Egg

Serotonin is a powerful thing. One day you can convince yourself you're a Vulcan Ambassador or a fabulously caped Mega-Mind and the next, soft-boiled egg is the best you can come up with.

Maybe it's not just the seratonin, but the stomach aches, nausea, headaches. I'm stunned how quickly you can get from point A to point B. Fine one minute and totally decimated the next. It's the blink of an eye, flick of the wrist. Things change. Things change fast. I've never loved my body, it's never worked super great, but it was sure manageable... how much we take for granted. I'd like to put my brain in a jar and just call the shots from there. Or go to sleep for six months until I know where this is going one way or another and at the same time I know I should be savoring every minute. So many contradictions, so much time going by, being wasted, and simultaneously, standing still.

Vulcan Ambassador

To the tune of She's Comin' Round the Mountain:

I love my hairless armpits yes I do, Oh I love my hairless armpits yes I do. Oh I love my hairless armpits, yes I love my hairless armpits, oh I love my hairless armpits yes I do!

And I like my new shaved head although it's stubblier than I thought it would be, I thought it would be nice and smooth. I think I look like a very handsome vulcan ambassador. Dang, too bad it's not Halloween, I could be a Vulcan, a Romulan or Uncle Fester, another wasted opportunity.

I just don't get why most, but not all of the hair falls out. The hair that's left, is that the dominant hair? The badass hair? The antibiotic-resistant bacteria of hair? Why are minority hair follicles resistant to chemotherapy, it's perplexing. I don't like mysteries like this, I like things to make sense.

Jonah was a good sport at the salon, but brought my hat over and told me to put it back on quick. We had a fun expedition though, and he looks quite dapper and made funny faces in the mirror throughout his cut. I was going to drive the 2 1/2 blocks {pathetic} over there, but he convinced me we should walk and it was fun, I'm glad he made me. It did take a while to catch my breathe, sadly.

Small boy was with the "interventionist" today at school, dealing with his fear of math and apparently they talked about cancer. To my knowledge this is the first time someone's had a personal chat like this with him and I appreciate it. She told him that when my hair grows in, it could be curly or straight, no one knows... another kooky mystery. She also told him the middle of an oreo is made out of beef fat which I don't believe is true any longer, it's good old fashioned hydrogenated vegetable oil, but he said "I don't care, I'm not a vegetarian." So now we're calling Oreo's meat cookies which will save me from ever binging on a box of them again, but he is not dissuaded in the least. On the way home we got into our "when you're happy, I'm happy, and when I'm happy, you're happy" talk and he says we should be happy all the time. So maybe cancer talk isn't so happy.

J's very odd homework today was to make a bumper sticker for one of the Republican candidates {?!}. I tried to convince him to be a conscientious objector, but we settled on "Vote for Romney, He's Your Least Awful Choice". I've assured him his teacher would laugh and find this funny... I sure hope so, or I'm in big trouble.

Dear Abby,

My goal for today is to spend some time sitting up quietly instead of just laying down, and thanks to my trusty iPad, I can listen to NPR and podcasts wherever I choose to sit. And to digest and file some surreal aspects of my trip to the E.R. yesterday. I knew at the time something was awry, but when you’re in it, you just assume things are normal.

My doctor was really nice, it’s such a life change when you get a crush on your doctor, but it’s a mommy crush... you only want to take them home to bake them cookies and instead of lusting, you’re thinking, gosh, your parents must be so proud of you.

While he was off doing his thing, a “supervising” doctor, a little older, but still pretty young stopped in and we kind of clicked and so he kept coming back to talk with me and hang out and in retrospect, that wasn’t the best thing. He was somewhat flamboyant and his eyes looked really tired or quite stoned and he started giving me life/cancer advice. At first I appreciated the attention, but then... not so much, both due to the content and that I just wanted to close my eyes. I know he meant well, I hate to begrudge anyone paying attention to me in the hospital, but can you say "too much information?"

Live life on your own terms even if it’s just five years, live them so that they count. Not good advice for someone at the beginning of their cancer odyssey. Even though he assured me, I was going to be one of the “winners”.

Take care of your relationships. While it’s a difficult time, it can be tempting to lash out at people, but you want to leave things on good terms. Again, not the best advice for someone at the beginning of their cancer odyssey. Also presumptuous because I don’t indulge in lashing out at people {and nor do most people, Kardashians excluded} unless they really back me into a corner and then yeah, I’ll kick them in the shins, but it’s rare and I must feel like I have no other choice.

And always come to the hospital when in doubt because so often it’s the folks who have beat cancer and are feeling good that get nailed by a heart attack or blood clot brought on by complications from the chemo. And oncologists don’t like to tell you about these things but there’s all sorts of side effects that can kill you even when you’ve beat the cancer. Again, perhaps not the best advice for someone just beginning their cancer treatment. I don't need to know about all the folks that made it to the "one yard line" before keeling over.

I am absolutely not letting myself google “prognosis” today. On the up side, the goody bag side of life, I got a pink plastic disposable bracelet that said “restricted extremity” and that was amusing. Do you have any restricted extremities?

They also wanted to know what kind of port I had because that determined whether they could put the CT scan stuff right into the port or needed new veins and because of my obsessive blog post about it months ago, I was able to spit out “I have a Dignity, thoughtful evolution power port”. They were very impressed but still made me show the card I now carry in my wallet despite being at the same hospital that put it in.

Cry Wolf

I finally got scared today and went to the ER because my chest felt so tight and breathing seemed so laborious felt just utterly not working properly. Spent a few hours there and everything is fine. We'll as fine as you can be with cancer and chemo both trying to kill you at the same time. When I look at my early blog posts, I don't recognize myself from only a few months ago. Currently, I'm feeling very UN. Un-brave, un-feisty, un-tenacious, un-positive, unsure. I started out envisioning myself as Xena Princess Warrior and now I feel like Xena's agoraphobic sibling who hides out {whimpering} in the family cave.

After my next chemo cycle, I will have used up half of my lifetime allotment of Adriamycin. Cause you take too much of that stuff and it just plain kills you and that's what it feels like. See, un-stoic, un-heroic, un-suffering in silence.

I'm a soggy, bloggy tired thing that had to shuttle her boys off to their dads for the night, hoping a good nights sleep will help.

Dizzy Miss Lizzy

Jittery, skittery, tiny little nano-mites crawling up and down my arms. Walk a few feet and out of breath, heart beating, beating, too big, too loud, heaving chest, need to rest. No more steroids for me, I'd rather puke. Or go back to the meds that give me headaches. This is awful... can hardly type, finger jitters.

