More Bricks

We scheduled chemo 2 days early last week so we could get to Cleveland for Christmas. It really wiped me out, that plus driving 11 hours over 2 days to get there Christmas night. I don’t know why I got wiped out cause I did not take the wheel for one minute. Andy drove all the way. 

I missed a lot of time with my sisters, Dad and kids, but I couldn’t stay awake. I did manage to say hello to my cousins and some other relatives. 

A peculiar affliction got worse this week. My skin has become very dry and bumpy. But now my knuckles are chapped and the backs of my hands are getting more spotty, sort of like those special photos that show all the subcutaneous age spots in your future. Plus the intravenous sites are getting rough and reddish/purple. Nurse George explained why and that moisturizer would help. Why, I can’t imagine, when it's the veins that are reacting, not the skin. Though I have been lathering on Aquafore, a vaseline like goo, it was Katie’s homemade cream that helped the most.

Dexter spent 2 more lives this week. 

First, we noticed he was missing after a brief stop at Milotn Academy. He was wandering around the house where he once again escaped out a car window without our noticing. How dumb are we? Came as soon as I called him. 

And last night, he was not on Dad’s balcony, where he accompanied Bobbi to "kick the tires.” Complete panic. I raced downstairs where none of the staff had seen him. Went out to the dining terrace and down another flight of stairs to the ground level. I screamed Dexter’s name over and over, my first audible sound in nearly 6 weeks. Climbing back up to the terrace after beating the bushes, I heard him meow and clamber up the steps. We would love to know exactly how he got down those 2 stories and are thinking of getting him a GoPro.

I finally felt myself again Monday afternoon, in time to play some Beggars Whist with Becky, Bobbi, Andy and Dad.

I am keeping Immodium in business and should buy stock. The corners of my eyes keep getting stuck closed, not the inner corners, but the outer corners, very odd. Sores on my tongue and insde my lip. 

Even though food tastes pretty yucky, I haven’t cut down on my intake. I keep hoping and stuffing it in. I am enjoying the textures and warmth or coldth of every dish though, especially those made especially for me by dear friends and relatives.

Hair trouble

Oddly, I'm not minding my thin hair. I'm rather surprised cause it's one of the first things I thought about when I got my diagnosis.
Gino gave me a darling bob, which many complimented me on, saying I look 10 years younger. Love hearing I looked like shit before.
So much more hair has fallen out that I chopped off another couple of inches. Found I had missed a spot and asked at the Comfort Inn desk to borrow scissors to even out my do.
I felt much more self conscious with The Wig on. Seems like too much hair.
The big annoyance is that the hair on my body remains. I found an inch long specimen on my chin yesterday. And another one on my arm just now. Since I have spent a fortune on electrolysis and lasers to remove all those unwanted hairs, I do regret that they are resisting the chemo drugs.
Speaking of the motel, we stopped in Pennsylvania last night on our way to Cleveland for Christmas. Tracfic, heavy rain and fog made for a stressful first leg. The Inn was perfect. Little gas fireplace in the lobby, perfect mattress, hot water and attentive Dexter. Great night's sleep, couple of passes at the full breakfast bar, Kelly and Michael show and more dozing, before our noon departure. Turns out we only made it halfway yesterday. George and Katie, who started driving to Cleveland this morning, are already an hour and a half ahead of us.
But skies are clear, traffic light and we should make it to Dad's in time for perfect roast beef dinner. We drove in large part to be flexible in case I wasn't up to traveling AND to go visit a potential dog for us to adopt in Virginia.
I did buy Depends for the trip, which did let me relax a little. I nearly needed them on my second waddle to the toilet at our dinner stop.
No worries about hair then.

Contest

I've been thinking about why our view of Dunkin Donuts is a good thing. It's a little hard to come up with any reason considering the 5 star view we just left on the Cape.
A couple of possibilities are:
It looks a little like a pretty sunset/sunrise, if you just catch a glimpse of it out of the corner of your eye
Keeps people from looking into our windows
It's there in case we run out of coffee
When people start coming and going, I know it's 5:30 AM
It will bring people to this blog and propel Dexter into fame and fortune
All pretty far fetched.
So here's the deal, if you come up with a great reason, you will win one free night with Dexter, either here or at your own place.
He's definitely becoming more interactive with us. He loves these new digs, in large part because of the heights he can climb: the beloved cat tower (center stage in the living room, against all decorating advice, so we can ooh and aah whenever we catch him bounding up or spot a foot or 3 poke in and out of the increasingly, too small circle at the top); the mink-stole lined nests atop the pair of bookcases; the window seats where he stalks the fluttering leaves; the railing that leads into the kitchen and, of course, the bed, which I'm getting used to. I haven't asked Andy if he is too. Dexter stares up at the top the steel support pillars, lusting after their pediments and the beams.
Dexter has always followed us into the bathroom, which most cats do. I have no idea why and can find no explanation on-line. He loves the shower and stalks the pounding water. He climbs into the toilet bowl, with his ass sticking in the air.
I am experimenting with makeup because my hair is getting so thin, hoping flawless skin and dramatic eyes will keep anyone from noticing. Dexter loves supervising. He perches on the toilet seat, then sniffs around the sink at the various products and the wads of kleenex I've used to wipe my face clean so I can begin again, and when he approves of the way I look, he throws himself on the rug to groom himself.
Makeup is a pain in the ass. I am a wash and go girl. Bike to work with wet hair, no matter the weather. Always have been. May change though. It feels quite luxurious to pamper myself and take a little time for me before I begin the non-stop day of plotting, planning, doing, resting, taking care of business. And I love watching Dexter. But then you have to take it all off before bed. Sort of the same reason I've never made the bed. What's the point?
That may change though, too. Just read about a military man's graduation speech. The crux of his advice for the soldiers graduating is, if you make your bed, everything else will fall into place. He may be right.
That's my goal in this home. Everything has a place and everything will be in its place. The kids believe that will be impossible. The kitchen is getting close. The counters are nearly bare, the dishes almost always clean, sometimes even put away. With so few dishes, glasses, cups to choose from, there are very few that can be dirty at any one time. Gina always marveled that I spent so much time and effort not just taking care of the pile of dirty dishes. I even froze them so no cockroaches would be attracted.
The first time I saw a cockroach in my newlywed NYC apartment, I felt terror. I had never seen one   anywhere before. It moved so fast. And I felt shame. How could I be so disgusting as to have those filthy creatures? On the 10th floor. How do they get that high?
I grew to respect those creatures though. I took comfort in knowing that when human beings became extinct, the earth would begin anew with cockroaches and Ailanthus trees (the one that grew in Brooklyn). I could see Manhattan crawling with those critters and trees sprouting from curbs, gutters and walls.
One reason I love cities so much, is that there is no nature left to destroy. What you see is what you get. My gut wrenches every time I witness clear cut swaths preparing to be developed, a la Watership Down. All those poor critters. Same reason I couldn't watch movies or read books about animals. I couldn't bear the pain.
On Cape Cod, the center lane of the main highway Route 6 was being clear cut last year. Someone finally noticed and stopped it. The Federal government has a regulation that no trees be within 25 feet of some highways. I want to sue the Federal government for environmental stupidity. Blake says I can't. Somebody should.

Is It Home Depot or Is It Me?

Or maybe it's the combination of shopping and thinking at the same time. I did make it most of the way to the toilet, thank goodness.
I took my wig to Home Depot for its first outing. Andy saw it on me for the first time and said it looks like a wig.  I think it wasn't on the right way. The nice young man who helped me with my first decision looked at my head in a funny way. The next person who helped was a darling young woman who left me in the rug department to look for the solution to my next dilemma. I got very hot and ripped the wig off my head. When she came back and had solved my problem, I asked if she knew I had been wearing a wig. "Yeeessss." Very long pause, "Do you know I am wearing a wig?" "No!"
Hers was a very loose Afro with her own hair sticking out front. Very attractive.
Anyway, she told me how pretty I am with or without The Wig.
On my next quest, I began to feel faint and hot. I stopped near a family and pulled off my very gaudy socks. The 2 little girls were spellbound watching me. Then I grabbed a bag of nuts to pump myself full of protein. I figured out the next steps for my stair project, but needed a drink badly. Found some GatorAde and began to recover. Then it hit.
I power waddled to the back of the store, where a clerk was closing off the Restroom section, keeping a couple of people at bay. Guess he could see there was no stopping me and he opened the 2 gates blocking the aisles to the ladies room.
I did live, again.
BTW, we are cooking a turkey at my Dad's over Christmas. In honor of his being a breast man and Becky and my having breast cancer, I suggest putting 2 halves of a lemon under the bird's skin:

Reminds me of a joke I told my dear, great uncle Chuck.
A guy bought a parrot at the pet shop. The owner told him the bird said naughty words. But the guy knew he could train the parrot to stop. He tried everything, but the parrot kept swearing. Finally  the guy put him in the freezer for a little while. When the parrot got out, he asked, "What did the turkey do?"
Get it?

