Eric was always, and continues to be, totally cool.
When Eric was sixteen years old he and a friend bought a small boat, a clam rake, and a clamming license. They would go clamming for a few hours after school and make $30 to $100 dollars a day -- each. That was pretty good money for a couple o' teenagers in 1974. Someone working an 8 hour day at the federal minimum wage in 2007 earns just $41.20.
I wish I'd known him then, but I was nine years old and living on the other side of the country. It would be another 14 years before I'd be lucky enough to meet him, and on Tuesday it'll be 19 years since I looked up from my book and saw Eric for the first time.
Along with his handsomeness (300 percent more handsome than the next most handsome man) and sweetness and funniness and intelligence, I've always loved Eric's competence. Eric can DO things. Even as a sixteen year old he could own a fishing boat and work on the motor when it had problems.
We've had a quiet, unexpectedly-no-chemo weekend. We went out to see two movies: "Spiderman 3" and "28 Weeks Later". Other than that we've mostly just lounged around.
The next two weeks are mega-medical-appointment weeks for me. Ima figure out how to keep my head up and my nose to the grindstone at the same time. It'll all be okay in the end.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Saturday, May 12, 2007
Correction
I wrote that I have fewer friends now, and that's not true. I see my friends less, though. Also, I dance less, see less live music, throw fewer parties, have folks over for dinner less often, see fewer movies, go to fewer museums, hike less, spend less time walking next to the ocean, and just generally have less fun.
Friends I've got!
The Medical Professionals at Kaiser yesterday wouldn't give me chemotherapy. This is the first time I've not received treatment on schedule. I wasn't given chemotherapy because of the gaping wound in my chest.
It might have been a good idea to stop chemo before the wound was quite so gaping.
Now I don't know what the heck's going on. It's going to take forever for this thing to heal -- it hasn't started YET, that's for sure... is just worse & worse & worse. And I can't go forever without chemo.
Well, I could go forever without chemo, but that would certainly hasten my demise.
I dunno.
I had talked of taking a chemo break anyway. My oncologist had okayed a chemotherapy break for me this summer, pending the results of the scans I'll be getting next week.
If my scans were stable, I was going to suspend chemotherapy for June, July and most of August. I've kept the plan on the down low, for the most part -- maybe I didn't want to "jinx" it somehow, because everyone has a leetle superstition in 'em, when they really really care about something -- but it's the only thing that's kept me trudging through these tiresome days. I even had a rough a sketch of where we might go, including two or three weeks in Hawaii and possibly a trip back to our Mexico destination from last summer.
But now...
Well. Like I said, I dunno. Maybe this thing'll heal, and I won't have major progression whilst off chemo. That'd be GREAT. But I ain't going to be soaking in any ocean. No oceans, no swimming.... no Hawaii, no Mexico.
Swimming in the ocean with Eric is my absolute 100% no-question-about-it favorite thing to do ever, ever, ever. It was what I wanted for this summer, which may be the last summer I feel good enough to travel (although it may not).
Everything's in flux and there's no plan, and no way for me to begin a plan. That's not my favorite way to live, but it's becoming familiar. I'm getting better at it, I think.
Friends I've got!
The Medical Professionals at Kaiser yesterday wouldn't give me chemotherapy. This is the first time I've not received treatment on schedule. I wasn't given chemotherapy because of the gaping wound in my chest.
It might have been a good idea to stop chemo before the wound was quite so gaping.
Now I don't know what the heck's going on. It's going to take forever for this thing to heal -- it hasn't started YET, that's for sure... is just worse & worse & worse. And I can't go forever without chemo.
Well, I could go forever without chemo, but that would certainly hasten my demise.
I dunno.
I had talked of taking a chemo break anyway. My oncologist had okayed a chemotherapy break for me this summer, pending the results of the scans I'll be getting next week.
If my scans were stable, I was going to suspend chemotherapy for June, July and most of August. I've kept the plan on the down low, for the most part -- maybe I didn't want to "jinx" it somehow, because everyone has a leetle superstition in 'em, when they really really care about something -- but it's the only thing that's kept me trudging through these tiresome days. I even had a rough a sketch of where we might go, including two or three weeks in Hawaii and possibly a trip back to our Mexico destination from last summer.
But now...
