The Cancer Grrrl

encore vivant

2008-04-27T18:46:00.002-04:00

Me, in a simpler time. Please disregard the brown spooge splattered over the picture. It was coffee, folks, coffee. yeesh.

o holy crap!

2008-01-05T16:16:00.000-05:00

It's 2008 already. And it took me exactly 2 days back at work to figure out that this is the year i need to figure out how the hell to make money without working a 9-5 (or 9-whatever) law job. Who am i kidding? It took me about 2 HOURS back to figure that out.

Any suggestions? Aristocratic Dilettante comes to mind, however I hear it doesn't pay terribly well. Crazy cat lady is another option, but ditto on the pay scale. Hmmm. maybe I'd better have a contest. As soon as I can figure out a suitable prize, the game is on, folks...the object being for YOU to come up with the best way for ex-cancer -grrl to make money, whilst avoiding an office and having enuff time to train and take care of multi-cats. Look for it in upcoming days...

tis the saison

2007-11-30T19:19:00.000-05:00

As those of you who know me may recall, I generally term this time of year the "saison en enfer," because as we know "l'enfer, c'est les autres" and this is the time of the year when les autres become very prevalent in life. (my heartfelt apologies to messrs rimbaud et sartre).
I refer of course to the mindless, ineluctable, peristaltic season between halloween and new years, in which holidays and and work days and everything in between tends to coagulate into one grande mass of THINGS TO SEE, PEOPLE TO GET DONE, AND PLACES TO AVOID LIKE THE PLAGUE.

Those of you who recall last year's saison en enfer, last years massive, all out attack on the holy day of thanksgiving, and last year's sickness and crap infused xmas greeting, will be relieved as all get out that i have put away a bit of the curmudgeonliness this year, and, can even be said to be coasting through the holidaze, if not merrily, then at least with some (at last) vague and fleeting, sense of well being.

I attribute this in part to my training regimen, because since I started attacking my VO2max with various extraordinarily painful bike workouts, I HAVE actually started to feel stronger. I also got my second triathlete magazine today, and am now psyched to try even more new things, like combining my swim and run days with water running and new and ever more excruciating bike workouts (wonder why all the torquemada-type coaches are BIKE coaches? must be the equipment focus...hmmm). So, come spring, I will be ready to dance merrily through those sprint tris, and maybe attempt an olympic at some point?? dunno. time will tell.

Work is still crapola. The only difference is that my 2 year contract is up in January and i've been asked to stay on. I have no desire to stay on, but it is nice to be asked. I was feeling quite pressured before I got the word.

So I seem to be finally crawling out of the constantly exhausted feeling that marked my year of chemo and herceptin. It is weird because I started thinking that was normal. Now that I have some energy back, life isn't quite so draining.

I've decided to keep posting on CG until the end of the year, because I have to do my third annual "Year in Fears" recap post. After that, this blog will probably be put out to stud, er I mean pasture, and, if I blog at all, it will probably be back on good ole bloggrilla. Or I may launch a new, triathlon oriented blog.

at any rate, I hope those of u who still read me are enjoying your holidays. I plan to enjoy mine, even if that means camping out in front of my NEW 32 inch TV with a spinervals video and bike trainer...

(note: I do NOT look like this...)

sadness without recourse

2007-10-28T21:00:00.000-04:00

for every one of us surviving, for every one of us who "beats" cancer and finds her/his mind turning back towards work, school, family, training, bitching, sleeping, whatever your particular penchant, another one of us slips away.

Lori of "Too Sexy for my Hair" died yesterday. I've read her blog ever since I got this disease. The title says it all, she wasn't cowed by her diagnosis and the solemn advice of her doctors. Visit her site and pay your respects:

Rest in peace, Lori.

well freakin finally...

2007-10-26T20:58:00.000-04:00

Yes, I owe blogs. I know that vast scores of people are waiting for my tri report, and my scan report etc. etc. And i guess i have to say that i may well be putting Cancer Grrl to bed with this post. Today, ominously, i asked my boss for an extension on some work due and, for the first time, he sighed. Well if that ain't the writing on the wall i don't know what is. Don't you see it? Cancer Grrl can NO LONGER PLAY THE CANCER CARD AT WORK.

Cancer Grrl's hair is long enough and thick enough to keep her head warm, and blond enough to preclude dumping vast amounts of cancer-causing chemicals on it. Cancer Grrl no longer faints after a mere hour of training, and no longer requires 14 hours of sleep per night (as if she ever ONCE in this whole freakin ordeal, actually got 14 hours, or even 8 for that matter...grrrr). Cancer Grrl no longer can blame every ache, pain, attention lapse or excessive tardiness on chemo, herceptin or cancer.

So, folks, i bleve this means that Cancer Grrl is retired. I mean, there will always be a cancer grrl, b/c once you have dis disease, you is one of the chosen forever haha. BUT! Like the phoenix rising from the ashes, like the unsinkable Molly Brown, like that Armstrong man, I is back and I is better.

So now, on to the tri report. what i can remember is this:

The tri was the Lake Compounce Tri for Cancer. It was in Connecticut, at a very weird theme park. In fact, to get from the transition area to the lake, one was forced to run past a lot of those weird, plaster cast scenes filled with fantasy figures. I believe we ran past a graveyard with zombies and some sort of santa's village themed scene of cheery red cheeked, pointy eared folk. This could have been oxygen deprivation on my part.

The morning was cold. I and the bf biked from the motel to the theme park. I was fine, but the bf, who lacks my obsessive foresight, neglected to bring a tri bag, and nearly wiped out on his bike due to trying to carry a suitcase whilst riding. bad move bf! Listen to CG next time.

We donned wetsuits in the transition area. Right away I knew I was outclassed mightily. The man who racked his bike opposite mine had done ironmans. His bike must have weighed as much as a loaf of bread, wonder bread at that. The two men next to me had more testosterone between them than the entire IMF. The man immediately to my right was probably half my age. And let's not discuss the women. I saw more sinews and teeth than alien3 and sigourney weaver put together, and more muscle than the men. A fair and robust lot of lasses to be sure.

I was a bit intimidated. And nervous. But since I walk through life intimidated and nervous, I was rather prepared for these feelings. I made my way to the lake to test the waters.

The water was not so cold, and I started to relax. I put on my white cap and waited for the beginner wave. There were only 200 peeps in this race, 135 of them were old timers and 65 of us were newbies. We newbies went second.

Into the water. Ah. I was swimming, I was being kicked, I was calm, I was swimming. I was fine. I was slapped. This was ok. This was a breeze. I was gliding along. I was rounding the first buoy. All of a sudden, mid breath, i realized that i was really dizzy. I mean really. The sky was swirling. This panicked me a bit. As a land animal, a human in the water who suddenly feels as though she is passing out will panic. This human panicked for a second or three. Then, she got on with it. I went on my back and started doing backstroke. Yes, I swam over people. yes I got off track. yes I kept going. I rounded the second buoy. I was headed for home. I attempted the crawl again, but could not get a rhythm or breath going. No matter, I'm good at back crawl. I'm actually faster at back crawl than front (or, to put it more precisely, I am less slow). Finally, beach in sight, I flipped back over and finished with front crawl.

I got out of the water, kinda dazed, and still a bit unnerved. I offer this insight as a serious aside to anyone who is interested in doing tris, TRIS ARE MENTAL. What I mean is that my mind was suddenly off. My focus was off and I could feel it, because I'd been freaked by the dizziness in the water. I didn't regain that focus during the rest of the event, and my performance suffered.

At any rate, I got on the bike. The one cool thing was that I had beaten the testosterone twins on the swim. Tee hee. Score one for chemopause. My bike race was uneventful. The course was two loops, with only one sorta hilly part (which, of course, you saw twice). It was pretty. It was not difficult, but I went out too fast and lost steam rather quickly. My bike time was not wonderful, but i still managed to pull ahead of quite a few non-newbies. I did begin to talk to myself at the end. I did not utter inspiring, self-affirming chatter either. At one point I turned a corner and stated, out loud, to no one in particular, "This is a particularly unpleasant deja vu". At another point, I and my aspergian brain got a good chuckle over a road name. Shouldn't I be saying things like "you can do it!" "Fast and strong!" and "you're a winner!" ??

Which brings us to the run. The run was not a stellar performance either. There was a big hill. A man I had trounced in the bike part came up behind me and said "Oh comeon kiddo you can do better than that!" as he breezed past. One of the T. Twins passed me. Worse, I had no desire to catch them. Or rather, the spirit was willing but the flesh was weak. My legs felt like all the atoms in them had been replaced by neutrinos. In less fanciful parlance: they felt like lead.

Nonetheless, CG ran. she may have walked a step or two here and there, but by and large, she ran. She may not have made as good a time as she'd have liked, but she did not wet her pants, injure her arthritic knees, or seriously embarrass herself by coming in after the 70 year old lady who was walking the run part. And the interesting thing is, about halfway through, I thought of Honey, and of Moon. Yes, I decided to run it for them. And my flat footed step did get a little bit lighter...

For his part, the BF nearly drowned and got a flat, but finished the tri euphoric and addicted.

And thus, before one could turn around, it was over. And I am also still addicted. Springtime will bring more tris I'm sure, I may even do this one again. I have to, because now I cannot remember the funny name of that road.

My stats? Slightly worse than Danskin, but not by much. I was most disappointed in my bike stats, which should have been a lot better. Swimming, ok, i'll probably never be that good. Running, I have knee issues, so my days of any real swiftness are probably gone. But biking? Now I KNOW I can get faster on the bike. And I have a whole winter to do so...

mandate

2007-10-15T21:03:00.000-04:00

i'm told that i owe posts. I do believe I do, however, I just cannot get it together to write one. Soon, je te promete. I KNOW you can't wait...

Honey: 1994 ? - October 3, 2007

2007-10-03T22:26:00.000-04:00

I owe a few posts, and I promise I will update everything soon, but I have some sad news to report.

My little Honey died this evening. For those of you who don't know Honey's story, read it here. She wandered into my life this summer. We all knew she didn't have long, but she seemed for a while to be beating the odds.

At any rate, sometime between 8:30 and 9pm this evening, she wandered out of my life, as gentle as a sigh.

I miss her already.

"The crying's not for you my love,
The crying is for me,
These tears are nothing to you now
These tears you cannot see

but all the world and all the time
and all the stars and all the sky
are yours my love so do not fear
For I'm the one who's left behind"

Anon.

Journey well, little girl.

tri not II, putting cancer grrl to bed, and other assorted ephemera

2007-09-21T18:36:00.000-04:00

This weekend I have my second attempt at a triathlon. This one is scarier because it isn't all hearts and flowers "you go, survivor" type deal. I guarantee you none of these peeps are telling each other "All that matters is that you finish". Sigh. Well, I may as well wake up to the reality of my mediocrity sooner or later. After all, I did majorly trash my body when I was a dancer, so what do I expect? (Meanwhile, Lou is happily trashing my favorite tri-sox...excuse me a moment...)

Back on track. Now, the second issue of the day is whether or not to retire cancer grrl and go back to being bloggrilla full time. I haven't decided. Since I have the tri this weekend, and some scans next week, I believe I owe at least 2 more posts. After that, we'll see. Once I finally doffed the wig for good, I started feeling less like cancer grrl and more like....well, less like cancer grrl.

Also, I guess I owe a Komen post, but haven't had the time to do any posting. The race was run, itwas not as much fun as last year, and the Ex and I were majorly late, so we had to run to the start of the run. But,we got lots of cool swag. Also, there was a very embarrassing incident mid-run which I have not decided whether or not to reveal on this blog....stay tuned...!

anyway, I have to stop lou from trashing my tri-bag. AT least I am a good gear-head, and organized enuff to bring all the requisite paraphernalia...

abby update

2007-09-10T22:01:00.000-04:00

for anyone who wonders, abigail is doing well! she seems to have beaten whatever mystery bug she had, and is almost back to her old, semi-cranky self. and this makes me very happy...

anti-climax number 566

2007-09-03T18:03:00.000-04:00

well, in the midst of the constant stream of anti-climaxes that has become my life with cancer, and the constant stream of depressing events that has become my life outside of cancer, one date came and went that should have been greeted with some fanfare and gladness and romping around maypoles, feasts, fetes, parades, entertainments, badinages and what not, but, was, unfortunately, a rather hum drum day, tainted by a slightly dark event which i shall elucidate below.

that date was: The Last Herceptin. wow. It's been a year. A year it would be good to try to forget for the most part, and I am glad to have it behind me. Now, down the road a bit, I have some scans, which always cause the requisite quantum of fear, humiliation and other nastiness. Then, if all is well i get monitored about every 3 months for a while.

does this mean i've beaten cancer and must now be decorated with myriad pink ribbons? Perhaps. One day at a time I guess. I suppose at Komen I will wear my pink hat and cheer along with everyone else, even though I don't feel much like cheering.

For now, as you may have guessed, I have another problem. My sweet cat, Abigail, whose name this and my other blog has borrowed, took sick on thursday (the last herceptin day), with vomiting and lethargy. she's had multiple tests at the vet, but, this being a holiday weekend, nothing gets read, and nothing is conclusive. she's been in and out of the vet's, and I am just heartsick leaving her there another night, but the option is to bring her home and then take her back if she keeps bringing up food. I think it's more stressful bringing her back and forth. there are those that disagree, and everyone has a very tightly held opinion on what I should do for my cat. Abigail, while not happy with the vet, has never particularly stressed about going, either, so it's not like i'm torturing her by leaving her there to be monitored, unlike Honey, for whom the vet's office is the feline version of the 7th circle of hell. I do what I think is best.

anyway, that's all beside the point, which is, spare a good thought for my sweet girl abby, the best laser pointer huntress in all of creation. Let's get her back home and back on the team...

yes i did

2007-08-29T21:14:00.000-04:00

I registered for another tri. Sept 23. The only problem is, how can I keep sneaking in those 2 hour training sessions at lunchtime? gee. guess i have to quit my job...

Komen again?

2007-08-08T20:51:00.001-04:00

I registered for the Komen 5K race again. I say "race" but it's really more of a friendly jog with 35,000 of your closest friends. Last year at the race I was lurching through chemo and was one of the only baldies there, this year I have hair and am a newly minted triathlete. Nonetheless, if my triathlon pix are any indication, I will still be lurching. Cancer seems to have removed my grace along with my youthful and classical good looks...

If you want to donate to this worthy cause, and help me make my pledge so that I don't look like a completely friendless buffoon (no pressure, no guilt trip or anything...), please visit my pledge page here. . (Incidentally, some of you may recognize the pic from last year's Livestrong race. I didn't have any Komen pix, but I am wearing my Komen hat in the pic...)

demons

2007-07-31T20:16:00.000-04:00

I often peruse other cancer blogs, and go on breast cancer message boards to see how people are doing, how they cope, how they write about cancer, etc. I like seeing other people doing well, I like when they write interesting things about their battle with this disease, I admire people who can see it as "the enemy", whose subjugation will enable them to go back to "normal" life. I read, but truth told, I don't really relate. I seem to be very different from most cancer survivors. I'm not sure why, but I suspect that I've always battled demons, and cancer is just another one of them.

I also am not exactly what i show to the blogosphere (well, who is?) I mean I rarely blog about cancer. Does this mean I'm in denial about it? If I am, I'm glad. Unfortunately, I'm not equipped for denial. My mind collects, records, renders in full color and obsesses over any minute negative possibility. I cannot even leave the house without unplugging every light from every wall socket and knowing in great detail exactly where i'm going. I cannot hear the word "scan" without practically vomiting in fear. Hence, I do not do denial, try as i may.

Also, i'm rarely (present post excepted), introspective in my blogs. I guess I don't find the contents of my obsessive mad little mind all that interesting, and prefer to write bad puns and self-deprecating athletical stories.

