Team DeAnne

All week, since my last post, students have been coming in with guarded and wary eyes.  Someone said to me, along about Thursday, “You haven’t blogged in a while…are you OK?”  They’re not sure if they will come in, find me sick and have to leave, or something!

Oh, yes,  no news is (sometimes) good news!  Really, sometimes there’s nothing o say.  Just like in the final miles of a marathon, which is when I’m pretty quiet.  I’m still not quite sure I’m going to make it, and I know I probably don’t have anything to say that anyone wants to hear!   Negativity is spiking like a bad fever, and it’s not going to make anyone feel better, neither myself nor the people close to me, if I carry on about it! 

I’m fine.  I do grumble alot, though.  I don’t feel that bad, but I’m tired of not feeling 100%.  I think I don’t look too bad, considering,  but then I see a picture of myself before the diagnosis.  (Hard to believe I used to think I wasn’t very cute…well, cancer is even less cute!!!)

I sound like an old children’s song that my brother used to sing in kindergarten.  It was sung by a lady with a creaky little voice.  It was called “The Mean Old Grizzly Bear”.  Part of the words went something like this:

“…The Mean Old Grizzly Bear…was mean from A to Z.  The Mean Old Grizzly Bear…was mean as she could be….SOOOOOO, she lost her hair on her chinny-chin-chin, her butt got big and her belly caved in, no claws in her paws, no teeth in her jaws, and she was ashamed to be seen!!!”

But this is temporary!  So I’ll stop being the mean old grizzly bear.  After all, I have only 34 days left as of tomorrow!  3 rounds to go!  I figure this is mile 17.4-ish out of 26.2. 

I remember the Carlsbad Marathon I ran the winter before my diagnosis.  I actually had breast cancer already at that time but wouldn’t find out for another 9 months!  (Maybe that’s why I felt so exhauted in tht race!)  I was at about mile 18.  I knew I was making progress, but it wasn’t going fast enough!  I was tired.  There was a man running along next to me, who looked pretty pooped too.  I was bored, so I started talking.  

“Where are you from?”  He was from Toronto!  He told me how he was supposed to run this race with a friend a year ago. 

“Where’s your friend?”  I was expecting some funny story about a faked pulled hamstring, or a tummy ache.  But after a moment of silence, I glanced at him.  There were tears running down his face.  He was running in honor of that friend; he had died of cancer recently.  Oh, dear!  Too heavy!  I changed the subject…”Look at those pelicans!”

“Wow!  they’re beautiful,”  he said.  I was feeling mournful, though.  When grown men cry, I get worried.  That, and the overcast sky and the dolorous moaning of the sea otters…but then yet another garage band started playing “Highway to Hell”.  Then the pelicans started pooping on us!  highway to Hell, indeed!  That lightened the mood!  He and I both started laughing.  I lost sight of him, and finnished a short time later, still pondering about just how awful it is to know someone with cancer. 

I was passed at mile 24 by a group of 3 women in pink Susan G. Komen shirts…By then I was thinking it might be cool to run for a charity.  I hollered out to them…”Hey, how do you get involved as a charity runner?”

One of the ladies slowed a bit and fell into step with me.  “We’re all breast cancer survivors.  Once you’ve lived through something like this, you find out about all the events!  But you could just check out the website.” 

All three of those women were survivors!  And they passed my happy butt!  I was happy for them.  Also, a bit happy that at least I don’t have breast cancer in the family!  I’d be safe from such drama!

Like my mom said recently, we’ve all learned from this that you never know what’s up with people.  We just have to treat eachother with kindness and respect, because you never know what someone next to you is going through, hs gone through, or is about to go through! 

So for now, I’m a bit silent, like on the last hour of a long plane ride.  You know the feeling…you’re wedged into your seat.  You’d like to use the restroom but there’s a line and you’d rather just hurry up and land, rather tahn hassle with the line…so you just hang on!  You’d like to dig around in your carry-on bag for your book, but it’s wedged under a seat and you’d have to wake up your neighbor to get it…it’s just easier to hang on.  You’d like to get into your toiletries to at least make yourself look nice for when you arrive…but it’d be better just to sit still and will yourself there.  It’s a sort of self-imposed detention.  All you can focus on is the light at the end of the tunnel, and thinking of the short term seems futile…

Besides, it’s more fun to focus on the other end of the tunnel!  The finnish line!  And ALL the GLORIOUS things to do and enjoy!!!  Like wearing perfume again, because chemo is over and fragrances won’t give me a headache!  Having enough energy to take my nieces and nephews boogie-boarding!  Not having to nap!  (Though Riley the cat will hate losing his nap buddy!)  I’ll grow some hair!  And fingernails!  And go visit my brother and sister in law, to hold my new baby nephew!  And sing!  And play the piano!  There’s so much living to do, once I have the energy! 

