Though I'll warn you, right here and now, my meds are having some serious effects on my small motor skills. Also, my sentence structure capabilities are greatly diminished. (Read: I cannot type, spell, or grammar. Forgive me, for I know not what I do.)
If you were here, maybe you'd be lucky enough to see me fall asleep mid-sentence, or maybe wipe some drool out of the corner of my mouth.
I'm kidding.
Actually, I am not. It's a sad, sad state of being when a 36 yr old cancer patient can't keep her eyes open or her mouth shut, but there it is.
I, for one, am just grateful for pain meds that allow me to stay in a state of semi-consciousness for most of the day. As most of you know, the surgery was last Tuesday (the 22nd - nine months, to the day, from my last surgery). The incision is only 10 inches long this time, from my ribcage just past my bellybutton. It's still a nasty old incision, staples and all, but those'll come out tomorrow and then I'll be back on track for growing a healthy pink scar down my belly. Ooh-la-la.
Surgery went well. When the surgeons went in, they found that the tumor was not, in fact, on my kidney. It was in my retroperitineal tissue (same site as the tumor of 2010), and was free-floating near my kidney. When it was removed, it was about the size of a baseball (and Mich and the Walton girls have been hoping to make a baseball fan out of me - guess again). When the first scan was done at the end of January, it was measuring at just larger than a dime - kind of an oval sized dime, but dime-sized, nonetheless - and when it came out, not 8 weeks later, it was the size of a baseball. No kidding, liposarcomas are fast growing tumors! (I hate them.)
There are things that are better this time around, there are things that are worse. It's nice to have some kind of expectation of how long pain will last, or what I can or cannot do. At the same time, it is hard, because I know exactly what will hurt, how badly, and for how long. I am very aware of what I can and cannot do.
My life. It is a dichotomy. A surgically created dichotomy.
The good news? My right eye only twitches a few times a day now (versus the almost constant full face twitching I had going on while in the hospital), and I can have all the M&M's I want (I was on a very strict "no M&M's' diet while under the care of the nurses at the hospital - they were little to no fun). So, I'm home. I sleep a lot. When I'm not sleeping, I'm either eating M&M's or Wheat Thins, hobbling about my apartment or pushing my old lady walker around the parking lot. Life is good. Without pain meds every four hours, life is very, very painful, but still... life is good.
My post-op follow-up with the surgeon is tomorrow. He'll take out my staples, press on my stomach and side and make me want to cry and then will most likely tell me everything's normal. I don't have answers yet as far as "what's next?". I don't yet know about the possibility of chemo, or other treatment options. I'll have that appointment with that doctor, most likely next week. I'll keep you posted.
For now, I nap a lot. I mean, a lot. And I eat cheese sauce on toast with corn, because my mommy's here and she knows what food always makes a sick kid feel better. So, I'm back. Still too tired to really talk (esp on the phone - I don't have strong enough air control yet, phone convos wipe me out), but I'm back in my own little corner of the world, taking up residence in my maroon recliner, watching the most recent episode of Castle on hulu. Life is good. Even if it's not totally "normal", it's still good.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Adventures in Wigland.
My cousin Julie came for the weekend. It was a great time. We ate Whoppers, Pringles, ice cream, candy, waaayyyyyy too much for every meal. We went to Sonic for cream slushes and read by the pool. We ran errands and played with Chris and Jo. We went to dinner, and we watched a Christmas movie in March. We stayed up way too late and then got up too early, just to lie in bed and talk some more. We ate. We drank. And we made merry.
Oh, and we shopped.
For wigs.
You know, just in case...
In case anyone who knows either/both of us has ever wondered, this is what we'd look like without hair. (Or maybe as a bank robber. You know, if we pulled the stocking over our faces. Which we did, but not in front of the store owner when she was taking this lovely pic.)
Here's a fun little comparison/contrast of how different the same wig can look on different people. (And yeah, I know, part of the difference is the distance of the camera to the person in the pic. Also, the plaid shirt and thumbs-hooked-in-the-belt-loops look gives her an obvious advantage.)
Julie as Ellie Mae = Super Cute!
Me as Ellie Mae = Bad Weather Girl Wig (Just give me a local cable news show and an umbrella and/or beach ball, and I'm ready to go!)
And here's another comparison/contrast:
Versus:
And, yeah, I know, the mullet/pony is supremely tacky. That side pic was just too funny not to show you. (I have too dang much hair to keep it all in a wig cap. My pony kept falling out. Finally, I opted to just leave it out, as it was bulky and was making it even harder to get a good fit.)
But seriously, how nuts is it that the same wig could look so completely different on two people?
And as if those two weren't enough comparison/contrasts to prove the theory that it's better to try on your own dang wig, because it'll look monumentally different on you than it would on your cousin, check this out.
Here's Julie, wearing the Genova Girl:
And here's me, wearing the Genova Girl:
Are you kidding me?! How is that the same wig? ... And yet, it is. I know it is, because Julie took it straight off of her head and gave it to me to try on. How nuts is that? (This was one of my personal faves, btw. I loved how smooth and soft the hairs were.)
Because I can't help myself but take document every single thing on film, here are some fun cousin bonding pics. (You've got to love the self-portrait-with-the-cell-phone routine.)
Here we are, brunette twin cousins. Just like Patty Duke. (But totally NOT like Patty Duke, because we are actually two different people. But still. Just like Patty Duke.)
And here, we're the on our way to the gym in our workout wigs. Super hot, right? And totally believable. Like, maybe if I had cool hair like this, complete with the Olivia Newton-John headband, I'd be inspired to get physical or something. Uh... Not.(These were surprisingly difficult to get on, btw. I mean, surprisingly difficult. Most definitely not for the weak wristed. They required some serious pull and tugging. I'm just saying, you have to BE tough to LOOK tough.)
And here's a fun look into Opposite Land, where Julie's a brunette and I'm a blond. (I wanted to see if they really do have more fun. I think I'd have had better play if my bangs had been in the right place, and not popping up off my forehead because my head was too darn big for this wig. ... Not the sexiest look of all time.)
