Camp in Progress

I get to spend another New Year's Eve with my most adorable and handsome husband, which is the icing and the cake. The big scoop of ice cream is being with our friends, and I'm happy happy about that. I'm happy for the folks who made it, and I miss the folks who couldn't, and I'm holding everyone in a big circle today.

Here are preliminary pictures of our craft-in-progress, which is only half completed. Ain't it something? It's created with mostly found objects -- although a few of the objects were "found" in my bedroom.







It's going to look awfully pretty all lit up with candles after the show tonight.

Eric is making breakfast now -- yummy homefries and eggs-as-you-like-them. It's a nice way to start the day that ends a year that has challenged me on every level. And next year promises to do the same.

Orientation

We had camp orientation last night for the early bird campers. It was fun. We passed out laminates which revealed this year's motto and the camper's angel card of the year. Tom received a Merit Badge for his fact checking skills. We drank champagne and went to the Paramount Theater to see The Wizard of Oz.

The Paramount is an old movie house that has a classic movie series on selected Fridays. It's a pretty place, with a full bar, a mighty wurlitzer, a news reel, and cartoon, then Dec-o-Spin -- a prize lottery based on the number printed on your ticket. So, we went to see The Wizard of Oz, but it was also the whole Paramount experience.

A pretty nice way to finish a day that started with chemotherapy.

And now to finish my coffee!

Home again.

Eric has been working feverishly since our return from Reno early this evening. It was a nice drive home -- typically lively conversation with one of the world's truly great road-trippers, L.L.

We arrived home then walked out the door five minute later, off to the hospital for a blood test. I have chemotherapy in the morning tomorrow, and house guests arriving in the late afternoon. Tonight Eric's taking down the Christmas tree, and I miss him, and miss taking down the tree with him. I'm just too tired to do it.

I liked being on the road and looking at the swirling snow drifts and icicles. I like being home, too.

Spoiled in Paradise

The Atlantis Casino and Resort, Every Player's Paradise, is treating us well -- I'm sitting here in my Atlantis robe, in my concierge room, but I haven't yet had use for the butler. If I do find that I require the services of the butler, I'm going to insist on calling him Mr. French.

Life is up & down here in more ways that one. I win a little, I lose a little.... but, also, I'm in ping pong mode between being happy to be in paradise with Eric and Lisa, and feeling sick and tired. Tuesday's post-chemo are the hardest, though, so I have some reason to believe that today will be a good day.

It's nearly 8:00 AM and I haven't gambled yet. I can't believe I'm wasting this valuable gambling time!

Christmas and Chemo

We had a nice Christmas -- good friends and food and stuff. Pretty tree. Plenty o' champagne.

Today we're heading out to Reno w/ Lisa... off to the Atlantis Casino and Resort, Every Player's Paradise. At this very moment I'd prefer to be sleeping, but I know it will be a good time.

Just FYI: I'm bald and my hair is not growing back. I will be bald until I'm lucky enough to have failed my current chemo, thus bringing me that much closer to my demise.

I don't understand why my peeps don't know that by now. So many of those around me ask me if I'm done with chemo... if my hair is growing back... etc.

I'm going to do chemo once a week (fourth week off) until I fail chemo or until I can't handle the side effects anymore. And then I'm going to do a different chemo.

People should stop asking me when chemo's over, and when my hair's gonna grow back.

Off to pack!

Almost Xmas

It's been a slow-moving Christmas eve for me. I've spent much of the day in bed -- the chemo seems to have exacted a greater toll than usual. From time to time I rouse myself and work on projects; there are place cards to make, laminates to create.

The house smells like Eric's good food. It's not been a slow-moving day for him!

I'll garner my energy this evening to attend a 10:00 PM church service. No fear... I hold my same ol' opinion of Christianity... but going to see the fabulous Mr. Tom Silva play on Christmas eve has become a favorite tradition of the season. No pressure to keep taking the gig, Tom!

Eric just walked into the room and informed me that if I liked to eat fish that we would be enjoying an Italian Feast of the Seven Fishes tonight. He's awfully cute.

That's all the news fit to type.

Wee Hours

The Hannukah dinner for 18 was fun. Eric outdid himself with brisket, latkes, kasha varnishkas (sp?) et cetera. The teachers didn't talk about work/students/math tootoo much.

The next day, Friday, I spent five plus hours in the blue recliner, watching the drip drip drip of the iv. Then my niece Luana and great nephew Dusty arrived from Las Vegas. They are delightful individuals! This is the second Christmas in a row we've been able to see them and it's such a nice present!

I'm not exactly sure what the plan for is today. Whatever it is, it needs to be low key, on accounta the decadron has me awake at 3:30 in the morning.

Eric is just a few feet from me. He's warm and Eric-ish, and it's hard not to wake him up to talk to him. It wouldn't be the first time. He's a good sport about it... about most things, really...

Off to try to sleep!

Hump Day

Eric is amazing. After work tomorrow, at 6:00 o'clock, 17+ folks (Eric's co-workers and their sig figs) are coming to our house for Hannukah.

We didn't even settle on the menu and go grocery shopping until after work today! Still, when the guests arrive tomorrow we'll be ready, largely due to Eric's efforts. I set the table tonight: one, long, table with holiday greenery, dreidels, and gelt. The briskets are cooking now.

As exhausted as I am (which is pretty darn exhausted), I'm still so happy to share this life with Eric... to be people who'll throw a dinner party for 20 on a weeknight.

Now if I can just reconcile that with my buzzing feet and aching bones.

How did it get so late?

Whew. It's been a busy few days, and it will only get busier. I've been extra-super remiss in returning phone calls, e-mails, et cetera.

It's a crazy time!

Yawn

I would say that my hands are ugly, but Eric would never stand for it. They may be calloused and peeling, but they don't hurt. That's better-than-fair to me, and I won't complain about how they look.

My eyebrows and I are parting amicably. We never had much of a relationship anyway. I plucked them just once, between the onset of puberty and the realization that I didn't give a damn. My eyelashes have abandoned me, too, even though I never tortured them with mascara.

It was s'posed to be a busy weekend, but it didn't turn out that way. There were activities planned for Friday, Saturday, and Sunday nights, but only Friday came off as planned. I spent the rest of the weekend tired, tired, tired.

Another busy week starts tomorrow. Off to bed!

Yawn

I would say that my hands are ugly, but Eric would never stand for it. They may be calloused and peeling, but they don't hurt. That's better-than-fair to me, and I won't complain about how they look.

My eyebrows and I are parting amicably. We never had much of a relationship anyway. I plucked them just once, between the onset of puberty and the realization that I didn't give a damn. My eyelashes have abandoned me, too, even though I never tortured them with mascara.

It was s'posed to be a busy weekend, but it didn't turn out that way. There were activities planned for Friday, Saturday, and Sunday nights, but only Friday came off as planned. I spent the rest of the weekend tired, tired, tired.

Another busy week starts tomorrow. Off to bed!

More proof that Christianity is more about idiocy than idealogy:

So... I was scanning an article about a figure skater who was shocked to learn that a choir that had been singing Christmas carols at one of her performances had been silenced by an administrator who hadn't wanted to offend the "half-Jewish" skater.

It was much ado about nothing, and really just feeds the whole, absurd, "they're taking Christmas away from us" mindset, and then I read this:

Cohen, who is half Christian and "celebrates everything" during the holidays,learned only through news reports that the choir had been cut off on her account, the 22-year-old skater's mother and manager said.

What the hell is half Christian?

I can buy Jewishness as a birthright -- mostly -- but Christianity most certainly is NOT. If someone wants to call himself a Christian, let him embrace the full ridiculousness of doctrine. No one can make someone adhere to the ugly lie of Christianity, even if someone's born into the mess... as most of my good friends can attest.

Eric, again.

I went to my husband's high school to assist with hearing screenings just a few weeks after I started working for the school district. Teachers brought their students to line up outside the mobile hearing van, and I kept track of the classes and the students.

It was an easy work day at a new job. I made conversation with the teachers, but only knew a few of them through Eric. I was chit chatting with a teacher when CN came by and told him that I was married to Eric Price.

The teacher was excited to hear this news. He said nice things about Eric, which is not a new experience for me. Then he said, "Eric loves you very much!"

I laughed, and said that I loved Eric, too!

Then the teacher told me that he'd recently been at a development meeting with Eric. Small groups had been formed and they'd gone through several "getting to know you" exercises. Each teacher was asked that old-chestnut-question: If you could have dinner with anyone who ever lived, who would it be?

Eric had told everyone that if he could have dinner with anyone who had ever lived it would be his wife. "And we could tell he meant it," was what the fella said.

This is just another Eric story. It's the sort of thing that makes some folks roll their eyes.

I don't know what marriage is like for most people, and the only marital advice I've ever had to give is "marry Eric". But I'm sure glad that I married that man... glad that I married him, moved in with him, went out with him, said hi to him the park.

School Night

I had a nice day today, despite my uncooperative fingers. Actually, my fingers look worse but feel better, which is a trade I'll take any day. I made the Ladies Who Lunch laugh... told 'em stories and had them laughing, laughing, laughing.

Here's a picture of our Christmas tree, although pictures can never do a good tree justice:



And here's a picture taken during my first Christmas with Eric. I can't believe that I thought I was old and that I longed for straight hair!



I was bright eyed and bushy tailed in that big, joyous, oh-my-god-he's-so-wonderful-and-I-love-him-and-he-loves-me kinda way. I told stories and made people laugh. But boy oh boy I had no idea what good things were in store for me. I couldn't even imagine how light life could be.

Light and love are the gifts Eric gave me, in addition to light up pink flamingos and a black leather jacket.

What a bitchin' boyfriend, huh?

Another Week!

My weekend would probably sound slow and slothful to most of my three regular readers, but for me it was jam-packed. Eric and I went Christmas tree shopping post-chemo on Friday and found a lovely tree. It was easy, which is not typical. There were years when we would drive from lot to lot and not find anything even close to what we wanted.