Little boy upstairs with 102.7° sleeping in my bed. Don't feel thoroughly equipped to help him, never felt like that before.

Bad days. No likey. Must remind myself this is chemo week one, different from other cycles, but must be patient. Let seconds tick by until minutes, until hours, until a few days from now and I feel a little better.

State of the Union

Oh, I just love me some state of the union, can’t help it, It’s my weakness. I wanted to write this post right away, but I was too bleary eyed and deeply regretting the burger I ate. I was having crazy hot flashes, thought I had a fever, but it was just the fireballs having no place to go. And just so you know, my son say’s that when he’s in Congress I get to be his advisor, “obviously, you’ve taught me everything I know about politics.” Direct quote people! I’m living on that until the day I die.

So nice to see Gabby Giffords, sweetest hug with Obama, but every time they cut to her she looked so sad. I wonder if she always had the little girl gestures or if they’re a result of her brain injury. She is such an example of determination and courage, I am looking to her for inspiration. How hard must she be working to recover from that devastating an injury.

I know many will disagree but I loved seeing Hilary back in her trademark hairband that everyone used to criticize her for, I’m glad she’s in her fuck it stage and getting great approval ratings in the process. Women do not have to be over-coiffed!

I loved seeing colors in the audience, instead of the requisite red or blue ensembles for women and red and blue ties for men. I saw green and purple and yellow, much more visually appealing. Except for Geitner in his royal purple tie and the guy next to him in Gold, clueless.

Ruth Bader Ginsberg, adorable in the white collar, I love her. The very wonderful John Paul Stevens was on Colbert recently, he was a hoot. What’s with Jonh Kerry’s two back eyes, did someone beat him up for being boring? And Joe Biden, you’ve been in the game long enough to know what’s photogenic, and close together diagnonal blue and white stripes ain’t it.

On the other hand, Eric Cantor has the steely gaze of evil pure vengeful evil, and Boner, I mean Boener is Darth Vader in suit with a spray tan. Scary, scary men. I’d say scary white men, but Boner’s more orange than white.

Now I’ve had my disappointments with Obama. I wished he’d pushed for gay marriage, I know deep down inside he believes in it and some of his rhetoric has been awful on the subject, he should have fought like hell for the Dream Act, and Gitmo is still open -- $800,000 per day per prisoner... how many new schools is that? Mostly, I don’t understand Geitner and Summers in the Cabinet, they are both the wizards and minions of Wall Street. Obama should have just, fought harder and found a way to outwit those republican trolls. But who am I to say that? I mean what an incomprehensible difficult and impossible job. Can you think of anyone who would/could do better?

Obama got rid of don’t ask, don’t tell and proved once and for all the sheer fodder of the arugments against, and that will help gay rights in all walks of life. He got us out of Iraq {freaking finally} and now needs to see the light on the historically losing proposition of Afganistan. And no president has faced a fanatic, relentless, unreasonably partisan, bought and paid for, downright mean evil and often insane congress like this one. He has appointed excellent supreme court judges and the next term will be pivotal with new retirments.

The only thing missing from the speech was talking about school infrastructure which is disastrous in this country. I used to feel the spirit drain out of my body every time I entered my son’s dreary, dilapitated, cold, leaky middle school.

All in all, I still love Obama. I love that he and Michelle are real people. I love how that man delivers a speech and come on, we are talking natural charisma you don’t see all that often and I still think it’s backed up by a desire to do the right thing. I loved that speech, it was beautifully crafted and beautifully delivered. I hope his second term unleashes him. I still have faith.

I am so suprised that none of the commentators {admittedly, I only saw a few before going to bed}, called out Mitch Daniels for that sucker punch to Newt. Not that I mind Newt getting kicked in the groin, but it seemed unseemly to do it during a rebuttal to the state of the union. Daniels started out by praising the Obama’s family values, so important to the inhabitants to the white house, in other words, the anti-Gingriches. Otherwise, a bunch of phoney baloney, if they think tax breaks for the wealthy are unfair, why are they fighting tooth and nail to not at least raise their rates to pre-bush levels. Smarmy nonsense.

Did I ever mention that pre-cancer, I didn’t watch much T.V. Mostly just my special shows with Griffin. Maybe my next career will be T.V. reviewer although really, I'm looking forward to getting away from the big beast and having a real life again.

Fireballs and Laser Beams

I’ve been lying on the couch for hours and finally had to pry myself up because while my body doesn’t want to move my head won’t stop spinning with buzz, chatter, buzz. I could only try to drown it out with podcasts {thank you beautiful iPad} for so long before relocating and writing seemed the best solution.

I’m extra wobbly and unsteady this time, droopy eyelids, but no crushing headache, yay! Because of the beautiful weather, after my cancer-fairy-godmother-J dropped me at home, I pulled my hoodie down over my face and sat on the porch for over an hour, it was heavenly just breathing in fresh air and being in my favorite spot.

I had {still do have} heat waves surging through me, down my arms and into my palms. I feel like I should be able to fling fireballs out my palms, which would be fun. I could fling them into the dwindling {yay} snowbanks and see them sizzle and melt. But then I’d get carried away and start flinging them into the trees and other tantalizing objects across the street and that would turn ugly fast so it’s for the best that I’ve not actually developed this super power. Later on while laying on the couch, it felt more like I should be able to shoot laserbeams out my fingertips, this could be fun, but I don’t have the energy to harness that superpower correctly either, oh well, all for the best, I suppose.

Then the steroids kicked in and my brain starting screaming beef, beef, beef, so I had a burger delivered knowing it would be the last tasty thing I ate for two weeks, so I threw caution to the wind and chowed down, I even had a half a can of diet coke, first in months, some chemicals with my chemicals and then I passed out on the couch, four hours past and now I’m here typing and tomorrow, back to healthy food.