And then there were these fun costume wigs. (Because how could we NOT try these puppies on? I mean, honestly?)
Too bad it was the day AFTER St. Patrick's day, otherwise, I'd have been sorely tempted to buy this.
Also, I think Jule should totally be Storm for Halloween next year.
Here's a lovely shot of me as a Latina Stepford Wife. (The black hair? Not a good look for my pasty skin.) Also, why does my forehead look about 7 inches long? I'm not sure. But one thing's for sure, the not-a-hair-out-of-place hairline was a little creepy and robotic.
Just call me Norma Jean. Or Marilyn. I'm fine, either way. (Why would anyone ever want to be this blond? I mean, really? Why?!)
And here's Jule, striking a pose. This wig had Charlie's Angels written all over it.
And here I am with a swoopy blond wig. (Like I'd ever wear something that was short on one side and long on the other? Please. Is it 1991 and am I attending Snowflake High School? No and no.)
It was a lot of fun. We spent a good hour or so trying on wigs. I'd guess I tried on over 20 wigs, and while it was a good time and I laughed out loud at the thought of becoming a blond for a night, just because I could... In the end, I realized that, when it came right down to it, if I do have to do the wig thing for real, I need something that is my natural color. I realized that my hair is so closely tied to my identity - to who I am - that I'd need something that was the right color. I am a brunette; it's as simple as that.
Here are my favorites.
This is the ponytail version of the Genova Girl I showed you before. This wig had the best feel. It was soft and pliable and looked like real hair. (No, not like my real hair, because we all know that my real hair is out of control and has a mind of its own. But still, it looked real.) Plus, it could be pulled back into a low pony. I'm always a fan hair options, and sadly, most wigs don't lend themselves well to that.
This one was shorter than I'd ever thought I'd consider going (and would you check out the highlights?), but again... Sleek. Not ratty. Easy to comb through. And the no bangs was something I liked here, because that's familiar to me.
This one isn't smooth and sleek like the others, but it has a realistic blend of wave that pretty closely matches the hair that grows out of my own head. Also, it could do the low pony thing. (Major plus.)
And here, we have the long hair/most like my current hair option. My concern with the longer hair wigs is that they're kind of ratty. As in, not so smooth looking. (Hi, it's more than 2 feet of doll hair. Of course it's gonna start to look unmanageable. Just think about what Barbie's hair looks like after too many visits to "The Beauty Parlor" - by which I mean, your average 2nd grader taking a pick to Barbie's hair in a desperate attempt to make it pretty again.) I loved the length. It looked like my hair. The color and length were spot on, but I don't know about having two feet of doll hair on top of my head. I sense rats coming on. Lots and lots of doll-hair-like rats, and I just don't know how I feel about that.
In the end, if I have to go this route, now I know what makes/brands/colors I like. I could order them online, or send someone down to Wigland to pick something up for me. Of course, I'd still rather have a wig made out of my own hair. (Because my hair is freaking awesome - also, I'd love to be able to pull my hair off my head and hand it to people when they say things like "I wish I had hair like yours." or "Your hair's so thick, I wish I knew what it was like to have that kind of volume!". I'm sick, I know.) But at least now I know what I like, what brands fit best, and what color I'd need to order (#4 - and only #4 - thankyouverymuch), you know... should I ever need such a thing. Like, next month.
And worst case scenario (which is actually best case scenario), I won't have to do chemo and Julie and I will have blown a good hour or so trying on wigs before we got chased out of the store for having (grossly) exceeded the 5-wigs-per-customer-maximum. We're such rebels. Heh heh heh.
Oh, and we shopped.
For wigs.
You know, just in case...
In case anyone who knows either/both of us has ever wondered, this is what we'd look like without hair. (Or maybe as a bank robber. You know, if we pulled the stocking over our faces. Which we did, but not in front of the store owner when she was taking this lovely pic.)
Here's a fun little comparison/contrast of how different the same wig can look on different people. (And yeah, I know, part of the difference is the distance of the camera to the person in the pic. Also, the plaid shirt and thumbs-hooked-in-the-belt-loops look gives her an obvious advantage.)
Julie as Ellie Mae = Super Cute!
Me as Ellie Mae = Bad Weather Girl Wig (Just give me a local cable news show and an umbrella and/or beach ball, and I'm ready to go!)
And here's another comparison/contrast:
Versus:
And, yeah, I know, the mullet/pony is supremely tacky. That side pic was just too funny not to show you. (I have too dang much hair to keep it all in a wig cap. My pony kept falling out. Finally, I opted to just leave it out, as it was bulky and was making it even harder to get a good fit.)
But seriously, how nuts is it that the same wig could look so completely different on two people?
And as if those two weren't enough comparison/contrasts to prove the theory that it's better to try on your own dang wig, because it'll look monumentally different on you than it would on your cousin, check this out.
Here's Julie, wearing the Genova Girl:
And here's me, wearing the Genova Girl:
Are you kidding me?! How is that the same wig? ... And yet, it is. I know it is, because Julie took it straight off of her head and gave it to me to try on. How nuts is that? (This was one of my personal faves, btw. I loved how smooth and soft the hairs were.)
Because I can't help myself but take document every single thing on film, here are some fun cousin bonding pics. (You've got to love the self-portrait-with-the-cell-phone routine.)
Here we are, brunette twin cousins. Just like Patty Duke. (But totally NOT like Patty Duke, because we are actually two different people. But still. Just like Patty Duke.)
And here, we're the on our way to the gym in our workout wigs. Super hot, right? And totally believable. Like, maybe if I had cool hair like this, complete with the Olivia Newton-John headband, I'd be inspired to get physical or something. Uh... Not.(These were surprisingly difficult to get on, btw. I mean, surprisingly difficult. Most definitely not for the weak wristed. They required some serious pull and tugging. I'm just saying, you have to BE tough to LOOK tough.)
