Sep. 23: Buh-bye, blog.

I haven’t posted since March, and for good reason: I’ve got nothing to say.

Yes, I realize that’s never stopped me before, or at least not often. Once upon a time I posted several times a day, and probably 95 percent of those posts were total wastes of bandwidth. Possibly 97.

What happened?

In 2010, my dear friend Loveliest Lori had a health emergency of which I opted not to share details publicly, and given that it was all I could think (worry) about, I simply stopped posting for a while.

I don’t dare blame Lori for my blog’s demise, because—as she reminds me when I accuse her of sleeping soundly while everyone who loved her freaked the eff out—SHE WAS IN A COMA. (“Coma” is her “cancer card,” a card I myself have occasionally been accused of playing too much. But Lori’s “coma!!” responses are just fine with me. I mean, who would seriously suggest someone plays a life-threatening condition card too much?)

I laugh. Ha ha ha. (That is sarcastic ha ha ha-ing. in case you didn’t catch it.)

I know who. Someone who was, for as long as I can remember, one of the most important people in my life, until she decided I was toxic and her life was better without me and my children in it. (Can we say “narcissist”? We can!)

I couldn’t write about that situation much either, not because I didn’t have permission, but because I was heartbroken, confused, and unreasonably protective of her, STILL. Y’all would’ve grown tired of my never-ending whining and tuned out anyway.

I held the hand of a friend whose husband fought cancer for a year and, while the experience so affected me and her other friends, the story was not mine to tell. 

The reasons behind posting infrequently just evolved from situations like these. I got used to posting carefully.

Eventually I started censoring my blog posts more than I wanted to, which got me wondering why I even had a blog if I was censoring myself, which had me asking myself who I was censoring for, which made me start feeling incredibly self-centered, which is a personality trait I detest.

Blogging can be a pretty self-centered thing to do, after all. I mean, it sometimes seems very HERE’S WHAT I THINK AND AREN’T I BRILLIANT FOR SHARING THIS WISDOM AND DON’T YOU WISH YOU HAD THE COURAGE AND ISN’T MY LIFE SO AMAZING AND AREN’T I SO CLEVER BLAH BLAH BLAH. Don’t get me wrong; unprecedented understanding can result from the process of writing out thoughts. Lately, though, it feels like there’s potentially an even greater benefit (for me) to write out my thoughts without publishing them for the world to read, and I guess that’s why I feel like my blog has served its purpose and has quietly—pfffft—faded away.

I started Stuff Jen Says while pregnant with Katie 16 years ago as an easy way to share our family news with friends. It blossomed into something so much bigger, for which I am occasionally proud (my cancer story, for instance, if it’s even the slightest bit helpful to anyone facing it themselves). My blog brought me a brush with fame: meeting and “helping” author Pamela Ribon write a book. It allowed me to share things that made me guffaw. It allowed me to share things that enraged me. It helped me make friends. It might have helped me lose a few—it’s not all been good, that’s for sure. But what my blog absolutely could not do is survive my tremendous worry that I had become that person who believed every thought that entered my head was worth sharing. I really, really hate that person. I could not bear being her.

So I’m calling it. OK, I’m kinda calling it. I won’t completely give up on Stuff Jen Says, but I’m not going to feel guilty for not posting anymore. I may occasionally post haiku, or funny Jack stories, or links to Broadway musical awesomeness. And who knows? Maybe someday my blog will find a life again. But if it does, or if it doesn’t, whatever’s meant to happen will. I’m sure of that.

What I want to make clear is that I’m not writing this as a ploy for attention or a way for my vast audience (cough!) to plead with me to revive my blog. After 16 years, I can’t just let my blog die without explanation. So… there it is. I offer up my biggest thank yous to the comments, encouragement, and support y’all have given me here over the past 16 years. There have been moments that this blog has been an absolute lifeline for me, and I’ll always be grateful for that. 

Dec. 31: Month in review

Buh-bye, December.

special days i celebrated this month and how:

• Well, duh. Christmas. It was pretty great.
• For our celebration with the Nienhuises, Sonya did a Grinch feast—roast beast, Who hash, Who buns, Grinch bean casserole, Grinch salad with artichoke hearts (two sizes too small), and Who pudding… our contribution was the Grinch cocktails, which were green and contained booze and that means they were good and that’s all that matters.
• On Christmas Eve, we did our traditional Chinese dinner. Yum.
• We had a few ideas for what we’d do on Christmas Day, but it turned out that we all stayed in our jammies and spent the day enjoying our gifts. No complaints.

i saw things with my eyes:

• Guardians of the Galaxy. Action movies are probably my least favorite kinds of movies, but I like Chris Pratt and the movie didn’t totally suck. Best part: the Howard the Duck cameo after the credits. Did you know Howard the Duck was a Marvel character? Me neither! Crazy.
• I’ve been watching The Comeback on HBO. The Valerie character drives me nuts, so I spread the episodes out over quite a bit of time. The last few episodes really were well done. It’s a funny show, and deserved its return to TV.
• Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee. If you’re not watching it, well, I’ll watch it enough for both of us and I’m totally fine with that.
• We went through the regular Christmastime viewings of A Christmas Story, Christmas Vacation, The Polar Express, Elf, Olive, the Other Reindeer, Mickey’s Twice Upon a Christmas, and White Christmas. It wouldn’t be the holidays without seeing those movies at least fourteen times each.
• I started reading Yes, Please, by Amy Poehler. Love her.

this month’s good and bad:

• Good: Christmas was fun.
• Bad: we were all sick for way too long. Vic got hit hardest.
• Good: I’m done with physical therapy! I hated physical therapy! I mean, it wasn’t as bad as breaking my ankle, but it still sucked. And yes, it did some good, and yes, my range of motion has improved, but you are totally ruining my cheer over being done so just STAHP.
• Bad: my mother-in-law had her hip replaced. That makes it sound like no big deal—“she had her hip replaced,” like “she got a new blender”—but, of course, it wasn’t just a teensy little procedure. Once they decided it needed to be done, she wanted to get it over with, so the surgery was just before Christmas and kinda messed up their celebration. BUT she feels much better, so the good part is that she’s on her way to dealing with much less pain than she’s had in the past year.
• Good: we got new iPhones. New gadgets are mostly not annoying. I’m loving the camera quality most, I think. Victor likes the bigger screen.
• Bad: my blog design got all messed up. I noticed some weird stuff a few months ago, but yesterday it was completely farked. It wasn’t me trying to tweak things; it was Blogger and that gives me frowny face. I’ll work on it. Eventually.
• Good: Mother Mary and I got a bunch of house projects done while she was here for Christmas. I love feeling productive, but I especially love my extremely clean floors, the new things in our family room, and my very organized kitchen.
• Bad: our kids’ winter break seems especially long this year, and I know that makes me a rotten mom, but I really, really hope they go back to school soon.

i likes to share pics I’ve found on the ‘net:

 

This one’s for you, Dina. (And me.)

