Aug. 19: These are not manly urges

I’ll get to the point, but first:

Every time I start out a blog post with “Y’know how sometimes you just get the urge to…” it always makes me think of this moment from the Disney gender-bending movie Mulan:

Mulan: “Sorry [in her man voice] …uhh, I mean, sorry you had to see that. You know how it is when you get those… uh… *manly urges* and you just have to kill something… fix things… uh… cook outdoors.”

Shang: “What’s your name?”

Mulan: “Ahh, I, uhhh, I, uh…”

Chi Fu: “Your commanding officer just asked you a question.”

Mulan: “Uhh, I’ve got a name. Uh. And it’s a boy’s name too.”

I know, it makes only a tiny bit of sense to me too.

---

Y’know how sometimes you get the urge to re-do everything in your entire home? I guess those urges aren’t necessarily manly, but like most manly urges, my re-doing efforts cause an awful lot of trouble for other people that live in my house. I’m super-good at insisting I NEED HELP RIGHT THIS MINUTE AND IF YOU DON’T WANT ME TO DIE WHEN I FALL OFF THIS CHAIR THEN YOU BETTER HURRY.

(I fall off lots of chairs.)

A few weeks ago I decided to simultaneously start no fewer than eleventy projects, all of which would require tremendous amounts of time, imagination, creativity, and paint. Vic hates when my projects involve the dreaded p-word. He’ll forgive me in approximately six years, or when he’s able to walk into the house without being hit by a wall of noxious paint fumes, whichever comes first.

So… I turn to the person who doesn’t stomp and huff when I ask for help. My mom and I are good at bouncing ideas off one another and, although we often make a project harder than it needs to be, we’re a good team. The first time she and I worked on a big project—removing the wallpaper from Katie’s nursery walls and then painting—I remember telling her that it was more fun doing that kind of stuff with her than with my dad because she yelled at me way less.

When I’m anticipating a visit from Mother Mary, I try to line up some activities for us to tackle together. Here are just a few of the tasks I was inspired to work on this summer, thanks to Pinterest and the handful of days during which I provided Mom a comfy-ish slumber spot:

• Frame and hang family photos throughout the house
• Organize and de-clutter several areas throughout the house—baskets and jars and pots, oh my!
• Purchase a few pieces of new furniture
• Clean areas of the house virtually untouched in 16 years (go ahead and judge, but how dust-free are the tops of YOUR cabinets?)
• Re-upholster kitchen chairs
• Make accent pillows for living room
• Replace living room sofa cushion filling—foam is so much better than that awful squooshy cotton they came with
• Make accent pillows for family room
• Scrub microfiber sofa ‘til it looks new—such a pain but sooo worth it
• Corral unsightly cables and cords
• Plants, plants, plants!
• Pretty up master bedroom lamps
• Create artwork for the master bedroom/bath – thanks for the ideas, Pinterest
• Paint the master bathroom/vanity area
• Redecorate the master bathroom/vanity to work with the new wall color
• Write a book

I haven’t gotten very far on that last one, but Mom’s only been gone a week.

In my world, where it seems to be all-football-and-back-to-school-all-the-time lately, it’s a lovely thing to bring a little bit o’ “pretty” into it. Big thanks to my mom for all her inspiration and elbow grease!

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!

Jun. 9: Owie ow ow owie ouch owie

We're on a mini-vacation in Sunriver this weekend. It has been a favorite vacation spot for almost 30 years because I absolutely love being here. I love the smell in the air. I love the peacefulness. I love sitting on the deck and watching giant grey squirrels frolic about. Sometimes a deer even wanders by. Sunriver is a lovely place, full of lovely things.

Yesterday, at 2am, was less than lovely, though. I woke up with excruciating abdominal pain. Because of its location, Victor was concerned that my appendix was the culprit. When the pain showed no sign of dissipating, we sped up to the hospital in Bend. 

It seemed like forever before they got a painkiller in me. I don't think I've felt pain like that in my entire life (I've never been in labor); it was what I can only describe as SUPER-STABBY. When the nurse injected me with Dilaudid, it barely touched the pain. She gave me another dose and I was finally able to relax a bit. 

They took me for a CT, and as I stood to get back in bed the stabbing pain came back. So did the cursing. And nausea. They take a thousand years to shoot me with drugs, but one mention of the word "nausea" and they've got a puke bag in my face in half a second. It wasn't long after the CT that they determined I had a kidney stone. The nurse gave me Toradol, which made the SUPER-STABBY completely disappear. I think I'm in love--that Toradol is goooood stuff. 

They also gave me a bunch of info on my treatment, like why they were sending me home with prostate medication. I was all YOU KNOW I DON'T HAVE ONE, RIGHT? Flomax is supposed to enlarge my ureters, which will make a large stone less likely to get stuck and infected. They gave me a stylish accessory set of a hat-like container and strainer so when I pass the kidney stone, I can save it to display on my mantle. Or give it to a urologist. One of those.