And here's a fun look into Opposite Land, where Julie's a brunette and I'm a blond. (I wanted to see if they really do have more fun. I think I'd have had better play if my bangs had been in the right place, and not popping up off my forehead because my head was too darn big for this wig. ... Not the sexiest look of all time.)
And then there were these fun costume wigs. (Because how could we NOT try these puppies on? I mean, honestly?)
Too bad it was the day AFTER St. Patrick's day, otherwise, I'd have been sorely tempted to buy this.
Also, I think Jule should totally be Storm for Halloween next year.
Here's a lovely shot of me as a Latina Stepford Wife. (The black hair? Not a good look for my pasty skin.) Also, why does my forehead look about 7 inches long? I'm not sure. But one thing's for sure, the not-a-hair-out-of-place hairline was a little creepy and robotic.
Just call me Norma Jean. Or Marilyn. I'm fine, either way. (Why would anyone ever want to be this blond? I mean, really? Why?!)
And here's Jule, striking a pose. This wig had Charlie's Angels written all over it.
And here I am with a swoopy blond wig. (Like I'd ever wear something that was short on one side and long on the other? Please. Is it 1991 and am I attending Snowflake High School? No and no.)
It was a lot of fun. We spent a good hour or so trying on wigs. I'd guess I tried on over 20 wigs, and while it was a good time and I laughed out loud at the thought of becoming a blond for a night, just because I could... In the end, I realized that, when it came right down to it, if I do have to do the wig thing for real, I need something that is my natural color. I realized that my hair is so closely tied to my identity - to who I am - that I'd need something that was the right color. I am a brunette; it's as simple as that.
Here are my favorites.
This is the ponytail version of the Genova Girl I showed you before. This wig had the best feel. It was soft and pliable and looked like real hair. (No, not like my real hair, because we all know that my real hair is out of control and has a mind of its own. But still, it looked real.) Plus, it could be pulled back into a low pony. I'm always a fan hair options, and sadly, most wigs don't lend themselves well to that.
This one was shorter than I'd ever thought I'd consider going (and would you check out the highlights?), but again... Sleek. Not ratty. Easy to comb through. And the no bangs was something I liked here, because that's familiar to me.
This one isn't smooth and sleek like the others, but it has a realistic blend of wave that pretty closely matches the hair that grows out of my own head. Also, it could do the low pony thing. (Major plus.)
And here, we have the long hair/most like my current hair option. My concern with the longer hair wigs is that they're kind of ratty. As in, not so smooth looking. (Hi, it's more than 2 feet of doll hair. Of course it's gonna start to look unmanageable. Just think about what Barbie's hair looks like after too many visits to "The Beauty Parlor" - by which I mean, your average 2nd grader taking a pick to Barbie's hair in a desperate attempt to make it pretty again.) I loved the length. It looked like my hair. The color and length were spot on, but I don't know about having two feet of doll hair on top of my head. I sense rats coming on. Lots and lots of doll-hair-like rats, and I just don't know how I feel about that.
In the end, if I have to go this route, now I know what makes/brands/colors I like. I could order them online, or send someone down to Wigland to pick something up for me. Of course, I'd still rather have a wig made out of my own hair. (Because my hair is freaking awesome - also, I'd love to be able to pull my hair off my head and hand it to people when they say things like "I wish I had hair like yours." or "Your hair's so thick, I wish I knew what it was like to have that kind of volume!". I'm sick, I know.) But at least now I know what I like, what brands fit best, and what color I'd need to order (#4 - and only #4 - thankyouverymuch), you know... should I ever need such a thing. Like, next month.
And worst case scenario (which is actually best case scenario), I won't have to do chemo and Julie and I will have blown a good hour or so trying on wigs before we got chased out of the store for having (grossly) exceeded the 5-wigs-per-customer-maximum. We're such rebels. Heh heh heh.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Late night shopping trips...
Tonight, I went to the store (at 8:50 PM) for provisions. Why? Because Julie's flight was delayed, which bought me a few extra minutes to run to the store and pick up some Pringles. And mint chip ice cream. (Because we've been eating ice cream and potato chips like they are manna from Heaven since we were 5 and 6.) And would you LOOK I at what I found?!
Square (okay, rectangle) ice cream. You KNOW I had to buy it! Why? Because my Cousin-with-a-capital-C is coming.
Ball cousins, you know why I couldn't pass up buying ice-cream-in-a-box. We'll eat a square (or two, or three) and wish you were here. Too bad there wasn't any Tin Roof Sundae. (You know I looked for it. It is, after all, the flavor Grammy would have chosen.)
Square (okay, rectangle) ice cream. You KNOW I had to buy it! Why? Because my Cousin-with-a-capital-C is coming.
Ball cousins, you know why I couldn't pass up buying ice-cream-in-a-box. We'll eat a square (or two, or three) and wish you were here. Too bad there wasn't any Tin Roof Sundae. (You know I looked for it. It is, after all, the flavor Grammy would have chosen.)
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Why I love my cousins, reason #673.
About a week and a half ago, I posted something whiney on Facebook about how it was Sunday and I was craving some M&M's and was at a total loss as to what to do with myself, since there were none to be had in my house. I got some random comments. (Because posts like mine always garner unusual comments. They can't really help themselves.) My favorite comment/response was from my cousin, Amy:
Come visit me! I have m&ms of the following varieties at my house: milk chocolate (they don't like to be called plain), peanut, peanut butter, and almond. (I didn't get the pretzel because they only had the medium bag... And they just aren't that great.)
How great is she? Not only because she just gave me an open-ended invitation to come see her (with snacks included!), but because she had four different kinds of M&M's available on a given day. (Also? I don't know that I'll ever be able to call plain M&M's anything but milk chocolate from now on. The girl has a valid point, and far be it from me to hurt the feelers of the M&M's.) She is my family. We are bonded by blood. And chocolate.
