.

As I was having blood drawn, the elderly woman went to Eric and told him how much she enjoyed sitting across from us and seeing how nice we were to each other. She said she hoped we have a hundred years together. Me, too. And it still wouldn't be enough.

Amen!

Intelligent Design Barred From Pa. School District

 

Dec. 20 (Bloomberg) -- A Pennsylvania school district cannot require the teaching of intelligent design in high school biology classes, a federal judge ruled in a case that may influence other challenges to the theory of evolution.

 

U.S. District Judge John E. Jones III in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, ruled today that the Dover, Pennsylvania school board can't force the teaching of intelligent design, a theory that claims that the universe is too complex to have developed randomly and must have been designed by a superior power. The board in October 2004 ordered that intelligent design be introduced alongside the theory that life evolved by natural selection.

 

``To preserve the separation of church and state'' mandated by the First Amendment, the Dover Area School District is barred from maintaining the ID policy in any school, Jones wrote. ``The students, parents and teachers of the Dover Area School District deserved better than to be dragged into this legal maelstrom, with its resulting utter waste of monetary and personal resources.''

 

The six-week trial drew national attention as the first over the merits of intelligent design. Religious conservatives have proposed introducing the theory in other school districts, a move critics claim would violate a 200-year-old ``wall of separation'' between church and state.

 

``Since it's the first such ruling, if you are a school board lawyer and your job is to keep your school board out of trouble, you will be paying attention to what the district court says in Pennsylvania,'' said Brian Landsberg, constitutional law professor at University of the Pacific McGeorge School of Law, Sacramento, California.

 

An Appeal

 

The ruling can be challenged at a federal appeals court in Philadelphia and then to the U.S. Supreme Court. For now, its legal effect is limited to Dover school board. It is not a binding precedent on other school districts.

 

In his opinion, Jones said the key issue is ``whether Intelligent Design is science,'' and said, ``we have concluded that it is not.''

 

Jones said the concept of Intelligent Design, ``cannot uncouple itself from its creationist, and thus religious, antecedents.''

 

The ruling ``has potential impact'' across the country because ``it's a piece of ammunition that will be used'' by the winning party, Landsberg said.

 

Dover voters ousted eight of the nine school-board members who backed the plan in November. The ninth wasn't up for re- election. The vote came the same day the Kansas school board adopted statewide science standards casting doubt on evolution.

 

Eight Dover families filed the federal lawsuit last December, accusing the board of threatening to fire science teachers who refused to give creationism equal weight with evolution.

 

``Two thousand years ago, someone died on a cross,'' the board's leading proponent of intelligent design said during a discussion of the issue, according to the suit. ``Can't someone take a stand for him?''

 

In September, six Nobel laureates joined about 200 scientific and religious leaders in urging all 50 U.S. state governors to insist that schools teach evolution and oppose religiously inspired alternatives. Intelligent-design classes might harm the U.S.'s economic competitiveness by weakening the teaching of biology and genetics, they said.

 

The Origins

 

The phrase ``intelligent design'' was first widely used in ``Of Pandas and People: The Central Question of Biological Origins,'' a textbook the Dover district is using as a reference book in the high school's library.

 

Georgetown University theology Professor John Haught testified during the trial that intelligent design is similar to creationism and should be taught as religion and not science. Religiously-motivated foes of Darwin's theory have promoted intelligent design for the past 15 years, according to the suit. They are led by the Seattle-based Discovery Institute, which describes itself as a nonpartisan think tank.

 

The case is: Kitzmiller et al v. Dover Area School District, 04cv2688, U.S. District Court Middle District of Pennsylvania (Harrisburg).

Merely Human

I watched "Born on the Fourth of July" last night -- the story of Ron Kovic, former marine and Vietnam veteran turned anti-war activist.  The Tom-Cruise-Irritation factor aside, it was a good movie.

 

The movie had DVD-style subtitles throughout.  It was a running commentary on the movie, and true story of Ron Kovic.

 

At one point, Kovic and others spray a group of buildings with gunfire, only to find that the buildings were full of women and children, now either dead or dying.  The subtitle:  As a Catholic, Ron Kovic found this very disturbing (perhaps it said upsetting).

 

As a Catholic?  How about as a human being?

 

That's the problem with people who believe they are chosen by God -- whether chosen to be ushered into heaven, or chosen for a life of good works and ministry.  It's the ultimate In Group and Out Group, and everyone who is out is just slightly less human.

 

 

Feeling much better, thank you.

I'm glad it's Friday. 

 

I'm going into the onc's office this afternoon for one of my monthly injections, then it's Movie Night at the Price household -- with Tom & Corinne & Champagne. 

 

I have no plans for the weekend, but so much to do that I'm sure I'll be busy, busy.

 

 

Finger Crossed

I'm back at work today, feeling much better.  Yesterday is hazy... I have little memory of it.  I didn't have a fever this morning, so decided to come in and try to get a few things done.  Winter break approaches, and there's so much to do.

 

I've been here for fifteen minutes and I'm starting to feel feverish.  I forgot to bring my thermometer, so who knows?  I'll just do what I can do.  Today is already waaaay better than yesterday.

Argh.

Fever, chills, muscle pain... home from work today. Hopefully this will resolve soon.

Inner what?

The nurse who set up my IV today was a cheerful, well-meaning, Chatty Cathy.  It was all I could do to not grin bitterly at her while answering her questions. Yes, I celebrate Christmas, and yes, I'm nearly done with my shopping.  Yes, I work.  

 

I said, "As opposed to all those folks who JUST LOVE IT", when she said that she could tell that I don't like being stuck with needles.  Actually, I don't mind being stuck with needles.  I just have a strong preference that they get it the first time, and not try multiple times, saying, "onetwothree OUCHYOUCHY... almost there... breathe in... almost there... ouchyouchyouchy... okay I'm just going to wiggle it a little itsy bitsy bit!"

 

When I settled in to read, the first article I found was an essay in Newsweek.  This woman -- a young breast cancer "survivor"... wrote about her "Inner Cleavage".  After her breasts was loped off, and her hair fell out, she actually felt more beautiful than ever, on accounta she found her Inner Cleavage. 

 

Now she has fashion-forward breasts (she had the other one re-done with the reconstruction) and her hair is long... and she says she knows that men find her attractive again, but she tries not to put too much emphasis on her external appearance anymore.  All in all, breast cancer has been a real boon for her.

 

Bully for her.

 

After two hours, Nurse NiceyNice came and took out my IV.  "Onetwothree ouchyouchyouch!"

 

She gave me some extra bandaids and sent me on my way with an appointment for next month.

 

I came home and zoned out in front of the TV.  Then I wrote this.  And now I'm going to bed.

 

 

 

 

Can't Slow Down, Can't Let Go, Can't Hold On

Our Christmas tree is very pretty. It's very shiny. It was a big, big, project this weekend.

I have another 2-hour infusion of the bone-strengthening drug tomorrow.

It's hard for me to complain. I'm not in any intense pain. I have aches here and there... nothing too bad. The thing is, though, I'm so tired. It's hard to describe, and it's hard to be happy. I'm so afraid that it's not going to get any better, and then I think... BETTER? Give me a break. You should count your blessings now because it's going to be so much worse.

I want to jump back to some healthier time, but I can't go back and I can't stand still.

I can't believe I'm up this late.

I've been going to bed soooo early. I've been sad in the evenings -- sad and tired, or perhaps sad because I'm tired. I've been in bed by 9:30, and that's been nice. Plenty o' sleep. And Eric makes me hot chocolate whenever I ask. That's nice, too.

Work has been busy -- those five, repetitive meetings... five times guidelines for reimbursement of Medi-cal referrals. That'll make for a long work day.

I still like blogging. I like writing about Eric. I'm not sure if anyone's noticed that.

I had a terrible cold during my first Christmas with Eric. He drove me around Oakland and environs, searching Christmas tree lot after Christmas tree lot, on a dark, cold, damp, night. He'd pull out the trees and spin them around for me. Then we'd take another tour of the lot, and he'd pull out the trees and spin them around again.

I didn't know that I was going to spend the next seventeen years loving him more and more. I didn't know that we'd get married. I didn't forsee any of it -- couldn't have imagined it, really. But I did know that he was good and sweet and kind. I knew that I wanted to know him for a long, long, time.

Sigh.

I'll attend three meetings today -- three exactly identical meetings -- which are the same as the two meetings I attended yesterday.

They're training sessions that I have a small role in. Sure makes for a boring day.

And now it's time to leave for work!

Quick Update

I've just been working and going to bed early -- some nights as early as 9:00 PM. I'm very tired. Tired, tired.

Wanting to enjoy the holiday season but on a serious energy budget.

Christmas, 1970

I was five years old, I had a new bicycle and a bad, unintentionally asymmetrical, haircut. My mother referred to this 'do as "a pixie".

I'm posing on the front lawn of my familial home in Long Beach, CA. I'm carrying the rest of my Christmas presents in a basket I've created by pulling up my shirt. I wanted the picture taken with ALL of the presents. I remember my father laughing as he took this photograph.

I'm so glad I'm not at work.

When someone dies quickly and unexpectedly it's like a giant, horrible, wave that rearranges lives and throws people into convulsions of grief. There are no rituals or niceties, no easing into the idea. There's no chance to say goodbye.