I'm not, however, a fun individual. I'm not funny, I'm not strong, I'm not focused, warm or particularly good. I'm a woman who's got demons after her, and always has. I've always been outside, I've always been alone. This is not new. This was not brought on by cancer. Cancer did not suddenly change a healthy, well-adjusted, kind woman into a haunted, curse-obsessed ghost running for her life. Cancer grrl has always been haunted, always been chased here and there by obsessions, has been trying to flail her way blindly out of dark places for as long as she can remember. Cancer did nothing more than take some of the demons out of her head, and put them into her body.

And even though the cancer's gone... the demons aren't.

Maybe that's the difference.

tri report

2007-07-30T16:53:00.000-04:00

The triathlon is done! It was easier and harder than expected (easier in the swim, harder in the bike and run), I was faster than I thought (in the run), and I actually felt better physically after the tri than I did after either of my two (last years) running races.

Also, I came out close to the top quarter of all racers, combining all times and my transition times. I mean, I'll take that! This wasn't near as bad as I thought I would be.

Of course my slowest time was in the swim event. Nonetheless, the wetsuit helped enormously. I didn't get super tired, although I did find myself swimming the long way round, because I kept forgetting to sight. It was darkish and foggy too. I was looking at minnows and fronds for a while, then i realized that all the flailing human bodies were headed a different way. Ah me. At any rate, it was over soon enough and I rose out of the water like the swamp thang, peeled off my neoprene carapace and donned biker chic.

At first I was elated to get out of the water and onto my bike, where I really do feel most at home. I started to fly...WHEEEEEE!!! I started to feel like I was just going to kick ASS. WHEEEEEE! ...
and then WHEEEEE gradually turned to "f**k. F**K. HOLY F**KING SH*T!" There were hills. LOTS of hills. Hills throughout the WHOLE course. And these were steepish hills. LONG hills. Short stocky fat hills that came one after another in an annoying steplike fashion. Hills with smaller hills on their peaks like massive pimples on a nose. I could not believe it. Later, I looked at the website, which actually described the course as "challenging". Why, thank you. I was not expecting challenging for this baby tri. Nonetheless. I persevered. However, I forgot that I was to hold back some mojo for the run. Also, my race number flew off my bike at one point, and I, like a stupid dummy, went back to get it. As I picked it up, someone whipped past me saying "oh you don't need that..." haha. But I am so damned anal that i held onto it for the rest of the ride. My pace was average of 16mph overall. This is no tour de france-type pace, but, hey, for me, on hills, it was ok.

Then, I had a surprisingly good pace on the running portion (8:18 min mile, which is also no elite pace, but is a good pace for me). This was amazing, because i was trying to run slow, just so that i wouldn't have to give up and walk, because, as already stated, I had sorta blown my wad on the bicycle portion. Running after biking did not feel good, despite the fact that in the gym, it often does. But then, in the gym, my bike training is usually pretty half assed, and the treadmill soft and forgiving... Here, my legs felt like they were slamming the pavement hard with every step. I tried to consciously make my footfall softer, but it wasn't easy... Additionally, at the beginning, someone handed me a packet of sports beans which i clutched the entire time, wanting to eat them, but not really knowing how to do it in a non-spastic manner. Thus, i did both the bike and run holding on to unnecessary objects. I suppose that is good training for wartime or something. I dunno.

I did my transitions in a leisurely and calm fashion. Since I used to perform in some rather prop-heavy shows, I am good at setting up my props and keeping that part of things together. I did not feel like rushing, especially since I was more interested in my separate times for each event than my overall time. Nonetheless, in looking at my stats, it would behoove me to shave a bit off those times...I mean, I could have had a light luncheon in the time it took to get from swimming to biking...

I've decided i am a fan of the triathlon. It has something for everyone. Enough physical punishment for the masochist, enough gear for the gear head, enough planning and lists and setting up for the obsessive compulsive, enough exercise for the fitness minded, enough of a "pack" for the social, and enough autonomy for us loners (after they call your swim wave, you are really on your own for the rest of the race, you basically make up your own schedule...)

I spose I'll have to get that swim time up, tho. If my swim percentile had matched my bike and run percentiles, I'd have done a lot better stat wise. Ah well. Maybe I'll just buy a better wetsuit...

Tri-not: Part 3: "the wet suit"

2007-07-23T16:46:00.000-04:00

And so, today's installment of cancer grrl's tri-ing tales has her tri-ing to rent a wetsuit. It is appropriately entitled "Tri-umph of the Silly,"* or: "Sexual Dimorphism Through the Eyes of Young Triathletes..."

And the moral of today's tale is: Be ye not so silly as to attempt to rent a wetsuit in NYC a week before the tri.

Today, cancer grrl, after blithely enjoying a morning free of work worries (she is on VACATION!), and, after thoughtfully scrubbing the tub and laconically rinsing out workout clothing, ventured into the man of hattans (manhattan, for those of you unused to CG's continuing compulsion to dissect and/or backwardsify words), to rent a wetsuit.

Yesterday's delightful romp in the frothy briney (see Tri-not: Part 2) convinced CG that a wetsuit was this year's most necessary tri accessory. Why? well, those that know, tell you that the wetsuit keeps you warm, AND buoyant! Since I tend to be both hypothermic, and prone to sink like a stone, the wetsuit is a must-have for me.

However, again, pardon my stupidity, but, how was I to know that you had to rent these things eons before the actual tri? The answer to that is that I should have known. Anyone who has lived in NYC for as long as I have should know that the odds of desired/necessary object "A" being available when you desire/need it for event "B" decrease exponentially the closer you get to event B, given the high probability "C" that someone else exactly your height and weight and sex will come to the store that very morning to rent the last one of "A", and in all likelihood, will rent it exactly for your event "B". (The damned slut.)

Anyway. The day dawned cold and wet, in complete contrast to yesterday. I went to the store to rent my wetsuit. The man on the phone took my height and weight, and assured me that there were suits available in my size, a women's "medium".

However, when I arrived at said store, the damned slut who has my body had rented MY wetsuit for the very same time period that I would need it. There were no more suits in my size and sex.

I was desperate. What could I do? I asked for a men's small. And I tried it on, much to the amusement of the extremely young man waiting on me, who attempted, blushingly, to explain the difference in men's and women's bodies, which is apparently reflected in wetsuits. Therefore, he patiently instructed, the men's suit's crotch would sag and its chest would bind.

Haha. I had to laugh. I got the sucker on, although I almost gnawed my leg off in the process. The crotch was fine and the bust was fine. The SHOULDERS felt tight. Ah me. I did not wish to tell the young lad that he needn't worry about my secondary sex characteristics, because cancer and surgery took care of pretty much all of them, thank you very much. So I rented the suit. It is not optimum, but I am as comfortable in it as I can be, given that I'm not a fan of tight neoprene by any stretch of the imaginiation (sorry, hadda do it).

Now I have my suit, and will not drown. It would be good if I could practice in it, but, alas, this is not a perfect world, and will not be a perfect tri.

Thus spake Cancer Grrl.

*I recently viewed leni riefenstahl's "Triumph of the Will," the nazi propaganda film. It is a lovely film, capturing the nazi party "summer of love", and merry ole adolph h. doing his best to smile at the (aryan) children filling their puffy cheeks with certified fatherland-grown produce. Although riefenstahl goes out of her way to capture young, healthy germans, eating, washing, exercising and drilling (militarily of course) happily in the eternal sun of the third blight, and how inspiring it all is, all i could really think about was the monty python "Funniest Joke" sketch. "My dog has no nose! How does he smell! Awful!" Anyway, there's no way to view this movie without the perspective hindsight gives, so I'm not even going to attempt to say anything intelligent about it. See it for yourself.

But, see Olympia too. It is slighly less propaganda ridden, and worth it to see Jesse Owens kick butt.

Tri-Not: Part 2

2007-07-23T15:33:00.001-04:00

Welcome to the continuing saga of my lighthearted and parsifal-like romp through the world of triathlons. This particular segment is titled, appropriately: "Fools Rush in Where Angels Fear to Tread." In case you wonder about my role in this story, I can safely tell you that I'm no angel.

As our heroine approaches the eponymous tri, she begins to quail a bit about the swim. Each piece of sage tri-wisdom and real athlete advice to newbies holds that it is important, imperative, and perhaps even completely absolutely necessary to practice an open water swim before you do an open water tri.

so, it was with some small trepidation, but no real knowledge, that I, on the sunny summer sunday that was yesterday, hooked up with these people for one of their more "relaxed" open water swims.

Ok. I mean. I had no idea.

"These people" were CHANNEL SWIMMERS, (and i'm talkin English Channel, not HDTV), ALCATRAZ SWIMMERS, etc. These people swim a mile in the time it takes me to swim 10 lengths at the local Y pool. These people were going to swim a leisurely 4 miles that very morning.

I told them in no uncertain terms that I would be swimming maximum 1/2 mile. They told me the direction, and where to sight. They told me that a white building some ways off was the 1/2 mile turnaround point. I said OK. Then I got in with them. And that is the last I saw of them (til they regaled each other later with speeds and distances, as I crept back to the starting lifeguard chair to recover my belongings).

And the white building? Damned building was the white whale, and I was Ahab. Damned building mocked me. Damned building backed away from me like a blissful dream receding as you climb out of morpheus's tender embrace, leaving nothing but an imprint on your yearning mind.

Well, I was not scared at all. Nor panicked. Rather i had this odd feeling that I was the butt of some huge joke. Like, uh, was I headed the wrong way? Was the pier actually a moveable painted backdrop? They were kidding about the white building, weren't they? And further, what actually happened to my stroke (never very good, but certainly not this bird-in-a-dirt bath flutter and flop)?

I flipped onto my back. I pondered the fractals made in the water by my spastic limb-fluttering. I pondered the brown water and its unpleasant temperature. I swallowed some, purely experimentally, I assure you, and discovered that, yes, indeed, it was coney island sea water. I flipped onto my side. My butt and legs grew even heavier. I looked at the pier. It was no closer. I attempted some freestyle again, but, for the love of pete I could not for the life of me get the rhythm. I reasoned that I had two choices: either i continue freestyle and forget about breathing, or I do something else. I chose to execute my flailing version of the backstroke for a few minutes more.

And the white building? White building be damned. There would be no white building for me today.

When I got about 20 feet away from the pier, I decided I had had enough. I could not freestyle at all. I headed in. I checked my distance. Yes folks, cancer grrl, our perhaps a touch overconfident tri-newbie, managed about a 150 yard swim. Next saturday, she is to swim 820 yards, and then bike and run.

(insert laugh track, as clown takes a bow)

Well. I got out, slogged landlubberishly and sheepishly back to the starting chair, and told the lifeguard I had returned, lest they drag the surf for my body, probably still sporting a confused, disbelieving look on its face. Then, I defiantly put my running shoes on and lurched off for a much needed, soothing, ego calming, run on the boardwalk. THAT at least felt normal.

So, here's the moral of l'histoire, and the point where I get to add to tri-wisdom: Do not worry grasshoppper. There will always be someone worse trained than you are. In fact, if your tri is next weekend... that someone may well be me.

two more infusions of herceptin on the wall, two more infusions of herceptin...

2007-07-19T15:22:00.000-04:00

ok ok, it does not scan at all and would be very difficult to sing while drunk. however, it is more true than 99 bottles of beer on the wall, because, face it: how does all that beer get on the wall? I mean it is syntactically and grammatically perplexing. If it's on a shelf, why not say "on the shelf?" It scans the same for the love of pete. If it is indeed "on the wall" how does it stay up there? come ON people. It's not that difficult. Please, for me, invent songs that make sense. Especially drinking songs. The french do a good job of the drinking song that makes sense, in general. Usually about adultery, cuckoldry, and various acts of unpleasant, yet humorous, revenge. But, it all hangs together and makes sense. None of this "beer on the wall" crapola. my jeez.

Anyway. My version does make sense, and further, it is true. I only have two more herceptin infusions to go. Then, I get a variety of scans to make sure the herceptin pac men and ms. pac men ate all the bad cancer ghosts. Then, i get bloodwork done every 3 months. I'm told that although the old protocol was to do scans every 3 months, they are finding out that scans and bloodwork are equally as (in)effective in determining recurrance of breast cancer, and scans subject you to all that very bad radioactive juju. I am no fan of the scan, being both claustrophobic, and, slightly allergic to the iodine used in CT scans. Thus, I am glad I won't have to undergo them that often. I do not mind bloodwork. I mean, what's to mind? I am just masochistic enough to enjoy being jabbed regularly with needles. Seems a lot cleaner than lying in the hole of some damned toroid that has embraced and applied sneaky, snaky doses of radiation to a million ungirded and undignified human bodies...

I remember, as a child, when my mother told me that cosmic rays and gamma rays were going through me all the time, I was terribly uneasy, and could not stop fretting about it. It was an odd thing for her to tell me anyway, since she knew full well that I was completely unable to sit near electrical outlets, because I claimed that I could hear them and that fire was going to shoot out of them at any moment's notice.

What is my point? Well you tell me. I seem to have lost it. Point? Point? Are you there, point? I guess it goes to show why i prefer bloodwork to scans.

Anyway, I have nothing to blog about. So I am blogging about it. At least I'm not blogging about work, which would be unwise. Therefore, although this post is lame, it shall not be lost....

How not to do a triathlon

2007-07-16T20:04:00.000-04:00

My training regimen for this triathlon is pretty bad. I didn't really start doing swim workouts until last week, (tri is on July 29), and basically, my swim workouts consist of a few laps of an aptly-named-in-my-case "crawl" that is so slow that I am regularly lapped by old ladies weighing 300 pounds and wearing flowered shower caps in order to keep their hair dry (they don't put their heads under water).

My bike workouts consist of a few miles of FLAT roads, and some half-hearted hill attempts at the stationary bike at the gym, the one that says it isn't out-of-order, but which still regularly tells me that my heart rate is either 55 bpm or 300. Extrapolating its accuracy in bpm to its elevation accuracy, i am either climbing the matterhorn or actually coasting pretty smoothly downhill at any given "hill climbing" moment.

And running...well, in my case it is really better described as "jogging", or perhaps "hobbling." In fact, I sometimes have to check to see whether I am actually jumping rope instead of running, because i seem to stay pretty much in the same place for long periods of time. And here I thought running was supposed to move you forward.

Trouble is, I don't look sick, cancer-thin, or out of shape. I look athletic. Thus, it's kinda embarrassing because people expect me to be able to do stuff. I'd much rather look like i'm on my last legs and then blow the competition out of the water, than look like I know what I'm doing and then turn out to be slower than the #1 train on the weekends.

Nonetheless, I am mentally as game as a young racehorse, although I may be physically more like something fossilized and reconstructed for the eddification of paleontologists....

eats, poos and stays...

2007-06-26T20:07:00.000-04:00

I may be overdoing it a bit. In my continuing quest to convince myself of my health and invincibility, I am working full time, training for a triathlon (and actually training as though I were a healthy person), and , in a move worthy of florence catingale, have taken over the care and feeding of yet another cat, but this one has....good god dare I say it...breast cancer.

Yep. a rescuer that i work with found poor little Honey (i didn't name her, guys, lay off), in really bad shape in a courtyard. Although she is an adult cat, she weighed about 4 lbs, had thyroid counts off the charts, and a large, ulcerated mass on her chest. That was 3 weeks ago. Now, she lives in my former home office room, where she occupies a now soft t-shirt covered desk newly devoid of computers, eats like a princess, takes thyroid meds, and runs around chasing my other cats who treat her like an interesting yet frustrating oddity (does she like us or doesn't she? will she play or won't she? is she serious when she hisses or isn't she?)

And, tomorrow she goes for her mastectomy. Yes, cats get them too.

The rescuer and I are told we are crazy for doing this, b/c her prognosis is not great no matter what we do. But, my god. the little cat is so full of life. Even at her lowest point she'd get up on you and demand petting. She apparently was catching mice even as her counts were skyrocketing, and her tumor was growing. So, she wants a chance. And, she'll get it.

Well, I have to confess, the only reason I went to law school was to be a good provider for cats. So, she gets her chance.

