ep15

Thursday, February 22; 2:44 a.m.    What a surprise! Here again writing when normal people are sleeping. Not to worry, though, folks.., I'll go back to the covers before dawn and again midmorning and in midafternoon and whenever else my body says whoa.
   Needless to say, the ole' body has the brakes on more than I'd like. But as a wise lady (thanks sis) told me last night: the work my body is engaged in right now is healing and that just may be all that it can be.
   To all the folks who've waited in vain for my replies to their e-mails and snail mails: hold your shorts on.. I'll get to it when the muse wakes again. Meanwhile as long as you see words here you can rest assured I'm still breathing; and I love you all ... I'm just too self-absorbed to reply.
Saturday, February 24, 2:21 a.m.   Good morning. Every time I think I've got this treatment regimen figured out, something changes. I've covered just about every symptom the books and docs say come with cancer therapy. Each time I complain about one debillitating problem the docs will change something to fix it and a new reason to complain crops up. I couldn't handle the joint pain from the last treatment so they fixed it ... and now I have excruciating migraines; the kind of migraine that makes you wrap your head in a towel, rock back and forth and cry. They come on at the end of almost every sleep, whether it be a catnap or a 6 hour refresher. Makes me not want to wake up and, when I do wake up, makes me not want to move in fear of jogging the sleeping? beast.
   On Tuesday, I'll go back to the docs for the next chemo treatment, and perhaps they'll have a new solution.. fix the headaches and give me something new to occupy my sanity. I can't wait.
Monday, February 26, 1:20 a.m.   I can't find the words of hope inside me anymore. Just jealousy and resentment and fear. I know it's only because of the long duration of this treatment... the lack of sunshine ... the long, cold winter .. and a host of other excuses. I also know speaking my jealousies, resentments and fears keep me closed in upon myself, cocooned. I'm afraid I'll hurt other people, especially when I know a little more sleep, a little more thought and consideration, a little more perspective would change the words I might say.
Tomorrow I go for the next-to-last chemo treatment. Why do each of these make me progressively more afraid than the last? The docs assure me I'm doing well. Do I not trust them? or do I distrust my own capability to have the luck to heal? I need spring... sunshine, warmth. I need to walk in the woods and hug the trees. Perhaps when this is over it will be a new season. Perhaps ....
February 28, 7:02 a.m.   Writing from the lobby of the hospital. They've decided to stop the migraines by putting me back on steroids. So I guess I'll be speeding once again until the next time they try to "taper me off". I was up a good portion of last night, but at least it was not as a result of excruciating pain.
Tough decision yesterday wonderfing if I should continue the treatments. Chest x-rays indicate no change from the last one in January. The one in Jan. DID look fairly clean, but without a miracle viewscope (not available) there's no way to know if the cancer's gone or just hiding in small units invisible to the x-ray. So trying to decide if I should throw another $10k at this .... situation ... is a tough one. In the 2 1/2 months of treatment I've run up a tab of over $40,000. I keep thinking throwing $5k or $10k away in a casino would be a lot more fun. Needless to say, since I'm still here, I decided to go ahead with it. Have to have faith in something I suppose. And we all know I a gullible sort and will believe just about anything a good-looking young man wants to tell me (yes, even in these middle-age, balding, overweight years and in spite of being taken advantage of over and over again.) Have to have faith......
   A skunk visited my carving shed in the last couple of days and had a run-in with my guard cat, Bear. A tilted corner of the shed (from excessive rains this summer) prevents the south door from closing (or opening) completely, so we're unable to get in to air it out or to close it off from our newest visitor. Spring, I'm ready now, coming soon?
Saturday, March 3, 2:20 a.m.   Next-to-last chemo (so I'm told) finished up on Thursday. Nausea returns and the steroids aren't stemming it as promised. Shouldn't complain, I suppose.. what steroids I am keeping down seem to be reducing the pain of the migraines .. a dull ache is all I experience as I dance the dance of speed in the middle of the night.
