Bone Appetit!

I had a bone scan today--well, I guess yesterday, since it's 1203 AM now. Though my doctor thinks my recent hip pain is either arthritis or AI-related, she wants to be cautious.  (We seem to have a tacit agreement not to say the M word.) And since I'm always up for a quick shot of radioactive isotopes, I readily agreed.

For an old IV pro like me, the test was no big deal.  You get the tracer; you get a pedicure and have lunch work on your laptop for three hours; you drink a boatload of water; and then you lie still for the camera.  Easy enough.

The bed moves.  I know this now.

And then you wait.  For results that may not be conclusive.  I am having another glass of wine embracing the uncertainty.  

And Monday?  I get a bone-density scan.  So we can all know just how much I am falling apart.  Or to see if the Boniva is working.  One or the other.

Meanwhile, tomorrow I host Bunco. Yes, I said that. And more shamefully yet, there's a theme...Hawaiian Luau.  Which means I am up late making pineapple-upside-down cupcakes and char siu.  But this party did give me the opportunity to make yet another amazing scientific discovery.  I learned that drumettes are not the curiously small legs of misshapen chickens. As it turns out, they're part of the wing.  I know this because I am also making teriyaki drumettes.  When I asked the butcher if Safeway sold them, he said the bags of wings were 50/50 wings and drumettes.  Because, as I said, apparently a drumette is the first (or second?) part of the wing. I admit that is some smart marketing, but the upshot is that I probably will never eat another one.  Well, after tomorrow.

And finally, in other bone and chicken related news, KFC is now serving boneless chicken.  The Millennial Generation apparently prefers nugget-type food items.  I never eat there, so this is not a big issue for me.  But I really do prefer--and yes, it's irrational--when my meat doesn't look like the animal it once was.  Not my daughter, however.  When her 29-cent goldfish died, she looked at me and asked, "So do we eat it now?"

Mmmmm!

Five!

Zero

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Counting to Two

An obvious result for my Google image search for "breast cancer survivor."
Not your ordinary pink ribbon.
Amazing algorithm!

How do you count to two?

One of the strange things about cancer is the absence of an agreed-upon definition of survivorship.  Well, obviously it means you're still alive.  I mean that there is no consensus on the date that your survivorship begins.  In my case, each of these is a viable start date:

• September 13, 2010--the day I found a lump
• October 27, 2010--the day my cancer was diagnosed
• February 18, 2011--the day of my mastectomy when the last trace of DCIS was removed from my right breast
• Some random date four to eight years before my diagnosis, since most breast cancers grow for four to eight years (big spread, right?) before they are detected

Depending on where you count from, I am either a two-year survivor or a two-and-one-half-year survivor (or, hell, a ten-and-one-half-year survivor!).  Naturally I prefer the longer period--as my oncologist said with respect to recurrence, "Time is your friend."  So the more time, the better.  

But when I really think about it, I have to go with the February date, because I could officially say that I was cancer-free on that date.  (Again, even "officially" is a relative term here because one never knows...)  So that's the date I celebrate.  Two years. (And one month.)

But celebrate may be the wrong word.  I just flicked back through my Google calendar to find my surgery date.  I can't believe I had to look it up--that's a good sign, though!  Seeing the appointment on my calendar was fine.  It's not like I ever pretend it never happened.  Even when I'm drunk.  Especially not when I'm drunk.

What made me cry was an entry on the day before--February 17, 2011--"Mommy-J Day."  That's what J calls a day we spend together with no one else around.  And I specifically remember planning this day because I knew I wouldn't be able to pick her up for several weeks, and I knew that I would be away from her for several days.  And I didn't really know what the doctors would find.  If they found any more invasive cancer, I would have had to have more chemo.  The hope was that they wouldn't find anything, but as mentioned, there was a bit of non-invasive cancer (with therapeutic changes--apparently good news).  And so I wondered if it might be the last day we would spend together where I would be really and truly present.

Spoiler alert--it wasn't.  I am so very grateful for every day of the last two years.  I'm still crazy of course, but much more at peace.  Apparently that's all it took.  Well, that and some Ativan.

L'chaim!

Come In, Houston...

The Lede (Now unburied!)

So, uh, yeah, that seven months of radio silence?

Two reasons.

First and foremost--it's hard to follow a eulogy post with the mundane details of my life.

Second, well, you know. Work. Christmas.  Halloween.  Yeah, that's it.

So anyway.  In summary:

Vomiting

J had her MRI in September, and it was normal.  She hasn't thrown up since.  Whatever.  