Like I have mine.

blogblocked #2: the gag order

2007-06-11T18:07:00.000-04:00

Well in case you're wondering what happened to blogblocked #1, it was a rather lengthy, albeit suitably vague rant about the "W" word (wardrobe? weather? weakness leaving the body? wankers? wonderland? witchy woman see how high she flie ie ies?) (hint: rhymes with jerk). Therefore, after consultation with my work/life balance consultant, in the form of the ex; i properly decided that the post could remain hidden for the duration of the current game, lest it surface and cause me dooce-like gainful employment issues in future.

so it sits in my drafts. And i gotta tellya, it is a beautiful piece of prose. A rant worthy of King Lear. An opus so magnum that it makes Henry Miller read like "fun with dick and jane" (oops, he may have actually written a few things involving dicks and janes and fun....). And I gotta also tellya, you may never read it...

But, someday, when the current times of troubles are over and done with, and we all are relaxing around the fireplace with port, warm toasty slippers, stories of battles won and lost, and a fine stilton molding gloriously before us, I may reveal it and stun you with my erstwhile brilliance. And if you weren't in love with me before, you will be after hearing what will be henceforth known as:

"the Lost Post"

And so it be.

five boro bike tour photos

2007-05-19T18:53:00.001-04:00

the start: it was insanely crowded

On top of queensboro bridge. The police and an ambulance stopped us there for about 20 minutes. I think someone got ill. It was freezing cold...

Finally, some space to move. This was on the BQE, headed towards Verrazano Bridge...

tell me something i don't know

2007-05-11T20:27:00.001-04:00

Your Personality is Very Rare (INTP)

Your personality type is goofy, imaginative, relaxed, and brilliant.

Only about 4% of all people have your personality, including 2% of all women and 6% of all men

You are Introverted, Intuitive, Thinking, and Perceiving.

How Rare Is Your Personality?

tour de pomme

2007-05-06T20:36:00.000-04:00

bike tour done! It was quite fun, although colder, way more crowded, and certainly windier than I would have liked. Wind damned near blew me off the queensboro and verrazano bridges.

It was also majorly crowded. I knew it would be, but I had no idea. It was really really slow, stop and go riding until we got to central park, and then it was open enough to start speeding up a bit. By the time I hit queens, the road was pretty well opened up, and the ride from queens thru bklyn, down to the verrazano was open enough to bike hard when I wanted to, and ease off when I wanted to. It was nice. I had enough in me to spin up the bridge, although it was hard, because it's a mile or so of incline, and can be daunting after biking 40 miles. But, I made decent time. My legendary bridge phobia helped out by making me terribly uncomfortable to be on the bridges any longer than necessary. So i tended to concentrate on getting over them quickly...

all in all, I had a good time, and learned a lot about maneuvering bikes in extremely crowded conditions, and about drafting off of the person in front of me. AND about how nice it feels to suddenly have an open road in front of you and nothing to stop you from just biking...until the next rest stop...

great caesar's ghost

2007-05-05T19:04:00.000-04:00

I guess a blog is in order. It has been so long that I forgot which of my numerous passwords get me into blogger. It has been so long that I am totally sure that no one I know reads this blog anymore. It has been so long that I forgot how to write these things. I actually think maybe I've outgrown this stuff. Nothing I do (or have done to me) seems all that fascinating anymore to the point where I've just gotta let you know about it. However, I was motivated to post b/c someone new commented (see last post, below), so I feel as tho I must represent, as cancer grrl should.

Cancer is a small part of my life at this point, I mean I still go to the poison cafe once every 3 weeks for my shot of herceptin, I still have fake boobs and really short hair, and i still get the occasional cancer related panic attack, but other than that, I don't think about it much. I'm much more concerned with surviving my job and still maintaining my precious triathlon schedule than any ole cancer. It is hard to train and work at the same time. I have never had to do that before, because I've never had a real job before. And hopefully this too shall pass. I mean, what actually burns me is that I could do my job from home just as well, in fact, way easier than sitting in my little freakin office and taking extra long lunches in order to go to the gym. Seems so counterproductive. Everything I do could be done by telecommuting. I have no necessary face time with anyone (thank goodness).

I just merrily typed a paragraph about my job and then realized that when i started blogging I vowed to myself that I'd never post about my job. I think I'll stick with that vow. (insert dark mysterious hint) Especially since my line of da law is peopled by some very serious and heavy duty individuals...

Anyway, i am all anxious right now because I'm doing the five boro bike tour tomorrow. I'm anxious first of all b/c i have to get there super early, and i really have a problem waking up early in the morning. I'm also nervous b/c there are going to be so many bikers there, and I'm worried that I'll either get stuck with slow people, or stuck with fast ones, or get in some lane where people will get too close to me or something. Oh hell. I just fear anything new, especially when there are other people involved (l'enfer, c'est les autres...). But it should be fun anyway, and my new bike is so great (specialized tricross comp), that when I get on it I lose all sense of time and the road just rolls and rolls...

Anyway, that's all for now
until u read again
cg

o gee, cancer, I forgot our anniversary

2007-05-01T22:02:00.000-04:00

Yeah, one year ago today was the big dx ("diagnosis" for the normals among you). I almost forgot. I guess that's a good thing...

promise

2007-04-21T22:09:00.000-04:00

I promise an update sooon. Things are better. cats are splendid. spring is springy. I have a new bike and it is quite awesome. work still sux. I started swimming again to be ready for my triathlon. i rented all of star trek TNG.

no new blogs

2007-03-30T18:09:00.000-04:00

spring has sprung

and i am still waiting for my good news...

cruelty freeze

2007-02-18T14:49:00.000-05:00

Now I know that i am loved and revered in the blogosphere b/c i take very few things seriously, and dis almost everything. Thus, the following post may lose me some of my vast readership. It can't be helped. Every so often, a grrrl has to go all preachy on her readers. Read on mcduff:

It is most difficult to be an animal rights supporter, and a cancer patient at the same time. Every 3 weeks I go to a cancer center that does a ridiculous and unnecessary amount of animal testing, and get pumped full of poison tainted further by the pain and blood of innocents. This is the conundrum I live in each day.

So... I try my damndest to minimize the harm I do outside of my every 3 week trysts with the needle and IV tube. I do not eat chicken, pork, or beef, and only eat eggs that are "certified humane" (which doesn't mean they are completely taint free, but it is the best bet).

Further, I do not use products that test on animals. There are some amazing cosmetics and "beauty care" companies (if you are into that sort of euphemistic appellation for things that some of us prefer to call "soap" and "lotion"), that are cruelty free (and there are some you think should be, but ain't ain't aint). PETA provides a great shopping guide to:

companies that don't test on animals
and
companies that do.

If you are, like me, usually pressed for time, here's a short list of good cosmetic/beauty companies that don't test on animals. With companies like Nivea and Prescriptives on this list, why do you need products from the LD50-loving companies?

Minimize your harm on this world. Lest I go all green/vegan/crazy on yo' ass...

(next blog, the trouble with Japan....)

presque normale

2007-02-12T12:06:00.000-05:00

Well, i know i have been mostly a downer lately. After this last surgery, and the fever, it seemed as though the weight of every fucked up thing i've been through this past year (and the prior 2 years were no real picnic either), suddenly was too much for me. I just panicked. panicked. and panicked.

Today, however, I will treat you to a look at that exceedingly rare, and yet, not quite extinct, species: the upbeat abigail blog.

I just had my first shower and I look.....almost normal.

You normal types have no idea what this means to me. I have considered myself a freak my entire life, mentally and physically. Mentally, as i've said, i am aspergian, and while growing up, my odd combination of talents and disabilities resulted in my skipping two grades in school, and graduating high school at the age of 15; whilst in the meantime struggling to learn to tie my shoes, tell right from left, and tell time. Of course this resulted in mucho social anxiety and a well stocked menu of other assorted obsessive compulsive type mental illnesses.
Physically, I am a white girl with African American hair. In fact, I used to pass for African American. Believe it or not. Thus i did not fit into any recognizable category, and was bullied about it cruelly and endlessly. Further, I grew 6 inches in one year during high school, and thus wore clothing that was always too short, was too thin, and was constantly bumping into things.

and boobs??? well that's another story. after high school i suddenly developed breasts which i never liked at all because I'd gotten used to not having them (I was a dancer, remember?) Even they seemed abnormal to me.
fast forward...

Enter cancer, and the hockey pucks. Since I had very little vanity about my body (my face is another matter...) I didn't even really process how weird the hockey pucks were. I pretty much ignored them, although i did hide in the bathroom to change tops at the gym.

Now this. I took a look. My god. I look (again almost) like a normal woman.

In the scheme of things, this matters not a whit. But, I'm actually glad i did this surgery. wow. THAT's a novel emotion...

more merde

2007-02-11T11:01:00.000-05:00

Well I may be being a whiney cry baby, but, since friday, when i had the surgery, I've gotten a fever, had the heating go out in my apartment, and, when i conscientiously checked in to my work phone, found a message from the office torquemada, wanting me to call him back on some job crappily done. I HATE my job. In fact, the word "hate" in the previous sentence should be red hot and dripping with toxins. I think my job is killing me.

So now i sit in a freezing apartment, because we had to open the windows due to the nasty gas smell from the blown heater, and, beside me sits a pile of work that i have to get done, which will probably also be below standards, and result in more torquemada calls, and all for what? I have to find a new job. I posted my resume yesterday on some of the lawyer sites. Since I can do little else, i guess I should just start looking now. I know a new lawyer job is probably and "out of the frying pan into the fire" thing, but, well, at this point I'm feeling kinda impulsive. I'd really like to get a non-law job, but don't really wanna go back to school, which I'd have to do for anything as lucrative as law. I mean, I like school, but I'd have to get another free ride, that's the only way i could justify it. And, what am i suited for? I mean, I know i am totally unsuited for an office job. Non office jobs tend to be either hard on the body or not very lucrative. I have no passions anymore, except for animals, and one PAYS to rescue/work with animals, one doesn't get paid, unless one is a vet.

Well, perhaps my 4.5 readers could offer me some suggestions. Given that I'm not young, not pretty, not a people person, and not likely to become one, absolutely not an office person or 9-5er, smart in an aspergian way and heavily autonomous, what do you suggest i do? (given the above description, about the only avenue open to me is "famous recluse"... how does one get paid for that? can ya help me out here?)

trade ya

2007-02-09T16:48:00.000-05:00

surgery done!

It was short and early. I had to be there at 7am, which was, to my mind, at least as bad as scalpels slicing my flesh. They knocked me out again, despite the fact that I was a bit curious as to what local anaesthesia would be like, or, that thing called "twilight sleep" which sounds so interesting. But, curious as I am, I do not want to experience the vast varieties of anesthesia to the point where I would undergo many more surgeries just to sample them. curiosity and the cat, you know. (did you know that the incas used anesthesia?)

Anyway, after last time, when i was pampered and catered to most shamelessly for 2 days, i was a bit miffed that, right out of the recovery room, i was given my clothes and a page of instructions, and sent out into the cold cold world on wobbly legs and one small paper cup of apple juice. However, i am being cared for at home by, as the Ex puts it, legions of grim felines arrayed head to toe. These felines are, in fact, monitoring me closely, even abigail, who in general, retains her feral standoffishness as a point of pride.

The BF is also doing his part, foraging in the wilderness for foodstuffs and prescribed drugs with nothing but a bit of plastic in his gloved hands.

Oh and the boobs? well all i can tell right now is that they are softer, smaller and less protruberant than the expanders. woo hoo!

and on the subject of boobs, I have also to say, poor Anna Nicole. I'm not kidding either. People diss her for being ditzy and for marrying for money, but, those two things are kinda mutually exclusive no? And, neither one is so awful. Who are we to cast stones? She gave the old guy 14 months of happiness, and, if not, she paid for any transgressions with a lot of pain.

And, tops in my book (oh sorry, no pun intended and all that...), she helped animals. Thus allying herself on the right side of things in my opinion...

puck exchange

2007-02-06T20:39:00.000-05:00

Friday is my exchange surgery. The day when the hockey pucks get swapped for something more saline. Actually, saline. Instead of rocks, I will be salt water. There's some kind of pun in there, having to do with rocks and the deep blue sea, but i am not equipped to figure it out.

at any rate, i will feel more anatomically correct at the gym.

oh, and the hair is growing back. And, it seems to be darkening....i hope

Barbaro

2007-01-30T20:10:00.000-05:00

I was sad to find out that Barbaro was euthanized yesterday. I've been pulling for him all along. He and I had surgery on the same day last May y'know. It's just sad. I guess I really really wanted a happy ending.

But, keep in mind, folks, there are lots of other animals, horses, cats, dogs, cows, pigs, mice, birds, iguanas, etc, that don't get anywhere near the care and attention Barbaro got, and die sad little deaths all the time, on the side of the road, in a factory farm, in the vet's office, in backyards, in vacant lots, in forests, in fields. I'm mourning them too, today. Sometimes it's the way of nature, but, a lot of it, a fairly prodigious amount of it, is human-caused suffering. We need to open our eyes to it...even when it's not Barbaro that dies...

post crazy-os

2007-01-23T20:38:00.000-05:00

I know I know. I majorly did NOT rise to the challenge of posting every day. I mean, it's really all I can do to keep up with my life. So, let's all move on shall we?

On the job front, I am DETERMINED to catch up, because I am tired of sneaking in (late) taking an hour and a half in the middle of each day to go to the gym, and leaving (earlyish) and feeling guilty about it. I mean I won't stop doing those things of course, but i do not wish to feel guilty any more. Ergo, I guess I'll just catch up. Appropos of that, I have designated this week "Type A" week, in which I impersonate someone effective who gives a shit about her job. To that end, I worked on Sunday, stayed late last night, stayed late-ish tonight, and only checked my email 85 times today. I did still go to the gym of course. As I've said before, I'm addicted. I love my gym. until i get my bike, the gym it is. I project that i will catch up in the next couple weeks and then I can go back to slack.

On the physical front (what front? I have no more real front), I feel pretty good. In 2 weeks I get my expanders out and the implants (saline) in. that will be a welcome change, as I've had these damned hockey pucks sitting on my chest way too long. And it's not like, because they are hockey pucks, they are impervious to pain. OH no. I am reminded every time I bathe that i am still made of flesh and blood, sadly enough. I also try not to look at myself naked more than once per week, which is easily enough accomplished, I just make sure to fog up the mirror inthe bathroom when I shower, and that's the only mirror in the house. No wonder I sometimes show up to work wearing two different socks and with my fly undone.

Cancer has definitely killed one of the seven deadlies... that one being vanity. But i make up for it in gluttony and sloth...I won't talk about lust, lest i get another supportive comment from my evangelical constituents....

attacks

2007-01-09T20:33:00.000-05:00

for some reason, I am having a big ole anxiety attack today. I don't know what it's about, but i have my theories. I usually get extremely anxious when things are going my way. however, nothing is really going my way, except that i bought some new dishes and a bike last weekend, and i had a really good idea which fills me with excitement, but which I dare not reveal and cannot approach doing in my current job situation. So perhaps that's the anxiety.

Also, could be that I'm anxious most of the time and the fact that I'm now over my 2 week cold just makes it more obvious. Anxiety takes a break when one is sick, because it has a focus -- the illness. Except that's not true for cancer, anxiety does NOT take a break. My anxiety is also cancer related, of course. How could it not be? Chemo's been over for 3 months now, and it's hard to tell whether herceptin is doing anything, because I don't get any real side effects.

At any rate, I'm anxious. Could also be my job. I cannot prioritize and filter things out like most people can, so every day is a stress filled battle for mental organization (Aspergers syndrome you know), a battle I've been losing lately. One single phone call can render me unable to work for hours. A conversation in the cubicle across the hall is etched into my head in excruciating detail. And to top it off, random thoughts, usually of the atrocious and horrible variety, do not get sublimated or pushed out, they stay sitting on top like a popup window that won't close. I am often unable to read, and almost always unable to understand verbal instructions. This is my "normal." welcome to my world. I am truly amazed I ever accomplish anything.

