A Woman on a Mission



Yesterday, I mentioned my intention to go for short bike rides, once the weather gets better. Whereas it's true I thought that would be a healthful thing to do, I must admit that I have another motive in mind....

You see, a couple of weeks ago, when it was nice outside, I was puttering in the gardens, and was walkin up our driveway to the front, when I was startled to see soil flying from the front flowerbed onto the pavement in front of me. I nearly peed my pants when first one big black lab and then a blonde crossbreed dog gallopped around the corner of the house and past me to our back yard. I shooed them away as they were about to "assume the position" and dump a couple of loads onto the lawn. The lighter coloured dog approached me barking, with hackles raised, but I could see he was in far too good a mood to be serious, and the two companions happily resumed chasing one another through one neighbour's yard after another.

The next day, minutes after Curtis got home, I remembered to tell him about the incident. The words were barely out of my mouth when I heard the clink of dog collars outside our kitchen window. They were back. The same scene repeated itself, except this time, they ran across the street and both took big poops on the German fish guy's (he has an aquarium business in his basement) front lawn. Again, I watched the two canines to see where they went, but they disappeared around the block.

I haven't seen the dogs again since the weather turned cold. But if I do, I intend to follow them on my bicycle, because eventually they will go home. Our city has extremely strict leash laws, and I would want to have a word or two with the owners about the dangers of letting their pets run loose near such busy streets.

Besides, I need to know where to deliver the poop.

Hangin in There



I don't do much but laze around these days, but I'm coping with the treatments a bit better already. The anti-nausea drugs were delivered to our door last night, so I'm feeling less trepidation about tonight's injection. Plus I have a big fat smile on my face right now, and Mary Lou, you put it there. I received your beautiful card in the mail today, and you really outdid yourself on this one - so pretty! Thanks so much for your thoughtfulness.

I have very little interest in food (especially since I put our last two Krispy Kremes in Curtis' lunch this morning wahhhhh), but, considering that I could live off of my, erm, reserves for a considerable length of time, there's no danger of me wasting away just yet. I drink buckets and buckets of water all day, which may necessitate recarpeting of the hallway to our main bathroom before long.

Walking is uncomfortable, because the chemo has made my legs feel as if they've been pulverized with a Louisville Slugger. As soon as this nasty weather decides to leave and give us back our Spring, I'd like to take my bicycle for a short spin every day; I think the fresh air and mild exercise would make me feel stronger and happier, and it would be easier on me than tryin to hoof it. Besides, I'd rather ride over dog poo than shuffle through it, any day. (Springtime in Winnipeg is rather like the seven cities of Pompeii: layer upon layer of winter detritus being fragrantly exposed by the melted snow.)

Have a happy weekend, everyone.

I Get By With a Little Help From My Friends



Who wouldn't feel better after having a gorgeous gift like this delivered to their door? Thank you so much, Sally.

I had a difficult night after my second interferon injection, but not as bad as the first time. I can do this.

It helps to have so many people pullin for me, encouraging me, and prayin for me.

It helps to have Curtis rubbin my back with his big soothing hands when I'm wracked with the shakes.

It helps to know that God has a plan for me, and to surrender to it, whatever it is.

Having said all that, it's back to bed for me. I'm tired and still feverish.

I can do this.

Digitally Challenged



I wanted to photograph the snow on my street this morning. I wanted to photograph the gorgeous basket of goodies Sally sent me. I wanted to photograph the beautiful ceramic angel that Esther sent me. I wanted to post those photographs. But every time I attempt to shoot a picture with our digital camera, it comes out overexposed. I know there's a way to adjust the lighting, but I'm too impatient to discover how. I'm feverish, and anything that doesn't go 100% my way, immediately, causes me to splutter and break out in a sweat.

The snow is gone now, which is great - I'd rather lose the photo op than have that white junk lyin around, any day. As for my wonderful gifts, I'll have to get Curtis to photograph them for me when he gets home from work. Hopefully, I can get my intended post up here before I am incapacitated by another chemo treatment tonight.

So it's off to the showers and then the grocery store. Last night I couldn't deal with raw chicken; today, I'm hopin I'll be able to prepare a nice dinner for Curtis. Just because I'm off my food, doesn't mean the big guy has to starve.

Have another day, folks.

