In Brief

I stayed home sick from work yesterday, which I never like to do. It was a good day to be sick, though -- it rained & rained & rained.


It's sunny this morning, and I hope to feel better today.

Paradise Found

Here I am The Atlantis Casino Resort and Spa, Every Player's Paradise. Eric has gone down to the pool for an evening swim, and I'm lying in my comfy bed, watching Taxi Driver (what a great movie) and playing computer games. I'll head down to the casino floor soon.

It's good to be here, as always, although I'm definitely in post-chemo mode. This may be the first time I've come to the Atlantis and not had a single adult beverage. Alcohol and Taxol just don't mix.

So, I'm queasy and feverish-around-the-edges... but being here is nearly as comfortable as being at home for us, and the casino is a compelling diversion. Eric so enjoys the pools and the sushi. I know -- you wouldn't think that Reno would be a hotspot for sushi, but Eric swears by the sushi here at the Atlantis Casino Resort and Spa, Every Player's Paradise.

We'll head home tomorrow, after our awards luncheon.

It's good, but I don't feel good. Still, I'm happy to be here, and especially happy to have this time with my adorable husband. I know it's an old story, but it's still true.

Neighbors

I'm sitting in a blue plastic recliner as I type this. There's a woman to my right who's throwing up -- retching & retching into a bowl. They closed the curtain around her once she started. She sounds pretty miserable.

Between me and the throwing up lady there's a man who's getting ready to receive his first-ever chemotherapy. He's wearing shiny black shoes and dress socks, black slacks, and a Bill Cosby sweater. He's nervous.

The woman to my immediate right has failed her blood test, and so they're unhooking her. They won't give her chemo this week. The nurse told her that she's "free", and wanted to know what the patient was going to do to celebrate. The patient said that she hopes to be able to eat this week.

So, I'm sitting in a blue plastic recliner, and a nurse just hung the Benadryl. I'll be sleeping soon. Chemo sucks. Lymphedema sucks, too. I've been told that, once fitted, I'll need to wear a stocking-like sleeve and glove on my arm and hand... all of my waking, non-shower hours... everyday.... for the rest of my life.

BUT... when Eric and I leave here, we're driving to Reno. I don't think that Retching Lady is going to Reno. New Guy isn't going to go gamble after this -- he's going home to wait and worry. Blood Failure Lady isn't going to the 24-hour diner at the Atlantis, after a late night at the craps table. She's going to try to keep down a few crackers and sips of water.

And all of them are here alone. I'm the only person here with Eric.

I'm getting sleepy, sleepy, already. It's not just drowsiness, either. It's like a ton o' bricks. But, really... REALLY... I can't complain.

However you define it...

... it sucks.

na·dir [ney-der, ney-deer]

1. The lowest point to which white blood cell or platelet counts fall after chemotherapy.

2. An extreme state of adversity; the lowest point of anything

3. The point on any given observer's celestial sphere diametrically opposite of one's zenith.

Sunday

It was a nice Sunday, albeit a post-chemo Sunday. Tom and Corinne came over this afternoon. We played Hearts and drank champagne. It will be no surprise to anyone who's played a game with Eric that he won two out of three games. Spending time with Tom and Corinne is always fun.

Later in the evening my ArediaFever arrived. Now I'm tired and restless... watching The L Word with my adorable husband.

As always, Eric is the icing on the cake, and the cake, and the cake plate, BUT... the sprinkles on top of the icing today is that tomorrow is a holiday! Another day off with Eric can only be good, with or without a fever.

I imagine it will be a quiet day, and then back to work tomorrow.

A Rosa is a Rosa

Chemotherapy was pretty smooth sailing today. I surfed the Internet, ate cookies, and Eric rubbed my feet. I'd rather do those things at home, but still... I can't complain too bitterly about chemo under those circumstances.

Today I received an email from my good friend Luana, who now lives in Hawaii. She mentioned in her email that when she was growing up she never found her name on those pre-personalized coffee mugs or pens at Disneyland. In Hawaii, though, her name is more common.

(Please feel free to correct me, Luana, if I've misrepresented your comments. I hope you don't mind me sharing this with my three regular readers!)