 

sooo… what’s next?

I’m going to try to kick-start my blog back into action by posting every day in January. I know, right?! Don’t worry, you don’t have to read it.

This year wasn’t our worst one ever, but it won’t exactly be featured prominently in our memory books, either. Bring on 2015!  

Aug. 14: Back, baby.

For a while there, my blog was dying a slow death. Blogging frequently is a habit that has to be developed, for sure, and my habit has gone in waves over the 15 years I’ve been writing—there are times I have so much to share that I can’t hit the “publish” button soon or often enough, and other times when most of what’s happening in my life is not write-about-able.

In the past several months I’ve opted to considerably filter my writing, which I’ve never been all that careful to do. I started journaling on paper again because putting my thoughts into words is so therapeutic for me—I realized I needed to get them down, whether anyone else could read them or not. And now, as I look back at the things I felt I couldn’t/shouldn’t share on my blog, I see that some weren’t really that big a deal anyway; I plan to write about those in coming weeks. Others were a big deal and still are, and those will stay in my journal for now.

It is not my intention to be all mysterioso and vague, so I’ll give you an idea of some of these things—though I think most of you already know.

• Now that I’m nearly four years post-treatment, I try to keep the cancer talk to a minimum here. When a person is told their cancer is in remission, it’s easy for an outsider to think of celebrating and being done with it—y’know, move on, next chapter. But it’s not that simple, because cancer doesn’t just end. Follow-up tests go on and on. Side effects linger. Fear and frustration are enemies that like to hang out on the fringe of everything I do. While I have welcomed the return to many of my pre-cancer ways of life, there are some things that have been forever changed by my experience, and I deal with them regularly. Some of it really sucks and because I don’t want it to suck, I try to fold those things in with the rest of life—because I am alive and I do know how fortunate I am for that and I am moving forward—but there are always challenges. You would tire of hearing about them as often as they come up—trust me on this. That’s why I don’t write about it often. But to the people who might think GEEZ, SHE’S STILL TALKING ABOUT CANCER???, I have a middle finger I’d like to show you. Maybe two. And I know other people who’d love to show you theirs too.
• A few years ago my relationship with a person who had always been—and I thought always would be—in my life came to an abrupt end. She made accusations, I tried to explain myself, and she said she refused to get in a pissing contest. I took that to mean there was no sense in me arguing (that is what that means, right?), so I backed off. She then decided I did this because I was angry, and now blames my anger as the reason we don’t speak. I find a tiny bit of comfort knowing that I am not the only person she’s done this to. But ugh—it’s like dealing with my grandma all over again: nothing is ever her fault. So, if this is such a big deal, why don’t I write more about it publicly? One, because it would annoy the hell out of whatever audience I have here. And two, because I feel an unreasonable duty to protect this person. I know it makes absolutely no sense, but there you have it. 
• I’ve occasionally mentioned that I deal with depression and anxiety. It’s surprising how many people still think these are not diseases but “moods” (oh, they are soooo not moods), and that they’re a choice, that it’s just a matter of deciding to be happy and deciding not to worry. Some of the people who think depression/anxiety = psychopath are people I love, and when they’re vocal about it, I take it personally. These illnesses are complex and un-fun to deal with, and it’s not exaggerating to say they affect EVERY part of one’s life. I am able to keep my head above water and am generally living a normal human existence, thanks to things and more things.
• Partly related to the above item, I have been trying to avoid blogging about whatever is inciting my latest rage or concern (though I will make exceptions for topics like, oh, OUR HEINOUS HOMEOWNERS’ ASSOCIATION). These triggers push me up on a soapbox that can get me in trouble or make me seem highly unlikable. That ain’t good. Worse, my triggers can send me into a funk from which I find great difficulty to recover. For instance, I’m not writing about Robin Williams, even though he’s been on my mind so much this week. I have thoughts, I do. They could be spread across several posts and I’d still have more. But for purposes of self-protection, I just can’t let myself dwell. (I do want to share, though, this beautifully composed sentence I read on a fashion site, of all places, immediately after the cause of Robin Williams’ death became public; I think it is such a realistic way to describe the tragedy of suicide: “There’s such agony in the fact that a person’s delivery of joy to everyone else can be so inversely proportionate to what they find in themselves.”) Sooo… rants? Only sometimes. 

Looking back to 1999, when I first started my blog, I remember thinking it would be a great way to keep family and friends up to date with our lives. It certainly has served that purpose well over the years, and I suppose that’s the biggest reason I can’t just chuck the whole thing. (Pssst: If you read Stuff Jen Says from 1999-now, really fast, it’s like a flip-book in which you can clearly see the route I took to bonkersville. Yaaaaaay.)

I also remember what a powerful tool my blog became while I was fighting cancer. I often wonder how else I would’ve felt such a strong sense of support and love—it really was an amazing thing to behold. That’s why, when I was diagnosed with cancer again in January, this was the first place I came to share the news. Many of you sent positive and  uplifting messages, and I felt ready to face the fight with a big ol’ army behind me. And THEN. Then I was incredibly embarrassed to pull it all back when, in March, my doctors decided that I didn’t have cancer after all. Happy news, yes, but humiliating to share. If it seems ridiculous that I would be embarrassed by such a thing, please just put yourself in my shoes; I felt like people would think I announced a recurrence just to get attention. (People do shit like that, y’know—I know someone who calls herself a “cancer survivor” because she once had a suspicious mole tested. It was benign, but BOY, does she like to act as though she knows what it’s like to have fought cancer.)