I’m going to watch and tivo the State of the Union speech at 9:00 and later in the week torture my sons into watching it with me, with constant pauses for my point making and editorializing, and that is happening trust me. There's a lot of propaganda in this world and they might as well get mine first. And on the subject of our President, our duly elected by a majority, thoroughly vetted president who no doubt is very busy with many important things {you think?} to do, here it is from the What The Fuck File {and the Huffington Post}:

The White House appears prepared to ignore a recent ruling by Georgia Deputy Chief Judge Michael Malihi that would require President Obama to attend a birther hearing in Fulton County, Ga., on Thursday. White House Press Secretary Jay Carney outlined Barack Obama's weekly agenda on Monday, noting that the president is scheduled to hit Las Vegas, Denver and Detroit on Thursday in a whirlwind tour to talk middle class job creation. That's not likely to sit well with Malihi, who last week rejected an effort by Obama's legal team to quash a subpoena that would require president appear in court that day. The complaint, like many others of its kind, claims Obama isn't a natural-born citizen and therefore can't be president.

Full story at: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/01/23/obama-birther-case-georgia_n_1225304.html

Orly Taitz, that is one certifiably insane, ugly american who knows how to work the system way too well. He should sue her for harassment at this point, except he's got that president-job-thing to do. We should all sue her for abusing the system.

Oh yeah, and while I'm on a catty roll which ha-ha, I can blame on being on drugs, Calista Gringrich looks like a scary wax barbie doll, her hair looks like playmobile or lego hair, never shall it move, tangle or blow in the wind. Calista next to Michelle is a jarring image, oh my, that's a debate I'd like to see, that might cure my cancer.

Cuckoo-beans

10:25 a.m. and I’m lounging in the chemo chair, busy day here, lot’s of monitors beeping and folks being treated in the hallways, glad for my early appointment, as I have a cozy cubicle to myself. My counts were still low and Rochelle Rochelle my trusty oncologist who reminds me of I still can’t figure out who {and who has good teenaged son stories that are all quite familiar}, suggested waiting a couple more days before we did the chemo. But that would entail renegotiating child care arrangements which feels so cumbersome and unpleasant and so we agreed to just give it a shot. I was mentally prepared to do it today and already too tired to really function so what the heck. Hope it wasn’t a stupid thing to do, but I’m sure she wouldn’t have agreed if it wasn’t a borderline situation which means not completely dumb-ass. I trust that R.R. would say no, if no was necessary.

I mentioned that if I had a real job, I’d want to go on disability, that’s how bad I feel and she told me that everyone who does this treatment goes on disability which I guess is reassuring that it’s not all in my head or that I’m not especially pathetic. Only time I wished I had a real job. Cancer + Self Employment = Uh Oh.

Jonah has finally given me permission to cut my hair and he wants a trim too, so we’ll go together next week. My haircut should take approximately 45 seconds, but I’m pleased to still have eyebrows.

I confess to being back to channel surfing and I’m drawn to those Kardashians, those not-so-lovable, overly coiffed trainwrecks from another planet. If ever there was the personification of the decline of western civilization they would be it. The Kardashians make Mitt Romney seem in touch with reality and Mitt is less stiff than Kim K.

While coiffed and made up nearly to death, they’re constantly eating take out food and candy. Not good candy, Nerds and gummy sours and twizzlers, candy your 5 year old loves, it’s on every surface of the fancy hotel suite where they live. The take out food never makes it onto a plate, they eat right out of the plastic containers and god knows there must be a plate in the house somewhere. Kim is dazzling, meaning possibly the most repulsive, selfish and clueless human being I’ve witnessed and... dumb as a post. She really seems like there is just plain nothing inside the expensive clothes, no personality or kindness whatsoever, utterly vacuous.

Yesterday she was eating a corned beef sandwich and she asked her sister “what is corn beef anyway?” in that flat monotone from which she deviates only to whine. Sis says she doesn’t know but it must be that they make it from special cows that only eat corn. Kim say’s yeah, that’s it, they feed the cows special corn and you get corn beef.

But I digress, Rochelle says the tumor seems like it’s breaking up a bit, feels different, and not bigger, this is good. Also that the next 3 months of chemo when I’m through with the first 3 months will be with different drugs and not as bad, especially in terms of fatigue, this is also good. We’ve also switched to an anti-nausea med less likely to cause the blinding headaches, good {I hope}, and also that my vision problems will likely go away when this is done. My eyes are driving me crazy, but they’re only one of many, many things driving me crazy these days. I’m feeling very high up on the cuckoo-beans scale.

Half a Dozen

Such a dreary week, my goal for today was to stay out of bed. I’m getting so sedentary that I’m starting to be achy, I woke up yesterday with a huge, painful knot in my back. I tried to stretch it out and I couldn’t touch the floor with my knees straight and i can usually lay my palms flat. Each new ache and pain, in my paranoid, increasingly pessimistic mind is malignant, so I figure it’s best to avoid them.

After breakfast I baked cookies because I knew the boys would be returned home at noon. I only bake one thing from scratch and it’s chocolate chip oatmeal cookies and they’re the best in the world, no need to bake anything else. Baking is too scientific, I like to cook where you can just throw ingredients around and it’s bound to come out fine, and if it doesn’t, it’s likely not a mystery.

Boys walked in and in unison said “what smells so good?”. Happy, jolly campers, just what I need. Not long until we’re all in front of our respective screens in the living room. J playing minecraft at the computer, Griffin playing an x-box game and me with my laptop in front of the fire, contemporary cozy. Every few minutes G says “mom”. He doesn't’ want anything, he just says “mom” in a kind of sing-song way. I reply “son” and he responds “mom”. It’s simple and sweet and the way my teenager connects with me. He’s always done this, but he does it more now and with greater need to connect I think. While he’s not stepped up much in the helping around the house realm, he’s stopped teasing me and pushing my buttons. He’s kinder, gentler, sweeter and appears happy. And his needing to connect with me like this every few minutes is touching and a tiny bit heartbreaking. He talks while he plays, he likes having me as his audience.

As Griffin is saying “mom”, I realize how during the last 10 years of my marriage, the ones that I spent analyzing the oddities of the relationship {or lack thereof}, obsessively pinpointing what was off, what was missing, what made me feel so sad and lonely, and what I could do to fix it {nothing}, one of the things I realized was that my husband never said my name. Even that superficial, take-for-granted connection was too intimate, too painful for him. When out and about, at gatherings, dinner parties, I’d notice every time one spouse would mention the other, X just did this, Y saw that movie... X, do you know where my coat is? My spouse would sooner leave without his coat before asking me if I’d seen it, that would entail inclusion. Forget any nicknames or terms of endearments, He literally almost never uttered my name. So my son seeking connections with me or anyone else, brings me great joy as I so hope he’s on a different path.

