The Empress of All Maladies

It's New Years eve morning. I'm at the coffee shop by myself (with strangers) though last week when I was here, I met Michael and he was great fun to talk with (gay!) We had some good laughs.

Yesterday I met with one of the cancery ladies at the crack of dawn. We talked about cancer and all the other things going on in our lives, mostly about cancer. We are both reading The Emperor of all Maladies. The book is excellent and got good reviews and was voted one of the 10 Best books of 2010 in the NYT. Read it before you get a cancer diagnosis.

One thing the cancery lady said to me was that she was going to continue with her life (good thing since she's still alive) and plan a long vacation. Then she told me that she was wondering what possessed me to get a dog when I had a cancer diagnosis? I told her it was because I wasn't dead yet, (first and foremost) plus dogs help people live longer (unless it's a pitbull). So I figured why not? Plus the prospect of sticking this corgi with someone after I died was fun to think about too. (Actually I'm kidding about that even though I have had offers from people to take her should I "want to get rid of her.")

Speaking of which, I get Bella back from the trainer on Sunday. I'll have a couple of hours of training. Plus I've read a bunch of literature the trainer sent me. Bella will have been gone three weeks and I've not seen or heard from her since I dropped her off that morning. This was the best Christmas gift to myself. Getting this dog some manners and then of course, getting my own dog manners prioritized will be a long term gift. I'm wondering if I'll recognize her when I see her?

Here is the latest email from the trainer:

Bella is doing fine. She has been spending this week going everywhere with me. Yesterday we spent the morning training in Scotts Valley. Today I am taking her to Los Gatos with me. I think I am going to give her a bath this afternoon. This weather has made my job much harder! It has been really hard to get outside!

The barking is much better but not completely gone. I think you’ll be able to notice a big difference. We have not had a single potty accident since the first day, which is great. Out in the world she is still VERY easily distracted by anything and everything. That is partly breed, partly her age and partly her personality I suspect.

You’ll have to continue to work on that when she comes home. I’ll show you what and how to continue all the training, don’t worry.

She is a very bossy little dog; Very cute, but bossy. What that means for you is that you will need to be a strong leader for her or she will take over and run the show, so to speak.

I know I have my work cut out for me. I already beat back the cancer (so far, so good) so I figure a cute, little, bossy dog is a malady with which I can handle and in turn, she affords reasons for living of which I've not even been made aware. I'll keep you posted though because I'll have to bitch about something.

Klatching with Hannah

Me, my neck and Hannah

I went for coffee with Hannah and my mom -- Hannah's great (and I do mean GRREEAT) grandmother yesterday.

While at the coffee shop, Hannah latched onto my neck-skin aka waddle, marveling at the loose folds and chin hairs which she's prone to doing occasionally. Then she said, "Who makes our bodies?" I didn't have an answer or I'd know who to blame.

Earlier in the day when we were driving to the coffee shop, she asked "Is anyone invisible?" I told her no one is invisible though now I'm thinking I wouldn't mind if my waddle would disappear.

After Hannah child-handles my neck at the coffee shop and ponders the miracle of the human body, I sit, flushed in reds, burgundies and purples from the twisting of skin by a five year old artist, my neck resembling a Georgia O'Keefe painting.

Spare Some Change?

Let me try to remember what happened whilst writing.


Christmas eve I drove to Fremont to visit Libby and Craig. We talked about their beautiful TV.  I was blown away. When fish came on the screen, the TV turned into a real aquarium. When the Real Housewives of Atlanta came on, the TV turned into a real sanitarium. I still watch the very same TV that was brought over on the covered wagons by Art Linkletter, Mitch Miller and Lawrence Welk. I can finally say that my TV's "butt" is bigger than mine. These flat panel things are amazing.


I got an official tour of the house. I drank a cup of tea while we discussed suicide and the clarity of the TV screen. It will be two years this coming March 11th that Craig's son committed suicide. Matt left no note and was only 20 years old. As sad and horrific as suicide is, it was refreshing to hear Craig talk about his feelings on the subject. I was quite surprised. As a family, they've attended a few functions with the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention and this organization has been a huge help to them.


