Food, Glorious Food



Gradually, over many months, chemo robbed me of my taste buds. It didn't just take my taste away; it skewed it, so that favourite foods tasted odd or just plain awful. That, coupled with an extremely painful and sensitive tongue, made eating and drinking difficult if not unpleasant. Add nausea and vomiting into the mix, and you have yourself a heckuva weight loss plan.

If you haven't experienced this, I have to tell you, it affects your life more than you would ever guess. It's incredible how much of our lives revolve around food: planning what we need for meals, shopping for it, preparing it, snacking, socializing, eating at restaurants, etc. Take the enjoyment of food away, and you leave huge holes in your personal and social life.

I know for a fact that I was no fun to grocery shop with, listlessly pushing the cart up and down the aisles of things I couldn't eat. Poor Curtis would try to motivate me, desperate to find something, anything that my mouth and tummy would at least tolerate. I wasn't a very cooperative subject, I'm afraid. He had to eat all of his meals solo, while I would nibble on a cracker or sip on a smoothie, which detracted considerably from his dining pleasure, I know.

One day I went to Safeway, with one goal in mind: to emerge from the store with some meal fixins for myself. I shuffled up and down every single aisle, ending up with an empty cart and a sad heart. I felt sorry for myself....I'm a cook, a baker, someone who enjoys the appearance, the aroma, the presentation, the flavour of savoury foods. I have always loved spices and zesty ethnic fare, colourful and decadent desserts, flavourful appetizers. Heck, I didn't get as zaftig as I was by gnawing on watercress sandwiches my whole life.

And so, chemo has been difficult for me, not only because of the fatigue and the other debilitating side effects, but because it thieved from me, things that I had never realized were so important to me. Oh, I knew I liked food too much, and ate too many fattening things - that was evident from my plus-sized closet - but I hadn't known how crucial food had been to my happiness.

Friends worried about me, as they watched my body dwindle. They tried in vain to feed me, or to at least suggest things that might nourish me and keep me strong. What had happened to their plump and jovial Ellen? Would she eventually just disappear altogether?

Praise the Lord (and pass the butter), I've been blessed with a break from treatment, one that has slowly returned to me most of my ability to eat, taste, and retain a wide variety of edibles. Oh, happy day! I don't know how long my reprieve will last, now that I am back on the Sutent again, but I'm hoping that the reduced intake of the drug (every second day rather than every day) will cut me some slack. Today I treated myself to a vegetarian sushi lunch (no raw fish for this chickie) for the first time in what seems forever, revelling in the nose-burning, tear-inducing hotness of the wasabe sauce that has been forbidden to me for so long.

And I'm making Thai stir-fry for dinner.

The Storm That Wasn't


hug with caution

After all that fuss, all those warnings, countless alerts, we didn't get a heavy snowstorm. Oh, it snowed, it even sleeted; but we didn't experience the feared and anticipated catastrophic snowfall that caused so many of us to alter our weekend plans.

That's not a bad thing, and another quiet weekend at home with Curtis suits me just fine. We did make it to church this morning, finally, having missed the last several weeks. Timed it just right, too: after service there was a lovely little reception with yummy bunwiches (me loooooooooves egg salad), fruit, vegies and cake to celebrate a parishioner's 85th birthday.

I was astonished at how Lent has snuck up on me. Last year, I made a big fanfare out of givin up chocolate (that's what netted me that ginormous chocolate Easter bunny in the picture on the right side of this page); this year, I don't feel as dedicated.....maybe brussel sprouts (evil little smell-like-farts brains that they are mumble mumble)....Father Robin has pledged to lose weight by Easter, but since I'm already givin away half my clothes because they're huge on me, that's really not an option. I gave up swearing a long time ago (unless the word "farts" counts), so that's out, too. Any suggestions?

Say, have any of you ever injured your rotator cuff? I did, somehow, and boy, does it hurt. Curtis has to be really careful with me, and I miss his big bear hugs. I wonder if massage therapy would help, but I'm kinda scared to let big ol Agnes have at me.

Lets me out of any snow shoveling, anyhow (evil grin).

