Life is a circus

A long time ago before there were so many different things to entertain us and otherwise take our money, there was the traveling circus.  Mind you, this is the more of traveling Carnival less Ringling Brothers and definitely not Cirque du Soleil.  It was a big deal when the circus came to town, all the pretty ladies in their sequined outfits, the clowns, the animal acts and a couple of things that were really strange freaks of nature--this was such a big deal that the town would have a parade.  The circus also had two types of horses--the show ponies--usually white or gray, prancing with feathers and bling. They were stars along with acrobats and acts on board. You just know that they were stabled in a covered area, so they would not get muddy.  They would be brushed so their coats would shine, they probably even had a blanket with their names embroidered on the side. If there was a plush animal prize for a game of chance or concession that had the show pony as a prize, it was the one the little girls wanted most.   Then, there were the work horses, the dark colored ones that pulled the wagon, hoisted the tent, and gave rides to children chained to a center post. I doubt there was much of a market  for the work horse plush animal.  Both horses worked, very hard, but were basically different.  Neither horse would be comfortable with the other's harness.   You were either a show pony or a work horse.

I am a work horse.  I come from a long line of work horses. I have always hitched my harness and plowed the field regardless of the weather or how big the field was.    Taken care of business, with not much drama and not much maintenance.  I don't usually need to have my butt powdered, or need to be given a lump of sugar (yellow marker) to keep going, just an bucket of oats every day and I am good to go. Ney, whinney.   In the past few months, every one has told me that I should take it easy, relax, let others do for me. I am trying, but it is hard.   I simply do not know how.  I am too old to become a show pony, I am so well trained that if cut loose I would return to the barn, or at very least keep going around in a circle giving the kids a ride.  I am happiest when I have a sense of purpose and accomplishment to my day. 

But for Monday, I was moving toward, getting my harness back on, and looking for my plow.   The angry villagers from Neulasta returned  because they didn't finish me off last week.  At one point I thought I was a horse headed to the glue factory...ugh, that is so last week.  Some drug intervention (read: drooling drug coma) and promises from my Onco Doctor that I would not be terrorized by the villagers on my next cycle (read:  No day after shot), the sun did indeed come out on Tuesday.  By the time I spoke with Lauren mid afternoon, I had been to the store, brain farted a Lunch date (hey, I now have an excuse--chemo brain) , taken a load of junk to Goodwill, cleaned up the cabinet in the garage, swept and blew the pollen, spiders and leaves out of the garage, clorox the green slime on the pool deck, and was prepping for dinner....boy, I love the feel of the plow.  I know this is not seem like a lot of activity, but to an old work horse, I was glad for energy that allowed me to get r' done. 

Tomorrow, Lauren goes back to work.  A little less than 6 weeks after having Eli.  When she was growing up, I thought she was a show pony, for sure.  After all, Ed's mother, Maxine, was the queen of show ponies.  But Lauren has proved me wrong, time and time again.  She is a work horse, just like her mother, but she does it with so much more style and grace than I ever had at that age...it must the work horse with a sprinkle of show pony in her gene pool.    I watch her in sheer amazement...my heart almost bursting with pride.  She is a wonderful wife, mother, worker bee, and friend...but best of all she is a great daughter.  She returns to work with a unusual schedule....when you have a 24/7 conference center, you can be creative with your 35 - 40 hours a week, it just doesn't leave a lot of "me" time.  Just like the circus horse, she will have a lots of different jobs everyday, each which will take her full energy.  It seems like a lot now...but she has been training for this, and I know she will be fine.  Meanwhile, I am saying a little prayer for my precious grandson, Eli, to sleep tight, so his mommy can get back in the harness tomorrow.

