Going the distance

Oh, the fatigue. I think "they" had mentioned it. They being the assortment of professionals and peeps with experience. Nausea is under control but the fatigue is unrelenting. I was stayed in bed until 5 yesterday. Up for dinner and a visit with a friend. Who we had to shoo out the door so I could retreat back to the Jelly Lounge. The new Jelly Lounge is the third floor oasis/bedroom with aforementioned tv. The old Jelly Lounge was the name of the (Jim-Kelly) engagement party friends and family hosted for us - in friend's awesome party room with the balcony overlooking the Chinatown arch - in 2008. Today, the fatigue continued. A meeting at school to talk about Miles, these boys and life. Collapsed at home, followed by work then a social call. I can only hope the energy is back this weekend before two days without childcare... Back to today. Talk about going the distance. A girlfriend from forever flew in from Boston to cover a play date slot on the "what friends do" site. I was too greedy of course and insisted she spend the time with me too. Four boys between 3 1/2 and 6 months. For them it was a wild, trucks, cars, zany, hockey-wrestle-rrific, giggle and goo-goo-ga-ga filled afternoon. They will sleep well tonight. Apparently, the ladies didn't do as good of a job. Miles pointed out that the mommies didn't talk. When I corrected him - we talked nonstop- he clarified. No, no, you never laughed. Well just go ahead and add guilt to the mix. In my defense, it is hard to be so damn fatigued, catching up on how your life is transformed in every way you never wanted it to be, and also have a good laugh or two. Maybe tomorrow. What else? Mom and Rick leave for February in Florida... Soon. When she gets over the nerves about leaving Jim and me to our own devices. I think we will manage but just in case I've spoken for all of you and said you will help with the week of February 11. See, Mom, it is okay. You can go. They've got us covered. A couple of other notes. We heard bad news about a friend tonight so although it is a big Friday night, Jim is sad and retired to the Jelly Lounge. He reports he has nothing nice to say. I'll note that the cat blog got a lot of rave and nervous (as in don't let her turn you into a cat man) comments. I'll post the pictures of him cuddled with the cat formerly known as Leo soon:). It is 9pm all the boys are still awake, and two are weary and weepy. Forget the distance, time to call it a day.

Camp Wocka Wocka

Monday was date night. Jim and I went out for an early dinner at Indique. We order take out enough from Indique that dining in felt like catching up with old friends. Treatment Tuesday. A visit with the Good Doctor who is pleased with the progress (shrinking). Then an appointment with the genetic counselor. Ahh, teaching hospitals. I had a student practitioner. She needed more practice. And I would have preferred she didn't gain it with me. These was an important and sensitive discussion - my risk for related or other cancers; my boys' risks for hereditary and childhood cancers - and they were not particularly well handled. I was not the easiest customer. A few "what are you talking about?" and "this seems like a bad sales pitch -why are you trying to hand me some pharmaceutical lab brochure?" later, we got it sorted out. And I spit in a bunch of tubes. Genetic testing is a breeze compared to the diagnostic testing. Then to infusion. Such a nice word for a toxic injection. Infusion is a step to get through. It is slow. There is a lot to see that could scare you. It is not a lovely space. But the nurses are and where else would we rather be. On to the interpersonal notes - Jim (who as I've mentioned always turned his homework on-time and didnt skip class) got an A on Tuesday. He brought our newest addiction (we quit Downton when it decided violence against women was a good Sunday night plot twist) Orange is the New Black. I was in a room with a bed instead of a chair and we sat in the bed together, watched our Orange, ate snacks, and welcomed the toxic drip. Camp wocka, wocka baby. When the nurses passing in the hall saw Jim snuggled in it was all puppy dog eyes. Miles is happily back into a full week of school after a week of holidays and snow days. Ian had his six month appointment - he is thriving. Born into the 10th percentile, he is now bursting through the 50 to 90th. I am fine. I worked from home this morning. I am fatigued and not feeling super. Tonight will be early to bed. Probably not early to rise tomorrow. But so far, chemo malaise but not eclipse.

