The Blog: Spellbound by our own imperfect lives...

I went to my chemo appointment today. The doctor checked my lymph nodes, my throat, my ankles, my rash (or lack of a rash), asked a lot of questions and we commenced with Paclitaxel. I did not have the rare but not unexpected side effect of trouble breathing and red face. I told Regis to be on alert for the ruddy complexion and I would be alert for the breathing problems. Kerry told me what they would do and she did not seem alarmed at all that this could, although probably would not, occur. I'm not sure how I would have been alert enough to notice labored breathing since they had given me 50mg of bendryl and told me it "might make me drowsy". Might make me drowsy is a great euphemism for kick your ass into the middle of next week. I felt like I had a bottle of wine without the fun...my speech was slow, my thinking was slow, and I listed to the left when I went to the bathroom. I completely missed my pod partner leaving. After I realized I had made it through the

I'm sitting in my cozy living room drinking coffee when I hear that schools in St. Peter are starting two hours late and Mankato schools are closed due to the way below zero wind chills. I remember the days when a late start or a close gave me a little tingle of excitement. One downside to retirement: I still have to go out on days like this. There are no snow days for chemo. Yesterday, Mary Smith from Mary's Flowers delivered a little pot of daffodils because I knew the answer to her Facebook quiz: William Wordsworth. It's always fun to see Mary almost any day. She is a ray of sunshine herself and sometimes delivers flowers with a song. She told me she includes me in her prayers every night which is a nice thing. In the interest of full disclosure I am posting the picture Mary took. I'm dressed in my exercise clothes, my hat is cocked, and you can see my messy kitchen. Oh, hell. There are worse things, right? I will say that is my Valentine's Day tree and

Regis and I both woke up at 3 am. He checked the status of the Winterfest Medallion (found) and I tried to read. I went back to sleep at 4 am and had the fitful and dream-filled sleep. It was awful. I woke agitated, sweaty, and with a headache. I'm not sure it was worth it. I have read about twenty mystery novels in the last month. At this point, Inspector Lewis, Jim Chee, and Cork O'Connor are all mixed up in my head. Are the Ojibwe and the kachinas looking for a murderer in London and drinking Scotch in the evenings while they make their plans? It's painful. And I watch Doc Martin at night, so add Marty and Joan to this cocktail and you have the stuff of crazy dreams. After two days above freezing, our sidewalks are a mess. It didn't get warm enough to actually rid us of any snow and ice, it just melted and formed a thick, impenetrable coat of frozen muck on all horizontal surfaces. No wonder people get depressed. A few years ago, I sold our ice chipper at a garag

When I went to exercise class yesterday, I told the physiologist that I was going to be a good test of his mood elevating properties of exercise theory. I told him that my mood, given the gray weather of late, was about a 3 on the mood scale with 1 being crappy and 10 being giddy. By the end of the hour, I was about a 7. Not giddy but not ready to hitchhike to a southern climate either. I have been craving cheeseburgers. Every day I wake up and start scheming about how I can achieve a cheeseburger that day. After exercise class, we stopped at Guenther's and I had my cheeseburger fix. They make a great one...hand made patty, nice toasted bun, ketchup, mustard, pickles. A simple pleasure. Here's a view from the last booth, of which there are only three. You don't want to go here when it's the peak busy time, like at noon. We go around 10:30 so you can still have breakfast but you can get lunch if you'd rather and you don't have to fight anybody for a bo

Bruce sent this picture of his grand-daughter, Darby, dressed up for her birthday party. She would be my grand-niece but that sounds like a blue-haired old lady thing so I don't like to use that phrase. This is a girl after my own heart. She put together quite a look here. Then I started thinking... Here I am dressed to go to the St. Patrick's Day parade. I wore this to a party with Regis when he worked at a costume company and I wore it to school a couple times (with a longer skirt and no wine) and passed out gold-wrapped chocolates from a black cauldron. I celebrated one of my recent birthdays with my mom. She has a long history of dressing up on Halloween. One year she put on a gorilla mask before getting into bed to scare my dad. He didn't even blink. Ella loves costumery. She's in her glory if we dig out long dresses, sparkly jewelry, scarves, and hats. She has a good eye for the outrageous and I appreciate that. You can see her dramatic pose