School

J started pre-kindergarten with her usual delusional aplomb.  "This is a class for four-year-olds, Mama.  No babies."  At her parent-teacher conference (no, seriously--they have these in pre-school!), we learned that she is brilliant, delightful, non pareil...except for that part about how we're working on not talking to our peers when the teacher is talking.  I tried to explain the genetics of that--how it wasn't J's fault.  No dice.

Holidays

Halloween. J dressed up as a rainbow butterfly fairy princess.  Pretty much all her favorite things rolled into one, though we wondered why she left unicorns out.  Because did you know, "In the old days, people didn't have cars.  If they wanted to go somewhere, they had to ride a horse or a unicorn.  Not like in the new days.  Now we have cars and spaceships."

So there's that.

J and Jack.  I made him myself.

Thanksgiving.  Oy, are we lazy.  We went to Portland and watched the Macy's parade in the pouring rain.  Good times.  The night before we (gasp!) ate dinner in a restaurant.  It was awesome!  i am not a fan of turkey or pumpkin pie; usually I cook something else or suffer through it at someone else's house.  This just is not a holiday I enjoy. Not sure I would do this again, but it was interesting.  

Oh!  Way to bury my lede!  POTBELLY IS NOW IN PORTLAND!!!  I grew up about a block from the original location, and I really miss it.  I remember several years ago returning to Chicago and seeing that they were all over the place.  Then I noticed they were all over DC.  And now there are two in Portland.   They were still working the kinks out when we visited the downtown location on Black Friday, but....YUM!

Christmas.  Always my favorite holiday.  Always.  And even more so now with J in her magic years.  The unwavering, unquestioning belief in Santa fills me with awe.  Not sure if you know this, but Christmas is "the Jesus' birthday.  Also Pink Baby's."  Pink Baby, of course, is the baby doll she received for Christmas when she was one.  I don't remember it happening this way, but J is adamant that Pink Baby grew in Santa's tummy.  Anything's possible around here.  

And so Jesus and Pink Baby are birthday-sharers.  J wanted me to bake an angel food cake that said "Happy Birthday to Jesus and Pink Baby."  I did make the cake, but as you can see, pre-packaged cookie frosting is not suitable for writing on boiled icing:

Why does no one ever Pinterest me?

We spent three days in Manzanita, starting on Christmas Eve. We rented a house right on the beach.  

Although it was, of course, cold and wet, it was heavenly.  Friends drove down and joined us for Christmas dinner. I want to do this every year.  It was such a happy little idyll.  C was here, and J was over the moon.  The sad thing:  This is probably the last time that we'll all be together like that.

J and I flew to St. Louis on New Year's Eve.  My "sleeping on the redeye plan" backfired because of Direct TV.  J was pretty keyed up, so I thought maybe a little Nick, Jr. would send her off to la-la land.  Riiiiggghhht.  I slid my Visa in the slot, and she stayed awake for the entire flight.  We don't get this channel on our cable plan, and she's only seen "Dora" sporadically (and one episode at a sitting) on Amazon Prime.  Who knew what wonders awaited her on a 737?  After "Dora" was over, another show came on!  She was in awe, since this only happens at our house when she's sick or I'm hungover.  We were introduced to the wonder that is the "Wonder Pets."  Seriously, WTF is that show?  

But I digress.

St. Louis was wonderful. It was so good to see my sister and my nieces.  We took J to the Magic House and, for her first time ever, ice skating.  She loved it.  I used to be good a pretty good skater--we skated on the Lincoln Park lagoon all the time when we were kids--but I suck at it now.

I went with my sister and older niece to their mother-daughter book group, where we discussed "Code Name Verity."  I was only able to read about a third of it before the meeting, but I finished it later--great book.  These mothers and daughters have been meeting as a group for six or seven years, .  The girls are now freshmen in high school!  I was taken aback by their level of discourse and their ease with discussing the material.  Looking at those girls really makes me NOT worry about the future.  I can only hope J ends up like that.

Other

I took J to see a few plays, "Peter Pan" and "Pinkalicious."  I though PP was very, very odd, but she loved it, once she understood that the pirates weren't real.  "Pinkalicious" was pretty delightful (and starred the same little girl who played "Annie" a couple of years ago).  However, it's a short book, and while they embellished it for the stage, there's just not enough material there to make a play.  But it was sweet, and all the little girls wore pink and were buzzing with excitement.  They had pink cupcakes for sale in the lobby.  They were lovely, but they were yuppy gourmet with lemon curd and whipped cream frosting.  J didn't like it, and neither did most of the other little girls who had them.  I think that demographic much prefers a solid vanilla cupcake with PINK buttercream frosting.  You know, like from Safeway or Fred Meyer.  But what do I know?