Snow



Truer words were never spoken. What began as a light snowfall this morning has evolved into an angry flurry. The heavy snow wasn't forecast to hit until tonight, but Mother Nature is seldom respectful of meteorology. Up to 20 cm (12 inches) are forecast to fall by Saturday afternoon.

It figures that, just when I am feeling better (aside from a rough day yesterday), I will be snowed in. At least we have lots of food in the freezer and pantry, and three furry critters to keep us warm. Curtis is at work, so I will worry all day about the road conditions; if things get bad, I will campaign to keep him home safely with me tomorrow.

That groundhog is full of beans, it seems - at least for this part of the planet. Farmers Almanac was spot on with its predictions.

I wish Joan and Ploughboy Gord were our next-door neighbours....

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Later in the afternoon: It stopped snowing. Quite a bit has fallen, probably a few cms (a couple of inches or so) - just enough to grease up the roads and clog up driveways, but it has stopped for the time being.

I checked the mail, and to my delight, my most recent eBay purchase had arrived: a silverplate dinner knife in pristine condition, to replace the one lost, years ago, from my good cutlery set, which was discontinued. Through eBay, I have managed to complete Granny's good china dinnerware set, and now my good silverplate. Huzzah!

The Junior High School Dance



Unfortunately, due to drug and alcohol abuse, high school dances have become history; but when I was a student, during more innocent times, they were hugely popular and heavily attended. We girls buzzed about a dance for weeks in advance, fretting over what to wear and whether or not we would get asked to dance....especially by one of the "popular" or "cute" boys. Rumours would fly over which boys had staked their claim on which girls.

Graffiti on classroom desks was a popular mode of communicating rumours. One day in grade 7 English class, I found a message written on my desktop and signed by a boy I didn't know, although I had heard his name giggled often by some of the popular girls. The message was amourous, and it contained my name. I didn't know whether to be flattered or embarrassed. My girlfriends knew who the boy was, and they were all a-twitter on my behalf, because James, it seems, was the object of a lot of adolescent female desire. Apparently, James had found out what desk I occupied in that class and he sat in the same one so that he could make his indirect overtures to me.

As the days went by, I THOUGHT I knew who James was (I was mistaken): a tall, handsome, clean-cut boy. But the messages on my desk were getting raunchier by the day, James making lewd references to parts of my body, and claiming to yearn to "have sex" with me. I was offended, and I didn't appreciate my reputation being tainted just as I was beginning what would be six years in the same school. He was also apparently loudly announcing in the hallway that he "felt like havin sex with Ellen." I prepared myself for a confrontation, and began by writing on my desk that I hated James P. In return, I got messages proclaiming that I was a slut, etc.

Finally, one of my girlfriends pointed out to me in the hallway, who the true James P was. I immediately recognized him as a crude, rude, loudmouthed shnook (that's how I saw him), who constantly sought attention through disruptive and obnoxious behaviour. I couldn't understand what so many girls found attractive, and I haughtily rejected the advances he began to show towards me in the halls between classes. Now bear in mind, that grade 7 boys expressed their affection for a girl by knocking her books out of her arms, bashing into her roughly, and other forms of physical abuse. I took a lot of lumps; James P was nothing if not persistent.

When the first school dance of the year was announced, we were electric with excitement. James continued to talk as if I were his personal property, and I continued to deny it. In the meantime, I noticed that an ugly stew of jealousy began to boil among a lot of my female classmates. Try as I might to convince them that I had no interest in Bamm-Bamm, they were hot with envy, and hostile statements like, "She thinks she's so great," began to circulate about me.

When the evening of the dance finally arrived, the protocol of the junior high dance became immediately clear: the boys lined one side of the gym, and the girls lined the other. Some of the hipper kids sat on the edge of the stage where the music man had his sound set-up; they hollered at one another in front of the giant speakers, gesticulating wildly and laughing too much.

Finally, some knots of girls took to the dance floor, showin off their best moves and pretending not to look constantly over at the boys to ensure they were being watched. A few established couples danced together, avoiding eye contact with their partners and doing their best to look bored.