Dakota sends her Auntie Teresa a snow angel! Here is the evidence. Every kid should know how to make snow angels! Brooklyn send her Auntie Teresa a snow angel! Rachel sends her Auntie Teresa a snow angel! Thanks, lovely young ladies, for all the snow angels. I love them. I'm afraid I might have been sent one here or there that I misplaced. Instagram or text message are the hardest for me. I see it and then forget to do anything about it. This morning when Regis came to the Pulse, I told him I had done 15 minutes on the wind mill. I meant tread mill. My brain, my brain. Sometimes the chemo makes it chug to a halt. It's been one of those days when you want to go back to bed and pull the covers over your head until the sun comes out and it warms up. We've had rain, freezing rain, snow and lots of gray skies. Ugh. I think I have cabin fever . I should suppress it for today because it will be a busy week.

After writing that optimistic post about feeling safe at chemotherapy, I had a bit of a disappointment on Thursday. I've had this rash. It started out on my shoulders about a week after my last treatment. It didn't itch...just looked weird. The next day, I had blotches over my thighs and arms. I stopped in the clinic when I went to exercise and the doc and the research nurse both looked at it. The doc didn't think it was related to the chemo but said to keep an eye on it. So, of course, on Thursday when I go in for my last of four A&C treatments, they want to see the rash which is no better and in fact, slightly worse. Still doesn't itch but looks bad. The doctor is concerned that it is related to the chemo. He leaves the room to make a call to a man in Rochester who is a double-ologist in breast cancer research. They confer over the kind of cancer I have, the number of lymph nodes involved, the chemo I have had so far and what I have coming in the future.

My baby brother, Steve, on the left in the photo of my four brothers, died last night at 51. The past few years have been full of turmoil for him but he was at peace when he passed. It's a tragedy for him to die so young...for my mother, for his siblings, for his children, and for him. His daughter, Nicole, said he was a man with many talents and a big heart and he was all of that. He donated his body to the medical school at UND, a selfless act at the end of his life.

I told Joanne in an email today that I enjoy going to my chemotherapy appointments. I had to think about why that is. All of the professionals I see are concerned for my welfare: the research nurse, the social worker, the oncologist, the radiologist, the nurses. Everyone wants to know how I'm doing and what they can do to help me. It's comforting. In the same way, I like the exercise class. They take my blood pressure, my pulse, my weight. They want to know if I have any pain, they ask if I have any pain, or if my medication has changed. A nurse comes around as I exercise to take my pulse again and to ask how hard I'm working. Normally, this would be irritating. It would feel intrusive to have someone all up in my business every minute but in the scary world of cancer, all of this makes me feel safe. I've been obsessed the past few days with the word remission. I want to know if, at the end of my treatments, I will be in remission or if I will be cured. I know i

About a month ago, I lost two things: syringes for my Vitamin B and my checkbook. Since it was right before Christmas, I assumed they had both ended up in the same sweep and would be discovered together but I found my checkbook in my gym bag and the syringes in the glove box of the car. I had vague memories of putting them there...like a little thread of memory that I couldn't quite grasp until now. I have been sleeping so much better knock on wood. Yesterday I went into the bedroom and turned on the heated mattress pad and the humidifier, rubbed my nose with Vicks, and took a nap at 8 am. I hadn't even been awake that long. Maybe that qualifies as going back to bed rather than a nap. I took another nap mid-afternoon. Both were blissful. I've been sleeping well at night, too, waking for a short period but going quickly back to sleep. Regis and I got up early today to buy groceries. We dropped Gus at the Paw to get some exercise while we did errands and went to geriatric