Eric has a Christmas Tree Stick, btw. It's the absolute maximum height allowable for our tree (approximately 8.5 feet). He brings it with us when we look for a tree tall enough and fat enough and bank-like enough.

I've been shopping and decorating and such despite my war-torn hands and general fatigue. These are the good days, and there's no point in saving anything up for better times. Not that I was ever much of a saver-upper anyway.

Janis had us over for dinner last night: a lovely roast beef w/ potatoes and carrots and onions, a salad of her home-grown lettuces, and the Cookies of Wonder and Joy. Yum!

I have what amounts to a data entry crisis at work at the moment. I really just need to hunker down and TYPE -- a pleasant enough way to spend the work day, usually -- but my fingers are not cooperating (and my mind wanders, too).

I guess I should get ready to go, though.

Morning

Getting ready for chemo at 9:00 AM this morning. It's the final chemo of my third cycle, which means that I get one week off after this.

My fingers are blistering again and it's pretty painful. It's definitely starting out worse than before, so if this is any indication of things to come, I'm not going to be happy camper.

The doctors and nurses have been no help whatsoever. I've implemented the suggestions of the Cancer Ladies, and had thought that was working, but .... well... apparently not-so-much.

Have to go!

Sleepy.

Just another workday... not terribly productive, but enjoyable. Eric made a lovely quiche for dinner, and now I'm drinking hot chocolate and playing silly computer games, and watching The Daily Show.

Not very exciting, but uneventful evenings are nice, too.

Hoots, Boot, and Markers

I had a nice day at work today. I laughed & laughed w/ NM, who is definitely a hoot. I had a good time w/ CN, as well, who is a different sort of hoot.

Eric and I sang on the way home from work... a crazy Zappa/Manilow medley, with some Neil Young thrown in to boot.

Once home I received the results of my latest blood test, which shows a significant (around 50%) drop in my tumor markers. Tumor markers for breast cancer are notoriously unreliable. They're virtually unused to monitor ned patients (folks with no evidence of disease), and for some people they don't correlate to cancer growth at all. BUT... if I'm going to have a marker drawn, I'd rather have it go down than go up.

That's all!

Chemo + Cancer = Rock + Hard Place

Three out of four Fridays is just a lot. They come around so fast, and the respite is too brief. There just aren't that many nights that I feel like drinking champagne.

How can I say that I want to continue with treatment? But how can I say that I want to stop, when stopping represents failure of one of the "nicer" therapies, and means one less option, and that I'm that much closer to running out of time, as well?

These are rhetorical questions!

I ate jambalaya tonight, and Janis' chocolate peanut butter cookies of wonder and delight (as I've dubbed them). I have reason to believe that my Christmas tree will be beautiful, and I know that I couldn't have a sweeter, better, smarter, kinder, more handsome, husband.

How many days 'til vacation?

It's funny to me that I consider the weekend to have been a success because I was able to go shopping and do laundry. In the past that might have a constituted a bad weekend, but now it means that I felt ooookay.

The best moment of the whole weekend happened last night, when (for some reason) my bad impression of Richard "I am a Windbag" Dreyfuss made Eric laugh & laugh.

I watched strange medical shows yesterday -- documentaries about a 13 year old girl with a 15 lb growth on her face, and another about Primordial Dwarfism. I paid for my voyeurism with supper creepy dreams.

Now I’m at work, and I suppose I should get to it!

I had chemo today, but it was a best case chemo scenario. It was a short... just the three pre-meds and the taxol, so I wasn't there all day.


Here's Eric as we're leaving for the appointment this AM. Isn't he adorable? And I love this view from the front of our house. The Oakland hills in the background could be any European city.


Yes: I'm officially handicapped. BUT... it kinda rocks. Did you know that if you're AlterAbled (as we say at Fair) you don't have to pay parking meters? Also, you get to cut in line at Disneyland. There's a silver lining for sure, although I don't want to belittle the cloud.


A deceptively benign marker given the screaming fear of so many of the folks who enter this doorway. When I see people in the waiting room who look first-time-scared, I try to put a little hop in my step and a smile on my face. I don't want to be part of the tyranny of cheerfulness, but on the other hand I don't want to think that every day w/ cancer is hell.


One of the premeds has been hung. Note my picture on the bag... security! They are very careful with the administration of chemo drugs. The Chemotherapy Suite even has its own pharmacist on site.

I didn't take any pictures after that on accounta the premeds put me to sleep.

It's been a quiet day post-chemo. Eric is handsome and life is good.

Some thinkin' to do.

Another one of the cancer ladies died this afternoon. Her husband sent out an email that Barbara was gone. He wrote that she had gone to a better place -- a place without cancer, or chemo, or surgery. They attended their youngest daughter's wedding on Saturday and Barbara had enjoyed herself. She had been exhausted since Saturday, and today the cancer "won".

I'm tired and draggy and sometimes I just don't feel good, but still I'm mostly happy. I'm not sure that's something that's communicated in these little windows... that I'm slow, but that I laugh a lot... that Eric is still delightful to me... that most days I have fun.

There's not much that weighs on my mind, and I don't worry about the future.

I think, though, that it's time for me to think about what I need to do to wrap things up in this world. If there are affairs that need to be ordered, I should order 'em, I suppose.

Eric and I have had many, many, years to perfect -- say -- our Christmas dinners. But I'll only die once. Presumably.

The Usual

It's Tuesday after Friday aredia, taxol, avastin -- that can only mean fever and nosebleeds, and that's what I have.

Still, hot chocolate is good. Eric is handsome. Another work day tomorrow.

About Christmas

My father addressed this letter to Santa in 1968. Mark asked for a bubble pipe and a Green Ghost.

I remember stringing popcorn for the tree with Paul and Mark -- a bowl of plain popcorn for stringing and a bowl of buttered popcorn for eating.

I do have happy memories of Christmas at home with my family. I liked the holidays that brought our family together. It was fun to see John and Doni and the girls... Jane and Mary and Chuck and Scotty. There were better years and happy occasions.

I wasn't created from whole cloth in the moment that I met Eric even though sometimes it feels that way to me. I brought something with me, and Eric wouldn't have stayed at the end of that fateful summer had I been completely wretched. Thank God I wasn't completely wretched!

Just wanted to set the record straight.

Work tomorrow, and despite an entire week off I feel like I'm going back tooooo sooooon.

I don't stress about presents, either.

I'm doing pretty well today, all things considered. I've been thinking about Christmas and New Year's... wanting to plan for and enjoy them. It feels so hard, though, to make plans.

I'm not namby pamby regarding my enjoyment of Christmas. I love the shininess of the decorations and I love the music. I love having Christmas dinner for our friends, setting the table, eating Eric's feast. I love going to see Tom play his harp on Christmas eve. I love decorating the tree.

I really do love Christmas. My mother used to say that she loved Christmas, but if she did it was at best bittersweet. She tired. There would be a flurry of Christmas plans at the beginning of December, but by the time the 25th rolled around she was depressed and/or angry. Perhaps it was having children that ruined it for her. Who knows? I'm sorry that she couldn't enjoy it.

As for me, when I limped away from Long Beach (where the natives have a 100 different words for the color of asphalt) I decided to create my own traditions. How fortuitous it was that I met Eric and found the very best co-creator in the world. My first just-my-own Christmas was Eric's first-ever Christmas.

Eric carried the enormous tree (which he had driven me 'round & 'round to find) upstairs to my attic apartment. He didn't want to help me decorate because he'd never decorated a tree before and he didn't want to mess it up. But we decorated it together, and this year will be the nineteenth tree we've made beautiful together.

Escrow closed on our house just a few days before Christmas. We pulled up the carpeting and painted the downstairs lickety split, and moved over just what we needed to make Christmas dinner for 20 friends. Our house was inaugurated with a long table and friends at Christmas.

Christmas blends into New Year's, which has always been fun for us, and for 5 out of the last 6 years that's meant Camp Martha. This time of year has been about sparkles and dancing, friends & silliness, and fun.

I guess I just want the fun to continue. This year, and the year after, and the year after that. More sparkles and dancing, silliness and friends. That doesn't seem to be the way my hand's playing out. It doesn't seem that way. I just don't know.

I'm a sucker for wishing on stars. I've wished on every first-star-of the-night I can ever remember seeing, and since I first fell in love with Eric -- have I ever not loved Eric? -- I've made the same wish, every time. I really have. I've had the same wish for first stars and wishbones and any other wishing occasions that have arisen.

My wishes have come true. As always, I just wish for more of the same.

Sigh.

All good things must come to an end, including extended stays at the Atlantis Casino and Resort.

We came home on Wednesday. Today I had chemo -- nearly six hours in the blue plastic chair. For the most part I slept.

Now I'm tired.

That's my story!

Clams on the half shell and roller skates

These are the good times, although they aren't as good as they used to be. We are still at the Atlantis Casino and Resort, every player's paradise. We're enjoying ourselves, but it's not huge big fun. It's more... nice. It's relaxing. We laughed this morning that we largely judge our vacations by the quality of our sleep these days.

There's really no reason for us ever to leave. Our room is free for the duration, and we have access to a hospitality suite with a bar, yummy snacks and hor doervres, and comfy leather chairs.

We're just crusing along -- it's time out of time.

I only won fifty follars in the slot tournament, BUT... I won a hundred dollars in a random drawing during the tournament. That was fun.

Friday and that pleases me.

Blogger has made some changes recently. Things may look a little different around here but it's still the same old yak yak yak.

They've enabled a new future which allows blog entries to be tagged thematically. For instance, each of my blog entries about cats (zero so far, but you never know) can be tagged as feline entries, and then all entries regarding felines could be grouped for quick cat reading.

This makes me laugh.

My tags would read like this: Eric Eric Eric Love Love Eric Eric Love Eric Eric Eric Cancer Eric Cancer Eric Eric Love Love Eric.