Finally, We've Got Photos

Manipulating them will be the next step. But a little more about Dexter.
Andy and I are dog-centric. We love doggies. But we gave up 2 dogs in the past couple of years. Dewey had to go. We lived in the old folks home and he terrorized some of the old ladies. The final straw was my fault, as was the continuation of his bad behavior. We thought it was sort of funny that he nipped Blake's leg when he came over, that he nipped Dad's arm in the car on the way to Maine, that he grabbed a poor girls butt in Maine. He only weighed 11 pounds.
It wasn't funny. The last old lady he attacked was, I knew, was mortally afraid of dogs. I had had him pegged into the ground on a chain. I was taking him back inside and dropped the stake, chain and all. So not only was this beast charging her, he was dragging a clattering mess of metal. I knew instantly he had to go. And we did it. Our hearts broke because at home he was the snuggliest pal in the world. We loved his borrowing under the covies to snuggle.
That left Addy.
But we decided to live in Costa Rica for half of each year. George took her the first winter we did. Worked out perfectly. We had all our doggie love with Byron Foster (see earlier posts) for 6 months and Addy for the other months.
We thought we had found the perfect balance. But then life at the old folks home became intolerable with the dictator manager. We decided to try a combo of Cape Cod and Costa Rica. Found The Belmont condo sublet for 5 years, the perfect place, the only drawback being, no dogs. Blake and Anna adopted Addy. They also had Tessa, so Addy got new parents, a new sister and grandparents, all in one fell swoop.
And we got the grandparents' visiting rights and our rescue mutts in Costa Rica.
But we had to give up Costa Rica (see earlier posts).
Not having a dog, ever, became intolerable, so we decided to get a cat.
It only took a year or two to convince Andy that was a perfectly logical leap to take. The Belmont doesn't allow dogs. Tessa and Addy never crossed our doorstep. It does allow cats. I never checked our lease to see what our landlord allowed. I figured I would just apologize, not ask permission.
Andy is allergic to cats, so he had to have an hypo-allergenic cat. Pixiebobs are close. Very oily skin and a double layer of fur to keep the dander down.
They are also called "dogs in a cat suit".
Dexter does have some very dog-like behavior. But the most important one to us is only just beginning to develop. We love cuddling under the blankie.
The breeder  said we had to wait until Dexter was 14 weeks old, as demanded by her contract, to pick him up. But I wanted him to bond with us and regard us as his parents and wanted him earlier. I found that communicating with Marilyn Trenk at Colorado Pixiebobs was much more efficient by e-mail than over the phone. She is a talker. I drafted an amendment to the contract, suggesting a letter from a vet, giving her a guarantee to provide all she demanded and recommending us as good parents. But she needed to talk to our vet and therefore I needed someone who knew us. I asked Weston Veterinary's Dr. Neil Storey, our beloved Scotsman, to give her a call. He knew and cared for Wendell, Beau, Addy, Dewey. We love him. He agreed to talk to Marilyn. I didn't warn him about her propensity for conversing.
She did agree, with great trepidation. The original pick-up was supposed to be in December, in Chicago, where another buyer was receiving her kitten, hand delivered by Marilyn. I did look into shipping him, which Marilyn really didn't want to do. Nor did I. It was cheaper for me to fly to get him anyway.
Turns out Colorada Pixiebobs had moved to Oklahoma. So off I went. No way to get there non-stop. The photo in the title above is of Dexter in my lap on the leg from Tulsa to Chicago. I am wearing camouflage pants and scarf and a leopard sweatshirt. No one even noticed him the whole trip. I thought for sure that he would never leave my side and would sleep with us from day 1.
No. He is a cat. Quite independent.
His dog like characteristics include walking on a leash; no care about dogs, even befriending many; playing fetch sometimes; willingly going in his carrier; loving car rides, when he does sit in one of our laps or drapes around our shoulders, when he's not leaping out windows. He does attract a lot of attention wherever we take him. He is very confident and quite regal looking, rather like a bobcat, stubbed tail, tufted ears and all.

Anjelina Jolie Makes it Look Too Easy

I spent a lot of years going to AlAnon. It saved me, gave me the tools to grow and thrive. I used to judge Scarlet O'Hara for, "I'll think about it tomorrow". Everyone thought she was a terrible person. But she could have started AA. "Live One Day at a Time".
I got ahead of myself, as I mentioned Friday. Those photos of where lymph nodes were removed sent me soaring into the unknown future, got me out of the present, sent me into a tailspin.
Anjelina certainly did not have any nodes removed, no need. But still, the photos of her make it look like a double mastectomy, reconstruction surgery is no big deal. It is a big deal, Scary Stuff. Don't think about it now. Too much info. Terror in my beating heart. Especially the lymph node removal. Arm mobility impaired for how long, forever, how painful?
I am going to quote Blake to still my beating heart. When I told him, the day I could finally walk without crutches, that I needed a 3rd major surgery to repair my broken leg, he said, "Mom, don't worry about it. You won't remember a thing in a year."
How right he was. Even a few months later, when my boys escorted me down the aisle at Allison's wedding, I never thought about that leg. Just how cute and tiny I was holding those kids' arms.
Not quite Anjelina, but as good as it gets for me. I am not cute and tiny. Just ask Susie T

Peace. Love. Golden Arrows. Turns out I am a Hippie.

Though I grew up in the 60's, I never was a child of the 60's like my 3 younger sisters.
I did break through some of Mom and Dad's barriers so they could be Flower Children. When I wanted to visit my future husband's family in New Jersey, Mom had to receive a written note from his mother. By the time my youngest sister, by only 6 years, reached her senior year in college, she just drove across the country with some boy, with no communication between anyone's mothers! I'm sure Bambi and Bobbi wore our parents down even further to earn Becky her freedom.
I wanted to come out, in the old way, not the new; to be the Queen of May or the Prom, whatever; to join the Junior League; to have the perfect wedding; to ride in limousines, yachts and private jets. Though I never did get to be Queen, I attended her a few times. I did all the other stuff. Even held the steering wheel of The Flying Cloud over Niagra Falls.
Today I opened a package from Bambi. It contained my Hippie Golden Arrow badge of achievement. It is a bracelet. I plan to wear it even after the gold color rubs off. Doesn't matter.
Bambi texted on Friday, "Did you get my gold Arrow?" "Yes, TY." I assumed she had send it telepathically during my chemo. The week before she sent me a photo of her, I think, temporary tattoo of gold arrows.
When advised to choose a color and a totem to help battle the cancer cells, golden arrows leapt to mind, and I asked the world to shoot them toward me and my cells.
But, no. This arrow is hard, sharp and very tangible. The point wraps around to nearly touch the its own feathers. Very bold and graphic. I'm sure those C-cells haven't a chance. The doctors can no longer feel any lumps or bumps.
The spirit/karma/story of this bracelet is heart warming/goosebumpingly wonderful/hippie fodder.
A young friend of Bambi's, whom I will call Amy, dropped in for a visit. (Bambi and Tracy have built a community over the last 30 years to rival Scott and Helen Nearing's/co-housing/Kibbutzes/Amish barn builders/Nature Conservancy.)
Bambi spotted the bracelet and nearly blurted out, "I need that." She refrained. Uncharacteristically, Amy stayed for a spot tea. Their usual interactions are short and sweet.  During their visit,  Bambi did find out where it came from.  Amy said, "Goodbye and I love you, Bambi", also out of the ordinary. Bambi tried to buy one, with no success. When she reported back to Amy, she said she'd go to the other store and see if one were available there. Amy returned with a bracelet. Bambi asked, "How much do I owe you?" "Nothing. They were out. This is mine. Tell Berry I love her, too."
"I love you too, Amy".
All these tears and goosebumps have been gathering force for quite some time. It can be measured in decades, years, months. But the best measure of time is before and after the CANCER diagnosis.
Amy's story encapsulates the love, generosity, thoughtfulness, food, presents, help, notes and cards, parties, that have been heaped on me since people heard about the diagnosis. I am humbled by and grateful for the caring energy that is raining down on me.
I would have been a great Flower Child.

