jennethink

HIPPIE CHICK

Don’t look now but my hair is growing back in.

Don’t ask me why.  I’m still taking treatment.  Granted, my last treatment was delayed a few days and maybe a few hairs got all excited and started busting out but you’d be amazed at the amount of hairs on my head compared to a week or a month ago.  And not just my head … other places too.  I’m actually considering breaking out the razor and giving ye old underarms a swipe or two.  Of course, ye old razor hasn’t been out since ye old diagnosis and since my leg hairs never did fall out maybe I should just continue on my half-yeti course.

There is a mirror directly across from my desk in my office.  It reflects the light from the window behind me and up until last week reflected the light skipping across my noggin too.  Now when I look up, I can see more than skin and mere shadows of the illusions of hairs … now I can actually SEE a hairline.  A HAIRLINE!

Here I am one month ago - see how little hair?

And this is today - apparently if I have hair I don't think I need to wear make up.  Don't judge.

Those of you who saw me during Cancer Tour 2006 can testify.  Isn't that a big difference?

The whole thing has made me stop and think about hair. Again.  I laid awake last night for hours.  Some of that time was spent pondering my hair.  Any hair really.  Yours, mine, whatever.  It’s so weird, hair is.  Dead protein.  That’s all it is.  Do you know how much money is spent each year trying to get you to spend your paycheck on products to make your dead protein look better?  Me either.  But I bet it is a lot.  Wendy? Don’t you do research or something? How about a ballpark figure here?

I like to celebrate the little things.  I like it that I’ve begun to imagine what it will be like the first time I go for a real haircut – not the fight club like cuts I’ve been giving myself in the basement.  I like to think about what my hair will look like.  Will it be black?  Blonde?  Curly? Straight?  Who knows.  Life is like a box of trial sized shampoos …

At the same time, I worry.  Why DIDN’T my hair fall out completely?  Why IS it coming back now?  100 years ago when I was pregnant everyone told me morning sickness was a sign of a healthy pregnancy.  I didn’t have morning sickness.  I didn’t have a healthy pregnancy.

So naturally, I worry.  Wouldn’t all my hair falling out be a sign of effective chemo? Maybe the chemo isn’t working as it should be.  Maybe the chemo has given up.  Maybe I’ll find out that I don’t have only two more treatments left … maybe I’m not done. 

Wouldn’t that be a kick in the junk?

So I sit here, again, faced with a choice.  Do I celebrate or curse?  See the cloud or the silver lining?  Listen to facts or feelings?

No responses needed. 
Except from you, Wendy.

THE CLIMB

"The first question which you will ask and which I must try to answer is this, 'What is the use of climbing Mount Everest ?' and my answer must at once be, 'It is no use'. There is not the slightest prospect of any gain whatsoever. Oh, we may learn a little about the behavior of the human body at high altitudes, and possibly medical men may turn our observation to some account for the purposes of aviation. But otherwise nothing will come of it. We shall not bring back a single bit of gold or silver, not a gem, nor any coal or iron. We shall not find a single foot of earth that can be planted with crops to raise food. It's no use. So, if you cannot understand that there is something in man which responds to the challenge of this mountain and goes out to meet it, that the struggle is the struggle of life itself upward and forever upward, then you won't see why we go. What we get from this adventure is just sheer joy. And joy is, after all, the end of life. We do not live to eat and make money. We eat and make money to be able to enjoy life. That is what life means and what life is for."

George Leigh Mallory, 1922

But otherwise nothing will come of it. We shall not bring back a single bit of gold or silver, not a gem, nor any coal or iron. ...

So, if you cannot understand that there is something in man which responds to the challenge of this mountain ... then you won't see why we go. ...

What we get from this adventure is just sheer joy.

WITHIN SPITTING DISTANCE

The thing about Muhammad and the mountain is eventually they will meet.

I finally took treatment 10 yesterday.  I was supposed to have it last Wednesday, and was somewhat looking forward to being the only person in America who would lose weight over the holidays.  But as fate, and my low, low white blood cell count, would have it, I was unable to take treatment Wednesday. 

I celebrated by falling down the basement steps.  Minor injuries, unless you count my pride.  The tumble caused a lot of foul-mouthed language in my house and I’m proud to say none of it was uttered by me.  As I recall, the only words I uttered were a meek “oh no” right as my left foot slipped off the front of the third step from the top.  Thankfully, I landed on my built-in padding and thudded to a stop on the third step from the bottom.  After exercising their right to free speech, the troops rallied and rescued me and hussled me to bed.  I was banned from the basement for the next few days which only really meant I couldn’t do laundry or try to find the crock pot.

My plan was working.

Thursday was a nice day.  I helped out in the kitchen and sat through the meal.  The shots I take to increase my white blood cell count were doing a number on me and the fall didn’t really help much and along about early evening I went to bed feeling poorly.

Friday I was supposed to take treatment.  I didn’t sleep well.  Getting me out of bed took Herculean attempts. I felt bad and looked worse.  Years ago my sister and I were digging up some dirt for some project or another of my father’s and accidentally unburied a former pet.  At least we think that’s what it was.  Friday morning I could have worn that pet as a hat and it would have been a step up.  That’s all I’m sayin’.