Ugh



I was given a long list of possible side effects from the interferon, and last night, after my first injection, it seemed I was tryin to experience every one of them:

CHILLS, SHAKING: This was my first symptom, and it lasted about an hour. I have never had tremors like that in my life, and they sure took a lot of my body's energy. Deep breathing helped.

HEADACHE: Felt like my head was splitting in half. The two regular Tylenol every four hours that I was told to take, took the edge off.

NAUSEA, VOMITING: This I dread more than anything. I lost the chicken breast clubhouse I'd had for dinner.

FEVER, SWEATING: For a couple of hours during the night, I was burnin up - soaked right through my nightgown and sheet.

BODY ACHES: My back, and, oddly enough, my left calf, hurt like the dickens.

DIZZINESS: For about a half hour, I could hardly make it to the bathroom because my head was spinning so badly.

I awoke this morning with a headache (again, the Tylenol helped a lot with this). Other than that and fatigue, I feel much better. My next injection will not be until Wednesday night (I have to inject Mon, Wed and Fri before bedtime), and I hope to sleep through the worst of the side effects from now on. Because I had to be taught how to handle the interferon pen and inject properly, I had my dosage at 3 pm yesterday; hopefully, a later administration of this poison will spare me some of the suffering I endured last night.

This stuff had better work, and/or the side effects had better ease off after a couple of weeks, otherwise I will NOT spend the rest of the time I have left, subjecting myself to its ravages.

Grand Forks



Grand Forks, North Dakota has come a long way since the devastating flood of 1997, whose water and fires gutted its downtown and destroyed classic buildings like Whitey's Wonderbar and Cafe, an institution since 1925. Mary Lou asked me why we go so far to spend a weekend in a hotel. Well, we love the cross-border shopping (the items and varieties of things unavailable to us in Canada), but for me it's more: I have always considered this little city my second home, and to see it rise like a phoenix from the ashes, is inspiring. Whitey's has been rebuilt, as has its modern sister, the Blue Moose restaurant and saloon. Many of its classic furnishings have been salvaged. Grand Forks is a symbol of survival and triumph, and they are everything to me.

This weekend was great. Friday morning my sister-in-law Diane phoned to say she had a doctor's appointment in my end of town, and would I like to go for lunch? Well, that was a pleasant surprise, but I told her we'd have to wait for a delivery from a florist. I had no idea what was comin, and when it did arrive, Diane and I oohed and aahed over the huge array of gorgeous bath and body projects, candles, and ceramic angel arranged beautifully in a pretty hatbox. I have only begun to thank you for this bounty, Sally.

While waiting for the florist, UPS came and delivered the golf clubs that Curtis bid for on eBay. What great deals he got. Diane and I then enjoyed the buffet at our local Chinese restaurant, the Wok n Roll, and came home to the disappointing news that I had not been randomized to receive the trial drug. I have to admit that I had a meltdown when I heard that, but I have girded myself with a list of questions for the nurse when we see her today to begin my chemotherapy.

Although Curtis' account of our border crossing into the US is "slightly" exaggerated, it was a bit of an adventure. I had been warned by the bone scan technician that I would probably set off the radiation detectors, but I thought that handing the guard the explanatory letter would suffice. Noooooo. 9/11 has forever changed things, it seems. As the car and I were swept with geiger counters and there was much grim-faced documenting on the part of the border patrol, I commended the US for its diligence. There are no detectors of any kind as you cross over from the US into Canada. You could be towing a nuclear warhead, and the only concern would be whether you purchased alcohol and/or tobacco products, and how much in duty and taxes can be collected from you.

Anyway, we made it to the Grand Forks Ramada without incident and, since it was a little late by the time I had moved us in (I have to put the clothing into the dresser drawers and the toiletries in the bathroom, to make it homey, you know), it was gettin a little late; so we decided to eat at the restaurant adjacent to the hotel. Oh. My. Delicious strawberry margaritas, wonderful wholegrain buns and caesar salad, and the hugest, most decadent seafood-stuffed shrimp we've ever had. And of course, the terrific service that is characteristic of the city. We went back to our room sated and utterly relaxed, and I slept like a baby.