   The chest x-rays are unchanged from January. Since the individual cells don't show themselves as good or evil .. only the clusters will do that and only in biopsies ... there's no way of knowing whether or not the cancer is gone until it starts to grow and gathers for parties in my insides. Though tempted to stop now, I'll no doubt take the last treatment at the end of March. By then, I'm hoping the swelling to my brain will reduce on its own and I can also take the last of the steroids. They fear the migraines may be caused by scar tissue floating around from the radiation and that might preclude a return to normalcy. But heck .. noone's ever accused me of normalcy before, so I should be ok.
March 5, 11:00 a.m.   I hit the wall this morning at 6:17 a.m. I'd been up since 1:30 trying to quell a tide of nausea that has taken habitation in my throat since the last chemo. I crashed onto the bed and knew I'd waited to long to return to rest. My head filled with a buzzing as of a thousand bees; my nerves from neck to waist jangled with electric shocks that would not let me concentrate, rest, understand. I knew I had to take the blood pressure pills to control the flow and the speed to lower the swelling in my head .. but it seemed so ludicrous to bother when the two drugs (in my logic) seem so opposed in nature. I had so much more, had I had the energy to get pen and pad at the time .. but alas .. like the buzzing of the bees, it is ... sad to say (since buzzing precludes clarity of thought) it is gone. Perhaps another day.
March 7, 1:47 a.m.   I paid attention to the daytime tv commercials yesterday and caught one from a pharmaceutical compay (I swear 90% of ads are for pharmaceuticals) that touted a drug allowing folks undergoing chemo to enjoy one thing a day. A parade of chemo participants were excited that they had 'sent a fax today', 'caught a fish today', 'picked a flower today'. Just one thing .. all day. And I wonder why, if this is considered normal (doing just one thing all day while undergoing chemo) I'm so danged depressed about my schedule of production. I guess I haven't been paying enough attention to the commercials.
   Had a minor discussion, just a sentence or two infact, at the supper table whining about not enjoying the idea of becoming Martha Stewart to fill up my days. He suggested I used to like that. And I suppose, 20 years ago when making bread, clothes and a life for he and the children while saving coins in milk jars it was a worthwhile endeavor. The kids were small and needed me, we were poor and and it was an expedient to survival. Now the idea of putting on apron and spending the day sweeping the floors and sewing cushions for an occasional guest seems a letdown. I guess the key is in the purpose. Martha Stewart, who entertains in media and in reality is giving a gift to her constituents .. I guess I just need to keep searching until I can find a gift I can give that rewards me enough to get excited. One one chemo to go and folks keep sending me spiritually uplifting words and I love them, every one. I can't always reply.. I keep odd hours not conducive to clear thought, but know, all of you, that they are greatly appreciated. And if you can think of ideas to fill my soul .. things to make me feel useful again, fwd to your heart's content.
March 8, 4:04 a.m.   Have been awake since 11:30 p yesterday, dealing with the lump in my throat and thinking too much. I've done all the usual, read, counted backwards from 1k, burned and eaten toast to relieve the acid, added a piece to the jigsaw, a couple of words to the crossword, read some more, soaked in the tub, thought some more and whimpered some more.
Think about the school shooting problems nationwide and wonder why blame is so important and worry about the children who 'didn't turn the kid in' and the guilt society has decided to lay upon them. How many will not take that guilt to extended disasters? Wonder why the solution to zero tolerance in schools is to suspend or expel students so they can go home to their empty houses and brood about their mistakes. Wonder why the counselors, psychiatrist and sociologists are so abundant and helpful after the fact to the residue of the crimes and not before to the perpetrator. Wonder why there's always money for jails but not for children. But that's just my wondering.
Noticed yesterday that something in my body has turned my gold wedding band, bought more than 27 years ago for $11 in a pawn shop and worn since (unable to remove it these days, actually) the color of a russet potato. Any metallurgists out there who can solve the mystery of what chemical being exuded from my skin is changing the color of the band?
