Don't pity the fool...

Chemo today.

I am exhausted. The infusion was on the back of my hand... they've even stabbed me between the fingers as though I am a crank addict. My veins have collapsed and so (without a port) I have several more times to be tortured... six to be exact. Today wasn't too bad. But, they have to put me to sleep so it is such a waste of my day. Now, I can't sleep tonight, and I am dealing with my dog who has emotional issues. She freaks out when I'm gone. She was eating her own poop outside ten minutes ago. Crap.

Well, that was an unfortunately-placed epithet. Sorry.

There is such a delicate balance about my wanting any kind of attention when it comes to this cancer. I can't tolerate pity, and yet, if my plight isn't mentioned at all I feel unimportant. If I analyzed it, I would rather be ignored completely than given the look of pity. My friend called me yesterday and said we should start a business of some kind. Now, that's the best medicine. The idea of looking forward in a positive, inspiring light... like before the BIG C hit the fan.

I can't decide what I want in the pity department. I don't want to be driven to treatment by someone else. I am half-asleep afterwards, but insist on driving myself there and back home. I am asked if I want visitors and I always say no. It is my way of pretending that none of this is true; that I'm not one of those statistics that you hear about. If they sit with me, they are a reminder of what I once was: healthy. It's like being in prison, and they are on the good side of the glass window. They get to leave.

 I am a hardass. I refuse to give in to the limitations of what chemo gives me. Yesterday, I painted my entire downstairs bathroom (and cabinet) and spackled the hallway to bury my anxiety. Normal, right? But in acting like nothing is ever wrong, I also get the no special treatment or sympathy from my family... (definitely my own fault) but it feels strange. Bruce has the perfect balance with it, and I am so grateful. He lets me drive there, offers to visit, but does NOT show up when I tell him not to. I don't want his look of worry, and his gift (after all) is his food obsession, so I'm never starving. On the contrary, it's like eating with Emeril or Mario. Bruce doesn't bring up the chemo in the evening, because he wants to believe that the glass window in the prison was never erected in the first place.

Denial.

No. I don't want the visitors, and beyond all things, I DON'T want their pity. The chemo culture at the cancer center is a freaking party of the friends and family keeping a supportive vigil along side of my sick, bald, cancerous cubicle-neighbors. No thanks. At least they give me sedatives so I can tune the pity-party out. I go there with lipstick on and refuuuuuse to be a party to their cancer festival. I know this whole thing has brought out my cranky side, but that's how I roll with cancer. To me, this thing is personal. Unlike the status-cancer-quo, I'm not buying the t-shirt and joining the club. 

I hate it. Even the party-people give you this look as they walk past your cubicle with their homemade brownies and balloons for the other victims... it's a look I've never experienced. It must be the stare that those in a wheelchair get - 'I'm so glad I'm not you' but 'I'm so curious to know how bad it is for you. You poor thing.'  Cancer is like a bloody car accident. They are horrified, but they have to look. They want to look at it, and turn away in horror as they are making sure to see it all simultaneously. I've never wanted to be more normal in my entire life. I hate it. And it isn't the cancer, the fear, my looming death, the needles, the scans, or the chemo... it is the PITY.

I got a Starbucks today as I was driving to the cancer center. I had this strange ah-ha moment as I got into the car... wishing that I was like everyone else in the latte-line. I wished that I had a job like I had before or a meeting to go to... it would even be fine to go to a job with people I didn't like. Why? Because the business of life is normal, and what I was doing by getting five hours of some poison concoction in my bloodstream after my latte ---->just wasn't.

You can't lecture people about appreciating the little things in life because it sounds like a dipshit platitude, and you have to be on the other unhealthy path to relate. I am far from angry that I was pushed to this dark side. It has given me more than I can fathom to understand truth in my life. Now, I am blatantly honest with friends and family and have a more authentic relationships. Meandering through life without coming to terms with your demise is such a waste. You cover up a lot because you assume that your time here is limitless, so why bother telling your truth? The stuff that scares you, gets you mad, depresses you, makes you laugh, hurts your feelings, causes you to feel embarrassed, or pissed (like when that hazelnut latte spills on your crotch) is what gives you that beautiful thing that we all take for granted. It's called...

life.