Saturday we shopped til we dropped. Curtis got: a great folding chair for fishing, a beautiful gold neck chain (70% off, it was a steal), a reciprocating saw, cologne, his Suave deoderant and shampoo, socks, t-shirts and shoes. I got: two pairs of shorts, a two-piece shirt set, shoes, a garden rocker (great little back-saving seat for gardening), a big stupid hat (to protect the radiated skin on my face) and a little eyebrow-plucky device. We managed to find a trunkload of IBC root beer and of course, some Krispy Kremes. We lunched at a great place called Campbell's Woodsmoked Burgers, where you get to load your sandwich with your choice of 40 ingredients. In the afternoon, we snoozed and watched movies in our room. Dinner? Well, around 8 pm, we went back to GF Goodribs for more "punishment." We didn't sleep as well because of some teenage sports teams, whose athletes were runnin wind sprints and exercising their lungs in the hallway outside our door, until Curtis bellowed in his baritone drawl, "Okay, that's it: Let's cut the crap out here." I think he scared them to death, because we heard only a giggle or two and then dead silence. However, some guy's truck alarm kept goin off beneath our window. Sigh. It's always something.

Sunday morning we checked out, ate breakfast at the Village Inn, and picked up a few more items: a great polar bear figurine for Kathy's Steven, some more Krispy Kremes, a new mailbox for the house, and a few minor grocery and hardware items. As we drove past a virtually empty golf course, we regretted not having brought our clubs. Would've been a great way to spend Sunday. We were tired and pretty much shopped out, but since we had to get our 48 hours in to be entitled to duty-free passage back into Canada, we managed to kill enough time until a late lunch/early dinner at Paradiso Mexican Restaurant, then headed north with our fully packed Cruiser.

This morning Curtis made breakfast, as he stayed home from work to accompany me to chemo training this afternoon. We have to pick up the interferon pen from the clinic pharmacy next door to CancerCare, which I'll put on my Visa until we can figure out from whom we can get some coverage (hopefully). Our cats are delighted that we're home (they kept the house in pristine condition while we were gone, except for one small hairball), especially Milo, who has been showin off and demanding attention since we walked into the house.

Our weekend retreat was exactly what we needed. I know the details of what we bought and where we ate may seem mundane, but to Curtis and me, they are precious. When cancer strikes, you learn to not take simple pleasures for granted. You're grateful for every joy and every blessing, no matter how small.

I'm tryin hard to remain positive about what lies ahead, but I'm scared. I can't help but wonder, will this be the last time in my life that I feel this good? That I enjoy a meal this much? Will I be able to golf again? Time will tell. I know I will be miserable for the next couple of weeks or so, until my body becomes adjusted to the ravages of chemotherapy. But if this is what is needed to snatch more time from the jaws of cancer, then this is what I must do.

I Always Did Stink at 50/50

I was not selected by the computer for the drug trial. I can't find anything else to say right now.

It's a Wonder I Don't Light Up and Spit Nickels



After today's bone scan, I am so full of radiation, that I had to be given an explanatory letter to present to the border patrol when I set off their detectors tomorrow evening. That's just so they don't suspect I have a nuclear missile secreted up my butt or something.

Well, the house is clean as a whistle, so America, here we come. In keeping with the time-honoured clean underwear principle, we will be leaving the house in pristine condition, in the event that - God forbid - both of us die in a car crash this weekend. At least when people come traipsing through the house to fight over our belongings, they won't say, Gawd what pigs the Crushes were....that's if the cats are as well-behaved as they were when we went to Fargo for the weekend. Even if they DID have a wild party while Mom and Dad were away, they must've done a heckuva job cleanin up before we got home. Not even a hairball.

I may or may not learn tomorrow, whether or not I have been randomized to participate in the drug trial. When I find out, I'll post the outcome. I'm prayin hard, because with interferon alone (or without it at all), the five year survival rate for advanced metastatic renal cancer is 5% at best. (I ran across that cheery statistic in more than one treatise in the resource room at the Centre.) There are no guarantees of course, but the trial drug could improve my chances.

Today was a rough day: four hours at the hospital, including the injection of kickapoo joy juice, consultations and examinations by my oncologist and the drug trial nurse, and lots of waiting in the nuclear medicine department. Ahead of me were two four month old babies who screamed bloody murder and wriggled so much that they caused everyone's bookings to run behind schedule. I made the tech promise to not pinch me like that, and I'd play nice. I'm happy to report that we both kept our ends of the bargain.

Have a good weekend, y'all.