More than one of those waves have washed out my beach, and I know how awful it is.

I don't think it's so awful for the dead person, though. I believe death to be a brick wall and a void. I've cried many tears for people who've died -- cried FOR them, for what they've missed -- but I've never believed that dead people are suffering, or have any consciousness at all. They're just ashes and dust. Grief is a luxury of the living.

When someone is known to be dying (kind of funny, since everyone is known to be dying, but you know what I mean), there's opportunity for folks to say goodbye, if they want to and are able.

But for the person who's dying... boy oh boy to those goodbyes mount up. There's a goodbye in every hello. I say goodbye a hundred times a day. I say goodbye to mornings in bed, and coffee, and Eric reading the newspaper. I say goodbye to the big things and the small things. I say goodbye to reading a good book, and I say goodbye to Christmas, and then in the morning I say goodbye to everything again.

It's not the worst thing I've ever experienced, but it's not going to make the top ten BEST things, either.

I'm 99% sure I'll wake up in the morning and have another cup of coffee. I'm 80% sure I'll see another Christmas next year. Still, here I am, seeing all it, everything, in a new and not-really-appreciated light, and wondering if a tsunami isn't really a blessing, after all.

December!

Somehow, amazingly, it's December.  I don't know how it happened.  Time really does rush by, faster & faster... and I am currently in no position to be flying through my days.

 

I like December, and I like Christmas.  I really do like Christmas.  It's not complex for me. 

 

I have so much work to do.  I'd better get to it.

Good morning!

Eric isn't going to Asilomar for the annual mathematics conference this weekend.
It's the first year in I-don't-know-how-many that he hasn't attended. His stated reason is that he's been away for the last four weekends, and would like to spend a few days at home. I believe that's true. I also think he doesn't want to leave me.

This is the weekend that I typically have an I Gots No Man Party. It's fallen off in recent years, but it used to be a consistent tradition.

Occasionally someone will miscontrue the intent of an I Gots No Man Party. They'll think it's something like, "Hey, I gots no man... WOO HOO! Let's party!" when really it's more like "Oh, no, I gots no man... boo hoo... come to my house so I don't sit around being depressed and eating ritz crackers for dinner."

The recipe for a good I Gots No Man Party can be found below:

Yosemite

Here we are! There were pretty fall leaves on the trees.



The waterfalls and rivers were just barely running.

Home is good.

I really do love my home. I love my home, and I love Oakland. Eric and I often find ourselves acting as Oakland Boosters when we're out in the world. Some folks think that Oakland is still the murder capital of the United States, as is was in the seventies. Some folks think of Oakland as a vast ghetto.

One woman on the cruise, upon hearing that we are from Oakland, said, "This must be so nice for you then, to not be in Oakland."

These sorts of comments make me launch into a brow beating speech -- half pro-Oakland, half anti-whoever made the comment. The first thing I say is that I love Oakland, and that if I had to name one thing I love most, it would be the ethnic and cultural diversity. This skewers them, typically. Because what they really mean is: Oh. You must be surrounded by blacks and mexicans.

Maybe happy people think that there's something wonderful about where they live, and that's why I love Oakland, and dislike Long Beach. Maybe some of the magic comes from the life I've had here, rather than Oakland's intrinsic wonderfulness.

Still, I can't sit and listen to some woman from Utah (for God's sake) diss my hometown.

Off to work now... wish I had another day off!

We're home!

It's been a long day. Vacation was great, and it's also nice to be home.

Thanksgiving

We're in Puerto Vallarta, and I've tapped into some sort of free wireless network. I don't know whose it is, or if they're currently rifling through the contents of my harddrive, looking for sense sea tive information. I'm just so gald to check email!

The cruise is swell. We're winning all of the games and swimming in the ocean. We spent much of the day today hanging out by the UV-protection glassed pool while our cruisemates explored Puerto Vallarta. I'm just sunned-out, I think.

Cruise life continues. Activities and swimming, eating and napping. The show in the big theater last night included a black-light puppet show and Argentinian lasso-ing (or some variation of that). Tonight there's a thankgiving dinner in the main dining room, a comedy duo in the theater, a poolside barbecue at 10:00 and then a late night poolside dance party.

It's a little strange to be away on Thanksgiving, but we're having a nice day.

Monday Morning

It's our first morning of the cruise, although I don't know when I'll be able to post this.

I'm so glad we're here. Eric is at the pool, and I'm resting in the cabin after our ballroom dancing lesson this morning. The class was very fun, and funny -- it's taught by a couple in their seventies, and there was much laughing. Eric didn't step on my feet at all.

We boarded yesterday afternoon, ate lunch, and explored the ship. It's very pretty. The public areas have the ambience of a "nice", marble-y, shiny, hotel. I was surprised and happy to find lots of holiday decorations. There are gorgeous Christmas trees around every corner in the public areas, and each decorated differently. The balconies in the atrium are decorated with garlands and ribbons. It's all pretty and polished.

Our cabin is more than adequate... surprisingly roomy, even if it's decorated in Long Island Art Deco circa 1993.

And then there's the ocean... miles and miles of it, sparkling blue, and last night the moon on the water was haunting and lovely.

I'm just so glad to be here. I'm so glad that we made it, despite all of the obstacles that were thrown in our path.

We ate in the formal dining room last night -- I had an onion tart, Tuscan tomato soup with a drizzle of pesto, and a chicken breast stuffed with prociutto and brie, with a red pepper and fruit relish. Our table is a large, 12-person, rectangular table, which is certainly not our preference, but the folks at our table are all nice enough.

After dinner we went to the show. It was an introductory affair, with a number by the ship's singers and dancers, several songs by the activities co-director (tHe position is held by a couple), and then a set by a comedian of the skinny-twitchy-ski-slope-nosed variety.

THEN we entered our first trivia contest of the cruise, and of course won first prize!

Today I didn't wake up until after 8:00 AM! We ate breakfast at the buffet, and then went off to the ballroom dancing lesson.

When Eric returns from the pool we're heading off to another trivia contest, then I'm going to check out Arts and Crafts.

Today is an at sea day. We won't be getting into Cabo San Lucas until tomorrow morning. Tonight is the captain's reception -- cocktails, hor doeuvres, and dancing -- and then a formal dinner.

I like crusie ships, and I like camping. I like going to Reno, and playing in craps tournaments, and staying up all night playing slots. I like lying on the beach and reading books. I like going for walks in the forest. I like driving across empty, flat, states with big skies and small populations. I like being on vacation, and that's something that Eric taught me how to do.

It always comes back to Eric. Always, always.

First: I'm Fine.

Well... day one of vacation is drawing to an end.  By the time we had driven down to San Pedro -- a stone's throw from Long Beach, which kinda gives me the creeps -- I had developed a VERY tender right hand and arm, with a bright red stripe running along a vein!

 

After speaking with an advice nurse, we were given an appointment at urgent care in beautiful Harbor City, California, where I was diagnosed with phlebitis w/ infection.

 

It appears to be a reaction to the 2 hour infusion I had on Monday.

 

Anyway... it hurts, but I was given an injection of antibiotics, a prescription for oral antibiotics, and I was okayed for the cruise.

 

I will go on this cruise if I have to crawl... and I might have to crawl!

 

Our hotel room is very nice... a luxury suite with one of those lovely, big, deep, bathtubs, and a living room with a comfy couch and chairs.

 

My husband is very nice... a luxury spouse with lots of those lovely, big, deep, hugs.

 

I don't feel hale and hearty.  I feel weak and pathetic, to tell the truth.  But I'm still so happy to be here.  I'm happy to be here and I'm happy to be HERE.

 

Let's hope this is my last trip to a doctor while on vacation. 

 

 

Busybusy

It's Friday, and I've come to understand that I won't be caught up at work before the Thanksgiving break... that I probably won't be caught up until the end of the school year. It seems crazy, I know, but it's true. I've been in denial.

I'm leaving work today for an appointment at 3:00 PM for an injection of a new drug. Hopefully it will have limited side effects -- it should.

Packing tonight and off to San Pedro tomorrow. Driving, if you can imagine!

It gives me fevah.

I didn't feel better "tomorrow", as I hoped in my last entry. Yesterday went by in a fog of fever, hovering around 101. I was headachey and chilled and feeling pretty pathetic. But this morning my temperature is 98.5 and I'm heading into work.

I'm just ridiculously behind at work. It's not that anyone's going to die, or a child's going to miss a meal, if I'm behind at work. But... I like my job, and I like the people I work with, and I feel bad that I'm so far behind.

I hope the fever stays away. A fever or nausea are about the only things that would keep me from leaving for the cruise on Saturday. It's hard to switch my thinking into cruise mode. I need to be concerned with making sure that I have run-free stockings, and a pedicure, and outfits for the formal and semi-formal nights.... but, really, it's hard to focus on those things.

Next weekend, while Eric and I are (hopefully) cruising back from Mexico, my sister-in-law is having a 25th wedding anniversary party/retirement party for her husband. I couldn't go, because I'm too envious. I think the people who know me best know that I'm not a jealous person -- I don't think there's a limited amount of good stuff in the universe, and that if someone else gets an extra portion, then there's less goodness left for ME.