The Hub drove me to treatment but had to make a couple of emergency stops along the way so I could thrust open the door and bless the pavement. My apologies to the patrons of the coffee shop – it was either out the car door on into the hood of The Hub’s jacket on my lap.  And since he’s been through so much already I figured you, dear strangers, would have to endure the sight of one pale, bald woman saying sayonara to her thanksgiving meal.  Sidenote here:  I’m always amazed at the contrast between how meekly I utter “I think I might …” and the force at which I HOORRRKKKKK! out the car door.  2 stops and 17 dry heaves later we arrived at the treatment center.

They gave me meds for nausea.  They re-hydrated me.  They sent me home without treatment.  Told me to get well.  You know, so they could make me feel like shit again.

Yesterday I was finally able to take treatment number 10.  And you know what that means?  Only 2 more.

ONLY TWO MORE!

How do we know what we can endure until we have to endure it?

How do we know what will make us grow until we feel the growing pains?

How do we realize how precious are the little things until the little things are all we have to celebrate?

Only two more.

WHY NO JURY WOULD CONVICT MY SISTER OF PARENTICIDE

Mom:  Do you want to try one of my chewable fiber pills?

Sister: Sure.

<chewing ensues>

Sister: These suck.

Mom: Well, just keep chewing.  They may taste a little funny but I’ll tell you why later.

Sister: Tell me why now.

Mom: Are you done chewing?

Sister: Yes. It was awful. Why did it taste so bad? Was there something wrong with it?

Mom: Gosh no!  I’ve just been keeping them here in this ziplock with my panty liners is all.

THANKSGIVING

I was unable to have my treatment today, #10 of 12.  My white blood cell count was too low and therefore they sent me home with instructions to inject myself two more times with growth hormone, try to enjoy a big meal (my weight was down) and come back on Friday.

There are, of course, many MANY great things about this.  Not the least of which is I’ll be able to eat tomorrow.  There are frustrating things about it too.  I feel sort of like I was standing in front of the firing squad and then told “Ut! Hold up here, looks like we got no bullets … come back Tuesday, we’ll shoot you then.” 

I’m not as good at being flexible as I would like to be.  There is so little I can plan for these days and I get frustrated when those plans are changed.  Delaying treatment by two days now means my Christmas plans will be impacted.  This is annoying.  That was an understatement.

As I was getting ready to leave, after the nurse had removed the now unnecessary needle from my chest and given me all my instructions, I stopped to talk quickly to the nice lady who always says hello to me when I’m in treatment.  She’s always there with her husband who mostly sleeps during his infusions and usually she can be found sitting quietly beside him reading.  I stopped to wish her a happy thanksgiving and pat her on the shoulder.  We began talking.  She asked how I was doing.  I told her the truth.  I asked how she was.  She told me the truth.  I didn’t know her husband’s story so I asked.  We do that in there, we ask.  We don’t pretend like everything is groovy.  We know it isn’t so we are pretty direct.  She openly shared.  She shared his story.  Which is her story – rightfully her story too.  I had to force myself to leave.  I held her tightly before I did.  She wiped my tears and I wiped hers.

Out of a deep, loving respect for them both I won’t share details of their story here.  I will say my Christmas will be impacted by my change of schedule.  Theirs will be impacted as well.  There is no reason to believe he will be here this Christmas.  There is less reason to hope.

It’s like getting smacked upside the head sometimes.

And so I sit here on Thanksgiving eve with a lap full of gratitude.  How can I not be grateful?  Every ache I feel today reminds me I am still alive.  Every breath that burns is a reminder of how good it will feel to breathe normally again.  When I look at my family, who have traveled hundred of miles just to argue about the correct recipe for biscuits, I am keenly aware of how fortunate I am.

I am grateful for life
For laughter
For pre-cooked turkeys
I am grateful for frosted mugs
For soft lotion-filled tissues
For warm hats and gloves
I am grateful for Vic who rakes our leaves
And Sam who’s walked this road
And Nena who brings more joy to my life than I should be allowed to have
I am grateful for dirty jokes
And loud music
And the new Meatloaf CD
I am grateful for unexpected phone calls
And cards in the mail
And a perfect excuse to get out of jury duty
I am grateful for my rotten dogs
And elastic-waist sweatpants
And the cool tile floor on my bare feet in the midst of a hotflash
I am grateful for my life
For my friends
For my family
For my husband
For chocolate
And earmuffs
And a warm house
And insight
And encouragement
I am grateful for this country and those who protect it
I am grateful for this cancer and what I’m learning because of it
I am grateful for the reminders – big and small – of how lucky I am

And I am so lucky.

So lucky.

THIS ONE TIME AT CANCER CAMP ...

All I ever talk about is cancer. 

I know how annoying this must be to my family, friends, clients, readers and random neighbors that jog past the house in the morning.  Can’t I talk about something else?  Is this really the MOST interesting thing in my life?  Does it truly apply to ALL situations? 