Into the new normal

This was a mixed week. It was great to get back into the office and I was busy. Some days were easy to get out the door and feel like myself. Some not. Friday was tough mentally. Saturday was tough physically. Focusing on the physical, I wasn't prepared for the pain associated with hair loss. After several days of physical discomfort - best described as each hair shaft feeling like a splinter in the skin when anything grazed against the grain - I finally dug around online and learned that this was a common side effect. After a 1 blade and a lot of cooling lotion, I am much more comfortable and more fully GI Kelly. A funny note about that - last night Miles told me he wished his hair was long like mine. Hmmm. When I asked why he said he wanted to look like me. I reassured him he did and left it at that. It takes some work to convince myself that this is what recovery looks like. Mostly, I think it is time for me to just keep my head down and keep moving forward. I'm not a runner but this must be what marathon training is like. Lots of one foot in front of the other. And so on. We are having a "normal" weekend. Jim took Miles to the Monster Jam show at Verizon Center. So normal. I went to a movie with a girlfriend. Nice to find some time in the schedule. Ian is back. Coos. Big belly laughs. The wide-open mouth face-plant all moms generously interpret as a kiss. The new normal isn't bad it just hard to believe it is ours.

Hard to be Jim

Things change quickly around here and it might be hard to be Jim. 

First the angry day.

It was Monday and it was to be a day date.  The plan was to take a walk on the Mall and go to the National Gallery.  A little exercise and art to help keep everything in perspective and a trial run as the wigged me. 

The (my) winds changed and so did the plan.  Downgraded from Mall to mall.  Jim handled it with a fair amount of grace given what he had on his hands which was an all of the sudden very angry Kelly.

The trial run was a mess.  The saint at the hair salon/wig shop had a much softer touch with a wig than I do.  When I put it on, it geniuinely looked like a bad SNL skit and it just sucks.  It sucks to not feel like you can put yourself together.  Anyway, I was angry and took it all out on Jim. 

After I spent the first two hours of my day date ruining my day date, Jim helped me turn it around.  We got out of the house.  We puttered around Nordstorms.  And Jim put his good taste and good eye to work  and we engaged in a healthy amount of retail therapy.  Thank you, Jim. 

We ended the afternoon with a late lunch, early dinner and hunkered down for a favorite of mine - snow day watch. 

Today was a snow day - how could it not be good?  Dani watched the boys.  Jim and I worked from home.  Jim resisted his strong need to make me healthy winners like kale smoothies and delivered chemo-winners like mashed potatoes, chilequiles and hot ham and cheese sandwiches. 

People, I do a lot of eating.  Sure, the hair is gone, but so are the cheekbones.  I've been promised on good authority that there will be a reckoning (hair returns, weight goes).  That is something to look forward to. 

I feel like I should note for your sake - don't fret where I am.  By the time you've read it, I'm through it.  I got an email today about the 3 blade and hair loss.  Maybe its the process, maybe its the steriods, I race through these experiences and my emotions and then I am spent and they are gone. 

So, I'm not sure this will translate, but a funny note about Jim's kindness for the cat lovers (which he is decidedly not).  I was hungry at lunchtime today and Jim was working and wanted me to fend for myself.  Rather than fend for myself, I just explained to Jim that my plan was to walk downstairs and pace and cauterwaul in the kitchen until he finally came and fed me.   Poor man.  But he does make a lovely lunch. 

Exhale, Shed the Past

Brutal.  Just telling you how it was. 

Last February, the day after they appeared on The Grammys and won best album of the year, Jim and I had tickets to the Mumford and Sons show at the Patriot Center.  I was about three months pregnant, low energy and nauseaous all the time (hmmm).  It required a rush hour drive from downtown to Fairfax in a snowy, icy crush of traffic.  We talked about bailing the whole drive out. 