I'm at work now, but before I know it I'll be on my way to Reno and at the start of a full week off from work. Yay!

Just a Thursday

We went out for a nice dinner last night for Eric's birthday with Janis, Tom, and Corinne. It was fun -- lots o' laughing, as one would imagine.

I tell myself every day that Eric's going to be okay. I have to believe it. I have to have faith in Eric... that he'll persevere and some day prosper... that he'll take care of himself, that the world will take care of him, that time will make it better.

Leaving Eric is the part that makes me feel ragged and awful.

I mean but seriously

Just look at him. If Eric's not 300% more handsome than the next most handsome man, I'll eat my hat.



Eric's a Birthday Boy today, and it's my great pleasure to celebrate with him for the ninteenth time. He was 29 when I met him -- tanned, handsome, happy... maybe the first truly happy person I'd ever known. Eric was the tonic for what ailed me... joyful, steady, playful, grounded, and always, always, loving.

Eric Price is my favorite person in the universe, and I'm luckyluckylucky to be with him on his birthday and any other other day. This is not new news, but it's old news that is still absolutely true.

Twosday

This morning my right forefinger has eight blisters. It's not horrible. It's not the worst thing I've ever experienced. I am, however, experiencing some trepidation about the future. I'm considering methods of putting on socks without the use of forefingers or thumbs. Challenging! My pinkies may go on strike.

Monday! Ugh!

I had chemo on Friday -- it was uneventful, 'cept that none of the nurses seemed to have any idea what's going on with my hands (which are blistered and painful). One of them suggested that it was probably the chemotheraphy. Great moments in diagnostics!

This weekend Eric's mother was here. She's the easiest houseguest in the world, and we share great big bundles of love for her son, but I'm totally exhausted. Post-chemo-weekends are not meant for such things. Now I'm facing Monday morning with less oomph than usual, and it's making me an uphappy blogger this morning.

Eric is still dreamy.

That's my story!

Chemo tomorrow. But tonight...

Is there psychological significance to the fact that I drew my mother without a nose (which she had) but with a beauty mark (which she did not have)?

I've been going through my stuff for a while now... paring it down, throwing it away. I've had different methods. For a while I was throwing out three items a day, whether it was an old envelope of photos, a favorite t-shirt from a previous decade, or a crumpled receipt from the corner of a drawer.

I don't think anyone wants to be burdened with my ephemera. Eric will want some of it, I'm sure... but no one needs my report cards from junior high or a 1972 birthday card from my grandparents.

Report cards, birthday cards, notebooks... old junk jewelery and beads and seashells and candles and poetry and sand dollars and on and on.

After finishing my initial cancer treatment in 2002, I went through all of my old journals and diaries. I read them a bit, but then I threw them into a roaring fireplace. It was wonderful. The next day I pulled the spiral wires out of the ashes, and I was so glad to be done with all of the bullshit.

I was all growed up. I'd been a happy person with a happy life, married to the great love of my life, for a long, long time. Those notebooks had been full of angst and heartache and old, old, shit.

The sort of housecleaning I'm doing now is different.

Here are the earrings I wore when I got married, and there's the Wooly Willy keychain from my Christmas stocking, circa 1991.

I wasn't aware I was such a collector until I really started looking. It's time to divest, and as unceremoniously as possible.

This is an interesting place to be.

TV kinda sucks.

Well... it's nice that the Democrats won a race or two, and Rumsfield certainly needed to go. I'm happy about those things.

Somehow I wound up watching a "news" show tonight... dateline or something similar... and it was just awful. Fascinating and awful. In a nutshell: A troubled man stalked and then murdered a pretty and popular southern belle.

It was really something.

Amidst all of the craziness of this man's life, it was his cross-dressing and desire to become a woman that received the most attention in the report.

Ain't that America.

Then, at the end of the report, it was noted that DA could have sought the death penalty after the murderer's confession, but the family objected. I thought that was a positive turn in the storyline, but then they cut to victim's sister, who stated that they'd decided to not pursue the death penalty because the victim had been a private person who wouldn't have wanted pictures of the crime scene on display during trial. Otherwise... ?

I'm not picking on the family. They've suffered a terrible loss, of course.

The level of public discourse is so LOW.

Cross dressers are dangerous and murderers should be murdered (unless the victim is a private person).

I'm going to watch election coverage now. Maybe it'll cheer me up!

My husband...

... has made me hot chocolate the last few evenings. It's been wonderful. I don't know why it's been so good, but it really has been delightful.

Eric is delightful.

Just a Tuesday.

I'm feeling a bit bored and boring, but without the oomph to stir things up. It's a combo of chemo-drain and perspective. Every morning is a bit like Christmas morning now, but then I unwrap the day, and it's mostly not that hot (the wonderfulness of Eric aside).

Eric is also tired and working, feeling the strain from that ridiculous no-child-left-untested legislation.

The ladies at work have packed away their Halloween vests and sweaters. There will be a smattering of Thanksgiving ensembles soon, but then the high season of holiday fashion will begin.

The Week

Eric made Thanksgiving dinner last night: turkey, stuffing, gravy, sweet potatoes. It was delicious and made the house smell like a holiday.

I made an applesauce cake and without being too precious (I don't like those food-porn essays that use globs of sensuous language to describe making pies) I want to say that it was fun. I liked creaming the butter and sugar, and adding the eggs one at a time, and sifting the dry ingredients.

I'm trying to get through this morning while managing a growing number of side effects from chemotherapy.

I'll be going to the hospital twice this week on Thursday and Friday. Friday is a day off from work -- Veteran's Day -- but it doesn't matter to me as I 'm going in for chemotherapy anyway. I suppose it's one less sick day I have to use. Party!

Eric's mother is coming this weekend. She's traveling from Florida for the weekend (arriving Friday evening and leaving Sunday evening).

Sunday

Eric and I have had a stressful weekend so far, although we're hoping for a better day today. We're going grocery shopping later -- the first time I'll have left the house since Friday afternoon when I came home and crashed from the Benadryl. That night, however, the Decadron won, and I was up until 6:30 in the morning.

Saturday was tired and teary. Today will be an improvement, I'm sure.

Friday = Chemo

This is where I'll be tomorrow:



Isn't it a lovely blue plastic recliner?

Eric and I have had a nice evening. We've been talking, remembering, and planning. I am delighted to spend time with Eric, as always.

Duh.

I've been finding these short little hairs on my cheek or at the corner of my mouth, and wondering "where did that come from"?

This morning the light bulb above my head finally went on. They're eyelashes.

I can't believe I have to do chemo again the day after tomorrow. Last night was another evening of blech and fever. I didn't even carve a jack-o-lantern... the first time I've not done so since I started at age... what.... four?

Bad news.

Eric doesn't want me to post a picture of him in his adorable pirate costume! I can't imagine why he's being obstructionist.

I had an appointment with my oncologist yesterday. It was cursory. He's a fast-talking-you-look-great kinda doctor.

He said I looked good bald... that not every woman can "pull it off". "Good for you", was his comment when I told him I don't have a wig.

Odd.

I didn't expect anything to come from the appointment and nothing did.

Last night I had a fever. It was all about the couch, and apple juice, and the soft, lovely, blanket I confiscated from my mother-in-law.

The jury's still out on today. BUT... a day devoted to ghouls and ghosts and horrors is an appropriate ending to Breast Cancer Awareness month, in my opinion.

Monday

This morning Eric is still 300% more handsome than the next most handsome man. Wait 'til you see him in his pirate costume!

Sunday

It was a quiet post-chemotherapy weekend. Now it's nearly over. I'm going to the hospital on Monday, Thursday, and Friday of the upcoming week.

It's close. That's good, right?

I mean, I guess this is it. This is what my life is now...? It's hard to believe it. I just don't know. Live longer or die sooner -- feel better now, or feel worse sooner rather than later...? This feels like a constant narrowing of possibilities. I guess on accounta it IS a constant narrowing of possibilities.

I love Eric. I want to spend as much time with Eric as I can, now, because I'm afraid my bones will continue to miss him when they're ground to dust. Dramatic, I know.

Let's see...

I had chemo yesterday, Friday, and it was a loooong day of sitting in the blue plastic recliner. First I had a 30-minute treatment with some drug to dissolve whatever was blocking my port. Then I had two antihistamines and one steriod to avoid an allergic reaction. Next I had Avastin, Taxol, and Aredia. The whole shebang took 6.5 hours, which is actually 6.75 hours longer than I ever want to be there again (using the new math).

I can't complain this morning. Eric is handsome and makes a good cup of joe. It looks like it'll be another sunny, breezy, day. I'm content.

OH, and remember the woman who asked me for my prognosis in the parking lot? Turns out that she's one of those super sen-see-tive (and least in regards to herSELF), crying, weak, the-world-must-take-care-of-me types. Apparently she has a history of having "nervous breakdowns", gaining 100 pounds, and leaving her job for a year or two. She did this twice.

SO... she wrote me an email that wasn't an apology, even though the subject line read "Apology".

Essentially it said that she's a very caring a woman, and wanted to show her concern for me, and she's sorry if her asking about me appeared insensitive.

I read it, I laughed, and I ignored it -- not knowing all of the above re: her teary, wounded, nature.

I intended to respond in a day or two with something nice, because who needs to be mean? Who has time for it?

But, when I did not respond quickly, she took her show on the road. Apparently she went crying near and far. She told many people that she-was-just-trying-to-be-nice and marthas-so-sensitve and (my favorite part) SHE CAN'T STOP CRYING ABOUT IT, and she can't sleep. She can't concentrate on her work, she doesn't know what to do...

She feels sick, her hands are shaking....

She called her sister LONG DISTANCE (Wow. Did she have to get Johnboy to drive her to Ike's store to make the call?) and cried to her sister....

So. A couple people came to me with this story, and one person came to NM with this story. I had been having a lovely day up till that point! But NM reported to me that the person she spoke with was very concerned about The Crier, and felt that I was being unrealistic in expecting no one to ask me how I'm doing. Mary explained what had REALLY happened, but seemed to think that it was the tip of the iceberg in terms of all those folks the crier had told.