We got back to Sunriver at 7am and I went straight to bed. I got up a few times during the day, but I probably slept 21 of the 24 hours after that. Today I haven't been needing Percocet or Toradol--so I've slept much less--but my prostate is KILLING me. Except for that, and feeling a bit dizzy, I'm actually doing quite well.

I can think of at least 16 things I'd rather do than visit an ER on vacation. I need to come back here healthy, and soon, so my last memory of Sunriver isn't peeing into a hat.

Laters.

Jen

Jul. 14: Ice ice baby

I’m icing my knee right now. I tripped over a chair this evening and fell. There are three huge purple lumps on the side of my leg and it hurts a LOT. Oh, and I have to walk about 926 miles this weekend. Good timing, huh?

This is just one more time I’ve injured myself before something important.

1. In 2001, I was a week away from my first trip to Europe when I broke my foot. I was also five months pregnant. These two things allowed us to board every flight early, so it wasn’t the worst.
2. A couple years ago I fell in the garage and landed on my chin. When I opened my eyes and saw a bunch of little white things in front of me, my first thought was that I broke all my teeth. My second thought was that I wouldn’t be able to go to the David Sedaris reading that night. My third thought was that those white things were fertilizer bits and maybe our garage needs to be swept better. I made it to David Sedaris—I know you were worried.
3. Two weeks after the chin thing, I fell again, but this time I caught my eyelid on the armoire latch on the way down. Hi-laaaarious, right? I was on some powerful drugs and one side of my forehead was still swollen, but I made it to Rent two days later anyway.

It sucks to hurt oneself before one is expected to be physically active and/or seen in public. But if one is hurt while doing something of which one can be proud, one would not be quite so embarrassed to tell one’s true account of how one was hurt.

(Speaking of hurt… it hurts to write all that “one” stuff. No more.)

I don’t get hurt playing sports because I avoid playing sports. Not once have I hurt myself saving puppies from a backyard well. I’ve rarely been injured chasing angry honey badgers out of school carnivals. I’ve never been called to rescue wheelchair-bound children from a burning orphanage, but if I ever am, there’s no doubt I’ll get out alive and well.

My most serious injuries have all happened inside my home.

The only thing that makes sense is that my husband is trying to kill me but he totally sucks at it.

Jun. 12: Fuzzy memories

The following things may or may not have happened over the past four days:

• On Thursday, Tina and I hosted a last-day-of-school party at our houses and 72 people (half kids, half adults) showed up. Likelihood that I am making up the number of guests, on a scale of 1-5 (5=extremely likely): 1
• We prepared recipes from the e-book 100 recipes for whipped cream vodka for grown-ups. Likelihood that the shot glass sized sample cups kept us from having a lawn-ful of passed-out adults, on a scale of 1-5 (5=extremely likely): 5
• The weather was perfect. Likelihood that this is finally and fabulously true, on a scale of 1-5 (5=extremely likely): 5
• I asked Cassie to help me pull a piece of celery out of my teeth. She grabbed it with both hands and put a foot against my knee to brace herself, but we were laughing too hard to get anywhere. Victor finally came to my rescue. Likelihood that this actually happened, on a scale of 1-5 (5=extremely likely): 2
• I recorded a video in which I later realized I had a bad case of Narrator Hiccups. Likelihood that my hiccups were actually vodka burps, on a scale of 1-5 (5=extremely likely): 5
• While recording, other things also happened. Likelihood that this is true, on a scale of 1-5 (5=extremely likely): 3
• While recording, other things were also said. Likelihood that this is true, on a scale of 1-5 (5=extremely likely): 4
• I cannot make this video publicly available, as I will soon be a PTO c0-president and it would be highly incriminating—comparable to the head of NAACP telling racist jokes. Likelihood that this is a smart decision, on a scale of 1-5 (5=extremely likely): 5
• ***But come on. If you’re gonna dance to “Single Ladies,” the Chicken Dance is never the right choice. NEVER, I tell you. Never. Likelihood that I am righter about this than I’ve ever been about anything I’ve ever said, on a scale of 1-5 (5=extremely likely): 5 ***
• Cassie laid on me in an effort to show her sincere gratitude and to say goodbye. Likelihood that this actually happened, on a scale of 1-5 (5=extremely likely): a fuzzy 3
• Cassie straddle-hugged my husband on the couch to say goodbye. Likelihood that I was sober enough to actually give her permission to do this, on a scale of 1-5 (5=extremely likely): a less fuzzy 4
• Dawn stole vodka. Likelihood that this is actually why she found it on her counter the next morning, on a scale of 1-5 (5=extremely likely): 2
• I hugged Rob. Likelihood that we were both totally sober when this happened, on a scale of 1-5 (5=extremely likely): 2
• Unlike last year’s party at Dina’s, I did not spit on my friends. Likelihood that I remember this incorrectly, and did indeed spit on my friends, possibly even more than I did last year, on a scale of 1-5 (5=extremely likely): 5
• Wendy’s daughter’s only word is “drink.” Likelihood that this is hilariously true, on a scale of 1-5 (5=extremely likely): 5
• Friday morning I woke to find my house surprisingly still clean, and we invited friends over for a poker party that evening. Likelihood that this was an excuse to drink more of that whipped cream vodka, on a scale of 1-5 (5=extremely likely): 5
• Hurtful insults were thrown about. Likelihood that most of them came from me or Val, on a scale of 1-5 (5=extremely likely): 4
• I won a large-ish pot with a pair of twos. Likelihood that this made Fancy Lori™ mad, on a scale of 1-5 (5=extremely likely): 4
• Fancy Lori™ played scales on my grade school flute. Likelihood that she’s really good with the low notes, on a scale of 1-5 (5=extremely likely): 5
• Anthony played our ukulele that we’ve never tuned. Likelihood that I said “DUH!” when he said it was “totally out of tune,” on a scale of 1-5 (5=extremely likely): 4
• Anthony played my grade school flute. Likelihood that this actually sounded good, on a scale of 1-5 (5=extremely likely): 1
• Fancy Lori™ is going to be Funner Lori™ from now on. Likelihood that this will happen, if you ask me and Val, on a scale of 1-5 (5=extremely likely): 3 (we forget stuff easily)
• I slept very, very late on Saturday morning. Likelihood that I totally needed this, on a scale of 1-5 (5=extremely likely): 5
• Victor and I cleaned the garage. Likelihood that we spent all of Saturday and most of Sunday tackling this long-overdue task, on a scale of 1-5 (5=extremely likely): 5
• You could eat off the floor of our garage. Likelihood that I recommend this, on a scale of 1-5 (5=extremely likely): 1
• We filled the van with donations and six garbage bags with trash. There’s another pile that will end up at the dump. This hard work has cleared up enough room in our garage that we could fit a vehicle in there, if we so choose. I have many storage boxes to go through before I feel like we’ve really pared down our belongings. Likelihood that this was still a tremendous and much-needed de-cluttering, on a scale of 1-5 (5=extremely likely): 5
• There is a beat-up old freezer on our front porch. Likelihood that there have been worse things there before (like a toilet!), on a scale of 1-5 (5=extremely likely): 4
• Tomorrow you will hear me and Victor complaining about sore muscles from all our hard work this weekend. Likelihood that listening to us will drive you crazy, on a scale of 1-5 (5=extremely likely): BITE ME.

May 29: The weekend

This is the first morning of the last six that I have not awakened with a pounding headache. It’s good to feel normal again.

Yesterday Val and I saw Bridesmaids. I’m pretty sure we were the only people on Earth who hadn’t already seen it. It was as hilarious as I had heard, but there were a few surprising parts that were total bummers—like, suddenly my laughter tears were super-duper-sad tears. Overall, though: sooo funny. I LOVED when Maya Rudolph and Kristen Wiig sang along to Wilson Phillips at the end—priceless!

I stopped at Albertsons on the way home and they were selling half-racks of grilled and sauced-up ribs. The smell was irresistible, so I picked up a couple for dinner. The kids loved them, but Vic and I were kinda RIBS ON SALE OUTSIDE THE GROCERY STORE FOR $5 TASTE LIKE RIBS ON SALE OUTSIDE THE GROCERY STORE FOR $5. Disappointing? Yes. We need to find a good ribs restaurant. Of course, we say that whenever we have so-so ribs and then promptly forget about it, but if you can recommend a place for good ribs in the area, please do. And don’t say “Applebees.”

Vic took the kids and their BFFs to the aquatic park for most of the day yesterday. They left at noon and didn’t get home til 6:30. Since Katie and Jack have been at the aquatic park most often for swimming lessons, they had so much fun at open swim—the slides were open, they could go in any of the pools (there are five), and no one was making them swim properly. They were exhausted last night, but in the best way. Happy, happy kids.

Sunshine took off the other day for a last-minute trip to Arizona to visit girlfriends. Normally I would be really happy for her, but the night before she left I had a dream that she didn’t come back. Every fun picture and fun status update she’s put on fun Facebook all fun weekend is worrying me. Good thing the rest of her family is still here—she has to come back for them, right? Kim F’n-W has promised her access to spike strips will come in handy SHOULD THE NEED ARISE. And no, Chris B, we don’t care that you just got all new tires. We’ll do what we have to to keep our Sunshine Girl where she belongs.

This afternoon we’re going over to Vic’s parents’ house for a Memorial Day barbecue. I predict Darlene will have purchased two steaks for each of us (she frequently forgets we are not the teenage boys she had in the house 25 years ago), but, as always, everything she has prepared will be delicious.