It turned out to be this incredible not to be missed show.  Their energy was hugely high, and coming off the Grammys, it seemed as if the band was too hot, too big for the venue.  It felt like we lucked into an intimate 930 club showing of a big venue band and we also knew all the lyrics. 

So, yesterday was the day.  Too much hair left on the pillow.  Too worried about the wind whisking it away and leaving me with patches (seriously).  Too easy to pull tufts of hair out. All bleak and, indulgently, self-pitying, but true. 

The day itself didn't really register.  I think it was a nice day.  Ian was charming.  Mom helped some with the boys in the afternoon so Jim and I could slip out for a long, chilly walk. After we returned, she stayed and watched the boys so Jim could get a real work-out in and I could hibernate a bit.  We got out of the house afterword and had dinner with friends. 

And after a day I don't really remember, we had a night I'll never forget. 

The shave wasn't so bad.  That was really just the technical part. 

It is just that with two people working so hard to keep it together and do something so unpleasant, I guess it is impossible to be strong enough to also support each other through it.  I think the boys in the band got it about right with the following: 

And it was your heart on the line
I really fucked it up this time
Didn't I, my dear?

Last night and this morning I thought these lines perfectly captured my sense of disappointment in Jim.  Probably, with a little more time, it will describe our mutual inability to comfort each other in a moment in our lives during which there was very little comfort to be had. 

Anyway, we were at least smart enough to put ourselves to bed and not muck around in our disappointment too much. 

And what was brutal last night is only slightly rotten today. 

Miles had zero remarks on the change from a pixie to a 3 blade.  He approved one of the wigs this morning.  How do you like?  Looks good.  Perfect, or good?  Good, I don't like how you pulled that one part (of the wig) back.  This would be Jim's three year old. 

And winner, winner, chicken dinner, we found Ian's sweet spot.  Mom and Food.  A bowl of rice cereal served by his mom in a wig.  He couldn't stop giggling, cooing and shrieking. Happy baby. 

And like good yogis, Jim and I are exhaling and shedding the past. 

Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday

They just sort of blend into each other.

Um, I'm better-ish today?  I have more appetite and a smidge more energy.  I'm feeling a little less glum.  Could be something to do with the "goodbye, sweet mommy" I got from Miles on his way out the door this morning. 

I had spent some time wondering last week how the mindgame would shift and I think I am starting to see a shift already.  My exuberance, my "I can do it" is morphing into oh the drudgery of it.  Oh the drudgery of all these cycles of ups and downs.  Of feeling housebound.  Of noticing the days getting longer and not having the energy to enjoy it.  And it is only January 17. 

I need to get back to work on my positivity. 

For example, the food that you are delivering, delicious.  Just one little example of how good this food is.  I've known Jim know for almost nine years.  This is an understatement:  left-overs aren't his thing.  He has never packed a lunch in the time I've known him.  And yet, after dinner last night, Jim proudly told me he was taking left-overs in for lunch.  He followed through and then he came home tonight and finished all the left-overs for dinner.  I don't know this man.  I'd flatter you about how much better cooks you are than I am, except, of course, I don't cook and I've got to respect the home team. 

I've asked Jim if there is anything else to update on the blog:  not really. 

Hunkered down, eating rice

Well, it isn't a total chemo eclipse, but it isn't all rainbows and puppy dogs either. 

I got behind on my nausea meds last night and today, I'm back to potatoes, white rice and scrambled eggs.  I'm pretty bummed about it.

The hair is threatening.  I'm pretty bummed about that, too.

A friend brought over clippers today.  Jim is worried about screwing it up.  That's sortof funny given the destination.  I think he means hurting me.  I'd assume that even an a clipper novice won't leave permanent marks. 

Boys are good.  Ian is softening toward me.  Miles is in heaven with a three-day in a row sleep-over with Mimi.  Mom's going home tomorrow night and Dani has the weekend off.  I'll be trying to convert a Wayne's World looking wig into something pasable.  Looks to be a rough weekend. 