Yesterday, it didn't get above zero in Minnesota. The high, the low, and the current were negative numbers all day. This morning, when I put my zip code into the weather channel search bar, it keeps giving me this: Hmmm, the page you are looking for can't be found. There's a message for you. Regis goes out in this frigid weather without a hat on, in tennis shoes. It makes me crazy. He's been in Minnesota long enough to know the drill. Even my oncologist wears a hat in the winter. I know this because his hair is always sticking straight up when I see him. Nothing like hat hair in the winter. One advantage to being bald...no worries about hat hair. Yesterday when I saw the doctor, it took me ten minutes to get the many layers of clothes off so I could get into the blue gown. The rash, if you are interested, goes undiagnosed. It has spread to my arms and legs but it doesn't itch and it hasn't blistered. The doctor told the nurse to document it thoroughly in my

Ella came over yesterday afternoon and we had a fine time. We put on our "fight like a girl" aprons, thanks to Katy in Georgia) and posed for some photos before playing a blistering round of tic-tac-to, doing some arts and crafts, and knitting. Gus likes to be in the pictures, too. He thinks when the camera comes out, it must be for him. This one is for Gonzo. It says: A girl's BFF, whatever that means. Haha! It looks like Gonzo on her shirt. I loved the picture of Gonzo perching on the guy's foot, Tom. Of course, he wouldn't put his delicate hinder on the sand. Regis and I are going to exercise today. I'm going to stop and see my nurse about the mystery rash and mild sore throat. I should finish the A&C this week and start the taxol next week. I figure the sooner I get on with it, the sooner I'm done. It's really too cold to go anywhere today. The temp is 9 below zero and the windchill is 32 below. This is not weather for fashio

I have some new hobbies. I find I have a lot of time to sit around lately so I needed something to do. I still read a lot but I looked for something else. I may have written about my trip through Hobby Lobby looking at  drawing kits and paint by number kits. Card making is big sport now in the hobby shops. Aisles and aisles of specialty paper, fancy scissors, stamps, stickers, and all manner of thing. I randomly bought some blank cards and some stickers. Oh, and a package of crocheted stuff. I'm not Martha Stewart and nobody would ever mistake my cards for something made by a professional but they're fun. I'm currently working on some Valentines. My other new hobby is knitting. Mom taught me to knit when I was very young...maybe 7 or 8. At one time in my life I knew how to make mittens and made them by the sackful for little kids in Minneapolis who didn't have mittens. I'm not sure I could handle that many needles anymore but I like making scarves. I ma

Yesterday when I got out of the shower I noticed I had a rash across the top of my shoulders. Bright red spots...not raised or blistered. Do not ever...ever...put rash in google and click images. Oh, my God. Disgusting. Anyway, I called the oncology nurse who said I didn't need to be concerned unless I develop a fever but should watch it. It doesn't itch but I keep touching it to see if it's still there. Today I am trying to decide if my throat is sore. I know if I call and tell the on-call oncologist that I have a rash and a sore throat, I will be headed to the ER. I use Regis as my "is this insane?" monitor. I describe my symptoms and he tells me if it's something to worry about or not. So far, he says not. I took two benadryl and I'm going to take a nap. Naps, and Vicks, are the cure-alls. Mom, I always throw my jar of Vicks into my bag when I go to chemo. It's my can of whoop ass on those days.

My husband is my Rock of Gibralter. My Pillar of Hercules. He does the dishes without complaint. He takes the dog to the dog park and keeps track of his Heartguard and Frontline. He keeps complicated records of our car maintenance. He knows when an oil change is due. He can fix the toilet. He restores my soul. He lets me choose the movie even if its something he might hate. He keeps me in book lists. He remembers when I wear the first pair of earrings he ever sent me. He brings me coffee in the morning and a glass of wine at night. He does my laundry. He shaves my head gently and cleans the small hairs that fall to the rug. He worries about my symptoms and examines my stitches and my rash. He holds my hand as we walk into the clinic. He has a hearty laugh. He makes up words to songs to make me laugh. He has a jukebox in his head. He sings and sometimes the songs are stuck in my head for days. He lifts me up when I am down. He carries the heavy things and tells me not