Still, I couldn't go.

Maybe it's a combo pak... wedding anniversary, retirement, and all of the far-flung family with well meaning and awkward comments.

Time to go!

Sigh.

Ick. The drug they gave me yesterday is now kicking my ass -- fever, achiness, chills, general foul humor (maybe that's not the drug) and blechiness.

Hopefully I'll feel better tomorrow.

Three days without internet access.

Better get caught up!

Yosemite was beautiful. The weather was crisp and clear -- bundle up weather, with no rain -- and there were gorgeous fall leaves still on the trees. I've always been there in season, along with all of the other tourists. This time the crowds weren't overwhelming, and it was nice to see the park in a different light.

We went on walks, listened to a lecture on crows and ravens, went on a ranger walk about trees. Then on Sunday we drove home, ran errands and rested, and then went to the city, where we met folks for dinner to celebrate Eric's birthday. Forty-seven years old, and three hundred percent more handsome than the next most handsome man... those are some fine statistics.

I worry that I complain too much in this blog. Complain too much for what, you may ask? Well, that's a good question, and I don't have an answer. I don't know. It's just my sense of things.

It feels ungrateful. If I write about the bad stuff, am I giving all of the good stuff short shrift?

On Saturday night in Yosemite I tripped and fell onto my hands and knees. My advise to you: if you have a broken clavicle, and cancer in your sternum, don't trip and fall onto your hands and knees.

I can't string together the words that will tell this story. It wasn't the worst fall in the world. It wasn't horrible or anything. I was reassuring Eric, whose heart had jumped into his throat, before I even got off the ground. I don't know how to say what I want to say. It's two in the morning, and I'm dying by drips and drabs.

I'll drop it.

I'm leaving work a little after noon today, to go to Kaiser for my 90-minute infusion. I keep forgetting to drink water, so that I have nice veins for the nice nurses in the chemotherapy suite.

I'll drop that.

In five days I'm leaving for Los Angeles and a cruise to Mexico. A lot to do between now and then.

November has been a busy month, and it's getting busier all the time.

Eric was 29 when I met him. (I thought he was kinda old.) He was handsome and tan and carefree. He had the sweetest smile, and he was just so.... bitchin'. He knew things, and he could do things -- he was capable and playful, hooked up, dialed in, and and so cool that he wasn't a bit worried about playing the fool. I'd never met anyone like him, and I haven't since.

On Tuesday I'll have shared 18 birthdays with Eric, who has lost his dark brown tan, and who definitely has cares, and who is more handsome to me than I ever could have imagined then. He's still the bitchingest person I know. Eighteen birthdays is a beggar's ration of birthdays to me now. There could never be enough years to be with Eric. (Sappy, yes... but it's true.)

Fun Stuff

Thank god it's Friday.   It's OUR Friday, at least.   Eric and I have tomorrow off, and we're going to Yosemite for the three day weekend.  I reserved a cabin for this weekend almost a year ago!

 

Here's a link to a live web cam image of half dome: http://yosemite.org/vryos/sentinelcam.htm

 

We won't be doing any mountain climbing or long hikes, but the park is always gorgeous, and we'll go on walks and sit and look and read books and so on.

 

Being with Eric is the best part, as always.

 

What the oncologists suggested.

My oncologist's recommendations were very similar to those of the 2nd opinion oncologist (who I spoke with first). It's a long story, and the details aren't important. In short, I will begin taking a drug called Aredia, starting on Monday. Aredia is a drug that strengthens bones, and makes them less likely to fracture.

It is administered monthly by a 90 minute to two hour infusion. It's generally well tolerated -- that's what the doctors say. I know quite a few women who don't concur, but perhaps they are the exceptions. This is not what folks think of as chemotheraphy. This is a drug to strengthen bones.

In addition, I will be taking a drug called goserelin (zoladex), which is administered via monthly abdominal injection. Goserelin stops the production of leuteinising hormone from the pituitary gland, which leads to a reduction in estrogen levels. Is it starting to read like adults sound on Charlie Brown sound? Wah wah wah WAH wah WAH wah wah.

I wll continue with an aromatase inhibitor, such as the drug I'm already taking, armidex.

So - I'm continuing with hormonal therapy. My doctor cautions that I am unlikely to respond to hormonals. However, it appears that my ovarian function was not adequately suppressed with Lupron (although my oncologist previously told me it WAS... another long story). Better to give hormonal's a fair trial than to rush to chemotherapy.

Hormonal therapy it is ... along with the bone strenthening drug. Most likely side effects of the whole combo-pak: fatigue, headaches, bone pain, nausea, and a partridge in a pear tree.

Again, this treatment is palliative, not curative. It's hard for me to get excited about this. But, anyway, that's what the oncologists suggested.

Twosdays

I'm going to work late today, on accounta I have an appointment with my onc this morning at 9:00 AM. He'll tell me what treatment plan he's dreamed up, and I'll tell him (or he will have already read... perhaps) what my 2nd opinion had to say about treatment.

It's not dreadful, but it's not fun, either.

First, though, we go to vote.

That's all I have to report.

I did better than 96 people.

I am no longer Reno's highest ranking female craps player. I am Reno's third highest ranking female craps player. Still -- the tournament was great fun, and I came in at a respectable 16th place. I was 16th of 112 finalists.

It was nice to see a woman come in 3rd place, although I was scandalized by her lack luster tip to the dealers. I'm always scandalized by the tipping, but particularly in a finals tournament, which is completely comped to the participants. One person won $1,000.00, and didn't tip at all. The 3rd place winner (and this year's highest ranking woman) won $1,250. and gave a $30.00 tip. She didn't even give them the fifty!

I won $100.00 - would have won $200.00 if I'd come in one place higher. But it's not the money I wanted -- I wanted the bragging rights! Reno's third highest ranking female craps player just doesn't have the same ring to it.

But the tournament is over. The fun has stopped. I have a cold. It's ugly. I have a Throat of Fire.

I'm at work. I'm auditing immunizations. I'm tired.

That's all, folks.

Every Player's Paradise

We love the Atlantis Casino and Resort, Every Player's Paradise. I competed in the first round of the finals tournament today. I did okay -- I was second at my table. Overall the scores didn't seem to be very high for round one. Anything can happen in round two, of course. I don't even care about being in the money... I just want to the highest ranking woman, with bragging rights for another year!

Eric and I are both "up" in regular gambling, as well. I haven't done my accounting (a running tally of wins and losses, to the penny) since my last round of play, but I'm approximately $250.00 ahead. Winning money is fun, but even losing is fun at the Atlantis Casino and Resort. My biggest win was a $300.00 slot machine jackpot. I also played a new table game this trip: Let It Ride, a game of chance masquerading as a poker game.

Eric graded papers today and I worked on a mosaic. The Atlantis Casino and Resort really is our home away from home!

They should really put me on the payroll. But I guess it'd just be WORK, then.

Off to go gamble...

Almost Outta Here

I'm sooooo psyched to be going to the Atlantis Casino and Resort, Every Players Paradise,  this weekend.  In fact, I'm leaving work at 1:30 -- which is only forty-five minutes from now.

 

Eric volunteered to make me a dice-topped tiara, as I was the highest ranking woman craps player last year.  He told me it would be tasteful.  I declined the offer.

 

CN has been talking to me non-stop for several hours.  She's talking to me now.  "But he's nice... he's not arrogant... at that shareholder meeting I went to they wanted to give him a ten percent raise...."

 

I have no idea who she's talking about.  That's the level at which I ignore her.

 

"The company never paid a dividend, ever."

 

La la la la la la la... I am completely oblivious.

 

"These are old America products, and old companies.  Omaha, Nebraska is really a different kind of place."

 

What on earth is she talking about?  I haven't a clue.

 

I can't wait to get to the Atlantis!  And first... quality time with Eric in the car!  It hardly gets better than that.

 

 

Beggar Walking

I wish I wish I wish I wish I wish I wish I wish I wish I wish I didn't have cancer. I do. I wish I didn't have cancer.

I felt like a healthy woman when I finished radiation three years and four months ago. I felt pretty good... celebratory, even. I'd recovered from surgery, and I'd been a brave little chemo soldier who rarely complained or missed a day of work. I had a radiation burn, a good half inch of hair, and no evidence of disease in my body.

I knew that even if "cured" wasn't a word that could (or should) be applied to people who'd had breast cancer, that it could still be physical reality. I stood a fair chance of dying of something other than breast cancer, hopefully at an advanced age.

I finished radiation today, but I'm sick and tired and not the slightest bit celebratory. My collar bone hurts, and doesn't seem to be getting better. I still can't raise my arm. The radiation oncologist tells me that there's absolutely no way to assess if the radiation was effective in killing the cancer cells in my clavicle, which has now had its lifetime maximum exposure to radiation.

These weeks of worry feel like months, and there are no scenarios that will allow me to live out a long life with Eric, and grow old with him, and anything short of that sucks.

I guess it's nice to not have to drive to Hayward for the treatments. I guess it's good that it's over. I don't know. It's not like it was before -- nothing is like what it was before.

I wish I wish I wish I wish I wish I didn't have cancer. This wish is worth absolutely nothing. This wish and three dollars will buy you a venti nonfat latte. Wishes aren't horses, and there's no going back, and all I can do is appreciate what I have. I wish I didn't have cancer. I wish I didn't have cancer. I wish.