Jim asks what can we do to make it successful.  Nothing comes quickly to mind. 

Waiting for the chemo eclipse

Mondays are date nights.  Tuesdays are treatment days. 

Today was a long day.  The first appointment with the oncologist at was 9:00.  That lasted an hour or so.  Then the infusion appointment.  But it was delayed waiting for the blood work.  We were directed by the charge nurse to go have lunch and come back in 45 minutes. 

For whatever reason, and I am really not so Suzie Sunshine (actually, Jim's favorite nickname for me is much worse, Suzie Safety, but I digress), I told Jim it felt like we were exploring a foreign city.  At least the Georgetown campus was foreign to me, and an hour meandering in unfamiliar area, without kids, time somewhat suspended, no real work pressure or constant email checking, and then sitting for lunch and chatting felt very indulgent.  To be clear, we ate at the campus Cosi so it really wasn't all that, but still. 

What else.  We had a good appointment with The Good Doctor.  Because I'm me I told her I'd been making a little fun at her expense.  She was undaunted so I explained.  You know that despite all of the innovation and advances in the treatment technologies, she comes into the room and pulls a tape measure out of her pocket.  It's like an old-fashioned bra fitting, but instead its tumor measuring.  Pretty much equally demoralizing endeavors, in my experience.  Anyway, we had a laugh or two about it. 

Back to the infusion.  I'm jumping all over the place here.  It was uneventful and fine.  We didn't get home until after 4.  I had the energy to play a bit with both boys, do the dinnertime, bedtime scramble, watch the Caps (no comment) and now blog.  I'm taking lots of meds - I mean I am on five nausea meds, so the toxic drugs are doing their best to make their presence known. 

It's all Pacman, wocka, wocka in there.  And for the record, wocka wocka in my book is the sound of Ms Pacman eating the dots avoiding the ghosts.  (apparently The Google isn't so good at understanding my sound meanings and I understand there was at least one lost soul out there, so I'm explaining myself more clearly this time).   So, wocka, wocka.  Enjoy the tumors because this is my recovery and I like it. 

At lunch, we chatted about my appointment with The Good Doctor.  I told Jim there was this moment in the appointment when I noticed that there were four women professionals in the room with him.  And then I realized I've only seen women medical professionals during this entire process.  That is pretty awesome.  I mean, medical oncologist, surgeons, nurses, RTs, NPs, all women. My observation about these professionals would just be that they are serious, committed, quiet, passionate and principled professionals.  I really respect them and find them familiar creatures. 

What else.  Oh, the insult to injury list gets updated again.  The big BWF.  Bald, we knew.  Fine.  Pixie here today, gone tomorrow.  Side story: I totally accepted a bribe yesterday.  (not even close.  technically, it was more of a reward or incentive and solidly appropriate).  Yesterday at work, a young, fashionable woman passed me in the hallway and described my haircut as "fierce."  Not a word commonly (ever) associated with anything about me.  I'm realistic and recognize that it was a first and last time event for my life.  Back in my office, I saw my two Jay-Z tix on my desk.  She who earnestly delivers "fierce" took the prize.  Enjoy the show. 

Back to the BWF.  Bald.  W is for wrinkles.  Discontinue all those fancy face and eye creams because your skin gets sensitive.  Today I learned the F.  F is for curvy in all the wrong places.  Most women gain weight during cancer.  Cause you eat all the damn time to manage the steroids and avoid the nausea.  Obviously these are not grave concerns, but they do chip away at your sense of control over the margins. 

Whatever.  "Its the recovery, stupid."  Tonight I feel good.  Not as good as this morning before I got all juiced up.  But I didn't have to spend the day hunkered down in bed eating rice.  That'll probably be tomorrow:)  A two-day chemo eclipse is better than a three-dayer.  Here's hoping.

