Today I got ahead of the pain

First I need to explain what happened late last night. Since it had been my experience that morphine-based drugs make it hard to sleep, and I'd had a restless night on Sunday night, I avoided taking any more pain medication after dinner last night. When I was trying to go to sleep I was very successful at visualizing the pain disappearing, but right at the last moment before I fell asleep, just as I was letting go, the visualization stopped and the pain reappeared. I fought hard to go to sleep for over an hour (and understand I take quite a bedtime 'cocktail' of pills just so I can go to sleep).

But I gave in and took the pain medicine and when it kicked in I fell asleep for the night, very restful, thank goodness.

So today I took the necessary dose of the medicine just as the pain was kicking in, about 10 minutes after I woke up. And I keep taking the correct amount in order to keep the pain away, and it's working fairly well. There seems to be no real reason for me to suffer if the medicine is here and available for my use.

It has been a couple of days since I've had dinner with the family, so today I will try. If the pain is too bad I will 'hold court' in my room after dinner for the boys. They love to have my undivided attention; they take turns hanging out with me.

I have to admit that snuggling in my bed in the afternoon by myself, drifting in and out of sleep, was delicious. Just the right temperature, just the right pillow . . . no worries, no pain (at that time, anyway).

Pray for my renewed health for the shul (synagogue) retreat in late March.

More pain

This is getting boring and annoying, but the pain doesn't stop. I took 2 Dilaudid today to see if that would help more, and it did, but still the pain is there. I didn't sleep much at all last night, could not get any sleep today.

So I sit in my pajamas, in my bed with our dog Bella curled up next to me, and I play solitaire on my laptop. simply trying to pass the time. My hope is that when the Taxol ends, the pain will send soon after.

Nothing witty to offer, rainy day in bed. What month is it? What day of the week? Sometimes it's just hard to remember.

A busy day so far

Avi and Heshy went to the dog show with Rona for the day, and Marshall is working from 11-4. Liz brought her toddler, Zoe, over and made us all breakfast. While they were here Shmuel and HIS daughter Zoe stopped by unexpectedly for a visit and to offer help, and then Lior and her son Eli came by with tonight's dinner. In the midst of all this our water heater got fixed, too.

Now I'm back in bed where it's comfy and quiet, I may rest for a while. Oh, and Emma let us know she's coming for a visit the weekend of May 4, I think it is. I'm looking forward to seeing her, of course.

wow, how the phone rings with the Sabbath is over!

So far, no pain the medicine can't handle.

From sources far and wide I've received special messages today. Each time an old friend checks in it warms me.

Eating ice cream, thinking about watching some TV. Same old, same old. But I am 75% finished with chemo, only 2 infusions to go. Think March!

back at home, safe and sound

I drove myself to chemo for the first time, had hospital cafeteria sandwich after, picked up meds, drove myself home. It went just fine, I feel the same as I did yesterday. My lab work shows that my body is NOT doing what it would normally be doing if I didn't have cancer and wasn't getting chemo. Mike, my oncologist, agreed to let me stay in Dilaudid which helps me with the joint pain.

I will be staying home until I feel well enough to venture forth into the world.

Pray for this to be over soon.

holding pattern

Have resigned myself to staying home. Yesterday I had to have blood drawn, so Walt drove me to the lab and we had Chinese food for lunch.

Today I finally ironed. I will be driving myself to and from chemo tomorrow, don't yell at me, I'll be fine.

The Life of this Invalid

OK, I'm not going to that dark place with this. I have come to the conclusion that I must live like an invalid, but that there are many satisfying parts to it. Stay with me . . .

Here's how I am set right now: Can only shower every other day, must moisturize all skin after shower. Lacking the energy to continue to go to Mill Valley, just told Penny today. Cannot go to any place where people are gathered - no movies, no grocery stores or drug stores, no place where kids are like school . . . Must take medications at specific times and there are 5 different times of day that pills must be taken. I will try to iron, G-d knows it needs to be done. Still uncomfortable, although not in pain, through my joints below my waist.

So all that is downside. Here's the upside: I now have unlimited time to correspond with people, keep my blog up to date, arrange all the kid/ride stuff by phone. I can watch movies or TV series on DVD. Avi has me all to himself for at least 30 min. every day, and he climbs on my bed and holds my hand and kisses me. What a great kid.

