A cup of kindness, yet

In about 1.25 hours it'll be 2008, and I'm sooooo happy to be spending another NYE with my darling husband.

There's no Camp Martha (difficult to explain if you don't know what that is), no big party at our house (although we did stop by a party in the city for a bit). It's quiet and we're quiet... and it's good to be here.

I'm feeling lucky, lucky.

Home

We drove through lovely, light, flurries of snow and arrived home yesterday afternoon. It's nice to be home.

I enjoyed the Atlantis Casino and Resort, Every Player's Paradise, but I wasn't able to participate fully. I couldn't really eat while we were there, and I was too tired to attend the awards banquet for the tournament.

I'm glad that Lisa was there, not just because Lisa's so much fun but also because Eric had someone to spend time with while I, more or less, spent a couple o' days in the the room.

I expected to feel better by now. I haven't had chemo in several weeks, and that's always meant a general upswing for me. But now I feel worse, not better, and I'm confused. Is it cancer that's made me so exhausted? Is it the cold I've been fighting for weeks? Some unfortunate combination of the above?

I want to feel better.

In Brief

I've been too tired to blog. Christmas was nice but it was also difficult. I think my days of hosting dinner parties are over. I was exhausted and slow-thinking and slooooow-moving.

It was the 20th Christmas dinner Eric and I have hosted, if we count our first Christmas dinner which was more a group, pot-luckish, affair.

This year I wasn't able to do things the way I like. It felt slapdash and slipshod, and I found myself fighting back tears for the majority of the evening. I really just wanted to be in bed.

We woke up the next morning and drove to Reno with L.L. I find that I'm somewhat stuck. I can't walk very far, and I don't feel good. Even paradise can't make things better.

Christmas Eve Eve

I came upstairs on Friday and I haven't been back down since. I could certainly make it down there, but the thought of walking back up is daunting.

I've barely moved for 48 hours and yet I'm exhausted. The day was already in double digits when I woke up. I ate half of a bagel, drank apple juice, and then took a nap. I felt well rested when I arose from my nap at 2:00 PM but depleted my energy by walking the 20 feet from the bed to the bathroom.

I'm surprised to be in this condition. Some mornings there's a moment of confusion followed by a small jolt of remembering.

I guess I feel okay. A few aches, some pain ... queasiness... low grade fever... intermittent headache... no feeling in my feet... a series of bloody noses and a strange stomach ache that comes and goes. That all sounds pretty bad, but it's not bad in the big picture. It makes me smile to type it -- it sounds absurd, I know -- but it's not bad. My body's okay.

My spirits... also okay, I guess. I'm sleepy and dreamy. I have moments of feeling upset. I feel useless, defunct. I feel afraid that "this is it"... this is now my life at best, with nothing but greater discomfort to follow. But those are just moments and just feelings.

My heart is full, on accounta I'm married to Eric. I'm spending another Christmas with Eric. Lucky, lucky, me.

I'm not much for flinging warnings or advice into the universe. Being sick hasn't given me any wisdom and people will do as people will do ANYway. Including me.

But... take a moment, if you can, to think of the parts of your body that are functioning well right now. I know that we all have our hitches and ickiness. But if you're breathing easily, take a few deep, clear, breaths. If your back doesn't hurt, stretch and roll your shoulders and think about how good it feels. If you can feel your toes, wiggle 'em and say hello.

Counting Down

One more day of work -- a busy, busy, day of work -- and then I'll have two weeks off. Winter break is sooooo delightful.

In some ways I wish I'd started to work for a school district years & years ago. I could have had all of that lovely time with Eric. Working a school year schedule just plain ROCKS. I knew it would be good, but I didn't know how good it would be.

On the other hand, as a younger (and healthier) woman, I would have been bored to tears by the social opportunities there. I would never have known the fabulousness of a Lisa L. or a Tomas da Silva or an Abbingsole nee Batesole. I would have been Pennie-less and Corinne-deficient. And can you say Luana? I can! Luana.

I'm not sure we'd have ever hosted big dance parties or manufactured our own disco balls, and I may never have made The Punch. Certainly there would be no Camp Martha.

Of course -- there's no Camp Martha this year. And no dance parties. No disco balls and no punch.

One more too-busy day of work and then a two week vacation. Yay!