Monday's Date Night

At my new friend the survivor's recommendation, Monday night is the new date night in my house. Monday because if treatments are Tuesdays you feel good Mondays. Jim and I went to Kapnos for dinner. Sat at the kitchen bar and watched the kitchen service. Food was good. Meaty. Service was charmless. But the company was first-rate and going out on a Monday felt anniversary special. By this time tomorrow, I'll be halfway through the first (allegedly, the tougher) course of chemo. I like the sound of fifty percent. I mean, not as a test grade, but through the tough stuff is nice. My pixie got rave reviews. It is starting to fade but nice to think about it's return this summer. Ian is still a heart-breaker. The tepid smiles only infrequently replaced with a beam. This kooky lady with his mothers voice is persistent though. And I had a nice chat today with a childhood development and education expert who reminded me that he was getting everything he needed from us right now. Not to be worried about one moment in a lifetime. A tough week ahead but ready for it.

Oh, the original - thank you, Steve.

Ian and I are watching the pre-game show together.  By pre-game I mean the red carpet of course.  I glanced on facebook and Steve (from high school) had the original.  I'm so happy to have it. 

It was better drafted, but too raw.  Anyhow it feels like a part of me and a part of this experience and I am glad to have it.  What The Google taketh, The Facebook giveth.  Thank you. 




.

Bad day gone wrong, redux

I'm trying this a second time. It is difficult because I poured it out yesterday and I don't feel the same way today. But here's an attempt. (I just reread it and it is obviously hurried.  Sorry). 

Thursday night I went to bed confident.  I had told a friend "I can do this."  Apparently, I changed my mind when my head hit the pillow.  At first it didn't make sense and then it did.  I associate sleeping with my hair.  The last thing I do everything night as I settle into bed is pull my hair off my neck so my neck lays bare on the pillow. 

Oh, and I just sobbed.  Buckets and buckets.  Poor Jim didn't see the atmospheric shift and couldn't figure out what happened.  That was Thursday night.

Friday morning was worse.  I woke, after a terrible night's sleep, sad and to a quiet house.  Jim and Miles had kindly (but that morning tragically) let me sleep.  But the quiet house just unnerved me.  I am generally a relatively quiet and solitary creature, but these days I need company in a way I never had before. 

I forced myself up and out of the house and made a deal with myself that I could cry until I got in the car.  I was late for work and hurried into the office. 

I had some sensitive things to take care of at the office.  They required some kindness and finesse and were wonderfully distracting.

By noon, it was time to leave the office.  My hair (removal) appointment was at three.  My work was done.  And the sadness was back. 

I did something that I'd just never do.  I asked a friend if she was home and if so, if I could come over for tea and a sandwich.  I am just not (or was not) someone who would ever ask someone to feed and care for me.  But I am so glad I did.

I went to lunch sad and empty in every way.  I left a different person.  An hour or two of company, food, the opportunity to bury some sentences and then talk about something else with friends was transformative.  It literallly turned a gray, dark and bad day of all bad days into a special afternoon. 

And despite the ugly job ahead, the day went wild and up from there.

I left lunch to meet up with Jim.  Jim had not had the benefit of a transformative lunch and was in a low functioning, deeply grieving, hard-of-hearing, nodding-but-not-with-you kindof way.  The two of us went to pick up our dear friend - who despite having had the hardest of day's herself - insisted on joining us for the hair appointment. 

This friend, who'd held our hands and coaxed us through the first chemo appointment, had slipped on an icy patch that morning, spent the better part of the day in the ER and returned home with several broken ribs.  But she was coming with us.  Period. 

We were this sorry, magical lot.  Me, monosyllabic.  Jim, riddled with grief at the day's work.  Friend, gingerly, carefully, uncomfortably, but for damn sure, guiding us along.