I get incredible food prepared for me by Marshall and others; I can have someone get me a treat almost anytime, I have the time to be really aware of everything that others are doing to make this go more smoothly for us.

I can wear whatever I want in any combination at any time, and who gets to say THAT?

Our dog, Bella, keeps me company all day.

So, bottom line, while I still plan to live to 100, I am making the most of this part of the journey graciously.

I feel good.

Anointing oneself

Aquafor, a medically-recommended ointment for severely dry skin, was what I used to anoint myself literally from head to toe after my shower today. Because of chemo my skin has gotten so dry that it's starting to peel a little.

I have never before been in need of dry skin repair, so this is the first time I have covered my body with nourishing and healing cream or ointment of any sort. And this stuff doesn't sink in quickly, providing a stickly feeling all over (except for the small area on my back where I can't reach).

Now my friend Ginna anoints regularly, and when those Jewish holidays come which forbid anointment, she notices. In fact her mother, Linda, gave me an incredibly delicious homemade cream to use which leaves behind an indescribable scent that lingers for hours. Shoulda used that today, wasn't thinking.

I'd love to say that the process of anointing was wonderful . . . but mostly I guess I've have to wait until it sinks in to feel the softness that should result.

The ER ordeal in more detail

Good thing I mentioned to the ER receptionist that I didn't really feel well enough to sit on a hard chair waiting to be seen, that I'd much prefer to be on a gurney/bed/whatever laying down. First of all, the waiting room was filled to the rafters with people. Several of them had something wrong which was obviously appropriate for them to be there at 10:30 on a weeknight. Lots of others, however, were the kind of people who come to the ER several times a week at night to be able to be inside where it's warm, there's a bathroom, and they might convince an employee to provide them with a meal. Those folks were generally filthy, smelly and obnoxious to everyone. Yecch. So when the incredibly overworked triage nurse got to me he gave me a mask to wear and found me a gurney where I could wait. And wait and wait and wait. At 2AM I asked to see Marshall, who had been dozing in the waiting room, and I told him to go home, no sense in him losing a whole night's sleep. Just as I was telling him a doctor came to see me. Marshall left and the doctor, a young woman, got the whole story from me, asked a bunch of questions, then ordered a series of tests to be done, including blood and urine testing, a chest x-ray (I had been having upper respiratory issues), and a CT scan of my head (I'd had a headache for several days). She then announced that she was going off duty and would pass all my info onto the next doctor to be in charge of me.

So picture this: The hallways and doorways are filled with people on gurneys stacked like sardines with no room to move. The staff is so overworked that they are simply trying to keep their heads above water and keep their sense of humor. I am laying on a gurney, no hair to speak of on my head, no eyebrows, and my nose and mouth covered with a blue mask. I am wide awake, watching and listening to everything. Because I am in a doorway people pass through to get to another area, folks are walking past me in both directions constantly.

I look at each person as they pass, trying to catch their eye to notice their response to me. Because I look unusual, they take a short glance at me. Some smiled at me, a few even said hello, but most avoided my eyes and kept going. One nice woman even reached out in her hurry and stroked my arm softly, that was very nice. At some point I heard someone say, 'Let's find a room for that lady in the mask,' but it was a long time before the room was found. Not having a watch and with no clock in site, I had to keep asking people for the time throughout the night.

So it was 2 when I first spoke to a doctor, maybe 4 when a wonderful nurse named Ron came over to me to begin the blood and urine testing. Ron was great - he set himself up with the tray he needed and the stool he'd sit on and proceeded to talk to me, find a vein, chat like he had both all the time in the world AND the interest to get to know me, all while he was in the way of traffic which worked its way around him and there was noise, talking, PA announcements. His focus on me was incredible. I'd never seen anything like it. Even after his stool was taken he still worked with no sign of stress at all.

I think it was around 4 or so when I got a lovely private room in the ER, but it was much later when I finally found out the name of the nurse in charge of my care. He apparently felt it wasn't necessary to come in and introduce himself, maybe do vital signs, maybe ask if I needed anything. It was only when this nurse, Steve, gave his report to his break-relief nurse that I heard I had a nurse. As soon as that happened I called out (they were right next to my room), ' Can anyone tell me the name of my nurse?' The nurse in charged turned around and said to Steve, 'Is it possible that this patient DOESN'T know the name of her nurse?'