When it was time for getting re-tested for all the cancer stuff this summer, I shared with just a few people what was happening. Three weeks in June and July were spent in pretty much non-stop appointments and phone calls related to this testing. Now that they’re over, I feel okay to blog about the results, which are really quite simple in summary, and YES, SHE IS STILL TALKING ABOUT CANCER:

I had a PET scan mid-June and the same spots that lit up in January lit up again. It was scary and pissed us off. There were only slight changes in the size of the spots from the last PET, so that was good. They decided to do another needle biopsy (owie), which, just like the one in March, came back negative for cancer. Hooray! But don’t celebrate just yet… The radiologist wants to test again in six months because he thinks it’s very strange that these spots continue to act like cancer on scans. If they light up again, my oncologist says we’ll do an open biopsy, which is a surgical procedure. Pfffftt.

So we wait.

I hate the waiting. Waiting for these things is a trigger. My mind goes to dark places when there’s waiting. These places are deep and gloomy and it’s easy to get lost on the paths that lead to even more murkiness. Dark places are not fun or funny or light or silly or cheery or anything of the things I prefer in life. They’re dark. (And they’re places.)

I don’t think I should blog from the dark places. I really try not to.

Moving forward, my plan is to make blogging regularly a habit again. I would like my blog to do what it was originally created to do—keep our family and friends up-to-date with our lives. And yes, that means it won’t always be fun and happy, because life is not always fun and happy. But I have always tried my best to turn the dark stuff a teensy bit lighter. “We laugh to survive,” right?

And we avoid some topics to survive too.

Jun. 10: Kidney stone, buh-bye!

You didn’t actually think I would pass a kidney stone and keep it to myself, did you? If so, I can only assume that you’re new here. (Welcome! Look at stuff I found in my pee!)

This morning, without pain, this little nugget showed up.

It’s hard to believe that wee (hardy har har har) tiny thing made me want to die a thousand deaths the other day. The fact that its passing was painless just shows that that prostate medication was doing its job. Even though I’m done with this kidney stone, I’m going to keep taking the Flomax to ensure my prostate’s continued health. I mean, you never really know, do you? This is certainly the first time that I have ever thought about whether my prostate was in good working order.

And just because you’re all SHE IS SO VULGAR AND/OR DISGUSTING!, here are pictures of two more things that used to be in my guts:

 

This over-sharing isn’t so weird now, maybe???

P.S. Lest you think your good wishes and happy thoughts went unnoticed, THANK YOU! I like to laugh when I feel like crying, and you guys never fail to make me do exactly that. I love you!

Mar. 14: Jen follows up the D-I-Y post

Way back yonder in my blog I posted links to a bunch of recipes for cleaning products that used normal-ish ingredients. I was eager to rid our home of as many unpronounceable chemicals as possible, and things were going well.

Until I noticed, after using the laundry detergent for several months…

It made our whites all grey and ugly.

I don’t recommend the detergent recipe anymore unless you don’t care about your whites being white. Did the homemade detergent get the clothes clean? Yes, ma’am. Did it make them smell good? It made them smell okay-ish. Did it whiten and brighten where it should? Not even a little. I’m back to Tide and Oxy-Clean.

The other recipe I am un-recommending from that post is the fabric softener, an incredibly messy and not-worth-it exercise in good intentions. It made our clothes soft but the messiness factor got to be too much and we have decided to give it a big thumbs down. I’ve gone back to dryer sheets, which I don’t love, but they certainly are easy. I’m looking into dryer balls or steam softeners to avoid those hateful chemicals, but haven’t tried anything yet that I’m ready to commit to.

I stand by the rest of the recommendations in that post, and I have some more. Yay! You are happy to hear that, I pretend!

Coconut oil. I’ve been using it as a moisturizer and I LOVE it. It smells yummy, and it’s solid at or below 75° so a small chunk turns to liquid as soon as you touch it to your skin. Some people say coconut oil dries out your skin, but a lot more say it’s one of the best natural moisturizers out there. It works great for me. The greasiness disappears really quickly. Here are a gazillion ideas for how coconut oil can be used.

One of the skin care items that’s hardest for me to surrender is Bag Balm. We started using it for the kids’ diaper rash, and kept buying it because it heals the skin so well for just about everything else too (DISCLAIMER: may not work as effectively on broken bones or deep/gaping/spurting wounds, but I can’t say I’ve tried). I want to stop using ALL petroleum products (here’s a blogger’s explanation why) but dang it, Bag Balm is a favorite. In its place I’ve been using pure aloe—great for soothing my brow skin after a waxin’—and coconut oil—for extra-dry hands and heels—but haven’t found ONE exact potion to completely replace my beloved Bag Balm. More research required.

Carmex is another tough thing to give up. I’ve made some lip balms that work pretty well though—they are a combo of coconut oil, grapeseed oil, essential oils, and beeswax, mostly—and am planning to tweak my recipe until I get it just right. I’ve done some research on anti-wrinkle potions too, that are very similar.

Neosporin can be made using essential oils. I haven’t tried it yet.

Have you hear of oil pulling? It sounds crazy! Of course, I’m also totally curious.

Alright, that’s enough kooky witch doctor talk for now. Besides, this high fructose veal syrup with a trans fat chaser isn’t going to ingest itself. I need to get busy!

Jun. 11: I floated

You’ve heard of those isolation tanks, the ones in which people are put when they go all cuckoo, and once inside, go even cuckoo-er? Don’t they sound super-fun? I don’t think so either. But a couple weeks ago a friend posted on Facebook that she was about to do a float session at a spa, and I got curious because that didn’t sound like prison or a psych ward.

First, the setting: approximately 11 inches of body-temperature water in a giant lidded bathtub, containing over 800 pounds of Epsom salt. The salt makes you incredibly buoyant so you cannot HELP but float. The tank is large enough that you can’t touch the top, eliminating any similarities to a coffin. Some tanks have lights to help with claustrophobia, but because a light cancels out a big part of what it means to be deprived of one’s senses, floaters are encouraged not to use them.

The benefits of sensory deprivation floatation therapy (from The Book of Floating, by Michael Hutchinson) are what convinced me to give floating a try:

“Floating stimulates the brain to secrete endorphins: pain-killing, euphoria-creating substances known as the ‘body’s own opiates.’”

I like opiates. I like opiates A LOT.

“Lab studies show that floating can rapidly and significantly decrease stress and anxiety, by sharply lowering the levels of bio-chemicals directly related to stress, anxiety, tension, the ‘fight or flight response,’ heart disease and other stress-related illnesses.”