The people in my life have been so gracious, so generous. Taking the time to make homemade soup every sunday, healthy vegetable drinks, picking up odds and ends I need at the grocery store. When dropping off the kids today {technically, it was his day with them}, I asked if he could pick me up a few things at the store: milk, eggs, cherries {imported from god knows where, but I’m so grateful for their presence at the store}, and sliced turkey for J’s school lunch. He did, and didn’t charge me this time, but I only got a half a dozen eggs. Who buys half a dozen eggs? And when in doubt, just get the whole dozen for crying out loud. Death by a thousand small cuts, or 10,000 pinpricks, that was my  marriage, the clock on which is technically still ticking so I should shut up.

It’s 7:03 p.m. I stayed out of bed all day, J had a friend over and they played in the snow. My eyes are tired, but it was a good day.

Bobby Flay

I think Bobby Flay is mean. Griffin and I have been watching a lot of Food Network, still trying to fill the void that Game of Thrones left us with. G is a picky eater, so I don’t know what the attraction is, but for some reason, that’s what we’ve been watching.

Bobby Flay has a show called Throw Down with Bobby Flay where he goes into restaurants, surprises the chefs and challenges their signature dishes. In other words, he says, hey, you guys are famous for your {insert food here}, but I can do it better than you and so you cook yours, I’ll cook mine and then we’ll have judges do a blind taste test. How fucking rude is that? And Bobby always wins because he waltzes in with his fancy ingredients and makes everything look extra pretty and Bobby wins. What a brat.

Guy Fieri could kick your ass Bobby and he should. G and I think that guys a hoot! We both agree that he's someone we wouldn't think we'd like but we do and the more you watch him, the more you love the guy.

I’m still having trouble with the mere existence of the Kardashian family and I know, I should be watching Downtown Abbey instead, but cancer causes depression and depression causes channel surfing and that’s what’s on. Boo Bobby Flay. Oh, he should go on a date with Kim Kardashian, that would be justice, I can’t think of anything more torturous.

Cold Dark Corner

I am learning so many new random factoids, such as when your white blood cell counts are dangerously low, you shouldn’t eat pepper. I wasn’t planning on eating any pepper, so I’m fine with that... the no hugging and wash your clemintines and then wash your hands before peeling and then wash your hands again is a bit cumbersome and I confess, I’m not doing it. While I’m not hugging randomly, I’m still cozying up to a sniffly boy, one in particular. Luckily, I’m too tired to be out and about in public too much and now that it's snowing, forgetting, I'm boycotting outside.

I’ve learned that disolvable stitches don’t necessarily dissolve, I’ll spare you the details because I am a kind and benevolent soul.

Someone gave me a winter bulb for xmas, I can’t remember the name, Paperwhites perhaps? After I planted it, I remembered I had the most spectacular Amaryllis last year which I stashed in a basement closet because the directions said they would winter over in a cool dark spot. I found it {amazingly} and it looked deader than dead, all dry and crispy and pitiful, it practically fell right out of the dirt, showing it’s ratty little spent roots. But only 24 hours after watering it thoroughly, and having a little chat with it, and it’s sprouted a vibrant green stem and now only 2 days on and it’s an inch of sweet health and happiness. It’s amazing how fast things grow, but now I see a double-edged sword. Instead of just beauty, awe is joined by fear. Plants grow and so do maniacal human cells. I suppose if I were a scientist in a lab watching cancer cells in a petri dish divide with the rapidity they do, turning all gnarly and warped, I’d find that fascinating, as I do my Amaryllis. Seeing how fast that Amaryllis can grow makes me happy, watching sprouts emerge in spring is my very favorite thing, I get thrilled and amazed by each and every one. But now there’s this new meaning this new perspective and it scares me how fast things can grow given the right environment. Chemo next Tuesday, keep working on becoming a hostile environment, I guess that’s really all I can do, find some dark, cold corner in myself where those cells can go dormant, or hopefully, just go away.

Getting Crazy & Depressed

I was at the Women & Infants complex today for acupuncture so I tried to track down the genetic counselor to insist upon getting my long awaited test results. She was in, but in a meeting... I tried to find her before my appointment and an hour later afterwards, but she is a very busy and important person and was unavailable both times. She is much more important than I am. So I left a detailed message that was returned by her assistant after she'd left for the day and shortly to be en route to an out of town conference until Jan. 27. That is low down and dirty. Of course I got nowhere with the assistant, the best she could maybe do was move up my appointment. No you can't because I have chemo and can't make it, just give me the fucking results over the phone or through the mail. I got quoted hospital policy again and again and get this, they won't even give the results to my doctors until I personally go in to retrieve them and be counseled. Except I've already been counseled at a $300 appointment. Does my insurance company really have to pay for me to go and be re-counseled even if the results are negative? Is there not a better way for my healthcare dollars, yours and mine, to be spent? I find this all so patronizing, insulting, and so freaking inefficient.

So now I'm angsty and aggravated and worried that the test is positive, because honestly, I can't handle one more thing, but whenever I say that, I get one more thing, so I'm getting nervous. I really need this test to be negative and it probably is, but until they tell me, It's turning more and more positive in my mind. That's not nice W & I Hospital. I don't like you. I have never liked you and now I don't like you even more.

I'm headed down the rabbit hole of crazy and depressed. Each large freckle, again turning into Melanomas. Actually, turns out people who have had breast cancer are at a higher risk for skin cancers and visa versa. Kooky. More fun things to think about. Everything is making me teary and I could go to bed for a month. Oh yeah, I've practically been in bed for over a month. Need to get a grip, settle down, I need a drink, but that's out of the question. Boys were with their father last night. I think that helps me be crazy and depressed, I need those noisy guys around, I'm used to them and they keep my head out of my own ass. J is at Improv class {yay!} and G is at basketball, maybe I'll feel better when they come home.

Haunted House

Usually once everyone is asleep for the night, we're done... day over... peace and quiet... yay. But last night it's as if we were transported to a haunted house. The wind was whipping around the house howling and rattling windows until they seemed like they would break. The cats who are usually napping quietly at the foot of my bed were zooming around like lunatics, claws scraping against floor, yowling and fighting with each other. At 1a.m. little boy next to me started kicking and thrashing and yelling, half in a dream, half awake. Angry, inconsolable and finally stomped off into his own room to continue thrashing, to continue his misery there. He came back at around 4a.m. and said "sorry about that, I don't know what happened," which is a big deal, his ability to calm himself down and move on. And then we talked and laughed this morning about him getting stuck between a dream and the real world and being very confused.