This weekend, after my Facebook posting and more than a few tweets and/or posts here about how I was chain-eating peanut M&M's in an effort to avoid the reality of having to ride the cancer train all over again, I got a care package from my cousin, Lindsay. Behold:
Every single kind of M&M's she could buy at the store. I love her!
I love all of my cousins. (I'm super lucky, in that I have pretty much the most rocking extended family of all time!) I've always loved them (we are bonded by years of cut/cubed ice cream and Grammy sized pieces of cake, you know), but at times like this... the love overfloweth.
Thanks, Cousins, for knowing me well enough to know exactly what to say and/or do to make me laugh and cry at the same time! You're the best! I love you (and candy) more than words can say!
Come visit me! I have m&ms of the following varieties at my house: milk chocolate (they don't like to be called plain), peanut, peanut butter, and almond. (I didn't get the pretzel because they only had the medium bag... And they just aren't that great.)
How great is she? Not only because she just gave me an open-ended invitation to come see her (with snacks included!), but because she had four different kinds of M&M's available on a given day. (Also? I don't know that I'll ever be able to call plain M&M's anything but milk chocolate from now on. The girl has a valid point, and far be it from me to hurt the feelers of the M&M's.) She is my family. We are bonded by blood. And chocolate.
This weekend, after my Facebook posting and more than a few tweets and/or posts here about how I was chain-eating peanut M&M's in an effort to avoid the reality of having to ride the cancer train all over again, I got a care package from my cousin, Lindsay. Behold:
Every single kind of M&M's she could buy at the store. I love her!
I love all of my cousins. (I'm super lucky, in that I have pretty much the most rocking extended family of all time!) I've always loved them (we are bonded by years of cut/cubed ice cream and Grammy sized pieces of cake, you know), but at times like this... the love overfloweth.
Thanks, Cousins, for knowing me well enough to know exactly what to say and/or do to make me laugh and cry at the same time! You're the best! I love you (and candy) more than words can say!
Monday, March 14, 2011
Can I get an "Amen!'?
We all know how much I love bread, right? But when you fry it, and then dip it in sugar... Oh, my. Then I love it even more.
Donuts. They are the 6th food group!
(Also, this may well be my favorite billboard of all time. The one thing I adore more than glazed donuts is a grammatically perfect sign. It is true.)
Amen.
Donuts. They are the 6th food group!
(Also, this may well be my favorite billboard of all time. The one thing I adore more than glazed donuts is a grammatically perfect sign. It is true.)
Amen.
Friday, March 11, 2011
I took one for the team today.
What team, I really don't know.
This is what happens when I use sports metaphors - I take them totally out of context (because, let's face it, when we're talking about me + sports, there is no context), and then I start to doubt myself and my ability to speak and/or write effectively.
But still, I'm pretty confident that I'm using the phrase correctly when I say that I took one for the team today.
You know, if "the team" was the whole of the human race. (Or, at the very least, the parts of that human race whom I love and would rather remain cancer-free.)
I went shopping this afternoon for a new steering wheel cover because my car has this weird melty-steering-wheel-oozing-black-goo thing going on. (Okay, okay. Who's kidding who? This has been happening for about 3 years now. There's a hole in the back of my steering wheel and when it gets anywhere near warm - which happens all the freaking time here on the surface of the sun - it oozes. Black goo. Which gets all over my hands when I drive, not to mention what it did to my favorite white skirt last year. But I digress.) I needed a steering wheel cover for the Neon, and lacking a decent boyfriend who'd take care of these things for me, I took myself down to AutoZone this afternoon to pick one up.
I was pretty surprised at all of the steering wheel cover options. I mean, there are options, people. I had about 20 or so to choose from. It was like buying a pair of black heels, but... not nearly as much fun.
So, after a good 5 minutes of looking at different patterns and fabrics and embroidered versus pleather covers, I made a decision. I pulled out the steering wheel cover of my dreams, flipped it over to get the instructions on how to "install" it (shut up - I do, too, need instructions for this... you people know how easy it is for me to hurt myself) and I saw that the rubber contained in the product is known to cause cancer. Oh, and reproduction problems. Awesome. Of course, I dropped that cover like the cancer-causing-hot-potato it was and picked out my second choice. Again, "known to cause cancer". My third choice was also a carcinogenic and child mutator.
I'm not kidding. Check it out.
They were ALL labeled with this warning. What the heck?! ... So I thought about just living with the black goo. And then I remembered that I already have cancer (again), and it's not like I'm going to be growing anything other than tumors in my abdomen any time soon (remember the conspicuous lack of a boyfriend who would take care of this kind of thing for me?). (Also, I'm still bitter about the goo ruining my white skirt.) So I decided to just buy the darn thing and install it myself. I mean, if anyone in my life is going to get exposed to cancer causing elements like unto steering wheel covers, it might as well be me.
So, I bought my little cancer wheel cover and I put it on my steering wheel myself. And then I promptly wiped my hands, the steering wheel and the rest of my car down with Clorox Wipes, because I wanted to kill any and every weird cancer/mutant causing germ that I could. (I don't know that this is even a real threat, but it was worth a shot. Also, I like the citrus smell of the Clorox Wipes a heckuvalot better than I liked the smell of the new steering wheel cover.)
And that is the story of how I took one for the team today.
The End.
*And yes, I am aware that just putting a steering wheel cover on a steering wheel won't actually fix the leaking goo issue. It's the proverbial band-aid. And I couldn't care less. Listen, this car's 11 years old and it's been leaking goo for 3 of them. I'm pretty sure it's not a major mechanical issue. Besides, I found a cute little cover that had flowers embroidered on it. (Which I bought right up, because it was super girly, and so am I.)
And now that I have that little disclaimer out of the way, it's really the end of this post.
The End.
This is what happens when I use sports metaphors - I take them totally out of context (because, let's face it, when we're talking about me + sports, there is no context), and then I start to doubt myself and my ability to speak and/or write effectively.
But still, I'm pretty confident that I'm using the phrase correctly when I say that I took one for the team today.