More Than Half Way

Yesterday was the beginning of the second half of my first round of chemo, the mega-dose session.
These sessions are preceded by a meeting with my oncologist and his fellow.  Besides the diarrhea and skin rashes, I told them my biggest concern is anxiety. I have taken an anti-anxiety drug for years. It has completely stopped my sleep disorder, the name of which I can't think right now. After 9/11, I asked to double my dose. And I recently upped it again. The trigger for yesterday's concern was getting ahead of myself in the treatment process. I happened to see some photos of post surgery and read some descriptions of some of the realities of post surgery recovery. I do not search the web for information to avoid knowing too much.
I told the Drs. that I could enter a study at Dana Farber, which would involve no surgery at all. I was surprised that Dr. Isakoff is all for it. He is even checking to see if MGH has a similar study. The fellow, whose I can't think of, will be going to Dana Farber in January, so I won't see him again unless I go there. He is excellent and will be a credit wherever he ends up. My fears were assuaged and my optimism continues.
There is one major sadness lurking in the background, some of my friends are going away for the winter. I know they are only a phone call away, but they are leaving a big hole. I am thinking of gong to the Cape one night a week with Dexter. I will stay with a friend, who is grateful for every extra day of life she is given. Her dog Chewy and Dexter have become great friends and bring joy and laughter to her.  We are family and I can be my slovenly self with her.  I can do a few of my favorite activities there before I come home the next day. Very therapeutic.
Speaking of therapy, I did a little retail therapy post chemo. MGH is right across the street from Beacon Hill. I had a mission, to find the surplus silk shop. They handle the top fabrics in the world, Fortuny, Scalamandre, etc. (Italian silk is superior to all others because their weaving technique does not destroy the triangular shape of the fibers, so the strength and the light refraction add life and durability ,unsurpassed). Years age, we bought a yard or two of a gold and royal blue silk, which we put on three chair cushions.  But now, out with the blue,  except for those 3 chairs, and in with pink. I got my week's worth of exercise, following every lead, but to no avail. Of course, I found some other treasures in my stops. One is a shirt. I have weeded out most of my Cape wardrobe, which was very casual and kept the more grown-up pieces. I do want to spend more time at The Boston Museum of Fine Arts as a Senior Associate (jeans are verboten there for us volunteers). This new shirt, found at a rather too young shop, meets all the old lady qualifications, with a little flare. Its suitably long, short sleeves are punctuated by little eyelets. It skims my body nicely and covers my chest appropriately. But it does have a little daring scooped back, which I can reveal or not.
Second Chance has a number of consignment shops in Boston, each with a different clientelle. This Beacon Hill shop has a little of the sophisticated NYC society bent. Though I found no clothes in my size, I spotted a pair of earrings I needed! During my years in Manhattan I lusted after many pieces by Kenneth J. Lane, but never bought anything cause they were just too expensive. This pair it returned out was by him, But it didn't matter, because they were mine no matter what. The are large, coral (color and shape) and rhinestone, clip-ons. I think I am wearing them backwards, but I love them covering half way up my ear onto my cheek (don't forget, I will be bald). I found a few other treasures, a couple of which will be Christmas presents, 20% off their already low prices!!!!
Another stop at a gourmet shop netted a 30 year-old bottle of balsamic vinegar, which tastes great with my base-metal taste buds and a number of other little treats, including a really pungent cheese that the clerk was surprised I liked. Those weird taste buds again.
At CVS, I got saline nose spray, which really helps my dry nostrils; some moose for adding some volume to my thin, short hair; a better color, moist lipstick for dry lips; and what I thought were panty shields, but turned out to be inserts (can't think of what the right name for Tampax products are), which I hope CVS will take back.
All in all a very fun and profitable therapy session.

Gorilla superglue is safe for cats to eat

When I raced in from Home Depot I walked right into the Gears, ripping off my big toe nail almost all the way. Gorilla superglue slathered all over  connected the nail to its own bed. 

Dexter, being atop my bed, had to investigate and licked my toe. He began sneezing and sticking his tongue in and out. Panic. I called the first aid line on the glue container and was greeted by a very nice woman who reassured me that superglue would pose no problem.

Bathroom emergency. I keep forgetting to mention one of the side effects of this is diarrhea, about which the oncologist and fellow are surprised. Diarrhea. The protein to attack the Her2 that The Cleveland Clinic did not recommend administering seems to induce more diarrhea then the trials suggested. And I am one of the lucky ones to prove that. The doctors told me I could take up to eight Imodium a day, which is double the dosage recommended on the bottle. So far I haven't used more than four day, but I have now reached that today. 

Now I'm up to five, with my third pitstop at Home Depot in 15 minutes. I'm not sure if I made it all the way to the toilet and won't be until I stand up.

Now what the hell do I do? Pay up and try make it home. Or wait-and-see? So now I'm back in the brand clean car Andy had detailed yesterday .I did make it to the toilet and no one stole my coat out of my abandoned shopping cart. The checkout girl was faster than speeding light in getting me out of there and now I'm hoping to beat both Becky and the little side effect home. Oh God, please let me at least beat the diarrhea home.

Even though I floored it,  I missed this damn light. Oh please, God? Another light!

The best news I have is that the car is still clean. Though my clothes are no longer. And I did beat Becky home. I am freshly showered and recovering in bed, while Becky and Andy unload and park the cars. 

Pill six. 

Maybe the Cleveland Clinic knew something that Dana-Farber and MGH should realize.

Even a stepping stool doesn't help

The boys and Anna came yesterday to help and we accomplished tons. I can't say how grateful I am to all. George and I lifted the bed up onto the window seat and jerryrigged a temporary system to support it.  We used the weapons canisters (they really do need to get back into those windows to restore our wonderful sense of privacy) to support the end where the gears will be. It's a little high in the air. We had to buy a stepping stool to be able to get on to it.  Andy, the boys, Anna and I all had a great laugh and agree it is too high. But Dexter loves where the bed is now floating. He loves high places and has spent much more time in bed with us than usual, which we love. 

I am thinking of a plywood support system to replace the box spring and lower the bed about 8 inches. Hope Dexter likes that height as well.

I should talk to little about Dexter with all the cable guys who all interacted with him. And a lot of time sniffing at all the openings the guys revealed. There are some very interesting things happening behind the walls and under the living room floor. Mitch said that the space is entirely empty under there so Becky and I are going to take a look at it while she's here this weekend. I really don't want extra storage space but it would mean we could take the memorabilia and camping and skiing gear out of the Corbett's attic.

Dexter was thrilled that we repaired and mounted the mantle yesterday. He immediately lept onto it to sniff around. Another of his favorite perches is the top the bookcases in the bedroom. One of the tasks I want to accomplish while Becky has her ladder here is to staple my grandmothers' mink stole's into the pockets atop those bookcases, so they won't shift (and then show) when Dexter leaps onto them. Dexter deserves only the best, but the whole world doesn't need to know.

Blake felt a little pukey while he was here, so he supervised Anna's installation of the sound system. With a click of a button, George solved the last riddle stumping Blake and Anna, and voilà, all systems go.

Using all the measurements George took today, he and I were able to figure out and buy the IKEA curtain mounting systems, which Andy and I were completely unable to do last week when we tried.

With Becky's tools, ladder and expertise, we can complete Andy's hidden storage, section off the bedroom suite from the living area and mount the room darkening and privacy curtains in the bedroom.

Actually, Blake and Anna really got roped into helping yesterday because they offered to drive George over, who had committed to help. They said they would give us an hour, but it extended into far longer. They were leaving as George and I went to IKEA, but were not willing to leave their vacuum cleaner behind. They confided they did not trust us with it, as it is the deluxe model - Cadillac, Mercedes, no BMW of vacuum cleaners, German. So they remained behind and Anna vacuumed everywhere. Miraculous. Thank you. Addie and Molly help to buy cleaning out the kitty litter. Once again thank you.

So hopefully we can return the stepping stool once we complete the bed.

Houston we have lift up or Houston problem solved. Okay so I have been down and out for a couple weeks now. I caught a cold and it hit me hard. The worst part was having a very clear goal and not reaching it: I envisioned unpacking and beginning a clutter-free life. I culled most of our collections ruthlessly: I threw out all the utensils except for the Sterling; the only China we have left is the beautiful wedding present, Minton, cobalt blue, 24 kt gold, ivory and white (I did keep an amazing Wedgewood soup bowl and saucer set that compliments the Minton, though much more ornate and colorful); the crystal is limited to 3 treasures, two with naked lady stems, one clear and the other cobalt, and a precious few Stuart wines and waters, with twisted air in the stems, some family treasures, the rest wedding gifts. These beauties occupy  3 of the 5 top cupboards in the galley kitchen. Most of the space in those 3 cupboards is empty, air, nada. The other 2 top cupboards hold food in one and some everyday glasses, cups and dishes for cereal, dips, snacks. Too boring to mention only 2 of two different kinds of bowls, 1 each of several small ramekins, etc.