We got to the hair appointment and it was just comedy in the way that Spies Like Us was funny.  It was so awful in every way that we had a great time.  The salon was a riot.  The customers were a riot.  The absurdity of the head shave was a riot.    For the record, the man who helped us was a saint.  He does ten of these appointments a week, could not have handled us more carefully and professionally, and just made an ugly job seem elegant.  That is hard to do.

I guess the bottom line is this awful thing we set out to do was not so bad and actually became an incredible time with people that are important to me because we were comically all banged up but didn't take ourselves too seriously. 

And most brilliantly,  we punted.  After much discussion, we postponed Demi Moore's headshave for a pixie.  I'm currently a dead-ringer for Pink, Michelle Williams and Mia Farrow, but with my face, my body and one bad right breast.  The actual tradegy is that the clippers are still ahead of me (probably less than a week).  But, hey, why do all the hard work in one day when it can be spread over several. 

Incidentally, if you are wondering how impossibly hard it is to give up your hair, I'll tell you.  I wasn't strong enough. I brought it home with me in a ziplock bag.  I know this will seem odd to most.  I just needed it.  I need it in case my boys someday need something that is tangibly me.  My goal is proudly but easily toss this into the trash someday.  But not for a long (cancer-free) time. 

Anyway, I also brought home two wigs.  They look pretty good to me.  And I think that is saything something because I thought my (gray) hair was the bomb. 

With a couple of extra days since Friday under my belt, I can report on the boys.  This has been added to the insult to injury list in terms of Ian.  He is six months.  Recognition is a big developmental step and he is confused by this lady whose hair doesn't fall onto and tickle his face who happens to have his mother's voice.  Sadly, this isn't just me being sensitive.  I can see it in his expression.  I guess the upside is when I put on the wig I get the worlds biggest smile.  The downside: the pixie, the baldness, the bandana at home all currently appear ready to replace the world's biggest smile with a tepid one.  Add that to the fucked up things about cancer list.

Miles, however, has delivered.  The haircut looks "silly" to him.  But aside from that, I am a thousand percent momma.  And he likes the wigs too.  They look just like your hair, momma.  He even used the word blond.  Too late, buddy.  Don't try to butter me up,  now.

Two other points that I made in the original blog and should be noted here.  First, we ended our day in another friend's house after this person I am becoming asked her to feed and care for us.  Technically, I asked if we could play Cards Against Humanity and have a night of diversion and those dirty birds delivered.  Seriously, it was so nice to have some cancer-free fun with people that matter to us. 

Second, you people are amazing.  I just can't believe how you are supporting us.  Notes, and notes, and flowers, deliveries of favorite foods and well-considered kind things from the past, hand-and-beautifully made dangly earrings (made by the granddaughter of a grandmother who rocked dangly earrnings with her bald beauitful head), books to train my mind to influence and shape the world (that's right), water bottles, food deliveries.

To wrap it, I know this doesn't make sense, but I am so thankful.  I am thankful for Friday, which was this awful, spirit-crushing day that turned into a long, rich and enriched gift of day.  I don't know where it came from, but I am glad it found me.  And finally, I know I have cancer, but you people have made me fat and happy and I thank you. 

From the mouths of babes

One of the things I don't want to be is afraid.  

When I was in high school, a friend's Mom told me that there was only one way through difficult things in life - straight through the middle of them.   

This morning I went straight through the middle of something I've been dreading since December 10.

I jumped into the shower first thing.  When I got out, Jim, Miles and Ian were laying in bed and Jim was telling stories.  All casual while dressing, I asked Miles if he wanted to hear something silly.  He did.  So, I told him about the silly side effect of the medicine I'm taking.  "It makes my hair fall out."  I said I didn't want it to fall out, so I was just going to cut it short.  Like Ian's, short.

Miles did not think that was a good idea.  I circled back to what the medicine was going to do.  This time I pointed out that I had a lot of hair, so I would probably get a big lollipop.  And I could probably get him one too.  

