Thursday, March 31, 2011

truth?

Our culture has it all wrong with hair. I have spent years trying to get my hair just right. My hair isn't curly enough to be pretty and not straight enough to look like a white girl. So, it takes work. I am a slave to products and CHI straighteners, and have watched Bruce for years just hop out of the shower and run off somewhere. We women have to work at just getting out the door. After this last week, I am wondering whether we women have it right at all.

If I could get over the concentration camp/conehead look I might decide that I look like an African queen and keep this look for a while. This hairdo is BY FAR the most comfortable one I have ever had in my life. Have you ever rolled your hand on the top of a boy with a buzz-cut? It's that satisfying. It feels remarkably freeing, and it I didn't have such a pea-head, it might look halfway okay.

I feel like Bozo in the wig even though it is the nicest hair I have ever had on my head. No frizz. Just the perfect shiny highlighted hair... I've heard that no one knows what type of hair they get when it returns after chemo. My hair looks like my brother's so it will be the color of Phil Donohue and the length of little boy by Christmas. I doubt whether I will ever dye or grow my hair long again. I am ready to just settle in to Nonnahood with a nice round belly, short hair and a cushy lap. What ever happened to those grandmas anyway?

That's all babies ever want... not some sixty-five year-old wannabe hot chick trying to be forty. No Botox for me... no fillers or tummy tucks. No more killing myself to look better - just living my life with joy and gratitude for being alive. Every day I will have with my kids and my grandkids will be my gift. Give me a size 14 and a life, baby.

Hanging in this morning, and I love feeling Lousy 1. Tuesday, I was a Lousy 8, and I couldn't get my head off the pillow. I never in my life knew that there were levels of "Lousy" and that the lower levels feel like being on a fluffy pillow in heaven.

I hadn't remembered having such good chocolate before, Maureen. Why does everything in my life taste so damn beautiful at Lousy 1? If I could get to a Good 2 by next year, I may really corner you with JOY.

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

It's a family affair....

Felt so much better today...






















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































and then there was joy...


I had the worst day since the beginning. Then, I got the most beautiful letter from my friend, Bitsy, that made me cry. And thennnn, my son Judd has been kicking my butt in iphone Scrabble making me feel like the crazy, fierce, insane competitor that I taught him to be. And thennnnnn... Susan brought me raspberry yogurt, Neeny came over to give me a mommy hug, and thennnnnnnn

I got this:


some joy from my grandson, Charlie



Ambien for sleeping...

yes, another drug for sleeping got me through the night... this drug world is soooo not me. Side effects:

Diarrhea; dizziness; drowsiness (including daytime drowsiness); "drugged" feeling; dry mouth; headache; nausea; nose or throat irritation; sluggishness; stomach upset; weakness.

SEVERE side effects occur when using Ambien:

Severe allergic reactions (rash; hives; itching; difficulty breathing; tightness in the chest; swelling of the hands, legs, mouth, face, lips, eyes, throat, or tongue; throat closing; unusual hoarseness); abnormal thinking; behavior changes; chest pain; confusion; decreased coordination; difficulty swallowing or breathing; fainting; fast or irregular heartbeat; hallucinations; memory problems (eg, memory loss); mental or mood changes (eg, aggression, agitation, anxiety); new or worsening depression; severe dizziness; shortness of breath; suicidal thoughts or actions; vision changes.

*What pill do I take for the anxiety knowing Ambien could intensify what I've already got? At least it doesn't cause the 48 hour erection. I'm so relieved now.*


Lost a total of 6 1/2" in my waist. Are you kidding me?






Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Chemo Pity Party... please forget to rsvp

Not so great tonight.

Metal taste is back
shakes
heart tremors
freakishly bald
can't eat
can't sleep
tongue is swollen
headachy
flu-ish symptoms
morning sickness
hangover from hell

Pity Party Over... I can't find any humor in this at all. I can't even pump up the jam. I may actually need some Josh Groban and then cry myself to sleep.