We are down to 2 pots, 2 frying pans, 2 casseroles, 1 collander, boring, sparse, getting ready to live on a boat. I must put everything away: begging Andy not to get a step-on waste-basket; buying a paper towel dispenser for folded towels, so they won't show; unable to find the perfect system to house the sterling in 1 drawer and another system to corral all the other junk in the only other drawer - a peeler, knives (steak, carving, paring), spoons, ladles, corkscrew, wine stoppers, can't think of the name of the utensil that is used to flip pancakes, whisk, can opener. You get the idea, crazy and only doable by me. But my mind is been 2 worn out to manage any of the above.

Not to mention the bedroom filled still with unpacked bags of who the hell knows what, not being able to lift the bed he up to get a better sense of the space. Or to measure and design the system for the gear-end support. The storage wall, still naked with no way to create and install the curtain wall. 

I won't mention the rest of the place. 

The worst of all was no Cable or Internet from Comcast. I told them we would do a self install, saving the 80 bucks fee for them to come out and do it. I figured Anna could do it on Thanksgiving morning, no problem. But plans changed for Thanksgiving. Blake decided that Thanksgiving without football was not  a bearable risk. There was no guarantee we could actually hook it up for the afternoon games. Plus we had bad luck play a dirty trick on Katie's family, allowing us to have Katie and George for the holiday. So Blake asked Allison if it was okay if we switched to Thanksgiving to Cohasset. It really was the perfect decision and a perfect day. Except that the Corbetts have Verizon, who was having a dispute with Fox which was airing the only football that day. So football was limited to one game early in the afternoon. We did live.

And we didn't get cable on Thanksgiving day. Andy and I are complete technophobes. I did manage to connect the modem to a cable line, but that was it. I never was able to activate it and TV didn't have a chance. So I booked the Comcast installation guy for the Friday a week after Thanksgiving. Brian came and pronounced the lines into the apartment dead. He did talk to the maintenance guy here who said something about a tuner, claiming Brian was a subcontractor, not a Comcast employee. The building owner would have to install new cable lines. Stanley, the next Comcast guy game the next Wednesday at 6 o'clock. He found a second line and found that it was not connected to anything and that Comcast would have to install a new cable. The maintenance guy and the manager of the complex said they'd like to help, but how. Stanely scheduled the next cable guy for Friday at 6 PM. The manager suggested, why don't you book it when we're actually here so that the cable guy and the maintenance guy can talk. So I talk to some manager at Comcast, played the cancer card, that compounded with my very weak laryngitis voice and begged for an earlier appointment. Chris, extension 58300, which of course did not work, did manage to get me an appointment for the next morning between eight and noon Thursday, business hours at the baker chocolate factory. I let the manager know at about 9:30 that morning that he was coming. She said we're closing early today at 11:30.  I said why the fuck didn't you tell me that before I booked Comcast? No I only thought that and called Comcast and begged again. I am undergoing chemotherapy and have a horrible cold. All I want is to slump around and watch some TV.  PLEASE? Mitch, claimed to be the best Comcast installer ever and arrived at about quarter of 11. He and John, the maintenance guy, pronounced that neither the living room nor the bedroom cable outlets was alive. In a last ditch effort, testing in the lobby closet and finding a live line into our apartment, Stanley found another cable outlet, hidden behind the dining table in the wall topped by the railing enclosing the living area. Miraculous!!! Who gives a shit that he had to lay cable 30 feet up the stairs and around the perimeter of the living room to reach the TV. He set up everything. 

An interesting sidenote. All three of these Comcast installers were young, black men, charming friendly and really quite sympathetic, all. Andy mentioned it first, do these three young black man have unusual name's for their cohort? I had also noticed and  agreed. Chris's extension was bogus. Comcast promises 100% customer satisfaction. Are they afraid of giving their employees real identities?

A special thanks to our friend Ginger. At lunch with 4 friends on Wednesday I laid bare my frustrations. Ginger suggested that I hire John to come execute some jobs for me every week. She shook me into being able to face my slump directly in the eye. I called our sons and asked for help and Becky gave me a call.  I really should've just asked her directly to help, but she offered anyway after hearing my woes. She is bringing an electric drill with battery (can't find my charger) and a ladder and spending Sunday night, so we can complete many jobs. George is coming in the morning and he can measure for me and help me buy several drapery systems for Becky to install. He can hold up pictures so Andy and I can curate our art collection, determine what stays and what goes.

Thus my headline, something about landing on the moon after solving some problems. 

My Hair Hurts

My hair hurts

And it's trying to kill me.

Seriously everywhere that the back of my head touches pillow makes the hair follicles hurt. Those golden spears and arrows that I asked you all to think about our now attacking the follicles in my scalp. They are trying everything they can to make me lift my head off the pillow.

And so much hair is falling out that I feel little afraid to go to sleep without wearing a safety mask or something. Actually did cover my mouth with my palm. Will I be smothered during the night by my own hair?

But Gino's haircut is standing up well. I really don't look like a balding person. My hair is shiny and bouncy and likes the freedom of the shorter length, making it look overall pretty danged healthy. 

That didn't keep me from going to my wig fitting on Wednesday and asking Gina to join me. I was a little nervous about Gina, because she has been quite vocal about how she best likes my hair, a little shorter than I usually have it cut and brightened up with blonde.

The first wig that I tried on actually confirmed those fears. It was a little too bob-cut for me, but she liked it. Trying at first to match my own look, we began with gray/blonde does in various styles, most of which we both liked. The one we thought we liked best was not available so we moved into blonder territory. Actually a little strawberry red number, a lot like George's, appealed to both of us. And it had a little flip and curl to it that felt a lot like my own hair. Come to Mama. After a steaming to take away a little too much Dolly poofyness, it looked great. We decided not to trim any of the feathered tips. Gina built up my confidence to try something new and different for me. 

I am must admit, losing my hair was my biggest fear at the beginning of all of this cancer adventure. I am afraid that my hair really is a huge part of my identity. I am constantly grateful for what an excellent head of hair I have. Though I do very little to it, other then wash and air dry, I think about it very often. I'm verging on saying that I am quite vain about it, a lot of false pride. I'm not really sure what false pride means, but I do think my hair is outstanding and easy to manage and maintain. It is a god-given gift and I am grateful. God is who ought to have the pride I guess I'm saying. 

Even before being particularly aware of vanity, my hair drew a lot of attention. First it was platinum blonde, turned green from chlorine. I spent most summer days at the country club swimming. Mom dropped us off before her golf game and we 4 girls lived in the pool. We first practiced for the swim team, then did some synchronized swimming, then played games like Marco Polo, blind man's bluff, jump or five, swim over rover. We had lunch somewhere during the day in Selma's café. Then we went home and swam some more before and after dinner.

So from very early on I was aware that my hair was interesting to other people. Long before I even got boobs, classmates would ask me if my hair was natural or if I died it. 

Clairol may even have taken a little advantage of me, by having me model for them. I don't think anyone explicitly said that my hair was my own color, not Clairol's, but it was certainly implied.

I was in hair heaven until my late 20s, when my locks turned dull and mousy. I wasn't spending the summers getting a bleached out anymore and it looked pretty drab. Guess this is when Gina first began to think I needed some highlights. Though it did take a few years, I finally found the look I wanted. Ann Buttonwieser, a fellow Parks Council board member, had beautiful hair. I asked her if it was natural. No. No? Who? What? Where? I can't believe I don't remember the answers, because I went to that guy for years. He did a great job with the highlights. And I continued to go to him even after we moved to Boston. That wasn't really all that unusual as I continued to use my Cleveland hairdresser for many years after moving to NYC. Once I find ' em, I keep 'em.

In fact, I almost lost Gino. But fortunately a friend of ours also used him and happened to mention where he had moved his business. He was my regular excuse to leave Cape Cod for the mainland.

A couple memories from high school. Mimi, my very best friend and a bit of a doppelgänger, never combed the back of her head.  She ratted her hair and made everything look great from the front, but didn't bother with the back. I asked her why. I think she said she never looked at it so why bother. She did the same thing about her tan, never turning on her stomach to do the backside. The other memory is of my senior photo for the yearbook. I did curl my hair and one side was rolled up real tight. It looks so weird in that photo.

That reminds me that I actually spent a fair amount of time working on my hair in high school and in college. I used many different types of curlers, even sleeping in them fairly often. I used lemon to bleach out my hair. I even tried peroxide once, but the mouthwash was not effective on my hair color.

I tried a couple of permenants even. It was a little too straight for my taste back then. It got a little waiver after having babies. 

I was thrilled when it started turning gray, because more and more it looked like my teenage hair. I felt like myself again. 