We're both sniffly dogs, coming down with colds. I know people with low white blood cells aren't supposed to let sniffly boys in their beds but too bad.

I finally got a call today that my genetic test results are in. Two months seems an excessively long time to wait for such results as they play a large role in surgical determinations, but apparently it's a multi-part test each of which had to be approved {or declined}individually by my insurance company. If you have the BRCA gene mutation which accounts for 5-10% of hereditary breast cancers you're fucked. Many young women from families rife with breast cancer get tested and have prophylactic mastectomies and hysterectomies because it causes both breast and ovarian cancers and ovarian cancer is most often undetectable until it's too late.

I don't expect to have the gene. There isn't anyone in my family with breast cancer that I know of, although it is a mysterious and dysfunctional family so there are many members I've never met and know nothing about. Still, I'm unaware of a single breast cancer case. Unfortunately, I've been shocked before, but regardless, I hope, hope, and hope not to have this gene. I don't want a hysterectomy, that would really upset me.

What I find insulting and bothersome is that they won't give me my results over the phone, I have to meet again with the genetic counselor and that takes time of which I have so little, so little functional time anyway. I understand the situation, I know what the results mean and I'd like to be treated like a competent adult. If the test is positive, obviously, I would go meet with them to discuss, but why drag it out? Just let me know one way or the other. Now I have to wait another 2-3 weeks because they don't have appointments available. They're my test results, don't I have some ownership over them? I paid for the tests, It's my DNA, who is anyone to tell me when and how I can find out the results? It's my information, don't I own it? I don't like being treated like a child or jumping through arbitrary hoops. Nope, don't like that at all.

Into the Void

Usually when I sit down at the computer something just falls out of my head and lands on the keyboard, it's a beautiful thing, because then it grabs my attention and I enjoy tweaking. Not today, not for the past few days, tabula rasa, nada. I am neither happy or sad, optimistic nor pessimistic, I'm just trudging through each day and it's feeling monotonous. This is the last week in my cycle, my "good" week, but after grocery shopping yesterday I had to take a 3 hour nap and the rest of the day was headachy. I had my blood counts checked today and like clockwork the hospital called an hour after and a nurse asked "are you alright? do you feel ok? are you sure?" because my white blood cells, those little critters our bone marrow makes to fight infection and keep us healthy have dropped from the requisite thousands to 100. A little sniffly, but I feel fine, actually, I feel neither fine or not fine, however, I'm advised to be taking my temperature.

Pink Ribbons and Tape Dispensers

I went to Staples today to pick up a few things and it was a sea of pink. I just don’t get the ubiquitousness of the pink ribbon, it’s lost all meaning. Why does my local office supply store care so much about breast cancer and why not all cancer? Why only pink ribbons? Where are all the other ribbons for all the other types of cancer? Why does pancreatic cancer and brain cancer get dissed and who’s watching out for my ovaries? And there’s homeless veterans right outside the door, mentally ill wandering around the parking lot, how about we give a shit about that? Nah, let’s just slap a ribbon on it and feel extra good about buying crap made in China where factory's have nets because disenfranchised workers fling themselves out the windows. What do consumer goods and cancer have to do with each other at all and why is one selling the other?

What I’d really like to know is the relationship between corporate profit increase due to presence of pink ribbon to money donated for research. Ratio, I want to see some ratio, pie charts, flow charts, numbers.

I kid you not, there was a pink plastic tape dispenser in the shape of a high heeled shoe -- yes let's raise awareness of breast cancer {because it disfigures the beloved boobie} with an homage to needlessly disfiguring and crippling fashion.

Last year, my son’s high school football team had to wear pink socks during Breast Cancer Awareness Month but I don’t think most of the kids really knew why they were wearing pink socks -- just that they were given to them and told to wear them. My son’s team wears purple, in fact, they’re so low rent, they don’t even have a name, they’re just The Purple, “Go Purple”, and they looked pretty adorable with the pink socks, so I admit to enjoying it, but it did not raise my awareness of breast cancer... I’d already heard of it, just didn’t know I had it. They played one game against a red team and the red uniforms mixed with the pink socks made the players look like a bunch of tubby cupids running in circles looking for their arrows, priceless. High heel shoe tape dispenser, not so much.

Because I was so late buying my at-a-glance calendar, I had no choice but to get a black one with a pink ribbon stamped on it and every time I see it, it’s like it’s mocking me, I hate you pink ribbon, I really wish you weren’t in my face, all the time, wherever I go.

Porn Stars

If this cycle mirrors the last, and in many ways it does, next week what’s left of my hair will fall out and I can’t wait! I am so in need of a buzz, but Jonah will not relent. Love is blind, and he says I hardly look any different because some hair remains. Let me tell you... I look different, but that’s o.k., I’ve made peace with that. I’ve not made peace with my head looking like a baby bird’s butt -- all tufty little clumps of feathers... it’s quite the comb-over I’ve got going on, I’d much rather be bald. Bald has become appealing.

But little boy is insistant and since he can conrol so little, I can’t bear to take his control of my scalp away. I’ve learned a lot about hair these past few weeks. Head hair really does keep you warm and pubic hair has a function... especially the way down there hair. They’re like little gliders that keep the toilet paper moving. No hair, no glide, it just sticks there and you have to peel it off. People do this on purpose? Touch up the bikini line if you have to, but I recommend leaving the rest in tact. Another reason to think twice before becoming a porn star.

I tried to link yesterday’s post to facebook, but they responded, “Sorry, this post contains a blocked URL. The content you're trying to share includes a link that's been blocked for being spammy or unsafe.” Spammy? now I’m spammy and unsafe? Geez, kick a girl while she's down facebook.

And by the way, It’s 9:12 a.m. please be impressed. I’m up, I’m dressed and I’m not missing acupuncture again!

No recycle, no return

It's noon, I just had breakfast. I've given up on the day already, I'm working it to keep from being demoralized. Maybe I'm just pretending that I'm keeping demoralization at bay when I'm really already there. I'm in the 2nd week after chemo and I thought these weeks would be o.k., but turns out they're not, they're grueling. And this goes on for how long? I'm finding that prospect daunting. This is all harder than I thought, or maybe I wasn't thinking.