The Quail Years

Last night Ed and I got out of the house.  It is not the type of activity that should merit much attention.  We have a regular group of couples that get together every 6 weeks or so for Canasta and dinner.  Calendars are set at the beginning of the year, you are expected to hostess when it is your turn, trade for conflicts, and try to be there if your travel and grandchildren will allow, or at least let everyone know well in advance.   When this time's reminder came, I knew that it was only 4.5 days after my first chemo treatment, so, I said yes.  It was a goal.  Mind you, not a lofty goal, but a small goal...reclaim normalcy in our lives as quickly as possible.  I have read of people that have their treatment on Friday and return to work on Monday, so going to Dinner and Canasta should be easy.  It was great to get in the car and not be headed to a Doctor's office.  The men of the group all gave me a fist bump and a kiss---they are afraid to hug---not sure if I might wince in pain or bite them.  Their question--"You good?"  Yeah, I'm good.  So much for chit-chat.  Drinks (yes, red marker, I had ice water) and munchies, lots of chit chat, then dinner.  With this group, the men are in one room eating dinner, the ladies in another.  The girls always want the down and dirty, and their own bowl of chocolate snacks.   They want to know all the 411, just in case the need the information or experience for themselves or other friends.  It is what women do, we gather input,  we empathize, we care, we feel.  But their question of the night was simple - "How's Eddie doing with all of this?"  Without hesitation, I answered, "He is a quail".  After all, these people know us well.  I am the care-or and Ed is the care-ee.  Bad training on my part, but after 36 years he is use to being the one cared for.  

A Quail you ask...specifically a Gambel Quail.  It is a quail that lives mainly in the Arizona Desert.  The male has a round body, short neck and tail and a top knot that kinda bobs as he scurries around the desert floor, yeah, that would be our Eddie. However, his knees have kept his scurrying down to a shuffle.     I was introduced to the bird some years back by my sister, Kathy, who lives in Tucson.  She always brakes for quail, because this quail is a monogamous/mates for life kind of bird. If there is one, their mate is not far behind.  If one is struck by a car, the other will come and stand over the wounded bird, as if to say, "I will stay with you to the end"...or until the next car comes and takes me too.  Not like the randy bunch of Mallards that inhabit our yard and dock --they are more of a "love the one you are with (today)", "is it my turn yet" group of birds.  More times than I can count in the past weeks, Ed has been there, with his top knot bobbing, with eyes that speak shared pain and fear, but also, the promise to stay to this whole cancer thing is done. There are nights he just holds my hand as we sleep, hoping that he can make it all better.   We have arrived after 35 plus years of marriage, to the quail years. (Can't take credit for that expression--it is Kathy's)  It is the part of your marriage vows that start, "for richer or poorer",...through "the sickness and health" and end with the "until death do we part".  Not everyone these days is lucky enough to get a quail.  I looked around the canasta table last night, quails must be a pack bird, because everyone there is a quail..and what is the old saying about birds of a feather.    Everyone has been married at least 35 years, with one couple for 50.  We accept our mates for what they are and aren't and realized that we are lucky to be mated for life.  Yeah, the quail years.....life is good.  

Marking time

About 20 years ago, give or take a few years, Lauren was a Brownie Scout, and surprise, I was involved with the troop...cookie mom, troop leader, summer camp leader, whatever was needed.  One particular summer there was summer day camp held at River Grove Park.  Don't remember all the particulars, but I do remember that we had to name our group.  Given that they were very social and noisy flock of girls, they decided to call themselves The Fantastic Flamingos.  The girls would stand on one leg, giggling wildly, make a strange bird like shrill and scream, ..."and we are Fabulous!"  Lauren can still make me smile with a shriek, tucked arm and winged salute.  Ahh, the simple silliness of 8 year olds.

When we were driving last week to the Woodlands for my first chemo treatment, we drove past a yard with the retro 1950's pink plastic flamingos staked around the flower beds. It gave me the same smile and giggle as that silly summer.   Idle mind/devil's workshop kinda of thing started to take shape in the back of my brain.  I am not an in your face, wear pink, I have/survived breast cancer kinda gal.  However, after going through the treatment, I determined that I, too, needed to claim my victories each time.   On Wednesday, before I was mugged and beaten by a group of angry villagers with clubs, rocks and steel toe boots (see Neulasta warning label), I went online and ordered a box of 6 plastic flamingos.  They are not the really tall and expensive ones by Bob what's his name, because I am basically cheap. These are  more of the Oriental Trading variety with whirling arms and cost less than a trip to Starbucks for two.    I decided that each time I came home from a chemo treatment, a new flamingo would join my flock.  When my chemo treatments are finished this summer and I begin six weeks of daily radiation treatments, I will remove one of my flamingo friends each week, until they are all down in their box.  I am more than willing to share by flock with others.  If you have a friend that has breast cancer and is undergoing treatment after I finish with mine, let me know, I will send her my birds and a Journal...kinda like the Sisterhood of the Traveling Flamingos kinda thing.  I have realized that in the journey out of the valley that the encouragement and support of others make a difference.  So, yesterday after UPS delivered my flock, Ed went out in the pouring down rain put the first flamingo in place.  