Do I sweat the small stuff? I sure do. I sweat the small stuff, the medium stuff, the big stuff, the nonexistent stuff, the impossible stuff, the boring stuff, the forgotten stuff, the unrelated stuff… all of it. Does this make my anxiety levels go sky-high when one teeny-tiny bad thing happens? Yes. So… pretty much anything that might help lower that = good.

“There are indications that floating can suspend the dominance of the detail-oriented left hemisphere of the brain, allowing the right hemisphere (which deals with large-scale and novel information) to operate freely, giving the floater access to unusual powers of creativity, imagination, visualization and problem solving.”

This kinda sounds like floating could possibly curb crazy OCD tendencies and make me more easy-going and nice. Everyone who works or lives with me will agree this could be a very good thing.

“Floatation tanks are being used in schools and universities as tools for ‘super-learning,’ increasing the mind’s powers of comprehension, retention, and original thinking.”

Thinking is good stuff. I like doing it.

“Indications show that two hours of floating are more restful and restorative than a full night of sound sleep. This makes floating, in the words of one prominent scientist, ‘a method of attaining the deepest rest that we have ever experienced.’”

The most awesome nap ever? Sign me up!

“Research has demonstrated floating reduces pain of multiple types, whether caused by an acute injury, physical exertion, or chronic condition—including tension-related muscle pain and fibromyalgia. Muscles feel especially positive benefits from floating, as the combination of support and Epsom salt work together to give them total relief. The body absorbs magnesium from the Epsom salt-infused water, which facilitates flushing of lactic acid from tired muscles.”

I have near constant joint pain—this treatment sounds delightful.

“Women reap the most beneficial rewards. Sessions in a tranquility tank unknot forehead tension and relax tightened strings of the face. When muscles behind the skin are in stress, they are reflected on the skin's surface. Eliminating stress and its effect on your body makes you feel and look more attractive and energetic. In addition, floating in Epsom salt makes your skin softer, smoother, and draws toxins such as lactic acid away from your body.”

Floating could make me pretty? Is there anything floating cannot do?

Wow. I’m in.

My mom was excited to try it too. I made float appointments for us at the same time at Float On, one of several Portland float centers. We were in two separate tanks, of course—there are some float tanks built for two, which is crazy, IMO. How can you enjoy the benefits of floating with someone else there? We were given a short orientation before we went off to float. One of the few cautions was not to touch or splash our faces once in the tank—apparently the salt water is incredibly painful if it gets in your eyes.

There was a shower in each tank room, which we were told to use before and after floating. Nothing was fancy, but everything was clean and freshly disinfected. There were shower shoes, a thick white robe, cozy towel, soap, earplugs, vaseline (for covering cuts, which hurt like a MOFO in salt water), ear drops to help get salt out, and Q-tips. The only things I brought were shampoo, conditioner, moisturizer, and a headband. Mom brought a blow dryer.

Mom was in a “tall” tank—there’s a normal-height door, and you walk into the tank. Mine was a traditional tank, meaning I did more of a crawl to get in. Once inside, you turn around to close the door behind you and everything goes black and quiet. There is almost no odor in the air—nothing beach-y or chlorine-y. If you can lay down and avoid moving, you’ll create no waves. They tell you the temperature of the water is such that you won’t be able to tell where it ends and you begin—and that’s exactly what happens. It’s actually quite lovely.

I let my head/neck relax, and that made my ears go underwater. I did not love this; I could hear myself breathing and my heart beating and that was distracting. I don’t think the earplugs would have made that any better or different. Every time I moved, even a little bit, the waves would float me to one side, interrupting the, uh… deprivation of my senses. I was annoyed. Trying extra-hard not to move made it even harder to relax. Grrr.

Most people, we were told, enter a “theta” state while floating. What is the “theta” state?

In Theta, we are in a waking dream, vivid imagery flashes before the mind's eye and we are receptive to information beyond our normal conscious awareness. Theta has also been identified as the gateway to learning and memory. Theta meditation increases creativity, enhances learning, reduces stress and awakens intuition and other extrasensory perception skills.

I was looking forward to theta. Unfortunately, I never got there. Although I felt plenty relaxed during my 90-minute float, I didn’t have any weird visions or increased awareness. Instead, my mind never seemed to slow down and was, in fact, all over the place:

I wonder if Mom is in theta
I wonder if Mom used the earplugs
I wonder how long it’s been
if this were to end right now I don’t know if I’d feel like I really relaxed
I hope Mom doesn’t think this sucks
I hope I’ll be able to get all this salt out of my hair
I wonder if Mom is in theta
I forgot to answer that email I have to do that the second I get home
I need to send out the party invitations dang I keep forgetting
I wonder if Mom is enjoying this
stretching feels waaaay good in here
I can’t believe I’m still not in theta dammit
this hangnail hurts like a mofo
I should do this again
if I do this again maybe I can relax more
I wonder how much time is left
this better make a good blog post
if this were to end right now I don’t know if I’d feel like I really relaxed
why aren’t I in theta is Mom in theta
I wonder how long it’s been
the guy said we’re an inch taller in here because our spines decompress while floating
what about when I get out will I still be super-tall does that mean I can get all new shoes
oo ee oo ah ah ting tang walla walla bing bang
I promised Victor I’d sing that and I did
oh god I hope that doesn’t mean I’ve gone cuckoo
did I leave my phone on what if it rings would they hear it out in front how embarrassing
I’ll be pissed if I’m too relaxed to sleep tonight
why aren’t I seeing weird stuff like in that one episode of The Simpsons
am I doing something wrong
I forgot where I parked the car
is Mom in theta
do I have enough shampoo to get all this salt out of my hair
if this were to end right now I think I could say I relaxed

…and so on.

The music piped in underwater came in quietly, slowly, telling me my time was up. I got out and showered. The salt came out of my hair, no problem. It was weird not to be pruney (thanks to the salt). I felt very peaceful. I was bummed not to have gone into a theta state, but because it was my first time floating, I blame it on everything being so new; maybe it gets easier each time.

It turned out that Mom and I had very similar float experiences—she didn’t go into theta either, but she agreed that floating was very relaxing; we weren’t complaining, just disappointed not to go a little wacko while being deprived of our senses.