Steve and I did not connect on any personal level as I had done with every nurse I'd seen so far, pretty much, all happy people who really loved providing kind care to every patient they saw.

Steve never did introduce himself, but somehow I got a sandwich and the x-ray and CT scan done, both negative. At around 10:30 (12 hours after getting to the ER) I was installed in get another lovely private room (in isolation, but nice to be alone) on the 8th floor. My nurse, an African woman named Aster, is a traveller nurse. That's the term they use for nurses who opt to move every 13 weeks to a new city, with housing provided, in order to fill short term needs for nurses and have a chance to get to know another city. Aster loves it.

I tried to relax, thinking I might catch some shut eye, but it was not to be. The patient in the room right next to mine was calling out, in a large and pathetic voice, things like, 'Noooooooo, stoooooooop, someone helllllllp meeeee.' The first 3 hours I was there this continued non-stop. As Aster explained when I finally saw her again (she'd been trying to help the lady next door), that patient was there to die. No family, in her 90s, scared to death, Aster had called a friend of the patient who eventually came and read to her and calmed her down. Frightening to hear . . .

Bottom line on the medical front - the reason I was admitted - was that my white blood cell count was high. As I explained to each and every doctor who saw me - 6 in all - my wbc count was high as a direct result of my self-injection of Neupogen, which is SUPPOSED to increase my wbc count and help me continue on the aggressive chemo we had planned. I guess none of them believed me, maybe they just aren't used to having a patient who is well informed and can advocate for herself.

So, at 2:45 my medical team came in and informed me that I was to be discharged shortly. They finally decided to consult an oncologist who backed me up. I was released at 4:00 and able to be home in time for the Sabbath.

Along the way I was given morphine IV for my joint pain which really worked well, so I was given a stronger pain med to take home, one without aspirin, tylenol or ibuprofen in it. I am finishing a 5 day course of antibiotics, although they never did find any sign of a specific infection. My headache has dissolved, I didn't have any continuing gastrointestinal involvement after Thursday evening.

All in all, I met many nice, committed people at Kaiser who were working very hard under stressful circumstances. Other than having to wear that darn mask on my face, I wasn't really too uncomfortable once the morphine was started. (Doctors really don't get how bad the post-Taxol joint pain can be.) My fever is gone, I actually feel OK but I'm staying in my room because Heshy has a cold and I need to stay away from him.

I took the gorgeous Indian scarf, still with a tiny remnant of the incense remaining, to the hospital with me. It kept me warm, covered my back after the gown went on, covered my head when I was really cold, and decorated my bed at all other times. It made me feel like Emma was sitting there with me through the whole thing.

17 hrs in the hospital - the short version

Got sick on Thursday evening, couldn't get warm, digestive issues, fever of 100.5 which is the point at which someone getting chemo has to call the doctor and I was told to go to the ER. 12 hours there, morphine for the unrelenting joint pain, lots of tests. ER doc overreacted to one test result, I was admitted and then discharged 5.5 hrs. later when someone decided to consult an oncologist.

I promise to write the interesting parts soon. I slept 15 hours Friday night straight through almost, because I was wide awake for the full 17 hours at Kaiser.

Good to be home, plus I got a MUCH stronger pain pill for the joint pain which actually, seriously, takes it away. Thank goodness. I feel fine now.

Hard morning

As Penny, my Mill Valley client, recovers from knee surgery and her house is 62 steps from the car . . . I did as promised and showed up at the office. As time worn on it was clear that I just wasn't feeling well. A little cold, lingering joint pain - it was hard to concentrate. Shit, I hope this joint business doesn't stay with me too long after chemo ends.

After work I went right to the dispensary for the week's cannabis cookies and into bed to watch, you guessed it, a movie from Netflix. Along with some Ultram which helps the joint pain.

It's kinda hard to move around, I'm beginning to rethink trying to attend the shul retreat at the end of March. The site is beautiful, but there's a lot of walking.

Even so, I've only had one short pity party this week and my spirits are generally up. I've been honored by donations made in my name, one of many and always, always making an impression in my heart.