Sometimes Life Isn't Fair



I've been undergoing a gamut of tests lately, and had to go into CancerCare and sign consent forms, in preparation for chemo, which starts next Monday. Although it provides my only chance, I am deeply dreading it for a number of reasons:

- I have a weak stomach, and I loathe nausea more than anything.
- The poison that I will be injecting into my body three times a week (interferon) has very poor results (maybe prolonging life for two or three months, and whoopee, who wants to feel lousy for two or three months longer).
- IF it works, it will NEVER end. Three times a week, for the rest of my life. There is no cycling on and off with this chemotherpy; my oncologist says if I can tolerate it, "we just keep going." Yeah, we. Sure.
- It's very expensive (about $800 for a 2 week supply), and I don't know yet if my drug plan will cover part of it.
- I'm anxious that the computer will not randomly select me to participate in the drug trial, which offers me the most hope of tumor shrinkage. I should find out by the end of the week.

I'm trying to be positive. I'm married to the best man in the whole world, and he is always at my side. I know that Jesus loves me, and yesterday Curtis reminded me of that when he gave me a precious plush sleeping lamb with a blankie that says so, and a key to wind up so that that beloved hymn softly plays.

Today I sat and cheered and prayed at my computer for four hours, as I tracked John through each of his checkpoints at the Boston Marathon. I almost felt as if I was there to embrace him at the finish line, weeping with pride and joy at his inspiring achievement. Congratulations, John!

Curtis and I will spend next weekend at the Ramada in Grand Forks, just to get away and distract ourselves before all the sickness starts. It's an extravagance, but what the heck.

And then we will focus on our trip to BC in early June. Whether I will suspend chemo, or continue it throughout the holiday, depends upon how I'm feeling on it. After all, I plan to WATCH the whales, not FEED them, if you know what I mean.

Sorry to be so down. I guess you know now why I haven't been posting. Just feelin a little overwhelmed these days.

Doing What You Do Best
or
Leaving Plumbing to Plumbers



I remember, way back in elementary school social studies class, learning that one of the first signs of humankind's move towards "civilization" was the division of labour, in which tribe members began to specialize in what they did best. That way, those who were good at hunting could focus on that, gatherers and farmers could each spend all their energy doin that, the food preparers became more skilled at haute cuisine, etc etc. In other words, not everyone had to do everything. I believe that's how chartered accountants were born.

And I'm glad they were. Without my brother Fred to do my taxes for me every year, either I'd have to shell out a ridiculous sum to H & R Block, or I'd be in jail. Math has never been my strength.

Sure, it can get expensive having to hire an expert to do what you can't; but it can be even more costly to attempt it yourself. The latter is what keeps ER's busy.

I'm not takin anything away from Fred, whose lily soft hands did a remarkable job of designing and building a lavish guest house at his cottage (I could feel our carpenter dad beaming down from the heavens above with pride); but this past Saturday, he literally stepped into something that could have disabled him for life....

The line to his sump pump was frozen, and he wanted to run a hot water hose through the crawl space under his house, in an effort to thaw it out. As he called out to his son Travis to give him a hand, he stepped backwards into the open hatch in the cement floor that is four feet above ground level. Now, if that had been yours truly, the worst that would have happened, is my ample butt would have plugged the hole; but my slender brother fell through it, striking his side hard against the cement edge of the hatch, and breaking three ribs.

He's in a world of pain, and right in the middle of the busiest time of year for a Canadian accountant, tax returns being due April 30. The percosets he was given for pain made him sick to his stomach, and barfing is no picnic with three broken ribs.

The statistics on the percentage of accidents that occur in or near the home are very telling. My best friend's ex once fell just a few feet from a ladder while takin down Christmas lights, landed on the edge of their concrete driveway, and badly broke his hip and his arm, requiring several surgeries. He is still disabled, eleven years later. (By the way, he took the lights down, alright, when he got home from the hospital: with a pellet gun, as he sat in a lawn chair.)

The interior walls of our house could stand a fresh paint job. We're gonna save up and call a friend who has a painting business.

Maybe we're just further evolved.

New Kid in Town



My Curtis has started his own blog! Be sure to check out his photo albums, as he has some terrific pictures of his childhood and the beautiful state of West Virginia. Pay him a visit at Canuckville.

By the way, Curtis is using the very user-friendly "My Space" blog server offered by MSN - no HTML required!