And what does this have to do with cancer? Well, just this. Chemo caused me to get hot flashes. The hot flashes DESTROY me. They bring up such stress and agression that I have a hard time focusing during and after a hot flash. I hate them, and i have them all the time. They're like the physicalization of my high strung mental state and they are awful and claustrophobic as hell.

Ok so i tied it in to cancer. otherwise this would have had to go on bloggrilla, and then you'd be able to see that i fucked up my resolution already. yep, i've missed 2 days so far. AH me....

the challenge

2007-01-02T19:34:00.000-05:00

yesterday i posted my one new years resolution over on bloggrilla and already i am regretting it. We had to work today despite the fact that good ole Ford was being memorialized, proving, once again, that there is no rest for the wicked (in whose ranks, as I have recently been informed, I most decidedly slouch, although probably not towards bethlehem).

Anyway, here's the deal folks. Normal every day posts such as this one will be posted on Bloggrilla, not here on CG, because, hey, CG is supposed to be about, uh, my battle with, and denial of, da disease. Posts about the upcoming reconstruction surgery, herceptin days, baldness, crapping my pants, gagging on my dental floss, wondering where my mojo went, etc., will be posted here on CG.

Thus, since i have nothing cancer related to say this by rights should go on bloggrilla, but since I'm to lazy to repost it, I'll just say that today I looked probably the worst that I've ever seen myself look, so much so that, as I was, self centeredly, stealing precious minutes from my job to go to the Y and indulge myself in a good old fashioned joust with several assorted cardio-machines (ok you have to know that I crave that like most people crave chocolate. probably more. Have you ever seen a junky twitch? Well watch me if I miss a day at the gym), I happened to catch a glimpse of myself in an ill-placed mirror and great merciful crap but I looked BAAAAAD and not in a good way. Grey face, huge bags under the eyes, frown permanently etched in mouth and chin area. unpleasant. See folks THAT's what cancer does to ya. But, there's always plastical surgery. And I then I can start a brand new blog about that....

the year in fears

2006-12-31T17:39:00.000-05:00

Well, here's my second annual year end recap. all the news you can use and plenty you can't in wildly truncated form. I started bloggrilla last year at just about this time, and the 2005 recap was, in hindsight (i almost wrote "hindi-sight"), almost heartbreakingly touchingly sweet and naive, full of hope for the brand spanking new year that was 2006, a year that, we now know, will go down in the annals (yes yes, anals...) of abigail history as the year voted most likely to be expunged from the memory as a very very dark time.

However, expunge we do not, not yet anyway. before we expunge, we must memorialize. So here it is folks, I bring you, that annus horribilus, that dark year, that era of bad feeling, that era when the dark lord lifted his hand over dead sea and withered land -- 2006!!!

January: I enter the ranks of the gainfully employed for the first time in three blissful years of scholly-stipend-supported schooling. The BF and I go see Morris Day and the Time at BAM, and shake our stiff white butts.

February: I become acquainted with life as a bona fide, 9-5 (or, lets get real, 9 - whenever) proto-attorney (proto because I'm not sworn in until ....)

March: I am sworn in as a lawyah. Other than that, absolutely nothing happens.

April: I hit my first double digit run (10 miles) on the rainiest day of the year. As fate would have it, I catch a flu which sends me to a doctor, who discovers a lump, which sends me to have a mammogram, which sends me to a surgeon, who takes a biopsy, which shows cancer, which sends me to surgery, which involves a bilateral mastectomy with reconstruction....shit, wait, back up this is only April. April is the cruellest month. In April, the doctor discovers a lump and sends me for a mammogram. On the last day of april, the EX and I walk the entire length of manhattan, and I convince myself, for one brief day, that I couldn't possibly have cancer.

May: On May 1 I am diagnosed with cancer. On May 19, I undergo a double mastectomy. After Memorial day, I go back to work, and no one is the wiser (not terribly well endowed to begin with...)

June: In June, I start chemo. And I buy a wig.

July: I lose my hair. I lose my eyebrows.

August: I lose my mind. I lose my patience. I lose any self delusion that I like my job or law in general as a career.

September: The Ex and I run the komen race. It is jolly good fun! Chemo ends, and not a moment too soon.

October: The BF and I go to Austin where we run the LiveStrong Challenge, which kicks my chemo-ized butt. I realize what a toll the whole thing has taken on my body, when a simple 5K run almost cripples me for a month.

November: Back to work. It just gets better and better (oh yeaaaahhh). My hair starts to grow back COMPLETELY GREY. I get spanked at work for a job crappily done. I dis and avoid thanksgiving dinner. There have to be SOME perks to survivorship.

December: I go to 2 holiday parties at work where I make nice, try not to embarrass myself, and try to keep my by now overused and severely stretched-out wig from shifting back off my forehead like some 1930s newsboy cap. I get a nice fat cold for xmas and skip another holiday dinner. I begin the foster-ship of yet another feral feline (pix to come...). The BF and I go to see Pina Bausch at BAM. It's nice, but I fall asleep.

Oh baby. From the bottom of my toxic heart, my teflon lungs, my three brain cells, I fervently fervently fervently pray to the deities for a much less interesting, much more peaceful, much less medicated, much less, um, well, terrifying year for myself, for mcuster, for carolyn, for marjory, and for all the other cancer bloggers I've compared notes with over the months. Let's all move on now, shall we?

Mass - X

2006-12-22T20:36:00.000-05:00

No, i am not going to dis xmas. even ms. holiday-hater has a soft spot for the whole xmas frenzy, notwithstanding the fact that all of the ads, movies, tv shows and other hoopla raise expectations of the kind of xmas that never existed, and never could exist, for me, or anyone else I know.

But really, this year has been awful, and the crappiness has not quit in honor of the season. No, i just keep getting slammed. I'm still behind at work, and completely worried that I'm gonna get fired. My hair is growing back --- completely grey. I still have no time to do anything other than work and commute and sleep. I still don't get enough sleep. I'm still anxious and depressed most of the time. And to top it all off, I just got a nasty little cold, and took so much vitamin C today that I was in constant danger of crapping my pants, which would have sealed the deal, so to speak, of my unfitness for my current job.

However, I rise to the occasion from my pit of despond, to wish all of you, all my 4.5 readers, a joyful and splendid holiday season. At the risk of giving away my xmas card scheme...i submit the below, to prove that, while there is no god, there are at least cats in the world, and that, alone, is worth the price of admission.

Abigail

2006-12-09T09:51:00.000-05:00

in all her splendor...

ma firsss drink ina looooooooooong tahm

2006-12-08T19:58:00.000-05:00

tonight we had the obligatory first office xmas party. I say "first" because this is the unofficial one, the one for the plebes. The mucky mucks party is later, and a bigger deal and costs money to go to, and will probably have those little sandwiches that consist of one olive on one half of a slice of cucumber with a sprig of something laid across that is guaranteed to get stuck in your teeth. Or not IN your teeth but between them. I don't know why people say "you have spinach stuck in your teeth" when they mean in between. I mean it would be horrible to have something stuck IN your teeth, you'd need all kinds of really painful dental work. But whatever. I am not to blame for the grammatical and syntactical errors of others.

At any rate, we had this party. I of course, as is my wont, because i am one of the least social people I know, headed straight for the ole merlot, and, within approximately 35 seconds of slogging through a brief on termination of parental rights for mental retardation, i was holding forth most impolitically about penile implants and the absurdity of the case load. (yes penile implants. don't worry, it was a job related discussion...)

I cannot drink, i have no tolerance for alcohol.

However, I am smarter than i used to be, because, after my one (ok, very full) plastic cup of wine, I had the grace to excuse myself, and gtfo, before i caused any more damage to my carefully cultivated "cancer sufferer" persona.

I'll have to be more careful at the mucky muck party if I go. AND I'll make sure and wear some slightly green-tinted foundation, for that "she's had a rough year" look that should save me from getting either fired or loaded down with too much work...

But i did enjoy that cuppowine tho.

saison en enfer

2006-12-02T19:19:00.000-05:00

one night, i sat beauty on my knees
and i found her bitter
and i hurt her
(rimbaud)

well, as this annus horribilius (not to be confused with anus horribilus, and don't even get started with "rim"baud...) draws to a shuddering, cranking, lurching, spastic, drool, crap and poison infused close, it is time to reflect on what has not gone wrong this year. Ooops, wait, i think it's too soon for that. After all, we've still got 29 more days in the year, so i'd better wait before i count my cancer-free cells. At any rate, i have got to say that the past couple of weeks since the end of chemo have not been the pleasant garden path that i though i deserved to walk now, after enduring such unpleasantude, and, i have been quite surprised and displeased to find that i am now vulnerable, and seemingly doubly so, to all the nasty viscissitudes of "real" as in employed and 21st century and eastern seabord, life.

Thusly, I am tired, and crazed, and feeling a bit like a bull in the ring after the picadors get thru with him, tormented, maddened and freaked by the constant parade of sharp things coming at me, both literally (needles and surgery) and figuratively (i think i'm gonna get fired. now how does that look? a top 5% law student who can't keep a job? ah me.) I wonder, and keep wondering, what the hell went wrong? Then I remembered. All through chemo I thought, oh well, I can endure this because, after chemo i will get back to normal. Yes, it became my internal mantra. I will get back to normal. Things will get back to normal. The world will get back to normal.

Now I realize that "normal" for me is dark and dismal, I am congenitally that way. Did i really think cancer would change that? Sheesh if it did, i'd have signed up long ago. Well it didn't.

Cancer does change one thing tho. It gives one a sense of urgency that is hard to take. I mean, i've always felt a sort of internal push to keep moving, but now, when, by rights i should be settling down, now, i feel it more and more. There's so much to know, so much to do, so many things to put right, so many things to fuck up royally. And i'm on borrowed time. I mean, i've been shot, i've had pneumonia, and i've had cancer. I'm definitely on borrowed time here. I'm not supposed to even BE here.

So, no, i will not get back to normal. I will continue to burn inside for something, for some way to help, some way to love this poor world... and I'll probably continue to move towards whatever it is, stumbling, hobbling, lurching, ...till death finally does catch me...

Let's hope that's not for a while yet...

friday (saturday) cat blogging: the pinkseries

2006-11-25T10:04:00.000-05:00

Pink heads towards the (laser) light (pointer)

sacred heart of pink

P.S. In case anyone is wondering, NO i most certainly did NOT name pink for any komen related pink ribbon crapola reason. He has been "pink" since his birth, because he is...well...pink. In color. And, for those of you overly tied to gender essentialist specific coloring...i give you this from Wiki: "The color pink is now associated with womanhood and little girls, just like light blue is associated with little boys and manhood. However, in 1918 "Infant's Department" (an industry publication) said the reverse was the "generally accepted rule", describing pink as "more decided and stronger" while blue was "more delicate and dainty". there u have it.

The unbelievable lackness of blogging

2006-11-17T19:55:00.000-05:00

I don't know why i have nothing good to say to you all. Certainly you deserve more than i'm giving lately, and i cannot blame you for losing faith in cancer grrl's indomnitable spirit and rapier like wit. I know I know. A whiny, bad pun-ridden, dispiriting rant about work, complaints about aches and pains, some bad pictures and, horror of horrors, the massive, mean-spirited, unamerican all out dis of a holiday that i'm sure you all hold near and dear to your hearts has begun to open your eyes to the jaundiced ne'er do well that cancer grrl/bloggrilla really is. Ah me.

It's almost as if, along with chemo, I was injected with a jolly drug. In truth, i think there are 2 kinds of chemo recipients, those who milk the chemo for all they're worth and make sure everyone knows they are suffering mightily, and those who, suddenly, and uncharacteristically, turn into pollyanna for the duration.

Lose my hair?? No problem, never liked it anyway...I LOVE my wig!!!
Tired? No problem there, I really had too much energy before. I'm so much calmer now!
Nauseated? O well I really needed to drop a few pounds anyway! Hey I look great!
and on and on. You get the picture. The real person goes away for a while and is replaced by bright and shiny CHEMO GRRRL.

In a way, I think we all need the opportunity to play "brave sufferer putting on a good face to the world" for a while. I'm not being at all facetious. It's a rewarding role to play. The only trouble is that you may actually have to suffer to do it right. I don't recommend cancer as an avenue to realizing your own personal "brave sufferer" persona, however here are some things that you can do to reap the kind of rewards that the lucky few of us reap from chemo:

1. fast for a week or so. Believe me, you'll suffer. What's more, your suffering will be doing some good, because you won't be contributing to any shortages, and you won't be throwing any money at BIG FOOD (which is as bad as big oil). PLUS you'll be thin...and the world LOVES a thin sufferer...

2. Do an iron man triathlon without proper training. (disclaimer: the writer of this blog is NOT liable for any injuries, illness, sickness, soreness, lameness, crippledness, death, or misery you may suffer from doing this. Didn't anyone tell you not to do everything the internet tells you to do?) You'll suffer. And maybe, if you bet people you can do it, maybe you'll make money. More likely you won't. But maybe you can RAISE money for a good cause. That'd also be good.

3. Send me all your money. You'll suffer, and, you will have helped a cancer patient realize her life's dream...to have your money. Think of the prestige! In fact, I will install paypal on this site so that I can help you attain your goals. perhaps i will even put in one of those little thermometers to inspire you.

4. Give away a tenth of your income to an animal rights group. You won't even suffer that much, and, i've got news for you, back in the days when christians actually believed in doing good, they always gave away a tenth of their income. Tithing y'know? And, we owe animals for the years of abuse we have heaped on them. The suffering part? hmmm. Guess that HDTV will have to wait til next year.

5. Ram your hand or foot into the closest SUV (but wait til it's parked). wear gloves, and break something (in the SUV, not on you). You'll suffer, but you'll be doing good. (see disclaimer above and add the following language: "the writer of this blog is likewise not responsible for jail time, damages verdicts, judgments, orders, sentences and community service time"). Then, wear your bandaged limb prominently to the next greenpeace rally and be sure to let all of the comely young greenpeacers (of whatever gender floats your particular boat canoe or what have you) know how you injured yourself, and get ready for the lovin.

OK i cannot think of any more creative ways to suffer, and still be around, not too scathed, to reap the rewards and the kudos.

I especially like #3, but, well, i'm generous like that.

(PS: CONGRATS! to all the NYC bar passers out there. ain't you glad it's ovah? now you have to work tho...see below posts on THAT...)

a day at the races

2006-11-13T20:50:00.000-05:00

well this is a bit belated, but here are some race pix from Austin...

Yes I was all chemo huffed & puffed. note the bald head and wobbly looking knees...

tanks but no tanks

2006-11-09T21:34:00.000-05:00

I've never really liked thanksgiving, it always seemed like, objectively, it was just a runner up to christmas: a practice meal, a truncated vacation, no presents, and ridiculous, rust-coloured, harvest type memorabilia; and, subjectively, it was a day when i'd have to do battle with my mother in the morning, my brother and father in the evening, and in the middle have to endure an oh so joyous holiday meal surrounded by three people who, barring the fact that we shared genetic material, never should have come within 3000 miles of each other, or at least never should have gotten emotionally closer than it takes to say "hi," "bye," and, "you're sitting on my coat". I refer of course to the bloggrilla/cancer grrl family.

Picture this:
thanksgiving morning, bright and early. Crisp, chill, my sweet blond head goes back under the covers. but NO! soon my mother is in the room, telling me it's time to get ready for church...

Of course I hate church. Church is like slow poison. But, my mother's wrath is like some meaner kind of torture, perhaps involving disembowling or molten lead. She ramps up the volume. GET READY FOR CHURCH (subtext: you will die a slow agonizing death if you do not come to church with me). The longer I stay in bed, the worse it gets. What do i do?

What of my brother and father? No succor there. For some reason, I, being female, am the designated scapegoat. The sacrificial lamb. The sitting duck. (Apt metaphors indeed, considering thanksgiving also marks the season of wanton slaughter of millions of tortured and tormented farm type animals...). At any rate, in my family, church is women's work. Religion is for the gals. The men in my family do not set foot in church. No wonder I had gender issues...