I used to bargain with the devil when I was first diagnosed.  “Just please let me live!  I don’t care if I end up funny looking, if I can’t be a singer anymore, if I lose all my prospects of ever finding a husband…just let me live.”

But I guess I’ve grown a little (or a lot) greedier!  And I have no devils in my life, only angels!  And a multitude of blessings.  Maybe it takes something like cancer to make someone see the positive more than the negative.  OK, cancer, mission accomplished!  Let’s get this chemo DONE!

I didn’t want to go to the hospital this morning.  Past tense:  chemo WAS fun.  Now I’d just like it to be over.  But we do what we have to do.  I didn’t run this morning.  No way am I going in there the least bit dehydrated.  It’s always a bit of an adventure to get the IV in, even under good well-hydrated circumstances!  I was also a bit out of sorts because yesterday’s phlebotomist was new and managed to poke some extra holes in my arm, and I worried that the vein was compromised and would affect my treatment today.  I was also nervous because I was beginning a new phase of treatment, the first of 4 rounds of Taxol. 

Yesterday the oncologist informed me that most of his patients deal with Taxol better than the stuff I was taking before.  But if I was one of the rare ones who found it harder, then it would be alot harder.  The hospital hadn’t managed to send him my bloodcounts at that time, but he said that judging by the looks of me, I was doing fine and ornerier than ever.  He said he’d call me if the blood test results weren’t good, but plan on taking this next step!  He gave me a hug and Jenny and I were on our way.  (Jenny is the patron saint of phobic patients, I swear!)

So, Round 5.  This is the same as mile 16.3 or so.  A time of introspection and self-evaluation.  The pack has thinned out on the racecourse, and so you’re alone with your thoughts.  There aren’t so many people to talk to anymore, and those in your vicinity are saving their breath.  Or, we just don’t have anything nice to say! 

Mom and Dad went with me, and once the Benedryl started to make me too groggy to carry on intelligent conversation, and the Taxol was begun without any adverse effects, they went to lunch.  I took stock of where I’ve been, and where i’ve been at.

I used to be sort of embarrarssed by what a slow runner I am.  I’m not deplorable for a woman my age, but you won’t see me as the leader of the pack.  In one trail marathon I actually won 2nd place for women in my age division.  But then, there were only 2 women in my age group, and I was the slower of the two!  Now, I can croak out 3 miles, and they are slower than ever and I feel every step. 

I can’t sing.  Or rather, I can, for a day or two, then I get some side-effects and have to let it go for a week or so. 

I can’t play the piano too well, because I’m starting to have something funky going on with my fingrnails, and that hurts.  it’s a fairly common side-effect, and totally temporary, but it’s cramping my style!

I can’t get together with my friends for luch because between teaching, I need a nap!  Furthermore my strict macrobiotic-healthier-than-thou eating habits make me a bit of a bore to eat with, I’m sure.

I’ve always been one to sleep less to find the time to do it all.  I’ve always been fiercely competitive, relentlessly hard on myself, and also pretty relentless in my expectations of the people in my life.  In short, I lived in a way that wore me out!!!

You don’t realize how cool you really were until you’re suddenly just not yourself anymore.  You’ve been forced to change.  Some of it is not happy, but it calls upon you to make positive changes…with a vengeance, because it feels like a matter of life or death!   Seriously!  I’ve realized that though I’m a very physical person, while my body is weak, my spirit has to grow.  And good nutrition!  A matter of life and death!  No way will I ever be too “tired” to fix and eat my vegetables. 

Most of all, while I’m at my funkiest, I have been constantly surrounded by miraculous and unconditional love.  It no longer matters what I look like or wear or do, or the jokes I tell, or any of that superficial stuff.  From the people who played Jenny’s raffle and helped me pay off so many of my medical bills that weren’t covered by the insurance…to the Crystal Clear ladies who volunteered to clean my home and those of so many cancer patients, to the Ceres Project…to my family…and my students who continue to show up even though each week they’re probably not sure what they’ll be walking into…(so far, i haven’t had to cancel anyone’s lesson except for doctors’ appt’s…no sickness!  Hooray!)