I went to Float On again yesterday. I relaxed much more, and if I went into theta, I wasn’t aware of it—can a person be aware of themselves being in theta? I need to research that. The thing I definitely need to change is how bothered I am by floating to the sides—I think the stress of staying in the absolute middle of the tank has kept me from relaxing more.

The verdict is this: I loved the experience, but I need a few more sessions before I’m completely sold on floatation therapy. If you get the chance to float, you definitely should—and report back to me.

Apr. 21: Dominoes

Sometimes it hits me, hard, that the cancer fight I started a year and a half ago could be just the tip of the iceberg. I try to think positively. I know good, optimistic thoughts make a difference in one’s health and general outlook on life. For the most part, I feel like I do a good job with that; I mean, I feel blessed and happy and loved and am grateful—so very, very grateful—for all the help I had in kicking cancer’s big fat ugly ass last year. While there’s always the fear that it will come back, I’ve gotten pretty good at tucking that fear away.

This morning I flipped on the TV and before I got a chance to turn the channel in search of a Law & Order marathon, a commercial came on for the Cancer Center. The first person that spoke said something like, “My lymphoma came back and it was life-threatening.” With that one sentence, like dominoes, all the positive attitude and good energy I have hoarded away came crashing down into a ferocious sense of doom—I could almost hear it.

Sometimes I can feel this kind of collapse coming on before it actually hits, and I’ll jab a little Ativan pill under my tongue. My doctor says that’s the fastest way to get it to do its job (I prefer it in an IV—I mean, I’ve got this port so convenient-like and everything… why not???). There are other times, though, that I allow myself to fall, to feel, instead of Ativan-ing the anxiety away. Today I let the sensation wash over me. I let the dominoes fall.

But the dominoes never seem to fall against one another in a perfect pattern. Instead, they scatter, like a puppy running through them. They go flying under the couch and disappear behind the chair and suddenly I can’t see any of them. I’m in the middle of the floor (literally) and surrounded by dark, negative thoughts (figuratively). I wallow in the negativity, and I hate myself for not staying “up” and jokey and ready to fight-fight-fight. People have told me how amazed they are that I have been able to fight so hard, and this collapse… well, it fills me with dread, knowing that I’ve failed those people, that I’ve disappointed all the friends and family who helped me fight my way here.

And I have to start over.

So here’s what I’ve learned to do: I dig through my blog for uplifting and inspiring quotes I’ve shared in the past. I re-read the messages I received during the most challenging days of chemotherapy. I look for blue sky and sunbeams. I cuddle with the critters. I find smiles in small things—a candle that smells so yummy I have to remind myself it’s not edible, the handmade “keep out” signs on Jack’s bedroom door, sparklies in my jewelry box, the texts I get from people who can always make me laugh, the cup of coffee Victor brings me every morning, tulips blooming in my front yard, the sweet notes Katie leaves on my nightstand, peanut sauce, kids at school who call me by name…

When I first learned I would be fighting cancer, my goal was complete remission. Through all the suckiness and through all the less-suckiness, I could look ahead because I knew the suckiness was just temporary. All I thought about was getting that clean bill of health. Nobody warned me of the other things that would come with being told my cancer was in complete remission—especially the fear that remission itself is the temporary thing.

It’s hard to start from scratch, but I’ve done it enough times now that I know the good feelings can come back. Occasionally they come with a little pharmaceutical assistance, but they also seem to be nudged along the way with good ol’ pulling-myself-up-by-my-bootstraps.

(Boots… yes. That’s something else that comes with a side of happiness: NEW SHOES!)

Nov. 13: It’s Saturday

Life is still leaning toward “suckage,” but here and there I’ve been blessed with things that make me oh-so-happy. I’m glad to have something to write about that doesn’t involve me kvetching non-stop. You probably are too.

• One of my favorite authors, Armistead Maupin, was at Powell’s last night and I went to see/hear him. It was my third time to see him in Portland, and my second time to see him with my good friend Ed. I don’t get to see Ed nearly as often as I should (that would be approximately every minute of every day), and our last-minute plan to meet up for the reading made my day. Yay! Maupin’s newest book, Mary Ann in Autumn, is (basically) the eighth in the Tales of the City series, and as this is one of my favorite book series, I’m thrilled to have another one to read. If you’ve read the first six books, you know that Mary Ann goes from charming and likeable to a total bitch; I look forward to seeing where Armistead takes her in this book. I think it’ll be good.
• Today is Jack’s ninth birthday. How that kid got so old so fast, I don’t know. He was kind of a spaz today, and I had to keep reminding myself why I love him, because more than once, I wanted to send him outside to play in the traffic. He planned most of his birthday party this year, and although he originally asked for another rainbow cake, I talked him down to two layers/colors and he was happy. Whew.
• I’m pretty sure if we stopped talking about Kanye West that he’d go away. Who’s with me?
• We’re going to Sunriver next week. It’s been a long time since we’ve been anywhere, and I’m determined that this trip will be all relaxing and lovely. I can hardly wait.
• My back has been killing me the last couple weeks. I don’t have trouble sleeping (hooray for my new sleeping drugs), but the walking/standing/working stuff is sometimes unbearable. On top of that, I have the general achiness of the flu, but none of the other normal flu symptoms. Also, I’m supa-grouchy.
• I did the PTO’s taxes this week. We normally have a CPA do them, but I decided to try it this year, and I got them done all on my own, like a pro. I’m totally patting my own back, I know. It was actually a little bit fun. Because we’re a 501(c)(3), the forms were different than most I’ve worked with, and the information they asked for made it challenge-y. Yes, “challenge-y” is too a weird, Fancy Lori™.
• My PET/CT scan is Tuesday. Cross your fingers for me, please. We don’t want to see O.J. anymore. We don’t want to see him EVER AGAIN.

That’s enough for now.

Aug. 30: Updates on the ouchies

Except for complaining about being tired and complain-y, I haven’t blogged much about my health lately. I guess this is mostly because it’s same-old, same-old, and I was determined not to turn my blog into all-cancer-all-the-time after my diagnosis. Still, there are people who come here specifically to read about what’s happening with me health-wise, so I feel a bit obligated to give updates when I have them.