It took most of the night before a few boys began to sidle over to the girls to shyly ask them to dance. The girls would feign indifference, shrug, but agree, and the pair would wiggle in front of one another, looking everywhere but at one another. I was standing and talking to my girlfriends when I felt someone roughly grab my wrist and jerk my arm so hard he nearly dislocated my shoulder from its socket. "C'mon, let's dance," James snarled, dragging me into the centre of the dance floor like a Neanderthal.

All eyes were on us when I turned around on my heel and stormed back to my friends on the sidelines. From henceforward, I was branded as thinkin I was too good for the most desirable boy in the school.

I actually suffered for that incident for the remainder of my high school years. Rejected by the "popular clique," I was bullied and ostracized by a good portion of the student body. I know for a fact that the quieter, nicer boys whom I preferred, and who would have asked me out otherwise, shied away from my notoriety; so I missed out on some potentially pleasant dating experiences. Oh, I ended up with my fair share of dates and boyfriends, but there's no question that James P, who continued to be a popular jerk throughout high school, caused me a lot of pain.

The high school cafeteria, gymnasium, entranceways, playing field, even classrooms, are battlegrounds at times; something I never forgot when I became a high school English teacher. Daily, there are dramas being played out there, and they can't always be dismissed as trivial kid's stuff.

Laughter



In a comment on Curtis' blog, my niece Sharon said that she guessed that Curtis and I laughed a lot together. She's right. Laughter is an integral part of who we are, and how we make sense of the world around us.

Some of that laughter is genuine, from-the-gut, hearty laughter; some of it is sardonic or even bitter. But even laughter that evolves from the darkest times or subjects, is therapeutic, even cathartic.

Sometimes people disapprove or feel uncomfortable when I irreverently make light of a serious topic, and I admit there are times when I could quite rightly be accused of having shown bad taste. It was probably just nerves, or me trying to convince myself that I had some control of an overwhelming situation.

I tend to laugh loudest when I'm reacting to the film (usually a cartoon) that is runnin through my head, illustrating a ridiculous or humourous situation that is being verbalized. Those are the times when I wish I had my nephew Dennis' artistic talent, for I would surely be the most successful cartoonist in all creation. Or that I had a switch on the side of my temple that I could turn, in order to project what I am seeing in my mind's eye, onto the wall; enabling me to share my mirth with those who are agape at my raucous laughter.

Last night my brother Frank telephoned me from BC, and we spent the better part of our conversation laughing together, even at some of the more serious issues in our lives. I hung up the phone with a lighter heart.

There are times when I watch the antics of our cats, or funny animal videos on TV, and laugh loudly with sheer delight. I'm celebrating the joy that these critters give me, falling even more in love with the animal world.

I believe God wants us to laugh a lot; that's why He made it feel so good.

Laughter is an instant vacation! - Milton Berle

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postscript: I want to thank all of you who made such thoughtful and sincere comments to my previous post. Let me just say that I am humbled.

Facing Challenges



Just because you find yourself thrust into a difficult situation, one in which you are really up against it, doesn't mean you're necessarily brave. In fact, you're probably scared to death, and wishing that your greatest dilemma was what colour of paper umbrella to put into your fruity cocktail.

When you are unwillingly cast into a life or death situation, observers have a tendency to make a poster child out of you, rhapsodizing about your inspirational courage and indomitable spirit.

Bull twinkies. You fight because you have no choice BUT to; you are kicking and screaming with resistance because you like it here, and you have a greed for more.

To me, courageous people are those who knowingly place themselves into danger, in order to try to protect others. A few days ago, our city lost two firefighters, captains with many years of devoted service to their community, when a house fire suddenly exploded into a deadly backflash. Now, those are heroes.

Me? I'm like the guy in the photo above. Up to my hiney in alligators. Scared. Forced, against my will, to fight against all odds.

That's all.

Fashion, Shmashion



Unlike my dumb weather pixie, this cookie knows how to dress for the weather conditions, and when I ventured out to the CancerCare Clinic today, I bore a close resemblance to the Snowsuit Queen pictured above. Good thing, because the only available parking spaces in the clinic parkade were outdoors, and then you have a bit of a walk to the clinic building.