After leaving their house, I drove across town to Newark (by "the lake") and went for a Christmas Eve dinner at Debbie and Chris' house. They recently bought this new house. I had an official tour of this house too. The house has huge, tall ceilings so they had to kill a huge, tall tree in order to decorate the huge, tall space. This tree was the biggest indoor tree I've seen within my circle of friends (which is a tiny little circle). (Come to think of it -- most of my circle of friends didn't even bother with a tree this year.) I'm sure the huge, tall tree cost a month's wages which explains how they can afford to feed us all for Christmas Eve dinner. The food was delicious. I was invited last Christmas Eve, and since they mentioned cioppino for next year, I've marked the event on my calendar for next Christmas eve too. I took my mom home around 9 pm. The weather was pouring down rain. The freeway had tons of traffic - half of them drunk I'm sure. My mom held on for dear life because at her age, that's just what we do. When I reached for a breath-mint, she tried to offer me one of her breath-mints so I wouldn't be distracted. I wasn't distracted. I was trying to get a breath-mint.

Throughout this holiday season I only made one batch of eggnog fudge as opposed to the hundreds of batches I ate made last year. I gave away most of what I made this year. I ate one piece of fudge (or the equivalent thereof) and threw out the rest. I can no longer drink festive holiday coffees such as eggnog lattes or pumpkin whatevers. When I think of them, I nearly gag. Why did it take so long? I'm nearly immune to See's candies though please don't say anything to See's until I confirm.


I tell ya - I'm a changed woman. And change was one of the best gifts I received this year.

A Rogue Holiday

Back in the days of yore, Rogue recalls gettin' all wacky during the holidays which back then seemed to last for months instead of the 5 minute Christmas Rogue is experiencing this year. 


Filled with the spirit of Christmas, donning matching sailor suits because our parents hoped we'd be shipping out soon, along side her one-legged sister, as the ring leader Rogue would giggle, cavort and act silly ensuring a group of inebriated irritated adults nearby with cameras and no life. Rogue has no idea who that girl is between ole one-leg her sister and Rogue though she's obviously in the throws of holiday fever and needs medication muy pronto!

Rogue's mom offers up this helpful holiday tip for all of your out-of-control chillens this season. Apply superglue liberally in order to maintain decorum during the holidays. 

Rogue notices how both her and her sister's bow ties are messy by comparison to Aunt D's (center child with holiday fever) which means Rogue's mom previously used the ties as gags when the kids became too mouthy & rowdy. That's probably another one of the many reasons, Rogue became Rogue, and another handy holiday tip for raucous uncalled for frivolity during this time of year. 


Settle down you kids or Santa will skip this house completely! 

Wishful Thinking

Last year's tree

I started to write this post on Tuesday.

I had two dreams in the last two nights. The first night I dreamt that my oncologist told me the cancer had returned. I was crying though I didn't wake up (Thank goodness for a lorazepam addiction). Last night I dreamt I had my 2nd chemo in a course of 6. I was feeling very weak and felt very disappointed at my weakness.

I have tried (repeatedly for nigh on 4 years) not to get disturbed about waiting for the current test results. I submit to the tests and then try to put them out of my mind. By trying not to process test results with drama, OMGs and whatifs, somehow stuff gets buried in my psyche and comes out in dreams.

On to gentler subjects -- yesterday (Tuesday) I visited the oncologist who told me that my CA125 was down to 17 which is way within normal range. The only other time it was this low was right after the hysterectomy when it  was 13. (In July post gastric bypass it was in 79.) He said that the CT scan showed no evidence of cancer. He said I'm entering my 4th year post treatment (finished chemo March 17th 2007) and that the likelihood of uterine cancer returning the further away from the initial diagnosis is less and less as time goes forward. (I think) statistics show that if the cancer is going to return, it usually returns in the first couple of years post diagnosis though this does not rule out never returning. I asked the doctor, "What if the cancer comes back in my head?" He said, "That would be very unusual." (Uterine cancer of the head). We talked about why he got into oncology and if he needed to probe my liver. Yes. I said I did a lot of wishful thinking but he said it wasn't wishful thinking, that I was living. I left his office pretty satisfied and very grateful.