Well. Like I said, I dunno. Maybe this thing'll heal, and I won't have major progression whilst off chemo. That'd be GREAT. But I ain't going to be soaking in any ocean. No oceans, no swimming.... no Hawaii, no Mexico.
Swimming in the ocean with Eric is my absolute 100% no-question-about-it favorite thing to do ever, ever, ever. It was what I wanted for this summer, which may be the last summer I feel good enough to travel (although it may not).
Everything's in flux and there's no plan, and no way for me to begin a plan. That's not my favorite way to live, but it's becoming familiar. I'm getting better at it, I think.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
The median survival for patients diagnosed with stage IV breast cancer is 18 months.
It's been two years since I wrote my very first blog entry.
I didn't know that the cancer had returned, but I knew that the cancer had returned. When I wrote
I was giving the fates one final chance to grant a reprieve.
Denied!
I would have been happy, too. I wasn't making it up. I would have finished up the last few months of the school year, and gone on my first full summer of travel with Eric, pain free and feeling like the luckiest person around.
Two years later my circle is smaller. The universe is wearing out along the path that I take from work to hospital to comfy chair. I have more worries and fewer friends. I have less to say.
I only have so much lament in me, though, and I defintely want to save some for later. Two years is longer than most women with stage IV breast cancer live, and I'm getting ready to meet the fabulous Tomas da Silva for a drink after work. Under the circumstances, it wouldn't feel right to complain.
I didn't know that the cancer had returned, but I knew that the cancer had returned. When I wrote
If everything turns out to be okay, I won't feel foolish for any of this. I'll just be happy... I'll just be happy, happy, happy.
I was giving the fates one final chance to grant a reprieve.
Denied!
I would have been happy, too. I wasn't making it up. I would have finished up the last few months of the school year, and gone on my first full summer of travel with Eric, pain free and feeling like the luckiest person around.
Two years later my circle is smaller. The universe is wearing out along the path that I take from work to hospital to comfy chair. I have more worries and fewer friends. I have less to say.
I only have so much lament in me, though, and I defintely want to save some for later. Two years is longer than most women with stage IV breast cancer live, and I'm getting ready to meet the fabulous Tomas da Silva for a drink after work. Under the circumstances, it wouldn't feel right to complain.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Yak Yak Yak
I left work a bit early today to see the surgeon. The old port site is still not healing. I've had a progressively worsening open wound for five months now. (Note: not the sort of thing you want to include in a resume or personal ad.) All of those appointments and three surgeries later.... it's worse than ever.
Earlier today I was wishing for Christmas. I love Christmas, as my three regular readers know. I love the sparkles, the presents, the tree. I love the decorations, the music, the food. I love the traditions, particularly the traditions that Eric and I created together. Christmas with Eric is about the best thing I can imagine. Any-given-Wednesday with Eric is pretty wonderful, as well -- or, depending on what else is going on, any-given-Wednesday with Eric is at least way, way, better than a Wednesday without Eric.
So, here I am... wishing for Christmas at a time when I certainly shouldn't be wishing any of my life away.
My MAC (Medical Appointment Count) for the month of May has gone up to fifteen, although that's only over ten days.
The surgeon told me that when he heard that I was continuing to have difficulties, that he almost started crying. He's a nice fella -- truly -- but I'm only interested in his tears if they have magical healing properties OR if they can alter the space time contiuum and make it Christimas.
That's all I can think to say.
Earlier today I was wishing for Christmas. I love Christmas, as my three regular readers know. I love the sparkles, the presents, the tree. I love the decorations, the music, the food. I love the traditions, particularly the traditions that Eric and I created together. Christmas with Eric is about the best thing I can imagine. Any-given-Wednesday with Eric is pretty wonderful, as well -- or, depending on what else is going on, any-given-Wednesday with Eric is at least way, way, better than a Wednesday without Eric.
So, here I am... wishing for Christmas at a time when I certainly shouldn't be wishing any of my life away.
My MAC (Medical Appointment Count) for the month of May has gone up to fifteen, although that's only over ten days.
The surgeon told me that when he heard that I was continuing to have difficulties, that he almost started crying. He's a nice fella -- truly -- but I'm only interested in his tears if they have magical healing properties OR if they can alter the space time contiuum and make it Christimas.
That's all I can think to say.
Monday, May 07, 2007
Eric says it's time to go to bed!