Next Up

A return to Disney World, and J turns five.  Posted sometime in the next eight months.

Tribute

Elizabeth Burton Redding, one of my best friends in college, died on Sunday night, from metastatic breast cancer.  I was out of town and off the grid, so I only learned of this tonight.  My family is sound asleep; I am sitting here on the couch, alone, overcome by grief and regret.

Elizabeth and I had lost touch over the years, but recently had reconnected via that much-maligned medium, Facebook.  As soon as she found me, she called and we talked for hours.  It was as if no time had passed at all.  We were shocked to learn that we had both just finished treatment for breast cancer.  The difference was that hers had, as she put it, "partied right on through to my lungs."  In my ignorance (and I really should have known better), I didn't understand, immediately, that that meant Elizabeth was Stage IV.  It just wasn't possible.

But it was.  

I saw her, for the first time in a decade, in Chicago in March.  We drank too much wine at dinner and talked non-stop about our families, our jobs and, of course, that big elephant in the room, our breast cancer.  By that point she also had bone mets and had begun weekly chemo in a clinical trial, which seemed to be working.  She told me that her doctors had given her a range of five to seven years to live.  We talked about what that felt like, especially with her youngest son still measuring his years in the single digits, her only daughter still very much needing a mother and her older boys just beginning adulthood.  I cried, but she did not.  She just knew she'd be the one to defy the odds.  But she also knew that she might not, and she was heartbroken at the thought of leaving her children.  I have awoken in a panic many a night to face those same fears--I don't fear dying; I fear leaving my snowflake.  But I have never had to face those fears as acutely as Betsy did.

To my mind, that Betsy should die so young, and in so much pain, can only be the work of a callous god.  But here's the thing--Elizabeth would disagree with that completely.  Through her battle, she held on to her family and her faith. If anything, it brought her closer to them.  No one could possibly die feeling more loved than Elizabeth did.  If there's any silver lining here at all, it's knowing how much, and by how many, she was loved.

I will forever regret that, relying on the false sense of security of those promised "five-to-seven-years," I did not rush to Chicago in her last days.  I knew things were bad, but it really never occurred to me that there wasn't--and now will never be--more time.  I hope Elizabeth will forgive me. Actually, I don't hope that, because I know she already has.  I just hope her family will forgive me, too.

So that's what happened at the end.  But it doesn't come close to explaining who Elizabeth was, what made her laugh, what flavor of ice cream she liked best, or what sort of weather made her happy.  It doesn't reveal the sharp glimmer of intelligence and the deep kindness in her eyes.  It doesn't tell you that she was an almost therapist-like listener, ready to advise but never to lecture.  It doesn't communicate how she made you want to be a better person.

I've known her as a history nerd, a frazzled working mother, and, in her latest incarnation, some sort of high-tech something or other that I really didn't understand.  I've known her to do some things she wasn't proud of, as we all do.  But unlike most of us, she acknowledged them, apologized and knew that tomorrow would be a better and sunnier day.

It doesn't seem right that I could be at the butterfly house, at the zoo, or on the Great Wheel of Seattle these past few days without knowing that Betsy was gone.  I thought about her a lot this week, actually.  But I have done so ever since her family started an update page on Facebook, so I can't claim any sort of ESP.  Should I have felt something--some frisson of insight--on Sunday night when she breathed her last?  

No.

Because you know what?

Betsy lives.

Réquiem ætérnam dona ei. Dómine; et lux perpétua lúceat ei. Requiéscat in pace. Amen.

Vomitare!

J, my Special Snowflake, has been sick. Well, not sick, exactly, just kind of chronically vomiting. About every two weeks for the past couple of months, she has woken up in the morning, vomited (mostly bile), slept a couple more hours and then been absolutely fine until the next incident. It doesn't mimic the symptoms of a bug, and none of the rest of us has been sick. It's more like she's pregnant or hungover, both of which seem frankly unlikely.

Last night it happened again, and since we happened to be co-sleeping, I got spattered. I left for Seattle early this morning, so G took her to the doctor today. (The guilt! But someone has to bring home the bacon.) Mind you, we had called the practice pretty much every time, and even took her to urgent care once, and were repeatedly told by various doctors-on-call that she was fine. 

But today, J was actually seen by her actual doctor. She passed an in-office neurological examination. She was then sent for an x-ray and some blood draws. G reported that the doctor said that it could be metabolic or neurological. And that was pretty much all he reported. I was all...did you ask WHAT disorders? What does the doctor think? Why would this be a neurological issue? Did you tell her X, Y and Z? And, last but certainly not least, is J going to die???