You know, if "the team" was the whole of the human race. (Or, at the very least, the parts of that human race whom I love and would rather remain cancer-free.)
I went shopping this afternoon for a new steering wheel cover because my car has this weird melty-steering-wheel-oozing-black-goo thing going on. (Okay, okay. Who's kidding who? This has been happening for about 3 years now. There's a hole in the back of my steering wheel and when it gets anywhere near warm - which happens all the freaking time here on the surface of the sun - it oozes. Black goo. Which gets all over my hands when I drive, not to mention what it did to my favorite white skirt last year. But I digress.) I needed a steering wheel cover for the Neon, and lacking a decent boyfriend who'd take care of these things for me, I took myself down to AutoZone this afternoon to pick one up.
I was pretty surprised at all of the steering wheel cover options. I mean, there are options, people. I had about 20 or so to choose from. It was like buying a pair of black heels, but... not nearly as much fun.
So, after a good 5 minutes of looking at different patterns and fabrics and embroidered versus pleather covers, I made a decision. I pulled out the steering wheel cover of my dreams, flipped it over to get the instructions on how to "install" it (shut up - I do, too, need instructions for this... you people know how easy it is for me to hurt myself) and I saw that the rubber contained in the product is known to cause cancer. Oh, and reproduction problems. Awesome. Of course, I dropped that cover like the cancer-causing-hot-potato it was and picked out my second choice. Again, "known to cause cancer". My third choice was also a carcinogenic and child mutator.
I'm not kidding. Check it out.
They were ALL labeled with this warning. What the heck?! ... So I thought about just living with the black goo. And then I remembered that I already have cancer (again), and it's not like I'm going to be growing anything other than tumors in my abdomen any time soon (remember the conspicuous lack of a boyfriend who would take care of this kind of thing for me?). (Also, I'm still bitter about the goo ruining my white skirt.) So I decided to just buy the darn thing and install it myself. I mean, if anyone in my life is going to get exposed to cancer causing elements like unto steering wheel covers, it might as well be me.
So, I bought my little cancer wheel cover and I put it on my steering wheel myself. And then I promptly wiped my hands, the steering wheel and the rest of my car down with Clorox Wipes, because I wanted to kill any and every weird cancer/mutant causing germ that I could. (I don't know that this is even a real threat, but it was worth a shot. Also, I like the citrus smell of the Clorox Wipes a heckuvalot better than I liked the smell of the new steering wheel cover.)
And that is the story of how I took one for the team today.
The End.
*And yes, I am aware that just putting a steering wheel cover on a steering wheel won't actually fix the leaking goo issue. It's the proverbial band-aid. And I couldn't care less. Listen, this car's 11 years old and it's been leaking goo for 3 of them. I'm pretty sure it's not a major mechanical issue. Besides, I found a cute little cover that had flowers embroidered on it. (Which I bought right up, because it was super girly, and so am I.)
And now that I have that little disclaimer out of the way, it's really the end of this post.
The End.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
This is what I'm saying...
I love Paul Buchman and would totally marry him.
It's true, I would. Even if it does make him uneasy to think about being the first to "start a cheese", I would marry him.
I've been watching the first season of Mad About You on dvd this week. Paul and Jamie make me laugh. They do! I'd always remembered that I'd loved this show, but I'd sort of forgotten why. Now that I'm watching it, it's all coming back to me.
I so want to move to New York and be a high powered PR Exec, so I can meet some random man at a newspaper stand, lie to him about why I need the last copy of the newspaper (I believe the line is "My parents' obituaries are in this paper!") and then drop my dry cleaning slip, so he'd have a way to track me down the next day and ask me to dinner.
I mean, if that cancer doctor fantasy doesn't play out.
Or, of course, the ever popular Nathan Fillion fantasy.
So, that settles it. If neither plan A (cancer doctor) or B (Castle) play out, I'm so going for the moving to NY in search of a Paul Buchman of my very own plan. I don't care how neurotic he is, he makes me laugh. Out loud. (And that's a very important quality in a spouse. ... Says the 36 yr old who's never been married. This just goes to show you how seriously I take these things. I'm not willing to settle for someone who isn't funny.)
But Paul? Paul is funny. For that, I love him. (And this show.)
It's true, I would. Even if it does make him uneasy to think about being the first to "start a cheese", I would marry him.
I've been watching the first season of Mad About You on dvd this week. Paul and Jamie make me laugh. They do! I'd always remembered that I'd loved this show, but I'd sort of forgotten why. Now that I'm watching it, it's all coming back to me.
I so want to move to New York and be a high powered PR Exec, so I can meet some random man at a newspaper stand, lie to him about why I need the last copy of the newspaper (I believe the line is "My parents' obituaries are in this paper!") and then drop my dry cleaning slip, so he'd have a way to track me down the next day and ask me to dinner.
I mean, if that cancer doctor fantasy doesn't play out.
Or, of course, the ever popular Nathan Fillion fantasy.
So, that settles it. If neither plan A (cancer doctor) or B (Castle) play out, I'm so going for the moving to NY in search of a Paul Buchman of my very own plan. I don't care how neurotic he is, he makes me laugh. Out loud. (And that's a very important quality in a spouse. ... Says the 36 yr old who's never been married. This just goes to show you how seriously I take these things. I'm not willing to settle for someone who isn't funny.)
But Paul? Paul is funny. For that, I love him. (And this show.)
Saturday, March 5, 2011
The scoop.
Since it seems like all I ever do anymore is update the blog to talk about my darn tumor, I thought that would be a fun thing to do on a Saturday night. (Also, I went to the movie with Ash last night and Chris and Jo are out of town, so my usual weekend go-to girls are leaving me high and dry for something better to do tonight.)