I'm looking forward to being a redhead somedays. Also ordered a halo, which is a partial wig to be worn under your hat. It's quite platinum blonde, straight and a little bobbed. I can use the bangs or not. 

Maybe I'll even be braver with my own hair when it does grow back.

I'm heading down a dangerous path

I'm heading down a dangerous path. That path is sweet. My taste buds have changed dramatically. I mentioned the first time that a drink tasted metallic. Now almost everything tastes metallic and the fuzziness lingers even when I'm not eating. Mints seem to counteract it some. Onions, horseradish, ginger, hot mustard, still taste pretty good. We went to Sweet Life Bakery for breakfast. The smoked salmon with tons of onions was quite delicious. The fruit bowl was refreshing. Andy bought pastries afterwords and I ate a whole raspberry stuffed bread-like pastry. And then half my brownie with nuts and a glass of milk a little while later. My usual cravings are for broccoli with Miracle Whip. Yes, I'm an America girl. Mixed marriages can work. Andy prefers Helmans or Caines. I also am craving protein: hamburger; steak; brisket of beef; but mostly fish, and pickled herring. It's a little like when I was pregnant and had to drag my ass into Buttricks and beg for a hamburger at 8:30 in the morning, After sitting through Plan Weston's Future meetings at 7:30 AM, slumped down in my seat nibbling on saltines. My sense of smell is a little like when I was pregnant also. Andy agreed hto stop cooking bacon, which was so sweet and I know major sacrifice, but it made me nauseated to smell. My first horrible smell experience came after the tonsillectomy I mentioned. My mother cooked wild rice and I couldn't even taste it for another 40 years. So reminds me of a book called History of the Senses. I'll think of the author soon, well respected and PBS even aired a special based on this book. But the woman clearly had never been pregnant. She said that there was no scientific evidence to prove that the sense of smell was affected by the hormones. To hell with science, I know my sense of smell was iseriously affected. Another little something that appears to be increasing are spots on my skin and I seem to be bruising pretty easily. But I learned something major about drawing blood and bruises. Wh used to be told to close our elbow to stop the flow of blood, But that bend is what in fact causes a bruise to form. If you just keep your arm straight and put pressure on the pinpoint hole, no bruise develops. A week ago Sunday I noticed that my hair was starting to really shed about 5 times as much as usual. Since then I have not put a towel to dry it, a comb to untangle it or a clip to contain it. I am now driving to my hair cut by our beloved Gino. I'm sure he can give me a great haircut that will not show the thinning too much. I'm going on Wednesday for a wig fitting. I tried on some a few weeks ago and I was leaning toward a slightly strawberry blonde, But the platinum blonde was so close to my natural color that was pretty appealing also. I have a prescription for a full wig but I also want a little halo of hair bangs and longer hair to be worn in under any hat. I found a Russian hat today with a bunch of really cool pins on it and I'm thinking that the Halo hair should be a dark, punk color. Why not enjoy the change? After a delicious breakfast we stopped at the Poop Pooc, our local pet store. I learned that we had missed an adoption opportunity the week before through great dog rescue of New England. I went online and found Rocco a six-month-old, they called a dad hound, but his snout is not nearly as pointy is a purebred. He is adorable with the shiniest hair you've ever seen. There are two problems, one he's only six months old and any dog has to be at least 1 year-old to be at the chocolate factory. The other requirement is that I want a female so I can train her to use a pee pad when we do go live on a catamaran. Speaking of training, Dexter is about to begin human toilet training again. Could be more challenging with only a one bedroom/bath apartment, because Andy is so adverse to touching anything the cat has use for pooping. It requires removing the training circle and replacing it every time. Back to this dangerous territory, which is weight gain potential. The question is will the steroids and sweets make me fatter or will my decreased appetite stand me in good stead? And salt almost forgot salt. I am craving a lot of salt which is very unusual. I left my haircut session with Gino, for which he did not charge me because he said he didn't know how long my hair would last. That was so sweet and thoughtful and I love the shorter cut. So I thought I'd go to Building 19 and McDonald's. But I passed Wasik's cheese shop and stopped in, spotted hard rye bread and asked for cheese to go with it. Yes, hard and soft, I'll try both and they were both delicious so I bought them. He told me as soon as you leave, I'll have a beer. You're not going to offer me any? No, but we have some wine you can taste. White or red? White seems to suit this cheese best. Sauve. Absolutely delicious and I bought two bottles. If you can believe it they were cheaper than the cheeses. Building 19 is closed which is a disaster I'll tell those stories another time.

To Carve or Not To Carve?

Thanksgiving turned out to be extra special because, at the last minute, Katie and George were able to join us at Allison and James' house. The reason they were is not a good one; with her mother and her sister getting violently ill on Thanksgiving eve. The sister lost so much fluid that she fainted a couple of times and her dad called an ambulance. She spent the night in the hospital. Cause, unknown. They, therefore, opted out of hosting Thanksgiving in their sick ward. So the Mensing's lucked out. What a great day. Anna, Katie, Allison and I discussed the fate of my boobs. Interesting that they all agree that a double mastectomy would be best, eliminating the potential return of breast cancer. That's how I felt 10 or 15 years ago when I did have a biopsy and Andy and I shopped for new boobs that very night. But now I'm closing in on 70 and and not nearly so concerned with my physical appearance as I was a few years ago. Why amputate anything at all if everything looks healthy? Even the breast with the cancer in it. I can be part of a study at Dana-Farber to see if no surgery is any different from surgically removing the formerly cancerous tissues. Some doctors feel that we're getting close to the time when we can rely on the chemo and radiation to kill it off. My big question is whether or not the lymph nodes can return to doing their job. Not losing the lymph nodes would perhaps eliminate the possibility of lymphedema, which is gross swelling of the arm and hand. Some surgeon told me it's not painful, but I bet she's never had some of the different swellings I've had on my body, which hurt like hell. Speaking of hurting like hell, avoiding another 3-D mammogram would almost be worth lopping off both breasts. Now that's Pain. It makes a regular mammogram seem like a walk in the park. Anna and I came down pretty hard on Katie for not pursuing a mammogram when she found a lump in her breast. She's only 24 and her doctor told her they'd "Watch it", words I detest. I had been talking earlier about being the first one to get any foreign mass removed. I've done it many times in the past. Hope she pursues it. Time finally came to carve the turkey. It is Blake's job to remind Allison next year that her oven does not reach the temperature it claims in bright red lights. But the turkey was sublime, an unfrozen stock-item from Stop and Shop. It wouldn't be fair to not mention everyone else's delicious contributions: James' broccoli casserole; Blake's stuffing with sausage and other delectable ingredients I can't recall right now and mashed potatoes with Gouda and bacon; Allison's creamed onions, especially for me; Katie's pumpkin pie made from scratch using a real pumpkin; Anna's Keylime pie, with homemade graham cracker crust; and my doctored chicken stew (which some of us had as a first course to stave off hunger till the turkey was cooked), using Bambi's monster bird and her organic vegetables. I have a couple more months before I have to decide the fate of my breasts

Is It Wrong to Love Chemotherapy?

I'm sitting in a wonderful reclining chair, watching TV and glancing out at the Charles River every once in a while. Mike just finished giving me a massage. He just bought a condo in Dorchester, the top floor of a three-story Victorian. We agree that it might be the next, up-and-coming neighborhood. Everyone is so friendly that it feels a lot like visiting the Midwest: almost very passerby smiles, looks me in the eye and greets me. Many are Black and I wonder what makes this neighborhood different from Ferguson, Missouri. I have no sense of any racial tension. Is definitely different from moving into the Lower East Side of Manhattan in 1972, when I armed myself with a black German shepherd and a fistful of keys sticking out through my fingers. I am channel surfing. We haven't had any TV for the last few weeks during this move. If I find the cable box, we may actually have TV later today. But for right now I'm catching up on the news and "What Not to Wear". I love the before and after, so I set my timer to see the end of each episode. Whatever happened to that makeover show with the plastic surgery? Extreme Makeover? I've loved hospitals ever since the ninth grade in LA (The tonsillectomy at age 6 or so didn't bode well). I had a wonderful private room. I didn't feel sick. I'd been taking anabiotics for pneumonia but they didn't work. After any tests, the doctors determined that I had psittacosis, parrot fever. Sheila (of whom I was always jealous because she had a song named after her) had a slumber party. Her parakeet joined us at the dinner table and walked all over my plate. It must've been before there were restrictions on importing wild birds into the country. I had a huge room overlooking a sunny garden. I had lots of visitors, including our school bus driver who brought me some stuffed animal. It was the end of the year and I did not have to take any exams. My mother was on Password with Alan Lunt, I think it was, and I got to watch her. That was long before DVR's. I love having to sit still, not having to cook and being waited on. In fact, I don't really understand people's urge to have visitors during this process. It is relaxing to be alone and to be responsible for nothing. Andy feels very guilty about not coming with me today, but it's over five hour process. He is coming later to pick me up, which is perfect. I even was able to make a couple little stops on my way here this morning. I am looking for some sort of system to support the end of our bed on the gears I got last week. So I stopped in at Olde Boston, an architectural salvage place, where I got our mantel for the North End condo years ago. They don't really deal in any metals, but I did see some sink bases that I considered and I found a welding shop on my route. Did I mention I love the little lady putting warm blankets over my cold hands and arms. Of course, those chemicals and proteins attacking the cancer cells is The best part, resulting in that lump in my armpit being nearly undetectable now. The oncologist said some people actually feel some sensation in those cells that are being attacked, but I haven't.