I'm finding it harder to focus on anything but my immediate physical discomfort. I had a lovely night with J last night. Homework done independently without tears or too much complaining, lots of storytelling and silly dance moves, warm, cozy, if increasingly messy house. G had a good game, scored lots of points and showed me his notes for his argument today about atheism. He never shows me his notes but he said "you know mom, I really get my perspective from you, but it's really what I believe, you know?" How amazing is that? I'd pay good money for that comment, that fleeting moment of intimacy with my giant boy. But I only skimmed the notes, I didn't savor them, I was too tired.

I got boys out the door this morning and went back to bed and I think I'm headed for the sofa. My goal today is to get into the studio in the evening for the farmer's market, because my studio-mates will be there and it will be a cheery change of scenery. 4p.m... I can get somewhere by then, right? Boys are with their dad tonight and I don't like being home without them. Thus far, this day can get ripped off the notepad, crumpled up and tossed in the trash, no recycle, what a waste.

Enchilada, Baby

For the past 48 hours my intestines feel kneaded like dough. Pushed and pulled, stretched, twisted, mistreated entirely and I’m getting worn down. I’m not sleeping well and have forgone my nausea meds in favor of ginger in hopes that fewer chemicals are a good thing. I feel poisoned, I can’t think of any better analogy, and, of course, It’s spot on, I am poisoned.

Despite my intestinal discomfort, churning, gurgling, screaming raw, and my lack of taste buds. I spent last night watching Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives on TV with Griffin and I’m lusting after Cuban and Mexican food. Oh, soft, warm, gooey enchilada and pretty much anything they had at the Cuban place in Minnesota. A spicy enchilada would probably kill me, and slowly and painfully at that, but we are not smart, I want, I want.

Instead I ate a donut this morning because when your mom has cancer there are donuts in the house, and Lucky Charms, it was some kind of stupid act of rebellion... donuts do not make you feel better, I know this. The donut wasn’t smart, my body isn't happy with me, and it has done nothing to temper my craving for Piccadillo. Oh and I’ll have a margarita with that please, because a girl can dream.

I don't freaking care what color bra you're wearing

It’s that time of year again. women are posting cryptic references to facebook regarding what color bra they’re wearing. They’re sending chain letters to friends piously asking them to do the same. Apparently posting your bra color on facebook en masse raises awareness of breast cancer. Is there a lack of awareness of cancer in our culture? Do you know anyone who hasn’t at one time or another had a panic attack and ran to their doctor over a lump, bump, nodule, mole or swollen gland? We are acutely aware of cancer and shared shitless. So why are we raising awareness of something we are oh-so-aware of. And why do we need to be hyper aware of breast cancer above myriad other cancers, many more stealthy and deadly. Maybe we should take our eye off the breast and realize that heart disease is the number one killer of women and raise awareness of the evils of trans fat.

How about raising awareness of a disease that isn’t so trendy? A disease that actually needs it’s profile raised, the ones from which many suffer in the shadows, which lack the funding and attention of cancer, particularly breast cancer.

There’s action and there’s aimless. If you care about breast cancer, find a way to make a difference. Posting your bra color on facebook doesn’t make a whit of difference to anyone. The more people that do it changes nothing. Make a donation, volunteer at a chemo clinic, find someone with cancer and help them out. I guarantee you, they need food and groceries and maybe even a shoulder to lean on. I’m lucky, I have all those things, I have the most ass-kicking, energized, savvy, smart and organized community any chiquita banana with cancer could want or need, but I’m lucky.

It’s like complaining about the government and not voting. If you care so much about breast cancer, make a difference. Find an issue... accessible screening for the uninsured, affordable treatments, there are many. Find a cause, make a plan and make a difference, or just keep your bra color to yourself.

Santorum

I’m seeing life from the other side of the lens... the one usually occupied by the bald guy who got the short end of of the follicle gene. So ladies, if you’re sharing a bed with a lovely bald man... here’s a tip, get the guy some flannel pillow cases. Of course that’s true if you’re a guy sharing a bed with a bald guy, I don’t care who you’re in bed with as long as you keep your santorum to yourself {or the heck away from me, anyway}.

What I’ve learned is that bald head on cold percale pillowcase feels wet. It’s not wet, but it feels cold and clammy and not nice. Flannel is the way to go and of course sleeping in a hat. But I just thought you should know, if you’re having sleepovers with the hair challenged, make their day and change the pillowcases.

The Other Shoe

When I got in bed last night, I was tired, depleted, but happy. I realized I was happy. I wasn’t worried or scared, or pissed, this is my life and it’s still a beautiful life. My boys are home and snug in their cozy beds. My big old house is warm and the cats aren’t too pesty. I sense my friends and neighbors outside the walls, spread far and wide, these people that have embraced me so, and crazy as it is in this crazy mess, I’m happy. I’m still really happy that last year, I chose to fly solo, even with the chaos and uncertainty that entails. This is not the new life I expected, planned, but it’s still my life, I built it and I like it.

But then it occurred to me that all this time I was assuming that cancer was the Other Shoe. You know, the other shoe that always drops... that cement filled, head clocker, always lurking around the corner up a flight or two, ready to pounce. The shoe you can’t predict and never see coming. The cement shoe is never as simple as A leading to B, it’s crazy shit, no rhyme or reason, clear out of the blue that you never can see it coming. I’m not being pessimistic or feeling sorry for myself here, it’s just that I’ve been well acquainted with this other shoe for a good long time, I kind of take it in stride. Often times when things are going well I think of it and lately I’d figured I’d just plain used up my quota... that was a soothing thought, clear skies, clear blue skies ahead {and internet dating} that sounds fair, I really think I’ve had my fair share and it’s time for big bad shoe to move on.

But then cancer, mean, nasty, particicularly aggressive, unfriendly, no one noticed till it was god awful big cancer landed on my head {or in my boob} and I figured that was the other shoe and I’ve been dealing with it accordingly, and I’m doing fine {all things considered}, I’ve dealt with the big mean shoe before. But what if cancer is just cancer and the other shoe is still waiting to drop? The other shoe is that my cancer doesn’t respond to chemo, the other shoe is that it recurs quickly, the other shoe is that it spreads or leads to some other dire consequence. That scares me. That slices into my solace and coping and I wonder how I’ll know, when will I know if cancer is just cancer and the other shoe is still waiting to drop?

Ode to Clementines

If I were a poet, I'd write an Ode to Clementines. If I were in marketing, I'd suggest a new advertising approach: Nothing Compliments Chemo like Clementines. Sweet, juicy, tasty, healthy, beautiful, beautiful clementine. Nausea quelling, palette cleansing of yucky, blucky chemo taste and is detectable and delectable on somnambulant taste buds. They're a full-spectrum experience, beautiful in the bowl, feels nice in your hands, fun to peel and leaves not a non-biodegradable shred behind. Clementines and those who grow them, may you live long and prosper.