The end.

Mar. 16: F’n concerns

Raise your hands: who thought being on a two-person planning committee for my 25th high school reunion was a good idea? Really, no one? Yeah, me neither. I’m not-so-slowly losing my marbles, which is the diplomatic and non-profane way to say what is actually happening inside my noggin right now.

As class historian, Lisa Ross Nicholson has reunion planning on her shoulders for the rest of her life. Please remind me four years from now to find a really good reason not to be friends with her.

What bums me out even more than the frustration of the actual planning is that no matter how much fun our reunion promises to be, Mike Devitt isn’t coming. He seems to think floor seats to an Elton John concert are more important than reuniting with his classmates of yore. Mike is a jerk. Elton doesn’t love him! Lisa and I are thinking about not loving him anymore either.

But it gets better! Mike is coming to Portland a few weeks later so he can attend The Royal Wedding on April 29. (Note: in my world, The Royal Wedding is the wedding of Miss Kimberly F’n to her Prince Flatulence.) Yes, Mike will come all the way over the river and through the woods for a wedding THAT HE’S NOT EVEN IN, but he won’t come for the reunion of the class in which he was once president or something actually I don’t think he was ever president but maybe he was I don’t know or care all I know is he’s not coming and I can’t stop crying.

(That sentence was totally for Val.)

(Also, I can *too* stop crying, but don’t tell Mike. I think this guilt trip might be working.)

OK, so Mike emails me to ask if he and Angie can hitch a ride to Willamette Valley Vineyards with us because they’re staying in Portland. At first (once I got done sobbing about him coming to the wedding but not the reunion) I thought that’d be fun, hangin’ with him and Angie for at least an hour to and from The Royal Wedding, so I told him that YES, he could go with us. And then I thought, WAIT. What about Val and Sunshine and their Chrisssses? How are they getting to the wedding? Maybe we should rent a bus? Or a limo? Or a cargo van with a mattress in the back?

And then I thought, WAIT. (Yes, I thought that again.) Sunshine and Val and their Chrisssses did not know me in high school. That means they do not know what a dork I was in high school. Mike knew me in high school. He might remember what a dork I was in high school. Even if we don’t all arrive at the wedding together in a cargo van with a mattress in the back, we’ll all be at the wedding.

WORLDS ARE COLLIDING!

Do you hear me?

The Jen you know, the Jen you love (kinda) , Jen with Friends is going to cease to exist!

Suddenly I don’t think this wedding is such a good idea. I mean, have Kim and Prince F done thorough marriage counseling?  Do they know for sure they aren’t cousins? What if their kids turn out, y’know, weird? What if he’s secretly a Beavers fan? Is she taller than him? What if he doesn’t actually know how to fly a plane even though he flies a plane sometimes? Does he ride a pink bike? What if he disapproves of Facebooking While Driving™? What if he wants her to shave her legs occasionally? OMG, what if he looks like Dennis Quaid???

Kim, call me. I’m super worried…

(…about me being very embarrassed on April 29.)

Oct. 8: Post-surgery update

My port placement surgery yesterday was uneventful—the best kind. I’m home now.

Although my dear friend Margaret wasn’t my surgery nurse this time, she assured me beforehand that the nurse I had was a good one. I also had a nice surprise when I got to the operating room, when I saw a former coworker (and Oliver’s first human momma!) was working. She held my hand until the anesthesia kicked in. I tell ya, if you want to feel pampered and cared for, have surgery in a hospital where you know lots of people. It makes the whole experience much nicer. That is, until you throw up all over them; then it’s just embarrassing.

(I would assume.) For the record, I threw up on NO ONE at the hospital. I waited until I got home.

The last thing I remember in the OR was skooching over to the operating table. The next thing I knew, my surgical team woke me and I was in post-op. I asked them if I could live-Twitter my surgery. Someone chuckled and said my surgery was over, and I turned to the surgeon and asked if he was going to live-Twitter my surgery. I don’t know why this Twittering idea came into my head at the very moment I came out of the anesthesia, but I cannot possibly express how embarrassed I was when I remembered it later. I’m not only one of those goofy idiots who can’t shut up under anesthesia; I also revealed to all of them that I’m a total nerd. Gah.

My short stay nurse later told me that I was in the operating room for 13 minutes—super-speedy surgery, huh? I had propofol as my anesthesia. That is some amazing stuff—it’s really quite easy to come out of it; never mind that it makes people (me) say dorky computer geek things. Once I was in my short stay room, I was given graham crackers and ice water. It was about 11 a.m. by then, so it had been more than 12 hours since I’d eaten and I was starving. I texted Victor that I needed coffee and he brought a big cup to me right away. I took one sip and knew I wasn’t going to keep those crackers down.