Pleased with myself, I worked in a quick reference to Halloween and wigs and moved to close the discussion.  Wrong.  

Miles' social intuition kicked in.  He immediately said I don't think you should wear a wig to work, Mommy.  (What?  Who is talking about work?  Damn, double damn.)  Why not, Miles?  People will think you look silly.  (Here we go)  What should I say if people think I look silly, Miles?  You should tell them that isn't very nice.  (Fuck. Why did I think I was talking to him about lollipops?).  Okay, Miles, if they say I look silly I will tell them it isn't nice, but I think they will like my wig.  And scene, as they say.  

Just to fill out the screenshot, Ian and Jim were playing dead during the whole exchange.  

So, aside from being forced to follow his lead, a relatively easy discussion.  I was proud of myself for going straight through the middle of it.  

I go to work.  I have a good day.  I come home.  Play pirates.  

At bedtime, the hair comes back up.  Miles has some questions about the wig.  Where will I get it?  At a store.  A wig store?  Yes.  What color will it be?  The same color as my hair is now.  Wait for it…

Gray?  He asks.  Gray?  Aghast.  Horrified.  Betrayed.  Speechless.  I mean, I think my blond hair is the defining aspect of my identity.  Gray?  He is lucky Christmas is over.  

Incidentally, I'm on a bit of a high right now.  I'm through the first course of treatment.  I know I can handle it.  The head shave is ahead of me, and the vast majority of women with breast cancer rank losing their hair as harder than losing a breast, so I expect it will be a bad day.  But hey, since it is GRAY, it might as well go.  

Cold and bad night

I know it is cold and there are people without heat, but I had an awful night. I said have fortitude but I do not have a stomach for pain. Last night was humbling for me and probably scary for Jim. We had two sleeping boys, one sobbing Mom and one Dad to manage it all. I was a bit of a mess. Securing stronger drugs are the day's top priority.

You went to The Work today

There are so many good quotes in today's blog. I am starting with one from a favorite of mine. After the dinnertime, bedtime scramble, Jim looked over at me and said "Its great you went to the The Work today." This man could tell you the status of a microeconomic issue anywhere in the world, but doesn't seem familiar with my place of employment. Anyway, I think Jim was being complimentary about my energy-level. Jim explained that due to his approaching AARP eligibility, he has a new tendency to add articles before nouns.

More quotes. I have no idea what childbirth feels like, having had both of mine the "elegant" (surgeon's quote) way - cause thats the word I'd use to describe not being able to feel my legs for two days - but I'm having pains that feel like intense, bone-racking contractions. Or at least that was how I described them to my nurse with inappropriately attractive hair for her profession.

No, I am not in labor. It is just that as a "young, healthy woman" (the long-locked nurse) this is the bone marrow, white blood cell growth goodness.  A few weeks ago, bone marrow was something on a menu.  Now it is a spacer between my teeth for braces except rammed into my backbone and hips.  So, not sure about childbirth but this hurts like hell.  Truthfully, I did have the opportunity to spray some cooling gel for a very good friend shortly after she had her first child so I do know that process appeared to involve some pain, too.

Back to The Work. I dropped Miles off at school and went to work. I got to talk about payroll, staffing, separations, 2014 planning and exit interviews. Hallelujah. Seriously. It was so nice to be there. I also had the chance to talk to some of the team folks today.

I focus on people in my job (just in case Jim wondered).  The professional team people are people experts as well but their focus is on the minds and the bodies.  It was great to talk to them and have their help thinking of my game of strength, endurance, agility and mental toughness.  I appreciate the help and concern.

This paragraph is for all the mommas, papas, uncles and aunts (because it will make them happy).  I was asked about what changes I've made to my diet.  Sadly, all changes thus far have been for the worse.  White, mushy, undifferentiated foods look delicious to me.   The importance of nutrition was discussed.    Vitamins were delivered.  Appreciated, understood, noted.  No need to call and tell me to take the vitamins, Mom.