Ever since I started my follow-up chemo regimen in May, my joint pain has been 5-7 on the pain scale. My oncologist said it was probably well-managed on my CHOP-R regimen with the “P” (prednisone) and the steroid in my new regimen (decadron) doesn’t do the same trick. The interesting thing is that the major component of my new regimen is “R” (Rituxan), which is commonly used to treat rheumatoid arthritis. Seems strange that my joint pain would return, doesn’t it?

The pain isn’t unbearable every day, and it’s not even close to what it was like before I was diagnosed with “an unspecified auto-immune disorder” in 2005. Still, it’s uncomfortable. Wakes me up at night. Makes it hard to stand up after being seated for a while. Makes it really uncomfortable to sit in a car for very long. Worst of all, it makes me not want to exercise. Exercise would help the pain, but it hurts too much to exercise. That, my friends, is why I’m quite sure God is a big ol’ practical joker.

My oncologist had kinda blown off my comments about joint pain, so even though I felt she should make some suggestions, I knew I needed to see my rheumatologist if I wanted a doctor who would listen and help me manage the pain. He’s always scheduled quite a ways out, and between the day I made the appointment and today, the day of the appointment, the pain nearly disappeared for a while. I considered cancelling but I’m glad I didn’t.

What I appreciate so much about this doctor is that he asks questions about a lot of areas of my life, not just pain and how I manage the pain. He asks how I am emotionally, what kinds of stresses I have in my life, what my husband would say about me if he were there, etc. He knows that the kind of pain I have can be dramatically changed by things that seem unrelated.

He, too, wondered why Rituxan wasn’t doing a better job with my inflammation. He said Naprosyn was fine if needed (it takes the edge off the pain; I just try not to take it often) and suggested some deep water exercise. I’ve been wanting to do that anyway, so I’m hoping to start next week when the kids are back in school. He also suggested some specialty rehab. I’ll call this week to get that started. I was glad he didn’t just suggest drugs—I don’t want any more drugs.

He also encouraged me to see a shrink. He recommended one when I first saw him in 2005, right after my dad died, and my visits to that therapist became a couple years’ worth of grief counseling. I found it very beneficial. I’m going to try a different doctor this time. I liked the other one but I’ve seen him at functions at my kids’ school and that’s weird now.

The other thing Dr. Rheumy recommended was seeing a mental health nurse practitioner to get my medications figured out. I haven’t talked about depression and anxiety much on my blog—except in a joking way because, like cancer, you gotta laugh at it or it’ll gitcha—but here’s the fact: I deal with depression and anxiety. If you’re gonna go all Tom Cruise on me and tell me what I’m doing wrong, you can fully expect that I’ll flip you off five thousand times as I walk away from you forever. If you think people who take antidepressants are crazy, you are also cordially invited to go screw yourself. If you haven’t dealt with depression and/or anxiety, just do the world a favor and shut your big, fat mouth. And if you’ve been diagnosed with a killer disease and you have to… oh… say… go home to your young children and tell them Mommy might die, you are totally allowed to feel both depression AND anxiety. So says I.

(…Thinking I think I might need to talk to that mental health nurse practitioner about my pre-emptive anger issues too...)

Finally, we spent quite a bit of time trying to figure out what’s gone wrong with my left hand. He did not seem impressed that my oncologist blew it off with a “you probably slept funny.” Although the rheumatologist thinks physical therapy would be good for the long term, he suggested we start with a shot of cortisone. It’s kind of a band-aid fix, but the pain has been severe enough that we need to get rid of that part first. I was lucky enough to get an appointment for tomorrow, so as soon as I’m done with chemo I’ll get my hand poked all over again but with something that should make it hurt less.

He also asked why I didn’t get a port when I started chemo. So I screamed and tore everything off the walls and jumped up and down and cried and screamed some more and then calmly sat down and quoted that guy at the dump on the muffin tops episode of Seinfeld: “That’s what I’d like to know about it.”

Dr. Rheumy gave me five different recommendations for a new primary care physician, so I shouldn’t have to go back to Dr. Jackass again. He also very subtly suggested that I could change my oncologist if I want to, but I really don’t want to. I’m not thrilled with absolutely every move she’s made, but I do trust her with handling the cancer.

My favorite part of the whole appointment was at the end, when the doctor said, “So, we’re NOT sending reports to [Dr. Jackass] anymore then?” and I got to say HELLS YEAH. But I didn’t actually say that because he’s too nice to say the h-e-double-hockeystick word in front of. Also, Jack was with me and he would have told Vic that I said a naughty word. So I said, “No, we don’t need to.”

It was awesome.

So that’s the latest on my health stuff. I’ll have more to say tomorrow after chemo #14 and my cortisone shot.

Feb. 24: Chemo #5 (updated)

I have the best friends in the whole world, I tell ya what. Yesterday Lisa Ross Nicholson and April Knudson Jordan, two friends from high school, joined us in the infusion room to watch me get poisoned. I think they were there to cheer me on, not the poisoning part, because they came bearing hugs and other treats that made it seem like they like me. That’s what I choose to believe, anyway.

Lisa arrived first with a goody bag of trashy magazines and a small grocery store. She had tons of candy, potato chips and Chex mix, and these blueberry pomegranate granola pistachio I-don’t-know-what nuggets that were scrum-dilly-umptious. Lisa knows how to treat a cancer girl right. The magazines kept us occupied, and we are totally up-to-date now on Tiger’s infidelities, the Olympics, how to touch a naked man (thank you, Cosmo), Celine Dion’s infertility problems, and Carrie Underwood’s engagement to that Neanderthal-looking hockey player. Ask us anything.

April’s bags were also cram-packed with delightful items. Having just returned from a weekend at the Olympic games, she had goofy Canadian candy treats as far as my hands could reach. Canadian Pop Rocks (Power Poppers), Maynards Juicy Squirts Sours, Wonka Tinglerz (we thought these sounded like chocolate covered Pop Rocks because the package says “poppin’ tinglin’ chocolate candy,” but they were actually Nestle Crunch things—still good, but not exactly tingly), and Smarties—the M&M kind. I’d never tasted the Canadian Smarties, and while I like the color varieties, the candy-to-chocolate ratio is enough different than M&Ms that I didn’t think they were better, necessarily, just different. Still totally edible, of course. OF COURSE.