Speaking of which, it is 4:20 am and my dog just crapped in my kitchen. I need this. Anyway, if you are having a reason to hate your life today, and are feeling sorry for your poor self because yours is  just so unfair and depressing...

Got it?

Kimbra-licious...

Lennon and Maisy...

The only thing that trumps their talent is their sweetness.  Here's why:

And these, my friends, are their beautiful parents: The Stellas.

yikes!

Below is a Science fair project presented by a girl in a secondary school in Sussex. In it she took filtered water and divided it into two parts.

The first part she heated to boiling in a pan on the stove, and the second part she heated to boiling in a microwave.

Then after cooling she used the water to water two identical plants to see if there would be any difference in the growth between the normal boiled water and the water boiled in a microwave.

She was thinking that the structure or energy of the water may be compromised by microwave.

As it turned out, even she was amazed at the difference, after the experiment which was repeated by her class mates a number of times and had the same result.

It has been known for some years that the problem with microwaved anything is not the radiation people used to worry about, it’s how it corrupts the DNA in the food so the body can not recognize it.

Microwaves don’t work different ways on different substances. Whatever you put into the microwave suffers the same destructive process. Microwaves agitate the molecules to move faster and faster. This movement causes friction which denatures the original make-up of the substance. It results in destroyed vitamins, minerals, proteins and generates the new stuff called radiolytic compounds, things that are not found in nature.

So the body wraps it in fat cells to protect itself from the dead food or it eliminates it fast. Think of all the Mothers heating up milk in these ‘Safe’ appliances. What about the nurse in Canada that warmed up blood for a transfusion patient and accidentally killed him when the blood went in dead. But the makers say it’s safe. But proof is in the pictures of living plants dying!!!

FORENSIC RESEARCH DOCUMENT
Prepared By: William P. Kopp
A. R. E. C. Research Operations
TO61-7R10/10-77F05
RELEASE PRIORITY: CLASS I ROO1a

Ten Reasons to dispose off your Microwave Oven
From the conclusions of the Swiss, Russian and German scientific clinical studies, we can no longer ignore the microwave oven sitting in our kitchens. Based on this research, one can conclude this article with the following:

1). Continually eating food processed from a microwave oven causes long term – permanent – brain damage by ‘shorting out’ electrical impulses in the brain [de-polarizing or de-magnetizing the brain tissue].

2). The human body cannot metabolize [break down] the unknown by-products created in microwaved food.

3). Male and female hormone production is shut down and/or altered by continually eating microwaved foods.

4). The effects of microwaved food by-products are residual [long term, permanent] within the human body.

5). Minerals, vitamins, and nutrients of all microwaved food is reduced or altered so that the human body gets little or no benefit, or the human body absorbs altered compounds that cannot be broken down.

6). The minerals in vegetables are altered into cancerous free radicals when cooked in microwave ovens.

7). Microwaved foods cause stomach and intestinal cancerous growths [tumours]. This may explain the rapidly increased rate of colon cancer in UK and America .

8). The prolonged eating of microwaved foods causes cancerous cells to increase in human blood.

9). Continual ingestion of microwaved food causes immune system deficiencies through lymph gland and blood serum alterations.

10). Eating microwaved food causes loss of memory, concentration, emotional instability, and a decrease of intelligence.

Me and my big-ass-bone...

For the three people who are reading this (actually two because I am most likely one of the three), I am fine. No cancer, but the stress due to my outlandish imagination put my BP up to 153/92 for an hour ---afterwards --- it went down to the usual 128/80. I am writing this because they anestethized me for four hours this afternoon and I'm awake at 3:30AM.