A few out of the ordinary things about yesterday that I noticed were that our computers and phones didn't work (at work). I met my son outside of the doctor's office which is rare. I don't have my puppy Bella - she is in puppy training. I missed Hannah's work visit where her grandmother, my sister, told me when the phones were working late afternoon, both phones were ringing when Hannah took it upon herself to answer one of the ringing phones with a "Papa!?" (instead of our company name), when it was one of our customers who phoned. Grandma looked at Hannah and Hannah was grinning ear to ear. Of course the customer hung up. (Typical male!)

As for the cancer - All those creepy dreams for naught, thank goodness. Things have been going well for me, health-wise, and for this, I have tremendous gratitude. Hey, maybe it's being grateful that's keeping cancer away. Somehow I doubt it. That would only be more wishful thinking. Regardless, I could not be happier or healthier though I sometimes think I wouldn't mind being a bit younger if wishful thinking would make it so.

Best Exam

I went to the doctor yesterday for a breast exam. During the exam he said, "I'm not feeling anything." And I replied, "Well, don't think this is a big thrill for me either."


I've been poked and prodded all week by assorted professionals in the medical community, not by anyone or thing that thrilled me for one moment except for one short visit with Hannah. I hadn't seen Hannah since turkey day and even then, she flew by me while running in some competition with the wicked step-sisters. When she walked into work mid-week, she put her arms around my neck when I told her, "I really missed you!" I could tell in that  instant that she really missed me too - one of the greatest gifts I've received.


I remember feeling the same way about Aunt Bobby and Aunt Cecil. I loved those ladies. Most especially Aunt Cecil because she was ultra-talented (I thought) and a Pisces. She loved to garden. She was an artist and a piano player. She had lovely waxen skin -- even wrinkled, her skin was a wonder to me. She had tons of chin hairs that I stared at when she talked. (I'm wondering if my skin is a wonder to Hannah? Hannah's probably wondering WTF happened to my skin?)


As Aunt Bobby aged, she became scary looking and I shied away from her though I still loved her. From smoking for 100 years, her voice was gravel-y and harsh. She developed a huge bed sore. You could see into the future through that hole in her leg. She wasn't exceptionally easy to look though I recall she had fantastic sense of humor and I had to look at her when she joked.


I'm sort of a combination of both of them even though Aunt Bobby wasn't blood-related. I have the chin hairs, the wrinkles, the sense of humor. I'm a Pisces. I suppose another thing we all had shared in common were flat, aged, un-thrilled boobs too. (But then again, didn't my "aged boob" dump me?)


Both my great aunts are long dead now. I still think of them often because they were a big part of my life especially during the holidays. I'm hoping once I croak that Hannah remembers me the same way I remember these great ladies, only a really small part of me seriously hopes that Hannah is in need of glasses and because she cannot see very well, she won't remember all my scary chin hairs. Hannah won't write about my hairs or converse with anyone about them - unless upon remembering me, she confuses me with Bella. If Hannah remembers me at all, with any fondness, - I will be thrilled.

Can't Help But Notice

Plastic-wrapped standard poodles

I had a CT scan this morning. I'll get the results on Dec 14th. I had to wake up early and get the dog out of the house early. I didn't get to take her on our before work early morning jaunt. I had to not eat and only drink this gross snot-like substance - barium something or other. Did you ever notice how closely the word barium sounds like the phrase bury 'em? I noticed they both go well together. Barium, bury 'em, berry yum.

shrooms or stools?

Today I had a new technician for the first time since the cancer diagnosis. In the past I always had the same surfer dude/guy so I was a little unnerved. Not that this guy was new to the job, just new to me. It crossed my mind that it was the anniversary of the bombing at Pearl Harbor which I know had nothing to do with me but I thought of dropped bombs and my dead father-in- law who was there. I don't want the bomb to drop (so to speak) on me with these results. So I decided to keep track of all the things that felt or presented themselves as a bit unusual for the day.