March 10, 4:09 a.m.   The wheel moves, the road smoothes out, the jangling decreases. The therapy is cyclic. And, finally, the chemo fright nights dissapate for a time. My depression lifts as I'm able to accomplish more and complete small projects without frustration. I tried, on Thursday night, to write longhand and transfer the words here the next day .. it was still too soon, I suppose, I started a dozen stories that lasted two paragraphs and went nowhere.
   I'm excited that my sister is coming back next week for a few days .. to feel once again the warmth and consistency and intelligence that is her strength. I know her presence will help me, as it has forever, to learn that I'm ok, too. Here I am, nearing the half-century mark and I still look up and learn from her words and wisdom and wonder why I've been so stubborn all these decades to discard her life because its style does not mirror my own. Independence can be a lonely existence; adherence to a single lifestyle tolerance can be so very limiting.
March 11, Sunday, 7:15 p.m.   Unusual, eh, for me to be writing at such an hour? There was sun today and I spent some time moving stuff, packing stuff, sorting stuff, inside and out. I love coming out of the chemo stupor, even if only for a week or two. And to think, in 3 weeks I'll be (please, God, help me follow through on this) done, done, done. The sun is melting off the snow and I walk gingerly on patches of grass and ice, seeing the messes of winter, the neighbors' dogs, the debris I didn't put away in the fall. I'll be expanding the pond this year and selling the perennials that clog what we have now .. along with other weed-laden perennial areas that need refurbishing. This year I WILL have a rummage sale .. this year noone will gainsay my need to purge the buildings of flotsam we hauled here and haven't used since our arrival. Then .. with my new found space, my newly-gained strength of mind and body, I'll go back to work some (please let my brain let me drive), and I'll explore the state parks in Minnesota, Wisconsin and Iowa. I'll canoe and soak up sun and come home and garden nights, make sculptures for my friends and family and embody Martha Stewart to clean up the materials and craft items that clog my bedroom.
Based upon the italics above, I'm still short confidence of kicking this dread disease. I suppose because of the dire predictions when the whole thing started. But, with all the motivation from friends, family and strangers that many thousands of people have indeed kicked this disease .. and the fact that I'm a stubborn old bitch when I get myy hackles up ... Perhaps there's a chance I'll be able to bring each of you ... one at a time ..a batch of chocolate chip cookies some weekend this summer. Especially since, the chemo has completely and utterly taken any and all taste of chocolate from repetoire .. the darn stuff actually makes me ill now. What a bummer, eh? Guess I'll have to feed my pleasure center some other way.       :-)
March 14, 2:32 a.m.   Another pre-dawn raid on the website. I'm trying very hard not to get too optimistic. Having more strength is a great boon, but I've been here before and the medical sessions are usually so darn depressing .. not to mention the aftermath of the chemo. So I'll continue clearing out and spring cleaning and try not to think about the chemo at all until next week. But then ... then I want some answers about my head .. the scar(e) tissue, the aftermath of the whole brain radiation. Anyone who's gone through this wish to share some insight? The cancer sights aren't always much more than exasperating.   Have a lovely day, all.
March 17, 1:16 a.m.   Happy St. Patrick's Day? Catching a cold and having to add even more drugs to my daily regimen has been one more depressing preface to each day. My spouse has taken the brunt of my pain and frustration, but he's a strong and resilient man and can handle it. Last night I was wondering where I could get enough morphone to quit; tonight I'm wondering if someone can suggest a (cheap?) place I can spend a week next month at an ocean. I've only seen an ocean once and walked in the wave of saltwater tide once .. and that was over 25 years ago. The experience lasted about 15 minutes and I loved it .. I want to feel it again, once more. I'm not a tourist .. I prefer to just walk on a dune, wade in the water and stay in the same place for an entire week. I'm guessing (hoping?) for it to be a solitary experience... a week alone, in the sun, no obligations, no chitchat, no crowds, no hassle. My e-mail's on the front page.