Cucumbers and Clemintines

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ijfnv, dkjejff dhqulld' kdjfkjf nvnvmnj uwyuyr8h iejfkdjfl
fnkf ireiu a,mvnvl sl.

That is my dopey, mopey, sleepy brain. Still have not left the house and grateful for the few short visits keeping me connected. Visits are good even with droopy lids and wobbly, dizzy, bobble head tilting back and forth. Tomorrow I set the alarm clock, need to go into work if only just to get there and back. Breathe fresh air, see change of scenery before next nap. Charmed by the cucumber and clementines that just showed up today. Yes, it is the small and simple things.

Got up from my after-dinner nap to write this post and now I'm going to clean up kitchen and go to bed for the nappus grandus.

It is peaceful sleep. Not fitful or tortured, no bad dreams... I lay down and I'm tired and comfy and drift right off to who knows where and then it's 12 hours later and half a day's gone by.

Strange Days

I opened my eyes this morning thinking it must be around 9 a.m., no rush to exert the energy to tilt my head towards the clock, but when I finally did it was 11:11. I don't know if you make a wish when the clock has all same digits, but I do, and I wished it was 10:10 and I hadn't just slept through acupuncture.

Live and learn and set the alarm clock next time, even when you don't have to be up until 10 in the morning.

Groggy, foggy, wobbly, downstairs for breakfast and back on the couch for a nap. A nice visit from an old friend T, who I don't see much these days as our lives head in different directions, but she is the very first friend I made in RI and she will always be special for that and we'll always be friends, in some capacity or other which is a very good thing, something I am grateful for. We are a funny pair, couldn't be more different, and I like that too.

I was meant to go to a wake this evening for the mom of a very close and cherished friend. Her mom was a lovely, gentle soul who died at barely 60 from cancer because cancer is the king of stinkers. I don't know that going in my shape was the best idea, but I felt so compelled to pay my respects, that I arranged a ride, but my driver got a call at the last minute that her dad in Michigan had a big ole heart attack and she was off to the airport {because we all have shit to deal with so don't feel sorry for me}. She offered her husband to drive me {so kind}, but I thought he should drive her, and that my wobbly, bobbly self probably wasn't much good to anyone at a wake, especially with all my weepy drugs. I'm so sorry I couldn't make it tonight, but I will make it up in some other way.

And then I was hungry. Crazy hungry and dreaming of burgers, something awakened my inner carnivore, maybe we can only subsist on soup, toast and clementines for so long. I tried to fight it, thought about making some pasta, but that would have entailed an effort and thinking, and the craving wouldn't stop, so I got my delivery menu and just ate a $20 {delivery + tip} bacon burger with grilled onions and pickles and half a diet coke and it was a transcendental experience. Didn't get sick and was without the horrible chemo chemical sludge taste in my mouth for 10 minutes.

Then a much needed shower, and the upside of having very little hair is you don't have to worry about winter evening wet-head. It's dry by the time you step out of the shower, although it was strange how I instinctively reached for a comb for the first time in a while -- old habits.

Tomorrow, my goal remains the same... finally leave house for short walk up to Hope Street, go to bank, bakery, mailbox and a few other quick stops along the way... we'll see. And at 2:45 the school bus comes and I get my love-bug back, as it should be! Even the teenager texted me and said "I'll be home tomorrow." Yay!

I think I'll take a nap now.

New Day, but what day is it?

Today was a much better day. I slept until almost 11 and mostly lounged around between the TV, laptop, iPad words with friends and under the blanket on the couch. My, my, what would we do without our electronics? I am slowly working on consignment checks and warning everyone to check my math.

Tomorrow I have acupuncture with the lovely Dr. Xu. On Friday, If I'm feeling adventurous I'll walk up to the bank and then the bakery for bread -- woo hoo, such excitement, then I'm back in my cave laying low until Saturday morning when I'm aiming to go to work, hang out in the shop with my awesome studio-mates who have been holding down the fort, determined to finally get out my big wholesale order that I'd wanted to finish before chemo.

I hate the bad taste in my mouth and that tea tastes like dirt-water, but besides that, I think all is well. I wish it was watermelon season. I can't think of anything I want to eat... too many clementines gets acidic, I think watermelon would be good. Cold, juicy watermelon and maybe cucumbers. I miss corner produce markets.

Heading Underground {for now}

Chemo itself was fine... and I now have another fantastically named medical professional on board -- Nurse Abra, with a long A, so Aaaaabra Caaadaaaabra instead of Abra Cadabra, this fit's nicely with Rochelle Rochelle and Marlene at the Beach, I find symmetry and meaning in all these beautiful exotic caregiver names, like they are just the group for me.

But by 4:00 I was wobbly and slurring my words... by 5:00 my eye's were blurry slits, unable to focus or tolerate light... by 6:00 I was on the couch with an axe-lodged-in-skull caliber headache and churning stomach and nausea. I even phoned the on-call Doctor {drastic} who said it was o.k. to alternate advil and tylenol and hit the nausea meds early which I've done.

And then I did the thing I didn't want to do most... I sent my boys to their father's for the next three nights. I didn't actually send Griffin because he wasn't home from basketball yet, he'll simply have a different post-game destination, but I had to send my love-bug off because it's no good for him to see me clutching my head with tears welling up in my eyes, and nor can I care for him like this, and it would hurt his feelings terribly for me to be unable to engage in our nightly, prolonged, insane, before-bed-chatter-fest, and that would leave me even more demoralized -- bad for everyone, so I think the right thing was to send him off, I hope it was. I really didn't feel like I had much of a choice and sweet boy was a fine, good sport and delivered stuffed animals and chocolates to me on the couch before he left.

I feel so terrible and guilty about how worried he must be, because when you are the tender age of 10, you are not supposed to watch your mother have cancer, this is just cosmically wrong and it makes me furious. If you get the flu and your kid sees you sick, it sucks, but you can tell them you'll be better in a week or so... I have to tell the poor kid I'll be better in a year or so, and that's if all goes well, but I don't tell him that part. He's also never been to his father's for three consecutive nights so I hope he has good days at school and peaceful evenings and all goes well, I hope they can find some, thus far, elusive rhythm over there. I hope I can pop over for a quick visit at some point, but other than that I'm throwing in the towel.