First, an email from Luana is always fun because Luana is charming and delightful.

Second, she reminded me of my similar experience. Martha wasn't a common name for anyone under the age of 80 when I was growing up. I knew no Marthas, and Martha was often the name given to old, spinster, aunts or creepy, old widows on television.

Many, many, older gay men have told me how much they love my name. I think the only people to ever tell me that they love my name upon meeting me have been older gay men. Why would that be?

According to the Social Security Administration, Martha was the 29th most popular girl's name in the United States in 1906. Why don' t you look up your name? There are big regional differences. In California, for instance, the top 100 baby names in 2005 included several Latino names.

A few years ago I found my name while flipping through a book I picked up on a bookstore counter... something like the "100 ugliest names for your baby".

Of course I hated my name when I was a kid. I certainly don't care anymore. And of course Eric says that he loves the name Martha. I love it when he says it, too -- with his little-bit-of-an-accent -- and the rest of the time I don't give a hoot.

I usually prefer graham cracker crust, but ....

My strategy of only concerning myself with what's in front of me at the moment is working well. I felt overwhelmed a few days ago, and I imagine I will again, but for now I'm back on track.

One of the Ladies Who Lunch made an amazing cheesecake for me on Tuesday. It was giant, and I'm still eating it. It's awfully darn good: three inches high, straight sided with a perfect, flaky, pastry crust, a thin layer of pineapple/lemon & orange zest topping, and a sour cherry sauce on the side. The flavors go together surprisingly well, and the cheesecake itself is perfectly dense and creamy.

It was awfully sweet of her, and much appreciated in the midst of my discomfort and unhappiness on Tuesday.

Chemotherapy tomorrow. Hopefully it will go smoothly.

Love.

It was a hard day, but it was still Valentine's Day. Eric gave me a sweet, sweet, card -- he's the best card picker outer -- and a heart shaped box of yummy chocolates, and a funny romantic novel. There's other stuff, too: one of his soft, white, t-shirts to wear... the dinner that he brought in when I was too tired for a celebratory dinner out... hot chocolate... and goodness knows what else. So much other stuff that it's impossible to list.

I was 36 when I was initially diagnosed with cancer, 40 when I was told that I had a distant recurrence. Nothing in my life has been improved by cancer. It hasn't made me a better person, or prompted me to reevaluate my priorities. It hasn't brought me closer to my husband, and he can attest that it hasn't improved my humor.

The only thing I've learned is medical terminology.

But it's given me the opportunity to practice stuff that I already knew, including this: I can't deal with everything at once.

So, I'm going to deal with work tomorrow, and with chemo-sans-port on Friday, and on Saturday I'll rest. If I'm uncomfortable, I'll sit in the leather recliner with my super soft and comfy blanket. If the sun is shining, I'll sit outside. And I'll figure out what to do later later.

That's the plan right now.

The Haps

Trippy picture of my eye, back when I was clear-eyed and eye-lashed. See the blue sky and the road reflected in my iris?

I start my day by crying. Eric wakes me up, and that's nice. He'll say something about love and coffee, and Eric's voice is the sound that I most love, anyway. It doesn't matter what he says. If some mean, unreasonable, god were to take away my hearing for 364 days plus 23 hours a year, leaving me just an hour every year to hear anything I chose -- and how's that for an if -- I'd choose Eric's voice.

So waking up is okay.

But then I cry for a while, because I can't fully extend my arm, and my nose is bleeding, and the wound-that-will-not-heal on my chest has opened up in the night, and I'm tired, and my head hurts, and my bones hurt, my mouth tastes like dirty pennies again.

The rift between me and the rest of the world grows wider and wider. My friends for the most part don't even ask how I'm feeling, and I have nothing to add to their conversations about... hmmmm... things that concern people who have reason to believe they'll be around for a while.

I'll be around for a while, too. But it ain't the same. And it's never going to be the same. And I don't know how much longer I can meet people where they are, or why I would want to make the effort. It's just kinda hard.

No work tomorrow... just doctor stuff.

Mission Accomplished

Eric and I have seen very few movies in the last year, so we decided to see all of the movies nominated for an academy award for best picture. We saw six movies in 72 hours. It was fun!

