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.