For the next three hours I fought off a tremendous headache and nausea. The headache was hunger-related and sinus-y (I wasn’t allowed to use my nasal spray that morning, as I usually do when I wake up all stuffy), which in turn was causing the nausea. Contributing to the headache was my blood pressure, which was higher than usual because I was told not to take my dyazide that morning. I hadn’t been able to have caffeine that morning either, of course, so that had something to do with my headache too. It was kind of a vicious circle, though: I needed to get something in my stomach to help with the hunger headache, but I was nauseous so it was hard to keep food down, which was stressing me out and making my blood pressure go even higher, which was making my headache worse, which was making me more nauseous, so I was given Vicodin for the headache but I didn’t have enough food in my stomach so it made me more nauseous. (Have you read If You Give a Mouse a Cookie? That’s the icky version of that story.)

Besides spending a lot more time in short stay than we’d thought I would, most everything went well. It wasn’t until I got home that I kinda fell apart. I took one bite of real food (pasta) and was suddenly very glad I’d nabbed that emesis bag as I left my hospital room. I spent the rest of the evening eating saltines and water between long, drug-addled dreams.

During the night I woke up and discovered that the numbness around my incision had worn off and I was feeling every movement in that area. Ouchie! I threw back a couple Vicodin and slept a good eight hours. I was able to keep breakfast down this morning, thanks to Zofran, and slept another several hours. I’m not getting anything accomplished today, but it sure is nice to get some long overdue rest.

In fact, I’m about ready for another nap. It’s bad that I’m enjoying this so much, isn’t it? Meh.

Oct. 1: IDCEAYWTPFriday

It’s Friday, and that means you get a post called I Don’t Care Enough About You to Write in Transitioning Paragraphs Friday.

• I’ve had a killer migraine since I woke up yesterday. It got worse throughout the day and hit its peak when I threw up all over the toilet seat. I have terrible vomit aim. Victor reminds me of this whenever I’m sick, which is kinda irritating, but he’s right as right can be.
• Val and I both have headaches right now. Normally something this sync-y would make us awesome, but this does not.
• The Jogathon fundraiser at the school has officially been kicked off. Today a bunch of us made absolute idiots of ourselves at Friday Morning Meeting. It was a blast, getting the kids excited and telling everyone about how it’ll go. Long after our display of foolishness, I found confetti in my ear—that means we had a good time, right?
• Yesterday Stephanie came to me with news that would make any mother proud: Jack can, and does, lick his armpit.
• I have an appointment on Monday afternoon with a surgeon to consult about getting my port implanted or inserted or injected or infuriated or whatever the procedure is called. I’m still waiting for my oncologist to say I don’t need a port—I fully expect it and THAT. WILL. PISS. ME. OFF. Don’t get me started. Anyway, the surgeon is the same one who did my surgery last year. I’m glad to not have to get familiar with yet another doctor.
• I kinda love these:

  

• I missed two very important birthdays yesterday by not checking in at Facebook. For Hawaii Laura and Margaret, I hope your birthdays were one of your best ever! Sorry for the delinquency. Please don’t be mad at me. I have cancer.
• Happy birthday wishes for today go out to my way-cool brother-in-law, Ted, and Sherilee’s pride and joy, Seth.
• I’m having a hard time thinking of anything else to say. My life is about 150% PTO these days, and I know y’all don’t want to hear about that. I’m so far behind on Facebook and Twitter and my Google feeds that I feel completely uninformed about everything else in life. Also, I’m trying to keep my dinner down, so, I gotta concentrate on that a little too. Sorry for the brief and yawn-worthy update.

“We’ll be fine, thank you! See ya! Hope you don’t get gonorrhea!”

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.

Jun. 15: I am whiny.

It’s not Friday, but you’re getting a bulleted list because there’s no way I can connect these thoughts.

• I feel like crap today. I woke up with a killer headache and nothing I did throughout the day made it any better. I’ve been more nauseous today with this headache than I have been in six months of chemotherapy. Totally sucks.
• I’m fortunate to be able to do a lot of my work from home, but there are some things I have to do at client locations and yesterday, it was time. I went to work for the first time in a loooong time. I didn’t feel up to going in, but it’s not like I’m going to be feeling any more energetic anytime soon. Not surprisingly, I was exhausted after an hour of being there and had to really push myself to stay any longer than that. 
  
  But the worst thing about work yesterday was when I was getting ready to leave and I leaned over to pick up my purse and bonked my head on the counter on the way back up. I bonked it HARD. I’ve worked there for something like eight years, and I’d never done that before. Besides making me feel like an even bigger accident-prone dork than I already do, it hurt like H-E-double-hockeysticks.
• Do I think that my headache today is somehow related to bonking my head yesterday? You betcha.
• The latest on my grandma is that she’s been disconnected from all the machines and is, for the most part, just being made comfortable. It’s sad to watch my family making these hard decisions; oddly, there’s a part of me that wishes I could be there with them right now. Not for everything, though.
• Tomorrow is the last day of school. Are we moms celebrating the end of our daytime freedom? Yes! We’re meeting for a long, relaxing lunch at a restaurant, and getting together again after school at Dina’s. Since Dina is serving lemon drops and lives just up the street from me, I won’t need a designated driver. How awesome a mom am I that I hope to usher in the summer with a drunkenness unmatched by my previous history of drunkenness? I won’t, of course. But a girl can dream.