Today at the hospital they told me that I have to get out of the way and let these drugs do their job. I have to relax and rest and be healthy and then just get the heck out of the way and let them work their funky-chemo-mojo-magic {I'm paraphrasing, I admit}. I feel backed into a corner and don't see any other option, so I have to let myself off the hook -- no more delusions about going to the studio, no errands, no homework... at least for a for a few days, which for me... is a really long time. And, well, a little longer if necessary.

I'm having a cup of ginger tea while typing through my hazy snake slit eyes and then going to bed with some podcasts, a warm hat and space heater. I'll be dreaming of the world's biggest margarita waiting for me in an icy, salted glass this summer on a warm, warm evening, and happy pot-luck dinners in my neglected yard, and if I'm tired I can swing in the hammock and listen to happy chatter.

Adventures with AudioBooks

I'm home safe and sound after chemo... if this is my brain, I am the egg in the frying pan. My blood counts were perfect {almost, but close enough}, white blood cells went up all on their own and the fact that I'm having every side effect from chemo is actually a good thing... it means it's doing what it's supposed to be doing and my body is doing what it's supposed to be doing. I'm very excited about my new nausea meds, steroids which might even give me energy, if so, I'll take it. Otherwise, this time around I'm giving in... if I need to sleep for 4 days, I'm sleeping for 4 days, or 6, whatever, I'm not fighting it, I'm losing my denial.

My hospital is building a chemo-wing addition which is testament to the ridiculous number of people that have cancer and need chemo chairs, but this is also very exciting news, because, while my doctor is staying in the old wing... I learned the new wing is going to have an acupuncture room and thanks to a grant, it will likely be free. I might be in there harassing the contractors to hurry up, me needs me some free acupuncture, right now. This is very exciting.

I spent most of my time there today trying to figure out how to download an audiobook to the iPad and while I don't consider myself a techno-dope, might have to get real on that. One of the very distracting side effects of chemo has been my vision, it's blurry and sometimes vibrating, and my head is heavy and tired... not good for reading and I can only handle so many Kardashians. Honestly, my eyeballs are too tired for TV and I find it too loud and annoying and as when boys are home it's usually on for watching or gaming or ignoring... I tend to prefer it off when given the chance.

The object of my desire was Game of Thrones. First I accidentally purchased the eBook, unnecessary because I have the actual book. Then I went to audible.com where you get a "free" audio book with trial membership and with the $15/mo. membership, you get a free book every month and discounts and those audio books are freaking expensive. Game of Thrones is $45. So I signed up to get my free book only to be told my book counts as two books, fuck it, I paid the $22 and tried to download it. Sorry, incompatible with Safari... so I download the Audible App... sorry, you need wifi {not 3g I suppose} or to download to iTunes. Tried iTunes and for the sheer life of me couldn't figure out how to find or download my book. So somewhere out there in the ether, my audio book is floating around, doing me not a whit of good and I'm too tired to figure it out now, but this most certainly, was not a one-click adventure. And if you didn't watch Game of Thrones on HBO, I highly recommend, especially if there's a teenaged boy in your life... nothing says bonding with mom like a little sci-fi and violence, at least for my boy and me. Yep, we've watched Lord of the Rings more times than I can count and we love it equally, and Firefly is another fave, I recommend to everyone on the planet. Best TV series ever, naturally only lasted a year. At least Rex Morgan lasted longer than that, but there is no forgiveness today, I'm about to bombard the editor with my complaints. They rarely publish my letters, but they need to hear me on this Rex Morgan thing, this is serious.

Trepidation

I went into my first round of chemo feeling 100% and had no idea what I was in for. This time, I'm going into it at 50% and I know what to expect, and thus am quite a bit more reluctant and nervous. At the same time, looking forward to it because I feel like the star destroyers have been blasting off only little bits of my tumor and with each chemo, Luke Skywalker gets another chance to hit the target and just blow that death star to smithereens.

I am heeding the call to be smarter and less stubborn about reality. V is meeting me near the end of chemo to walk or drive me home and W is driving Jonah and I to his piano lesson, so no driving for the acid queen. A kind soul has already delivered me medicinal chicken soup for the week.

I have so little hair left, I'm ready for a buzz, but Jonah say's "no". He says I should enjoy the little bit of hair I have left, and he disagreed when I said there really wasn't enough to enjoy and I think my head looks like baby bird... all pale and tufty. The sweet boy is adamant that I don't shave it off and I'm going to do what he says. Maybe he'll get used to the idea, but for now, I'll respect his point of view.

May the force be with us all.

Where have you gone Rex Morgan, M.D?

Priorities change in a flash. I was worrying about how I'm going to get my nocturnal children {and my nocturnal self} up for school tomorrow and about how to stock up my fridge and clean up my house and finish up some work before chemo tomorrow {not gonna happen, likely}, but that's all changed. My priority now is finding out why the hell my local newspaper has dropped Rex Morgan, MD from the comics page. I'm horrified, outraged and really sad. I've been an avid Rex Morgan fan for longer than I can remember, I'm hooked on the pointless soap opera sagas that take months to play out in only four frames a day. Rex is part of my morning ritual, if I don't have time to read the whole paper, I always flip to Rex Morgan before getting on with my day. This is personal ProJo, you can't do this to me now! Sometimes change is good, but sometimes, it's bad, very bad. You will be hearing from me ProJo Editor! Tampering with the comics page is serious business.

Aside from that trauma, I'm very pleased that I made it through my first chemo cycle without serious incident or visit to the hospital. I'm pleased I have only a minor cold despite having minimal white blood cells. I'm not pleased that I'm starting this all over again tomorrow before feeling recovered, before having any really good days, I had good portions of days, but not whole normal days. Although, while I had many bad days, I didn't have any truly scary or unbearable days... just bad days. Strange when bad days are appealing because they're not awful, horrible days... just really bad. Priorities change, and I suppose so do expectations.

2012

Happy New Year to all -- may 2012 be jam-packed with fabulosity for you and yours. I remain honored and grateful to all who are reading this blog and offering me so much kindness and support.

I don't have high hopes for the first half of this year, but I'm hoping it ends with relief, renewal, reinvigorated hair follicles and a toast to a much better 2013. If 2012 is my year of challenge and endurance, may 2013 be joy and celebration.

Peace, love and happiness from my grateful heart to each of you... most sincerely.