Biting the Hand That Feeds



Sometimes, when you offer comfort and love to a wounded animal, you get attacked for your efforts. One's first impulse is to be offended, indignant; some may even strike back at the animal instinctively. The important thing to remember is that the animal is misdirecting its pain at you, making you the enemy rather than its pain or disease.

When repeated attempts to approach the injured animal provokes further hostility, I feel it's best to allow someone else to see if, for some reason, the creature will accept the kindness offered. After all, I'm not a masochist who enjoys being repeatedly clawed and bitten. This is especially true if the animal continues to snarl and lash out, even after I have withdrawn from it. Maybe another's approach will be less clumsy than mine, or more suited to the sensitivities of the intended recipient.

It doesn't mean that I feel any less sorrow for the poor thing's suffering; I feel just as much compassion as I did when I first tried to befriend it. I will lick my wounds for a while, overcome my bruised feelings at the rejection, and move on. Will I offer help to the next wounded animal I encounter?

You betcha.

The same principles apply when dealing with the human animal. The fight or flight response to stress is primal, and when different personalities come into play, it's hard to predict how someone may respond to an extended hand or heart. When I am rebuffed by someone I sought to reach out to, it hurts. I reproach myself for my shortcomings. I may initially resent him or her for his or her ingratitude. But, in the end, I must accept the painful truth that not everyone will love me or appreciate me the way I wish they would.

Ouch.

Touching Base



I'm okay. Tired. Sore throat.

Dinner went great the other evening. My house gleams.

I'm goin back to bed.

The Indifference of Dust Bunnies and Hairballs



We're having company for dinner on Wednesday: Father Robin and his wife Sydney. Having been raised by an obsessively clean Dutch mother (who, when visiting, would quite unconsciously run her index finger over the tops of picture frames to assess my housekeeping skills), I am compelled to launch a deep-cleaning that would make a CSI team come up empty.

Do our three cats considerately refrain from leaving pawprints all over every glass tabletop in the rec room and living room? Noooooooooo. Does Milo, the fast eater/regurgitator, take a break from hurling up his smorgasbord of masticated cat food, hair, rubber bands, and ribbon, in various places throughout the house? Uh uh. I'm serious: that tabby cat of ours could've yakked up the most ludicrous items Monty Hall dreamt up on Let's Make a Deal. Monkey cat leaves enough hair on the dining room chairs to knit a car cover for my PT Cruiser. And Duffy? Let's just put this delicately: I may need to trim the long hair on his behind, so that "souvenirs" from his litter box activities don't cling and then drop off later onto the carpet. The scavenger hunt for messy surprises goes on unabated.

I'm tired. My face burns. My ear hurts. My tooth aches. But cats simply do not care. They go right on doing their cat things, believing the universe to be completely centered around them.

And they're right.

And so, cleaning supplies and cloths in hand, I will launch the first wave of assault on my very lived-in house. Between that and cooking, I'm gonna be busy the next few days.

What's on the menu? So glad you asked: Vietnamese spring rolls with sweet chili dipping sauce (I didn't make the rolls; a real Vietnamese woman did), Thai cucumber salad, Thai chicken stir fry over rice noodles, and a Thai fruit and coconut gelatin dessert in coconut milk.

Robin likes scotch; Sydney likes beer. We have plenty of both, including some Tsingtao Chinese brew. We're really gonna Thai one on. Ha ha, I kill me.

Other Than That, Mrs. Lincoln, How Did You Enjoy the Play?



I miss wearing earrings. A few years ago, Curtis gave me a beautiful pair of 18k gold earrings that I customarily wear every day. My ear lobe is still too tender from the effects of radiation. In fact, the really soft, thin skin where the ear lobe attaches to the side of the neck, is aflame. It feels as if someone took a razor blade and tried to saw through it. The fact that it is dry and splitting, I take to be a sign that the healing process is beginning. The side of my face has gotten very dry, and the top layer of skin is beginning to flake off. The hornet inside my middle ear takes long naps, thankfully, the pain evolving into a maddening itch. I believe the side effects have peaked and I'm starting to mend.

The mystery tooth that hurts but looks okay on x-rays, has developed a horrible abscess, just what I was hoping to avoid. I called my dentist yesterday and he phoned in a prescription for penicillin.

Poor Curtis has a miserable head cold.

Blech.