I gotta get some sleep.

UPDATE: Heh heh. Turns out it wasn’t a dream that I get drunk off my arse at Dina’s party. I should be embarrassed about that, right? I’m totally not. So there.

May 21: IDCEAYWTPFriday

It’s Friday, and that means you get a post called I Don’t Care Enough About You to Write in Transitioning Paragraphs Friday.

• I started my chemo follow-up regimen this week, which, it turns out, is not all that different from my regular chemo regimen. Same side effects (except for hair loss), same length of time in the chair every three weeks. Bleah. I am not a fan.
• I was bizzy bizzy bizzy at the school this week with volunteer orientations and paperwork processing, all to keep our students safe. Next year my PTO doodies are going to change. I’ll be taking over the things Fancy Lori™ has been doing—treasurer, webmaster, yearbook editor, and maybe a few other titles. These things will all make me more awesome, right? Here’s the important question: will they make me FANCY???
• For the last two days I haven’t taken any pain pills. No Vicodin, no Oxycontin, not even Advil. Yay me! It’s not that I’m pain-free, I’m just trying to tolerate the everyday stuff better. Please let me know if I’m being extry-grouchy and I’ll start poppin’ pills again.
• I want, nay, MUST HAVE something with this printed on it:
  
• Yahoo! Travel published America’s Top 10 Underrated Cities, and Portland’s on it. So are Providence, Baltimore, Fort Lauderdale, Houston, Kansas City, Louisville, Minneapolis, Pittsburgh, and Sacramento. I’ve only been to Minneapolis in the dead of winter, so I’m not a good judge of that city. But Sacramento? Really? It’s just really quite “meh” to me.
• It is shocking to me to see how horrible Sharon Stone is on Law & Order: SVU. Seriously, is she the worst actress on the planet? During the hostage situation on this week’s season finale I was really, really hoping she’d die—that’s how bad she is on that show. I hope the fall season brings us a new ADA.
• Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?
• I had an echocardiogram on Wednesday. I don’t know when they’ll compare it to the one I had in December and let me know if there have been any changes. Dr. O says it’s unlikely that my heart is damaged because of the amount of adriamycin I had, and the echo tech said at my age, the heart heals itself surprisingly well. These things are both comforting, but I’m still eager to hear the results.
• I know, this is really pun-ny, but I love it anyway:
  
• You’ve been asking yourself, and asking others, and dying to find out: if someone were to put together a list of the most awesome mustaches, who would be on it? Now you know. I would have totally called shenanigans on this if #1 wasn’t #1.
• I’m going to a party at Sunshine’s house this evening! There will be food there! On Tuesday I’m meeting up with Loveliest Lori, Kim F’n, and Sunshine for lunch! And Deanna and Debi are visiting from Boise next weekend! I’m super-dee-duper excited to see them! As Jason Mraz sings, “la-la-la-la-la-la-la-life is wonderful.”

Have a great weekend!

May 15: Ouchie.

One of the things my oncologist said at my last appointment is that I need to get off pain pills because the tumor has become so small, there’s no reason for me to have any pain. This, of course, is bullshit. I still have pa-lenty of pain. I am still incredibly uncomfortable if I lie flat on my back. No, I’m not sleeping on the couch, sitting up straight, like I did for most of last year. But there is a surprising amount of pain in my back, and while the tumor might have caused some or most of it, I’ve recently begun to guess that there’s another reason for that pain too.

I’ve been careful not to take Vicodin on a regular basis, so as not to risk my body depending on it. Now that I won’t be taking prednisone, I probably won’t need Vicodin as often; hopefully Advil will take care of the everyday stuff. I’m trying not to think about what I’ll do if it doesn’t. I’m not a huge fan of pain and the grouch it turns me into (pssst… nobody else is either).

I did the recommended six weeks of physical therapy in the hopes that it would help. I loved my physical therapist, but I honestly don’t think the stretching and strengthening exercises did me a bit of good. My back hurts enough on a normal day; when I do PT Lisa’s assignments, it gets worse. I’ve almost completely stopped doing them at home.

In the past, Dr. O has suggested that I lose weight to help with my back pain. It makes sense that weight loss would make a difference. I’m not an idiot—I know I’m a big fat pig. But at my last appointment she said being overweight is the only reason I still have back pain. The only one? Really?