I had a nice day yesterday. Regis and I went to the exercise class in the morning where we are progressing well. I can do squats with five pound weights! Chip says I should be back to my old habits with maybe even bigger weights in a month. I went with Regis to one of the ologist appointments. The ologist looks more like a Viking warrior (tall and strapping with huge hands) than a doctor but he was very thorough. He explained a lot of the medical mysteries to us and wished us well. Back to that ologist in six months. I stopped at the yarn shop and stocked up on yarn for my prodigious scarf making. Anybody who needs a scarf should let me know. I pretty much have one design...and a very easy pattern. I buy bulky yarn, cast an odd number of stitches onto big needles, and knit until I am almost out of yard. Sometimes I stitch the ends together so it makes a big cowl scarf. The picture at the top is my haul from the American Cancer Society's Look Good Feel Better class last nig

Apparently I alarmed some friends and family with my blog post earlier today. The one where I wrote about feeling quarantined and having the blues. Some people thought is was a cry for help. It wasn't. It was just a bitey and sarcastic piece of drivel, similar to what comes off my keyboard at least once a week. I should issue a disclaimer with every post, that I do not always write strictly the facts. Sometimes, not often, I make stuff up. Sometimes, often, I exaggerate. Sometimes, most often, I embellish, especially if it will make a better story. I like to use hyperbole for dramatic or comic effect. I never promised that this blog would contain only non-fiction. I implied creative non-fiction. More latitude. Less fact checking. More fun. Do not ever use the information posted here for research purposes or to compose a report for your middle school history class. Do not ever list me as a source of information in a bibliography. I am what they call an unreliable source even t

I've struggled with the blues this week. I tried mightily on Tuesday with all the things they recommend (No guided imagery of which I am not a fan. Those things should have warning labels like this: Listening to this CD may cause your symptoms to worsen. Call your doctor if you get the urge to put a steak knife in your ear. ) but all the others: tea, yoga, music, candles, friends, nap, book.  Yesterday was a bit better but at 4 o'clock when it was snowing and raining and icy and the worst kind of maudlin gray outside, I had had it. I convinced Regis we should go to a local pizza parlor for dinner. It was early so no flu-ridden crowds, and the place is fairly new so there aren't layers of germs lingering on the tables. It lacks a bit in atmosphere...gym clothes hanging all over the walls in an attempt, I would guess, to attract the high school crowd. We'll skip that next time. I don't want to look at wrestling shorts while I eat. I'm under quarantine. I ha

Thirty five years ago, the oldest off-spring in our blended family was born. I love this picture of baby and dad, who looks like a cross between Mr. Green Jeans and Jerry Garcia. Hey, it was the 70's. Regis also has that stunned look of a new parent...lack of sleep, crying, constant feedings. Ah, glad those years are past. This is the kid a few years later and already making a fashion statement. Today he is taller still but with less hair..but a good kid. Happy birthday, Regis! Good to have you just down the street from the old people!

I told you angels walked among us. Yesterday, I received a gift from the lefse angel but didn't know the angel's identity. Regis called Norsland Lefse Company and found out her name. You can see she wears sunglasses and a seat belt. Glad the lefse angels stress safety. Thanks, Melanie! Ned Butler also sent happy thoughts my way yesterday. I think Ned was keeping a close eye on Deb while she made orange shortbread cookies. It's been a good day. We went to our geriatric exercise class this morning, stopped at Guenther's for an egg and toast, did some errands at Walgreen's, and came on home. We've had a snow/rain mix all day. Lots of slush. Lots of gray. Ugh. Good thing I feel better or I'd have to get in the round room.

But thank God I still have a taste for lefse. I think I'll write this up for JAMA: Woman makes it through cancer treatments by living on lefse, cheeseburgers, and chili! I woke up with the blues yesterday. I did everything I knew to make it better...tea, soft music, yoga (well, I meant to do yoga), a warm bath, conversation with Deb on the phone, lunch with Jill, turkey soup, To no avail. I had to come home quickly after lunch (Jill saw that I was fading fast) and crawl into bed. I was sooo tired. I woke up feeling groggy and funny. We went downtown to pay a bill but I wasn't recovering. I came home and took some Tylenol and got into my pajamas. We watched a movie called The Giant Mechanical Man, which I loved. Finally, I started to feel better. I'm only telling this long tale of woe to illustrate how my mind runs during an episode like this. I have turned into a hypochondriac and not only that but a hypochondriac of the future. These were my thoughts over the course