What do I do? if I go, I'll hate myself. If i don't go, she'll hate me. What to choose?

Well, often I cave and go, suffering mightily through the intonations, the hymns always played too slow and sung too high, the woozifying smells...;

some years I just slip out of the house until I see her car leave, her driving off with the ramrod straight neck, the heavy coating of powder, the absurd coil of waist length hair sitting smack on top of her head like a concrete bunker... and ooooo boy am I in for a fun afternoon when she gets back, and we all sit round the table, her furious, my father seeking higher ground through consumption of some sacred alcoholic potion guaranteed to promote unecessary outbursts of wisdom and utter conviction of rightness..and so insulated from her fury that he deems it appropriate and hilarious to start baiting her and egging her on to some dramatic resolution, my brother just drunk from all afternoon contact with my dad, the constant football game on TV, and the joys of being the excused sex and the youngest to boot, and me on eggshells, watching mines exploding under the table, dodging crockery and daggers, walking the narrow path of conciliation and terror like the omega dog of the pack...knowing that when it comes, the dramatic resolution will be carried out against me...

So, no. I do not like thanksgiving.

I am, of course wildly exaggerating. There were no real daggers and the mines were just little bitty ones...

toil et travel

2006-10-28T20:58:00.000-04:00

(heh. nice little play on mots, eh? get it? "toil et"? and, travel instead of travail??? Ok ok it's not elegant... but it will work. hahah i did it again. work??? travail??? toil??? get it get it get it? SHADDDUP!)

Well, I think it is fair to tell you that I forgot that life outside of cancer largely consists of thankless toil, bad meals, and exhausting travel (meaning my 4 hour per day commute). Mostly thankless toil.

I do not know how the majority of people in the western world handle the 9-5 office job, I certainly never did it before I became the world's most reluctant middle aged lawyer, and I certainly did not give the prospect of a life lived on a 9-5 schedule its due weight in my somewhat whimsical decision to enter law skool. Had I done so, I'd have run screaming in the opposite direction, and perhaps entered the Joe Smith school of hotel/motel night management, bartending, and grave digging.

The odd thing is that people consider this NORMAL. perhaps I lived in an ivory tower (or, more likely under a rock) for my entire life, but in no way is it NORMAL to get up 2 hours before the freakin sun comes up, travel to a large building, sit on your ass all day fretting over other people's legal problems, only to then depart 2 hours after the freakin sun sets, travel home, too tired to make a decent dinner, fall into bed for a fitful few hours only to get up and do the EXACT SAME THING for four more days until you can have the unmitigated luxury of sleeping at least til the sun comes up.

People must either love what they do, have an infinite capacity to live for the weekend, or, more likely, are trapped into wage slavery early and have no other choice.

I always had choices, because I was childless, and free and clear of any dependancies. I had only myself and my cats to look after. I habitually changed jobs and apartments as easily as underwear (and, in the case of at least one favorite bra, probably more often....bwhahahahah).

Not that I was carefree by any stretch, but, damn I never thought I'd be a 9-5er. In fact I used to know I couldn't do it. I don't know how i forgot that. I think I just wanted to go to school. And law school seemed as good as any, in fact better, because it only took 3 years, and was supposed to be a big deal. And, although it sucked, i didn't mind it because the hours were good...! I never really had to get up super early, and I always had a lot of time off. Of course, I could have worked a lot harder.... but i did enough. And I always had time for movies and gym and run time and much needed downtime, except twice a year when exams would roll round. Then, i was freaked for about 10 days and it was over, and there'd be a vacation where I got lots of sympathy for doing something so damned awesome as law skool and I'd be all "oh it's so HAAAAARRRRRDDDDD" bwahahaha.

but not anymore. I don't get no kudos. I don't get no downtime. I don't look like I'm doing anything heroic. not even apres cancer. boy did I make a silly choice....

Anyway. I guess you may be able to tell from this post that I don't really have anything cancer related to complain about. herceptin seems like a walk in the park compared to chemo. Let's keep it that way.

and, once i'm past all this....i'll be damned if I won't figure out a way to get out of the 9-5 thing and back to slack...

requisat im pace

2006-10-19T18:13:00.000-04:00

This just in:
http://www.miriamengelberg.com/index.htm

Miriam Engleberg died on Monday. I've enjoyed her cancer comics and blog (see "Cancer made me a shallower person" on sidebar) since i was diagnosed with cancer and found out such things existed. I was pulling for her, but she hadn't posted on her blog in a while, and i was worried. Now I miss her and i didn't even know her. Bye bye Miriam.

And, since to me, cats are people too, I must also include another sad note. One of my brother's cats, Toby, died yesterday. Toby was a stray from Brooklyn, who moved to south Texas and never looked back, spending his long (for a cat) life hunting critters in vacant lots and cactusy backyards. Journey well, little Tobe.

solid gray

2006-10-14T10:42:00.000-04:00

I can't say things are horrible, but i cannot say they are good either. I'm having a crappy week, even as the end of chemo was supposed to result in an "era of [relatively] good feeling"

For one thing, my mind will not relax. In Austin, aside from the race and the bats, I didn't really enjoy myself. I couldn't stop either worrying about my cats, or my knees or the airplane flight home, or a million other ridiculous things (but never cancer..oddly enough). Once at home, I realized that I'll have to go back to work next week and i'm horribly behind on stuff i have to do, and, to top it all off, i don't remotely even like what I'm doing at all. I don't like being a lawyer, and i don't like reading law all day and pretending to understand what is going on, and I'm not motivated enough to be very good at it.

For another thing, i seem to have tweaked both my knee and my back somehow, so now I'm feeling injured, and, if there is one thing that makes me crazy, it is injuries. I don't think anyone who has never been a dancer can appreciate the panic and terror that an injury causes, even a minor one. how long will this take to heal? How much can I do? Will I have to stop doing what I'm doing? Am I making it worse? Why am I the only one who gets hurt? Why am I always hurt? What am I doing wrong? I am just not built for this, I cannot do this, I'm totally fucked up, i'm not meant to be a dancer, runner, biker, whatever...GOD! The level of mental pain I heap on myself is staggering, like rubbing salt into open wounds. But I'm sure salt has some sort of salutory effect, whereas this rubbing my face in my inadequacies does not. I have no perspective.

And, uh, cancer. Where do i go from here? As you can see from the above, I've pretty much forgotten that 2 weeks ago i was writhing around under the influence of taxol, steroids and herceptin. I guess I expected to suddenly be back 100% and I'm just not. But, the trouble is, I don't feel bad, except for my "injuries", so naturally i want to start living again. And I want to stop being afraid of everything, and i want to stop this insane, morbid focus on my poor body. Fuck. i'm tired of fear.

live, but maybe not so strong...

2006-10-08T16:01:00.000-04:00

Ok, well here is is, cancer grrl's livestrong challenge race report.

Initially, I must tell you that the 5K portion of this festival of athletic events ranks at the very bottom in terms of mileage, considering the challenge offers bike rides of 100, 70 and 40 miles, and a 10K run...

...And then there is the 5K run (or walk, because the walkers were on the same out and back 5K route)...

HOWEVER, and it is a big however, That eponymous Armstrong Man himself ran the 5K event, lest we be seen as a field of couchified slackers. He did manage to beat me, but the BF was neck to neck with him for a brief instant...the only thing was, the BF was on the beginning leg of the out and back run and That Armstrong Man was on the ending leg...whoops, two ships en passant....).

Secondly, and I must kvetch about this, as any good New Yorker would: they started the damned events at the damned crack of sparrow fart...7:30 a.m.. Helluva uncivilized time for a race, but then, that's Texas, as any good Texan can tell u. And since I qualify as both, I may be listened to with some authority.

Thirdly, the race was run in the boonies, and contained some rather unexpected, and, dare I say it, unwelcome, HILLS.

That said, here was my race:
I started out thinking I would pace slowly, but was soon passing people left and right. Why? Because it wasn't crowded enough for me to know enough to hold back and cruise for the first part, and I'm such a neophyte I don't know how how to pace myself BY myself. So I was going at a fair clip, for cancer grrl anyway. Then, i, rather foolishly, bounded up the first loooooong hill in a fit of showoffyness.

As I hit the halfway mark, I knew I was in trouble. I was freakin tired already. That was when The Child started passing me. The Child was about 8 yrs old, small and fast, with a ridiculous amount of energy. I'd catch up to him, and, frightened lest some old bald witch beat him, he'd take off sprinting. I'd plod, and catch up to him again, and the same thing happened over and over.

At the halfway mark, I also, in a rather desperate show of "i'm a real runner, not the crippled toxin surfer you see before you" grabbed a cup of Powerade, and, in trying to drink it, promptly and spastically upended it all over my white, clean, livestrong shirt. At least it was pink, and matched my Komen cap.

Coming back up the second half of the course I was met with not one, not two, but THREE freakin long hills. Here is where I started the cycle of walk 20 seconds, run up a hill, walk 20 seconds, run up a hill...I walked THREE times, sad to say. Here is where The Child finally bid me adieu and sailed on home as I ate his dust. Here is where I, being cheered on by some walkers who were coming down the first half, had to stop for a walk break right in front of them, mid cheer. Oh me, the humiliation.

Nonetheless, i finally managed to get it together and run home. AND I made better time than at Komen, even with the walks. (I ran about 27:38. I say about because I decided not to do the chip and I timed myself, because i didn't want the "pressure" of a chip...what EVAH). AND I did seem to be, oddly enough, somewhat towards the front of the field. But, since The Child was ahead of me, you probably have an idea of what the field was like...

But, i was beat. And at least I know now what it's like to run a 5K without thousands of people bobbing around you, giving you energy. And, at least I know I've got nowhere to go but up....

Austin Powers

2006-10-05T13:30:00.000-04:00

So I'm here in Austin Tx, home of squadrons of bats, round, friendly turtles, herons both blue and night, and the livestrong challenge. Since I was doing the Komen run, I didn't hit people up for donations to livestrong, but, i'm down here to run another 5k, this time in 90 degree heat (but, let's be fair, no hills, and, hey, no humidity...). So if any random stalkers, um, i mean lurkers, to this site wish to guarantee entry into at least the presence of whoever decides where you go after your final huff, scratch & rattle, please donate now. meo te absolvum (heh).

It is nice here, and i had a great run this a.m., along town "lake" which is actually a river. I saw all the aforementioned animals along the river, plus some very friendly feral felines, with big fluffy tails, who lured me off the trail and into some shaky looking back trails complete with rubble, derelict refuse piles, and vast, open-mawed, sewage seeping, pipes.

The ferals did not rob me, but looked at me inquisitively, and i'm sure accusatorily, knowing as they must, that i left my precious feline children at home (in the care of cat sitters and their granddaddy of course). They also caused a minor hallucination: as I ran, i looked over at a hanging branch of dead leaves and the way it was arranged looked like a small, pert, cheetah sitting on a lawn. It was not a cheetah however. Yet, I took comfort in the fact that on my run, I, the weak and crippled bald chemo toxin surfer that I am, was outpacing a bunch of folks. The cheetah's spirit musta done it. hope he does some overtime on sundays at the race.

sea turtle: the chemo-terrapin

2006-10-03T12:22:00.000-04:00

The Ex found a huge sea turtle on the beach in Staten Island on Saturday. He/she had crawled up to the beach and died, and was being buffeted back and forth by waves, but seemed otherwise unwept, unsung, and unremarked by anyone, whether hungry gulls, curious kids or awed beachcombers. This was surprising, because she/he was about 5 feet in length, with a beautiful reddish brown shell and massive flippers, and a beak worthy of myth. We did some research and discovered she/he is (was) probably a loggerhead, and, as such, a threatened species.

I went with the Ex on sunday to photograph the beast. As he said, it seemed important to make some kind of memento mori for this venerable turtle, who must have lived long and prospered in a turtle-ish way. I also asked him to call the Riverhead Foundation, who keeps tabs on marine fauna.

But the eerie, and self-referential thing is this: At the beginning of chemo, I joked to the Ex that I was going to buy a toy turtle for each chemo session, and call them the "chemo-terrapins". Then, after I had accumulated 8, i'd be done with chemo.
On saturday, the Ex called me up, and told me about the sea turtle. Judging from the condition of the turtle, he/she probably died on the day of my last chemo session. The Ex called her/him my chemo-terrapin, her/his death strangely coinciding with the end of chemo, and the end of an era of fear and pain.

This huge, venerable, ancient turtle then, although not strictly speaking a terrapin, became my good omen, my chemo-terrapin. I do not make light of her death, by any means, but omens are what they are. May she rest in peace.

this is the end

2006-09-28T19:16:00.000-04:00

of the reign of chemo...and not a moment too soon if y'ask me. My poor cuerpo is none too happy, and, if I were less ineffectual physically, i would be a true menace to society because of my increasingly angry mood. Who'd have thought that weakness and pain would correllate with anger? Since I, in the past, have been accused of possessing more than my share of that emotion of dubious desirability, would it follow that I have always felt weak and in pain? Something to ponder, perhaps, when I have more than three functioning brain cells to use. Or maybe not. Sounds too much like psychoanalysis, which has even less utility than than ineffectual anger.

AT ANY RATE..I am through chemo. Now it's time to start putting myself back together.

that's AFTER I watch about 100 hours straight of sci-fi tv. Starting with farscape. see u on the other side...

malaise: bloods and cripples

2006-09-23T17:28:00.000-04:00

I had my blood counts taken last thursday, and was not at all surprised to learn that I am anemic as all hell...the leaden legs and gasping for air after a mere 10 minutes of running was tipping me off to that little factoid. I was injected with some marrow stimulator to force the creation of the little red bastards that seeem to be dying off in droves, just like the other victims of taxol tyranny, my eyebrows, facial skin and, patience.

I am impatient as hell. The worse I feel, the meaner I feel. Healthy folk walk around me in droves on my daily commute. They get in my way like bland, wide, tanks, feeling no pain and wondring vaguely what delightful thing they are going to do that evening. They toss their glossy locks and smooth their crisp suits, worrying about office politics or dinner parties. They talk too loud. Even when they grimly punch their blackberries, it is declamatory. It is overt. It screams of health and life and things being done, worlds moving, birth, life, work....but never death.

And I'm the death's head that moves among them. I'm the alien. I'm so tired I can barely walk and I'm fighting for position in the subway, running for the train, acting like I'm healthy and competent and of this world. My choice, I know. I mean, I could stay at home more. I could act more like a cripple. I could go bald and paint a big old skull and crossbones, or maybe a hazmat sign on my forehead just so humans would give me a wide berth. I could whine more at work. I could play the cancer card...

Or...could I? Let's be realistic. I have great insurance which is affording me the best in cancer care. I am relatively new at my job (i started in January). Could I really jeopardize that? Knowing what I know about being uninsured here in Amurka? (both firsthand, and from taking Poverty Law with a really cool, "fellow-traveler" type law prof?). Can I hear you folks? Can I get a resounding "NO!" I mean, HELL no. I cannot. So I do what I do. And I run to keep sane, and even that pleasure burns and seeths with fear and despair.

And YEAH, I know it's almost over, at least the chemo part is. But, this thing changes you. Try feeling like shit for 6 months straight. And feeling fear the rest of your life. And don't make light of it, and don't tell me that many people have it worse, and I'm just projecting health on people who may or may not have it. I don't give a flying fuck. I know all that. I know I'm lucky.

But DAMN folks, it's dark in here right now...

workin on the count down*

2006-09-16T10:06:00.000-04:00

*apologies to the Clash

what are ya gonna do now?

when you ran the race you thought well I am hot shit now
working on the count down
then the next day taxol shot and now its back to OW
workin on the count down

well you've only got one more
now can you believe it?
When you're doubled up on the floor
HOW can you believe it?

Now you look back and the one you thought you were is gone
working on the count down
no hair no eyebrows on your face is one big nasty frown
workin on the count down

well you've made it this far now
can you ever relax?
can you pause reset rewind,
can you get this time back?