Okay.

Some people are snivelers, and some people get on with their lives. At first I thought it was pretty dumb that I had to take care of the sniveler -- who had engendered so much sympathy -- when EYE'm the one who's sick. But then I saw it the larger context. I don't want people treating me like a crying child, and I don't want to be that manipulative (which is the flipside of being a crying child as an adult).

So I wrote her a sweet and funny email, and told her that of course we were friends, and that it was all good.

Her response was effusive. She wrote that she had tears in her eyes as she typed.

Whatever.

Now I'm off to get breakfast.

G'morning

I'm drinking coffee and taking inventory -- wiggling my toes, listening for wheezing, making tiny adjustments to my hyper-calibrated "internal sense" of cancer pro-and-hopefully-re-gression.

I have chemo on Friday. I shaved my head 11 days ago. Luana is coming to visit from Hawaii this weekend. ONE of those statements is a good, good, thing!

Oh well.

I went to a grocery store at lunch today to scan the aisles for otc products to fix my various chemotherapy complaints. I needed something for my hands and feet, which are cracked and painful. I needed an alcohol-free mouthwash for the sores in my mouth.

The woman who rang up my items asked: Did you find everything you need, Mr. Price?

I drove back to work, and was hailed in the parking lot by a woman whose name and position I don' t know. She told me that she hadn't known that I was sick until I started wearing a hat.

She asked me if I was going to be okay, and she asked for my prognosis.

I told her that I wasn't going to be okay, and that I was terminally ill. She gasped. I told her to be careful about asking for prognoses. I walked away mad.

She called after me, and wanted to know if she could give me a hug. I told her I was good.

Why the hell would a woman I don' t know ask me for my prognosis in a parking lot? What was I supposed to say? Should I lie, or speak in vagaries, or tell the truth? For fuck's sake. It's not fair.

It's not fair that I have cancer, and it's not fair that my cuticles look like they've been buffed with sandpaper, and it's not fair that eating and drinking is painful, and it's not fair that I'm cornered in a parking lots by well intentioned and poorly mannered dimwits.

Just a cranky day, I guess. I'll work on a better mood tomorrow.

Yawn

It's Monday, alright. I'm sleepy this morning and could use another hour or three of warm-in-bed time.

I've been aware of the groups Breast Cancer Action and Think Before You Pink for a while now. There was an article in The Chronicle about the October's pink madness.

But today, there's a growing "pinklash," made up of critics who fear that pink has become just another marketing tool. Some critics are put off by such pitches as "Eat a Gummy Bear, Save a Life." Others bristle at the mere notion of "Shopping for the Cure."

The rest of the article can be found here .

Actually, I'll say a little prayer for YOU.

I worked all of last week. It was my first week of baldness, and also my first week off from chemo.

Despite the fact that I'm doing as well as can be expected, and that I'm generally in fine humor, I can't say anything positive about this chemo experience. It would just rankle. So, yes, while having a week off from chemo is better than NOT having a week off from chemo, I can't exactly say that I'm turning back flips about it.

Graham and Leah are here, and it's good to see them.

I'm drinking coffee and checking email. Eric is drinking coffee and reading the paper. I suppose that the world continues to spin on its axis.

Several folks at work have come to me with their cancer tales. They come with intensity and tears or with billows of puffy pink hope, sweet as cotton candy and spun by their mothers, cousins, neighbors, who refused to die and are still alive 112 years later.

There's the woman who cried and cried as she described her mother's valiant fight against The Beast. She told me to never give up... never give in....

There's the fella whose 19 year old son is dying from an inoperable brain tumor. He cried and showed me the picture. His shoulders shook and he gulped for air. He said his son's life is nearly over, and his family is devastated and broken.

There's the nurse who told me story after story of the friends, family, and patients she's known who've died from cancer. They suffered greatly. She-told-me-and-I-quote: Martha, I know that you're praying for a quick death.

I am bald and I am dying and I am trying to live until I die (which is the trick and the toughest part, only made easier by my darling and most wonderful husband).

My circumstances have changed, but I haven't changed. I listen to their stories and I offer tissues. I think about how I wouldn't trade with them. Not ever. Not even now. They're all nice folks. Just... wow.

Why not orange? It's nearly Halloween, isn't it?

Pink. Pink. Pink.

I read a few blogs written by women who have or have had breast cancer. This is one situation where the Have Nots are sitting prettier than the Haves. For reals.

So... I'm reading a blog, and the woman writes excitedly about all of the pink pink pink pink everywhere.

She makes reference to pink products by Serta mattress, KitchenAid, and Tic Tacs. There are pink Fuji digital cameras and Ford Motor Company has a line of cancer pink clothing. Wilson is selling pink tennis balls. There's a Better Homes and Gardens special edition pink plaid cookbook. She couldn't be more delighted. And then she writes:

Dear fellow survivors, we are being honored this month. Not for having this disease, but honored for beating it. These people and companies want us to keep on living! This is also a good time to share your experience with co-workers, neighbors and acquaintances.

Hmmmm. There's no honor in dying of cancer, I suppose.

Money for research is a good thing. Money for research is a good thing. I'll keep telling myself that when I start to feel that I'm drowning in a sea of...

Pink.

Will October never end?

Sigh.

Thursday's "Grey's Anatomy" features breast cancer storyline and Ford Warriors in Pink gear. What makes ABC's hottest show even hotter? How about the entire cast sporting Ford's Warriors in Pink gear and helping to educate millions of viewers through a breast cancer story line!

Well, that's done.

I'm at work and I've made the rounds of my immediate co-workers -- smiling, laughing, complaining about how cold my head is (which is true). I've probably acted more jolly than I feel, but I think that's a good thing in the long run.

Getting to be bald was hard. I didn't want it, I didn't like it, and the hair falling, falling, falling was upsetting. Getting here was hard, but being bald is okay. It's not my preferance, but it's okay. It's funny... it's like for a little while I'd forgotten who I am, which is someone who largely doesn't give a damn.

Somehow I was transported back to the seventh grade. And I'll tell you the truth: walking to Marshall Junior High School each morning (before I started walking to El Dorado Park every day instead) was a hell of a lot harder than walking into work today without hair. Today I have a right to take up space in the universe, and then I wanted to apologize for every step and misstep and breath.

I'm sure that someone will say something dumb today, because why should today be any different from any other day? And I know that as long as I'm bald, there will be times when I think it sucks.

But right now, today, it's ooookay -- a happy work precedent, and a trend that I think will continue.

3 pics

I've had worse mornings. Plenty o' better ones, too.

YakYakYak

I guess I've been grousing quite a bit lately. It's real enough, but it doesn't paint the full picture of my days. I go to work and get stuff done and laugh & laugh -- NM is a laugher, and CN is fodder for hilarity if I've ever seen it. Along with NM I laugh more at work than anyone else. People wander by and tell me (half-jokingly) to get back to work, or they wished that THEY were having such a good day, etc. Whatever. So I have a pretty good time at work, and then there's Eric at home. Eric at home is the icing on the cake, and the cake, and the cake plate.

Still, these days aren't my favorite among days. I'm trying to do things I know will help. I'll probably... probably... feel better when I chop off my hair this weekend. Keeping it though this week is pushing it, and the falling hair is hard to manage.

It makes me feel defeated. If I was a poster child for cancer five years ago, I was in that group that I was fighting to be "cured". Now I'm just some dying wretch, with no good answers for the inevitable questions. How long will your treatment last? I've gotten that one already.

What can the doctors do for you?

I've been prepping people at work for my hair loss, and they have lots o' questions about cancer. They're nice, and they're fearful. I have to explain things a few times ... that breast cancer is still breast cancer, even when it's in your bones. How it gets there. Why they can't just make it go away.

At lunch yesterday I had a disagreement with a woman about chemotherapy. She felt that my current treatment is NOT chemotherapy, and wouldn't be dissuaded. Eventually I just gave up with a shrug. It doesn't matter.

This is the boringest blog entry ever.

Somehow this blog ended up on an online list of resources for women with breast cancer -- for women seeking information and support. This is a very bad idea.

If you're one of those women: Welcome! I'd be delighted to have you stay... but this is just one person's story, and she's been grousing quite a bit lately.

I'm off to work!

Hmph.

I left work yesterday in the early afternoon. I was tired and worn out and tired. I tried to cancel my appointment in chemotherapy for a blood draw -- the normal lab-types can't access my port -- but the chemo nurse on the phone harangued me into coming in. She really did. All I wanted was to sleep.

When she saw me she said that I didn't look myself. She took my vitals, asked a few questions, and couldn't successfully access my port for the draw. It was very frustrating. Why did I have surgery to have a permanent port installed in my body, effectively turning me into some sort of Borg, if I'm still going to wind up teary eyed and desperate while some thoroughly-rattled nurse tries to find a vein?

So, over an hour and I don't know how many pricks later, I limped my way home.

I went to bed at 7:30 PM, and instantly fell asleep. Now I'm just up, twelve hours later, and I'm getting ready to go back for more chemo and fun.

The nurse reminded me that the drug I'm taking is one of the best tolerated. Yeah, okay. I understand that it could be worse. Being really tired, having my hair fall out in small clumps, and having a perpetually bloody nose... these things are small potatoes in the range of possible chemotherapy side effects. Is this another one of those blessings I'm supposed to count?

It's too goddamn early to be having such a bad fucking day.

Sleepy

The thing is ... if I felt okay, I wouldn't be all that worried about dying. I could ignore my impending death fairly well, in much the same manner I used to ignore overdue library books and parking tickets.

I have a well developed ability to ignore stuff. Life most gifts, it's a blessing and a curse. It's a nifty trick, though, when trying to live happily during trying times.

I find these times to be trying.