Beautiful, cold, clear weather today. Perfect for mid-January.

Pray for a refuah shleimah (speedy recovery) for everyone we know who is sick.

My face looks so different

Last night my eyebrows started falling out, so I pulled the hairs out myself and now I have no eyebrows. Understand this would have happened in any event, now I'm waiting for my eyelashes to fall out too.

I had purchased a Clinique product to put eyebrows on, I need to practice before I appear in public.

The medicine I got yesterday for joint pain worked to some degree, and today when I awakened it seemed that the pain had subsided somewhat. I'm going to try to get through it without the medicine, especially since I'll have to work tomorrow in Mill Valley.

Oh, Emma lives in Washington, DC, she was visiting India and Pakistan in late December/early January.

Better living through chemistry

Now that Kaiser, my HMO, is online and I can write to my docs anytime, I was able to have a prescription for a strong painkiller waiting for me at the pharmacy this morning. The pain is not altogether gone but much more manageable.

I am sitting here wrapped in a beautiful large scarf that our daughter Emma sent along with gifts for the rest of the family from India and Pakistan. The scarf even smells authentic - the store must have been filled with incense.

Joint pain gets worse

so I called the Advice Nurse at Kaiser and got some vicodin. That didn't help much at all. I will talk to the oncologist tomorrow and see what other options I have. Didn't sleep well at all last night.

This seems to be one of those situations where waiting it out is all I can do.

got one side effect of Taxol

which is joint pain. I took some ibuprofen and it helped not at all. Even leaning one foot against the other is quite uncomfortable. Nowhere nearly bad enough to take something stronger, I'll learn to live with it for a few days. Still have hair, though - apparently that will fall out soon enough.

Otherwise I feel OK, but staying in bed and out of trouble. The boys hung out together watching DVDs today, they were no trouble for the 5 hours Marshall had to work. A vegetarian feast was delivered to us for dinner, I'm looking forward to that.

No side effects . . . yet

It's a whole new game. Taxol can give intense joint pain. I feel nothing different except being tired. And I've spent the day in bed. Watched two movies, Netflix is cool.

Blue mood

Today I worked in Mill Valley for a few hours then took myself to the movies. I figure that the people-germs will be much reduced if there are very few people in the theater.

I saw 'Brokeback Mountain' and I'm still sad. The part that got me the most was how, when they saw each other for the first time in years, they couldn't stop kissing each other. That passion, and after so long apart. What a beautiful, if flawed, love story.

Tomorrow I will start Taxol, and I'm mighty shaken up by the thought of having to give up all my preconceptions about the side effects of chemo. Even though I have survived relatively unscathed from 4 A/C (the drug pair I got) infusions, those rules are no longer valid. Taxol effects the body differently, and I have no idea whatsoever how they will appear for me. Marshall is working on Sunday and Monday. I asked him to make arrangements for the boys, but he said, 'You'll be OK.' My response was that I really have no idea how I will be. There are folks who will take one or both of them on a last minute basis, and that, it appears, is what Marshall has decided we need to do.

I guess I understand his approach - there's no reason to make other plans until we're sure we NEED to make other plans. Maybe I'll feel relatively well and can manage. We'll have to see. One more thing to worry about is managing the boys (really, Avi is fine, but Heshy, well . . . let's just say that Heshy is the kind of kid who needs a lot of supervision).

Liz, my Thursday evening walker, is coming over tonight and I plan to make good use of the time, both as gentle exercise and important conversation.

I will not write on Friday before chemo, and hopefully I'll feel well enough to write again for the sabbath begins.

Pray for ease.

a new modem

will be here tomorrow. Yesterday I had the 90-minute massage that my friends at yoga purchased for me. It was very nice, the setting was restful as can be, and I was plenty warm. It didn't transform my life, but it was a very pleasant way to spend the time.

On Tuesday evening our friend Walt (more about him later) joined as for dinner and, at Heshy's request, built a nice fire in the garden. We are free to use our upstairs neighbors' portable outside fireplace whenever we want. We used some good wood we'd saved for just such an occasion, but mostly we burned Walt's old bank statements, bill receipts and the like that needed to be destroyed. The colors and shapes of the fire shifted constantly, and glowing red and gray petals drew back from each thing that was burnt. It was riveting, and plenty warm, even in the drizzle that ensued.