Wednesday and I'm working. I had fun at my mosaics class last night, but I'm awfully tired today. Two more rads left -- today and tomorrow. Eric and I are leaving work early on Friday for Reno, where I'll be a finalist in a craps tournament.

My skin is starting to blister and my throat is getting sore. Not so bad other than that.

I like to have Eric close to me.

There's no downside to being married to the man who is 300% more handsome than the next most handsome man.

I'd like to keep him in my pocket. (I wish we were home, sleeping, now.)

Think Pink or Pink Stinks?

Some of the women I know who have stage IV breast cancer are very happy that this month is over. They don't turn on their televisions for the entire month of October. They want to go back to watching Survivor. They want to read magazines again.

You may think I'm joking or exaggerating. I'm telling the truth. I picked up a Reader's Digest in the lunch room at work today, and flipped through it.

There was an article on the new cancer cures. The lead paragraph was about a woman with advanced breast cancer who was given 6 months to live. Ten years later she's still alive, due to the miracle drug Herceptin.

Herceptin is a drug that works, for a while, for a subset of women with breast cancer, and it does not cure them. The implication of the article, however, is that the woman has been "cured".

And then a big, glossy, four-page, advertisement for Arimidex. A big, pink, marketing campaign for a drug that I just (presumably) failed.

Whatever. It's over.

I think I understand the importance of fundraising. Also... I don't think it would really behoove the general populous to view breast cancer as an automatic death sentence. I think that would generate a level of fear that would KEEP people from having regular screenings.

Still -- the big pink hope party got very old, very quickly, for me this year.

I'm glad it's over.

What will you do with your extra hour?

It's a nice Sunday morning. Eric is handsome and the coffee is good. I'm piddling around with my various computer projects -- silly webpages and backing up files for a rebuild -- while Eric reads the paper. I'll work on my mosaics project today. I already don't love this project. Seriously... what am I going to do with a turquoise framed mirror? But it's the process, you know. Practice for the Major Project (and peak of the mosaic experience) that I'm planning.

I am intermittedly spacey and tired and pretty okay. I'm hoping that this is the butt-end of the decadron pummeling me, and that shortly (within a day or two?) I will feel better.

Even in my crankiness, I crack myself up. That line about the powder puff santeen yesterday. It's so bitter, and so funny to me. I made myself laugh outloud when I read it this morning.

I will spend my bonus hour today resting quietly, thank you.

Cancer is boring.

I'm tired of talking about cancer. I guess I'm more tired of actually having it than talking about it, but the general aura surrounding all of this? Tired.

I'm glad I went for a second opinion yesterday. There were no surprises. There were no specific recommendations for a protocol. Folks want information about my disease. I give the information I have. There are no answers in regard to life expectancy.

I'll be continuing with radiation therapy next week. I've completed six of ten treatments. I'll meet with my oncologist approximately one week after completion of my radiation treatments. Here's what's on the table for discussion:

1. Can I be said to have failed hormonal therapy? There are indications that hormonal therapy has not been given an adequate trial. If I cannot be said to have failed hormonal therapy, what steps need to be taken to insure an adequate trial of hormonal therapy?

2. If I have failed hormonal therapy, what is the recommended chemotherapy protocol? What are the expected side effects? What are the risks in postponing chemotherapy?

3. What drugs should I take to strengthen my bones? My onocologist had not recommended the bone-strengthening class of drugs, as my metastasis was not to a weight-bearing area. Now it is clearly indicated. Ultimately, with bone mets progression, I will have more fractures, regardless of treatment.

That's it. I'm tired. I could have the best oncologist on the eastern seaboard, and this disease would kill me. I'm not excited by chemotherapy protocols. All of it's based on statistics, and if you want to hang your hopes on statistics, please remember that all chemotherapies given to all breast cancer groups yield a difference in life expectancy of months.

My cancer treatment is palliative in nature. That's a word that has been humming through my brain for the last five months, and I think it's an important word for people to know. Palliative means that it's a treatment given to relieve the symptoms and reduce the suffering caused by cancer. It is not curative, and does not have significant effect on life expectancy.

I am not interested in Cousin Alicia, who was told that she had six months to live EIGHTEEN YEARS AGO. I don't care that a 70 year old woman has been plugging away for six years with mets to her lungs. Yes, I know -- you could get hit by a truck tomorrow.

I've been hit by a truck. We can stop talking about it now.

There are NOT curative treatments around the corner. There's nothing coming down the pipeline to save me. My advice to 3-day WalkForACure types: If you laid all of the pink ribbons in a line, end to end, they would circle the globe twenty times AND you'd have enough powder puff sateen to hang yourselves.

Really. Cancer is boring.

What I want -- and the only goal of treatment -- is to feel good. When I feel good, my life is good, and Eric and I have a very nice time walking through our days together. I'm so happy to have nice folks to walk with us. I know I sound cranky. I don't want to be cranky. I'm just tired.

Off We Go

Eric danced and danced last night. He ran into a friend of 24 years, and spent the night dancing and talking and having a good time -- front left (as always) and sitting on the stage between sets. Yay!

I spent the evening with Janis -- eating taqueria food and also have a good time.

We slept until a quarter to 9:00. Unheard of in this household. Now we're getting ready to go to Mama's to break the fast, although we considered La Note, as well.

Then we're off to Kaiser. I need to pick up some papers. Eric needs to have blood drawn. Then we're going to make copies, and head off to Sacramento.

It's all a mix of the normal and the absolutely freaky. I guess there's just life with Eric, and what that life winds through.

There are people in the world who could not, everever, dance and dance and sit on the edge of the stage. And there are people in the world who could not, everever, laugh at a taqueria as I did last night. It's not their circumstances. Or, if it's their circumstances, it's a circumstance so deeply rooted in their personality that it should likely be considered biology.

I wouldn't trade with them, even now.

Tired Ouchy Stiff Blech

Not long ago, Eric and I managed to magically score tickets to a concert that was virtually impossible to get into -- Phil & Friends at Bimbo's. It's unheard of. A 600 person theater. Three hundred pairs. Amazing.

The concert is tonight. I will not be attending. Eric must go... he has to go for both of us. I just can't believe that I won't be there (although I absolutely must have Eric there).

It's a rare circumstance that can keep me away. I will be home tonight. I believe Janis is coming over, which is a pleasure in itself... and Eric will feel better knowing that she's here.

Tomorrow Eric and I will be making our way to Sacramento, to seek a second opinion at UC Davis. I believe their opinion will be that I have stage IV breast cancer, and that it's gonna kill me. BUT... they'll recommend a chemo protocol or whatever. It's a good thing to do. The second opinon will be arriving before the first in this case, as my oncologist has yet to make his recommendations.

After this weekend we have our November Weekend Madness Celebration. We'll be away from home for four weekends in a row.

Weekend 1: I'm a finalist in the Craps Tournament again. Remember, I was 2004's highest ranking female craps player. I now have my chance to defend that title for 2005. Frankly, I didn't think I'd make the cut, as I didn't do strikingly well in the feeder tourney. In any case, it's 100% comped, and even as slow moving as I am, I can't wait to go play.

Weekend 2: Eric and I are staying at a cabin in Yosemite over this three day weekend.

Weekends 3 and 4: Cruise to Mexico.

And then there's December.

Off to work now.

Rain. Feh.

Oh, you know... just kvetching. My radiation was cancelled two days in a row this week -- a malfunctioning machine, and I suppose that's a good reason to cancel. This means that my treatment is further delayed. This should be my last week. As it stands now, if all goes smoothly going forward, I won't be done with rads until the end of NEXT week.

When they set up your schedule it's impressed upon you how it's all a very scientific protocol -- how you must not miss a session. It's all perfectly orchestrated to kick cancer's ass. But in reality, when the machine's down, or there's a three-day weekend, cancer can wait.

In the interim I feel as though I am without treatment. Well -- I am without effective treatment. So cancer rages and roars in my blood and bones and lymphs and lungs. Cancer's doing a systemic limbo dance, and security's walked away from the entrances... and Sean and I aren't even going to show up with fake badges to pretend like we're in charge.

And so today, booked for an alternative machine, I need to show up early (middle of my work day), and wait while aaaaaalll those sick people in front of my have their turn. And then I have to go back to work. And then I'm staying late for a union meeting. And then I'll come home.

I guess it doesn't sound so bad. Just tired. Not loving the rain. Not loving this experience. Not feeling those women who say that cancer is the best thing that ever happened to them. Still loving Eric. Still glad the pain is much, much, more manageable. Still glad for the distraction of a (relatively) easy job (for now... things are backing up).

I told one of my co-workers -- a nurse with whom I have limited work contact, although she'd like to dominate my time -- that I have cancer yesterday. Without skipping a beat she let me know that they had already had several secretaries die from cancer there, and they were very good about it.

Good morning, America!

When progression is not progress.

I spoke with my oncologist regarding my most recent ct scans. There's progression -- more cancer in my sternum, more cancer in my axillary lymph nodes, new and major progression in my clavicle, which caused the bone to fracture.