One thing I know for sure

Don't begin chemo at the same time you're moving. I do have an Excuse for not hiring movers to just pack up and move everything. The last time I did that we were moving from an 1 bedroom apartment to a 3 bedroom house. I knew I had a big enough house and enough time to sort through everything, so I did no editing before the move. Even the full wastebaskets came. Now we're doing the reverse, moving from a 3 Bedroom place to a 1 bedroom place. And it is about a third the size. Thus the piecemeal move. That and my friend Mark's offer to take truckloads wherever I wanted. Mark's nickname is Andre the Giant, well deserved. He is the hardest working man ever, with the cheeriest, best, can-do attitude. Yesterday, the first two truckloads went to the Treasure Chest, never to be seen by me again. The third truck load, Andy accompanied Mark to Boston give me time to rest. And to bring my car back to the Cape from Boston. Which brings me back to why not to make a move at the same time as having chemo. I napped forever this afternoon so that I can be rested for the women's extension group international dinner at six. I am so happy I went. (I've got to work on my tenses.) But my car got blocked in so I couldn't make an early escape, as planned. So I snuck upstairs and curled up on one of Sandy's guestroom beds until the party broke up. Great night sleep, ready and raring to go, filling trashbags full of stuff to go to the treasure chest, CLICK. Locked myself out of the apartment.

God's trees?

I am a tree-pruning fanatic. The Manager on the Cape also handles landscaping and maintenance issues here. One of the biggest waste of money that I've witnessed over these few years is how the trees were pruned. God made trees and they grow the way he/she/it told them to. The manager went over his/hers/it's head and paid some "arborist" to tell the trees to do something different (I'm not talking topiary, which I love). The main reason I'm talking about this right now is that I think I figured out how to add pictures to my blog from my phone. So here's my first attempt. I am a tree-pruning fanatic. The Manager on the Cape also handles landscaping and maintenance issues here. One of the biggest waste of money that I've witnessed over these few years is how the trees were pruned. God made trees and and they grow the way he/she/it told them to. The manager disagreed with God and paid some "arborist" to tell the trees to do something different (I'm not talking topiary, which I love). The main reason I'm talking about this right now is that I think I figured out how to add pictures to my blog from my phone. So here's my first attempt. Failed.

Then the call came

I've been waiting for a call from the manager of our apartment complex, the new one. Andy and the kids moved all that heavy stuff into the Boston yesterday starting around 11 AM. I was pretty sure Sunday's not move-in day so I did not ask permission. Remember I am aiming at a moving target and racing against the clock to beat the fatigue that is beginning enfold me with her arms. Well I just got the call, but from the wrong manager. The complaint was at the Cape end. First couple of questions were did you move stuff out on Saturday night? Yes. Did you back the truck up against the front door? I don't know I didn't ever see the truck. Did your kids move you again? Yes (there were a few little no-nos they committed four an half years ago when we moved in.) The manager never forgets an infraction of the rules. This time the U-Haul truck was backed up across the walkway to the front door of the building!!!!! I was quite frankly appalled that they would've been so stupid as to drive across the sidewalk and said so to the manager, who's name I will not print, lest given permission. He ended his tirade with you'll be hearing from Jim (the condo owner from whom we rent). Click. After a few beats I called him back. I asked why the tattletale hadn't spoken directly to the kids or come to me to complain. He responded that it's his job to enforce the rules, which had been broken at a time that he could do nothing, which is part of the reason I'm sure he was so irate. Mentioning those few little infractions when we moved in, for which he scolded me then, I told him that I had photographs of 40 infractions by other residents that I had never reported over the years. Send them to me. No. It just makes me feel better every time I think of the times you've gotten mad at me (a couple little things when I was selling real estate and my broker was doing an open house. Her job to contact manager, not mine.) I ranted about sneaky tattletales, about the stupidity of the truck on the sidewalk, the responsibility we have for any repairs required and apologies. (Did I mention, that unbeknownst to me, I let a sink overflow, flooding a few floors below us? The manager's opening shout, after beating on our door, was you're responsible for this! I didn't do it on purpose I said. I know he said.) Andy overheard this conversation from another room and asked me to come tell him about it. I told him the u-Haul had been backed up across the sidewalk to the front door. And he said I know, I backed it up to the front door. So now I'm waiting for the manager at the Boston apartment to call. I plan to apologize.

Piling on bricks

Nurse George told me that reactions to the chemotherapy will start piling up like bricks. The only reactions I recall him mentioning are numbness in my extremities, fatigue and weight gain from the steroids. I may be getting the extremities reaction because my feet were so cold last night that I could not go to sleep. We were staying in our empty shell of an apartment on the Cape and all I could think to do was put on a second pair socks and nuke a stale loaf of French bread and wrap it around my feet. Worked like a dream, no pun intended. Thinking I might lose my taste for food, I went to Brax for brunch, with its great view of Saquetucket Harbor and an all-you-can-eat buffet including nice, rare roast beef. I had already had a couple cups of coffee at home and was feeling a little jittery, so I snagged a slice of roast beef before being seated. I also felt a craving for protein, much like the one Son George had at the end of the move last night. Instead of a cocktail he wanted protein. We found a couple kinds of hummus in the fridge. Looking for a vehicle to dip into the hummus, George found huge shredded wheat squares and dug in. I found dill pickle spears and joined him. George pooh-poohed the pickles, but then tried one and loved the combination. The protein did calm me down. My next 2 platefuls were bites of the most appealing treats on the table. Everything tasted great except for the roast beef, which was not rare enough for my taste, therefore dry. With my Last Supper in mind, Andy and I went to a local pizza joint for dinner at 3:30. My barbecue burger was nearly the best I have ever eaten and the french fries were sublime. A new burger joint opened last summer across the street and we asked about lost business. Yes, it was affecting their business. I suggested that they offer, "if ours isn't better than the one across the street, it's free." I'm sure our 22-year-old, 1-day-a-week waitress will take it right to the Head Honcho. That problem solved. I have always loved running other peoples lives. It's so much easier than running my own. I hope the following 2 little ailments are reactions to the chemo and not new plagues. Reader warning: 1. giant, crystallized globs of goo in my eyes; 2. nostrils so dry, I have now dedicated a stick of Chapstick to them. Enough said.

