The Flowers With the Happy Faces



When I was a little girl, I found great charm and delight in pansy flowers; I referred to them as the "flowers with faces." To me, there was something magical about them; they were spritely fairy creatures with happy souls. They made me feel good. Every Mother's Day I would buy bedding plants for my mom, and I always made certain to include a portion of pansies for our garden.

When I was four years old, my mom took me to Holland to visit relatives, and we returned with an adorable pair of wooden shoes for me. I soon outgrew them, of course, so my mom got the idea of hangin one one either side of the front door of our porch and using them as planters in the summertime. Dainty purple pansies, every year. For years, visitors located our home by those little wooden shoes. When the rigours of the changing seasons had finally cracked and rotted their wood, my mom had to throw the shoes out. My best friend, Barbie, who lived down the street, couldn't find her way to my house for weeks.

Decades later, after resolving a silly rift between my mother and me, I received a card from her that melted the last hard corner in my heart: pressed inside it was a beautiful purple pansy.

Things are Lookin Up Again



I LOVE daffodils; to me they are the perfect symbol of rebirth, joy, and hope. How perfect, that the daffodil has become a symbol for, and the instrument of fundraising this time of year for, the Canadian Cancer Society.

I am feeling joyful and hopeful again after yesterday's crisis. I slept soundly last night, and did not awake with any signs of allergic reaction to my new drug. Thanks to the sage advice of a pharmacist, I am using Reactine during the daytime because it is non-drowsy. Although not as effective as Benedryl, it is doin the job, so far. I can always use Benedryl at nighttime if I need it, when, if it makes me sleepy, so much the better.

The important thing is that, unless my reactions get worse and the medication cannot control them, I will be able to continue taking the Sutent, which by all accounts could significantly extend my life expectancy.

Life is good.

Another Update

Regarding my previous post, the nurse got in touch with my oncologist and he suggested I keep trying the Sutent, but take a Benedryl (we have some in the house) 1/2 hour before my dosage; then repeat if I react later again. The stuff makes me sleepy, but Curtis is going to the pharmacy to seek a non-drowsy formula. Doesn't matter if it makes me sleepy when I take a nighttime dosage, but I'd rather not be so loopy during the day.

Let's hope this does the trick and that my reactions don't get worse.

Thanks for all your concern and prayers, everyone.

Allergic Reaction

Awoke at 4 am with my arms, hands and feet on fire. Itchy and red, with some hives, and a hive under my chin. I'm praying that this doesn't prevent me from continuing my drug trial. I left a voice message with the nurse at the clinic. Curtis stayed home with me today.

Update: The nurse phoned me and said my symptoms are definitely an allergic reaction. My oncologist is away until tomorrow, and his resident is not in today; she advised me to not take another dosage unless instructed otherwise.

I cannot describe how disappointed I am.

There is another trial opening "any day now" for a similar drug; that may be my new hope.

Today's the Big Day



My hot rollers are plugged in, and I'm ready to be at the CancerCare clinic, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, at 8:45 am this morning. Things were postponed one day because I couldn't get the series of EKG's done until yesterday morning. This morning I'm being squeezed in for an examination that is needed just prior to the initial administration of the trial drug. I should be ready to take my first dosage at 10:00 am.

I am very hopeful, and I appreciate everyone's good wishes. Oh, and to the person who had the audacity to lean across the dinner table at a friend's and tell me she thought too much money was bein spent on cancer research: "PTHHHHHHHHHHH."

Clever Tattoo

Best one I've ever seen:

Melting Crayons



When I was a little kid, I delighted so much in my multi-coloured crayon box, that I was inspired to take my favourite brilliant colours and melt them together. I envisioned a spectacular kaleidoscope, and that's what I got at first. Then, as the wax blended together, it became an ugly, muddy sludge, the crayons having lost the beauty of their original lustre.

What a lesson.

One of the things I love about Canada is that we celebrate diversity. Not just accept it, but celebrate it. In my city we have a two week festival every year called Folklorama, where ethnic groups set up pavilions featuring the dance, art, food and culture of their native lands. It's a reminder of the parts that make up the whole of our country, of the richness and importance of the differences between our citizens.

And herein lies the contrast between a melting pot mentality and a mosaic one. When we try to force everyone to "blend" together and be the same, we lose the beauty that each individual possesses. In a stained glass window, all the colours are kept distinct, yet they work together to produce splendour and meaning.

I have my beliefs, and they are firm and in contrast to those of others. That's okay. My box of crayons has many colours, and I like em just the way they are.