Odd

Here are the most recent Google searches that brought folks to my blog:

paradise pair o dice

light crimson color

kitchenaid mixer miniature

oh martha

plastic recliner

sclerotic foci what are

If Only CT Stood for Christmas Tree

Decorating our Christmas tree was challenging. It's smaller-than-usual and the branches lack a certain... how to put it. .... rigidity that is greatly desirable in a Christmas tree. Still, it's pretty, and it's ours, and it's done. Our house smells wonderful. I'm happy.


Eric did a lovely job on the lights. We still need to put on candy canes -- don't let me forget to buy some!

In other news, we received the results of my latest ct scan on Friday.

My old oncologist used to call me to answer my questions or give me test results as late as nine or ten o'clock at night. Eric and I were scared out of our minds in those early days. We'd wait on pins and needles, and we'd cling to each other. There were times when I didn't want to be as far away from Eric as the next room. When the phone would ring my heart would jump into my throat. I was madly, blindly, afraid.

The night that the doctor called with the test results that confirmed that I had metastatic disease, Eric listened to the call on an extension. I thanked him for the call, and told him that I understood that it was difficult to make a prediction, but did he have any idea how long I might have to live?

"With luck, four or five years," he said.

That was 2.5 years ago, and in the big picture I've had a decent quality of life. I've not had much in the way of luck, though.



This is what it looks like when I get a ct scan, except I have no hair and my arm is covered with bandages and cotton from failed IV attempts.

I quickly failed hormonal treatment (which is the key to any kind of long term survival) and now I've failed Taxol. While my second (or third, or fourth) line drug COULD work, and could work for a year or more -- it's really just not probable.

I'm not saying it couldn't happen. It could happen. But my best bets have been exhausted.

I dunno.

I'm not without my own version of hope. I have wishes, at least -- wishes for more time & happiness with Eric, wishes for another Christmas and a Christmas tree with a little more oomph in its branches -- and I believe they can come true.

More immediately, tonight I get to sleep next to the love of my life and my favorite person in the world. Something or someone at work tomorrow will make laugh & laugh. No complaints, here. Yet. I reserve the right for later.

It's the promise of life in your heart.

This story has a happy ending.

I awoke this morning with a giant crazy headache ... crawled (psychically, anyway) to the office where I called Eric, who was downstairs, on the phone to ask for coffee. My head hurt too much to call good morning down the stairs.

Mercifully, in a few minutes I was handed a hot cup of coffee and a handful of ibuprofen. I wrapped myself in my mother-in-law's super comfy soft blanket and decided to check my email.

In that moment, as if a switch had been flipped, both sides of my nose began to bleed profusely. Blood ran down my face. I reached for a tissue and knocked over the hot coffee, which poured unto my lap and the keyboard and ran to the floor, along with the blood that still poured from my nose.

I called for Eric, who came racing up the stairs...

And then I burst into tears... ran to the bathroom... bled into the sink and dripped coffee.

I'm not sure what happened next. All I know is that some minutes later I found myself warm and dry, lying on the couch in the bedroom, with tissue stuffed up my nose, a replacement blanket, another cup of coffee, and a laptop balanced on my stomach, watching this:

Elis Regina & Tom Jobim

And I was smiling, smiling. Once again, Eric saved the day (with a little help from bossa nova).

Life is Good

I went to work today, thank goodness. I'm someone who enjoys leisure time. When I didn't work for a year I wasn't bored for a moment. I couldn't tell you a darn thing I did in that year, but it was great. I like not working.

But being at home and feeling icky, and being (or at least feeling) isolated from the rest of the world is just plain no-fun-at-all. If I'm feeling under the weather I'd much rather be at work. I'd rather be productive, move around a bit, engage in a little low-level social hooey.

My job can be very busy and pleasant.

I was scheduled for chemotherapy tomorrow but I asked to be excused. I just couldn't do it. Or... I could do it, but at what cost? Just the thought of it made me want to cry.

I'm still going to the hospital, though, on accounta I have a meeting with my oncologist to go over the results of my latest ct scan. I received preliminary word already, and the word's not so hot. It's not worst-case-scenario but I don't suppose there'll be much to celebrate, either.

That's okay. I don't celebrate good scans 'cuz I don't want to cry over bad ones. If I have the oomph to celebrate I'd rather hip hip hooray for my darling husband or even the fast approach of winter break.

Yikes.

I'm starting to feel like I'm suffering. I find the notion insufferable. I have to switch it up, quick-like, or else.

I woke up today to go to work and quickly realized it was impossible. I'm sick in a new way. It's new to me, anyway.

I'll try again tomorrow.

Oh well.