Anyhow, I’ve been forced to slow down and see all the love around me!  I will be me even if i don’t feel like myself for awhile, because the people all around me show me love all the time!  (Jenny says I have a pretty good racket going on here!)

It changes my perspective.  Rather than running around in a state of frustration over what I don’t have, I’m grateful and happy about all the things that ARE wonderful!  it makes me want to give back.  I’ve been thinking about a few projects that will benefit others as well as myself  once this chemo thing is over.  Maybe then, this blog will morph into a chronicalling of my pursuit to change the world!

Stay tuned!  By the way, round 5 complete, and all is well.  I guess I’ll just keep chugging on this marathon!

The other day, one of my young students said that she thinks my wig is very cute.  More so even than my origional look! 

“But this thing’s getting split ends!”

“Well, that is what makes it look so natural, DeAnne!”

Day 56…only 44 left to go!  Funny moments like this keep me going!

On Easter Sunday, I awoke after a long week of side effects that just wouldn’t go away.  They weren’t the scary, life-threatening kind, just the kind that crap out my attitude.  When my attitude isn’t in gear, then I lose my will to eat healthy and drink enough water (8 to 10 glasses/day, and some doctors say that’s still not enough for someone on chemo!)  I don’t feel like looking or being nice, not to anyone, including myself.

Anyhow, after a week of that nonsense, I rose like a pheonix and looked at my not-so-noble savage noggin.  I looked into my eyes; after forcing a smile, I realized that I don’t look like such a sick person when I smile!  And I said “Enough! Time to join the living!”

I put on my running clothes, ate some healthy stuff, packed a water bottle and drove out to the redwoods.  That is my healing place.  I have religious friends who wish I’d go to church.  But the redwoods are like church to me.  I ran for about an hour, thinking funny thoughts and some sad ones too.  I wish I could be one of those heroically brave women who beat the hell out of cancer and smile and laugh and look great doing it.  But I’m not.  I cry and complain and whine alot.  I worry that I’ll never get through it, and that when I do, it’ll just happen again in a few years. 

But then I reflected on the fact that I’m going to be 39, the day after Easter! And when I recieved this diagnosis last October, I wasn’t sure if I’d be spending my birthday in a hospital, or if I’d even be alive.  I remember during the surreal process of the biopsy, being perfectly awake and capable of talking.  I was scared, and so I talked alot with the doctor and the nurse. 

“Well, of course this is an early dectection, if it is cancer, right?!”

The radiologist sort of sniffed and looked at me as if he wished I were asleep, and would stop ptting him on the spot with all these questions.  “Well, sometimes with women under 40, it’s not, because you don’t get screened.  We’ll just see.”

“Well, if it is cancer, then of course I’ll survive, right?  I mean, they treat this all the time.  It’s easy!  Right?!”

Again, the sniff, and the serious eyes looked away from his screen and into my eyes.  “Yes, people survive.  It depends on what type of tumor it is, whether or not it’s easy to treat.”

“Well, it’s not cancer, right?  We don’t get this in my family!  And you can’t tell just by looking, and I don’t have time for cancer…”  (Silence from the doctor.)  “DeAnne, 4 times out of 5, when I biopsy someone, it’s nothing.  But when it looks like this, 4 times out of 5 it is.  But it’s treatable, OK ?  We have to biopsy these two sites to see.”

“I see.”  And I wasn’t happy.  “So, tell me about your kids!  Or, any fun vacations?!”

After the diagnosis I met with a nurse/counselor.  I told her I wanted to be brave and not torture the people around me with my moods and self-pity. She said there is no graceful way to get through this.  It’s not a Ghengis Khan-styled raid or a Stormin’Norman type of battle brilliantly won.  It’s more like a white-water rafting excursion when you’ve been capsized.  “DeAnne, you will bounce from one shore to a boulder, grab ahold of a log, and breathe for a moment until the next current grabs you.  The currents are like phases of treatment.  You, too shall get through it, and after about a year, you’ll be all done and fine!  And you won’t have gotten through it the way you’d ever thought you would.”