As I enter my ninth month of weekly chemotherapy, I can only describe my numb feet as squishy bricks. That's it. A mouth full o' dirty pennies, and a pair o' squishy bricks for feet.
Today CN told me how lucky I am to not have allergies. She has allergies, and they drain her. I know so many people who are felled by menstrual bloating, pollen, sniffles, and the vapors -- I wonder how they would feel about pennies and bricks?
Well, I know how they'd feel about pennies and bricks. There's a consensus about these things.
But seriously. If I sometimes feel that I should be made of sterner stuff, what about all the folks who require smelling salts for their dropsies?
I don't know what to say to people who tell me that they needed valium to have a small mole removed for testing.
I consider the continuum of aaaall the people who suffer... suffer in their bodies, suffer in their hearts... and I recognize that my life is quite pleasant Still, I don't want to be told that I'm lucky to not have itchy, red, eyes.
I'm sure I am lucky to not have itchy, red, eyes. Red & itchy eyes would really suck, on top of everything else.
Okay. I'm lucky. But (as is the case for everyone, I suppose) that's for me to recognize, not for someone else to point out.
And that's the news on Monday night!
Today CN told me how lucky I am to not have allergies. She has allergies, and they drain her. I know so many people who are felled by menstrual bloating, pollen, sniffles, and the vapors -- I wonder how they would feel about pennies and bricks?
Well, I know how they'd feel about pennies and bricks. There's a consensus about these things.
But seriously. If I sometimes feel that I should be made of sterner stuff, what about all the folks who require smelling salts for their dropsies?
I don't know what to say to people who tell me that they needed valium to have a small mole removed for testing.
I consider the continuum of aaaall the people who suffer... suffer in their bodies, suffer in their hearts... and I recognize that my life is quite pleasant Still, I don't want to be told that I'm lucky to not have itchy, red, eyes.
I'm sure I am lucky to not have itchy, red, eyes. Red & itchy eyes would really suck, on top of everything else.
Okay. I'm lucky. But (as is the case for everyone, I suppose) that's for me to recognize, not for someone else to point out.
And that's the news on Monday night!
For some reason, this didn't post on Sunday.
It's already a bright and sunny day. I imagine it'll be a laze-around-the-house day, as well.
Eric's sister and her best friend are in town. They've run away from New York and are having a San Francisco adventure -- staying at the St. Regis and walking around the city for hours and refusing to have an itinerary.
Yesterday, despite my nearly screaming desire to stay home and sleep, we took them to Sonoma County to taste wines. No one really tasted much, though. It was more about the drive and the countryside.It was nice, but absolutely exhausting. Sunday's a day of rest.
Here's my coffee, and there's my yogurt w/ perfectly field-ripened strawberries that we bought a roadside stand yesterday. Eric's here. I may be looking at the world with eye lids at half mast, but life is good
Eric's sister and her best friend are in town. They've run away from New York and are having a San Francisco adventure -- staying at the St. Regis and walking around the city for hours and refusing to have an itinerary.
Yesterday, despite my nearly screaming desire to stay home and sleep, we took them to Sonoma County to taste wines. No one really tasted much, though. It was more about the drive and the countryside.It was nice, but absolutely exhausting. Sunday's a day of rest.
Here's my coffee, and there's my yogurt w/ perfectly field-ripened strawberries that we bought a roadside stand yesterday. Eric's here. I may be looking at the world with eye lids at half mast, but life is good
Friday, May 04, 2007
Bah
Ted Koppel was on the Daily Show last night, touting his latest special, "Living with Cancer". The taped pieces will be followed by a "town hall meeting" with cancer's greatest stars, Lance Armstrong and Elizabeth Edwards.
I can already tell that it's going to be a big pink Colonic of Hope.
The take-home messages from the interview last night were: 1. Cancer patients have great senses of humor and cancer can be funny, and 2. Stage IV cancer should be considered a chronic disease, like diabetes.
BAH!
Humor is helpful, if you have it in you.... but too much emphasis on the benefits of a good chuckle and you wind up with emails like the one I received recently from a woman who is this close to dying, and desperately wants to live. Her Naturalist told her that laughter would be the best medicine, so this sick, sick woman -- who should be saying good bye to her school age children -- sent out an S.O.S. asking for funny movie recommendations.
BAH!
Also: cancer is just another in group/out group. Until you have it, can the jokes, Ted.