April had also made a recent trip to Seattle’s Archie McPhee, one of the coolest stores EVER, and here’s what she got for me there: Bacon Balm (bacon flavored lip balm), Bacon Flavored Toothpicks, Cupcake Mints (frosting flavored!), and best of all: HANDERPANTS! I finally have Handerpants! In case you didn’t know, Handerpants are just about the coolest thing EVER. I don’t know why; they just are. And that’s what I was wearing under my awesome Olympics mittens in my last post—so sorry to disappoint you, Sherilee—nothing bling-ier than that.

And, of course, the big surprise was my Olympics mittens. Sooo cool, that April girl. Because I just can’t resist showing them off and I’ll use any excuse to make you jealous, here’s the photo again:

Just as I got unhooked from my IV and we were ready to leave, April’s mom came in to say hello. It was a nice little surprise to see her too! We crowded up the chemo room right good, yes we did.

It makes me more than a little bit teary to think of all my friends have done for me during this time. I am so appreciative of you all and I hope surviving cancer is enough to let you see how much you have helped and how much I love you right back. I do!

OK, now on to the boring medical stuff…

My blood work “looked great” as usual, according to Dr. O, and she said everything is progressing exactly as we had hoped. The rash on my neck and chest went away and came back, but there’s little concern. I don’t like it but at least it doesn’t bother me, except for looking like I might have chicken pox or possibly bad, localized acne. Pffft.

The next item on my cancer calendar is a CT scan of OJ on March 11 to see if he’s still hanging around. The interpretation of the scan will determine if I go for a seventh and eighth chemotherapy treatment. If not, #6 on March 16 will be my last one. I’ll be glad when I’m finished, but I want it to be because OJ’s totally gone, so if I have to continue on for a bit with chemo, I’m alright with that.

I start physical therapy next Monday in hopes of re-strengthening my back muscles that have suffered greatly in the past year. If they suggested hours of hot tub therapy I would not complain a bit. In fact, I might have to ask if that’s a thing. It should totally be a thing.

That’s it on the cancer front. I’m still having a bit of a rough go energy-wise, but on my best days I’m able to get out of the house for a few hours if I absolutely must. Otherwise I’m sticking close to my comfy-cozy critter-covered bed with good books or Law & Order marathons. Those marathons are always calling my name, you know. You hear it too, right?

 

UPDATED

April emailed a couple chemo day photos. I’ll add Lisa’s here when she sends ‘em.

The IV Pole Dancin’ Girls—Lisa, Jen and April

 
Eyebrow-less Me and Victor, with the very cool bag April brought back from Vancouver for me (filled with Canadian treats and Archie McPhee goodies!!). I love how my gigantic bicep is so… gigantic.

Jan. 9: Just shut up, carrot eaters

You know those vegetarians who are all holier-than-thou? Like, just because they don’t eat God’s adorable little creatures they think they’re better than the rest of us who love to gnaw on cows? I hate those vegetarians. The ones who do it for health reasons, whatev—they’re harmless. But in my opinion, the best kinds of vegetarians are the ones who don’t blab about it all the time. I also like the ones who still refuse to eat my pizza even if I take off the pepperoni for them. They know the commandment of all pizzas sacred: ye should have ordered thine own, ye veggie freak!

Anyhoo, since I was raised around a bunch of those Jesus-freak salad shooters, I take it upon myself to make fun of them, because it’s their attitude that made me hate all that crap people say they do “in the name of God.” Pointing and judging right back at them is super-duper fun, I tell ya, which is why this picture made me HHOL (hee-haw out loud):

I know, I know. I’m going straight to hell.

Dec. 28: Health update

Lookie there, my blog almost got back to a normal, non-cancer blog there for a bit. That was nice while it lasted.

It’s been a week since my second chemotherapy treatment, and I’m feeling much better this time around than I did a week after my first. That first time I was over-wary of any signs of nausea; this time I simply have felt very little. This is definitely a good thing. Throwing up sucks so much. Well, technically I guess it BLOWS, but I was trying to be less graphic. Heh. Oh well.

I also have more of an appetite this time than I did before. I drink Ensure at least once a day, usually in the morning, but the thought of other foods doesn’t make me queasy, so I’m often able to eat a normal-ish meal if someone brings it to me on a platter with fresh flowers. I’d like a newspaper, too, but don’t want to be demanding, you know.

This time, and today especially, I’m feeling more run-down than I remember that first week. Walking up the stairs zaps me and I need to stop at the top to catch my breath. Even getting up from the bed to get a drink kinda makes my head spin. Maybe it’s the dogs and cat that are constantly trying to trip me on the way, or the open armoire doors I still have not learned to keep closed to avoid further possible injury. Maybe it’s just that walking is finally stressing me out—I mean, I’m way overdue for a good spill, right? Or does having cancer supersede my awesome clumsiness?

I cannot give this time of year enough credit for keeping my mood up. I love the Christmas season, and I know the things I’m dealing with right now would seem much worse if not for it being my favorite time of year.

I’m also quite sure that one of the biggest differences in feeling better is that I’m getting sleep now. It’s not the most restful sleep, and it’s certainly not pain-free, but it goes for many hours at a time and more important than anything else, it’s horizontal. I’m tossing and turning quite a bit, getting too hot and then too cold, waking up over apparently nothing several times during the night… but getting back to sleep. This is a huge improvement over the way I’ve slept most of the year.

The other thing making me feel better, of course, is the lovely and effective pain medication. I’m cutting back on my original dosages, but still definitely need it. I didn’t have anything that helped my back pain before, but this potent stuff the oncologist prescribed helps me sleep, and if I need it, helps me get through the day without snarling at random people. I even talked to my grandma on the phone the other day with unclenched teeth! Thank you, OxyContin!

After my first chemo treatment, it was the second week that sucked the most—I felt like I’d been run over by a truck. Everything ached. It hurt to move, it hurt to be touched, it hurt to be me. I got twinges of that today, and if there’s a pattern to chemo reactions, I expect it’ll get bad again. Grrr. This is when I’m very, very thankful that my mom is here to help with Katie and Jack and bring me food on a lovely tray with fresh flowers. I love that woman.

When I went in for last week’s treatment, I had a dry, scratchy cough. It’s gotten a lot worse since then, and is now one of those coughs where I half expect lobes of my lungs to come up. I need to find out if I should be taking something for it, because it’s hanging on longer than it seems it should. I don’t want to add more drugs to my list, but I’ve grown fond of my lungs and would like to keep them.