March 19, 12:54 a.m. In spite of the continued lung congestion, and the return, once again, of the mouth fungus thrush,and no appreciable increase in strength or stamina, I feel more optimistic. Can you believe it... tomorrow I go in to begin the last chemo (please let my counts be high enough to be allowed to finish). The sandhill cranes are returning in triumphant joy to their nesting grounds in the bottoms below my home. Though I haven't been able to go outside (due to my poor balance), I'm guessing the spring bulbs are also returning to the surface of their winter beds, stretching and unfolding. Perhaps ... just perhaps ... I, too, can start to regrow soon.
March 25, 6:08 p.m. I've been one very sick girl this week. After the last chemo on Thursday, I was ecstatic ... so glad to be done, so ready to push myself, immediately, to get back into health and vigor .. realizing that now that they weren't injecting me with chemicals, and killing me some more everytime I start to feel a little good, I could start pushing myself .. hard .. with immediate results. I failed to remember that the chemicals don't just leave ..it has always taken at least week of horrible side effects. Nausea, sleeplessness, unbelievable fatigue and lack of strength. I'm too impatient. And I'm also pretty much bedridden until the side effects diminish; just turning over brings on nausea.
And then there's the webpage .. not sure why, but this is the first time all week geocities has let me into it. So I apologize for seeming to be out of touch. But I'm optimistic that by this time next week, I'll be feeling a whole lot better, and sharing a story with you about my very first kiss. (Now there's a memory you're not going to want to miss!)

March 27, 12:14 a.m. Let me tell you about my day yesterday. I started early, as usual. Pumped about getting started living again after 4 months of following tight to the AMA bar's prescribed regimen for 'curing' my disease, (including washing dubloon-coated medications down my hatch), I started my day the night before, on the 26th, at about 11:30 p.m. (remember the insomnia?) Propped upright to a sitting position, perfectly still lest the nausea take over, I'd been trying to ingest and retain one full glass of water. I'd been at it for nearly 2-1/2 hours and hadn't yet succeeded in finishing it due to the rolling waves of nausea at each sip. (Consider: I'm supposed to be taking in 8 glasses every 24 hours. We're talking some major interference in my production capabilities here. So I dressed myself in a ton of layers and went out to one of the sheds for the first object on my list .. at 6 a.m.: a large box I'd wanted in the house. Invigorating.. loved it. Got the box but had forgotten a hat and came back inside. Sat at the kitchen table and started making lists of all the other things I was going to accomplish during the day. Made myself a bowl or pork soup for breakfast, made a bunch of phone calls and by 9:30 or so the sun was flooding the bottomland and the buildings in which I planned to search for documents I needed and that I knew were somewhere on the property.
Decided the best way to stimulate my new appetite for living would be to go out-of-doors and Get Started. So I piled the clothes back on and went out to the car. (Note: this is the first time since the 1st of December I have driven a car.) After some success finding what I was looking for ..and about 3 hours), I drove back up to the house and, with the sun pouring down.. oh, so warmly.. onto the top of my vehicle, I fell into a contented doze, and slept for several hours.. and the phone didn't ring once, that I heard...        And though it felt wonderful.....
I got out of the car to walk the 75 yards or so into the house, arms filled with the documents I'd collected and got within 6 feet of the door when I discovered I couldn't lift my leg quite high enough, caught my foot on the step and fell onto my hands and knees onto the concrete porch.. I was unable to lift myself back into an standing position.
For the next 2+ hours I moved from the outside of my house to my bed. (I was pretty determined to get upstairs; it was cold out there.) As soon as I got the door open, I vomited. (There was no way I could clean it up.. I couldn't even stand.) I did get my coat and shoes off, and began the long bump and drag to warmth and comfort.. I moved less-than-efficiently (on my butt, backwards,, actually,, pulling myself up one step at a time.