Well for those of you who don't know the Clash's song "Clampdown", You'd best go out and listen to it right now. Or stay home and listen. It's a great song anyway, and it has been running through my head. So, what do I do to songs that I love? I bastardize them! Nothing is sacred. I would bastardize the St. Matthew Passion if I could hum it. Fortunately for the high-brows, I am too low-brow to hum the St. Matthew passion. And why is it called "Passion" anyway? Like passion has something to do with hanging on a cross... Oh. well, maybe it does. I mean, see below.

Yes, I am at the countdown for chemo anyway (have a year of herceptin to look forward to). Thursday was my second to last taxol treatment, so, I am entering into the "pain cycle" even as I write. But, I ran this morning, and, altho chemo-ed, managed to keep to my holy SCHEDULE. Only one more taxol!

I'm psyched too, because in a couple of weeks, I have a REAL vacation. After my last taxol, gar and I are going down to Austin, Texas, and I'm going to run in the LiveStrong Challenge 5K. Should be fun. And very fun to be off of work for 2 weeks...

ugly

2006-09-12T20:40:00.000-04:00

It is official. Chemo has ruined what looks i ever had. For some reason, in the past week, i've gotten wrinkles on my face. I'm not talkin cute little tiny, barely visible crows feet or laugh lines, i'm talking long, deep, morose, crinkled freakin WRINKLES. I now look even older than my age, which is considerable. I can't even be funny about this. This really hurts.

komen race report

2006-09-10T14:15:00.000-04:00

well, I raced for da cure, along with 20,000 other people, and, I gotta tell you, I was the only freakin BALD person I saw. What is UP with that?

Anyway, the run was fun. We got there early, and there was a disco warm up of sorts on the 72nd street transverse which was kinda cool. The race itself was packed, and we started on 77th st & central park west, headed up to 90th street and cut into the park, where we ran down to 59th street, over, and back up to 72nd street. I ran with the Ex, and, after we got free of the crush of people, we went at a decent pace (well, between 9 & 9:30 min mile) for about 2 miles, because just running with so many other people was so hypnotic that I forgot to be tired for a while. I mean, it felt like the jog it was, not a run at all. Then, suddenly I got REALLY winded at 59th street, on the curve going back up to 72nd, so I walked for about a minute, then started running again and was fine to the finish. I didn't want to take the walk break, and I think my exhaustion was mostly kinda this psychological overwhelmed thing, but, at any rate it didnt' take much out of our time. We ran the whole thing in about 30 minutes. So, crappy time for a real runner, but ok for chemo grrl and the Ex, who could have gone faster but wanted the glory of running with CHEMO GRRRL the bald celeb.

At the finish line, I was pulled over by the People With Cameras who made me say something, and asked me a bunch of questions like "how many years?" which, in some other contexts would mean, "how many years have ya been off da stuff?" or "how many years did you get?", but which inthis context means "how many years ago did you have DA DISEASE?" I spluttered something about how i was in middle of chemo and the woman asked me how i felt and I said "tired". I guess that wasn't the best answer, considering the guts and glory of the whole damn thing, but, sheeeyite man I just wanted to stretch and go hit the goody tents. Which we did.

There were lots of hugs and cheers, which, I think I'm immune to because of my years of being a performer, b/c i'm pretty jaded about such things. My only thought was, "could I have gone faster?" followed closely by "when do we eat?"

There were some men in pink tshirts too, proving that men actually get breast cancer. It was cool to see them there, it tempered the Lilith festival atmosphere of the whole thing. That and the fact that there were 2 giant, balloon-constructed, pink, i kid you not, phallus shapes dominating the stage where they handed out the awards. hmmm. am I the only one who noticed that? Maybe they are gonna use those for the next testicular cancer race....

Last chance to be worthy

2006-09-06T20:06:00.000-04:00

That nagging "not so good" feeling puzzling you as you park your SUV, pack your 3 items of groceries in 3 plastic bags, eat your factory-farmed cruelty-heavy chicken from KFC? White liberal guilt got you down? Survivor guilt? Catholic, Jewish, secular humanist or lapsed Buddhist guilt? Wake up feeling irrelevant? A cog in the machine? A tool for the man?

ARE YOU JUST NOT WORTHY?

I CAN HELP!

yes folks, this is your last chance to do something real. Redeem yourself brothers and sisters, so that at the final gasp, when god or the guy at the crossroads or whoever does the last weighing, you'll have that one extra chip that knocks the scales towards heavenly redemption and glory.....

THIS IS your last chance to donate to my Komen Race for the Cure. And you KNOW whut cure I be talkin bout.

So, brethren and sestren, here's what I need you to do.
Go here, and click on "make a gift".

THEN: (and here is the important part)
GIVE MONEY, bucks, the long green, the elusive sponduliks, the filthy lucre.

Then:
sit back, relax, and enjoy that guilt free feeling....

(repeat as necessary...)

P.S. Those who have already entered the ranks of the saved need not give again. unless they want to...

THIS good pain

2006-09-03T18:13:00.000-04:00

During my too long and intermittantly illustrious but mostly mundane dance career, i, like so many others before and after me, managed to tear cartilage in my right knee, tear both calf muscles, and roughen up the kneecap in my left knee in preparation for a lifetime of decending stairs like a 90 year old man with shrapnel in his pelvis. THus, I am no stranger to pain in the joints.

However, I must say that taxol, combined with herceptin, combined with neulasta, has redefined the term "joint pain".

Now, if I am to listen to my body, I have joints in places where Grey's Anatomy says no joints should exist. If I am to listen to my body, I have more folds than extreme origami. If I am to listen to my body, I am some sort of segmented worm. I have phantom limbs where i haven't even lost real ones.

YES, there is pain.

Also during my dance career, I used to see a Chinese doctor who performed tui na on my stressed out knees. Tui na is weird. Mostly the tui na adept seems to be doing nothing but wimpily caressing your offending joint. However, occasionally, during the wimpy, sorta circular rubbing, they stab you with a thumbnail or fingernail (presumably in one of your "points") and it REALLY hurts.
Usually during treatments I was pretty quiet, already thinking of lunch. Once, however, I, venturing to comment, said "ow." At this, Dr. Ting (not his real name) chuckled.

"There are 2 kinds pain" he said. "Good pain. And bad pain. THIS, good pain."

Ok I get it, taxol. THIS, good pain. bring it on.

I Browse

2006-08-26T10:26:00.000-04:00

you browse
we all browse
for eyebrows.

Humiliation #356.8: the loss of eyebrows.

Now when my hair started falling out, I was not all that upset. I mean, I don't really like my hair, and I am no stranger to extreme styles, having sported both a mohawk and dreadlocks at different times during my youthful and not so youthful past. However, I was not prepared, in any way, shape or form, to lose my precious EYEBROWS.

I like eyebrows. Without them, my head looks like an elongated honeydew, or perhaps something even blander. I look like a real alien, not the pretty kind that you see on star trek, but one of those hairless, scary things that communicate by blasting you with some kind of disintigrating ray.

So, it is with great regret that I report that sure enough, my freakin eyebrows are making like chernobl and falling out (heh). I've literally got about 8 hairs left on each brow, and I mascara those like mad. I've taken to having to draw in little feathery hairs, which sometimes makes me look like gloria swanson in sunset boulevard.

now all I need's a turban. OOPS, i'm wearing one.

AAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGAHHHHHH!!!!!!!

I FEAR CHANGE

2006-08-24T11:59:00.000-04:00

Today i had to go in for blood counts, and my onc told me she wanted to start me on herceptin next week along with taxol.

I FEAR CHANGE.

As long as the plan is laid out in front of me (i am a devotee to THE ROUTINE, remember?) I can cruise, I can ignore, I can live in da nile like a happy crocodile.

BUT, when you change the plan, that means you make me actually have to think about what I'm really doing here. I mean, that i had cancer. And of course, that means I'll ALWAYS be a cancer patient, remember.

"Now you know what it's like to live in fear"

Fear of everything. A mosquito bite. A sore toe. A slightly depressed appetite. The way my watch hits the vein in my wrist. Add those to my usual panoply of horrors, the oiltank truck blowing up when I'm next to it, electrical fires, the crazed soccer mom SUV driver when I'm walkin home at night. Yes, even my rational (heh) fears pale by comparison to the fear that something in my body will betray me...

imagine swallowing a bomb. Imagine being a suicide bomber who changed her mind. Imagine being a replicant who doesn't know her expiration date, but knows she's been around a while...

who needs fear factor? Welcome to my life...

taxing taxol

2006-08-20T10:52:00.000-04:00

so here it is, your on-site reporting on chemotherapy side effects, from the most minute to the grossest stomach churners, from the hangnail to the ear growing out of the elbow, to the alien in the belly (yeah, just kidding. i read too much sci fi).

at any rate, the steroids having worn off (bye bye enhancements...), i now view the real face of taxol and feel its real icy touch. And folks, it ain't bad. Hate to tell u, those of you who like to thrill to cancer grrl's dark victories, compared w/AC, taxol is almost like being a real person....

....it's almost like being a real person who is 85 years old and has about a million arthritic joints...

Yeah, taxol causes joint, muscle and bone pain. And I feel it lordy yes I do. This morning in particular I had to wake up several times and wonder if I had somehow been transported back to the end days of my dance career, when it seemed I was only hired for my facility and brain-dead willingness to toss my body around in ridiculous and injurious ways. I wondered where the ice packs and ibu were, and what time i had to get to rehearsal.

Then it hit me. The good news is, you're not a dancer anymore. The bad news is, you had cancer and are now getting CHEMO!!! Oh yeah, right. forgot.

A couple of hours of yoga later, i feel almost good, though still experiencing the patented chemo exhaustion.

But, I was right. pain beats nausea any day. At least I can eat. And, anyway, pain is familiar. Pain is weakness leaving the body.....(bwahahahaah now who in da world said that?)

food glorious food!

2006-08-18T08:23:00.000-04:00

Read my lips: NO NAUSEA!

This morning I chowed most heartily on scrambled eggiwegs mixed with melted cheddar, apples with cinnamon, and rye crackers with olive oil. And damned if I don't want some more, please, sir.

I am so damned elated with this development that I can scarce contain myself. Perhaps food is the key to mojo?

In nurritam, mojoam est...

*ok i know that's not real latin. Call it abbilatin if you like. I do not care.

i want a new drug

2006-08-17T17:05:00.000-04:00

Today was taxol day number one. Taxol's side fx are supposed to be less than those of AC, at least in terms of nausea. Taxol is supposed to cause you to be achy, and have numb fingers and toes if you take enuff of it (but i've only got 4 sessions, so shouldn't happen) I do not want numb fingers and toes. That would interfere badly with my running and my violin playing...(insert old joke here...doctor, will I be able to play the violin after this?....) NO i don't play violin, thanks for asking. Just wanted to see if u were paying attention, all 4 of you. And you know who you are.

Also, with taxol, one is pumped chock full of steroids. It seems a shame to waste these precious drugs and I feel as if I should go hang out in the weight room of the gym, oiling myself. Pass the creatine, Anders. At any rate, I ran 3.18 miles this a.m. In fact, this week for the first time since surgery, I've done 3 cardio days in a row, tuesday I ran 3miles, weds I did stationary bike and rowing, and today I ran. Almost human.

As my 4.5 readers may be aware, I have not been blogging much recently. After viewing "the spy who shagged me" today at my chemo session (yeah they show movies....NOT! I brought in my laptop and borrowed one), I can tell you exactly what my problem is.

I've lost my mojo. My mojo ain't workin. And when my mojo goes, the word ceases to befriend me. The word won't descend from on high (or down low, in the case of most mojo), the pun won't engage, the witticism won't crackle, the madness won't ignite, the ridiculous won't be obvious and the sublime won't come near. I am de-Henry Millerized. My aspergian nature reverts to its pre-verbal state. I start to peer at things and rock a bit. I do not want to write.

and, having written, don't want to put it up for all to read. I am mojoless.

has anyone out there seen my mojo?

revelicious

2006-08-10T20:52:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, I had acupuncture for the first time.

Last night I dreamed that my hair grew 6 inches in one night, and that it was beautiful and I liked it, and tossed it around like I wuz some hottie movie stah, all the while pouting and preening. My doctors all wanted to perform hot and cold running tests on me, due to my anomalous hirsutistic aspect, but the tests they wanted to perform turned out to be having me eat different cheese plates from progressively more nouvelle and cutting edge restaurants, driving me around in a shameless and spotless SUV, and introducing me to a calico, yoga-master rabbit who waived his gorgeous little arms at a giant, red, climbing rosebush whilst eyeing the SUV in enlightened disdain.

All this took place in the lush, wet, superfertile, hyperreal Engligh countryside of 1970s Masterpiece theater, or perhaps Wallace & Grommit. The hospital was a bed and breakfast, charmingly rustic. When I visited the bathroom, I preened and pouted in a cracked, filigreed 18th century mirror. "I think I'll keep my hair like this" I told myself, and smiled.

I awoke bald, grey faced, and tired.

Reality bites.

friday cat blog

2006-08-04T22:18:00.000-04:00

hey, just because this is a cancer blog, don't mean y'all don't get a friday cat blog!

here, Pink and Abby spoon most photogenically. This is kind of a rare pic for them, they are usually making goofy faces or engaging in some furry tussling.

Incidentally, cats are comforting on the bad days (except for their tendency to trudge across the queasy stomach area undaunted by protests, or, worse, to use it as a launching pad in case of a sudden urge to attack each other). They are also great fun on good days, and perform unnecessary back flips when tempted by a feather stick, until all parties are panting in frenzy.

At any rate, it's friday, and cats must be pixelated and presented to the world for worship. Basht would wish it so.

P.S. Yes, pink is a one-eyed cat. He lost his eye most traumatically, when he was a mere tiny blob of furry protoplasm. Yet he thrived and cares not a fig for his missing eye. He feels he is splendid without it. Basht would agree. Read about pink's eye here. Be sure to read the comments, as they tell the terrible tale...

Lay on, Macduff

2006-08-03T15:28:00.000-04:00

And damned be him who first cries "Hold, enough!"

Well, I just had chemo #4, which is my last AC treatment. I'm told that Taxol is "easier" in terms of side effex. Instead of nausea, you get pain. I AM DOWN FOR THAT. woo hoo. pain! I can hardly wait.

(madonna, at right, demonstrates why crucifixion, although painful, is perennially fashionable)

So I have one more week of quease. I'm halfway through chemo. I should have a belt with notches in it. Then I can kick back in bars and describe each notch in such harrowing ways as to make bouncers barf. I would love to make bouncers barf. Speaking of which, I usually see only old people at my sessions, but last time, I saw a guy who couldn't have been more than 25. He looked like he was in awesome shape, sort of a middleweight boxer's build. Bald of course, but hard to tell if the baldness was bouncer/tough guy-chic or chemo. Anyway, I felt bad. Getting cancer is bad enough when you're old, but when you're young, it really sux.

At any rate (or no rate at all) I ran 3 miles this morning. If i let myself think back to when 3 miles was not a big deal, I get kinda depressed, because 3 miles now is really hard. I'm huffing by the end of it.

*by the way, apologies to all and sundry for the above mixed metaphor stew. chemo takes its toll on the cognitive abilities. I believe I may, in fact, be drooling.

oh, piss

2006-08-02T20:36:00.000-04:00

just when i start to feel goood....
SLAM!

tomorrow is chemo #4. I shudder and gag in anticipation...

easy strider

2006-07-30T10:19:00.000-04:00

Hey, it must be the good weekend (i get two of those a month...). Friday on my run I discovered that, even though I can't go long, I can go fast, for very short distances. (ok, fast is relative. fast for me is 6-7 min per mile, a mere jog for real runners). I started doing strides. To do a stride, you accelerate your pace for about 30 seconds, hold the fastest pace for another 30 seconds, then decelerate for 30 seconds. I warmed up with 15 min slow jog then i did 5 strides today. They are easy and fun and so much more gratifying than trying to push for more distance, with my chemo-body telling me to lie down every step of the way. It's a great alternative to ticking off the (non-existent) mileage.