I spent a few years listening to Christians. I listened & listened. I read the Bible -- twice -- and asked questions. George W. Bush had just been appointed President of the United States of America by the Supreme Court. I was afraid for my country and felt out of touch.

So I started listening to, and speaking with, and asking questions of, people who actually used phrases along the lines of "west coast liberal latte drinking demoncrat". For reals.

I came to the table with a general sense that Christianity was okay... just another system of ethical thought ... and that there were a few bad apples who turned it into something ugly.

I had that wrong. But that's another story.

This is all a bunch of yakyakyak that's leading to virtually nothing at all. It's just that I had the thought today that I'm feeling a bit like Job. When it came to Job and his trials the fix was in. He was pummeled by both Satan and God, essentially for their own amusement.

Job was a faithful servant, though. And I... I'm just sad and tired and sick. I just want to be able to stand up and walk across a room without thought or concern. I want to feel good with Eric and spend time with Eric and bring Eric happiness, not work & worry.

I had to leave work in the early afternoon today to run to the doctor, where I was diagnosed with shingles, which is Chicken Pox for Adults. Well... not really chicken pox for adults. But childhood chicken pox remains dormant in the roots of our nerves, and when/if it reappears it's shingles.

It's most likely to return during times of stress, immuno-suppression, chemotherapy, HIV, or cancer.

I don't have HIV!

The problem is... in some cases it can be quite painful. Seriously painful. And I'm afraid that's the case for me. I can't lift my arm, it hurts so badly.

And it's just that there's so much other stuff that's wrong. My blood counts and my numb hands and numb feet and my shortness of breath and my dizziness and my nosebleeds and my nausea.

I dunno. It's just one more thing. Another straw won't break the camel's back. I'll just have to tuck it away somewhere, and try to get on with my days.

Good Grief

We went out Christmas tree shopping on Sunday, but it wasn't our usual half-day affair. We didn't make six stops, drive out of the city and into the suburbs and then, finally, into the way way out sub-suburbia.

I'm picky about Christmas trees.

Our trees are large Large LARGE -- bigger than advised for the space of our living room. They are gorgeous and symmetrical and (I believe) stunning.

There have been those who've claimed our trees are TOO large, and TOO perfect. The very notion makes me laugh.

But... not this year. Not TOO large this year. Not TOO perfect. I just didn't have the oomph to search. I walked down a few aisles of the first lot, and found a tree that "would do".

I've never had a will-do Christmas tree before.

I'm not claiming it's a Charlie Brown. But it's the smallest tree we've ever had. It practically fits!

And it's kinda bendy and bushier here and bare there. When we get it decorated (usually something that happens within 24 hours but not this time, boy) it'll be pretty, I'm sure. But I'm not so sure it'll be grand.

I wanted to add something here that I should have mentioned a few days ago. Last Thursday we went out to dinner with friends... some traditional Oakland BBQ w/ Janis and Jennie and Tom and Corinne. It was fun.

We talked and ate and talked some more, and it was nice to see everyone. It's important to note the good stuff. I've been feeling bad, but there's still a lot of goodness 'round here.

That's my story on Monday evening.

The Hemoglobin-Tannenbaum Connection

Hemoglobin is the protein molecule in red blood cells that carries oxygen from the lungs to the body's tissues, returns carbon dioxide from the tissues to the lungs, and carries people to lots to look for Christmas trees. Both my hemoglobin and Christmas tree counts are low.

I had chemotherapy yesterday and it was the first time I've been offered a blood transfusion. It was optional, based on how I reported my symptoms -- light-headedness, shortness of breath, fatigue. I have those things. Boy, do I have those things. But my head wasn't ready for a blood transfusion. They're coming, and I'll deal... but I wasn't ready yesterday.

When my hemoglobin level goes down .6 of a point I won't be given an option. Except, of course, in the sense that all medical choices are optional. Except for some abortions in some states. Thanks, Christians.

I want to get a tree. It's a bit early for us but I know that decorating it will be a multi-day task, as I'm so tired.

Also, I love the lots. Love the 20 year tradition of Christmas tree shopping with Eric. I love the big stick Eric takes to measure the trees, and the way he smiles at the purveyor of trees and says, "That looks like a six footer to me!" when it's clearly two feet taller.

More often than not, the saleman agrees. Eric's taught me so much in this life. It took a darling man who'd never bought a Christmas tree in his life to teach me how to shop for one.

My first Christmas with Eric, when he drove me from lot to lot, turned every tree around for me, carried the giant douglas fir up three flights of stairs to my attic apartment, and then hesitantly, barely, helped me decorate it because he'd never decorated a Christmas tree before... I already knew, then, that he was my favorite person on the planet and someone I wanted to know for the rest of my life.