I got the call from my surgeon yesterday. The biopsy results came back in record time. I'm sorry to have to say that the thing that sounded like a pig, and looked like a pig, is in fact a pig. (Pig = Malignant Liposarcoma.) The upside to this, if there is one, is that it is the same type of cancer I spent last Summer fighting. (It's comforting to know that my body just regrew the same stupid tumor. As odd as it may sound, that's better - to me, at least - than knowing my body had gone all radical and had come up with some other kind of cancerous cell mutation.)
So, it's for sure cancer. Again. (For the love! Two times in 12 months? What the heck?) What this means (in the short term): Surgery. ASAP. March 22nd, to be exact. *The treatment plan, post-surgery, is yet to be determined. I spoke with my oncologist's office yesterday and he wants to wait until I have surgery, they know more, he can talk to other doctors, and I can be on the road to surgery-recovery before we head down Treatment Road. I'll meet with him 2-3 weeks after surgery, once he knows more. So... come the first or second week of April, I'll be able to confirm/deny the rumors that I may or may not have to do chemo this time around. For now, it's just surgery. (I say "just surgery", very much tongue-in-cheek. I've been down this road before. Break out the walker and bring on the stool softeners, it's gonna be a long couple months!)
The most recent word on surgery is that I may not, after all, lose an entire kidney. Originally, that was what was discussed, but after the most recent CT (done during the biopsy extravaganza of Wednesday), word is that I may only need to lose a portion of the organ. The tumor is attached to my kidney, but it's not glommed onto it like a barnacle. Most of the tumor is actually out to the side of my kidney, kind of free floating. So... Maybe the whole kidney will be taken, maybe not. My surgeon said he'll what he can to save what he can. He has to get in there to be able to assess the damage and know for sure. I'm fine with having one and one-half kidneys. I figure, in the over all scheme of things, my having six wisdom teeth will balance that out. I'll be half an organ short, but carry a credit of two extra molars. My body. It is a mysterious (and sometimes strange) thing.
*The one thing I have been told, for certain, concerning treatment: No radiation. (Halle-freakin-lujah! Because have I told you how much I did not love the radiation?) Yeah, I was told that radiation is for sure out, because the tumor was regrowth in the same area and they won't irradiate an area more than once. (Something about the possibility of becoming radioactive... Chernobyl and Dr. Bruce Banner came up in conversation. I kid.) But really, radiation is a definite no, and that's a major win. Keep your fingers crossed, heads bowed, energy focused - whatever it is that you do - that I won't have to do chemo. (Even though one of the girls at work did give me an address for a sweet wig shop here in Phoenix, I'd really rather not go that route if I can avoid it.)
Of course, I'll post more as I learn more. Thanks for staying tuned.
I got the call from my surgeon yesterday. The biopsy results came back in record time. I'm sorry to have to say that the thing that sounded like a pig, and looked like a pig, is in fact a pig. (Pig = Malignant Liposarcoma.) The upside to this, if there is one, is that it is the same type of cancer I spent last Summer fighting. (It's comforting to know that my body just regrew the same stupid tumor. As odd as it may sound, that's better - to me, at least - than knowing my body had gone all radical and had come up with some other kind of cancerous cell mutation.)
So, it's for sure cancer. Again. (For the love! Two times in 12 months? What the heck?) What this means (in the short term): Surgery. ASAP. March 22nd, to be exact. *The treatment plan, post-surgery, is yet to be determined. I spoke with my oncologist's office yesterday and he wants to wait until I have surgery, they know more, he can talk to other doctors, and I can be on the road to surgery-recovery before we head down Treatment Road. I'll meet with him 2-3 weeks after surgery, once he knows more. So... come the first or second week of April, I'll be able to confirm/deny the rumors that I may or may not have to do chemo this time around. For now, it's just surgery. (I say "just surgery", very much tongue-in-cheek. I've been down this road before. Break out the walker and bring on the stool softeners, it's gonna be a long couple months!)
The most recent word on surgery is that I may not, after all, lose an entire kidney. Originally, that was what was discussed, but after the most recent CT (done during the biopsy extravaganza of Wednesday), word is that I may only need to lose a portion of the organ. The tumor is attached to my kidney, but it's not glommed onto it like a barnacle. Most of the tumor is actually out to the side of my kidney, kind of free floating. So... Maybe the whole kidney will be taken, maybe not. My surgeon said he'll what he can to save what he can. He has to get in there to be able to assess the damage and know for sure. I'm fine with having one and one-half kidneys. I figure, in the over all scheme of things, my having six wisdom teeth will balance that out. I'll be half an organ short, but carry a credit of two extra molars. My body. It is a mysterious (and sometimes strange) thing.
*The one thing I have been told, for certain, concerning treatment: No radiation. (Halle-freakin-lujah! Because have I told you how much I did not love the radiation?) Yeah, I was told that radiation is for sure out, because the tumor was regrowth in the same area and they won't irradiate an area more than once. (Something about the possibility of becoming radioactive... Chernobyl and Dr. Bruce Banner came up in conversation. I kid.) But really, radiation is a definite no, and that's a major win. Keep your fingers crossed, heads bowed, energy focused - whatever it is that you do - that I won't have to do chemo. (Even though one of the girls at work did give me an address for a sweet wig shop here in Phoenix, I'd really rather not go that route if I can avoid it.)
Of course, I'll post more as I learn more. Thanks for staying tuned.
Friday, March 4, 2011
Happy Birthday, Aunt Kathy!
This is my aunt Kathy. Today is her birthday. I always think of her on her birthday (because that's the kind of stellar niece that I am).
Kathy was incredible. She was fun, and funny. She was a Geology student (so, yeah, she was outdoorsy - and related to me - who'd have thought such a thing was possible?), so she knew all kinds of awesome stuff about rocks, and science and how the Earth was made up of layers of different kinds of dirt. She taught me about diamonds, and about rocks that taste like salt when you lick them. (I have one on a shelf in my living room that belonged to her. Let me know if you want to lick it some time.) She made delicious desserts, like Blood Stain Cookies. (Recipe available upon request.) She stood up for me and my extreme dislike of being tickled. She loved me. And I loved her. She taught me so many things about life.