Last night, Jim provided a tour of apple tv, including a lengthy system update and discussion of features. Jim says it is too early to say this but I'm keeping it real. I am so over the tv in the bedroom.  And in case it was lost in the quotes, lots of pain tonight.

The hungry caterpillar

I moved through a slow, inversion yoga practice Saturday. By chance, I got a warm bask of sunshine in the chest opening poses from the third floor bath window. My practice included headstands and handstands. Not terrible for a rusty yogi. These are the days I really would like to know that I'm going to live. I can see how I'll manage, cope and recover. But I'd like to know I'm going to live. For the first few weeks, I thought of this process as a reverse butterfly - moving back through the coccoon to the caterpillar. I am starting to like the visualization that it is Saturday (it's just a stomachache). The next day is Sunday again and all I need is a few green leaves and a few weeks tucked away while a (amazing/medical/magical/life-altering) transformation happens.

Honesty is mostly overrated, agreed?

There is always the question of how honest to be on this blog.

Let me say I'm trying to be as honest as I can.  I write for me.  I write to express, actually to expel how I'm feeling.  It is equivalent to pushing the breath out of the lungs.  When I push these thoughts and emotions out, there is room for more.  It literally makes it easier for me to breathe.  Maybe I'm training myself for bigger gulps.  (Please Lord, big juicy gulps of something better than cancer). 

The caveat to my honesty is, of course, I am also trying to save some of my and my family's dignity.

For example, when I said the other day the steroids aren't charm enhancers, don't you just know that there was probably a stretch of shouting, sobbing and slightly less than reasonable discussion between Jim and me that night.  Tonight, it seems like that might have been the steroids.  The other night, I could have reached another conclusion that probably would have involved a number of expletives.  But, hey, I love an expletive. 

So today's honesty, the good news is I must feel better because I am sad in a quiet and lonely way I haven't been to date.  I'm going to take this as a positive sign.   You can never feel properly sorry for yourself if you are really miserable. 

The chemo symptoms are lessening.  I went out with a friend this afternoon.  I ate an impressive amount of food today.  I restarted my solo yoga practice.  Unfortunately, my woe is me is still swollen. 

From my honesty, to Jim's.  Jim, as you know, is the sparkle and spontaneity to my plodding and pragmatism.  One of the things that makes me the saddest about this damn diagnosis is how it affects him.  So many of the best things about Jim are foiled by this fucking disease.  His endearing "let's go" "you'd love"" the "how about?" the "why don't we"are all on hold.  I told you my woe was swollen. 

So, I'm sad today, but better.  Nausea (spelled correctly because I finally found the spellcheck) is better.  The snow was nice.  Snowangels were made.  Ian chatters and chatters.  We had Lou Malnati's pizza for dinner.  Jim is having a beer.  The Wizards are losing, but it is only the third quarter.  And there is a tv in my bedroom, which as I already noted, is awesome. 

This is not sugar coated Friday

I have had some requests for sugar coated Fridays to compliment the keeping it real Tuesdays. Not today. Especially, because I am not really sure what day it is.

I'm ok. The chemo is my friend. Sometimes, friends are hard on you. I'm not too sick, mostly I feel somewhere between the day of a bad flu and the day after a bad flu.

Monday had a fair amount of intense nasaeu. Tuesday only had a few of the moments when I had to stop immediately, wherever I was, and get my head on the floor to keep the world from spinning. Today was mostly woozy and lethargic. I mean I wouldn't say it is fun, but I can handle it.

The steroids. Well, they aren't really charm enhancers either.

On the upside, I did feel well enough to wrestle and tickle Miles long enough for him to remember who's the boss kiss-getter(mom), baby (Ian), tickler (Miles) and tricker (dad).

Actually, ironically, this New Year's day feels like a lot of others - just the symptoms are driven by a different intoxicant:). Happy New Year.