I don't think I take notice of my surroundings as much as I'd like. I have read that there are people who pay attention to everything as if everything is a sign. And who am I to argue? So throughout the day I continued to take it all in.

When I arrived at work, instead of working much, I took Bella for a walk to the mailbox which is a steep downhill, then uphill walk, maybe a quarter to half mile total. On the walk (which I try to take daily if not several times a day) I noticed fresh toadstools. At the bottom of the big hill, I noticed that someone tried to cover up the dead baby deer with redwood duff. (Yeah, genius, a bit of duff will cover-up the stench of the carcass.)
I noticed that the amphibian that had tried to cross this remote private road was obliterated by tire tracks. Yesterday, I thought the amphibian was a pile of human barf but on closer inspection, I noticed the barf had a head. Today I noticed even the head was squished beyond recognition. All that remained of this life was a mucous-y coating on the road. I wonder if an amphibian family is missing that amphibian, wondering when he or she will arrive home? I wonder if they have their holidays planned and now they'll just be waiting and wondering.

Obliterated big leaf maple

I noticed since drinking the barium suspension for the scan that I really have to go to the bathroom. The technician told me the suspension would have that effect. The suspension was killing me. I notice I'm not able to work much when I'm in the bathroom. To compensate for a lack of work, I try to *think* about my work. Then I notice that thinking about work helps me go to the bathroom more.

This afternoon, I noticed that work is very quiet. The phones aren't ringing. My sister went to pick up Hannah (the light of my life in addition to Bella (notice how both names end the same?) ;-)  Obama has compromised with the Republicans over unemployment and tax credits. I am noticing some annoyance. I just now noticed on the news that Elizabeth Edwards died. And I notice the urge to kick her ex-husband in the ass. I hope all this observation and extra-deliberate noticing bodes well for scan results. Now I notice a feeling of calm and serenity after my fantasy ass-kicking.

Dawn of a New Day

It dawned on me that if I did not watch television, listen to the radio, read magazines or news off or online, visit a store or drive, I wouldn't know it was the holiday season. But then I do all of these things so I guess my point is moot.


My lymphedema compression hose arrived. They are very small. And with credit to the measuring experts, the hose fit me well. When I first saw them, I thought they'd never fit but my mind is still playing tricks on me since the weight loss surgery in June. My mind still doesn't register the weight loss even though my clothing is much smaller. I still haven't purchased clothes. I wait for other people to be disgusted by the mere sight of me. Then they offer to give me free clothes. I got a sweater, a lovely leather jacket and two pair of jeans. (not to mention the temporary loan of my sister's nightgown with the rain gutter sleeves.)


You know how when you're gaining weight and you can tell by how your clothes fit? Everything is just too tight. Your belly bulges. You might have to lay down on the bed to zip up your jeans. Your shirt buttons come together but the part between the buttons never meets again. You've gained weight yet when you look into the mirror you still see this beautiful specimen of a human-being standing before you? Losing weight with weight loss surgery is exactly like that only with free clothing.

Thanks Giving

I wrote this post last Sunday.




I'm at my mom's house in Murphys, a small town in the sierra foothills. It's so cold here. I'm sitting downstairs in a nightgown borrowed from my sister. She said she bought it on sale when I asked what would possess her to buy a nightgown with sleeves like this? I could have recycled rain in those sleeves.


Last night we went out to dinner with mom and Adam. I spotted a small bird in the shrub outside the door when walking to the car. I thought the bird was fake, one of those birds made out of styrofoam and feathers you'd buy at Michael's. But it's real. I think he forgot to fly south for the winter. He sat on that branch all night. The temperature dropped to the 20s, maybe high teens. I woke up several times worrying about this tiny bird though I knew I couldn't intervene. Part of me wanted to find a shoe box, decorate it, put some kleenex inside and try to feed the bird from an eye-dropper like I attempted to do as a little kid when I found an ailing animal. 


In the earliest cold hours of the morning he was still there, stiff in the branch. Then when the sun rose, he took flight, I'm hoping for some place warmer.