But here I am, dang lucky!  I’m not stuck in a hospital.  I’m out running in my favorite place!  I’m going to celebrate another birthday when I had once been unsure that that would happen!!!  I’m not at 100%, but someday soon i probably will be.  I have an excellent team of doctors.  And I’m blessed with a dear and loving family who will move heaven and earth for me.  And great friends!!!  And I looked at my calender.  Out of 100 days of chemo, I have only 46 left to go!  YOU KNOW I’m on the countdown!!!

Yup, I’m dang lucky!

OK, so I miscounted.  Like I always said, numbers are not my forte!  Not 99 days of chemo, but 100.  (This counted from the day of the first treatment through the day of the last treatment, which is May 21.)

So, I’m halfway through the treatments but not quite halfway throught the amount of time it takes to reach the end of the tunnel.  (Sort of like mile 14 through 16 or so of a marathon…you know you’re halfway, but it sure doesn’t feel like it, because now you’re at the hilly part, or whatever!)

It’s sort of like being halfway through the rehearsal period for any opera that I’ve ever sung in!  At the beginning, we would all die for one another!  We are all so dlighted and enchanted by eachothers’ charming personae, gorgeous voices, etc.  Then halfway through the process, as often as not, we’re all ready to throttle eachother!  And somehow, by the end we’ve come full circle, and while we’re no longer willing to die for eachother, we are allied and functioning happily as an ensemble. 

It’s a bit like that, now, with me and my medical team.  They probably wish I’d stop complaining, and I wish they’d come up with an easier cure.  I guess we’re united by our idealism, right?!

Yesterday I felt the energy trying to come back.  I went for a run in what turned out to be a hail storm!  As I got slower and slower, and the rain came down harder and turned to ice, I was happy to hide under a tree for a few minutes until the hail subsided.  As I trotted up the hill to where the car was parked, I couldn’t help but grin.  I am weak and tired and scrawny.  I can’t run worht beans, and yet I now have the lean, hawkish distance runners’ physique that always eluded me in healthier times.  (All these thoughts as I was passed by a chubby old guy in about his 80’s.  Haha!)  But so what!  It’s not how you look, but what you do!  And running in a hail storm is something I would do, especially in healthier times!  Here’s to acting normal!  Defy and deny!

Grumble, moan, gripe…no, really, I think the British word “whinge” suits my current mode of speech best.

It’s no fun to try to run when you haven’t been able to stomach a “breakfast of champions”.  It’s no fun to sing when your throat is feeling weird, and your fingers hurt, and the place where that dang phlebotomist drew blood is sore, still…

Doctors, nurses and phlebotomists, OH MY! 

I try to think of them as my team.  We all work as a unit, to cure my illness!  The oncologist said this would be a “good idea”, and that it’s 4 months invested for the longterm!  The other oncologist I’d consulted with said the same thing.  The integrative/alternative specialist even agreed.  “DeAnne, you can eat all the cabbage and blueberries you like, but that probably won’t cure your cancer!” 

But it doesn’t FEEL like a good idea…not to me, right now!  (”Whi-i-IIIIIiiiiinge!”)

So, this morning, I was grumbling around, mad because I’d somehow woken up and eaten all of my sugarless popsicles during the night. Grrrr.

Jenny called.  “How ya doin’?” She chirped.

I waxed both poetic and pathetic about my situation for a good ten minutes.  Then she so wisely pointed out, “You’re just like Kevin in the mornings.”  (Kevin is my 9 year old nephew.)  “If he doesn’t eat something, then his blood sugar plummets and he starts complaining and crying and blaming himself for all the evil in the universe.”

Huh!  Well, I’m out of popsicles, until I get dressed.  And to get dressed, I’ll have to stop whinging.  But I tried some toast, and jam, and a kiwi, and some almond milk…and then some oatmeal with blueberries and flax seeds…hey!!  HEY!!!!  I’m BAAAAAACK!  I’ve joined the living!  Woohoo!  Food is nectar of the gods.  It’s a miracle!

To heck with the popsicles!  Today’s little miracle is Jenny’s knowledge of my cranky blood sugar, and toast!  I haven’t feltthis good since the day before my last chemo!  And I toast all of you!  With my almond milk!  Health, wealth, and happiness!  And Cheryl, thanks for your sweet message on ysterday’s post!  I don’t know how to reply to those, yet, but I appreciate hearing from someone who’s been there and lived to tell about it!   You inspire me! 