So, when you come to my house, look for my flock, coming and going.  They will be there, in the flower beds around my front door, I am sure each will have her own story to tell.  Until then, wing salute.....

Moses and the Ten Commandments

Remember the Bible story of Moses receiving the Ten Commandments on Mt. Sinai on his adventure from Egypt?  For you movie buffs that need a visual reference, 1956 DeMillie/Heston, The Ten Commandments, complete with parting of the Red Sea.  Moses went up the mountain, came down forty days later with stone tablets of the Ten Commandments.  (The forty days was edited down in the movie adaption.) But, you can see Heston with his graying hair, with the tablets, going over the rules.  There was not a lot of wiggle room, it was heavy on the "Thou Shalt Not", strong on the "Obey" and "Honor"---period, TEN, done!  

Fast forward a couple thousand years and we have cancer patients going to Mt. Anderson for forty (at least) days.  Not to be out done by Moses and God, they issue their stone tablet in the form of a pink notebook (for breast cancer---I am sure that every cancer has a different colored notebook).   A lot has happened since the time of Moses---we are after all a free people able to make our own decisions, but the stone tablet pink notebook has plenty of suggestions, considerations, best practices, and rules.  It is a 1-1/2 inch three ring binder, with pre labled tabs, clear sheet for all the business cards you will be receiving, and pockets for sticking the stuff you get at every visit. (Note to MD Anderson print department, larger notebook, give sheets out that are prepunched...it might find a home in the notebook.)  It is a full time job to keep up with the reading, filing and cross referencing.  Before tackling your homework notebook, be sure to pick up a pack of colored highlight markers.  Red/Orange to highlight the do not, yellow for the should not, green for the can do items, and blue for the recommended items.  It will help you sort out your new Ten Commandments.  From a lawyer's point of view (that would be Eddie), when you sign on the treatment at  MD Anderson for Cancer Treatment (or any other of the country's top Cancer Centers), you become one of their numbers.  They want you to be successful in the treatment of your particular cancer, so you to can cross the cancer out with the red marking pen in their commercial.  But, they also don't want you to lose in the fight with bad habits or risky behaviors, so they are going to have rules.  You can't be Number #1 without rules. After all, you are part of the science experiment, they would like to have the control stick on the variables.

Some of the rules include (but not limited to) not taking hot showers, only tepid, with these recommended soaps and lotions.    No hot tubs, soaking baths, or public bath houses. Minimize processing your hair with heat, dyes, chemicals, products, but you are going to go bald anyway, so why should they worry about the 14 days before you start to loose your hair.   Change your deodorant and toothpaste so that they do not contain these ingredients.  Do not (red marker) use herbals or unapproved substances to help your body get over the toxic shock of chemicals.  Minimize activity with outdoor animals, zoo animals and livestock---is mad cow a potential side effect to chemo? Eat a largely plant based, organic diet, with whole grains, free range, organic chicken, sustainable fish from wild or farmed US waters, nuts and twigs (green marker). You should minimize sugar and sugary snacks (yellow marker), as sugar feeds cancer---what about dark (or any) chocolate, I thought that was on the good list.  Then, there is the wiggle room part--turn the page in nutrition and it refers to prepackaged boxed meals, like Mac & Cheese.   Where is that on the plant based list, haven't seen fields of blue Kraft boxes waving in the sun lately.  Also, it recommends (blue marker, please) you should not consume more than 18 ounces of red meat---beef, lamb or pork, in a week.  I doubt I eat that in a month.  My favorite, however, has to be the section on consumption of alcohol.  It was written by a lawyer for sure.  It states that the American Institute of Cancer Research or some such lofty thinking tank, recommends (blue marker) that you refrain from consumption of alcohol during your treatments. Like I will be reaching for a drink while I am on the vomit comet...  However, if you do partake, it should be limited to 2 drinks per day for men and 1 drink for women. It then continues with what that amount is.  A serving shall constitute 1-12 oz beer, 1.5 oz hard liquor, 4 ounces wine.  In the generation of super size and the Reidel wine glasses, glad they made that clear...Good Grief.