So many people have asked me what I thought of the movies that I'm offering my yakyakyak here. I'm not much of a movie buff, but here goes:

Little Miss Sunshine was cute. It made me laugh. It bugged me that the only character who didn't undergo a transformation in the film was the only adult woman. They were such eccentric characters, and the adult woman was the same-old-mom we've seen again and again. She loves the kids and largely stands by her man. She's likable but not interesting. I'm just nitpicking, though. It was a good movie.

Eric really enjoyed the The Departed. It's typical Scorsese, as Doreen described in her comment below. It wasn't subtle, that's for sure. I hid my face in my hands A LOT. I can see why it would be exciting for folks who aren't bothered by the gore.

The Queen was visually appealing and sometimes amusing. I was distracted by the fact that it's entirely a work of fiction. It acts like it's non-fiction, but no one knows what the queen says to her husband in bed at night. Also, as Eric and I feel about all things related to the monarchy, who cares?

And who cares what I think of these movies? I'll hurry this up!

Babel was ambitious and parts of it worked better than others. The four intertwined story lines reminded me of last year's best picture winner, Crash, which was a much better film.

I'm glad that I watched Flags of Our Fathers before seeing Letters from Iwo Jima. The latter is the better movie for sure. Eric thinks that Iwo Jima is the best of the five nominees. I think that the five nominees are all just fine, with The Departed being the weakest.

This was a fun project and I recommend it as a weekend activity!

Just one left!

Our Oscar Madness weekend is moving right along. We've seen Little Miss Sunshine, The Departed, The Queen, Babel, and Flags of Our Fathers. We'll see Letter from Iwo Jima tomorrow, our three-day-weekend-Monday-off, and then we'll have accomplished our goal.

We saw Babel tonight at the Parkway. The Parkway is an old theater that has easy chairs and couches for seating and serves salads, pizza, and beer. It was nice to snuggle up on a couch with my adorable husband. Of course.

Yay.

Eric and I are seeing five movies this weekend. We haven't seen any of the Academy Award nominees for best picture, and so we're biting the bullet over the next few days. Tonight we watched Little Miss Sunshine at home. The next four movies will be seen in theaters.

I'm looking forward to lazy, rainy, dark-theatered, popcorn-eating, soda-sipping, Eric-handholding, movieish, weekend.

And... we have Monday off!

Over them.

"[other drivers] want to be in control in terms of safety, being able to park and maneuver in traffic, being able to get elderly people in and out," said Fred J. Schaafsma, a vehicle development engineer for General Motors. "SUV owners want to be more like ‘I'm in control of the people around me."' This is an important reason why seats are mounted higher in sport utilities than in minivans, he said.

An average SUV or a pickup is more than twice as likely as a car to kill the driver of the other vehicle in a collision.

The LAST time (which certainly wasn't the FIRST time) a big-ass SUV hit my darling little miata, the driver told me:

"I didn't even see you. Your car's too small."

Let's see.

I'm at work, kicking myself for not stopping for coffee on the way in this morning. I'll have to go back out for a cup o' joe at the first reasonable opportunity.

I fell asleep at the hospital yesterday while waiting for someone to check my sutures. I was in one of those little rooms with the paper-covered tables. The only reading material was a booklet on laparoscopic gallbladder surgery. The illustrations depicted a freakishly normal family that could have been pulled straight from a Watchtower or Awake! magazine. The next thing I knew I was having a nice little nap.

The doctor who saw me had a large diamond stud nose piercing. That was kinda cool.

What else...?

It's raining, which bodes well for the wildflowers.

I'd better get to work!

Sweet Dreams

I'm drinking hot chocolate. I wish I had time to stay up for a few hours! I guess I could, but I'd be awfully tired tomorrow. I feel good right now. I'm relaxed and happy, having spent an idle evening with Eric, surfing and watching TV and playing silly games.

I dance every day, and every day it makes Eric smile (and occasionally laugh). It can be a pretty sad li'l shuffle, depending on how my body's feeling, but I make a point of it. I dance at least a little bit every day because I CAN.

It doesn't feel schmaltzy when I do it, either, unlike how it sounds when I read about it.