I'm having a hard time stringing words together lately. I don't know what to say about this treatment. Tomorrow I'm getting more blood work done, and Tuesday I'm having chemo again. I guess I'm not going to say anything about it at all. I'm just going to do it. I'm going to do it for another cycle, and then I'm going to reevaluate the treatment plan. We'll see.

I've been missing my friends. You know who you are. You're the folks who've called and written and who haven't received responses. I know you know that I love you -- it's just the way it is right now. I'm a little sick and a little sad and a lot tired. I don't know what's coming around the corner. I hope that it's better.

What's the emoticon for spitting?

http://www.kitchenaid.com/catalog/category.jsp?categoryId=1302

The Ladies Surf

I feel kinda bad because I can see what searches bring people to this blog, and I know that most of them are women with cancer.

I want to post a permanent disclaimer for them... that their mileage may vary... that they're going to live for a long, long, time.

I hope they do.

Does anybody really know what time it is?

I'm at work, just-under-half-way done with the elementary school immunization audits. It's a big project.

I feel okay. I have some bone pain at the proximal aspect of my left femur. Beyond that I can't complain.

I've started telling my co-workers that I have cancer on accounta I'll be losing my hair soon. It's funny... the higher ranking folks (psychologists, directors, etc) have all gabbed. I told only the two directors who are in my chain of command, but apparently they told everyone else at their level.

But the two or three secretary-types that I told didn't say a word. None of the people who I have so much more interaction with have any idea.

The response has been warm and supportive. It's interesting that across the board I've been asked if it "runs" in my family.

There's a need to make sense of it, I think. Also there's a need to distance themselves from it. Just in general, these folks are fearful. They're afraid of immigrants and they're afraid their children will have less they had, and they're afraid of crime and they're afraid of cancer, and they really don't understand any of it.

But... they look sad when I tell them I have cancer. They say they think it's awful. They tell me that I have a great attitude and they never woulda guessed. And then they keep eating lunch with me and lauging at my jokes. I don't think I could ask for much more than that.

Nurses Nurses Everywhere

I slept through much of the infusion yesterday. The benadryl made me sleepy, sleepy... I napped away much of the afternoon at home, as well.

At night I couldn't sleep. I tossed and turned until the wee hours. It must have been 3:00 or 4:00 AM before I finally fell asleep. I'm still going to work, though. It's a particularly busy time of year and I don't want to fall too far behind. It's good for my head to go to work. I don't want it to become a burden.

I didn't even see Unsolicited Advice Nurse. I had Frog Nurse. She collects frogs, and her scrubs often are covered with frogs. She has frog pins on her ID. She's a jovially efficient nurses, and I have no problems with her.

I also had a visit from Berkeley Nurse. She also works at the Comprehensive Cancer Center, and she's big on empowering patients to seek complimentary therapies. She stuck her head in to talk to me about supplements to stave off neuropathy (which I believe I'm already developing .... not a good sign).

I also saw the nurse who I most liked from the Infusion Suite. She's back from maternity leave with pictures of a beautiful shining smiling baby who she says wakes up laughing. She was obviously sad that I'd moved on to chemotherapy. It definitely showed in her voice and demeanor. She hugged me twice, and admired my port. More times than anyone she had struggled to find a vein for infusions. For some reason it didn't bother me as much when she did it, though.

Finally, though -- the icing on the nurse cake -- there's Crazy Nurse. At work on Monday, Crazy nurse talked to me about illness. I need to go get ready for work, so I'll make this brief. CN had this to say:

1. My hair is looking thin.
2. The hardest part for her would be not knowing exactly when she would die. She didn't think she would be able to do that.
3. Have the doctors told me how long I have exactly?
4. Did I have any idea, a gut feeling, about how long I have to live?
5. I couldn't just die, just like that, and leave them (work).
6. Oh, also, or leave Eric.
7. How did I feel about leaving Eric?
8. Liver mets are very, very, bad.
9. The way I feel about the disease can change the course of the disease. Was I going to fight it?
10. Have I started the stages yet? Grief, anger, acceptance....?

She stood very close to , withing two feet of me, as I sat. The above is a monolgue that took her about 30 minutes.

It made me laugh.

Here's what I said to her:

I don't think that it's linear progression through stages. I don't like to talk about cancer very much because it's not where I choose to focus my attention. I don't believe that the cancer cells are going to respond to my thoughts. There are millions of biochemical interactions in our body every moment. Our thoughts have some effect on a few of them. Thoughts aren't going to save my life.

There are certain statistics that are true for people in my situation. They can predict life span for a population. A statisic can't predict lifespan for an inidividual. My intention is to live life as happily as I can, while I can. In some ways, My situation is no different from anyone else. I have today to live and tomorrow is an illusion. I've been stripped of the comfortable dream of immortality. Yes, I know you don't think you're immortal with your head, but you don't carry the knowledge of your mortality in the forefront of your brain. You don't carry it in your heart. Mostly want I want is to live as normally as possible, and toward that end I'm asking people to not address the issue of my disease unless they really must.

I think that effectively shut her down for a while.

Can you believe that she's a nurse?

Off to work!

G'night

I'm working tomorrow (today, really... Monday), although I'm leaving a bit early to get some blood work done. On Tuesday I'm having my second infusion of Taxol. I'm not psyched. My scalp is starting to have that funny, buzzing, tingley sensation that I remember as a precursor to hair loss. I guess I should find my soft hats for cold mornings.

The weekend was fine. The best part of it, as always, was spending time with Eric. He's still the sweetest man and my favorite person. That will never change.

Hmmm.

I'm not sure how I feel. Weird. Kinda like I've been poisoned (probably because I've been poisoned).

I'm at work. I worked part of the day on Wednesday. Thursday, yesterday, went by in a blur of fog and fever.

I've felt worse.

I assume that toxicity will build over time. If this is my life -- feeling at best vaguely bad -- then I don't know why I would continue this treatment. I'm not exactly sure why I started it.

I'll have to think about it, I guess.

One Down(downdown)

I had Unsolicited Advice Nurse today. I've seen her in action before. I once saw her tell a severely nauseated pregnant woman, who kept returning to the hospital for hydration and vitamins, that she should "enjoy this exciting time".

She gave me an earful today. This is what she said: Cancer is a road, and you don't know where it ends. You have to be flexible and just kind of go with it. Many woman tell her that cancer has been really good for them. They appreciate life more and really savor the good times. That's what I need to try to do.

And then she patted my leg.

I didn't tell her what I think of that nonsense. I'm accustomed to hearing it from sick, sick, woman who are desperately trying to make lemonade. I've heard the cancer-is-the-best-thing-that-ever-happened-to-me-before speech. I consider that attitude an illness.

I smiled and nodded at the nurse. I plastered a phony-ass smile on my face, because that was the path of least resistance. I didn't tell her that I KNOW where the fucking road leads. It leads to my death and my husband's sorrow. It leads away from Christmas trees, summers, vacations, dancing, dreaming, and vanilla ice cream. It leaves my brother Paul the last of the "little kids" to survive. It leaves my sister Jane the last living member of the RedHairFreckleFace Club. It leaves my sister Mary without her baby sister.

And I didn't need any life lessons about appreciating time. I appreciated time. I have a craft box full of glitter and pipe cleaners and popsicle sticks and crayons and pens and feathers and sequins and paints and papers and glue and I DON'T HAVE KIDS. I own three different disco balls. I've used a case of champagne to make punch for a party, I buy Mardi Gras beads by multiple gross, and I was Reno's highest ranking female craps player. I got married in a black mini dress and there's a camp named after me.

That nurse doesn't know my life. She doesn't know that I've already learned the lessons I needed to learn about mortality.

Fuck her.

And fuck me. It's my own fault. I started it by saying that I didn't want to lose all of my hair in two to six weeks.

She asked me if I'd been to the Look Good Feel Good Class. And then she launched into her Cancer Can Be Good bullshit.

The woman next to me has chemo every day, from 10:00 AM to 4:30 PM. She does that every day for a week, then has two weeks off, except that during that two weeks her blood counts tank and she usually has to come back to the hospital. Her spine was "double penetrated" with radiation, and now her stomach lining has thickened. She has a hiatal hernia. She has a rare cancer in her pelvis and lungs. She's in pain. She has bad side effects from chemo. At one point they had given her 6 months to live. She has a four year old and nine year old. Her husband is divorcing her.

Another woman in the Chemo Suite said, "oh, I'm sorry...." and the woman with the cancer, the all-day-for-a-week-chemo, the sickness, the pain, the asshole husband who's leaving her, and two kids to care for said: "Oh, it's not so bad".

Oh, it's not so bad.

I started laughing.

I think that we're mad. I think that the professionals who help us have to turn off some kind of compassion switch -- because being present to so much pain every day must be impossible for them. So they offer platitudes and Look Good Feel Good classes, and if they're sensitive by nature they probably have to work to stave off depression.

And the sick women -- well, some of them have hope of a cure, and that's cool. I was one of them once, and I wore that possibility as armor. I didn't spout platitudes, but I was generally upbeat. Being bald didn't phase me and I plowed through treatment the best I could.

But this is different. No one -- and I mean no one -- needs to be thinking that stage IV cancer is the best thing that ever happened to them. If people want to find dignity in accentuating their cheekbones and hope in pink t-shirts, then they can knock themselves out.

As for me... I'll never complain again. I'll suck it up. Because along with the cancer, the pep talks are killing me.

Morning

I have an 8:30 AM appointment in the Chemotherapy Suite this morning. I've been informed that this first round of chemo will take aaaall day. First they'll give me a few drugs to ward off allergic reactions -- Benadryl, Decadron (yes, the drug that made me ravenously hungry and crazy), and somethin' else I can't remember.

Then they'll give me the Taxol and the Avastin. Not sure of the order, but I know that the first time they'll infuse it slowly and watch my response. Each week they'll speed up the process so that eventualy it will just take a few hours (I think).