I have the coolest family, the most joyful, spiritual girlfriends ever, and a marriage with issues worth ignoring, which is pretty damn honest after forty-five years together. We are so lucky to be who we are together (and apart). That is the only way to be together for that long.  *together&apart*  Oh, I could lie... but then you would know it, and I would get called out - kind of like a picture of me.

Photoshop after chemo is a must but... really? My neck looks like I am eleven.

I had this taken for my book. I wrote a story in 2004, edited it for another six years, and then, after publishing it, never felt like marketing it.. even though it sits alone on Amazon.com. So sad. I didn't write it for money. I wrote it because I was compelled by the story. I heard about this same twisted obsession from the Twilight author about her series... bless her heart. 

I was driven. Put it this way: I AM the dog on the bone. I do it with everything... then I drop things and move to something else. I paint beautiful paintings, then I drop a brush for years. I joined a band and was obsessed with learning Jimmy Buffet. I don't even LIKE parrot music, but it was an opportunity to fail. And in falling on my face, I grew. I learned my instrument (piano) backwards and forwards. I found that I am a decent singer too, but didn't feel comfortable doing it. I am no longer afraid to make speeches or talk in a public forum because of the band. 

I started this blog, which I forget to look at or work on. I obsessively learned Italian for three months before my trip. I became a certified massage therapist just to try something new, and bury the death of my bitter mother.  I spent two months on labeling everything in my entire house (that's just a sick-ass dog) but now it's pretty great. But at this point, I am too lazy to put the batteries in the damn label-maker and will most likely give it to Goodwill. I'm doing charity work for an African-Amercan women's group even though I can't join because I'm Caucasion. Seriously?

i.am.different.

But I will tell you this much: I have lived a life of being unafraid -->-of any of it. I'm pretty sure I will get a tattoo before I'm too wrinkley and go sky-diving before my knees give out. Frankly, I never wanted to be ninety and look back and wish I had done something crazy, hard, or scary. I have to live with my children's looks of confusion and wonderment, knowing that they might be happier if I acted like a "normal" mother, but...   guess.what.  you only get one shot, loveys. And once you get your wings after you die, sky-diving won't seem like such a terrifyingly, big deal.

Carpe Diem, kids!

thoughts on poison...

I have to bite the poison apple on Thursday morning.

I know. Chemo is the giver of life, but I hate it. It is scary, makes me so tired, ruins an entire month and (worst of all) it makes me remember that I am saddled with cancer: the taker of life.

One day, it will kill me. I pretend that this is not true, but I'm not a fool. I may just decide to sit in the house and sulk tomorrow. Well.. that's what I want to do but…

My itchiness for life won't let me. I gotta scratch it.

ah-ha moment...

Kahlil got it right when he said that kids come through you and are not a part of you.

When you have a little baby, their essence is so much a part of yours that it is unnerving when they grow up and their lives are nothing like yours... even down to the people they choose to hang around. This isn't to say that I'm one of those smothering baby-talking Teddy Ruxpin Earth-mommy types, but it was still quite the eye-opener when the reality knocked me over. They do not have thoughts like yours and (in fact) they may not even like you... for that respect must be earned over long periods of time.

So to those of you who are watching your children leave home for the first time, understand right.now that they may surprise-delight-question you and your opinions...  and that it is their job. They are not  tiny little yous...

even though you think that now...

Balance...

Italy... continued

It hit me like a brick after two days why we Americans are so fat. Italians do NOT sit down, and I'd be a fool not to adopt this lifestyle. We drive everywhere and even try to get the closest parking space in a lot. Italians eat everything and line up for gelato like it is their job, and yet, they are the most gorgeous group of people I've ever seen. Style comes with the territory even at twelve years-old. This culture of people knows how to dress but having said that... it is far easier to dress a fit body then a chubby one. I ate pasta, had gelato every single day and lost weight there. One hour of cardio a day on some machine at a gym doesn't cut it. Getting away from the computer and walking (yes walking) to the grocery store every day may do the trick. I tried it yesterday but I may forget to do it again tomorrow.