Hemoglobin is what makes blood red and what makes tromping around Christmas tree lots a pleasure and not a burden. I want it back. Badly.

Go, hemoglobin, go!

Sheesh.

I felt harried and overburdened this morning as I made my way through the process of receiving a ct scan. I was tired and confused as I drove to the hospital. Some cruel fate had sent me out on a cold, rainy, morning -- all by myself -- to park my car and walk to the elevator and negotiate the people and the lines. Somehow I couldn't believe it.

A 325 year old woman stood before in line at the oncology department. She was tiny and grey, but she was one of those spitfire-types. I'm sure people have been calling her a pip for the last three centuries. Unfortunately, I was exhausted and couldn't fathom that I had to stand there and wait for her to unfold her elaborate nest of bags, purses, smaller purses, smaller purses, smaller and smaller purses, until she somehow found her credit card within the insane labyrinth of her personal storage items. All of this for a three dollar co-pay! I felt dizzy and sick. I smiled blandly.

The infusion nurses couldn't find a vein. I don't know how many pricks later -- after heating pads and tourniquets and one unwanted hug -- it was finally decided that my forbidden arm was to be used. Fine. I wonder, though, why it took 1 hours and 20 minutes and a half dozen band aids to make that call?

I shuffled over to a trailer in the parking lot of the MacArthur/Broadway Mall to check in for my scan. My appointment was at 9:40 and I arrived at 9:40 -- IV dangling, arm dotted with cotton balls and blood... sick to my stomach and near tears and coffee-less... only to be told that I was LATE. I was late, and they'd taken the person who was to have followed me.

I protested (stupidly, at that point) that I wasn't late! I wasn't late... I'd been sitting in infusion for an hour and 20 minutes, being pricked & pricked... trying to be a good sport... and they'd given my appointment away!

"You need to check in no later than 9:25 for a 9:40 appointment", she snapped.

"Well, I was 20 yards away, trying to ready myself for my 9:40 appointment", I cried.

Sigh.

Oh, the burden of it! I'm laughing now, but I wasn't laughing then. I was so put upon by it all. How could this be happening? First cancer, and now a snippy little girl telling me I'm LATE when I wasn't LATE.

The scan itself was uneventful. The tech was cheerful and efficient, the activities routine for me now. Now there's a warm sensation in your arm. A metallic taste in your mouth. Breathe in. Hold your breath.

Then it was time to get dressed and go to work. Which I did. And I stopped for coffee on the way.

Ugh

Feeling sick is becoming distressful. So sick, so tired. Sometimes I don't want to walk down the hall. Sometimes it feels like I can't stand, although I can stand.

As always, feeling sick is one thing and being distressed about feeling sick is another. I need to work it out.

A woman walked up to my desk today at work and said, "You look like you're really going through something". She was referring to my baldness. She asked me what was going on. When I looked confused she said that she knows SO many people with cancer. I wouldn't give her a thing.

I'd never seen her before in my life. I asked her name.

Finally she looked so stricken by my lack of response that I let her off the hook. Yes, yes... so much cancer these days, I said. She scurried away.

She has a story now and it's likely something about the Mean Lady w/ Cancer.

I have a story, too. Chicken soup and Hanukkah candles and rereading Gone With The Wind and Eric in the next room entering his student's grades into the computer. Cancer, too. Feeling sick, too. Sick, sick, sick. Sick.

Just feels like Monday.

Eric covered me with a blanket this morning in the car. We drove in together, and I was in the passenger seat with a blanket and feeling not-so-hot. We talked a bit about Hanukkah. Tonight's the first night and Eric's making latkes. We'll eat brisket and latkes and light the candles, say a few words in Hebrew.

He said this morning that he was sorry that I was having such a hard time... that he didn't think it was fair. I just feel glad to have another Hanukkah with my favorite person in the world. In so many ways I'm sitting pretty.

Monday

I stayed home from work today, although I could have gone. I was still queasy from Friday chemo and I was tired, but work would have been okay. I stayed home and made chicken soup, which turned out to be a surprising amount of effort.

Just cruising along. I have a CT Scan this week... can't remember what day... and chemo again on Friday. I'm green around the gills. I'm in love with Eric. I tired of the smell of chicken soup.

Important Holiday Message

There aren't many couples I think are as perfect for each other as Eric and I, but here we are dancing with two crazy kids in love:

Check out these moves.