My oncologist says that the problem is the pain. If it weren't for the pain, he says it's "not terrible".

Except that now he believes it's time to talk about chemotherapy. The problem with chemotherapy in this context, is that once you start it, you essentially stay on it until you're too sick to function, or it stops working. And when it stops working, you try another one. And when you run out of other ones, you die. And the truth is that in the end, chemotherapy extends peoples lives by months.

I wanted to be one of the "lucky" women, who has many years of good QOL (quality of life) with hormonal treatments. That's not the truth, though. It's just... not.

I eat arroz con pollo with Eric. I make plans for Camp Martha... think about mosaics tomorrow... check my auctions on Ebay. I wonder how many tickets to order for Carbaret.

I think about how, at twenty-three, I could not have imagined how rich my life would be. I think about how Eric made it so. I miss my life, already, and it hardly seems right. But it's just a moment, and I know that in the end that Eric and I will both bear a little more than we think we can bear.

Foggy

Having a slow, tired, foggy, weekend. I've put together some pictures of my mosaics. The don't warrant a web page, of course -- just needed an easy project to keep me directed today.

Remember, I'm a novice!

http://www.ohmartha.com/mosaics

Back to work tomorrow.

Today is better than a week ago today.

The changes that occur from week to week are an amazement to me.

One week ago I was in so much pain! I was very uncomfortable... sleepless and paranoid from narcotics... emotionally spent. A week ago today, Janis came for a brief visit, and I couldn't really speak with her, and then Jane came in the afternoon (with her striking ability to flow and be present in the midst of turmoil) and she could probably tell you what a mess I was.

And last night? A lovely dinner at Luana & Yoko's w/ Eric and Tom. It was so nice and normal and yummy. Luana made beef stew, and it was just the perfect dish. Beautiful, tasty, appetizers that I will be serving myself soon, and a fruity fresh cocktail.... long simmered beef stew over rice, with corn pudding casserole (by complete coincidence, the very recipe that Eric uses, which he got from his mother)! And cheesecake with maserated fruit for dessert.

And I was able to enjoy all of it.

The wheel of fortune turns.

I think it's all such a testament to the resiliance of human beings. One minute you're howling at the moon in pain, and devastated that you're dying -- the next you're laughing with friends and eating ecstaticallly -- and both experiences are authentic.

Today I'm tired. The cost of doing fun business last night is that today it's all over early.

I have no idea what's waiting around the corner of the next fifteen minute period. Let's hope there are no spontaneously breaking bones.

TGIF

I'm tired this morning. Need to keep reminding myself that, yes, radiation does cause fatigue. I noticed today for the first time that the area of radiation (rather larger than one would expect) is starting to turn pink. I apply pure aloe vera gel three times a day and hope for the best.

My chest is a constellation of blue tattoed dots from old radiation and new radiation, and a criss cross of thick blue ink lines. I'm not supposed to wash them away, but they smear and streak. So there's a general blue cast, and smudging and general messiness... and dots. And pink. And ink on the inside of my clothing.

We're going to a dinner party tonight at Luana & Yoko's! This makes me happy. Such good company, and the food will be yummy, and it's so nice to be invited!

Beyond that... lying low this weekend. Put the cabosh on our fun plans: we have completely kick ass seats to a MOE/Governtment Mule concert at the Warfield for Saturday. I think they might be lower loge? If not... close. It's going to be a great show, but we won't be there.

I am not one iota closer to having any information about my continuing cancer treatment. I do not know what it means for me to have failed hormonals. Communication with my oncologist remains poor. He has made some small effort. He has not made enough.

If it were the beginning of Breast Cancer Awareness Month rather than the end, I would garner my waning energies to produce a new logo for the cause. I can see it in my mind. No one must steal my idea, as I will render it when I can: a pastel pink skull and crossbones, with a pink a ribbon on it's head. Will Melissa wear it? It has a rock and roll spirit, I think.

Thursday Night

Today was an okay day. NM is out of the office now until Thursday of next week at the earliest. She's been quite helpful to me... very supportive and funny and checks in with me often ... so I'm sorry that she'll be gone.

There are odd manueverings at work -- a world of political stuff and whatnot that I have zero interest in under the best of circumstances. These circumstances being far from 'best', it's nice to have someone to run interferance if need be. But... I'm sure it will be fine. I'm out of it largely, anyway. Getting better and better at that over time.

Eric is handsome and I am sleepy and ouchy.

Is this Wednesday?

I am more tired this morning than yesterday morning. But -- still glad to be going to work. I'm going to take it very slow and easy.

Going to mosaics class last night was good, good. It's such an engaging activity for me. The 2.5 hour class goes by in a heartbeat. However, it was physically taxing on my collarbone than I had anticipated... just the handling of materials, even holding light pieces was difficult over time.

I'm glad I went, but I'm also glad that I have nothing on my schedule for the evenings for a few days.

Post Work Yak

I went to work today -- worked six hours and left at 2:00 PM for my 2:30 radiation appointment. That falls short of my 7.5 hour work day, but that's okay. I have sick time and comp time... and when I'm out of sick time and comp time, it will still be okay.

I was tired at work and experienced some discomfort, but it was still a good choice for me to be there. Better to be productive and ouchy than home and dwelling on possibilities and impossibilites.

Still no word from oncologist or caseworker. There have been small difficulties in communication in the past. I'll admit to having been impatient (although, understandably so, I believe). This time, however, I feel that the communication has been poor. And yet -- in some ways I'm ready to let it go for the day. It some ways it seems like: enough already... enough.

I very much want to attend my mosaics class tonight. I want to grout my latest project. I will plan on attending. Eric can come pick me up before the class is over if I find it too taxing.

Here's the odd limbo -- knowing some bad stuff, not knowing all the bad stuff... trying to do what I can that is "normal", not knowing how all of that will need to be rearranged. Radiation this week. Work this week. Doctor's appointments unknown. Eric's cardiology stuff on Thursday. Mosaics class. Dinner party on Friday. Concert tickets on Saturday. Cancer, cancer, cancer... bone fractured, dilaudid consumed...

Coffee and kisses with Eric in the mornings. Narcotic sleep at night.

The pain is not a mystery anymore.

I do not always understand what information people want me to give them about my disease. I understand that there are questions. I also have questions. I tell people what I know, and I post most of the information that I have here.

I am not upset at anyone. I UNDERSTAND wanting to know what's going on. But... will I find out that I'm all better? No. Will I find out how long I will live? No. It's all just a matter of tilting a tiny bit of information against a massive sucking unknown vacuum of fucked up possibilities and unknowns.

I have not yet talked to my oncologist about my ct scan results. He will either give me a little bit of bad news or he will give me a lot of bad news. There will be no good news, as I have cancer and it is progressing.

Here's what I do know, from a brief, hallway, conversation I had with the radiology oncologist today. I am not in pain because of a cancerous lymph node at my clavicle. I am in pain because my clavicle itself spontaneously broke because it is riddled with cancer. It was weakened with cancer, and it broke.

It hurt, as a broken bone would hurt -- it just... broke.

No wonder I was in agony for days.

They will radiate my clavicle in the hopes of killing the cancer cells there. As long as there are cancer cells there, my bone will not heal. If they can get rid of the cancer cells there, the bone will slowly heal. I may or may not have complete healing, and I may or may not remain in enough pain to require some form of pain medication because of my broken clavicle.

I don't know what other bones the cancer may be in, or where else I may be at risk for fracture, and I don't know when or if we are going to look.

I don't know what my ct scan has shown in terms of soft tissue issues -- I don't know if it's in my liver or my pancreas or my brain or anywhere else. I don't know what the scan has shown, and I don't when I will know.

All I know is that I have nine more radiation treatments, at 2:30 PM, weekdays. And the pain "should" slowly subside. And that's it.

I am in a bit of a foul mood regarding all of this. I am frankly horrified that an area of my body which had no known disease would so quickly become dreadfully diseased. It scares me.

I believe that in the future I will feel better than I feel now. I believe I will happier days. Thing's will settle down -- I'll wrap my mind around my newest reality and find a way to make it work, just as I found a way to be happy with my original diagnosis, and just as I found a way to be happy after my recurrence just six months ago. Just six months ago I was given a death sentence (really... we can quibble but that's essentially what it is), and in that time -- Eric with me -- I've found a way to be happy.

I'll do it again. But tonight I think it's just awful. I think it's just awful, and even if I had more information than that to share -- I think that's a fair enough of summation of an ugly topic.

Wow. A week.

I can't believe a week has past. A week has past in a fog of pain and narcotics -- no getting it back, and not much there I'd care to relive.

Jane is here with me today. She'll be taking me to my first radiation appointment at 2:00 PM. I don't know what my radiation schedule will be on subsequent days, or for how many days I'll be attending. I am anxious to return to work, but don't want to return until I have more mobility in my arm and am also a bit more on top of my feelings.

The weekend was stressful. My perceptions of things were off ... muddled by the Decadron and Dilaudid. I couldn't feel the warmth of peoples' love, even Eric's love. That's like being chilly in the rays of a blazing, equatorial, sun. That's no way to live.

Melissa Etheridge dances on the cover of my newpaper's tv guide this week -- with her short & sassy haircut and guitar in hand. The caption reads: She's got the cure

I wonder what it's like for women who remain cancer-free when they are 10 years, 20 years, 30 years out from their original diagnosis. They are the minority. I wanted to be among them.