So I registered for another 5K race. I'm already registered for the Komen race for the cure, in NY on Sept 10. I just now registered for the Lance Armstrong LiveStrong race in Austin Tx on October 8, which is AFTER all my o so pleasant sessions with the wondrous AC/Taxol elixirs.
Thus, even tho I can jog a 5k right now, by then I may be a lot more chemo-ed so we'll see. I am reasonably sure (as a lawyer, I am often "reasonably" sure), that I will be able to run at least some of the races, and if I need to walk a bit, then I'll freakin walk a bit. Since these races will be full of cancer-baldies like me, I am sure as hell not gonna stick out like a sore thumb, nor am I gonna shame myself with my slow ass run (well, uh I assume not...). so these events are tailor made. And, that means I take a wee vacance after chemo.

It's all excellent, dudes. Stride on.

*Kimba the white lion, courtesy of www.kimbawlion.com

cumulonimbus

2006-07-23T10:00:00.000-04:00

Over and over I have heard, "chemotherapy's effects are cumulative." Thus it is with no real surprise that I inform you that round #3 has kicked some serious cancer grrl ass, mostly by rendering food and all thoughts of food instantly gag-worthy, but also by making me so tired that I had to freaking space some little walks into today's already truncated run. Ah well, as they say, Dis too shall pass. And, thank goodness for ensure.

drip, drip, drip...

2006-07-19T15:42:00.000-04:00

I just returned from my third trip to the poison luncheonette a/k/a chemo cafe. I seem to be settling into a routine with this, body wise. One week of feeling sucky, one week of feeling pretty decent. So, as usual, I'm bargaining with myself, and with any deity who may be listening (like papa legba, f'rinstance...). I say, ok, I'll run more when I feel good, and less when I don't. No brainer, you say? Welllllll, uh, not for the aspergians amongst us. I happen to need routine like a fish needs water, like a crow needs carrion, like osama needs bush. (slipped that one in there, didn't I?). Hence, I am DAMNED upset when the routine is compromised. In my routine...every minute has some meaning attached, something I should be doing that makes me worthy and whole.
People don't understand the need for routine. Most people, i find, live these sort of carefree lives where they may get up, or they may press the snooze button. They may go home or they may go to a bar. On saturdays they may just go to the mall AT ANY TIME, or maybe they'll go play baseball, or eat some apple pie. The mind boggles.

Now, I have a morning routine that grows longer and longer. In fact, my morning routine is seriously encroaching on the hours i spend at work. And yet, every damned minute of my morning routine is necessary. I cannot get up and head straight out to work. I like my routine.

At work I also have a routine, or I DID, before this freaking drip trip. At a certain hour I can go to the private bathroom and stretch. At a certain hour I can have my luna bar. At a certain hour I will get lunch. However, NOW, the eating thing is so touchy, that I feel constantly freaked about what to eat, when. This plays hell with routine. Like, Tuesdays were always subway sandwich day. Now I dunno when I can eat a subway. I spend inordinate minutes thinking about this.

I can relax after about 5 or so. Then all bets are off, and the day's arbeiter has already macht mir frei. Then I can watch certain shows on TV, like simpsons and seinfeld. And I can spend a certain amount of time surfing channels. There is freedom in small things.

And, lest you get the wrong idea, I am not a neat person, or a tidy or organized person. However, I LIKE organization and crave it. Hence, I parcel out bits of time, nicely stacked and shuffled. BUT, time is elastic, so I always misjudge what kind of time i need. I don't want freedom. I want time.

At any rate, freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose. I like routines and schedules. Routine macht frei. Viva la routine!

*first picture is of the golden ratio. Second one is a sandwich.

You lookin' at ME??

2006-07-11T20:14:00.000-04:00

I have (had) very very thick hair. So, despite the fact that it started falling out in clumps last week, i didn't look like i was losing hair at all. So, because I wanted to wear my wig without a carpet of insulating thatch warming my poor head even more, I decided last night to shave my head.

Not only do I have thick hair, but I also have extraordinarily coarse hair. So much so that I ruined several razor blades and only succeeded in shaving my temples. I persevered long enough to shave a pretty respectable mohawk, a la Travis Bickle, Wendy O'Williams and Mr. T, but I'm still determined to go scorched earth and shave it all off. So I ventured out of my cubicle at lunchtime and bought a 26 way pro hair style kit, which promises, inter alia, 10 attachment combs, styling clips, mustache trimmers, barber scissors and English/Spanish DVD.

Ok, I could have taken the smaller version, but I just wasn't convinced it would do the job. It called itself a "mustache trimmer," and, heh, the one good thing about losing hair is that you lose it from places you don't want it as well as places you do want it. So, any stache i may have had is way under control, and the hair on my head would just laugh at a mustache trimmer and chew it right up. So I opted for the big guns. Nevermind that I will probably only use it once.

That is, unless I LIKE being bald...which is entirely possible...

Incidently, I ran this morning. I was tired, but I don't feel that bad today. Less nausea, but exhaustion factor is pretty much the same. Handle-able tho. I just wish I didn't have to go to work...!

so, bald it is. You lookin' at ME?

Sick o' dis

2006-07-09T19:18:00.000-04:00

I am mightily sick of chemo, and cancer and everything that goes with it. I don't wanna hear about it, don't wanna think about it, don't wanna see it, don't wanna talk about it. It must be day three: the bad day.

It is a good day to be Italian. It's a good day to be young, energetic, wild, rich, happy. It's a good day to be running. To be careless. To be going fast. To feel the wind in your hair and all that crapola. To be ravenous! To run into the pounding surf with your clothes still on. All that car/beer/shampoo/fragrance-ad shit.

The people around me want to live normal lives. I'm too freakin tired for normal life. Friends want to eat delicious food in shiny new restaurants. I can't tolerate even thinking about food. My cats even want more than I can give right now. They want rides on my back and chase games. I just want to lie in a heap.

I am mightily sick o' dis. I hate cancer.

expand your chest and your mind will follow

2006-07-07T18:34:00.000-04:00

WArning: this post contains graphic descriptions; idiotic, anna nicole type confessions; and disses of moms and apple pies.

Yes, I had my 2nd chemo, and so far the nausea is nicely under control. I discovered that I had suffered some form of chemo brain last time, because instead of taking 3 of my anti nausea meds per day as instructed, I took ONE.

D'OH!!!!

like, uh, no wonder I was walking around seasick. I blame it all on my christian scientist upbringing, and resultant unshakeable med-phobia. THEY'RE poisoning me!!! (Ah. I should tell you all sometime about my mother, who was taken to the hospital in an ambulance b/c she was turning blue, and turned right around as soon as they looked the other way and signed herself out. Long story, but one of the highlights is that she confided to my brother that the hospital was a scam, and at night they turned off the lights and turned it into a disco. Oddly, those two evils must have been related in her mind....)

OR, maybe my chest has something to do with my lack of, um, brain power?

So...I'm not here today to speak to you about chemo, (incidently, YES, I'm tired.) nor am I here to dis my mother. I am here to give you a much needed EXPANDER update!!!

yes, for those of you who wonder, I had bilateral mastectomy with simultaneous reconstruction, which means that after they lop off your boobs, they put in two flat devices which, over the course of several filling-sessions, become rock hard, hockey puck shaped mounds in the area which used to contain fleshly glandular objects. You become, against all belief, a real life barbie doll (although I kept 'em small, deliberately. I mean, I love Pam Anderson as much as anyone, but it would REALLY hurt to inflate to that size. Also, I just don't have that much extra flesh).

The idea behind expanders (as if I have to spell this out) is to EXPAND the skin so that you can later put implants in. I mean, after a mastectomy, the whole thing is pretty much flat, and you don't have much skin there to work with. So they gotta STRETCH it. This is accomplished by going in every week or so and having them put in 50 ccs of saline.

After the saline fills, I'd be in some serious pain for about 24 hours, then it'd stop. It felt something like you'd expect, something like the incredible hulk must have felt when in the process of busting out of his clothing and turning green. Some weird kind of torture...yeah, we're gonna EXPAND you....
it wasn't sexy.

Anyway, all that's over. I also battled with a seroma for a while, which is fluid build up that isn't serious, and isn't painful, but is annoying as hell. slosh slosh. But that passed too.

Now, I don't see the plastic surgeon until after chemo is over, then I get my implants, AND (get this) I get tattoo on nipples. Heh.

The odd thing is, none of this seems to bug me at all. Should it? In fact, my plan is to be almost completely artificial by the time I'm 60. Perhaps I'll even consider uploading my mind into a computer. If my current med-instruction following ability is any indication, I won't need much disc space...

oops, forgot to dis apple pie. Well, dammit. Pie sux. There.

running on toxins

2006-07-03T19:10:00.000-04:00

Pleased to report that I ran 2.5 miles yesterday and, in spite of the heat, felt pretty good. According to the bf, who accompanied me, I was going at a good clip. I have, for the duration of chemo, retired my sdm (speed/distance monitor) pod, because I cannot stand to see how slow I'm going these days, so it was good to hear that I was at least not going at too much of a snail's pace.

for those of you who wonder, my actual running form (muscles, etc) doesn't seem to have been affected much, which is sorta surprising, considering the bilateral mastectomy. I guess managed to keep some core strength with yoga, so things are relatively smooth, if maybe a tad too loose. However, of course my wind is not so great, and I tire easily in the lungs, but surprisingly not in the legs. Maybe I'm just not running enuff to tire my legs. Also, the tiredness is different than just being out of shape. It's more like an inability to recover or something. Hard to explain.

At any rate, today the blues hit. I went to work, but left early. I don't like 4th of July that much. Halloween is my preferred holiday. I like the cold, the night and the costumes. July 4 is a blatant, hot, loud, summertime celebration. Makes me feel like heading to some deserted, fog bound, Orkney type island.

Or, it could just be that I've got some unspecified melancholia, brought on by iron poor blood and the absence of toxins to fight.

Tomorrow I will run again, and promise not to overdo it (as if such a thing were possible...! I can barely make it my 2.5 miles). Then, Thursday is chemo #2, and it's back to the fight...

UPDATE: Tues, july 4: I ran 2.4 miles this morning. Yes, I confess I used my sdm and I was going at a decent rate for most of the run. Right now I feel...dare i say it, almost good? anyway. hot and muggy here. happy 4th.

out of the ashes

2006-07-01T18:54:00.000-04:00

Now I will believe
That there are unicorns; that in Arabia
There is one tree, the phoenix' throne; one phoenix
At this hour reigning there. -- The Tempest

Feeling much better. Ran again yesterday (2mi), and today I did yoga and walked about 3.5 miles. IT LIVES....
Feeling a tad too, uh, contemplative? today to write a good blog. Guess I'll go back to eyeing my navel. Seems to be working.

slough of despond

2006-06-29T20:18:00.000-04:00

well, dammit, I hate to say it but I am STILL not feeling so great. So much for being one of those people who breezes thru chemo (uh, are there any of those???). Main SE is still exhaustion, and, the last two nights I added "inability to sleep" and "general malaise" to the FX brew. This is not a happy occurrence, since it seems that I will spend my precious summer dragging myself blankly and tiredly from home to work and back home again...

SIGH. poor, poor me.

FX 2: out of the valley of the shadow...

2006-06-27T19:30:00.000-04:00

Well, what's not to love about chroncling every single one of one's minutest physical reactions to something as momentous as chemotherapy? The gross details, lovingly embellished, delivered in hushed tones, capable of rendering the strongest individuals blanched of face, and in awe of the person undergoing such torment...

...heh. well, I'm not gonna get as gross as I'd like to, but here's an update on my first chemo experience:

As you know, I had chemo last thurs. Friday I was pretty much ok, just a slight loss of appetite. Saturday I was downright queasy, but otherwise ok, I could run, but couldn't eat! Sunday I was exhausted, queasy and felt otherwordly, limbs not cooperating. Sorta wobbly.

So, then we head into Monday.
Monday, I woke up feeling AWFUL. by far the worst so far. Nausea and exhaustion. Mostly exhaustion. I discovered that I craved boiled potatoes if you can imagine such a thing (I'm a spiceaholic from way back. But chemo has made me not even want salt...). I went to work. Almost turned right around and came home, I could not get going. And, i had a decided case of chemo-brain. Foggy... Since I am supposed to be a lawyer, I am presumed to at least be able use my brain at work. So this was not so good.
I left a bit early, and came home. I crashed at 8pm.

And woke up today, Tues, feeling almost human. I went to the gym and ran for about 20 minutes before work, and that felt pretty good. The nausea abated a lot too. There are a lot of things I can eat now, without getting royally grossed out.

So the upshot is that days 3 & 4 seem to have been the worst. I think one or 2 more days of hitting the sack super early are in order, but I think I'm good...until NEXT TIME....

wigging out/FX update

2006-06-25T09:55:00.000-04:00

This is me trying to tell you that CHEMO IS FUN! (heh. don't buy it!!)

Seriously tho, there is fun to be had, namely in trying on wigs. I went to a wig store called Tiffany Wigs
which not only takes insurance cards, but is run by a woman who used to style the B-52s' hair!

This may not thrill some of you, but it thrilled me all to hell. I mean, conservative is easy, beehives are HARD.

However, I did get a good, serviceable, short blond wig that looks a lot like my hair when it's straightened. Fine and good, everyone happy.

But, damned if i didn't want that long one....sigh...

Ok, on the FX front:
day one -- friday: Not much in the way of FX. Some nausea, some loss of appetite. At work I seem fine, just a little physically weak.

day 2 -- sat: Lots of nausea for me. So far that's the biggest side effect of chemo. Anti-nausea meds don't really cut it. No vomiting, but a queasiness like a bad hangover, food grosses me out. I manage to run 2 miles and buy a wig, then i crash.

day 3 -- sun: today i feel crappy, but not as nauseated. I can eat, but I'm pretty weak and tired. there's this weird wooziness I don't like. It's still reminicent of bad, mixed-drink, hangovers, although mercifully without the headache... Today I'm gonna walk a bit, do some yoga and laundry, and otherwise take it eaaaasy...

Chemosaurus

2006-06-22T09:57:00.000-04:00

Legend has it that chemosaurus was once a human female named abigail, living in the early 21st century. She got cancer, which was, in those days, a serious disease, mandating agressive "chemotherapy," a 4 month long regimen of toxic drugs, taken intravenously.

At first, the regimen went as planned. However, as time went on those close to abigail started to notice that she was becoming even scalier and meaner than usual, until finally......CHEMOSAURUS!!!

* * *

Ahhh chemo brain kicking in. I feel sorta crappy right now (lightheaded, nauseous, tired), but I'm thinking the worse you feel the more sensitive you are to it, and thus, the more it kicks the cancer's ass. Highly unscientific reasoning, i am sure, but, whatever.

I'll post more about the actual experience later. We went shopping after, and got lots of really good food, b/c I have to start eating healthy. I got some cool recipes from HERE, and made the sicilian tuna basil pizza this evening. very very worthwhile, even if i do feel like vomiting the whole thing up right about now...

a bientot

assumption of risk

2006-06-20T19:26:00.000-04:00

The news yesterday that I am, as far as medical science can detect, actually cancer free, doesn't really change anything but my emotional state. Because I had an "agressive" cancer, I still get chemo, I still have to do "agressive" battle to nuke any lurking potentialities, any hints or thoughts of cancer that may be subtly forming in my rather mercurial cells. The oncologist told me: "You don't have cancer any more as far as we know, but we're going to assume you do. If you really don't have it, then this keeps you that way. If you do, then we hope this gets rid of it."

It's funny to get treated for a disease that, to my mind, is over and done with, especially treated with such heavy artillery. However, although I'm not generally in favor of preemptive strikes, in this case, I'll adopt way more self-serving politics. When it comes to my cancer, I say nuke 'em all. Let god sort 'em out.

chemical grrrl

2006-06-19T15:01:00.000-04:00

Some folks puke and
some folks squeal but
I think I'm ok...

