the man behind the curtain…

At 7:45 am we sped down to Roswell.  I hate getting  up that early, especially to arrive somewhere to get something done to you that you really don’t want to agree with, whether its a good idea or not.  Also, I did not leave the hospital until 1:15 pm.

Dr. Tokupstankchensticklesteinakomonoskotivit surgically placed a medi-port in my chest today.  Besides that one skin colored mole that Ben always picks at, pretending its a dried booger, my scar-free, porcelain smooth skin court (that flows from my neck like the mouth of the Niagara from below my chin) has been becoming much more precious real estate to me, as of late.  Its a place where onlookers’ eyes are directed via intricate collars of vintage shirts or necklaces that dangle just-so, then lead to the dark even more seductive trail of cleavage, which tempts, teases and taunts those with the strongest willpower, to sneak a peek. Beware of them stealing glances as you order your coffee or squeeze a tomato to check for its ripeness. Honk honk!  I’ve kept it more covered since its been cold still and also due to the asymmetry of it all, but as the fakey grows it has become much easier to make the rack appear real.  Therefore, I have been dying to show off my nape.  Well I’ll just have to hold that back a bit now.  Port in place, bandages in tact, I assume I’ll feel somewhat alien when I take off the gauze to notice a shape jutting out from below my skin, where the extraterrestrials can dually probe me whilst I dream. They’ve been watching with glee with their slimy, googly eyes as I struggled to succumb to this inevitable procedure.  With aesthetics training in my arsenal, I will defy nature and utilize my body’s super-hero ability to produce more collagen and Elastin than a regular earthling eventually ridding myself of all these scars the Dark Destroyer has left.

At 9:00 when I got settled in my gurney, I called over to pastoral care and let them know that I would like to have Sara Schultz stop by my bed when she could.  She is an extraordinary individual with an amazing voice who has found her spiritual path of bringing meditation and guidance to patients at Roswell through her position as the Jewish chaplain. With her meditation chimes in tow, she showed up at the perfect time, as usual. Sarah, Ben, and I spoke for a while about where we are, where we’re going, and where we come from.  Her experiences and knowledge of eastern philosophy and religion give her a complementary approach to cleansing and purifying the mind and spirit to help heal the body!

She started off by slowly and quietly playing her chimes and guiding us to a place where we felt safe and calm. I ended up on a pristine beach enjoying the sounds of the rustling leaves of an over-sized deep rooted, palm tree. The water was a crystalline blue I have never actually seen with my eyes. Asking us to associate a word with this place I instantly thought “HEALTH”. Next we were prompted to go to a similar place from childhood, and I took a trip to nature’s ultimate tree-house on the front lawn of my parents’ house on Billington.  I could hear the thump of the forest floor as I jumped from the top level of the tree. Those woods were so magical. Time spent there alone for years had me sometimes believing that my whole life was a dream. For the meditation, my word association here was “TREE”. I was so lost in this world that I barely noticed Sara hitting the chimes less times and and farther apart and then the sounds tapered off and stopped. I opened my eyes with a giant smile on my face yearning for more, as she tucked the last cardboard square into the adjacent part of the box. She said ” I leave you in peace” and moved the curtain aside and was gone. I turned my head towards Ben and said, “What happened, did she get freaked out?”
He pointed to the next hospital bed separated by the same blue hospital curtains fixed to the ceiling on a series of tracks. During my escape the man behind the curtain was unable to find a safe or calm place that he could imagine or from his childhood so he ranted and raved about how “people are lunatics that play instruments” and that he couldn’t “believe they even do that here!”
I felt so sorry for him even though I couldn’t see his face. Also to my surprise I hadn’t heard any of his complaints through all of this. I was too busy climbing a HEALTHY TREE that is eating the cancer inside of me! What’s eating him?

(Feeling like shit except for) The first of my AWESOME new ‘dos!!!

All day I have wanted to go back to bed.  Deep within my skull, a festering tumbleweed has been gaining momentum to create a sinus headache+being super hungry/low blood sugar+being ultra dizzy=insatiable thirst=practically Passout Patty.   Luckily I was able to muster up enough energy to head down to Chez Ann on the Chip strip with  my good friends Rachel and Ashley.  We paid a visit to the infamous James Hickey, stylist extraordinaire, armed with a straight razor which he is not afraid to use (though he should be, he cut himself twice today).  Our plan is to cut my locks (of love) everyday, shaping and molding a new me, for the next 9 or so days, until we ultimately shave my noggin (or until my strong little follicles lose their will to hang on for dear life).

A few others were there to pay there last respects to the pony, including James and Jordan’s hungry bundle of joy, FIONA.  My bff, Ms. Liz Jones and my sister, JD also stopped in for a quickie.