I wonder if 20 years later, they begin to feel that somehow they did something to deserve to live? Not that they would think that anyone else deserved to die... but that somehow, they had a positive outlook or way of living, or made some choices that led them "beat the odds?"

I want them to just feel grateful.

There's nothing fundamentally wrong with a message of hope. Living with hope and light is just plain easier. It would be nice, though, if someone would stand up and say that early prevention is not a cure. That there is no cure.

If -- IF -- I'm alive a year and a half from now, I will be added to the five year survival statistic. The bc celebrity du jour will point at that statistic and do a little Think Pink dance and talk about Racing for a Cure and Strides against Cancer. More women will don thier pink socks and beribboned hats, and their denial... and I will be one more woman dying from a disease that, apparently, Mellissa Etheridge has already cured...

Blech.

I was awake from around 1:30 this morning until around 7:30. I had just taken dialudid, and my sleep was full of narcotic dreams. Not nightmares... just weird images. My eyelids were made of clay, and it was if someone had gone through and pinched little mean-faced men into the clay with thumb and forefinger. When I closed my eyes, all I could see was row after row of mean clay faces.

So, it was a good night for sitting up. I haven't taken any drugs since, except the anti-inflammatory. I don't mind the pain as much as I mind the fogginess. A good sign, I think. We'll see how long it lasts.

Yesterday I had my "dry run" radiotheraphy, and recieved my three new blue-dot tattooes. I also had a full body ct scan, with a lovely banana-barium shake beforehand.

The onset of this pain was so sudden. I was minding my own business one moment -- thinking of how to juggle out of town trips and concerts and whatnot. I now I've been (essentially) on my back for a week.

This is not what I had in mind when I said that October would be a No Fun Month. I just wanted to rest up for all the fun in November.

So much for that plan!

Blah.

I'm feeling pretty sorry for myself tonight. Poor, poor, me. But really... poor, poor, me. Maybe I'll feel differently tomorrow.

Eric just made me a cup of hot chocolate, and that helped. It's amazing what a good mug of hot chocolate can do (especially when served to you by Eric).

I'm calling it a night...

Fresh Update, Hot Off The Grill!

I am heavily under the influence of narcotics -- currently taking betwixt 2 & 3 times the original dosage of dilaudid prescribed for me -- but it's made the pain manageable. I'm wincing, not hollering, and that's a big, big, improvement.

Here's what's going on...

There is a lymph node at my clavicle that is presumed to be cancerous -- it's big and swollen and it's presumed to be pressing on a nerve, thus the bigbig pain.

I will be receiving a course of radiation treatments to that area, to reduce the size of the lymph node and therefore decrease the pain.

I went to meet with the radiation oncologist today. He looks a bit like Peter Fonda. He said that my treatment will probably be between 10 and 30 consecutive weekdays. He will have more information about that after seeing CT Scan results. I will be having the ct scan done on Friday (tomorrow).

The radiation will be given to the area of my clavicle and neck. The idea is to give the area a "full dose" of radiation -- the maximum amount of radiation the area can receive. Anticipated side effects are fatigue and local skin irritation, similar to a sunburn. That's what I experienced three years ago when I received radiation therapy.

The radiation will not impact my heart, but will most likely catch part of my lung. It will be an area of my lung that is small enough that it will not have a clinical effect. It will also likely impact my throat. He said I could anticipate a sore throat, but that the soreness should be slight.

Next steps for me will most likely include chemotherapy, but I am engaging in a first-things-first philosophy. I don't need to complete my radiation therapy before having the "chemo chat" with my oncologist, but I do need to be more settled in... and feeling less groggy would be good, as well.

The plan is:

Continue with dilaudid for pain.

Tomorrow (Friday): "Dry run" radiation (for set up purposes... like a rehearsal) and tattooing (outlining the area to be radiated -- you may have noticed the little blue dots on my chest from my earlier radiation treatment). This all happens at the East Bay Cancer Center in Hayward.

Full Body CT Scan at Kaiser Oakland.

Weekend: Whole heap o' nothing, thank you very much.

Monday: First radiation treatment ... time as yet undetermined. I would also like to return to work, even if it's just for a few hours.

Every day after Monday: Who knows???

I am pretty drugged up, and so communication is difficult. I've been terribly itchy lately, and I've lost my little wooden back scratcher. Bad timing, because I have limited mobility, and really it's the perfect tool for the job.

Last night, I started using a pen to scratch my back, with satisfactory results. Unfortunately, I was so wacky that I didn't realize that there was no CAP on the pen, and that I was actually drawing all over my back.

It really is about having the right tool for the job, isn't it?

Thanks for all of your nice emails -- Eric and I 'preciate all of your kind words and offers of help.

Ouch to the umpteenth power.

I have experienced a sudden increase in pain -- boy oh boy have I experienced a sudden increase in pain. The last 24 hours have been an incredible, hazy, howling, adventure in pain.

I've been to the doctor. He's given me dilaudid, and even that hasn't made me comfortable. Foggy, yes... comfy, no.

I will begin radiation therapy to shrink the turmor (that seems to be pushing on a nerve) and control the pain. I have my radiotherapy consultation on Thursday, dry run on Friday, and no radiation until Monday. I don't know how many sessions I'll have or what the side effects will be.

Also, in the next few days, I'll be having ct scans.

It seems that I have failed hormonal therapy.

How far has my cancer progressed? When will the pain stop? When can I work? What will chemotherapy be like, now that chemotherapy is a more immediate option?

I have questions but no answers.

MMMmmmMMMmmm

For dinner tonight Eric made french onion soup (freedom onion soup?) -- ten onions, carmelized to sweet brown goo, with homemade chicken stock and beef stock, and wine, and apple cider, and other goodness... AND...

Grilled, pressed, sandwiches made from fresh mozarella and roasted red peppers.

If I hadn't already married him, I'd marry him.

It's not that it'll pass... it's that anyone would even suggest it.

Assisted-reproduction bill would bar singles, gays

Associated Press

 

An interim legislative committee is considering a bill that would prohibit gays, lesbians and single people in Indiana from using medical science to assist them in having a child.

 

Sen. Patricia Miller, R-Indianapolis, said the state does not regulate assisted reproduction but should have requirements similar to its adoption requirements.

 

Miller is chairwoman of the Health Finance Commission, a panel of lawmakers that will vote Oct. 20 on whether to recommend the legislation to the full General Assembly.

 

The bill defines assisted reproduction as causing pregnancy by means other than sexual intercourse, including intrauterine insemination, donation of an egg, donation of an embryo, in vitro fertilization and transfer of an embryo, and sperm injection.

 

It would require "intended parents" to be married to each other and says a single person may not be an intended parent.

 

"If we're going to try to put Indiana on the map, I wouldn't go this route," said Betty Cockrum, president and chief executive officer of Planned Parenthood of Indiana. "It feels pretty chilling. It is governmental intrusion into a very private part of our lives."

 

Miller acknowledged that the legislation would be "enormously controversial."

 

Under the proposal, a doctor could not begin an assisted reproduction technology procedure that might result in a child being born until the intended parents had received a satisfactory assessment. The assessment is similar to what is required for infant adoption and would be conducted by a licensed child-placing agency in Indiana.

 

The required information includes the fertility history of the parents, education and employment information, personality descriptions, verification of marital status, child-care plans and criminal history checks. A description of the family lifestyle of the intended parents also would be required, including participation in faith-based or church activities.

 

The bill does not apply to assisted-reproduction cases in which the child is the genetic child of both of the intended parents: for example, if the sperm is from the father and the egg is from the mother. But married couples who need donor sperm or eggs would have to go through an assessment process and establish parentage in a court.

 

Ken Falk, legal director for the Indiana Civil Liberties Union, said the bill sets up clear discrimination that would be difficult to uphold in court.

 

"My question is: 'What is the danger that we are legislating against?' Are we saying that only married persons should be able to be parents, which is certainly a slap in the face to many same-sex couples but also to many who do not have a partner but have undertaken being a parent."

Night

Eric was light today. He was just happy -- light hearted and happy, like the old days. Not every old day, but many of them, used to be light.

Did we cherish them, when we had them in abundance? I think so. I hope so.

Brrrrrrr.

It's hard to get up in the morning when the house is cold and the bed is warm.  I don't like getting up in the cold and dark.

 

One of the things I love about Eric (among the many things that I love about Eric) is that Eric says "burrrrrrrrrrrrr" when he's cold, just like you'd read it in a book.

 

I checked in to see who's been looking at my blog lately.  Not to worry -  I don't get a list of your names and addresses, but rather your IP addresses and the webpage that linked you to me (if one exists).  

 

Somebody found me recently by doing a search for "endtimers", and that makes me laugh.  They searched for "endtimers" and found this:

 

Friday Morning

12 Aug 2005 by Martha   They believe it even more strongly than endtimers think the rapture'll be in their lifetime. Anyway... whatever you call it... Darlene Weaver died yesterday. Her sister says her passing was peaceful and in the arms of her loving ... Oh, Martha! - http://ohmarthaagain.blogspot.com

 

Things are still busy at work.  I'm still enjoying my mosaics class and reading The Chronicles of Narnia.  Eric is still 300% more handsome than the next most handsome man.  Our camping trip w/ Eric's co-workers has been cancelled for this weekend, so maybe we'll have a quiet, matineed, dinner-at-home, kinda weekend.  That would be nice.