Me, not J

So I did what any modern, attached and cray cray concerned mother would do--I called the doctor. Who (and this is why I love her--she's my PCP as well)
called me back! Personally, not via her MA, and not in a rush. I answer the phone, and she says, "Kimberley, this is Kimberly." How do you not love her?

J's x-ray was fine and the lab tests that had been completed were normal. There were a couple more she had to send out that will take a couple of days. Bottom line--if the rest of the tests are negative, J will have a head scan (CT or MRI). Poor little monkey.

The doctor said not to worry now but she would be concerned if we had to go further. (She's always honest, but positive--did I mention I love her?) All I can say is, after the crap couple of years we've had, my baby had goddamn better well be fine. Dr. Capp is essentially diagnosing by elimination--abdominal migraine (I know, right?), seizure (atypical, maybe? I don't remember), the ominous "something more serious" or my favorite--just something she'll pass through.

On the other hand, maybe she simply likes to puke. Just like Daddy:

Of Vampires and Rings

Our "Twilight" tour was a big success.  I read the books (and saw the movies) only because C was reading them.  I have to confess that while the films are completely ridiculous, the books are not.  Stephenie Meyer is never going to win the National Book Award, but I do credit her with creating a richly imagined world whose characters have compelling back stories. In short, I enjoyed the "Twilight" series far more than I expected, and so I was quite willing to take C to Bella's hometown.


We took a gorgeous drive up 101.  The weather was sunny and warm, not exactly what we were expecting in the rainiest town in the contiguous 48 states.  We began by checking into our Twilight Room at the Pacific Inn Motel in Forks.  C was grinning in pure delight--a rare state for my normally reserved stepdaughter.  But wouldn't you be, too, if you could sleep here:

Or wash up with these:

We shopped for a while.  There is far more "Twilight" merchandise that I would have imagined.  Most of it was crap.  C is finally old enough to appreciate that you don't have to buy something just because you can.  In fact, she asked for nothing.  I bought a Christmas ornament, but only because I buy one wherever we go.  And yes, our tree is precisely as pretty as that sounds.


But I digress!  On to the tour.  First off, major props to Team Forks for a truly fun experience.  We were supposed to do the full-meal deal, which included a cookout in La Push, but we were the only people on the tour, so our guide downsized us to just the sights within Forks.  


So on this tour...well.  You drive around in a special bus decorated like the bedroom of a Twilight-crazed tween:

Randy was our guide, and he drove us, along with his life-size cut-outs of Bella, Edward and Jacob, all around town.  I should note that this was a book tour, as opposed to a movie tour (since they didn't actually film there).  So if things don't look like the movie, that's why.  

Here's C at the entrance to town with her three best friends:

And here are Edward and I relaxing on the porch of the B&B that would have been the Cullens' house if, you know, the movie had been filmed there:

Too bad I'm Team Jacob.


And here are the high school:

and the hospital:

and, of course, Bella's truck:

C laughed the entire time...worth every penny!


After the tour, C and I drove out to the Quileute Reservation in La Push, where we saw:


The Treaty Line:

Jacob's house, with his motorcycle chained to the mailbox:

and, last but not least, First Beach:

And so to bed.


In the morning we drove to Port Angeles, rafted on the Elwha River (C fell in and had to be rescued), visited Hurricane Ridge

and, finally, had dinner at  Bella Italia, where Edward and Bella had their first date:

I hate to say it, but the food wasn't very good, and the service was spotty.  They do have a great wine list, but since I had to drive home after dinner, I had a Coke.  Just like Bella did!


No good segue here, so...

I had been having some back and hip pain, and since it lasted more than two weeks, I called my oncologist.  He was not overly concerned but ordered a CT scan to check for mets.

Does the bed move through the ring, or vice versa?  You decide.

My sister had this test when she was first diagnosed. She warned me that the contrast dye, injected intravenously, would make me feel like I just wet my pants. Joel, my friendly neighborhood CT tech, confirmed this just before he stuck the needle in my arm. I was pretty excited. I can't explain why. But just think about what it would feel like if you wet your pants but knew that they were actually dry! Crazy, right?



Only it didn't.  It felt warm down there, but not wet.  More like when your laptop gets hot on your lap, except on the inside.  It was disappointing, not in a devastated way, but kind of like how I felt when I saw Nordstrom's so-called spiral escalator for the first time:

Cool, sure, but not a spiral.


Monday I got the results--negative.  So much happiness!  Since I was not scanned at the outset (it's not typically done when your nodes are negative), this is the first objective indication I have that the cancer has not spread.  So, yes, so much happiness!  


Almost makes up for the dry pants.