Offering Comfort



In the blogworld, and at the online cancer support group where I hang out, there is a great deal of commiserating going on. People have come to know one another, a fondness builds, and a genuine caring develops for whatever befalls one another. Everyone at the support group is there because s/he is facing a health crisis, either one of his/her own, or of a loved one; and it's a serious one. And because we are all afraid and traumatized by a dreaded disease, we are eager to seek comfort in the supportive words of others as well as to offer comfort to them.

Some people are a little more awkward than others in expressing their compassion; many preface their remarks by saying, "I just don't know what to say." (I've heard and read those words so many times and I smile and nod with understanding.)

When I first began to post about my condition, I confess that I sometimes bristled at some people's clumsiness, but it doesn't matter to me any more what the wording is. What matters is that they cared enough to say something in an effort to reach out and offer a cyberhug. To dismiss an earnest attempt to show caring as "empty platitudes" is like snatching the person's kind gesture from him/her and tossing it into the garbage.

Who was I to ever presume that I could judge the merits or demerits of someone's words? How did I dare to evaluate a person's words as being more or less valid than anyone else's? This period of Lent has caused me to reflect and to hang my head in shame for the times I was ungracious about someone's kind intentions.

And intentions are what matter most. If they didn't care, they wouldn't have bothered to type anything at all. (I've seen evidence of that when I've posted about my illness and compared the number of readers who visit, to the number of comments left. It's their choice to reply or not to; maybe they don't care, or maybe they're afraid of their words being "inadequate" or lacking someone's "approval." If the latter, what a shame, for as human beings, all we often have is one another.)

Please do not construe this as a campaign for people to leave sympathetic comments on my blog - that's not what this is about. Too many of my blogfriends are in distress right now, and I'd hate for them to be deprived of a single act of kindness because of someone's fear of "saying it wrong." Take it from one who knows and truly appreciates that every word, every stammer, every prayer makes a difference.

It truly does.

Bunny Hijinks



Before I met Curtis, I didn't think it was possible for anyone to have a greater love for animals than I did; but if it was within our means, Curtis would have every critter, wild and domestic, cared for and well fed.

Most people in the city, especially gardeners, regard wild rabbits as nuisances, but not my Curtis: Whenever we replenish our dry cat food supply at the local pet store, he buys a big bag of rabbit feed as well. Throughout the winter, he places the food in a square bucket turned on its side, so as to protect its contents from falling snow. We have regular diners who have littered our yard with tracks (and poop, LOTS of poop), and who after dusk trigger our motion sensor lights with their playful frolicking.

Last night we each took a window and enjoyed a front row seat to the antics of two bunnies. One would dart across the yard diagonally towards the other at breakneck speed, while his pal would wait for his friend's approach and then leap about five feet, straight up into the air. This game of gymnastic leapfrog went on for an impressive length of time, before the sprinter decided it was time to chow down again.

Last summer, we seemed to have an understanding goin with our bunnies: They never touched our vegetable or flower gardens. Curtis claims he had a talk with them.

And I bet he did.

Not Much To Blog About

I have been struggling a bit of late with my stomach and digestive system. Good thing the drug trial didn't take any longer to open, because I've felt myself goin downhill lately. Had a very uncomfortable night last night, and slept very little, so I'm lethargic today.

My oncologist told me I should still stay away from my mom until she is finished all of her testing, which will be in about a week's time. She has settled in quite well to her nursing home. Apparently, the food is very good and the environment quite attractive and pleasant. Yesterday my brother and his wife brought her her power chair, TV, phone, and some small pieces of furniture and knick-knacks. She especially enjoys the pictures my brother hung on the wall for her.

Friday I am scheduled for ct-scans, bloodwork and a series of EKG's (part of the drug trial protocol), and the plan is to start me on the new drug on Monday. I hope I don't suffer from too many side effects; one that is quite prevalent is elevated blood pressure, so that will be closely monitored and treated with meds, if necessary. More nausea and diarrhea may be a problem (oh joy), as well as fatigue, mouth sores and taste disturbance, and I might even turn yellow. Time will tell how well I will tolerate the Sutent, but I'll do my best in exchange for the possibility of tumor shrinkage.

Because x-rays still do not show the lesion in my tibia (it was detected earlier by a bone scan and then an MRI), my radiologist wonders if my pain is related to tumor activity or something else. He does not want to hastily radiate, as repeated doses can cause soft tissue damage, so I reluctantly decided to wait a couple of weeks and see how I manage the pain. He speculated that maybe the pain stopping after radiation before, was just a coincidence...but TWICE? It continues to hurt. A lot.