First Reaction

My gingerale tasted metallic last night. Friday at 4 was my second chemo session. Well, we really blew it, because I didn't check the appointment calendar and didn't arrive in time for the bloodwork, pre-administrating of the drugs. We also really didn't leave enough time to arrive by 4 from Dortchester. Who could've anticipated the rush-hour traffic on a Friday night in Boston? My nurse George was completely reassuring about it all and drew the blood work himself. He was thrilled to find out that the lab was actually functioning finally after a day of mishaps, so we were able to get started pretty quickly. I put him under some extra pressure by telling him I wanted to get out as quickly as possible. A lovely friend was throwing herself a 70th birthday party at her very elegant ladies club and I wanted to pop in for just a minute, before everyone sat down to dinner. George threw us out the door a little after seven, as I was struggling to change into my "elegant" party clothes. The final step was putting on my pantyhose as Andy chauffeured me over to the club. The doorman escorted me in and I was directed to the proper suite of rooms, bedecked with gay balloons, in her signature red and white. Not just separate balloons, but the red ones inside the white ones. I knew a lot of the people and it was so fun to say hi to everyone. One acquaintance made a special effort to come up to me and assure me that I too would be fine. She had just gone through breast cancer earlier this year. I ended up alone with Susan (I changed her name to protect the innocent.) I don't know what made me do it, because she is such a grand dame, but I lifted my ever-so-stylish, be-zippered, black skirt to show her the top of my pantyhose, pulled just above the knee and no higher. I compounded my rebellious behavior by doing the same to my equally proper friend Claire (I will start using real names if given permission) in the ladies room. Andy I went to Ester for dinner and had a blast with Eleanor who is the owner. We asked about the name of the restaurant. It is at the end of Dorchester Avenue, hence the end of the word Dorchester. She doesn't mind the scientific connotation of the word either. It was our first night sleeping at the new place, Andy on the camping pads, on top of the two new Zebra area rugs, under a sleeping bag on the bedroom floor and me on my favorite couch in the living room (snoring is a problem. I'm not saying whose). Even so I did not sleep well. My mind was racing with decorating plans. The biggest stimulant was that I found on Craigslist the perfect hardware to support our bed frame and I did not want to lose it to a faster buyer. But the only contact info was by email so I had to wait for the seller to call me. Our bedroom is the fat end of a pie shape. The curved wall has three steps up to the windows, almost like an amphitheater. The bed is going to rest on the first step and needs to be supported nearly 2 feet high at the other end. There will be nothing under the bed. The said hardware are 4 gears, in red and green, in 2 different sizes, with different designs. I know superglue won't work so I'm hoping Bambi and Tracy can weld together a Christmas present for me. That and the about-to-be pink-striped livingroom would keep any mind swirling for hours. I did go to sleep for quite a while, but woke and kept praying for dawn to break and watching for customers in Dunkin' Donuts across the street. Finally the customers came and I went. Grabbed the ever-giving seedpods and my purse, stocked up at Dunkin' Donuts and raced off to the Flower Market. Route 93 was jammed on the other side, but my side was clear going. Dawn was sure are slow coming. The expert at Chester Brown, the best wholesaler, was shocked that anybody would say the pods would last for three months, but I clearly recall him saying so. No matter, he exchanged them for the far more durable red willow branches. The gear seller still has not called me, even though I had sent an email this morning saying I was up and ready to buy. Deciding to go back to the apartment while I was chatting with another wholesaler, he told me about the water main break on route 93, requiring cars to back off of the highway. He suggested taking the back roads home and to avoid Bluehill Avenue where two people were killed that morning and 6-square-blocks were cordoned off for the investigation. I found a route through some of the old neighborhoods that I had explored during my time working for Metco, the oldest school-busing program in the country. Got home. Andy and I caught up on our nighttime adventures. He was a little concerned that I might be getting a little manic and urged me to nap while he went out for breakfast before the kids arrived to help. But the seller call. He was almost at the New Hampshire border and we were negotiating a meeting place halfway between us when he mentioned he just had his hip replaced. I scrapped his driving part and hit the highway. The gears were perfect. The small ones might not really fit it in but I knew I'd regret it if I didn't buy them. I started the bidding at nearly half off and ended up with a 20% discount. He said he had refused my lowest offer several times already. On the way up I been chatting with "Danny of Deb" who had Dexter for the night. I told him the address where I was going in case I was never heard from again. I called him back on the way home to tell them I had lived. Met up with Blake and Anna and the dogs at just the right time for them to carry the gears in. They were thrilled and honored to be part of this operation, not. George and Katie were conveniently late for this part of the day. But believe me, they paid for it later. Fun, delicious lunch with Eleanor at Ester. This move has been a "moving" target. It was originally scheduled for right after Thanksgiving to Cleveland. Then we decided on Boston instead. In large part, due to Mark's (a friend from the Treasure Chest, where I volunteer) offering and then urging us to accept his help, we had already taken two truckloads to the new place. It's such an odd shaped place, with four steps up to a living area from the dining area, that I really needed to see some pieces in place to fully understand the layout. Bambi is coming on Thursday so I thought the final move could coincide with her arrival in Boston. But the target kept moving and the kids decided to help this weekend. We booked an U-Haul 14' foot truck and filled it. The target did not come into focus until we determined that we could deliver the Big Green Egg to Allison and James on the trip up to Boston. We didn't want to fill the truck in the wrong order. I am using the Royal We, actually. Anna slipped, naturally, into the role of leader, director and Savior. Her composure and sensitive authority created a well-honed team. She and Katie were so careful to keep me from doing too much. Part of the argument for doing this drastic step that day was that we had five, strong healthy people to move the monster smoker/grill/oven in it's custom-made table. Andy's back wouldn't let him participate but I did count myself as one of the five. But my dear girls and sons wouldn't let me help. During the final push, Katie and Anna had a cocktail and some ibuprofen, while I popped antacids and sipped gingerale. When I complained of the metallic taste, they told me it is a symptom of chemotherapy, my first. I never even saw the truck. As the final elevator was going down, I had the brilliant idea of sleeping here on the Cape. Katie didn't like the idea at first but then saw the brilliance. Poor Andy didn't know he was being abandoned until he got to Cohasset. But I am sure even he could see what a great idea it was. Andy drove the truck to Cohasset, Anna and Blake drove the TV there, and Katie and George drove some glass table tops and delicate bases there. I took two Motrin PM and opened some devine oysters, realizing that I had probably done those two in reverse order. But I lived and the risk far outweighed the joy of what my last good food experience might be for a while. I'm sure I was asleep by 7:30 at the latest.

Nothing New

My thinking about stray shots may seem a little odd to some, but it is not unusual for me to consider plans A and B if a disaster occurs. I guess that developed in New York City. My first plan was an escape route from a fast flooding Holland Tunnel. We often spent the weekend in New Jersey, taking Daisy the cat and Calypso the German Shepard. I guess I assumed I would be fine and just swim to the surface. I knew the dog probably could do the same thing and would come with when called, but there was no way in hell the cat would come when called. So my plan Was to grab her by the scruff of the neck and keep her with me come hell or… Actually we got Calypso because we bought an apartment in East Greenwich Village, in the neighborhood now called Alphabet City. In the late 70's it was very much a ghetto. But we couldn't afford the $40,000 penthouse at 96th and Madison, which wasn't that great a neighborhood at the time. So we bought the first floor of a brownstone on Tompkins Square, Park for $14,500. With that move pending we also invested in a black German Shephard, which we charged at Gimbal's department store, against every one's advice not to buy from a puppy mill seller. She was our insurance and proofed invaluable many a time. Other precautions included wearing a trenchcoat over my going out clothes if we were eating uptown at 21, our weekly haunt. I always clutched a fistful of keys sticking out between my fingers when walking around the neighborhood. I wasn't afraid. Just guarding against possibilities. In fact, I might even have been asking for trouble. For instance some guy walking toward me touched my crotch as he passed by and I turned around and slugged him in the shoulder. When a thug and his pitbull were in our community garden picking all the open daffodils, I reprimanded him. In response, his pitbull attacked me. Fortunately they inside and I was outside the ancient, heavy duty, decorative wrought iron barrier, otherwise I would've been chopped liver. The beast did cleanly rip a chunk out of my beautiful, lime green, boucle coat (actually good riddance. I wore it to my first college mixer and not one boy spoke to me. Luckily, I was waiting for my date with a guy on the football team.) In a movie theater I stood up and screamed at the stranger who touched my knee. Another of my preparedness modes was looking up, as I had seen many objects fall from buildings as I walked and bicycled around Manhattan. I may have saved several peoples lives as I watched a 4' x 8' piece of corrugated metal float down from a construction site on third Avenue. I screamed a warning to the pedestrians who scattered, avoiding sure death. That sheet of metal ripped a hole in the sidewalk as it clattered to the ground. Once we left the terrors of NYC and movd to suburban Boston my preparedness did not wane. First of all I was terrified by many little things like reflections (of passing cars or the postman coming to the front door) in our picture window overlooking our beautiful pond. I was not used to the bucolic silence and nearly hit the ceiling every time something unexpected passed by. At that time Sarah Pryor had been abducted in the town next to ours and I became hyper vigilant about watching my child. And other peoples children. Driving down what is a rather main thoroughfare in our quiet suburb, I saw a little boy on a bicycle alone. I stop the car, talked to the bo, walked him home and warned his mother he was much too young to be alone. I made a rule that our boys couldn't ride alone until they weighed 125 pounds, which I later raised to 150 pounds. George could never understand that, when I would let him walk to the corner store in Brooklyn, New York, with a little boy that he didn't really know, far younger and lighter. I explained that there are people loose in New York City and there is some recourse if something bad happens. If the school closed for a bomb scar, I would not let the kids go back until they figured out who had had phoned it in, no matter how long it took. If they went away with friends they had to write their telephone number, in indelible marker on their thighs, even if only off to the slopes for the day. We spent New Year's Eve, 2000, in New Hampshire because I figured that there would be a major terrorist attack on that night in urban areas, especially Times Square. My stepson had been scouting locations in the area and given access to roof tops without showing any ID. I couldn't watch the ball drop that year. We bought the place in Waterville Valley so that thes boys wouldn't be home on weekends to go to the drinking parties. I admit I do sound a little Looney tune. But those drives up to New Hampshire with the boys and their friends were the best Treasure ever. And they were completely independent, being able to walk and take the shuttle everywhere. They were even younger when they had that independence at Chautauqua institution. They could bicycle anywhere in the gated community explore and experience life without boundaries so to speak. I did learn later that someone tried to sell them marijuana on the bridge over the gulley near the boys club. There's a great old cartoon in the New Yorker with a lady sitting on the porch wiggling her finger at her kids and saying I want you home not one minute after dark. My advice to my children is to let their children grow up in a neighborhood where they have some sense of that old-time security and real-life experiences, having to deal with the same people over and over again without parental interference. In other ways I was remarkably careless and lenient. I almost can't believe I let Blake race an electric tricycle down my parents' long, steep driveway crashing into the garage door, no helmets no nothing. Or give permission to underage George to drive until the oil pan breaks, Which it eventually did on the 2 mile long dirt road to her camp in Maine. More about the adventure home in another blog maybe one day. I do have to get off this damn iPhone and start working on iPad at least. The little bit of editing I am doing is tedious to do on this tiny device. Plus photos and this will be much more fun.