As for chronic illnesses.... let's see.... we'll line up all the people with stage 4 cancer on one side, and all the people with diabetes on the other... and we'll see how many want to trade.
This chronic illness crap is just a buncha pained people seeking a li'l language anesthesia. Yes, people with advanced breast cancer can live longer than they used to live.... by months, not years... and often at the cost of their quality of life. Chronic illness. Pfffft.
BAH!
I can already tell that it's going to be a big pink Colonic of Hope.
The take-home messages from the interview last night were: 1. Cancer patients have great senses of humor and cancer can be funny, and 2. Stage IV cancer should be considered a chronic disease, like diabetes.
BAH!
Humor is helpful, if you have it in you.... but too much emphasis on the benefits of a good chuckle and you wind up with emails like the one I received recently from a woman who is this close to dying, and desperately wants to live. Her Naturalist told her that laughter would be the best medicine, so this sick, sick woman -- who should be saying good bye to her school age children -- sent out an S.O.S. asking for funny movie recommendations.
BAH!
Also: cancer is just another in group/out group. Until you have it, can the jokes, Ted.
As for chronic illnesses.... let's see.... we'll line up all the people with stage 4 cancer on one side, and all the people with diabetes on the other... and we'll see how many want to trade.
This chronic illness crap is just a buncha pained people seeking a li'l language anesthesia. Yes, people with advanced breast cancer can live longer than they used to live.... by months, not years... and often at the cost of their quality of life. Chronic illness. Pfffft.
BAH!
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Jeez.
I don't know what went wrong during the surgical procedure yesterday, but something did. There was anxious muttering and a flurry of activity. There was pushing, pushing, pushing on my neck and chest. Then I was out.
Today I can barely move my head, I have an "extra" incision, and an unusual amount of swelling.
On the up side: They played Ozomatli's first album during my surgery.
Looks like I'll be staying home. Again. Oh well. I'll let you know if I see any particularly entertaining daytime television.
Today I can barely move my head, I have an "extra" incision, and an unusual amount of swelling.
On the up side: They played Ozomatli's first album during my surgery.
Looks like I'll be staying home. Again. Oh well. I'll let you know if I see any particularly entertaining daytime television.
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Just a Tuesday
Eric bought a new car over the weekend -- a hybrid Civic. I've been wanting a smaller car, and hybrids make a heap o' sense. I drove it for the first time today. It definitely handles differently from any car I've driven before.
A new car is a small matter when you're married to Eric, who is an accomplished and gleeful buyer and seller of motor vehicles. It's a small matter, but the folks at work have made it fun for me with their enthusiastic approval of the car's color.
I'm home from work tomorrow. More accurately, I'm at the hospital tomorrow. I'll have a new port inserted on the other side of my chest. I've no real concerns about the procedure, despite my past difficulties. I'd consider worrying if I thought it'd change the outcome.
My upper torso is quite a war zone: 1.8 breasts, axillary scar, 13 or so blue dot tattoos from two separate courses of radiation, permanent discoloration, almost-tic-tac-toe-board of two inch scars on my right chest, soon to be port-scar on my left chest, clavicle bulging with cancer and poorly healed fracture....
I can't tell you why it sometimes makes me smile, but it does. It doesn't make me happy, but it makes me smile. Maybe it's just relief... relief that it doesn't look ugly to me... relief that I largely don't care.
Back to work!
A new car is a small matter when you're married to Eric, who is an accomplished and gleeful buyer and seller of motor vehicles. It's a small matter, but the folks at work have made it fun for me with their enthusiastic approval of the car's color.
I'm home from work tomorrow. More accurately, I'm at the hospital tomorrow. I'll have a new port inserted on the other side of my chest. I've no real concerns about the procedure, despite my past difficulties. I'd consider worrying if I thought it'd change the outcome.
My upper torso is quite a war zone: 1.8 breasts, axillary scar, 13 or so blue dot tattoos from two separate courses of radiation, permanent discoloration, almost-tic-tac-toe-board of two inch scars on my right chest, soon to be port-scar on my left chest, clavicle bulging with cancer and poorly healed fracture....
I can't tell you why it sometimes makes me smile, but it does. It doesn't make me happy, but it makes me smile. Maybe it's just relief... relief that it doesn't look ugly to me... relief that I largely don't care.
Back to work!
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