AT LONG LAST



I received a phone message today that THE DRUG TRIAL IS OFFICIALLY OPEN. I am to see my oncologist at 10:15 in the morning for screening. I will also have an x-ray done of my tibia, and then see the oncological radiologist as to whether or not I can have a treatment for relief of the pain in my leg.

YAYYYYYYYYYYYYYY.

Hard Sell



I don't know what made me remember this story, but I'll shake the cobwebs off of my memory and share it here....

My dad was never one for subtleties; if he didn't like or respect someone or something, he didn't hide it. So he had no difficulty runnin off door-to-door salesmen and religious canvassers. My mom, not so much....

Unable to tell a particularly persistent life insurance salesman that she wasn't interested, she allowed him to bully an in-home appointment out of her. Dad was not impressed.

From the beginning of the after-dinner meeting (which was held in the livingroom), Dad made it clear that he was bored, and not likely to purchase a policy. Shortly into the salesman's pitch, Dad turned on the TV and watched it, leavin Mom to fend for herself. An hour later, he switched it off and went into the kitchen to slice up a watermelon and noisily slurp and spit seeds into the kitchen sink. Then he returned to his chair in the livingroom and began yawning loudly and pointedly lookin at his watch; finally he took to switching off lights, until only one dim lamp remained on. Mr. Persistent kept babbling on, while Mom sat there in obvious discomfort. Would he NEVER leave?

We lived in an old wartime house with a less than desirable layout. The master bedroom was directly off the livingroom. Dad got up, went into the bedroom, closed the door and got into his pajamas. He sauntered several times between the salesman's chair and Mom's, on his way back and forth to the bathroom to wash up and brush his teeth. Finally, he went to bed. It took about another hour for the salesman to exhaust his spiel, and for Mom to nudge him out the door. Mom felt embarrassed and mortified; Dad slumbered peacefully, perfectly comfortable with the fact that he had not invited the unwelcome guest, and secure in the knowledge that Mom would very likely assert herself the next time a salesman came calling.

He was right.

Hope and Prayer



In my heart, I have a candle of hope burning fervently for Esther's beloved husband, Rocky, who underwent major cancer surgery today.

If you have a moment to spare today, please send them a positive vibe.


Esther phoned her son, John, to report that Rocky came through the surgery like the champ he is. Let's all pray for a seamless recovery and effective treatments.

Yesterday the temperatures were at and above freezing, despite more snow and snain. Made for very messy streets, which turned into skating rinks at nightfall when the temperatures dropped. The drive home from dinner at a friend's was more than a little treacherous, and we saw the aftermath of a fender-bender along with several potential collisions. This morning it was slippery on the drive to church, but the sun has turned the streets to slop again. Curtis loves to keep his truck spotless, but that's outside the realm of possibility with this weather.

The lesion in my right tibia is acting up again; guess I'll have to call the oncological radiologist tomorrow to ask him to zap it into dormancy again. It hurt like the devil when we went grocery shopping after church, and I found myself avoiding doubling back to get some items.

STILL no word on the trial drug.

My mom is being transferred on Wednesday to a nursing home. The hospital staff informed us that she finally tested negative for the staphylococcus bacteria she is carrying, but their protocol demands a series of three more tests, just to make sure. She will be kept in isolation for several more weeks, the advantage of which is that she gets her own private room. The news has resulted in some hysteria and accusations on her part, but my brother Fred returned from Florida yesterday and plans to see her today to calm her down, if he can.

What happened to manners nowadays? As I was typing this entry, the doorbell rang. Mere seconds later, the caller practically beat the door down. It was hard enough gettin to the door with my aching leg, but I didn't appreciate the impatience of the "knocking." It was a boy and a pal with shovels, offering to shovel our driveway "for a reasonable price." If I hadn't been so annoyed at his rudeness, I probably would have negotiated a deal with him, but I said no thanks. The boy needs a lesson in salesmanship. Even Curtis noticed; he IM'd me from his computer downstairs and asked who was it who was bangin so rudely on the door right after ringing the doorbell. And here I thought maybe I was just crabby from chocolate withdrawal....