Where the action is

Our Medicare consultant came tonight to sign us up for next year. He, like many of our friends, grew up in our new Boston neighborhood, technically Dorchester. He asked if we had heard about the shooting last week. So I googled it. Yup. It was in the parking lot of our new, conveniently walkable, CVS. A young man was shot critically in the head at around 7 PM. It was election night and all voters were rerouted to the polls through the alley behind our newly beloved restaurant Ester. The press claimed no voter was deterred by the crime scene. I guess we should be comforted that the police think it was gang related. Blake suggests that we should check what the colors are of each gang and be sure that Andy and I where everyone's colors. George did Advise us not to move to the murder capital of Boston. That we convinced him it was a lively and up-and-coming place. How much worse can it be in the lower East side of Manhattan in the late 70's?

http://www.dotnews.com/2014/man-seriously-injured-lower-mills-shooting

We have considered wild gunshots when thinking about the layout of our new Boston apartment. We are on the first floor and some of the apartment is even below grade, which we became very used to in NYC. We'll be watching TV in a section of the living room with no windows. In the bedroom, our heads will be in such a position that any shooter will have to be hanging on the side of the building and shoot straight down to reach us.
We even bought used ammunition canisters (maybe a foot and a half tall and very narrow) to be flower holders. They are in the living room windows and presumably are strong enough to stop any stray bullet. Actually the main purpose of the containers, found on Craigslist, is to hold very large branches, flowers or bamboo that will act as a natural screen from the outside world. I found an amazing long branch with round, bright green, prickly pods. The flower market guy assured me that the pods would last for months. They are very dramatic and effectively blur the sight line. Unfortunately the pods have begun to burst, spilling out milkweed like seeds. Think the flower market will take them back since they may assume they were for the Boston Museum of Fine Arts, which gives me the credentials to shop at the market.
Maybe the gangs will notice that the containers are stamped DOD and avoid us altogether. But someone did suggest that maybe they would want to break in and steal said ammunition. As the Medicare guy said, "We are moving to where the action is."

I  will figure out how to download photos.
I think Becky thought that it might be optimistic of us to think we'd be out of our Cape place by Christmas. Things got quite chaotic once we found the cancer and delayed our return home from Cleveland by 10 days.  The biggest blow came because we were hosting a wedding brunch, Which happened to fall on the day after our return from Cleveland. So when I we got home the day of the actual wedding, I tossed everything that was lying around the rest of our rather large apartment into our bedroom. Beckyand our friends caught a glimpse of our room and closed the door firmly behind them. Becky seemed a bit shocked when I told her that we had cleared about 90% of that stuff out. So hopefully we can be out of our Cape place before Thanksgiving. Bambi is coming next Thursday through Saturday to help with another leg of the move.

Autocorrect

I hate auto correct. But it is very convenient. If you notice something weird please let me know.
After chemo on Friday, Becky and I (Andy went to babysit Grayson and Riley) went To Blake and Anna's for Chinese and Thai takeout. Delicious, and comforting to be with them all. After good night sleep, Becky and I took Addy and Molly for a walk and chatted with lots of other dog owners. The girls raced around the beautiful little park's hilltop and had a grand old time.
Then we drove over to the new apartment for everyone to see. They had lots of great ideas about how to arrange it. We strolled through the neighborhood greeting some neighbors before Becky took us to lunch at Esters. Very excellent experience with yummy food and delightful waiter.
Becky drove us back to the CAPE, made a fantastic Bean soup and plotted our next steps.
Sunday morning saw the return of my friends Danny, Deb and Denise, who had cleared all the plants (including my lovely rock garden, contained in a truck bed liner) off the balcony earlier that week. That process took hours, requiring bucket loads of dirt being carted out and numerous trips down to the garage and even a couple of trips to Danny and Deb's to unload all the plants and dirt.

A room with a view

Andy is driving me to my first chemo session at MGH. Many people have told me to choose a color to ask you all to envision and some sort of an amulet. A gold arrow bounced into my mind, followed by gold spears and acupuncture needles. Odd that all of those ancient tools popped up when I'm going to the 21st-century bastion of science and medicine. We had a long day with more mammograms, blood tests, eating and wig fitting before beginning chemo this afternoon. We got the Primo room overlooking the Charles River, Cambridge, downtown Boston, the Citgo sign in the Fenway. The sky was magnificent studded with fabulous clouds which made for a great sunset. First session was about six hours long because there were periods of observation after the drugs were administered. The first two drugs are proteins to combat the positive her2 receptor. The third is called Taxol and required pre-doses of a histamine, a steroid and a something else. I did not get any of the dreaded instant reactions of breathlessness, aching back or flushing of the skin.
I tolerated them all very well. I was a little nervous at one point because I got quite cold and drowsy but bounced back after that. For the next two Fridays I will get additional doses of taxol.
Andy and I were so happy when Becky, Blake and George visited me.
The nurse I will have for the next 12 weeks also happens to be named George, which may be a little confusing at times. He couldn't of been more enthusiastic, supportive and informative.

MGH It Is

MGH wins. 

I will part OF 2 Studies.

The radiologist invited me to both: Lymphodema (chose to not participate in a study to leave nodes in) and proton beam laser (only if I choose a mastectomy of the left breast).

I liked the doctors very much. Especially Anna's contact chemotherapist Steve Isakoff. Ginger promises plastic surgeon Jay Austin will give me a perfect boob. The question is, will I get 2. If so, I'll get sedum tatoos and go topless on the beach. I love that image.

I begin chemo on Friday with ACHCP (somehting like that) some before surgery and some after.

Opted to not try to save hair with cold cap because risk of migraines, to which I am prone.

I was the first ever to ask chemotherapist about tatoo on scalp. Also told him about henna crowns.

We decided to move to Boston and hope to move into new place (Baker Chocolate Factory in Boston) this week.

Dexter used up another life and took years off of mine

Driving to Blake's to drop off Dexter before going to MGH, I noticed the back window was open as I got off the turnpike. It was true, Dexter was missing. Complete panic overtook me as I retraced my route from the turnpike exit.  I asked individual toll takers if they had seen the cat, racing to the edges of the highway screaming Dexter's name as the toll takers yelled, "Lady you can't go there". Completing an illegal U-turn, I left the booths, spotting Blake walking toward me. I had to go to my multiple appointments at MGH and left Blake promising to search for Dexter. 

My panic escalated, in large part because I did not have my phone with me. Shaking, standing in line waiting to register, I asked Laurie, as it turned out her name was, if I could borrow her phone. I contacted Blake and tried to reach George. I was frantic and shared that with everyone who came and went from the examination room. Having permission to use the phone in that room, I told Blake to post a lost and found on Craigslist. Five minutes later the phone rang and Blake told me that Dexter had been found. I asked if he was alive. He was.  

Blake went to pick him up at the animal rescue league. 

Turns out that someone had spotted the cat in the Prudential Tunnel, which is part of the Massachusetts Turnpike. Dexter was in a storm drain and the man who found him called The Animal Rescue league, which was sending out a team to try and get him. But the man called back and said he had the cat and delivered him to the animal rescue league.

This is the second time Dexter has opened the window and jumped out. But the first time the car was parked. As I was escorting Dad, on his walker, to the passenger-side, Dad pointed and asked if that was my cat. Dexter was exploring the flower bed flanking the entrance to South Franklin. 

I do have a child-lock on my windows and thought I had secured it. Who could possibly dream that the cat would be inclined to leap out of a car speeding through a tunnel?

I pray to God that I don't use up any more of Dexter's lives through my stupidity."