I know of other people who have only one topic of conversation.  People whose entire lives are comprised of many aspects of only one experience.  It doesn’t matter how interesting that one experience is, it is still ONE experience.  I’ve known mothers who cannot talk about anything but their children.    I’ve know businessmen who only talk about work.  I’ve known artists who can only talk about how oppressed they are. In each case I’m always amazed how skilled these people are with turning the conversation toward their topic.  I marvel at how little they need to segue into something that has anything to do with their topic of choice.   

You went to see the premier of the new James Bond movie?  Wow. <nanosecond pause> Did I mention my Bobby did a Double-Oh-TWO in his pants at Target the other day?

You know what I mean. 

So you can understand how upsetting it is for me to have had my wide assortment of topics available for insertion into any conversation whittled down to the oh-so-enjoyable subject of cancer.  Sure we were all interested at first but let’s face it, it’s getting a little old.

HOMELESS TRAFFIC COP

Thank you, homeless man,
Who shooed my car along today so politely,
The middle of Main street, America
Is no match for you,
And your double-knotted plastic Wal-mart bag of essentials.

ONE FOOT RADIUS

Today I’m overwhelmed.  I had every indicator that I would be feeling “almost normal” (whatever that means) today and so on Tuesday I began making a list.  I figured by the time today rolled around (one week after my last treatment) I’d be feeling energized and ready to tackle some open items.  Now, the mother of all to do lists is sitting beside me and I have exactly nothing crossed off. 

So I’m overwhelmed.  It’s like my head is full of bees.  And not the drone, worker kind either, the big fat lazy queens. Just sittin’ there all buzzin’ and whatnot.  Except I’m not even making honey.  Does the queen bee make the honey?  I don’t even know. I’ll add it to the list of things to look up.  What’s worse, my office is a gosh-awful mess.  I have papers nearly everywhere (the ceiling alone is without paperwork), I have receipts that need to be inputted, I have binders and books laying around open to various pages that matter – or rather mattered at one point.  File drawer are open, file folders are out, CDs are lying around and I’m just feeling under the pile. 

So I’ve devised a new strategy.  I’m calling it my “one foot radius” strategy.  Instead of working on my list, I’m going to work on any and everything within a one foot radius of me, my chair and my computer.  I know it may not seem like much but you haven’t seen my desk.  I figure if I can get that done, it will be enough honey for now. 

I have a phone meeting at two and then I’m going to get started.

I'M WEIRD - A MEME

I got tagged by Wendy for this one.  I'm doing it but it does seem a little "chain letter" to me.  If I get a hundred dish towels in the mail after this, I'm going to be pissed.

Here are the rules: List 5 weird things about yourself or your pets. Tag 5 friends and list them. Then, those people need to write on their blogs about 5 weird things, and state the rules, and tag 5 more people. Don't forget to let the people you tag know by posting a comment on their blog!

1. My toenails are falling off.  This is not so much a weird thing as an obsession of mine right now.  Apparently it is a side effect of the chemo.  “We don’t see it a lot but we do see it” says my doctor.  So off they are coming.  I check them hourly to get a sense of the progress.  Big toes – ¾ lifted.  Second toe (what do you call that? The pointer toe?) – all there.  The piggy who had none, is half gone and I’m not sure my pinky toe ever had a nail to begin with.  This is upsetting to me in a very strange way.  Sort of like cleaning out the basement and finding an item you forgot completely about, has no impact on your daily routine and now you cannot imagine getting rid of it.  What will I do without my toenails?  I feel very vulnerable, like my toes are made of glass and any impact will shatter them and send me screaming into oblivion.  I have a feeling after the nails have hit the highway I’ll be walking around in my sturdiest shoes with my toes curled under for protection.

2. I can’t pronounce the word “drawer”.  When I say it, no matter how hard I try, I say “dwar”  or  “draahhh” or some such thing.  I’m not sure why this happens but it is disturbing.  I have a mental thesaurus going all the time for words that mean drawer but aren’t drawer.  There are frighteningly few replacements and I usually end up making the drawer hand sign instead - grabbing an imaginary handle and repeatedly pulling it toward me.  Which if you know what I’m doing makes perfect sense and if you don’t looks like I should be accompanying the motion with “hubba hubba!” in a Bronx accent. 

3. When at Wendy’s, I dip my fries in my frosty.  Don’t knock it till you try it.

4. I have weak cartilage in my nose.  This means I can smash my nose down really really flat.

5. When I get an ice cream headache, it actually hurts in my tailbone.  So it’s not so much a brain freeze as a butt freeze.

I'm chosing to tag Jeff, Sam, Andy, Dan and Julie for this one.

I JUST SHATNERED MYSELF!

I just finished watching my new favorite show, Show Me the Money hosted by William Shatner.  I haven't laughed that hard at someone since my sister accidentally peed her culottes while playing kickball in the front yard.  Shatner is my hero! If you need a reminder why he is so fantastic, go here. 

You may think after watching that it couldn't get any sweeter and there would be no reason for you to tune into his new show.  But get this ... he wears a sequined vest!

Just when I thought my life wasn't going to get any better!