Walt is a dear friend of ours. He's a carpenter who happened to be working on a neighbor's house when we first lived in San Leandro and Heshy was turning 3 (he's now 8). It was a few months after we met him that his marriage ended and he found himself with no place to stay when the judge ordered him to leave the residence. He had plans to sleep in his truck, but I couldn't see that and Marshall and I invited him to stay with us. What started as a very temporary solution worked out for all of us for 18 months until Walt's divorce was granted and he again was on safe financial footing. He moved out but the friendship stayed strong.

Because Walt is a union carpenter he works when there is work for him - he'll work a few months at a stretch and then back to the union to wait in line for another assignment, and it could be months until it comes. Then he does 'side work' and hangs out with me when I am available. He's a very handy guy to have around and has fixed or built many things for us over the years. And Bella, our dog, knows she's hit the jackpot when Walt comes over - they've always been close and have a lot of fun together.

When I miss a day of writing here

it's usually because I feel like crap. This time it was because our wireless internet modem was on the fritz . . . and now I can't even remember what I was going to say yesterday.

Nevermind, today I met Ben Hornik, he'll be the plastic surgeon who makes a reconstructed breast for me. The timing is going to be something like this: 4-6 weeks after chemo will be the mastectomy. After I heal from that I'll have 6 weeks of daily radiation, then several months later, depending on how I am healing, there will be two operations to bring back my rack. The first will reconstruct the left breast, the second will deal with reconstructing a nipple/areola and perhaps lifting the right breast for symmetry. The two operations will be months apart so that my reconstructed side has a chance to heal completely. I think I'm getting this all right, I hope so.

Interesting factoid: women who smoke tobacco have a might higher rate of failure in reconstruction simply because the nicotine constricts the blood vessels making the healing more difficult.

Ben's a nice guy, new to Kaiser, the only plastic surgeon working at Kaiser in Oakland. He spent an hour explaining all of this to me and Neska, who went with me. I trust him to make things look as nice as possible, he actually used those words or something similar, and after all the reconstruction is cosmetic, doesn't HAVE to be done, and I'll be walking around with a prosthesis for quite a few months. As Neska pointed out, I may get used to having the prosthesis and decline reconstructive surgery. I seriously doubt this . . . I just can't wrap my head around having just one breast. As nice as that one breast may be, they generally come in pairs and I need to have a pair of them to feel whole.

So much of the timing depends on how I am healing from what went before. For example, Ben said that if I end radiation with no skin problems (most women DO have skin problems from radiation) then it will be that much sooner that my reconstruction will start. Hard to plan a life, G-d knows.

Looks like my birthday on March 21 will be free from any lingering nastiness and before any new nastiness appears. That would be very nice. Funny how I used to say "I'm almost 50 . . ." and how I stopped mentioning that after the diagnosis. Now I just say I plan to live to 100.

I'm staying as busy as I can this week to stay alert and happy, and I just signed up for Netflix to keep me occupied when I have nothing better to do. I feel and look good, I think. I just can't stand that it will be so many months until this process is complete, and perhaps up to a year after that until I feel normal. Damn, that's a very long time.

Pray for complete healing.

listening to Lou Rawls

and ironing something like 9 shirts, some slacks, a dress, four tablecloths and 2 dozen napkins.

Because ironing with fresh air coming through the open windows, the sun beginning to fall in the west, KBLX 'The Quiet Storm' on the radio with classic R&B, and taking a very-wrinkled shirt and making it smooth, well . . . it just floats my boat.

This idea people have that certain chores are more enjoyable to do than others, and everyone must share their feelings, I don't buy it. Classic story in my family: When my father was alive and I was a young adult I once said to him, "I'd love to come over and cook a really nice meal for you," to which he responded, quite aghast, "Why in the world would you want to do that?"

I said, "Daddy (I know, childish, but it's what we called him then and still refer to him now), I love to cook, I really do. It would give me so much pleasure to do it for you."