Anyhoo, as miserable as this cough has made me for the past several weeks, it is apparently NOT due to increased cancer activity, which is great news. (To clarify: I do have three tumors in my right lung, but they seem to be relatively stable. I had a pleural effusion before that had me slated for surgery, but it cleared up on its own when I was taken off of interferon. So lung problems are always a possibility.) Dr C said my lungs sounded clear, but just to make sure, he sent me for a chest x-ray, which he immediately read. He said there was no pneumonia and no sign of fluid; therefore, my cough must be viral. I know from all too much past experience, how troublesome and long-lasting a viral cough can be; but the news is such a relief, that I feel better already. Yesterday, I broke out in a mean cold sore below my lip (another sign of a virus), which I'm hoping is a harbinger of the end of this bodily invasion.

I had a very rough night last night, with terrible coughing bouts and lots of barfing up of bile; let's hope that was the last hurrah. I've coughed plenty today, but haven't had any bad fits; and the Kytril has kept my tummy under control.

I did not get my new supply of Sutent, as the drug company sent the wrong dosage (I feared they might). Dr C faxed new forms over today, so there's a good chance I'll have the drug in my hot little hands in a couple of days. He's worried about how long they will agree to bear the cost, but I'll just have to be grateful for what I can get.

I visited my mom at the nursing home after Clinic today, and she was confused, as usual, but in pretty good spirits - mostly due to the big gooey pastry I brought her. She does love her treats. After we de-stickied her, I helped her try on the new pantsuit Curtis and I gave her for her birthday, and it fits really well. I took the pants home to hem them for her.

Today was a good day, even if it is too cold for the Michelin Man.

My Weather Pixie is an Idiot



Look at the temperature above. It's actually minus 36 celsius with the windchill factor; people are being warned to stay inside and keep their pets out of the frigid outdoors. Yet look at what that twit is wearing: a little shorty jacket - OPEN - with no gloves, hat or scarf. Geez, I hope she put her dog inside, and didn't leave it frozen to a fire hydrant somewhere.

Other people's weather pixies are dressed more sensibly, in parkas with hoods, and boots. But not mine, oh no. Don't be surprised if next week she's missin her ears.

Sheesh.

Ready to Resume Treatment



Yesterday I received a call from a woman named Sonja, who said she was with the drug company. She said that my health insurer would not pay for the Sutent (no surprise to anybody here, but she said it was unusual). However, she added, she put me on a compassionate program so that I would receive the eight thousand dollar a month drug free of charge. (Thank God such programs exist.) She also spoke of phoning me on a regular basis to make sure that I was on schedule with the drug, etc., which I found a little disconcerting since I don't keep a regular schedule with the drug, due to the side effects. So I phoned my oncologist and left a voice message with his nurse, and she got back to me today and said she would take care of everything; I had enough to do without answering to this drug company. She took Sonja's name and number and said she would tell her all contact was to be made through CancerCare. Good thing, because I got another call from Sonja just a short while ago with a repeat of the same information. (She must have forgotten that she'd already spoken to me yesterday?) Anyway, eager-beaver Sonja was gonna phone me on Monday to ensure that I had resumed taking the drug, but I told her Dr C would want me in for labs and an examination first, so she said okay, next Friday, then. Hopefully, by then, Dr C's office will have straightened things out with her, because having to justify why I am taking the drug only every second day, etc., would be stressful - I would feel as if I had to defend my right to be on the drug.

I have often wondered throughout this process, how people who are really sick, tolerate all the hoop-jumping, form-completing, and interrogating. How do those who are too ill to advocate for themselves, and don't have anyone to do it for them, manage? I'm getting to the point where I'm finding it difficult.

The good folks at CancerCare understand, and they are quick to step in on my behalf. I'm grateful. My primary concerns are trying to muster up enough energy to take a shower, keeping a little food in my wasting body, filling my lungs with oxygen. That pretty much has all of my attention.