Once you have conquered the basic rule book and think you have a handle on your new lifestyle, the blizzard of new pages come with every visit.  Each has their new set of dos and don't.  Get out your markers and add sticky notes to your bag of tricks, because this is where the rules start getting fuzzy.  On my "T" chemo, the side effect, rule sheet, has the usual dose of in case of allergic reaction and what it is and when to call 911, it restates the drinking alcohol rule from above.  Okay, according to my lawyer, that means an occasional glass of wine (4 ounces, as in the wine glasses I got as wedding present  for my sister 35 years ago size)  on your good week might be okay.  However, the "C" chemo sheet, said in big bold do not (grab your red markers, folks) even think about drinking anything...period---Ten Commandment style. Figure the wrath of God or your liver might fall out.  So, my Lenten season has gotten a ninety day upgrade.

On to yesterday's three hour trip to the Woodlands for my post chemo, immunity building, white cell booster shot, that is given exactly 24 hours (and not a minute less, we tried) after the end of the previous days chemo treatment. (Ed spoke with the nurse about get a Rx for the injection, and giving it to me, himself, instead of driving back and forth.  After all, he had wanted to be a Doctor before he became a lawyer, and he has watched TV medical dramas- doesn't that count for anything?) Today's treatment handout was three, non-hole punched, sheets of side effects, and warnings.  And, there I was without my highlight pens.  Side effects include bone, joint and tooth pain, particular your long bones (arms and legs) with a special shout out to your hips.  Got it, next, in the red marker section of do nots would be the part about don't take aspirin, NSAIDs, or tylenol or any pain relievers as it might mask a fever or reaction that could be life threatening or relieve the pain that you might be experiencing.  Okay, how long will these side effects last---a few days, or possible weeks.  I asked what I should do for these things...since they have taken hot baths, showers, herbals, liquor off the list of alternatives.  Take Claritin the nurse said.  Not on the list, just a sticky note in the nurse's file.  Got it, with pollen so bad that my gray car is yellow, I can do that.  Have my microwave cheetah neck pillow with lavendar oil for my tooth ache, and my 24 hour generic Claritin tab, will be hanging around the house today for sure.  Boy, the rules were much simpler in the time of Moses (heck, even in Heston's day).

Horoscope

Yesterday morning , as I settled down with my usual first of 3 large cups of Starbucks Breakfast blend coffee and the Houston Chronicle, I decided to read my Jacqueline Bigar's Horoscope for the day.  Since I already have the power of prayer going for me, mediation and howling at the new moon covered, what could a quick glance at my 'scope hurt.  For Tuesday, March 6, my Libra (yes, I look for balance), read: *** (3 star day out of 5 stars-fair day, scales of balance titled toward positive---I'll take that) "Today, you will witness a radical change in your mood, energy and sense of empowerment.  You could drag your heels for a good portion of the day, then suddenly feel as if you just woken up from a wonderful night's sleep."

How did that work out for me?  Radical change in my mood--yeah, it was pretty radical.  I had a great deal of fear, anxiety, and general dread going to MD Anderson in the Woodlands at 11:15 yesterday.  It is about 45 minutes there, and another 15 minutes looking for a parking place.  The weather was overcast, adding to my less than sunny mode.  After the usual, name, medical record number (can they just not UPC tattoo that to some body part), birthday, here is your medical id bracelet for today (I have quite a collection at this point).  We were ushered back to our private infusion room, with a nice recliner (had to arm wrestle Ed to get the chair) and an suitably uncomfortable waiting room chair for him.  My infusion nurse came in, Amber.  After exchanging the necessary medical info, we stumbled upon the fact that she knew Lauren.  She had "happened" at Camp Allen when Lauren was the Happening Director during her Senior year of high school.  That six degree of separation thing...she was probably much friendlier and more attentive that a random bench nurse would have been.  So, she helped reduce my fear level to almost a manageable range.  Amber then began hanging the bags on an octopus IV stand, 8 bags, with more interchanges and connections than the I-610,I-10, Hwy 290 interchange by the Gallerie.  Glad she knew the on and off ramps like the back of her hand.  The IV port (last week's medical pain in the boob) was a life saver, my veins were happy not to be called into duty again.  It wasn't that bad, just took 4.5 hours, since you can't throw it all in at the same time---might be toxic..yeah, right, don't want to be toxic or anything.  I only struggled slightly with the "T" - Doxotaxol portion of the chemo.  My throat started to clench--but Amber was just a drug throw away and nailed me with bendaryl...lots of it, I was home by 6:00, dinner and pajamas by 7:00, and in bed by 8:00.  The energy portion of today adventure--I was clearly not myself when we left at 4:30, kinda of like one too many margaritas, but I was calm for sure.  Sense of empowerment-yeah, that would be the high point--one down 5 to go, I can do this, no problem, piece of cake---must be the artificial adrendine/manic from the steroid making me say that.

