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. 




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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.