 

That's all I have to report!

 

 

Blogger is blocked at work...

So I'm attempting to post this "remotely" via secret e-mail access. We'll see how it goes!

October is Breast Cancer Awareness month, and the women I know with breast cancer are certainly aware of it. As one woman with metastatic disease wrote:

Oh, it must be October again, because they're trotting out the celebrities who have bright futures. What about the over 40,000 who die each year?

Or, as another woman put it:

There are more than 250,000 women in the United States age 40 and under currently living with breast cancer... And what about the women who develop metastatic disease? Where are our stories? We retire on medical disability from careers that we love. We struggle to live long enough to raise our children. We are always on some form of treatment, staying on chemo not for a few months, but until we're in the grave.

Another woman writes:

I don't want pink ribbons on my socks. I want a cure!

Women with breast cancer survive loudly, and die quietly. The news is full of stories of increased survival rates, but those numbers are largerly a function of early detection, not curative treatments. Women are dying, dying... some faster, some more slowy.

The only real success when it comes to metastatic disease is in our heads (perhaps our hearts), not our bodies. As one woman -- 28 years old with two children, ages 3 & 5 -- puts it:

At first, my hope was that we would shrink the tumors and that I could go NED [no evidence of disease], then as time went on and it wasn't happening, I decided I'd be happy with "stability", and now that they are growing, I'm trying to get my brain around being ok with it growing slowly, just not rapidly. Of course, I still have hope that we will find something that will shrink them altogether, and I'm still struggling with balancing realism with optimism. I don't know if I'll ever strike the balance, but I don't know that I'll ever stop trying either, so that's something, right?

Yeah, that's something. Anyway, it'll have to do.

Sometimes I've thought that the symbol for breast cancer should be changed from a pink ribbon to a skull and crossbones. How about wearing that on your hat?

I hate breast cancer, absolutely. I hate it, and I hate having it. I'll do what I have to do, and I'll practice active gratitude, and I'll count my blessings 1-2-3, but in the end it's all an exercise in making do.

My sister Jane sent me this poem, which I think sums it all up very nicely.

Kay Ryan

The Best of It

However carved up
or pared down we get,
we keep on making
the best of it as though
it doesn't matter that
our acre's down to
a square foot. As
though our garden
could be one bean
and we'd rejoice if
it flourishes, as
though one bean
could nourish us.

I love Saturday.

We slept in until 7:30 today! I can't believe that sleeping until 7:30 is "sleeping in" for me, but it sure is.

This morning I was remembering how I used to work six days a week. Eric had forgotten, but I will never forget. I worked six days a week for several years, starting at 6:00 AM. Monday through Saturday. I was a salaried employee with two weeks of vacation of year. What a sucky situation.

I remember that one year I went in on Christmas morning, just to check on something.

I don't think I'm that dedicated an employee anymore. Now I work 190 days a year, 7.5 hours a day, and I have a calendar on my desk with a countdown 'til summer: 164 workdays, 163 workdays, 162 workdays...

Conversely, I think I'm probably a better employee now. I'm more organized, and I procrastinate less. I'm less interested in or involved with gossip, politics, et cetera. I just want to get it done, and go home.

At that other job, though... I made some of the best friends of my life. So no regrets there, either.

Today is Saturday and I loooooove Saturday. I'm going to read The Magician's Nephew (from C.S. Lewis' Narnia series -- I'm re-reading these childhood favorites with Tom), and do laundry, and drink coffee, and perhaps do a little mosaic-making-related-shopping. This evening we're going to Corinne's for dinner with Tom, and then off to see the Shotgun Player's latest production.

That's a nice day, and I 'preciate it.

Ho hum (yum)

I've just been working this week. Kind of a busy work week for me, but that's okay. Things'll calm down soon enough, and I'll be bored & making up things to do.

I went to my mosaics class with Corinne on Tuesday. Always a pleasure to see Corinne!

I met Tom tonight for a fabulous sidecar (or two) at Acote, along with a bacon, apple, and fontina flatbread that almost brought a tear to my eye.

I'm off to bed soon... and I'm tgif-ing early.

Twosdays.

Busy, busy at work these days -- which is actually my preferance. The workflow 'round here waxes and wanes.

I haven't much to report. No Fun Month (October) is filling up as fast as any other month, despite my intentions. Tonight is Mosaics with Corinne! (tm) night.

I'm past due for a big-ass latte.

That's all, folks!

Concert Chat

The Tribute to Jerry Garcia ( a benefit for the Rex Foundation) was swell. It was a beautiful, sunny, day that turned into a crisp night, with six hours of rotating bands and artists performing Jerry songs.

It was cool to see the people who made it, like Donna Jean, the Jerryettes, Merle Saunders (barely able to walk), blue grass folks who sounded good but I don't know there names (Eric knew their names... they played with Jerry in pre-Dead days, and were in New Riders of the Purple Sage).

String Cheese Incident were faithful to several Jerry songs. Trey Antipastio was there, noodling and whatnot. Warren Haynes was the best singer... Jimmy Herring was the best guitarist. Bruce Hornsby didn't bug as much as usual.

It's always nice to see Bill and Mickey. Then there was Ratdog. The only person I ever think shouldn't be singing a Jerry song is Bob. Bob just shouldn't be singing Brokedown Palace. That's all I have to say on the subject.

I would have liked to have seen Phil there, and I thought it odd that Robert Hunter didn't pop up somewhere... but it was still good fun.

I've had some mixed feelings about the Rex Foundation ever since I met a young woman -- a child of a member of the extended Dead familiy -- whose tuition to college was being paid by the Rex Foundation. I didn't seem like a good use of my charity dollars, especially since she seemed rather dumb.

But that was a long, long, time ago.

Between last weekend (Earthdance) and this weekend, I have no idea how many hours of live music we've seen. Bunches, anyway, and that's a good good thing.

No Worries

The title of the previous post is "Creation Myths", and that's what it's about. It's about the stories we're told of our creation. There's a striking difference between the stories Eric and I were told about our mothers' pregnancies.

I don't believe that Eric's mother was blissful and happy for every moment she carried Eric, but that's the story she tells. I don't believe that my mother was on the brink of death every moment she carried me, but that's the story she told.

Them's the facts. I'm just reporting. The story is the story.

As for the rhetorical question -- is it wrong of me to think that my mother might be pleased that I'm dying -- I was just living up to the high standard that was set for me as Unsweet Martha. I don't think she'd be pleased... although I don't think she'd have any idea what to say to me, either.

That is exactly what makes the Second Act so astounding.

I get to live a life that I love with a husband I adore, and it's hard to beat that. The rest of it is pretty far away... not anything I'd typically talk about... and no reason for any faithful blog readers to be alarmed.

It's Thursday evening. Tomorrow is date night, and Saturday is a day-long tribute to Jerry Garcia at the Greek Theater. And Sunday? Sunday is for sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

Creation Myths

My brother Mark and I were the youngest of six children -- Mark was fifth and I was sixth. From an early age we both knew that (unlike the four children who preceded us) we were accidents. We knew this because we were told we were accidents, in those words, on numerous occasions. We weren't planned children. We weren't surprise children. We weren't even happy accidents. We were just plain accidents, like stubbed toes or fender benders.

I don't know what stories Mark was told about his days as an accidental fetus. I was told that my mother suffered greatly during her preganancy with me. My mother told me how she suffered. Her doctor told her that she "couldn't" have me -- that she would die if she had me. He offered her an unnamed "out" and she didn't take it, although she never told me why she didn't take it.

Certainly there were many times in my childhood when I wished she had taken it.

She told me that in her previous pregancies she had been busy and energetic and hadn't wanted any help. While she was pregnant with me, however, she was tired and uncomfortable.

Her mother had come to stay with her after the births of her other children, and she'd always been anxious for her mother to leave. But after I was born, she never wanted her mother to leave, because she was so tired and she needed the help.

I was an unpleasant baby. My mother told me so. I cried, and I cried. My parents had never had a child who cried so much. In fact, I was such a bothersome baby that my father nicknamed me "Sweet Martha", which was a joke, because I was sooooo not sweet.

A relative came for a visit while I was an infant. I cried and cried, per usual. My father was walking the floor with me, and called me Sweet Martha, and the relative said, "Sweet Martha my ass!"

Funny, right?

Mark so resented my presence that at the tender age of three he turned off the hot water heater just so my mother couldn't heat my bottle. What a clever little accident he was!

Those are all the stories I have of my infancy. I have those stories, and two photographs -- a pink ribbon in my barely-hair, which my mother told me she put on me simply because my hair was so thin and inconsequential.

The next photograph of me is my Kindergarten picture. My mother complained that I had smiled incorrectly and let the strap of my jumper sag. No other pictures until my sisters' graduation from highschool... a picture of me on the kitchen floor with the dog. I remember my mother yelling at my brother right after he took that picture. He was wasting the film.

Eric's mother has a story to tell, as well. She tells a similar story about each of her three children -- except that with each child, the story gets a little bit better.