My aunt Kathy died would have been 52 today. She died when I was 9. Lung cancer. (Have I told you how much I hate this stupid disease? Well, I do. I hate it. A lot.)
I wish you could have known her. She had the quickest smile, the happiest eyes, and the strongest spirit of just about anyone I've ever known. I've been grateful, my whole life, that I knew her. The way she lived, and the way that she died (at peace, happy, with faith) is the stuff that legends are made of. She was brave. No, she was more than brave. I don't even know the word for what she was (and I know a lot of words). She was amazing. I remember that her scriptures were always on the table by her bed, next to her glass of water. As a child, I remember thinking that was weird. As an adult, I know that was how she stayed emotionally and spiritually alive while her body was failing her. She taught me how to live, by how she chose to die.
I am who I am because I knew her. She shaped me. She's one of my heroes, and I am grateful for her influence on my life. So much of who I am is because I knew her when I was a child.
Here's another picture that I love. This is my mom and my aunts Cindy, Debbie and Kathy.
What a great "Sisters" picture, huh? What blessings all of these women have been in my life. I am happy, because my mother taught me that life is easier when you're happy. I am the aunt who will take a kid to McDonald's on a whim, or hand a nephew an entire box of cookies for a snack, because of my aunts. I am the woman that I am, because of these women. I love them. I love them for the impact they have had on my life, on how I face adversity, on how I find joy in simple things - on how I live.
My word, I'm grateful for my life and for all of the amazing people in it. I've had so very many examples of love, and of faith. Kathy's is chief among them. I'm so grateful.
I may be overwhelmed, and scared, and confused sometimes - but more than anything else, I always seek to be grateful. Thank you, Kathy, for setting such an example for me, for teaching me about the importance of family and faith. Happy Birthday, I love you, and I will be eternally grateful that I knew you.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
The low-down on the biopsy
So, today I had a $5,000 medical procedure done. It was awesome. The procedure itself took about 10 minutes. The prep-work? That was another story. I checked in at 6:00 - did paperwork until about 6:30 - was given the opportunity to pee in a cup (it kills me that I have to have a pregnancy test every single time I go to a hospital ... I'm telling you, folks, it's not a possibility in the world I live in) and changed into a lovely gown at 6:45 - at 7:00, I was in bed while a nice nurse named Trish was chatty in an effort to distract me while she took a half dozen or so vials of blood and put an IV in my am (her plan to distract me didn't work so well, I had to close my eyes so I didn't get pukey, not that anything could have come up, seeing as how I'd been on a total fast for over 8 hours by that point) - at 7:30, Jo was allowed to come back and hang out for a few minutes until I got wheeled to a remote corner of the hospital - at 8:00, I was in a CT room, being transferred from my rolly-cart-bed to a CT bed - I was then covered in EKG-like stickers so they could monitor my vitals before-during-after the procedure, packed in with pillows and heated blankets and then run through the CT tube a couple good times as tests - doc came in about half an hour later, numbed my back with a Novocaine-like substance (seriously, it felt just like getting a shot at the dentist) and then proceeded to stick me in the back with what I would assume was a very sharp and long needle (bless him for hiding it from me) approximately five times (the first few samples were "stringy" - ewh - not sure what that means, but ewh) - the doctor threw a regular band aid on the puncture site at the end of the procedure, told me I can take it off tomorrow - I was rolled back onto my rolly-cart-bed and escorted (by which I mean: pushed) back to Recovery, where I was allowed to order some breakfast off The Most Incredible Hospital Menu of all time. (Cinnamon roll, bacon and apple juice, thanks.) I took a nap for about an hour before they let me come home, then I slept for another three or so hours once my trusty chauffeur got me home.
All in all, it was a pretty cushy - albeit expensive - day. (Thank HEAVEN for insurance! Amen.)
The procedure itself? It was pretty much cake. I did have a slight issue with a sweet little nursing student who tried to tell me that it doesn't hurt to bend your arm, even when you have an IV in it. (I contributed to her education by telling her that she doesn't get to tell me what hurts and what doesn't. Snappish, I know, but what the heck?!) Other than that, it was all very low-key. The highlight of the morning was the disclosure I had to sign before they did the procedure. It made me giggle, and I honestly thought about asking for a blank copy, just so I could quote it here. Unfortunately, I was pretty heavily medicated, so that thought never progressed to action. I'll paraphrase, please forgive my lack of legal/medical jargon. Apparently, biopsies can have an effect on kidney function. Something about internal bleeding... I don't remember all the details, but it did crack me up that I had to sign a form that listed lessened kidney function as a possible side effect of a procedure that I was having performed before they most likely would remove my kidney, regardless of results. My immediate thought? "I'm pretty sure the malignant growth attached to my kidney is affecting it more than this procedure will." True story.
So, there's the scoop on biopsies. Easy-peasy. They cover the wound up with a regular old band aid. And the disclosure is amusing.
Results take 2-3 days to turn, so it will be early-middle next week before I have any answers as to the results, or anything more than a guess as to what comes next. Stay tuned for more info. I'll update as soon as I have intel. (Yeah, I said "intel". Guess who's been re-watching Burn Notice, Season 3, in her spare time?)
All in all, it was a pretty cushy - albeit expensive - day. (Thank HEAVEN for insurance! Amen.)
The procedure itself? It was pretty much cake. I did have a slight issue with a sweet little nursing student who tried to tell me that it doesn't hurt to bend your arm, even when you have an IV in it. (I contributed to her education by telling her that she doesn't get to tell me what hurts and what doesn't. Snappish, I know, but what the heck?!) Other than that, it was all very low-key. The highlight of the morning was the disclosure I had to sign before they did the procedure. It made me giggle, and I honestly thought about asking for a blank copy, just so I could quote it here. Unfortunately, I was pretty heavily medicated, so that thought never progressed to action. I'll paraphrase, please forgive my lack of legal/medical jargon. Apparently, biopsies can have an effect on kidney function. Something about internal bleeding... I don't remember all the details, but it did crack me up that I had to sign a form that listed lessened kidney function as a possible side effect of a procedure that I was having performed before they most likely would remove my kidney, regardless of results. My immediate thought? "I'm pretty sure the malignant growth attached to my kidney is affecting it more than this procedure will." True story.