Let’s make it a great day!

I’ve never been one to go with the flow.  I like to make things happen, to push the limits, and to never let anything stop me!  Maybe that’s why I’m a coloratura soprano…limitless high notes, sing more notes in general than anybody else, be the character who gets to do all the fun mad scenes, etc.  maybe that’s why I always want to do another marathon!  Maybe that’s why I had to gt a Black Belt!

I started this whole breast cancer journey with a roar, telling myself that I’m bigger and badder than this!  Surgery!  Bring it on!  Chemo?! 

Chemo?!  welll……

Now that bugs me.  I’ve always been leary of medicine.  I don’t like the idea of some substance messing with my system.  I always figured I was perfect, just the way I was.  Indeed, I’ve never been plagued by chronic things like digestive ailment, migraines, or respiratory problems!  I’ve never learned how to just quietly deal with things!

Now I’m learning.  After my shot last Saturday, Mom said in the car on the way back, “Where should we go to lunch?”

I was so sleepy, and hungry, but more sleepy than hungy.  “Uhhng.  I dunno.”

We stopped at Pasta Bella in Sebastopol, which I liked because it had whole wheat pasta and my mom’s burger was from grass-fed beef…better ratio of Omega 3’s to 6’s…I was surprisingly hungry and cleaned my plate, all the while with my mom beaming at her “little piggie”.

I decided I needed a serious nap in the sun, but my phone kept ringing and so Mom came and rescued me.  My parents live in the country…with a nice sunny patio where when my eyes are open, I can see the apple blossoms and a lovely willow tree.  I snoozed blissfully, with my stocking cap with pompoms on the top, on a chase lounge.  I was so sound asleep that I was oblivious to one of the poodles laying by my head, batting at and chewing on the pompoms!  

Sunday I taught most of the day.  Again, at bout 4 pm Mom showed up with popsicles (very good for my irritated throat!), and hauled me of for another patio snooze! 

Now that the 4 rounds of “dangerous chemo” is over, I seem to have settled into the idea that I won’t be able to be full-throttle for a few days after treatment.  Running is replaced by fast walking.  Napping is really OK.  Before I would have felt like a slacker, but at this point I don’t have the energy to fight with myself. 

But today is Monday!  I awoke with a bit more energy, and not so much heartburn and a better attitude!  I will cautiously go forth and see what I can accomplish!  It seems like a good day for that!

Cheers!

Yesterday, Jenny and I went to Marin for the last of the Adriamycin and Cytoxin “cocktails”.  (Blech!  I never want to go to another cocktail party again!)  I didn’t want to go.  I like all the peopl I usually see there.  It’s nice to spend time with my sister.  But it’s still chemo!

But this time everthing went off without a hitch!  No problems with the IV needle, everything was great!  I’ve learned that when strangers give me that sad look, if I smile winningly at them and stand up straight, and talk about something, they see I’m not so bad off.  Really, my hair is the worst for the wear!  I’m fine!

 By the time we finnished up, it was 11:15 and Jeny and I went for burritos before we drove home.  I was hungry!  And I knew it might be the last meal I could taste for a while.

I spent the rest of the day teaching a few students, making phone calls, went for a little 3 mile run AND did abdominal exercises and Tae Kwon Do, enjoying the late afternoon sunshine.  Then I ate a bit of dinner, and spent the rest of the evening curled up with Riley the cat and a cheesy historical novel (total brain candy) that Jenny passed on to me.  (In addition to all she has done, Jen supplies me with fun stuff to read, because she knows that if left to my own decision making skills, I would be reading books only about cancer and nutrition…she knows a bit of “brain candy” is probably good for me. 

So, a little later Mom and I will go to Marin (AGAIN!) for my shot, and then I plan to do some yardwork.  Then I’ll take a snooze in the sun, and memorize another one of those Rossini songs!  Life goes on, cancer or not!

Cheers!!!! We’re halfway through this marathon!  We are now at the part where I’m glad to have made it this far.  I usually take a mental note of the damage collected so far.   Usually something annoying, like chapped lips, or a too-tight ponytail, or maybe a chafing bra strap…nothing life-threatnng.  Sort of like this chemo thing! 