The area around my new port hurts some, but it's not bad. I have two small incisions. One runs diagonally, about an inch long, beneath my right clavicle. The second is just half an inch, high and toward my neck, in the area of my jugular vein. Both are held with just a few dissolvable sutures and then covered with large globs of superglue. I have small incisions within fields of dried glue. If I'd known I would've brought the doctor some glitter to sprinkle on it before it dried.

I'm in less pain than I was last week. I know that I should probably try to ramp up my attitude some. It's hard to be gung ho.

Eh.

The port was no big deal. I'm a bit bruised and sore. I woke up a few times during the procedure but it was all very pleasant and druggy. They brought me warm blankets.

The doctor, who was very young and had one of those idiosyncratic goatees, held my eyes for a moment, smiled sweetly, and said, "My mother was diagnosed with breast cancer when she was 41. That was 1980 and she's still alive." Clearly, he didn't know that I had mets. I didn't educate him.

Off for chemo tomorrow

How'd it get so late?

I'm going to tomorrow (today) to get have a port put in. It's a simple procedure. It's been a quiet weekend.

Now I'm tired.

It's decision making time in CancerLand, and there aren't any roads that lead to the Peppermint Stick Forest or Gumdrop Mountain.

It's nearly 3:00 AM and I'm wide awake. I'm experiencing a high level of discomfort, with pain radiating through my chest, rib cage, and mid to lower back. I can't lie down, and I can't sit upright. I'm taking shallow breathes on accounta it hurts too much to fill my lungs with air. I'm trying to relax. Being upset just makes my breathing worse.

That's an awfully kvetchy-sounding paragraph, but honestly I'm just reporting.

I'm in the recliner in the guest room, with the light on... waiting for the drugs to kick in, wondering how I'm going to be able to function at work in just a few hours. The true love of my life is sleeping in the bed next to this chair. He joined me here during the night... said he didn't want to be as far away from me as our bedroom. I feel bad that he's sleeping in a less comfy bed with a light on, but I'm selfishly glad he's here.

I had my infusion today, but I didn't have any shots. No giant needle in my abdomen, or narrow needles in my hips. I have failed that treatment -- you know, the one that was relatively easy, only once a month, and held the key to long term (several years) survival.

On Monday I'm having a port-a-cath inserted into my upper chest wall. It's minor surgery, and it will mean an end to the stressful search for a "good" vein. It's a metal disk, about the size of a quarter but thicker, that'll live under my skin as a "plug" for IV's and needles. It sounds weird and science fiction-y to me, but glad to be getting it.

On Tuesday I start chemotherapy. It wasn't an easy decision, and until Thursday norning I was still undecided. Bottom line is that liver mets aren't good. They can ramp up quickly and kill you fast.

I absolutely believe that there are worse things than dying, and that it's inevitable, anyway. There's a delicate balance here, and I want to pay attention to it, and do what I can reasonably do to live, without feeling worse from chemo than I do from cancer.

I have no interest in eeking out every last moment I can on this earth.

But starting Tuesday I'm going to try this, and hope for the best.

I'll be taking two drugs, Taxol and Avastin. I will receive treatment once a week for three weeks, and then have one week off. That is called one cycle. I will continue to do cycles of chemo until it stops working (or it's decided it never starated working), or I can no longer tolerate it (or choose not to tolerate it).

I'll lose all of my hair, and as long as I'm taking Taxol it won't grow back. I have very different feelings about this than I did the first time I lost my hair. It was a small matter to me, then. But then I knew there to be a reasonable chance that I could live to be old and grey with Eric. Now I know that I'm going to die -- too soon -- and probably without hair. It doesn't make me happy.

So, I'll be bald. There's not much nausea associated with this regimen. I'll likely have flu-like symptoms, bone pain, joint pin, and possibly neuropathy (pain or numbeness in hand and feet).

I don't if it'll work, or how I'm going to feel, or when or if I'll be able to work.

And that's my icky story in a brightly lit room at 3:30 in the morning.

It's Better Than Marconi Plays the Mamba

I did go to work today (yesterday, I suppose), and I had a nice day. I had lots o' work to do, and I laughed, too. I rarely thought about cancer.

I've had several songs stuck in my head tonight. One of them is "Jackie Blue". Now it's yours. Enjoy!

Decisions, Decisions

I'm torn this morning. Part of me wants to stay home from work after getting all of that icky news yesterday. I own the world's softest blanket. I found it on the guest room bed in Eric's parents' house, and let's just say that I came home with it. It's the nicest blanket ever, and I could sit under it and cry and feel sorry & lonesome. That sounds pretty good.

On the other hand, forty-one short years of living have taught me that going to work & getting stuff done is the road to a happier day (and less red eyes).

I know there's nothing really different between yesterday and today. I just have more information. The story's still the same.

Eric is worried and sad this morning. Now he has to go keep the attention of a roomful of teenagers. Soft blankets and a sniffley day aren't a realistic option for him.

Well... back from the oncologist.

It was actually a little bit worse than I expected, but it's nice to know that I can still be surprised. ;)

Highlights are that I now have mets to my liver. That's completely new. There's progression in my lungs, and LOTS of progression in my bones. After listing many new sites of bone mets the report concluded with words like extensive, widespread, and new.

I've been thinking about it, and really except for DEGREE, the only thing that could be worse would be hearing that I have mets in my brain, and to be frank they haven't checked for that yet.

They took some plain films today of my right hip and femur-- trying to ascertain the extent of the "hole" as the onc put it, so that we know if they should radiate me or put a pin in my leg before radiating me so that my leg doesn't fracture.

So, there it is. I plan on going to work tomorrow, but my mood comes with no warranties!

We meet again.

I guess it's a Monday, alright. I don't feel particularly well-rested, despite the quiet weekend I had with Eric. We went to the movies yesterday -- saw The Illusionist -- but that was about it.

I owe a few folks emails, and I apologize for being so bereft of yak yak yak.

Monday morning and I'm going to work. The odd political situation that made me an Innocent Bystander is NOT resolved, as previously posted. Now an official grievance and charges of harrassment have been filed. It has ratcheted up. Sigh.

I'm leaving work two hours early today to go meet with my oncologist. I'm hoping to be wrongwrongwrong. My "internal sense" of my situation (as the onc calls it -- I call it pain) has been on the money so far, but this could be the time that the pain is all in my head, and not in my bones. We shall see.

I saw an ad recently. A beautiful woman in her late fifties, early sixties... bald... gorgeous... looking up at the sky with a look of determination and almost joy. The copy: We can live without hair. We can live without (something other). We can't live without Hope for a Cure.

Oh?

Checking pulse. Wiping Brow.

Fuck them.

Phooey.

Eric and I have been planning to attend Earthdance for many months now (see Earthdance International and Earthdance Northern California). Earthdance has been one of our favorite annual events of the last few years -- music and camping at the Hog Farm, culminating in a simultaneous worldwide prayer for peace.

We're supposed to be leaving work early today and driving up north... picking up Lisa on the way.... meeting Leah there this evening and setting up a cute little camp. Leah was bringing her canopy, and I had a pretty purple sparkley hanging for it.

Eric was going to make us breakfast burritos in the mornings. Fast and yummy.

I was going to giggle with Lisa and Leah. Probably there'd be a few jokes that Lisa and Leah and I would have thought hilarious, and Eric wouldn't... then he'd look at us like "you guys are crazy" in his cute-Eric-way, and we'd have laughed even more. Then Eric would have smiled his big beautiful light up smile.

I knew I wasn't going to be able to dance. I was prepared to not dance. But I wanted to sit in my comfy camping chair -- we call it the Charlie Chair, on accounta Charlie gave it to me when my back hurt so much at Fair -- and listen to the music, and watch the people, and be with Eric, and be with my friends. I wanted to eat fried stuff and food on sticks.

It gets so cold there at night. I was going to bring all of my warm clothes. In previous years I've brought aaaallll of my warm clothes -- long underwear, gloves, hat, sweatshirts, flannels, fleece, coat, etc -- and I've wound up putting on every single item I'd brought.

I was going to pack my mini-mag-light and my LCD, my glow sticks and glow-in-the-dark tattoos, Roy and Special Sue and Special Ed, my purple fluffy boa, my madlibs, a gallon of cosmopolitans and my oldest, dirtiest, sneakers.

We had to cancel on accounta I can barely walk.

When I was telling a co-worker that we had to cancel, I was trying to do that look-on-the-bright-side thing, and I said, "But, oh well, there's always next year..."

And then my heart skipped a beat as I recognized that next year, which is an illusion for everybody, is an illusion and pipe dream for me. If I don't feel good enough now, I'll likely feel worse a year from now.

Have fun while you can, people. Do what you want to do now. Thank god I did, when I could.

As I am victorious, I can afford to be gracious.

For those of you who have been playing along at home: the weird/political/dramatic situation at work has been resolved in my favor. I'm not going to complain because I WON, but I do feel burnt that it ever went on as a long as it did.

Now I hope to go back to my nice, quiet, job.

Bedtime.

In just a few months I will be counted among those women who have survived five years following an initial diagnosis of breast cancer. The five year survival stastistic is commonly quoted. It includes plenty o' women like me, who will die from this disease, but not within five years.

I'm already feeling stiff necked and snipey about Breast Cancer Awareness Month. October -- once one of my favorite months -- is just around the corner. Oh, well.

I was 36 when diagnosed with cancer. It sounds so young to me now.

On the drive to work this morning I heard a song with lyrics that amazed me. It's a sweet accoustic-sounding song by Death Cab for Cutie, and the lyrics begin:


Love of mine some day you will die
But I'll be close behind
I'll follow you into the dark

It goes on in the same theme: he will follow her in death. It's supposed to be heartfelt and romantic, but to me it just sounded like a bad or misguided lie. The truth is so much harder than that -- that some people die, and others live. And they learn to be happy again.