Church today was less than enjoyable. For one thing, the woman who sat in front of us reeked so badly of cigarette smoke, that every time we stood up, Curtis and I felt nauseated from the stink rising from her jacket. We moved across the aisle to a different pew. Secondly, that same woman has a five year old boy who is extremely disruptive during the entire service. Even when he is taken downstairs to play, he screams so loudly that it is distracting. At coffeetime afterwards, we were unable to hold a conversation with an elderly (hard-of-hearing) parishioner because the kid kept runnin around the table yelling at the top of his lungs. His mother just sits and smiles adoringly at her little darling. I would like to pummel both of them with a stick....in a Christian way, of course (smiling sweetly).

Maybe it is my chocoholism. I've tried alternatives to satisfy my cravings: I'm eating oranges like crazy. I hoovered a big bag of gummy bears. They don't cut it. It's just not the same. I didn't even derive the same amount of pleasure that I usually do when torturing the gummies and putting them into obscene positions.

How many days until Lent is over?

It's Joanie Balonie's Fault



Joan tagged me to do this meme with five weird habits/facts about myself, so if you are shocked or disgusted, blame her....

1. I consider myself anti-violent, yet I love to watch boxing and bull-riding (especially when the cowboy gets thrown around like a rag doll and stomped on). Pretty sick, huh.

2. I am an animal lover, and yet I really enjoy fishing; have since I was a toddler. Curtis and I practise catch and release, and I do apologize to the night crawlers when I cut em in half....

3. I have a very bad habit of not watchin what I'm doin. For example, I can reach for a dish in the cupboard, then pull my eyes away to focus on my next task, thereby causing avalanches and breakage.

4. Lookin at the sun or a bright light makes me sneeze....twice. (I read that a small proportion of the world's population has their optic nerve runnin right next to their sinuses, and when it is stimulated by harsh light, it wiggles and causes the sneezing. So I'm not WEIRD; I'm just SPECIAL.)

5. I not only alphabetize my spices (which, by the way, I think is not only normal, but sensible), but when I put utensils into the dishwasher rack, I sort them alphabetically, as well: the forks in the first two compartments, the knives in the next two, and the spoons in the last two. Makes it more efficient when you empty the dishwasher.

Just to be a pest, I tag:

Curtis
Jules
Kathy
Penny
Phyllis

Resilient Trees and Rainbows



Things have been a little glum lately for Curtis and me, but yesterday the clouds broke (not literally - it snowed like the dickens all day) and a rainbow appeared....

Father Robin preached a very timely sermon comparing the human spirit, and faith, to trees that are being bent by violent winds. He asked, are you like the tree whose branches splinter and fall to the ground, or that becomes uprooted and falls over altogether, or are you like the tree that sways and flexes with the winds, returning to its former sturdy and upright posture no matter how strong the storm you've had to weather?

Curtis and I are lectors, and yesterday it was my turn to read a passage from Genesis, in which God makes a promise to humankind that He will never again cause a catastrophic flood to wipe out the earth's inhabitants. His promise is in the rainbow, and it is as much a pledge as the wedding band is intended to be.

As I read that passage, and then listened to Robin's sermon, I wondered how long my spirit could withstand the testing it has undergone of late, and where MY rainbow promise was....

Well, it may seem a small thing to some, but Curtis and I love to spend time in the woods, on the water's edge fishing, or whacking a little ball into little holes on carefully manicured golf courses; and to have found a cottage rental online yesterday that will allow us to do what we love (and to take our beloved cats with us), gave our spirits a much-needed lift. We are confirmed for a week early in July at a waterfront cottage with its own fishing dock just outside the door, air conditioning, and all the amenities....only a half hour from our home, and five minutes from one of Curtis' favourite golf courses.

We may have been bent, and we may have been sorely tested, but our own personal rainbow promise has given Curtis and me the strength to bounce back.

Thanks, God.


the waterfront view


the cozy livingroom


the view from the master bedroom window - see how close the water is?

Sometimes, Even an Optimist Like Me Struggles a Bit



1. Having given more thought to the hospital's desire to discharge our mom into nursing home care, my brothers and I aren't sure at all that this is a sensible thing. For one thing, how can we transport her, when anyone who currently enters her isolation room, must wear a cap, gown, mask and gloves? For another, how is placing her, a carrier of a potentially dangerous bacteria, in the middle of such a vulnerable population, even remotely medically sound? It doesn't compute, that the hospital would kick her out when her status has not changed or improved. My brother Fred, whose holiday has once more been disrupted with worries and red tape, will call from Florida on Monday and demand some answers from a doctor.

I know she must be troublesome to the hospital personnel, with her bouts of paranoia and confusion; but that's their problem. It is NOT an acceptable reason for turfing her out when her health dilemma has not yet been resolved.