In the San Francisco Marathon last summer, I trotted through the halfway point, grabbed a banana, and kept running.  I caught sight of three young guys that were also from the Santa Rosa area.  “Hey, DeAnne!  You’ve done these things before!”  “Yeah.” 

“Well, then, how the hell are you supposed to finish it when you’re only halfway and already something really sucks?”

“What’s hurting?”

“My knee!”

I summoned my best wise-woman-of-the-hills voice, and intoned through a bite of banana, “Oh, don’t worry. That pain will pass.”

“But it’s really bad!”

“Mark my words…by mile 15, it’ll be gone…(insert dramatic pause with one raised eyebrow)… and something else will be bothering you.”

“Awwwww!  That’s  not what I wanted to hear!”  With a good-natured grin, he waved me off.  “Run faster, unless you have good news for us!”

So I did.  I trotted a bit faster, with all of us laughing, epecially when I snagged a big pretzel off a tray that a spectator was holding.  I was sure the pretzels were for the runners!  Carbs!  Yum!  But he hollered to me that that pretzel was for his wife or his kids!  I told him, mid-bite that I was too tired to run it back to him!  He said to enjoy it.  Marathons and cancer are alike in that there are little unxpected rewards and laughter mixed in with the BS!

Life and cancer are alike, in that there’s always something to deal with, right?!  And yet, if we’re lucky, and keep chugging, we will get across the finnish line…maybe even with a “pretzel” and some laughs we hadn’t planned on!

Uplifted by the loving support of everyone in my Universe and then some, (you raffle players and friends of my sister, me and anyone else who has ever dealt with cancer, you know who you are, and I love you!!!) , I’m steaming towards the halfway mark of this chemo plan!  Woo HOOO!

Once I stopped belching fire, along about last Monday, I felt so much better. I could fearlessly eat again!  I could run(without the fear of burning down the forest with my acidic breathing and firey complaining), and I could lay down to sleep.  I found myself smiling, and in other little ways joinging the living.  Then I found out about Jenny’s raffle, and now I’m on an all time high!  I can do this, and in fact, WE are doing this!  Really, each one of you has added to a big wonderul miracle!  And we’re halfway there!!!!

I figured that round 4 of chemo will be like mile 13.1 of a marathon.  People are looking at you as you pass this point.  It’s where alot of people stop because they’re doing the half instead of the full marathon, so there are alot of spectators.  They can tell whether you’re done or not by the color of the bib number pinned to the front of your shirt.  If you’re only halfway and looking like death warmed over, or obviously having an attitude problem, and you still have another half to run, then that’s bad form!  Especially for someone like me, who is slow enough to be seen by the crowd!  I always try to smile and wave at the cameras, and otherwise act like I’m having the time of my life.  Many a photo has come back with me eating with one hand and drinking merrily in midstride as I cross the midway point.  It’s good to celibrate, no?!

Mom drove me down to Marin today for my apointment.  As we waited for my turn to have blood drawn, (30 minutes wait for  30 seconds to poke me in the arm, )  we discussed the many things not to do while wearing a wig.  These are all because this causes the wig to move around, making you look, in fact, like you’re wearing a wig.  One who wears wigs needs to stay out of the wind, not move her head, and for that matter, don’t sneeze, chew too hard on gum or other edible things, talk or even think too hard, because that causes spastic little movements of the eyebrows and/or ears, which will cause said wig to ride up higher on one side than the other.  Anyhow, we were cracking eachother up, and generally making other people in the waiting area a tad nervous. 

I understand that they’re nervous, but so am I!  And laughter cures that!

But the part that cracked us up the hardest was the elevator ride….we knew we had to go to the 2nd floor for the labwork.  We were so proud that we remembered the right floor!  (Usually Jenny remembers that sort of thing.)  We pushed the button for “2″ and waited.  No swooshy elevator sensations, no little bump when it stops, no openning doors onto sights yet to be seen…only silence and stillnes.  We pushed the button again.  We waited.  Whatt kind of cutrate place is this?!  Broken elevator.  Tersely, I said, “Maybe we should get on a different elevator.” 

We pushed that button again, like we meant it!  And the door openned, and out we stumbled onto the 2nd floor, where we had been all along!  Huh.

Such rocket scientists we are!  Good with elevators, too! 