I sound grouchier than I feel, I think. I'm on the right side of the five year numbers, and over a year with a stage 4 diagnosis. Here's the thing. I've been thinking of my life in years instead of decades (my 40's, 50's 60's). And some time... perhaps soon, because who really knows... I'll start thinking of my life in months instead of years. And then it's weeks instead of months, and days instead of weeks... then hours instead of days, and minutes instead of hours, and then there will just be moments. And at no time will any of it seem like enough.

CT scan in the morning, then it's off to work.

I wish it were Sunday. That's my Funday.

I edited the previous post... took out the name of my school district. It's not that there's anything a-non-e-mouse about this blog. I just don't want Special Sue and Special Ed held up to public ridicule when someone Google's the district.

I'm going to work this morning. Tomorrow I'm going for a CT Scan in the AM (with an IV infusion beforehand, dammit), and then I hope to go to work in the afternoon. I feel tired.

I did a whole heap o' nothing this weekend, 'cept going out to diner w/ Tom and Corinne -- celebrating two birthdays (one way late, one a little early) and Corinne's fancy new job.

They made me laugh, and that rocks.

pa·tri·ar·chy

1. A social system in which the father is the head of the family and men have authority over women and children.
2. A family, community, or society based on this system or governed by men.
   

The classrooms may be run by women, but the school district where I work is run by men -- MUCH more so than in any private sector job I've had.

It's gross.

Good morning.

Or maybe memories do help. I don't know.

I'm home from work today so that I can get a bone scan. Bone scans are a lengthy process, although much of it is sittin' 'round and waiting.

I'll walk down to Kaiser at 10:00 AM, and they'll inject a radioactive tracer in my arm. That'll likely be the worst part. Ah, for the plump, visible, pre-chemo, veins of my youth!

Then I'll go away for two or three hours. Then I'll return to Kaiser and wait (they are always backed up).

Then I'll have the scan, which will take about an hour. I can't remember if the table moves or the gamma camera moves.

I do remember that I'll tell the technicians that I have cancer RIGHT AWAY. And I'll make a big show of ouching as I climb up to the table (which won't be such a show today). They see many patients a day, for a broad range of reasons. More than once they've been "rough" with me and have hurt me -- but I think it's because I don't look like someone who requires extra special care.

Another one of the Nice Cancer Ladies died. She was 44 years old, and a pip. She kept a positive attitude and ate a vegan diet and took all the supplements and was known for saying things like: I wish they'd hurry up with that cure! I'm holding on until they do! Her name was Karin.

It's amazing how many women believe that a cure is just around the corner. Like, really believe it. Really believe it, and really believe that they're going to be able to be IN on it, when it comes.

What are their doctors telling them? And what happens to critical thinking in the face of deer-in-the-headlights fear?

I believe I only posted one picture from Alaska. I'll try to remedy that soon. Here's my favorite pic of the inside passage:

And I have to go to work tomorrow.

When I read blog entries from September a year ago, Eric and I were very, very, busy. We had plans -- dinner parties, concerts, plays. Every Friday-Saturday-Sunday in September was already booked, and I wrote that I wanted October to be a "no fun" month.

Now it feels like every month is a no fun month.

I don't have the energy for it. I don't the energy for FridaySaturdaySunday activities... for dinner parties and concerts and plays.

I look back at my Old Life -- even my the Old Life POST-fucked-up-prognosis -- with such longing. It makes me cry. It makes me feel like a small hard person with a small hard life. I look backward with jealousy and ahead with dread.

I don't know that memories help.

The Globe

People sure do think The Globe is highlarious. It makes me laugh that they laugh.

I haven't been blogging very much lately. I feel like I don't have anything to say. I love Eric and I have cancer and I love Eric. You've heard it all before.

Next week I'm having a bone scan, and the week after that I'm having a CT scan -- for the first time a CT scan that requires an IV infusion beforehand. I'm not pleased about any of it. I know what the results will be already. I feel the results in my bones and my lungs.

Eric loves me so much, and I love him so much. It's an old story. You've heard it before, god knows how many times.

Eric was sleeping on the couch tonight, and upon waking he apologized for not being more entertaining. I told him that he's more interesting to me as he sleeps than most people are when they're awake. It's true!

Bottom line is that I just like to look at him. I love him here with me, on whatever terms, just as I've always loved his snoring. If I can hear him snoring, he's alive and he's near me, and that's enough.

People speak of long-term marriage as being "comfortable" at best. They make it sound like an old shoe. I know they're just comparing it to the experience of falling in love, which is soooo wonderful and good. New love is exciting and inspiring and life-altering. You learn as much about each other you can, and as the details pile up it's like discovering new worlds.

But the thing is... even with all of the information that's gleaned from those first years of love, there's no way you can know what challenges you'll face, or who the person you so adore will be when faced with pain, or loss, or fear (your or theirs).

I loved Eric from earlyearly on. I loved him, and I trusted him. But how could I have anticipated how gracefully he'd handle his own physical problems? Eric's always in pain, but you wouldn't know it... and when he does talk about the pain in his arm and wrist, he almost always talks about his gratitude to have the use of his hand at all. If Eric were to complain and feel sorry, would I blame him? Nope. But he doesn't.

That's just one example, but there are many, many, more. There's comfort in marriage (sometimes, anyway) but it's not a boring old shoe.

I know that I'm just rambling...

In answer to the most common questions regarding The Globe:

No, they're not joking.

No, they're not married.

Yes, The Globes were given to the entire department.

(Tomorrow is Friday, thank you Jesus!)

Okay, Luana!

Luana asked for a picture of The Globe (see comment attached to last post). Well, here it is!



CN says that it reminds her of factories in China where workers are forced to display pictures of Chairman Mao.

I wouldn't go THAT far, but...

Wow.

Just a Tuesday.

I'm at work. Yesterday I was given a gift from the two directors of my department: a snow globe with their picture inside. Wow.

I'm cold, and I need coffee.

There's a lot to do. I should get started...

One workday down...

One hundred eighty nine to go.

Work yesterday was fine. I was running around, busybusy, training and meeting, and working until 7:00 PM at a highschool, discussing immunizations with parents.

Although I'm tired today, it was good to be back. Now I have to do it all again, but without that sense of dread.

1st Day

Eric showed up shortly after they'd started my IV yesterday. He had escaped from the meeting, and I was soooo happy to see him.

Today is the first official day of work. I'm not happy about it. I've been drawn into a ricidulous work drama, and it has me tied up in knots.

I've gone two years at this job -- which will surely be my LAST job -- without becoming embroiled in any workplace controversy. Work has been clean, and that's been a goodgood thing, what with so many challenges in the not-at-work world.

So now I'm going to this job with that icky I-don't-wanna-go feeling, for the first time ever.

I'm going to try very hard to focus my attention elsewhere.

Life is too short (for reals) to be griping about work.

Infusion Day

Today is the first time I've gone to the lovely Chemo Suite at Kaiser Arms without Eric. There were scheduling problems and I insisted that I didn't need him there. Boy, I'll never do that again!

Sunday

Good morning. It's the Lord's day but I'm only worshipping coffee.

Work tomorrow, and that's just wrong. Infusion and injections on Tuesday. More work on Wednesday, Thursday, Friday.

I wish I had some oomph for it -- there's soooooooooo much work to do in the beginning -- but I gots no oomph. I need to focus my attention elsewhere, but where shall I put it? Eric is, of course, the source of all goodness and light.

There's was more in the center of that paragraph but I can't type it. I can't continue this blog entry, because I did whatever it is one does to my keyboard so that I can backspace and type and have the rest of the text pushed forward -- it just covers up the text in front of the cursor. I hate that, and I can never remember how to put it back.

someone tell me how to fix it, or I'll never blog again.

(I heard the cheering. Not nice.)

Friday

I had coffee with NM yesterday, and I met Tom for lunch. It was good to see both of them.

I'm not sure what the plan is for today. First, I'll finish this coffee.

I don't want to talk about it.

I've been in a bad mood lately. It's a culmination of events, and it's a no-brainer.

I've spent many of these last short weeks of summer chasing something that I couldn't find. I'm not sure what -- it just wasn't there. I've been busybusy, but I've been in pain, and I haven't really and truly been doing what I wanted. Now what may be my last relatively "healthy" summer is over, and for all the miles I've logged I feel that it's somehow been squandered. Bummer, huh?

Work is looming -- I already feel behind, because I haven't gone in yesterday or today -- and I don't have the energy for the big start-of-the-year push. The first two months can make or break the year, and I just don't feel like I can do it. I know I'll find a way to make it work, but I don't even like thinking about it.

My ribcage hurts, my black and blue toe hurts, my clavicle hurts, my scapula hurts, my hip hurts...

We spent time in hospitals in Florida. Eric's father and grandmother were both in hospitals. They're both out now, although Bob is in a rehab facility.

I looked at these two people -- one in his early 70's, the other in her early 90's --- being moved from bed to wheelchair and wheelchair to bed, and I was so envious of them. Here they are, oldoldold, and alive and reading the paper and surrounded by people who love them. I'm going to die, soon, with Eric holding my hand, and knowing (if anything can penetrate the morphine fog) that I'm leaving the only person who ever loved me completely and unquestioningly and in a way that I could understand, with a ragged and tragicly broken heart.

I've been in a bad mood lately and I don't want to talk about it.

Here I Am

I'm home and I can't remember why I ever left, or why I wanted to come back. Go figure. I had planned on returning to work today, but I won't.

bleary

It's been so long since I've blogged that I've forgotten how. I'll close my eyes and forge ahead, but I'm so tired (it's two thirty in the morning here) that I might fall asleep.

I've been in pain... high profile ribcage pain during the cruise, and then I broke my toe upon our post cruise arrival here at Eric's parents' house.

I used to have stuff to say, but now I'm just sort of speechless. I'm sure I'll get over it.

We retunr hom tomorrow -- hallelulah.

Bahamas Bound

We're in Florida, where it's hot and humid and everywhere there are grey panthers... too tan 80 year old women dressed like teenagers.

We've seen oodles Eric's family... sister Caren, Flo and Bob, nephew Mike and brother in law John, and (of course) Nana.