So, there's the scoop on biopsies. Easy-peasy. They cover the wound up with a regular old band aid. And the disclosure is amusing.
Results take 2-3 days to turn, so it will be early-middle next week before I have any answers as to the results, or anything more than a guess as to what comes next. Stay tuned for more info. I'll update as soon as I have intel. (Yeah, I said "intel". Guess who's been re-watching Burn Notice, Season 3, in her spare time?)
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
So... I'm a stress eater.
Anyone who knows me, knows this. I have absolutely no guilt reflex associated with food. The calorie count is moot, esp when I'm eating something that is delicious and pleasing to the taste. I'm pretty sure this comes, to quote a favorite movie, "from my mother's side of the family". (Jude's been known to mix a cup of cake batter up and then eat it with a spoon, for a quick chocolate fix. It's true. I come by it honestly.)
I love food, especially food that is based in the Chocolate Food Category. (Yeah, I have my own food pyramid. Don't judge.) But when I'm stressing about something, I eat more than usual. As in, more often and in greater quantities. Sort of like a crazed, mad woman. One could liken it to chain smoking. For example, yesterday I pounded down almost a lb of peanut M&M's in under 12 minutes at work. One after another, before I'd swallowed what I'd chewed, I had another M&M poised and ready to pop into my mouth. And when they were gone, I was a little bit amazed that I'd eaten them so quickly. ... And then I was sad that they were gone. I mean, sad.
See, the thing is that I'm a little stressed by all this talk of The Return of the Tumor. And while I do my best to maintain a positive outlook and a belief that this will all work out (somehow) and I'm sure that I will be fine, there are a lot of questions that I don't have answers to just yet. (It's hard for me not to know what's going on in my life, control freak that I am.) I hate waiting, and there's nothing worse than waiting alone. Which is why, this weekend, I enlisted my friends Ben & Jerry to keep my company while I waited. Great plan, right? Until I wound up staring at the bottom of an ice cream carton and realized that Ben & Jerry would no longer be able to keep me company. Or provide me solace. It was a dark moment, I tell you. Thank heaven for my friend, Microwave Popcorn, (yes, I just capitalized that, like it's a proper noun) or I'd have never made it through the day. Honestly.
Tonight, fresh out of peanut M&M's and my favorite flavor of Ben & Jerry's ice cream, and on the verge of an emotional break, I ransacked my pantry, looking for something edible. Something soothing. Something chocolate.
And this is what I found.
A box Thin Mints? All to myself?! Major win!
I ate 4 cookies shy of one tube in about 20 minutes. It's true. And then my stomach told me that was enough, so I stopped.
Two hours later, I'm hoping my stomach stopped me because it was full, and not that the "must stop now" feeling was a premonition of food-poisoning-to-come. This box of Girl Scout cookies is ... well, was, actually ... over 5 years old. (When I moved here in 2006, I brought this box with me, and just never got around to eating it.) Here's hoping the preservatives those little Girl Scouts use are effective. :-)
*I'm going to the store tomorrow to buy a big bag of peanut M&M's. Oh, and probably some ice cream. As delicious as those darn cookies were, I'm thinking that taking my intestinal life into my hands when I went on a stress-eating-chocolate-binge might not have been such a bright idea, after all. Oh, brother. When will I ever learn?
I love food, especially food that is based in the Chocolate Food Category. (Yeah, I have my own food pyramid. Don't judge.) But when I'm stressing about something, I eat more than usual. As in, more often and in greater quantities. Sort of like a crazed, mad woman. One could liken it to chain smoking. For example, yesterday I pounded down almost a lb of peanut M&M's in under 12 minutes at work. One after another, before I'd swallowed what I'd chewed, I had another M&M poised and ready to pop into my mouth. And when they were gone, I was a little bit amazed that I'd eaten them so quickly. ... And then I was sad that they were gone. I mean, sad.
See, the thing is that I'm a little stressed by all this talk of The Return of the Tumor. And while I do my best to maintain a positive outlook and a belief that this will all work out (somehow) and I'm sure that I will be fine, there are a lot of questions that I don't have answers to just yet. (It's hard for me not to know what's going on in my life, control freak that I am.) I hate waiting, and there's nothing worse than waiting alone. Which is why, this weekend, I enlisted my friends Ben & Jerry to keep my company while I waited. Great plan, right? Until I wound up staring at the bottom of an ice cream carton and realized that Ben & Jerry would no longer be able to keep me company. Or provide me solace. It was a dark moment, I tell you. Thank heaven for my friend, Microwave Popcorn, (yes, I just capitalized that, like it's a proper noun) or I'd have never made it through the day. Honestly.
Tonight, fresh out of peanut M&M's and my favorite flavor of Ben & Jerry's ice cream, and on the verge of an emotional break, I ransacked my pantry, looking for something edible. Something soothing. Something chocolate.
And this is what I found.
I ate 4 cookies shy of one tube in about 20 minutes. It's true. And then my stomach told me that was enough, so I stopped.
Two hours later, I'm hoping my stomach stopped me because it was full, and not that the "must stop now" feeling was a premonition of food-poisoning-to-come. This box of Girl Scout cookies is ... well, was, actually ... over 5 years old. (When I moved here in 2006, I brought this box with me, and just never got around to eating it.) Here's hoping the preservatives those little Girl Scouts use are effective. :-)
*I'm going to the store tomorrow to buy a big bag of peanut M&M's. Oh, and probably some ice cream. As delicious as those darn cookies were, I'm thinking that taking my intestinal life into my hands when I went on a stress-eating-chocolate-binge might not have been such a bright idea, after all. Oh, brother. When will I ever learn?
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