More like Larry and Curly on an elevator ride to the moon!  Somehow, Jenny’s never had this problem.  Aces in their places!  We were missing Mo, but Larry and Curly got the job done, for now, this time

Amid much hilarity, we went for coffee at a lovely little cafe in swanky Larkspur, then met with the oncologist.  I was relieved to hear that last week’s symptoms and side-effects were a nuisance, but nothing more, and that I was doing fine…all the little numbers from the blood test said so, and we’re on for tomorrow’s treatment!  The doctor, a very sweet and sympthetic soul, said that he was impressed by my “positive attitude and strength”!  (Good thing he didn’t see me last week, when I was so mean and grumbly!)

So, off we go tomorrow!  Halfway there, still smiling and none the worse for the wear!  (Thank you, thank you very much…I’d like to thank my sponsors, and my family and all my friends…. heehee!)

People have told me that fighting cancer will make me a better person.  Now, I see what they’re talking about!  I’m learning by YOUR wonderful examples!  All of you who read my blog, or my sister’s or Stephanie’s has shown me how magnificent this world full of people truly is!!!

After a week of grumpiness and chemo-related fatigue and indigestion, my computer was giving me grief, so I didn’t go online and see what Jenny and all of you are doing with the raffle.  Jenny didn’t tell me, because she knows I hate asking for help.  I do like my independence.  But there comes a time when sometimes I need help and other people.  But, oh, you guys!!!!!  I was literally moved to tears when my mom called me and  insisted that I look and read what Jenny’s been up to.  I was tired, after teaching 10 people, 3 of whom were sneezing at me!  I had yet to fix dinner, it was dark and no, my computer still was acting weird.  So my mom insisted that I drive 5 minutes up to her house, that she had something to show me.  Her voice sounded funny on the phone, so I gulped down some sweet pototoes and kale and drove up to her house, burning with curiosity.

What I saw amazed me, worried me (Why are these people doing this?!  What!?) then the tears became a big goofy smile.  The donations are blessings from heaven!  But even more than that, your happy thoughts, prayers and well wishes tickled my heart!  People who don’t even know me are helping! 

Thank you.  Actually, there are not adequate words to describe how I feel! 

Yes, cancer is a bummer.

But people like you make it possible to get through this with my head on straight (though the wig tends to be crooked), and a song in my heart! 

And Jenny!  If Mom, Jenny and I are the 3 Stooges, then Jenny has always been the smart one.  In the weeks after I was diagnosed,  I felt like I was running around in circles flapping my arms like a ninny.  My Mom and I were just devastated.  On the weekends, when I wasn’t teaching, I just aimlessly followed her around, helping her move her warehouse to another building, watching TV, just because I couldn’t stand to be alone.  She, too, had this look of dread constantly in her eyes.  I guess what happens to the daughter happens to the mother too.  “OH, I wish they could take the cancer out and put it into my body instead!”  she told me when I gave her the news.  We cried alot.  We sort of alternated between bravado and tears.

Not Jenny.  I don’t think she cried.  She just sprung into action.  Problems with the insurance?  She fixed it.  Scared of the doctor?  She went with Mom and I, and turned every outing to the doctors’ into a party afterward, taking us out to lunch and keeping us laughing through it all.  Jenny’s become a favorite at the chemo ward, too, with her calm, can’t-shock-her attitude and her quick wit!  And just the other day, we were talking about this stupid deductible.  I figured I’d just make payments on it somehow, and deal with it.  We don’t worry, we deal, right?!

I remember a few days ago, sitting out in the evening air.  It was a gorgeous March evening that felt more like June.  I had been reading a book about visualization.  I looked up at an early star, and tried to visualize having a financial windfall!  And…BAH!  That sort of thing does’t really happen, I thought.  It’s OK, I’ll just get through this spring as best I can, try to keep my nose above water, so to speak…then take on more students in the summer or something…(worrisome thoughts don’t mix well with visualization, I’ve discovered.)

Then last night I read about Jenny’s miraculous raffle!  Once again, and a billion times more, Thank you from the bottom of my heart!  I may have lost my hair, my appetite, my energy, and my sense of humor, but I sure have found my smile!  And being touched my your generosity and caring has made me want to fight this thing all the better, so that I can come through it in the end and be generous and gracious and kind like all of you! 

Your donations to Jenny’s raffle are a trememdous help and I appreciate them so much.  But like I said, just knowing there are so many people out there who have touched me with their kindness is the biggest blessing.  Love and health and happiness to all! 

Thank you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!