I was persistent.. and successful ... and pretty darn proud of myself once when, by 3:20 p.m., I'd achieved my goal and was toasty under my covers..
How was your Monday?         :-))
April 7, 5:35 p.m. Hello again. Many of you know that I went back into the hospital last Friday with deydration. So dehydrated, in fact, that, in spite of IV fluids they hastily pumped into me, that I had a grand mal seizure.
I remember many of my activities during that episode, though not all, and am absolutely mortified. I still shudder thinking about it. And though everyone says it's not that big a deal (when you're sick, you're sick) my own sense of powerlessness, and inborn embarrassment that it happened the way it did, has left me almost totally bereft of the ability (and desire) to write.
Now I'm home again, and trying very hard to make sense of it all. I wonder if this is the time to stop writing. They say my lungs and brain are clear; and though that doesn't necessarily mean I'm cancer free, it does mean there's no more cancer treatment to talk about. From here on in it's just a matter of rebuilding strength and stamina. In that regard, I have a very, very long way to go.. And how boring it that?
So, tell me, is there any point to continuing this portion of the website? Perhaps I should let you tell me.
April 11, 3:42 a.m. As you can see, my sleep situation hasn't improved much. Though I admit, I sleep more.
Every day, it seems, I remember another aspect of the seizure last week. It was a story that I was telling .. like a courtroom drama... I was trying to convince the med facility that gave me my cancer treatments that their prices were a bit stiff. (I suppose having just written checks for $38,000 for 5 of the 6 cancer treatments might have been enough to put the idea I had a cause to fight in my head. Unfortunately, I also knew they already felt more than generous in having already given me a 15% discount.) So I laid out a scenario in my head I felt was a good convincer .. and then .. because it was part of my seizure, fought for it ... tooth and nail.
To the nurses to held me, cleaned me, rubbed my back, gave me their smiles, their professionalism and their care .. thank you .. every one of YOU are underpaid.

April 14, 12:24 a.m.
Happy Easter (in case I don't write tonight) Seems I'm having a little trouble with anemia now (it's always something!) so I'm reading cereal boxes for iron content and eating organ meats. Getting my red blood cell count back up has become almost a full time job. So.. if an effort to heat up the process.. let me share the story of my first kiss.

April 19, 4:02 a.m.
Writer's block has been tall and wide these last days. I've been concentrating on maintaining fluid and iron levels.. and staying on my feet to upgrade the strength of my legs; creating quilts for my children,, cutting, sewing, ironing.
[And praying prayers of thanks for a beautiful young woman who is sporting a newly repaired heart. Bravo and good luck in the days to come.]
I've also been wondering if these pages aren't getting a little boring.. in scope.. in the lack of tension.. now that I'm done with chemo and working on healing. Seems so to me.. comments?
April 23, 1:30 A.M.
I've always been a pacer. Working out problems, itineraries, digestion.. pacing parking lots at work, my garden, my kitchen. Now I have to force myself to sit in a chair, hands locked on the seat, to save what strength I have and not waste it in aimless wandering. This rebuilding is going more slowly than I'd hoped, but it is still going and I understand my impatience.. even if I'm not happy with it.
I've only built up my body (most days,, so far) to last for about 2 1/2 hours,, Then I encounter the monster of exhaustion that eats my legs, destroys my equilibrium and puts a film over my eyes,, and usually puts me fast asleep for 2-3 hours. If I answer the monster's requirements, I'm good for a couple more hours,, if I don't .. well, then, I'm a fool for not paying attention.
Hope you're all enjoying spring wherever you are. Thanks for all the encouragement on this webpage, and all the res
April 26, 8:53 a.m.
Gradually, my strength is coming back. I work outside in this fine weather, keeping my cane ever near, moving at a snail's pace, but moving steadily. As a result, however, I don't spend much time behind the monitor. To be perfectly honest; the words still aren't coming. I'm not sure if that's a side-effect of one of the many drugs I'm still taking or the hole in my brain where the tumor was, or just the simple idea that I didn't have that many words to begin with and I've used them all up. I guess only time will tell.