Cause its the doc with the best prescriptions
makes my chemo day

Some folks chill and
some folks ill but
I'll do what I may

If I suffer
I can pop a
pill and it goes way

cause we are living in a carcinogen world
and I am chemotherapy grrl
you know that we are living in a carcinogen world
and i am chemotherapy grrl*

OK perhaps a bit premature. Although I thought I would start chemo today, my panic-fevered brain must have misjudged. Today I had the follow up onc appointment to ok me to start chemo. I start on thurs.

The Fantabulous news is that all my scans etc came back normal, or, in radiologist-speak "unremarkable", as in "liver, spleen, kidneys, stomach, (etc) unremarkable. Well this is one time I am glad to be unremarkable.

(And what's more, this will prove to those who doubt it that I actually AM NOT an alien).

so, Chemo starts on thurs. And I get a day to detox from this:

This being the summer of love, plus 40,000 pounds, 50,000 wrinkles, millions of dollars and roughly 800 SUVs. Clearwater festival** = folky festival for hippies and activists who can afford the hefty $45 cover fee not to mention buy ears of roast corn for 4 bucks apiece. THIS took place this past weekend up here in da hudson river valley.

Now believe me, chemical grrl would not normally find herself anywhere near such an event, as she tends to avoid folk music and excessive crowds of humanity. However, the BF had a booth there (he has a non profit org) and it wasn't only hippies and folk music fanatics. There were also a small quotient of science-nerd type conservationists, people like me who are fascinated with sonar pix of the hudson river bottom. (In fact, I will have you know that I worked on bringing the first hudson benthic (sonar) pix to the web. See some of them here).

so I spent the weekend there, moving stuff around, getting sunburned, hearing way too many stories, and eating really bad food. It was a good way to keep my mind off my problems, and on other peoples' problems (especially sartorial), squarely where it belongs.

OK anyway. back to reality. The chemo stats are:
I'm doing dose dense chemo
4 sessions of AC - 2 wks apart
4 sessions of taxol - 2 wks apart
Herceptin for a year - in hits 3 weeks apart

I also get neulasta for white blood cell count
and emend for nausea. Plus some other drugs to do various things to my physiognamy, all of which are for my own damned good, I am quite sure.

I told my oncologist that I had an "irrational fear of constipation" (which is actually true), and he recomended senekot or milk of magnesia. So, I guess I'll be purchasing some of that too, b/c the anti-nausea meds give you that annoying packed effect...

But, i have til thursday. Bit of a reprieve...
Also, today I ran! The first time since surgery. It felt f**king awesome.

*heartfelt apologies to Madonna...
** don't mean to dis the clearwater festival. It's a good thing, really. I just could have used a lot less of it!

Scanners

2006-06-14T21:14:00.000-04:00

Yesterday was my echocardiogram. It was kinda cool, I got to lie down and watch pictures of my heart doing its thing. Hearts are a bit creepy, I find, off there inside you on their own, just carrying on as if there's a party going on, but there's no music anywhere. Hearts are a little bit mad. Bwahahaha. I've always been kinda bothered by those times at night when you can hear your heart beating...but i guess the alternative is not so happy...

At any rate, during an echo, you can watch (if your tester is nice like mine was) the whole little movie as she moves the ultrasound thing over your chest. AND it's color coded, so you can see the blood flow, and even the velocity of the blood and the muscles. Quite interesting. Then I went in to work, late again.

Today was less interesting and more bothersome. I had the cat scan, which, I was terribly annoyed to find, has nothing at all to do with cats.

I thought it was, like, a 10 minute procedure, so I told my boss I'd be a bit late. HEH. The damned thing took 2 hours. Why? Because you have to drink about a half gallon of white, thick, vaguely sweet tasting murk reminiscent of milk of magnesia (barium sulfate or sulfide? which is actually a salt of sorts... i think). Yummy. And you have to do this over an hour. There was an old Spanish woman sitting across from me whose daughter was trying in vain to get her to drink the stuff and she just flat out refused. "NO ME GUSTA. NO ES SABROSO. NO" or something to that effect. The poor daughter was at her wits end.

Then, they come in and tell you "Ok we are going to inject you with some iodine. This can cause allergic reactions including death, but that is very rare." I'm told that if i feel itchy, or short of breath, I should make some kind of move. It occurs to me that the radiologists or whatever they are are back in their little room joking and eating take out and will not see my feeble wavings... but whatever. I gird my loins.

Or rather, I ungird them, and get on the machine. Another toroid, which slides up and down your body like a very unwanted advance. The toroid has a control center on the top of it, facing you, which shows a round green happy face breathing in, and a round red happy face holding its breath. The idea is that you are to take a breath in when the machine tells you to, and hold it until it tells you to breathe again. The possibilities for malfunction here are mind boggling, but i choose to not dwell on it. (however, it occurs to me that this is an interesting reversal. Usually, man tells machine what to do. NOW machine tells man. See what I'm getting at? never seen the terminator series?...oh well...)

Ok, enuff digression. I ungird and lie down. I am hooked up to an IV and feel, blissfully, nothing. I think, ok, well I can totally handle this iodine. The toroid goes into action and i get to breathe, slide, hold, slide, breathe, slide, hold, slide. I am SO relaxed.

Presently, the tech comes in and says "now i will inject the iodine" OH SHIT. NOW?
ok. The iodine goes in. Flush. Heat. It seems to go right to the genitals. it feels like that adrenaline shot you get when you get badly startled. The urge to void and run... But, I'm breathing. I'm not itchy.

YET.

Then, it is over. I feel suspiciously prickly. Another tech comes in, looks at me and gasps. I have hives all over my neck and face. Oh how nice. They are somewhat concerned. I am placed in the waiting room and given a vat of water to drink to flush out the iodine, and forced to wait until my hives go away.

I finally crawl into work, at an hour i do not even wish to reveal on this blog.

AND Later, I got another several hives. but, I seem to be breathing. Breathe, hold, slide.....

OK Back to Da Nile. I am steadfastly avoiding thinking about the, uh, results of all these tests...

And the Oilers just scored 3 goals in the first period. way to go.

International week of denial

2006-06-12T21:15:00.000-04:00

I have proclaimed this the International Week of Denial. for one week, everything that sux in my life gets DENIED (think hockey announcer). If you can't do a whole week, then do a day of denial. It's good for you!

Read all about it at mon autre blog. Because denial is good.

snatching victory from my teeth --or, the tooth fairy comes at last

2006-06-10T09:10:00.000-04:00

Finally, some good news. My teeth are fabulous, great, wonderful and splendid! Well, ok, there is a chipped one, and some plaque build up, but other than that, I have a very healthy mouth.

I'd been reading all kinds of horror stories about chemo and teeth, and so, in a state of even more panic than usual, I made an appointment with the BF's dentist for a check up. Now, lest you think this is a run of the mill event, I haven't been to a dentist in, oh....let me see, TWENTY-FIVE YEARS sounds about right...

Thus, it was with some fear and trembling that I approached the now unfamiliar white room filled with things that go scrape-scrape and drill-drill and whir-whirr. But, all was well in toothland. Shocking eh?

Now, don't take this as carte blanche to ignore your own teeth. We can't all be as genetically blessed as I am.

My mouth should be bronzed....

dread, drugs and docs

2006-06-08T08:52:00.000-04:00

I got Zanax, for nerves and Ambien, for sleep. I have been waking up at about 3 a.m. and then having tiny anxiety attacks about little things like death and disease which cause me not to be able to go back to sleep for a couple hours. When I have to get up early for work, this is NOT cool.

Having been raised by a christian scientist for whom even asprin was "error" or "mortal mind" (those not familiar with CSspeak can just substitute the words "devil" or "evil" there), I am, even though a product of the punk generation, not used to popping pills. NO. you grin and bear whatever you are bearing. Actually, for a lot of minor things, this approach is healthier than reaching for a pill.

But, man...when my SLEEP gets messed up...
i'll take the freakin drugs.

Today bone scan day. Oh jolly. It is hard not to fear this...

***
Later:
I had the scone ban (bone scan). It wasn't so bad. I walked to the hospital which took about an hour, so I wasn't all keyed up when I got there. Then, I was injected with radioactive dye and told not to interact with babies or pregnant women. Uh...NOT A PROBLEM...i tend to avoid the drooling class if I can possibly do so...(heh, just joking. I've got nothing against babies...i'm sure they are wonderfully tasty...)

Anyway then we came home for 3 hours during which time I took a zanax. Then back to the hosp. The bone scan is not bad at all. I'm claustrophobic and this was a breeze. it consists of a table, and a large toroid which the table passes thru, much as a magician passes a hoop around the sleeping figure of a levitated woman to prove that she has no strings attached.

The toroid also has a big flat area attached, which is the camera. Although it starts off pretty close to your face, it is moving the whole time, and you can see out the sides, so I had no claustrophobia at all. (perhaps the zanax helped...?). But no, it's not the type of thing that triggers my claustrophobia, like closets and airplanes.

I lay there and amused myself by thinking of star trek and trying to estimate the speed of the toroid. I came to the conclusion that it was moving about 2 inches per minute, which Gareth later confirmed (he watched it). Estimating moving speeds is very comforting to me. Movement is comforting to me. (Must be my aspergian/autistic tendencies...).

When it was over, I looked like this:

or maybe it was more like this:

uncle onc

2006-06-05T19:00:00.000-04:00

I went for my first visit to an oncologist today. The reception area looked like a japanese restaurant and all the patients were old. It unnerved me. There were signs saying "our patients are prone to massive horrific infection so please do not sneeze or cough or breathe in here..." (not verbatim of course. heh).

But the onc was nice, very positive and rather cheery. I like it when people don't go all serious on me. He laid out the treatment, which is pretty much as I expected, i.e. 4 months of "dose dense" AC chemo, Then herceptin for a year. I'll put in the whole technical jabberwocky when I get it in front of me.

But, before I go thru all that, I have to have bone scans and cat scans to see if the cancer has spread anywhere. Of course, no one thinks it has, but they want a baseline to be sure. I, of course, am totally freaked by this... what if...nevermind. Not gonna go there right now. anyway, lance armstrong survived after extensive metastasizing, and i have the same birthday as he does. YEP! Me and lance. (well, different year tho.., guess who's younger?)

At any rate, that was today.

I also got the seroma drained again. More needles, i told the PS that I felt like St. Sebastian.

The PS told me I can start exercising again next week! woo hoo! probably not running right away but I'm gonna try to swim and maybe deep water running or some biking. It will feel so freakin good. Walking just does NOT count as exercise in my book. For chrissake. I mean I've been walking 45 min to 1.5 hrs per day and it doesn't feel like i'm doing anything.

ok enuff whining.
onward & upward

Race for da Cure

2006-06-04T19:04:00.000-04:00

No, no, not the 80s band (the Cure). I just registered for Komen's NY Race for the Cure to raise money for guess what? uh, um...pink ribbons give ya any clue? Yes, you got it. Race for the Cure raises money for bc research, education, etc.

I'll be amidst chemo by that time, but I think I will probably be able to run a 5K. If not, I'll run part of it and walk part of it. At any rate, it's a good thing.

Next stop: a triathalon...maybe this one, since we're into BC charity these days...

"now you know what it's like to live in fear"

2006-06-03T15:26:00.000-04:00

Greetings, let's get the introductions out of the way...

I'm Lorien, and I'm a runner, a lawyer, and I have breast cancer.

April, 2006:
On or about April 25, 2006, I went to the doctor because I hadn't been feeling good. I was training for a half marathon and wanted to be in good shape for it. The Dr. found a lump in my breast and sent me for a mammogram and ultrasound.

May, 2006:
May 1, 2006, I went to a breast surgeon, who did a needle biopsy of the lump.
May 5, 2006, I was diagnosed with breast cancer: Stage IIb Grade 3.
I decide to have a bilateral mastectomy, even though the cancer is in only one breast.

"NOW you know what it's like to live in fear" -- Bladerunner.

May 8, 2006, I meet with a plastic surgeon, and decide to have simultaneous reconstruction, with implants, which means that they put "expanders" in at the same time as the mastectomy. So you go to surgery a 45 year old and come out a 12 year old (boob wise anyway...!)

May 19, 2006: the big day. I haven't eaten or drunk anything since midnight the night before. I am thirsty and starved. Gareth and I arrive at the hospital at 10:30 a.m. I am almost ridiculously cheery, determined to erase the tombstones from everyone's eyes when they look at me. A nurse asks me if I'm nervous and I say NO. She says, "I can tell you are, here's a valium." Ok well I'm not going to turn down the valium.

I go into NUCLEAR medicine (or, nucular, as some who shall remain nameless, would have it), and get radioactive. I mean they pumped some radioactive dye into my breast/armpit to highlight the lymph nodes. I am told that then the surgeon can use a geiger counter to tell where to cut. COOL! I love modern medicine!

Then, back to the waiting room, where both surgeons come and talk to me, the plastic surgeon draws on me (very tribal looking), and the anesthesiologist comes in and asks me questions. All are very matter of fact. I am high as a kite. I am very "let's do this thing, folks!" ah drugs. gotta love 'em.

THEN i walk into the OR. The OR. my goodness. It is big and there are lots of metal things and people with masks over their faces. There are lots of shiny, SHARP things. I lie down on a very narrow, paper covered bed.
and: low and behold, Frank Sinatra starts to croon from an unseen sound system. It is too surreal. The anesthiologist bends over me, we exchange some joke about Frankie, and BAM!

***
I am shivering uncontrollably and it really hurts to breathe in because there is like an iron band around my chest. I am saying "I can't stop shivering". People are running around saying "we'll give you something to stop that, we'll give you something for that". This goes on for a while.
Then Gareth is there and I ask him if polar bears have tails. I am very thirsty and am given ice chips.

Soon, I realize I'm in "recovery", and I've lost 4 hours in the OR. I ask to waddle to the bathroom and am allowed to. I seem to be ok, except that my chest feels majorly tight.

I am wheeled into my room, where Gareth waits. Nice room! private, with my own bathroom and a window and phone.

***

I spend 2 nights in the hospital, where I am visited by the Ex, a/k/a Fred, who brings many cool gifts, and freaks out the nurses by putting a sign on my door that says "Psycho."
Gareth comes later and we watch movies.
On May 21, 2006, I go home.

***

On May 30, 2006, I go back to work.
May 31, 2006, surgery pathology report is in. It's a lot better than we thought. Out of 19 nodes, i have 3 positive. Now that's not great, but it isn't bad, and I thought it would be worse. I'm also herceptin positive, which means I can benefit from herceptin treatment as well as chemo. But, I am estrogen/progesterone negative, which means that hormone treatment won't do me any good. So the news is mixed.

During the 2 weeks after my surgery, I've been mostly ok, but I've had some fluid build up in my left breast (the one that had the cancer). At first this freaked me out, but I did some research, and found that it is just a seroma, which is a non-serious complication from mastectomy.
I've had to have it drained by my plastic surgeon 3 times so far, the first time was not so much, the second time was about 400ml, and the last time not so much. From what I read, and from what my PS told me, I'll probably have to get it drained every so often for the next 2 weeks. It's not a big deal, but disconcerting to suddenly have a boob where there was only a preadolescent bump before!

This makes us roughly current.

At first, on bloggrrilla, my main blog, I wasn't talking at all about the cancer. I just didn't want to put it in writing, because that interfered with my almost legendary capacity for denial. But I finally came out of the closet on bloggrilla, and since then have wondered whether to let the cancer fight take over bloggrilla, or whether to keep my first blog relatively cancer free, because I can ALWAYS find other stuff to blog about. This blog is my solution. Here, it's all cancer, all of the time! Heh. well not really, but this will probably detail the treatments and stuff, and my reactions to them. This helps me, and, I hope, will help anyone who happens on this blog, who is facing the same things.

Ok, time to eat now. I gotta enjoy food while I can, I hear chemo makes stuff taste weird. Too bad, because I really like to eat..