Somehow it never got arranged, I don't think he could wrap his head around having spawned someone who could enjoy it. After all, he married two attractive women and neither one could cook for anything, both preferring to make reservations than dinner. His mother, my Nundy (I have no idea why we called her THAT, the other 10 cousins called her Grandma) was an incredible cook they tell me, and there are two things she made that only I have even been able to duplicate. Not like she taught me - I was 6 when she died.

Nundy lived above the store at 2101 Chelton Ave. in Philadelphia's Germantown neighborhood. A long time before I was born she was widowed with 5 kids, my father the last one, I think he was 8, 1929. Her husband's shoe repair shop became her business to run to support the family, and every kid worked hard every day at school and outside jobs to keep things going. One by one they married, and each new couple lived with her above the store for a year or so, I think. Aunt Molly, who left 4 kids 8-16 when she died just before Nundy in 1963, worked in the the Sugar Bowl candy store with Nundy, and it was she who was rewarded for it by being treated to elective rhinoplasty, a nose job, to make her more beautiful. I've seen both pics, I think it was a wise choice. Understand this was the 40s, and Nundy had not done anything other than keep things going, she had no stash of cash.

During my lifetime the store was R&R Realty, a partnership of Daddy and Uncle Robert, both post WWII service and law school. My father used to tell me that he always offered estate planning with a real estate transaction, because often the people who bought from him were not married to each other and they needed to ensure their wishes were followed about their property.

Interesting factoid of the sixties, the mid-sixties, of black life in Philly. My parents led me to believe that we, as Jewish people, were different and decidedly better than anyone else. If I had a friend who wasn't Jewish I was discouraged from getting too close, and if my friend was black, well let's just say that I was never permitted inside the home of a black family, not ever.

That all of these activities were forbidden was never discussed, you just KNEW. Here's how we went trick-or-treating . . . well, we knew the black families, maybe 1/3 of our neighbors, were off-limits, and the Catholic families, often with rambling houses on the corner and like 8 kids, also a 'no.' We almost never met the Catholic families, since they went to the local parish elementary school, Little Flower.

When I had my first job that wasn't babysitting, I was 12 and a cashier at a local toy store a few hours a week. The stock boy was one of those kids in my neighborhood who lived in a big-ass house with lots of siblings and big family parties. Ricky Flammer, now Chef Rick in Philly, became a good friend and we're still in touch, saw him in 99 when we lived in NJ. I took him home with me one day, in the middle of a Sunday in 1969 I think, so I could show him my famous grilled cheese sandwich. Everyone was home, they'd heard of him and likely met him at the store.

But bringing him into the house . . . my father hit the roof. He must have been boiling but as I remember it he was polite to Rick and and waited until Rick had gone home. He told me he absolutely forbid me to have anything to do with Rick, no offense to Rick, but Rick is NOT appropriate friend material.

It's been fun reminiscing, maybe more soon.

Pray for a productive week-before-chemo and continued nice weather.

An altogether great day

With many compliments about my looking healthy and generally quite well.

Unmistakably this has been one of the best Saturdays I've had in years.

Freshly-baked challah

just came out of the oven, my G-d it smells delicious in my house today. I changed the recipe I used a few weeks ago, this one has 3 cups whole wheat flour and 5 cups white flour. Perfect combination to make soft pretzel, actually, so next time I might do that. I made enough loaves for tonight and for next week, because next Friday I'll be asleep in the chemo chair most of the day.

Avi went to the first meeting at his high school about the baseball team, and he informs me (Marshall concurs) that his right arm is a rocket. (I hope I expressed that correctly, my knowledge of baseball is very limited.) This is very exciting to me because Avi's namesake, my beloved maternal grandfather of blessed memory, loved baseball, played stickball as a kid on the Lower East Side, and followed the teams all his life. Even after the baseball games began to be broadcast live on television there he'd be in the kitchen, listening to the game on the big radio there. I remember this vividly, and I also remember asking him why he wasn't watching on TV. He said it just wasn't the same, the cameraman's angle wasn't necessarily right for him, and he got to use his head to picture the whole field. An avid Phillies fan to the end, he died just 2 months shy of my bat mitzvah.

Plus Avi has his build, although that may change momentarily. Teenage boys . . .

I'll be at services tomorrow morning, there's a brunch following and then I'll be hanging out with Ginna at her house. Can't wait.