My vision is still inconsistently weird. Apparently there’s nothing that can be done for it, and its weirdness is temporary so low priority, I guess. I just have to hope it’s not awful when I need to be driving somewhere or watching a Law & Order: SVU marathon I’ve not yet seen.

Generally speaking, things are going better after Round #2, but it’s possible I’m speaking too soon. If so, I may have to disappear from my blog and FB for a bit to figure out how to be me again. So there’s my health update, and now I’m going to bed.

Dec. 6: The weekend

What I’ve noticed this weekend, more than anything else, is how god-awful much my back is hurting again. Sitting, lying down, standing… it all hurts, pretty much the same way it has for the past six months. Kim and I decided today that it’s because the tumor’s shrinking and taking some of its neighbors with it, who are fighting back because they don’t like that tumor. That tumor’s kind of a big jerk. Who’d want to go with him anyway?

So, please pardon me if I come off grouchy. I kinda am.

Yesterday I got my hair cut—the best way to describe it is a “pre-chemo cut.” I should post pictures, but I haven’t taken any yet. In fact, I should’ve had my hairdresser take pictures when I was still in the chair, because I took a nap as soon as I got home and that messed up the style; then I showered and took another nap with a wet head and then looked scared. Not scary. Scared. My hair was totally standing straight up. Pretty.

This morning I got up and showered and styled my hair, but didn’t follow through with makeup and all that. If you think I’m putting a picture of me in my new hairstyle on the Internet before I’ve got makeup on, do you even know me at all??? Of course, now I’m working up such a frenzy about this new haircut that even if it were THE BEST HAIRSTYLE IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD, it would still be a disappointment.

Sorry.

Also, GEEZ, I have a lot of grey hair.

Maybe you’ll catch my new ‘do in the background of a picture someday. Keep an eye out.

During my second nap yesterday, Victor got all the Christmas stuff out of the attic and had the exterior lights done by the time I woke up. They look great! I mean, for us. We probably won’t ever do the crazy, all-out exterior illumination thing that we’ve always wanted to do. That’s for people with better life insurance than ours. I won’t let Victor get on the roof until he’s worth more dead than he is alive. Anyway, we’ve got our twinkle snowflake lights, and our little front yard trees are aglow, and lots of that good ol’ stand-by lit-up stuff. It works.

Today we got the living room tree decorated. As always, my job was to unwrap each ornament and hand it off to be hung on the tree. The kids have a blast doing this. After they go to bed, Victor and I fix all the ornaments so they actually look nice. Definitely one of my favorite Christmas traditions, even when I feel like you-know-what. We had a nice afternoon.

We also enjoyed some visits from friends this weekend. My BFF April and her family came by Friday evening for a few hours. It had been months since we’d seen them, and we had fun catching up on all our family changes. Today Kim (F’n) came by for a short football-watching break. We also had dinner brought to us by Dina yesterday, and Fancy Lori™ today, both of which were fabulous—we felt completely spoiled! I feel terribly guilty about sitting around while company is here, but I guess I wouldn’t really want them here if they were expecting anything from me these days. I’m worthless.

Except for an echocardiogram on Tuesday, I don’t have any medical procedures scheduled all week. This is kind of a good deal. I don’t know what an echocardiogram is, but it sounds kind of like a cardigan and I kind of like cardigans. They’re not very exciting, but who wants exciting for a medical procedure?

Dec. 1: Chemotherapy #1

Today was my first chemo appointment. In anticipation of it, I slept poorly and woke up long before I needed to be awake. I asked Mom to go along—I wanted her to see what it was like, since she feels so detached from the situation in some ways (it must be weird being totally in charge of someone’s health for the first half of their life, and then have practically NO rights when they’re grown up). Victor also went, because that’s his job as my First Dude.

Everything started out with a couple of nurses explaining the process of chemotherapy, dealing with side effects, the medications in my treatments, the drugs I’ll take at home, food suggestions, etc. Everything was on paper, which went right into my cancer notebook.

Yep, I now have a cancer notebook. That probably doesn’t surprise most of you, if you know what a nerd I am. If you don’t know what a nerd I am, know this: I am a nerd.

The nurses and all paperwork made a really big deal about keeping up my fluid intake every day by drinking at least two quarts of liquid. Here are the liquids on the “acceptable” list:

• Milk
• Water
• Gatorade
• Soft Drinks
• Ice Cream
• Soup
• Jell-O

I love that ice cream is considered a liquid, but to paraphrase Captain Jack Sparrow, “why is there never rum on the list?” Pffft.

The nurses showed me a basket of hand-knit hats and said I was welcome to take one. Before I even had the chance to look at all of them, they shoved a kinda ugly grey one in my hand and said, “Take this one! It’s so soft!” and then they took the basket away. Tonight I tried on the hat and while it is very soft, it looks like a friggin’ bathing cap. This is why Jen should not wear hats. This is why Jen really, really, really needs her own hair. Hair that doesn’t look like her evil grandmother’s.

I emailed my hairdresser today and she suggested I get a snazzy new ‘do before my long hair starts falling out. I’m meeting with her on Saturday. I know she’ll work with me to find something that will look good, and when my hair starts falling out, it’ll make me look less like I got attacked by rabid wolverines and more like I got attacked by a ferret with the munchies.

That’s the goal, anyway.

I got an IV and one by one, they hooked up my bags o’ poison to work its magic on the toomah. It took a long time. Mom, Vic and I chatted a little, I read emails and texts, and then? Well, then we were all bored. It only took 15 minutes for us to get bored. I wasn’t sure how we’d fill the next three hours, but that was before I didn’t know the whole process would actually take SIX hours.

That six hours involved trying to block out the noise of other patients who were loudly chatty, my vitals being checked every 15 minutes while one of my meds dripped, and running out of interesting reading materials. I’ll definitely be better prepared for next time (Dec. 22), though it’ll probably take less time since I don’t have to be monitored during that one drug again.

Just before we left at 3:30 I started feeling a little nauseous, and that’s how I’ve continued to feel all evening. I don’t have much of an appetite, not even for ice cream. But I guess the nausea’s managed, because I haven’t puked yet. You’re relieved to know that, aren’t you?

The next few days are supposedly the worst, so we’ll see how much worse “the worst” gets. And you can be sure I’ll keep you updated, because I love to share information that makes people squirm. Heh heh heh…