When I was a teacher, my favorite thing to teach was writing. Not to adults so much because they had their giant sets of nasty fears fed by red pens for all the years of their writing education. It was hard for them to get past that. The monkey mind, Natalie Goldberg calls it. Adults had fears that they would make a mistake (Oh, God! A dangling participle!) or something would sound stupid. It was nearly impossible to get them to let go and just write. If you could to kids in time, before the pestilence of the five paragraph essay had them in its death grip, they could learn to enjoy writing, to think of it as just thinking on paper, as mental gymnastics or self-expression. My friend, Jill, and I did a lot of staff development for teachers of writing, much of it unsuccessful in the ling run, but still fun. We had a lot of conversations in the car on the way to wherever, about writing and teaching writing. Some of the favorite memories of my teaching life. Once, we had to beat a

I've never owned a hand mirror. I had no interest in the back of my hair, always having a style that didn't require a lot of fussing. I figured, too, if somebody didn't like the way the back of my hair was arranged, the could avert their eyes. Now, I need a hand mirror. As my hair has made it's exit, I am left with some patchy and itchy stuff on the back of my head. Where I can't see it. As I've gotten more comfortable with baring my bald head in public and as it's become more necessary, as when my body temperature goes through the roof, I want to know what's back there. The strange things we worry about. I'm thinking this morning about what marks the passage of time in my life. Tiffany will be 28 this March and Peter will be 26 in April. Reg will be 35 in a couple weeks. How can we be old enough to have children approaching their 30's and 40's? Ella turned 7 on her recent birthday and she was asking, already, about when she could learn

Callum and Amanda McGregor didn't let a little ice storm and residual mud stop them from making an angel! Thanks for your contribution to the snow angel project!

For a few days after my treatment, I wander around in a fugue state . I don't think I am in any danger of trying to establish a new identity but the memory loss and wandering has me concerned. I wasn't vertical very many hours yesterday although I did manage to make a delicious beef stew with dumplings for dinner. I took my first nap by 9 am, my second shortly after noon, and a third about 3 o'clock. It feels so good to sleep that I don't berate myself for it. Today is the last day for the big nausea drugs so tomorrow I should be more alert. Here's hoping. This morning, I woke at 3 am, tired of being in bed. I came out to light the Christmas tree, the little fireplace, and to make coffee. I read for a while, had coffee and a scone, and when it was still dark, I went back to bed for a while. Now I have been up for a half hour again, and it is still dark. It's 7:10 and it is still pitch dark. Maybe a person not enduring chemo would be confused and wan

This was in my head when I woke up this morning. I don't think I can remember the rest of the words but if I could, it would make a heck of a cancer song. The toxins are coursing through my system and knocking those cancer cells on their heads. Sometimes they get a good cell, too, because they don't have effective night vision, and that explains the loss of hair and other side effects. There are some days I can forget I have cancer, but not many. The outward signs are harder to ignore than the inward signs. The bald head, the scars, the port. Those are visible and I see them or feel them almost constantly. I wonder how they know it's working. Regis thought I used the worst photo of my shoes because it didn't show the true colors. I like this shot because it shows my leopard chair. I could get dressed in all my animal gear and you would even be able to see me in this chair. Don't worry about me walking anywhere in these shoes, Mom...they are only for sittin

I didn't have much gumption yesterday. I tried turning on the television but I forgot to watch it and turned it off again. I did some knitting and some visiting but mostly what I did was sit in my big chemo chair and take pictures to document the event.  The control on my big chair. I can have a heated massage! Television remote control...and my hat. I'm usually cold when I get there so I wear boots and I ask for a heated blanket. The little door there is how my chemicals come from the pharmacy. It's a big suction device like they have at banks. Wooshhhh...and there they are. What the chemicals look like on the IV pole. Almost done with Peter's scarf. At some point during this mess, I get a hot flash and have to strip my boots, my hat and scarf, and lose the blanket. Where Regis sits to keep me company. Here I am with the bear Tom got me for my birthday this year. I like to take comfort things. See