April 30, 6:21 a.m.
The quilting is coming along well, though I too often cut into blocks of material where I shouldn't. I have to slow down! And that admonition covers most aspects of my life, not just my sewing. You'd think that would come easy.. the gift most folks wish they could be given. But I've always felt the need to justify my existence via productivity of one sort or another .. sleeping well only when I can point to a material object created during the course of the day. This period of my life isn't as easy as you'd expect.. just lying around healing. :-)
Happy May Day, my friends.. 3:31 a.m.
As much as I dislike liver, I have to admit that it is a great little blood enhancer. I push myself a little harder each day; forcing my legs to take on that extra step, my head to stay focused for an extra 5 minutes. Then, of course, I hit the wall and sleep like a baby for 2-3 hours.
I've been clearing out my past and preparing for a spring rummage sale. I've held on to everything "just in case." Now, as I unload boxes one item at a time and find the rusty, dusty, archaic reminders of the past, I realize that I am the only one interested in these items. They are memory joggers of a time that cannot be returned to me .. the time when I was all the world to my sons .. and they were all of my world, as well. But my sons' wings are fully outstretched and they soar on the winds of life. And I watch them, at a distance, with pride .. and drop tears over the toys of their childhood..
May 6, 3:59 a.m.
Another week goes by and I am still unsatisfied with my abilities. I push myself until a small wind could blow me over. I miss my independence, I guess. Being able to get myself where I need to go, by myself. I've driven off the land three times now. Each time a little less scary than the previous, but still white knuckle. I'm sure (had there been any traffic) my 30 mph crawl would have annoyed someone. But my balance is still unpredictable (the car keeps following my head when I gaze around, for instance); and the threat of another seizure, out of the blue.... Being behind the wheel of a car and losing all mental and physical functional control really isn't something I want to experience. But I'm sure the drive for independence will keep me pushing the envelope of sanity. So if you see me on the highway you might want to give me a wide berth; and if I start looking directly at you, get out of my way because the car may just follow the direction of my attention. (And please don't tell the authorities.)
May 11, 12:49 p.m. Friday night
Waiting for sunthing to happen. I'll let you know as soon as it does.

May 15, 12:11 p.m.
Woke to find a treefrog in my window. He still sits there, waiting for the sun to come around far enough, I suppose, to warm him into moving. He's turned a couple of times to focus some through the window to my side; it makes me feel like I'm in a zoo.
   My scalp itches mightily. Folks say it's because my hair is growing back. If so, my dreams of having it return like the ringlets of Shirley Temple have a long way to come to achieve fruition. I will admit that I'm developing a fine, thick mustache.        :-)
   I've lost a lot of trust in my own body.. fearing it will display the 'I've fallen and I can't get up' scenario out in public, or harder to accept, another grand mal.. And so I've turned down offers for vacations.. wanting to wait until that trust is regained. It's slow going, but as much as I desire a trip to pretty places.. I desire to do it fully conscious ... of the scenery.
May 20, 3:00 a.m.
   I have the family feet .. large and supportive .. so large, in fact, they're nearly nearly impossible to find shoes for. These days I find I walk with them splayed, to carry the burden of my unsteadiness. It puts the wrong pressure on my hips; so that by the middle of the day they creak like (much) older bones, and make doing the hula nearly impossible.
   The kindness of friends, colleagues and family is so wonderfully warming. I'm getting out a little more, entertaining a little more, and sleeping a lot less. My scalp continues to itch annoyingly but I have been told by family and friends there is indeed dark hair sprouting back on my head (Yippee!!); though it doesn't appear to be curly and still contains an inexplicable quantity of white hair. (Boo!!)