Pray for peace in the Middle East after Ariel Sharon, and to those of you who celebrate the Jewish sabbath, Shabbat shalom.

Since the flood of '82

Folks in Marin are talking about the recent flooding (which shut down a Mill Valley package store JUST before New Year's Eve and left yuppies screaming on the sidewalk), so many stores ruined, nothing like this since the flood of '82, that's 1982 to y'all.

The bay water is decidedly brown today, lots of streams running at full capacity still. Everywhere I drove I detected the aroma of food cooking . . . I don't know, why do you think it smells so much nicer when there's fresh air all around?

Another nice thing I noticed today was that I didn't have to hear my cell phone ringing. Mostly because mine died and it will take a lot of energy to deal with Cingular when they tell me they never received the unusable Blackberry I mailed back to them. I will try to do that tomorrow, I should not be driving around with no cell phone, but for now . . . it's nice not to have it on my mind.

I bought myself a new journal today, this one is brown and smaller, works better in my purse even though it weighs a ton for what it is. And today we received a lovely holiday card with a sweet personal note from folks we hardly see, always a nice surprise.

Tomorrow I will bake challah, enough for two weeks so I can take next week off while I'm having chemo.

Pray for continued nice weather.

busy day

This morning I finished the financial aid forms, made the copies, etc., and put that to bed. At noonish Ellen (yoga teacher) and Neela (friend from yoga) visited. Neela had been in India, her homeland, for an extensive visit and brought me back a wonderfully festive silk scarf which has found its place draped around the frame of a print in our collection by Hundertwasser.

This afternoon when Judy got here we had a short walk, the weather and time of day pairing for wondrous colors in the western sky. On a particular neighbor's fairly new concrete sidewalk I noticed the remains of wet leaves which had left imprints in shades of brown on the ground. Some leaves were highly detailed; others were bunched up together near the edge of the sidewalk, sort of blended together in color. And again nature makes her mark.

Working in Mill Valley tomorrow.

OK, OK, I need to learn patience

Because after four chemo infusions I should KNOW that I will begin to feel better around mid-day on day 5, which happened again like clockwork. Sooo, this afternoon I got out (which was delightful even in the rotten weather) and ran a couple of errands. Trying hard to put a positive spin on it, now stay with me here . . . I get to have that wow-I-feel-so-much-better-now feeling much more often than most people.

We'll see what Taxol does to me - that's the name of the drug they'll be infusing into my system beginning on the 13th of January and every 2 weeks for a total of eight weeks, four infusions. I heard that it can cause joint pain which should be treatable with ibuprofen, but then someone I met was on vicodin for it. oy.

Trying to fill out financial aid forms for the boys' schools is tricky - how can I possibly know how much I will be able to earn this coming year, if anything? It will all work itself out, but the forms fill me with dread.

I'm going to get the chance to do some writing soon, for real for Penny in Mill Valley. Puffed chest, big smile.

Pray for sun.

positive things

first, I finally have an appointment for the 90-min. massage which was a gift to me from my yoga friends. That'll be next Wed. And I have an appointment to see Dr. Horkin, the plastic surgeon, who will answer all my questions I hope. That appt. is next Tuesday.

As I sit here trying not to hyperventilate (how my anxiety presents itself) and being forced to take medicine for that, I'm slowly crawling out of the just-had-chemo shell of mine. If I see any more gray days I'll just scream.

Still freaked out at the prospect of walking around with only one breast for a number of months. G-d, that will look awkward and weird I think. People will have that scared-but-can't-look-away thing going on when they see me.

So the first four chemo infusions are done, and everyone says they are the worst part of the ordeal. The last 4 infusions will be 4 hours each, with much less dramatic side effects. Trying not to focus on the shitty part of anything . . . but it's damned hard.

2006

The year in which I lose alllll my hair, lose my breast, get a new one later, maybe regain all my energy and joie de vivre and go back to work. Sounds daunting.

The weather here has been awful, with today the absolute worst. Very windy and cold, intermittent rain (I think) and power outs periodically. The biggest trees outside my window are moving hard from side to side. I slept in a thick hat and two blankets this morning.

SO FAR I am losing my brain function to the point where it's hard to write. I am sure it will return. Could be the drugs, but the drugs must stay because they completely remove any side effects of the chemo.