She phoned me before eight o'clock this morning, claiming that "they" told her it was seven in the evening, and obsessing over fears of some sort of conspiracy against her. I can only listen; I can't persuade her otherwise, and I can't even visit her to provide comfort and diversion.

2. Our church friend Margot is not doing well, either; she has yet another malignant tumor on her brain (metastatic lung cancer), and had to be treated in hospital with steroids last week, to restore her ability to walk and talk. Father Robin left after church service today to give Margot and her husband Don communion in their home. They are in our hearts and our prayers.

3. Curtis and I thoroughly enjoyed goin to the movies yesterday afternoon (he blogged about it), but I paid dearly for being such a glutton with the popcorn. Seems my tummy can't tolerate much of the stuff any more, nor any of one of my other rare pleasures: white wine.

Darn.

On a lighter note.....

I am sometimes repulsed by what SOME PEOPLE (e.g. Curtis) will actually choose to ingest. The other evening, he mixed together and heated corned beef, green olives, jalapeno peppers and Tex-Mex shredded cheese and brought it into our bedroom to eat as we watched TV. The smell of it was sort of a cross between the fermenting guts on a slaughterhouse floor, and pizza-and-beer vomit. Curtis' feelings were hurt by my complaints and criticism, insisting that his concoction was delicious. As I begged him to remove his smelly empty bowl from the surface of our bed, Milo, our tabby cat, added his own editorial comment by busily diggin on the surface of the comforter, in an attempt to bury what he perceived to be either a fierce bowel movement, or something dead. (IMHO, he wasn't far off.)

Even Curtis had to laugh at that.

An Update on My Mom and a Bawdy Joke



This morning I received a phone call informing me that the hospital intends to discharge my mom on Monday or Tuesday, so she must immediately go into a residential nursing facility. As happenstance would have it, her still being a carrier of MSRA (methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus* aureus), may well be a blessing in disguise....

[*Earlier, I said it was Streptococcus, but I was mistaken....]

If she were rid of the infection, she would be placed into a cramped room that she would have to share with three other residents; but, in order to keep her isolated from a vulnerable population, she will have a private room....

Not only that, but one of the only two nursing homes with an available private room, is one with a good reputation. (The other is a cesspool.)

The Good Lord may really be with us on this one.

And now for something completely different:

My friend emailed me this joke this morning, and it made me laugh out loud....

******************

A woman in her forties went to a plastic surgeon for a face-lift.

The surgeon told her about a new procedure called "The Knob",where a
small knob is placed on the top of a woman's head and can be turned to
tighten up her skin to produce the effect of a brand new face lift. Of
course, the woman wanted "The Knob."

Over the course of the years, the woman tightened the knob, and the
effects were wonderful, the woman remained young looking and vibrant.

After fifteen years, the woman returned to the surgeon with two
problems:

"All these years, everything has been working just fine. I've had to
turn the knob many times and I've always loved the results. But now I've
developed two annoying problems: First, I have these terrible bags under
my eyes and the knob won't get rid of them."

The doctor looked at her closely and said, "Those aren't bags, those are
your breasts."

She said, "Well, I guess there's no point in asking about the goatee."

Tossin up Cookies (and a few updates)



I spent a couple of hours last night tryin to settle my stomach down. I lost. I told Curtis, it amazes me how I can eat something and nine hours later, it comes back up, undigested; whereas, he wipes his mouth after dinner and goes straight to the bathroom. Go figure. Anyway, that unpleasantness was followed by very bad bouts of the scoots. It took a Gravol suppository to finally allow me to get some rest. Consequently, I was a bed hog today, not even gettin dressed. Ate a banana, and a wee bit of lasagne for dinner, which I hope won't rebel later on.

My brother Fred told me that he learned that our mom's blood still tested positive for the presence of the streptococcus bacteria; she will be in isolation at least another month, because they test every couple of weeks, and even if the test comes up negative, they will keep her isolated for another two weeks as a precautionary measure.

At least Fred gets a much-deserved respite from all of the stress he has undergone lately: he leaves early in the morning for a week of golf and a comfortable stay at his condo in Florida. He's done a wonderful job of managing Mom's affairs and has really earned the break. Plus, he won't have to shovel....

A winter snow storm hit us today; lookin out the window is rather like gazing inside one of those snow globes. It's pretty, but it sure makes the roads treacherous, especially for the SUV drivers up here who act like they've never seen the white stuff before.