Have I mentioned the bathrooms? First of all, they are difficult to find unless you plan on paying for something at a cafe. Perhaps this is why not going on a planned tour has its challenges... I'm sure most bus trips have pit-stops, but when you are on your own, it's impossible. We did sign up for a three hour tour of ancient Rome - a must-do at night... but there wasn't one single bathroom on the entire tour. At one point, I had visions of being on the national news for having been the first American woman to take a dump in an archeological dig at the Roman Forum. Holy.shit.

Cheap shot. Sorry.

Secondly, the bathrooms there are beyond filthy, and I'm not sure what that is about other than a) they don't care, b) they don't clean, c) it's the only way to tell us to get the hell out and don't come back, d) we have turned into over-civilized freaks who even need handwipes to go grocery shopping... god forbid we contract e. coli from the buggy handle. I am far from a germaphobe and yet, I ran through four packs of Wet Ones during a two week stay in Italy. The hotels were spotless, but the public restrooms were gross. Beyond gross.

Florence... just a beautiful city all around and other than the bad bathrooms..  it was just awesome.  The art galleries are unsurpassed. I'm not much of a meat eater but the Tuscan steaks were to die for.. bloody.massacre.raw, but tasty.

 The whaddya-need-now-bitches mindset towards us was surprising. The waiters were snippy. Period. I've had snotty waiters all over the U.S. but Italy not only gets the cake for rude, but gets a big, juicy, bitch-slap raspberry on top.  We were so elated to experience the Italy I had remembered.

I don't think we will be back any time soon knowing that Italy has nothing on France's reputation for hospitality.

At least we had amazing food, great wine, met some great new friends from all over the world, and had a fun time together. That's something.

Prince blocks his version. :(

Italy... some thoughts

Rome - Vespas on steroids litter the streets as do drivers who see rules or stop signs as mere suggestions.  I was lucky to come home alive after coming in close proximity to several angry bumpers. The driving is a reflection of the nature of the Italian. Pure and simple - they don't like us. They have opened up their beautiful city to the world and now regret the offering. Sitting down to dinner was almost a threat as opposed to a respite. I was friendly to a fault to ensure that a gift of pissed-off-saliva wasn't hurled into my pasta bowl.

Not pretty. The graciousness of servitude is a thing of my past. (sorry... I sounded a bit Paula Dean just then). However, I was saddened but fortunate to be able to have compared this experience to another of mine almost fifty years before.

The Vatican was a joke. The tour was a despicable cattle herd with no air conditioning or place to rest. By the end of it, I couldn't have imagined how fifty years had bastardized this place into a money-making touristy souvenir shop only to be trumped by a mooring of a sub-standard cruise ship on the Carribean. Sad. The Vatican will be closed in a few years... this is more than just opinion since the world of tourists has taken over... its once reverant atmosphere has turned into a freak show with everything short of deep-fried Twinkies. As I said, I was honored to be a visitor many decades before the latest carnival. A visit from the pope doing Gangum style with a Nicki Manaj backup girl-group would have fit the bill.

Cinque Terre - there is nothing like this group of charming villages. Unfortunately, we did the Cinque Terre hike, not realizing that we were screwed until we saw a Finnish tour-group with poles, water-filled waist-packs for ULTRA-hydration, and massive hiking boots. I thought to myself as I stood there in my flat Keds with no water bottle... i.am.thoroughly.fucked.

It was a one-thousand step, four hour trek-from-hell through the terraces of the five (cinque) cities. There was no attire-warning to Americans  -  fortunately... the Finnish group did get the hiking memo.

Lucky them.

Back tomorrow with more about Florence, Naples, and the Amalfi Coast...

(I must go ice my ankle.)