Chesapeake

























I grew up on boats. We didn't have yachts, but that is because my parents thought that sounded snooty, so we had 45' boats, which (honestly) could be referred to as"yachts." So much of my blogging is about my mother but I've had little to so far about my dad and his boats.

He and I were a lot alike. He cut people off instead of fighting the good fight, was fiercely, but quietly religious, loved his good Scotch, his unfiltered camels, his kids and his wife. My parents had quite a love story, and I think it was probably the hardest on him when she slipped from 'a little eccentric' into certifiably insane. Anyone who knew them as young couples knew that they were in love and always showed their kisses throughout the day. As time went on, my father came home later and later - and being a kid, I didn't know why. Now I can just imagine. Maybe it was a mixture of both her pills and booze that lead to the slip, but my father just retreated.

I often say, he died young on purpose. He was Catholic. There would be no divorce in sight... just dying. So he did. I was twenty-three.

Our boats were the best times of our life. All of the pressure seemed to disappear as the salty air of the Chesapeake crept into our noses. I can close my eyes and smell the mustiness of the cabin and we had rituals around that time that were unforgettable. No photos anymore, just memories. There was no arguing, and no ranting guilt trips or belittling behavior... there was just the ritual of sailing. The first ritual was getting to the boat which my dad always had moored on the Sassafras River near some obscure farm within the depths of Maryland's Delmarva Peninsula.


The Sea Lion



















My dad didn't believe in nice cars and usually had a stripped, used Rambler or unmufflered Bonneville. We even had one of those tiny Metropolitans at one time. My dad was a sailor. He was a husband and a dad, yes... but in his heart he was just a sailor - I knew that his mind was always wondering when the next time we would be able to get to his beloved boat. The first ritual was to drive from Philadelphia to Maryland and go down numerous dirt roads to get to the cheaper mooring for our boat. No yacht clubs for the Wilkinsons. Right around the middle of the trip passing many farms he would say,"so Nim, you ready"? The car stopped. Thick dirt smoking was circling around the car. Without any discussion, I would get out of the backseat, and we would switch seats and I drove the rest of the way. I was eleven. It was a stick-shift, and with my long legs, I could reach the clutch with ease. This was a family ritual. I don't have any memory of my brother wanting to drive but I was a pro by the time I was a teenager. My parents just sat back, lit up cigarettes and had Nim get them to their destination. Was it trust or pure craziness - I'm still not sure.

My dad allowed me to do unusual things because he always had that eccentric side too. I wasn't sure where that side ended and my mother's eccentricities started, but on the boat, there was no tension. There was music, laughter, hundreds of Pitch card games, great food, explorations on islands, catching crabs off the side of the deck, and my ritual of meditation which I still do today. As soon as we took off towards the Chesapeake Bay, I disappeared to the bow sprit and with absolutely no harness, or safety belt, I bounced mercilessly towards the horizon dreaming about anything and everything. I had God there. It was God to me being there - one with nature. As I look back it was so irresponsible to allow me to be there because it would have been easy for me to topple into the dark water but no... I was allowed to do most things. By the time I was fourteen, I was smoking cigarettes as they were in the stern laughing away in their own little world. I remember doing the dishes, but other than that it was just about having fun. No rules. No chores. We ate crabs, grilled steaks, and played our guitars and sang until all hours of the night.

Music was a part of me from the time I remember breathing. And music was a way to disappear, and find peace when the good parts started to fade. I do this now, as you can see. We had so much fun, and it saddens me to think that my fun childhood was marred so drastically by my mother's insanity as she got older. We had experiences on those boats that were life-changing, and it amazes me that I married a man who has land-locked me for over forty years. grrrr-central. I was so glad that sailing was my childhood because it was unforgettable.

Why is it that the bad memories crush all the good ones in your mind?

I'm glad I took this time out today to remember the rituals of the boat. The four of us had so.much.fun and it is something I'm kinda glad I dug up in my chemo-brain today.

Thanks, Mom and Dad.


This one is for you, Chris... Happy Birthday.