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.