Okay, part two, the suddenly...woken up---3:00 AM, to be exact.  Wonderful night's sleep part--well maybe-- according to my bedmate, I sawed logs, until 3:00.  Then it was like I had a Casa Elena's Pitcher of Margarita Hangover. For those of you long time residents of Kingwood, their margaritas are legendary for their strength and day after effects...even in smallest of doses.     The front and back of my head hurt--thanks bendaryl blood pressure spike and steroid eye pressure issues...nothing an ice pack on the back of the neck won't fix.  Salt and Lime - that would be the total acid feeling that I am experiencing----tears, sweat and anything else that leaks water...will probably have to burn my underwear if it doesn't have acid holes in it already.  Digestive tract, operational, with lots of grumbling, but eating yogurt, pears and other healing items in an attempt to ride out the next three days of threatened side effects.  Oh yeah, nerve endings---tingling, and firing at will.  I guess the side effect portion cause the two star downgrade on my day's 'scope.  Other than that I have survived the day.  Of course, just about the time I might feel like myself, we will drive back to the Woodlands during afternoon rush hour for a booster shot for my red and white cell stimulation...which comes with the bonus of bone and joint pain...but of course, there is a drug for that.  For a person who has tried to avoid the drug route her whole life, giving my body time to heal itself, I have made up in the last 4 months for forsaking the drug companies' profit margin.  Eddie has always been our family's drug company poster boy...best blood work money can buy.  I thought that it was a family plan, not individual achievement.

In the coming days, Lauren will update my header for my blog, she is really good at that.  Make it a little more pickle-fied and a little less pink.  I am not a wear pink, embrace the pink ribbon, type of person, figured when I go bald, that will be like a big neon sign, no need to wallow in it. So, the top will change, the warped sense of humor won't.  Thanks again for your thoughts and prayers.

And so it begins....

In the immortal words of Sean Connery, when asked about playing James Bond again, his response was, "Never say never".  You'd think that I would have learned that by this time.  I have said I would never have a blog, or publicly ramble on about my issues or those of my family...cause I don't like the attention and basically a very private person.  

However, in the past three or four months, I have had time on my hands, between various procedures, doctors visits, and more than the regular number of  sleepless in the suburbs nights. During the night quiet as my mind spins in a thousand different directions, I can hear my wise grandmother whisper in my ear,"Idle hands are the devil's workshop".  As well as the reminder from my youth,  "Nothing good happens after midnight".  I am definitely looking at idle hands over the next 18 weeks (24, if you count the radiation that follows the controlled poisoning, oops, I mean treatments)...and I don't want to find myself in the "devil's workshop"--cause I feel like I have already taken a couple of laps around it.  Should I find myself up after midnight,  wandering the house or 'hood, I might as well be doing something constructive....since most of my Words with Friends pals go to bed by 10:00 PM.


Yesterday was the first day with my new drug routine for my upcoming chemo treatments.  It involves two very small mint green tablets of dexameth---a steroid, which lists in it pages of side effects, headache, jittery nerves (my words, not theirs), insomnia,  and weight gain...and that is just the most common, more pleasant ones...yeah! Check, check and check---right on schedule--can't wait for today's additional side effects.   So, here I am in the middle of the night, learning how to create and post to a blog, on the day I begin the first of six chemotherapy treatments for my Breast Cancer.   I am not sure what direction this might take or the frequency, but I hope to be humorous, informative (cause I am sure you all are dying to know what is going on in my life), and on occasion a little sappy or reflective. I promise to post pictures of my beautiful one month old grandson, Eli.  I, however, am not promising to post pictures of myself...have never like pictures of myself, I prefer the lies I tell myself when looking in the mirror much better.   I will also share my family lexicon of phrases.  Not sure where they come from, but both my sister, Kathy, Lauren, George, and I all use them and assume that everyone know what were a talking about.  Example: "I am going to go beep for bucks". Translation:  I am going to the ATM and get cash.


If there is a day when there is nothing going on that merits a posting, I will go back to things that have happened in the last ninety days---there are some real great stories that need an audience, cause you can't make some of this stuff up.  If there is nothing, assume I maybe hibernating, or out after midnight getting into trouble.