Last year, when my back pain began to get severe, I hadn’t just suddenly gained 50 pounds. In fact, I’d been at my current weight for a few years at that time (sadly), so y’know what? I have a teensy problem with Dr. O’s analysis. Yes, my excess weight most certainly contributes to my overall body pain, energy level, and preference not to leave the house. But there’s no way my oncologist will convince me that now that OJ is virtually gone, my weight is the only reason I still have pain. There *is* another reason for it. I don’t suspect it’s anything serious, but I also think I need to see someone other than an oncologist to figure out what it is.

And I don’t want to be weight-ist, but it might also help to see a physician who’s not a friggin’ size TWO and somehow manages to work in that fact at each visit.

Victor’s agreed to do the eating-healthier and exercising-more thing with me, so Friday morning we sent the kids off to school and headed out for a long walk together. My calves haven’t stopped screaming since. We have an elliptical trainer I’ve been using—my calves aren’t fond of that torture machine either. I know the muscle pain will disappear eventually, so I’ve been pushing myself through it and continuing to exercise. The achiness has now extended up into my hips and arse, and I’m walking around like an old woman—a whiny, complainy, very old woman.

So, yeah… yay Jen for exercising while feeling like ca-rap to get healthier. Hey hey hey. Whatev.

Apr. 16: IDCEAYWTPFriday

Time again for I Don’t Care Enough About You to Write in Transitioning Paragraphs Friday.

• I felt like you-know-what most of this week, but yesterday things improved a bit. I don’t hurt when people hug me anymore. I don’t hurt when my back touches the pillow. I still feel low on energy, but at least the constant screaming has stopped.
• My mom came up Wednesday. She was on her way to visit friends in Walla Walla, and she left her giant dog, Gilly, with us until she gets back on Sunday. He’s a great dog—super sweet and well-behaved—but our critters hate him and it changes EVERYTHING about our house when he’s here. The only thing I really mind, though, is the increased toxicity of our home’s air. The dog farts are absolutely intolerable now.
• Last night we saw Dreamgirls. I didn’t watch the movie before we went, but I’m watching it right now and it’s surprisingly similar—not as many plot changes as you often see in the movie version of a stage musical. I thought the stage show was good, and Victor did too, but we agreed that it’s not one of our favorites. One really disappointing part last night was when Effie’s microphone went all wonky during And I Am Telling You I’m Not Going. Couldn’t have happened at a worse time.
• I’m hope-hope-hoping that my chemo on April 27 will be my last one, but we won’t know for sure until we see the results of my scan on May 4. I wish I could really truly celebrate being done, but I know that even if it is my last chemo, I’ll still have to go in for IV meds for a while. My last day in the chemo chair will probably end up being a bit anti-climactic, as it sounds like I’ll taper off over some time. Either way, we’re planning to do some celebrating on the day we’re calling April 27 is Jen’s Last Chemo. To add to the excitement, my sister is going to be there—she’s flying in from Denver that morning, and flying back in the afternoon. Fortunately, my doctor’s office is five minutes from the airport. I’m thrilled that she’ll be here! You should probably drop by too, y’know. Jus’ sayin’…
• The season premiere of The Deadliest Catch was this week. Knowing Captain Phil’s fate makes his scenes so sad! I don’t know how long it’ll be until they cover his hospital stay, but I’m sure they’ll dedicate at least one episode to his death. It’s gonna be a bummer of a season. I remember bawling over last season’s episode when that one deckhand’s little sister died, and we didn’t even know her. Captain Phil was my favorite of all those grizzled dudes.
• Speaking of The Deadliest Catch, here’s Mike Rowe (the narrator) performing a dramatic reading of Tiger Woods’ texts. Ha.
  
  
  
• Darlene is taking Katie and Abby (Katie’s cousin, Ted’s daughter) to the American Girl Fashion Show in Bellevue this weekend. Katie’s been eagerly preparing; this involves putting together the perfect ensemble in which to outfit her American Girl doll, not to mention herself. She even got up early one morning this week to work on it. Oh, the horror if either of them are not properly attired!
• Have you read the Tales of the City series by Armistead Maupin? I’ve mentioned the books many times in the history of my blog because I enjoy them so much. I was thrilled to read the latest, Michael Tolliver Lives, when it came out ‘07, and to hear Maupin announce at his reading that he was working on another book that would mostly be about Mary Ann. This new novel, Mary Ann in Autumn, just popped up on Amazon and is available for pre-order before its release in November. Hooray! Here’s the quickie review I wrote of Michael Tolliver Lives, and this is what I posted after attending Maupin’s reading on his last tour. Love that guy.
• It’s sunny and warm outside right now, but the weekend weather is supposed to be so-so. We’ll see. I’d love some sunbathing time to get some color on my noggin, but it’d probably just burn anyway. I think my wig’s uncomfortable anyway; I can’t imagine if my scalp was peeling underneath it! Itchy itchy itchy. That’d make me bitchy bitchy bitchy.