Eric's mother didn't believe that she could ever be so lucky as to have a child. She had no reason to believe she couldn't physically have a baby -- she just couldn't imagine that she could be so blessed.

She was overjoyed when she discovered she was pregnant with Eric. She loved being pregnant, loved everything about it, and remembers her pregancies as particularly happy times in her life.

When Eric was born she would hold him and look at him and marvel that she had been so lucky. She says that she could have held any one of her babies forever. She says that sitting with one of her babies in her lap was the best thing in the world.

She couldn't imagine that she could get so lucky again. How could one woman have so much happiness -- to have Eric, and then to have another child? It didn't seem possible. When her second child was born, Eric's mother was again overjoyed. She would look at her, and hold her, and couldn't believe that her life could be so perfect.

Repeat the above with her third child, only multiply her wonder at her own good fortune.

I have wondered many times over the years why my mother didn't accept the abortion that her doctor serepticiously offered her. She wasn't a religious or even a spiritual woman. As far as I can remember, she wasn't even sentimental. But she certainly wanted me to know that she'd decided to have me, and at no small risk to her personal health and well being. Maybe she thought that if I knew about that decision, I would know that ultimately I was wanted, despite what a pain in the ass I was.

Barring an untimely mac truck, it seems likely that the accidental children -- children numbers five and six -- will be first and second to die. It's probably just the universe righting itself. Dams can be repaired, stubbed toes heal, insurance companies pay for fenders to be straightened, and accidental children go away. Is it wrong of me to think that my mother might be pleased? (Sweet Martha, my ass.)

Home Again

Earthdance was very good. I was able to spend time with my adorable husband (Eric) and good friends (Lisa and Leah), and listen to good music (Zap Mama was my favorite) and even dance, which I didn't think I'd be able to do.

It was a great scene for silliness & chatting & people watching. Also: there was a crazy 2000-person spiral dance free-for-all.

Some physcial limitations aside, it felt like a cancer-free weekend -- or, at least, a cancer-minimized weekend. I felt even keeled about all of it. I only cried once. Mostly I was just happy.

Now, as is always the case after a weekend of big fun and sparkles, I have to figure out how to reintegrate myself into the work-a-day world. Just like the end of the summer, "real life" has already smacked me in the face. So, here we go again.

Tonight I start my mosaics class with Corinne. Eight weeks of arts and crafts -- woo hoo!

Off to work now...

Hiatus

I'm not going to be blogging this weekend (or dancing, either, it seems).

I'll be back on Monday!

Have fun, all!

Shopping

I went grocery shopping with Eric tonight... getting provisions for the three day music festival we're leaving for tomorrow. I was so tired as we walked through the store that I was practically in a dream state. I free associated among the produce.

It seemed to me that my time was over, and that the world belonged to the children. This didn't bother me one bit. There were children running around the aisles.

I remembered how long, long, ago my new acquaintance Eric told me that something he really liked about me was that I didn't judge people.

I thought he was nuts. I felt about as judgemental as a person could be... but it gave me something to shoot for.

Tonight I'm just tired, and with a lot left to do before bed.

Stuff

The only problem with having a blog is that people read it. Sometimes people think that I'm sending them messages (which is not the case), and sometimes people respond to things that I write in a way that makes me disinclined to tell the truth.

I write emails to folks from cancer message boards. I sent a long letter to a man yesterday whose wife has breast cancer, and who can't seem to comfort her in the way that she would like. Here's part of what I wrote:

One of the toughest things for me about this illness is that sometimes there are no answers, particular when it comes to what is and isn't related to the disease. You may never be able to connect the dots whenit comes to headaches, back pains, et cetera. She's had surgery, stress, and chemo - it may be related to one, all, or none of thosefactors. It's very difficult to find equilibrium in a place of "not knowing", but eventually - to one extent or another - that's what we must do.

That's all true... but I have to tell you that my day-to-day is very much tied to how my body feels. Right now I'm having increasing pain in my sternum. Conventional wisdom says that more pain = more cancer. My feeling is that more pain may or may not mean more cancer, as my pain has always fluctuated in a way that is atypical of bone mets.

Still, it makes me crazy, because the pain is a heartbeat that pulses cancer... cancer... cancer...

The last three concerts I've attended I was unable to dance. And now, after a month of being pain free, it looks like that I won't be able to dance at the music festival this weekend, which is what I wanted most of all.

Bummer.

No, I'm not going to assume my treatment isn't working, and no I'm not going to go see my onocologist, and no I don't need to be on pain medication.

I'll have scans early in November. Unless things get considerably worse, I'll wait until then to find out if there's been progression. It's very difficult to find equilibrium in a place of "not knowing", but eventually - to one extent or another - that's what we must do.

It's Pajama Day at Eric's School.

He's going to be cute... I can tell.

Eric and I went to dinner at our favorite SF restaurant, Lulu, with Jane on Saturday. On Sunday we hosted a brunch, and we have the leftover quiche, potatoes, ham, bagels, and fruit to prove it. We finished the cake.

September has been a crazyily busy month. Next weekend we're going to a three-day festival in Laytonville. There'll be lots of hippies and rave kids, and at the appointed time, a prayer for peace (mirrored at events around the world).

Busy, busy, and Novemberf is already mostly booked. That is why I'm thinking of instituting a No Fun October. I could use a string of weekends with nothing to do. It's actually a toss-up between No Fun October and naming October "Get Rid of Stuff " month, as I am drowning in junk that really needs to be thrown out or recycled.

I'm not sure I have the constitution for a combined No Fun /Get Rid of Stuff Month (the obvious solution).

The other thing is... I'll be having scans early in November, and my current treatment will be said to be working, or I will have failed it. If I have failed, then are next steps, and next steps will likely not be as pleasant as the current ones.

So... I do have a sense that this is the time to play. I feel too hemmed in for balance or moderation -- but full on busy mode isn't sustainable for me, either.

That's what I have to say this Monday morning.

Friday, thank god.

Eric and I plan dinner parties and vacations. We go to work and eat in restaurants (too often). We read, Eric more than I. In a stunning reversal, Eric reads novels and I read non-fiction.

I used to sit in the backyard and smoke cigarettes and drink red wine. Now I sit in my bedroom and chat online about Christ and cancer, and drink water.

Eric reads the paper and drinks coffee in the mornings. He makes me eggs scrambled w/ feta and hash brown potatoes on the weekends.

We have a color-coded calendar with concerts, festivals, birthdays, dinners, vacations, holidays, camping, et cetera. Life hums along.

Then I feel a twinge in my chest, and everything else falls away.

I don't want to leave Eric alone... or, Eric without me, which will feel alone to him no matter who else is around. Who will take care of him? Who will love him up and remind him how totally absolutely undeniably wonderful he is?

Who will he tell his stories?

It's just too horrible. I just can't stand it, can't stand leaving him, can't stand the thought of it. It's heartbreaking and inevitable. It's the worst part. It's the only real reason I have to curse the fates. A lot of good that'll do.

MiniGolf on Monday

It was a beautiful day, and I still have the sunburn to prove it. Here's Janis.

Bush declared Sept. 16 a national day of prayer and remembrance for Katrina's victims.

A national day of prayer, huh?

What a fucking asshole.

When Supply Side Economics is your true diety, poor people drown in their beds.

I would like life to be a succession of parties and vacations. I think that's what it must be like for Paris Hilton, although I wouldn't do a straight across trade with her if I had to be Paris Hilton (and not just have the Paris Hilton trappings).

There's an interesting essay in the August Harper's... "The Christian Paradox"... all about how American Christians don't know much about Christianity and don't act very Christian. It's a nice laundry list of Christian hypocrisy but it also posits that things would be much better if Christians were just more Christian. I think, of course, that Christianity itself is a pack of lies based on a pieced-together document of dubious authorship.

But if Americans are going to claim Christianity, I think it'd be nice if they loved their neighbors as theirselves -- per Jesus. That may be happening on an individual basis in New Orleans, but it sure isn't happening overall. And now people are whining about the po' folk being given $2,000 debit cards. What's left unstated is the fear that they'll go spend it on gold teeth and bling bling.

From an AP story:

Barbara Bush, who accompanied the former presidents on a tour of the Astrodome complex Monday, said the relocation to Houston is "working very well" for some of the poor people forced out of New Orleans.

"What I'm hearing, which is sort of scary, is they all want to stay in Texas. Everyone is so overwhelmed by the hospitality," she said during a radio interview with the American Public Media program "Marketplace." "And so many of the people in the arena here, you know, were underprivileged anyway, so this is working very well for them."

Yawn.

It's not a Monday but it sure feels like one.

I had a nice three-day-weekend-monday-off yesterday. It was a gorgeous day, and I have the sunburn to prove it. I went miniature golfing with Janis. It was fun!

So... it was a jam-packed weekend as many of our weekends seem to be.

What I really need is to get more exercise, which at this stage of my life has to be little more than short walks. It's hard to believe that a year ago I was running five days a week, and that four months ago I was going to the gym every other day. Also: that I LIKED those things.

If I instituted a Walk a Mile with Martha Club would anyone participate? I suppose it would be silly to walk a mile and then go get sidecars and croque monsieur.