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.