That’s enough for now.

Apr. 7: Chemo #7, rock star edition

Yesterday was the treatment I’d hoped I wouldn’t need. I’m not ready to call #8 my last one, because I don’t know what Dr. O will want to do if O.J. is still  hanging around after #8. Will I have more chemo? Radiation? Surgery? A spinectomy? I’m keeping my fingers crossed for the spinectomy.

I was borderline on my blood counts again yesterday, but Dr. O still wanted me to do chemo. She said if the counts are in the same area before #8 that they’ll give me a shot that stimulates my immune system. I bet it’ll hurt. Besides that, we talked about my continuing back pain—it’s nowhere near as bad as it was before my diagnosis, but it’s still a good six on the pain scale sometimes—and she gave me suggestions for pain relief. I’m supposed to continue with physical therapy (I’m on a home program now) and also try eating more nutritiously to lose some weight. Pffft. I mean, um, WHATEVER IT TAKES!

We discussed my current sinus infection, and rather than go on antibiotics, Dr. O suggested I keep my sinuses moist and get them unclogged. She likened a sinus infection to an abscess—you don’t use antibiotics for an abscess; you drain it because that’s what works best to make it go away. Besides, antibiotics at this point would cause a host of additional side effects she promised me I wouldn’t want to deal with. I’m taking her word for it. Today I got Afrin and saline and am using them as directed because I’m a good, attentive patient.

Lastly, we asked when another test will be done on my heart, and she said “soon.” It sounds like it’ll be one of the many tests done near the end of this whole process. That makes sense—it’ll tell me what shape my heart is in as I move forward into the next phase of GOOD health. (Right?)

Now for the good stuff.

We made ourselves comfy in the infusion room after talking with Dr. O, and Sherilee unloaded her many, many bags. That girl brought so much stuff for me! It was AWESOME. First, there was a box of amazing rainbow cupcakes topped with thick frosting, to which she added Pop Rocks. Here they are in all their deliciousness:

As if that wasn’t a lovely enough treat, she brought them in a really cool cupcake carrier. Here’s a picture:

…and since I know you’ll ask (because everyone who saw it yesterday did), she ordered it from RSH, a catalog boutique.

Sher also brought candy necklaces for the two of us, a very tall stack of trashy magazines, and a CD case full of amazing music and comedy mixes—perfect accoutrement for a day of chemo! (You can punch me for using that fancy word right now. Right in the face. Please. I deserve it.) And look at this treat she got for Victor—bacon and chocolate; can you imagine a more perfect combination?

He tried it last night and said it was surprisingly really, really good. I don’t have the stomach for it yet, but I’m hoping there will be some left next week when my appetite is back.

Kim F’n surprised us with a visit too. I got to rub her butt—specifically, the tattoo on her butt, which she had done partly for me, so I kind of OWN part of her butt now so I can totally rub it whenever and wherever I want don’t judge me do NOT judge me I said.

After giving Sherilee the basics of IV pole-dancing—Kim did invent it, after all—we got a good pic of her with the Pop Rocks and candy necklace. You can see part of the cupcake carrier there on the chair behind her.

Notice also that there’s no stack of recycling viewable in this area of the infusion room—we sat in a different place than normal, where the chairs are much more comfortable and the view is a bit nicer. Still lots of old snarly people, but the windows and a little bit of sunshine made it better than the dark, dank corner in which we usually set up.

As if Sherilee’s companionship wasn’t enough for chemo #7, Kathy announced to our friends and family that it was Rock Star Chemo day. She had people texting and Facebooking me all day long with links to headbanger music videos, band photos, and lots of other fun things. I even got personalized messages from The Rouge:

 Jack (bass) and Adam (guitars, keyboards)

 Steve (drums)

Stephen has called me “Hey Lady” ever since he was about four years old, when I had just flown in for a visit and he was so excited to tell me something, he forgot what my name was. Sometimes I’m even “Auntie Hey Lady.” I love it. And him. And I haven’t met those other guys yet, but I think I kinda love them too.

Always one to play along, here’s Kathy’s doing her best impersonation of a rock star too:

My uncle Paul and Claire recorded a video of him performing a song about rocks—he’s waaay into literal interpretations!—and I would post it here if I could figure out how to steal it off Facebook because it was hilarious.

Thanks to everyone who sent all the good vibes in their varied forms yesterday—it made an otherwise icky procedure as close to being fun as it could be. (We’ll just not ever, ever speak of yesterday’s bad IV start experience, OK? Just trust us—it was awful awful awful.) And huge thanks also go to Sherilee, for driving down and back from Walla Walla yesterday to be with me, cupcakes and music and magazines and candy goodies and speeding ticket and all. You’re wonderful and I love you as big as the sky.

P.S. Just checked Sherilee’s blog—she’s got her chemo day story up too. Read it here, and leave a comment to tell her what a good friend she is!