Eric's making me laugh now. He's using fancy french words and it's cracking me up!

I've been reading wildflower hot sheets for the SF Bay Area. There are wildflower enthusiasts who track all of the wildflower scuttlebutt. I'm determined to see flowers this year, so I've had my finger on the pulse of wildflower culture. Word on the street (in the field?) is that unless the Bay Area receives bunches and bunches of rain in February we'll be out-of-luck when it comes to wildflower blooms.

Eric says he'd rather skip the rain and miss the flowers, but I'm hoping for blossoms galore.

Work tomorrow, and yet another appointment with the surgeon in the afternoon. It's my no-chemo week and tomorrow will be my second trip to the hospital. But whatcha gonna do?

Ouch.

I left work around 2:00 PM today... tired, tired, tired. Went to consult with the surgeon about the never-adequately-healed incision at my port site. He put in a few uber stitches and gave me more antibiotics... thinks there's a chance, anyway, that my port can be "salvaged".

The surgeon has told me more than once that he feel that 3 out of 4 Fridays spent in chemo is "too much". He seems sincerely disturbed by it. He's young, and he's a vascular surgeon. I don't think he sees many cancer patients.

I laughed today and agreed that it's a whole heap o' chemo, but said that the side effects hadn't been too bad, and that I don't have bunches of options. He told me that he was just sorry that I had to go through any of it. He's nice. I wish he didn't look like he's twelve years old.

Tonight I don't want to let Eric out of my sight. The cool thing is that for the most part I don't have to!

Sunday Night

My two brothers came to see us this weekend. It was nice to have guests... good to have something to focus on beyond this unexpected nausea. Truly, in five months of chemo I've not have a moment of this hooey, and now? Bleeeeeeeech!

We sat around, listened to music, and ate. A fine weekend!

Work tomorrow, and an appointment with the surgeon in the afternoon. I should be in bed, but I'm restless, tired, vaguely queasy..

I wish I could have a three day weekend!

Seriously, I'm going to have to Google weasels.

It's a chemo day and I also had an appt in interventional radiology and a consult with a surgeon. A long day of medical stuff, and everyone knows how happy that makes me!

But, it's over now, and there's no chemo next Friday. Please, please, please, no one congratulate me on not having chemo next Friday! That's really irksome to me. It's like having weasels gnawing on each of your toes, and then someone trying to high-five you because one of the weasels goes on vacation for a week.

What do weasels eat, anyway? I know nothing about them, and I've probably unfairly maligned them now.

The results are in from the ct scan. It showed some areas stable and some areas regressed. It was good news.

Because I don't want bad scans to have the power to make me sad, I don't let good scans make me happy. I'm glad that it was better news rather than worse news -- boy, am I -- but I look for stuff in my life to celebrate that's more constant than a could-be-worse radiology report.

I don't think I could live my life and have fun and be happy if I was up & down with scans.

That's my story on Friday night.

Catbird Seat

It used to be that I’d had cancer BUT… I’d gone through treatment, and it was entirely possible that I would be ooooookay – I could live a long life and die from something else. I wasn’t one of those poor women with metastatic disease.

Then I had metastatic disease, BUT… it was only in my bones, and it was estrogen receptor positive – hormonal treatment could keep me alive for many years, and at least I wasn’t one of those poor women with soft tissue disease.

Then the cancer spread to my lungs, BUT… there was still a possibility that the hormonal treatments could work, and at least I wasn’t one of those poor women with cancer in her liver.

I’m sure the trend is recognizable by now.

Then the hormonal treatments failed, and the cancer spread to my liver, BUT… chemotherapy could still work, and at least I wasn’t one of those poor women with cancer in her brain. Yet.

We hope that chemotherapy will send us into remission, and then we hope for partial remission, and then we think that if the chemotherapy would only keep us stable, we’d be happy… and then we think that if the cancer would just grow slowly, that’d be fine.

Other than THAT… well… it’s a fine day. I’m at work, having a sleepy but otherwise productive day. Eric is handsome and the coffee is good. I can’t complain. On the other hand, I’m running out of reasons to feel that I’m in an advantageous position! Except for Eric, of course – my constant ace-in-the-hole.