He did an absolutely amazing job and I feel (like I look) like a million bucks!  And we chopped a proper 10″ ponytail to actually donate to Locks of Love!  It takes 10 ponytails to make just one wig!

this first one is sassy, sexy, messy, and edgy…see for yourself.


WTF hahha

bubble wrap me up, please

I wish I was sore from working out, though that is not the case.  I am that giant, dark purple-blue bruise that when sighted by a sibling is compressed with a thumb as hard as possible to re-injure the wincing beholder.  It hurts to lay down in my soft, cushiony bed.   The weight of those soft friendly petting touches that I love so much actually feel like a ten pound dumbbell on my skin.  My face hurts, to chew.  I will stay positive, however, to keep my candle burning.  Its so obvious now, how very important food and the nutrients from it are going to be as I trail blaze my way back to a healthy cancer-free life.  Eating pizza and blue cheese yesterday at a friendly little day-time BBQ left my GI tract with the heartburn and indigestion of a contest eater.   My ovaries sent a friendly reminder today too,  to focus on meditating to preserve my fertility and to shout out that they are still there.  I’m not sure that it will be a regular occurrence for the next 4 months, but I envision they too are packaged snugly in a white bubble wrap to be protected from that nasty red devil, Mr. A.

Bday parties con chemo sans alcohol

So I feel pretty fucking good considering…I just notice that I want to go to bed earlier and get up earlier.  WHOA, that has never been me.  A blessing in diguise?  Also, these damn steroids I thought I would hate so much, have helped me to clean the entire house, organize the shithole hall closet, finish painting the book shelf, rake yard… Not so bad I guess.  I too though, am noticing some things that are a big bummer.  I SMELL WEIRD.  It could have to do with the fact that I have quit using garbage and aluminum carcinogen packed deodorant and have switched to a more cancer patient-friendly hippie concoction which does NOT prevent me from stinking.  Oooor, could it be all of the supplements I am taking?  Fish oil anybody?  How long will it take for my temple to get used to all these extra ingredients and level me out?  I have always prided myself on my ability to be the epitome of nose seduction, sensing men’s urges to hump me from across the train or the sidewalk as a result of my smart placement of a little spritz from a pretty pink-tinted glass bottle.  Help me parfum goddesses!  I will find some sort of balance between pthalate and paraben free lotions and sprays to stay smelling delicious once again…and will eventually bring them to you, so we can keep this nasty crap we’ve created from clogging our pores full of cancer.

Last night, after my cleaning/yardwork binge, we went out for my friend Jean’s birthday.  As I am not drinking, I thought I’d either be super emotional if someone asked me ” ohh, how are you  holding up” or  bored out of my mind being in Buffalo and not intoxicated. Ha!   To my pleasant surprise, I had an amazing time.  Kicking ass on the pool table, getting hit on by underage skater dorks and setting Jean and her pool stick up to sink many of her own birthday-girl-winning shots.  My “being out in public” outlook may change slightly if and when I start losing my hair, but for now “ALL IS WELL IN MY WORLD-LH”


Day 2 after first chemo treatment

So I am going to start from here and gradually work my way back since I didn’t get my shit together enough to start blogging sooner….
However, I am feeling pretty good considering my recent dose of chemotherapy on April 6. I went with the good ol’ ACT-H regimen. 1 down-11 to go!
The warm, sunshiny, morning started off great with a fabulous energy filled reiki session.
I then hurried off to the hospital for my first shot to boost my white blood cells, which I have feared since the minute I heard about it. Being that it boosts your WBC, they swell inside your bone marrow, subjecting half of the people who get it to severe bone pain. With that somewhat unpleasant tidbit of information in my arsenal, along with the knowledge that I had to stick around for an hour at the hospital after I got the shot to make sure I didn’t have a REACTION, you can imagine the anxiety. I also had to take into consideration the two recent reactions I had to antibiotics in the past 2 weeks for strep as some sort of foreshadowing. This is coming from someone who has never been allergic to anything and has never had any serious problems besides broken bones from playing sports.
After the instant burning of the injection into my bingo wing (flab on the back of  the upper arm that flaps when old ladies excitedly wiggle their winning bingo card in the air),  I spent some time trying on hideous wigs and learning how to tie scarfs to cover my soon-to-be bald head.  It took about an hour  for the reaction to kick in, to feel like someone cracked an egg over my forehead and it was dripping over my mouth so I couldn’t form words.
Well, I had to lie down while they pumped fluids and steroids through an IV for about an hour. All the while my trusty soldier stood by my side holding my hand and trying his best to make me laugh.


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