Getting here was a trip in more ways than one -- we went to the wrong airport! can you believe that? I'd like to blame it on Janis (who was nice enough to drive us) but I'm afraid we told her SFO. Alas, our flight was in Oakland. Oh, well.

We leave for the cruise at 1:30 today.

That's our story, for now.

Florida

We're flying to Florida tonight. Janis is taking us to the airport, picking us up at 8:00 PM today.

When say I did nothing today, I mean nothing.

Tomorrow we leave for the Bahamas.

Busybusy.

Yawn

It's nice to be home and I'm a bit reluctant to leave again. Still, we're leaving tomorrow for Florida and the Bahamas.

I would like to sleep from now until then.

Winner!

The results are in, and I ranked 49th out of 600+ participants in the slot tournament. Had I done just a leeeetle bit better I would have been in the big money. As it was I won $100.00 plus bragging rights. AND... an awards presentation banquet! Woo hoo!

We have another night here at the The Atlantis.

It's our anniversary. Eric and I have been married for fourteen years today (and that's why the subject line is "winner").

Jesus can kiss my ass.

I am writing to you from the Atlantis Casino and Resort, Every Player's Paradise, where things are happening. If I'm not ranked first in the slot tournament (so far) I'm at least close -- certainly no one in the first four rounds of the first session beat me. Two more rounds tomorrow and keep your fingers crossed!

Plus, Lisa won the 1,000 credit jackpot on Wheel of Fortune! That's $250 dollars (plus more wins on the same machine) that have completely paid for her three-night-plus-slot-tournament adventure at the lovely, exciting and yet relaxing, Atlantis Casino and Resort.

Also, I am tired. I haven't blogged about it here, because it's not wholly my story. We arrived home from Seattle on Wednesday, and I had my treatment on Thursday morning. AT 5:00 AM Friday morning we drove to Sacramento to be there when my sister had surgery. I am deeply saddened to say that she has breast cancer. I can't fucking believe it. Excuse my language, but I can't fucking believe it, and I wish it weren't true.

I've had this wish before. When I was twelve and she was twenty-four, my sister was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. It was horrible, horrible... I was terrified for her. I prayed and prayed that I could be sick instead of her. I actually spoke the words outloud -- asked God to take me instead of her (because I knew that she would die).

I wish that my breast cancer could be for every other woman, and especially my sister. It makes me think of Jesus, actually, and it just adds to my list of reasons I think Christianity is inane. I'm tired of people boo hooing about how Jesus suffered. Bullshit. suffering wouldn't be nearly as bad if I could suffer for others, in their stead. At least then there'd be a reason for it.

These are my thoughts on Sunday evening.

From the Plastic Upholstered Recliner

I'm writing from the lovely Infusion Suite of Kaiser Oakland Arms. It took 45 minutes and two nurses, but they finally found a good vein. Eric has hooked me up with internet access here -- bless him, always -- so I can surf the internet while Pamindronate flows into my veins.

In a while they'll send over a nurse from the Chemotherapy Suite (a room upgrade) who will give me three injections: one in my abdomen, and one in each hip.

It's a sad way to end a three week road-cruise-ferry trip.

Eric is always watching. He checks to see if they're giving me the proper meds, squinting his eyes to read the bags they hang on the Colleague CX Volumetric Infusion Pump. He watches while they attempt to find a vein by inserting needles into my arm and then just sort of wiggle waggling them around until they hit pay dirt.

He holds his breath, and he sighs. He mouths the words "I'm sorry", and "I love you". He looks away, and then his eyes are drawn back.

When the nurse asks me if I want water, He pulls a bottle out of his bag and says: I have water!

Eric would be a good nurse. Eric would also be a good pharmacist, architect, and train conductor. Eric would excel at anything he pursued, and how lucky I am that he decided to become my husband.

Home Again

We're home, back from a three week trip. I need to be up and out of the house tomorrow morning for my cancer treatment at 9:00 AM.

I love this house, and the man who lives here with me -- not in that order -- and I'm glad to be here.

Good Morning

We spent the night in Ashland, at a Super 8 Motel rather than at Graham and Leah's house. It's hot here, and AC was the high option for us. This morning I'm feeling tired and vaguely worried about returning home today. I want to sleep in my own bed with Eric, and I want to see my friends. Still, there's a couple o' every day realities that I'd prefer to put off for a few more weeks (months, years).

I have plenty of pictures to post from our summer travels. I'll try to work up a web page (or pages) soon. My blog entries have been cursory, I know, but internet access has been sketchy and also... I'm just tired of the sound of my voice. If I'm tired of it, how tired must my three loyal readers be?

Vacation is good, and home is good. Friends are good and Eric (always, always) is wonderful. As for cancer? Still sucks.

On the road again.

We're leaving Seattle this morning, destination Ashland, OR. It's a driving day -- we'll be tired and stiff at the end of it, but on the way we'll sing songs and yakyakyak about little things, and talk about big things.

I need coffee. Now.

Yawn III

It's another surprisingly sunny day in Seattle, and we're getting ready to go to a Christmas Town. Sounds like my kind of day trip!

Tomorrow we'll starting heading home.

The Buchart Gardens were amazing. Here's just one picture:



I need to organize my pics from this summer, but we've done so much that it's become a big project.

Yawn (again).

We're back from Victoria. What a lovely city! I wish I had the energy to write about it, but I don't. Not now, anyway. Sweet dreams, all.

Yawn.

We're back from Alaska, but there's no rest for the seriously travel-minded. We woke up at 5:00 AM to catch a ferry to Vancover Island this morning. Sleepy, sleepy, us.

Wednesday in Ketchikan

The lack of reasonably priced internet access aside, Alaska has been wonderful. The glaciers are awesome (truly) and the ship has been fun in that cruise ship way -- when not in port Eric and I have been playing games and running from one activity to the next. Having Jane and Neil on the ship has been a bonus!

I've wanted to see this part of the country for a long, long, time, and it's just as lovely as I'd imagined it to be. My pictures will never do it justice. I'm writing from the ship, docked in Ketchikan. We haven't been ashore yet -- I'm in the cabin, drinking coffee and downloading pictures from my camera to the computer. I'll likely post this to the blog this afternoon, after we return from town.

There's a crazy sort of limbo-feeling I get from being on a cruise ship. Time stops (or at least expands) and the days float by like icebergs. In some ways in would be nice to float here forever, away from the trials of normal life and cancer, cancer, cancer (which looms so large I have to say it three times).

BUT... I miss our friends. I hope everyone hasn't forgotten us while we've been chasing summer fun.

Here's just one picture of the sea of ice the ship had to negotiate yesterday in order to pull close to Hubbard Glacier:

Final Fair Fotos

Believe it or not, this is my hat.


We met up with my niece Luwana (right), her friend Amy (who I remember as a teenager!), and kids on Sunday.



Valentine, in rare form.




They're silly.



Roy's first fair.


Happy!


We were tired, but it was soooo much fun.

What day is this?

It's dark:30 AM, and I'm awake. I woke up with bone pain -- nagging, wincey, untouchable, and unchanged by position or alignment. It doesn't matter if I lie down or stand on my head. It's just there.

This isn't how I would choose to begin an Alaskan adventure. On the other hand, there's no good time for it to happen. It wouldn't be more welcome at the beginning of the school year, or on any given work day. I'll just forge ahead, because there's every reason to believe that the forging will be worse as time progresses.

Eric is sleeping a few feet from me. He's snoring, and I must have already written about how much I like his snoring. Things could definitely be worse, and with latte they will be considerably improved.

Yawn.

The fAIR is over, but we're still in Oregon, staying at my brother Paul's house. It's good to see folks.

Just as the fair was starting I started having some pain in my collar bone. Now it's worse, and I can't imagine that it bodes well.

I'm tired, and that's the story for today.

Assorted pictures, funny captions not included!

Wheeeeeee!

We're having such a good time here -- it's wonderful to see our friends, to be silly ... to see Eric getting loved up by his good old buddies. Eric's smile lights up the fair, for sure.

There's good internet access here, but the puter is challenging. Low battery and there's so much sunshine that the screen is hard to see. I'll post pictures when I can.

I'm so grateful to be able to be here again.

Don't ask about Carol.

It's a long story. ;)

A few pics from fair as it's happening:

On our way.

We spent the night in Ashland at Graham and Leah's house, although they're not here. They're already at the fair, and we'll join them today.

The drive up was uneventful. We listened to music and watched the road -- not a bad way to spend a Wednesday afternoon.

It'll be good to get there.

Man.

We leave on our trip today -- our vacation is starting out sleepy, that's all I can say.

Yawn

There's plenty o' stuff to do to get ready for the next leg of our summer adventure, but I'm tired today.

Eric's on the couch, looking adorable, reading his book club book. Every once in a while he laughs outloud and that makes me very, very, happy. Sometimes I laugh, too.

Yesterday we hung out w/ Lisa and Janis for a bit and a while. This morning we're going out for b'fast with Tom. It's good to see our friends.

I am peeling, peeling, peeling, and it reminds me of my youth.

Friday Night

Eric and I came home yesterday afternoon. It was a wonderful vacation... as close to perfect as a holiday can be, I think.

This afternoon we went to Kaiser, and I had my infusion and injections. I'm a human pin cushion tonight, with bandaids here and there. Vacation is better than cancer treatment (which you probably already knew).

A few pics

The view from our porch -- we love that ocean!


There are beaganvillas everywhere, in a rainbow of colors... scarlet, peach, purple, and even white!


The entertainment is really something! This "fantasy" show was a Mexican Cirque du Soleil and Vaudeville.


Strange tree!


More pretty flowers. Even the hedges are flowering and gorgeous.



The prettiest thing here is the sign which proclaims an adult-only pool!


Mas floras.


Que grande!



There are many pretty, breezy, places to sit -- benches, and open air lobbies, and chairs overlooking the sea.

Bananas, anyone?