   Having enough energy to keep pacing a good portion of the day, I don't come online nearly as much any more. But I truly appreciate all the e-mails I've gotten. I check here a couple of times a day, although I'm not nearly as regular in my answering as I am in opening and enjoying what I've received. Please know I appreciate your communications, even if I don't reply to them immediately. Love you all. Enjoy.
May 26, 10:53 a.m.
I've cleaned out my woodshop, and begun to refamiliarize myself with the knives and gouges. (Have only had to use one bandaid so far.)   I am (too slowly) becoming stronger. and am able to spend a couple of hours outside (working!?) before becoming a hazard to myself and others. I've also started getting the migraines again .. directly behind my right eye. The pain absorbs a portion of my sleep period, as the headaches announce their presence during my downtime.   Then I spend the day following, overemotional and whiney. There's probably a very simple reason for these headaches, like all the Rain we've been having. Weepy weather crimps my style.
May 31, 3:27 a.m.
   Got my head shaved yesterday. Ok .. I got all 15 of my hairs shaved to the same length. Those of you who know my vanity toward the thick head of hair my daddy bequeathed me, know looking like humpty dumpty isn't fun for me. But I'm still walking around and able to bitch about it so that's all I need, right? Hah. Every person deserves a bit of vanity. It keeps the ego-eaters at bay.
   Tomorrow I will turn 49. My spouse bought me a battery-operated chainsaw. If he feels like cooking one, I think I'll use it to cut the cake. Just because I'm one-year closer to the half-century doesn't mean I have to stop being outrageous. Everyone make a wish with me for a clean bill of health and full energy levels by the end of the year. Thanks.
June 2, 2:28 a.m.
   Speaking once again on the vanity topic: saw a family of Canadian geese yesterday. The papa was so proud with his neck stretched as high as he could get it; determined to take on the large American automobile that threatened his fuzzy children. It made me smile to see his consternation.
   We all get puffed up on occasion, though I've rarely seen the vanity that puts us in such a pose helping the situation we're trying to control. Sometimes it works; sometimes everyone is convinced. But there's really nothing more ludicrous than a human being (or a Canadian drake) puffing themselves up in an effort to let you know who's in charge.
   Thanks for your prayers.... to the one who's Really in charge. Although I couldn't have a party this year, I'm praying for the health and sanity to have one next year, when I celebrate the half century mark.
June 5, 12:31 a.m.
   Received a card yesterday from my 5th grade teacher. She's a sweet lady who invited me, when I was in her class, to attend the church mother/daughter banquet as her guest. I remember the situation vividly, including the yellow chiffon shift dress that I wore and the look on my own mother's face when I told her the teacher had invited me to go with her. At the time, I didn't have the world experience to realize how much that invitation angered?/hurt? my own mother. But she accepted it, like she accepted so many things, keeping her emotions inside her own front door. That's perhaps why I find it so difficult to accept all the attention garnered with this illness... and respond to it in a socially acceptable way. Instead, I hide out behind the screen of a webpage and pleas of 'sorry, I need to sleep'. Attention has always embarrassed me. It's a learned response.
June 7, 5:55 a.m.
What? No rebuttal to the last paragraph? Geez golly, folks, you know attention doesn't embarrass me. I may not be socially adept and am tongue-tied on occasion, but garnering attention has never been a problem. Some might say I do outrageous things just to GET attention. This illness does, indeed, give me moments of despair and insecurity, but I AM getting better.   As a matter of fact (stand up and whoop) I can PACE again. Granted, it's not the miles I would put on everytime I took a smoke break at work; but my strength is definitely coming back, and it's about time! I also have a head full of hair ... ok, peach fuzz... and much of it looks dark. It's too short yet to determine whether or not it's curly, but I'm thrilled that it's not blonde. (No offense to blondes intended. :-)) )

June 11; 5:22 a.m.
All good things must come to an end. So ....... this is Finis for this litany on my cancer treatment. I've run out of (good or bad) things to say. Hugs and kisses to all who have read and responded.