Cancer Cardboard

More blood tests.

Every three months, for a year, I've got a date with a needle.  Last time was more drama than I thought I could handle.  But, the results were well worth it.

Last Monday, I saw my surgeon again.  When I had my first surgery, my surgeon (different dude) followed up with me one time to make sure my incision was healing well then passed my care over to an endocrinologist; I never saw him again.  My current surgeon does not operate--(heh heh, BOOM!)--this way.  I saw him a couple weeks after surgery so he could admire his handy work (he graciously cleaned up and straightened out my scar a bit), then he said he wanted to see me again in three months because he wants to be accountable for the work he's done.   

Accountability?  What?  Could you repeat that into my good ear? 

So, he gazed at me for about 45 seconds, palpated my scar and my neck, and asked how I was feeling on my new hormone dosage.  I told him I was feeling well, minus the intermittent pain I am experiencing on the right side of my neck.  He said it was normal to feel some pain and discomfort within the first year as the scar tissue settles and resettles.  I was relieved because some of the pains knock my logic straight into Sweet Jesus, I'm Dying! territory.  Pain is never a welcome thing, even less so when all I want to hear for the next 9 months is "your blood tests are normal" and "your scans are clean".  Settling scar tissue I can handle; a third recurrence and I will wreck some shit.

All in all, he was pleased with my progress and noted that January was my last round of blood tests.  Ugh, I knew what was coming.  I took his orders to the lab downstairs and winced as the lab tech stuck me with as much finesse as a drunken second grader.  OUCH!

Then, a week of waiting.

These waiting weeks always make me feel a bit off.  I feel like a child wearing a costume made of a large cardboard box, like a robot.  Remember those?  It's not a heavy feeling, but a hollow lightness that fits awkwardly.  I feel like I'm rattling and bumbling about, and I have to pause and pivot my whole body before starting in a different direction.  I feel like I lose the fluidity of motion, of thought.  I feel like I'm running after the much cooler kids in much cooler costumes yelling, "Wait up, guys!  I'll be there just as soon as I figure out how to maneuver this!"

Maneuver worry.

Maneuver cancer.

Maneuver life.

Aren't we all trying to figure that one out?

Thank the 8-pound baby Jesus, the results did come back in a week.  Thyroglobulin is still undetectable and my TSH level is down where we need it to be.  All good news, kids.  Wahoo!

So, my shoulders are straighter, my steps a bit more fluid, and the cancer cardboard box has been put away for another three months.  My birthday is next Monday, and I am once again excited and grateful that I have earned the year.  As Oriah, the author of The Invitation, says, "I don't want to know how old you are.  Your age tells me how long you have lasted but not what you have made of the precious time you have been given.  Lasting, enduring, is not enough."

Photo A Day, Week #1

Ugh, to apartment hunting.  Ugh, I say!  

That's what we've been doing for most of the week.  When we're not apartment hunting, I'm pestering D.R. with hypotheticals and What If's about moving and finances.  I'm weighing pros and cons and figuring out bus schedules to UCLA.  What's D.R. doing?  Saying things like, "I will be happy where ever you are happy."

Awwwwwwwwwwwww.  Luuuurve.

But seriously, dishwasher or central air?

You think about it while looking at my photo results from last week.  

Colour:  bushes outside my office.  California really does know how to do the color green.  

Mail:  weekly reminder of all the things I want to steal from Sur La Table.

Someone who makes you happy:  Ina Garten.  Just once I'd love to see her hairstyle change--maybe just part it on the other side?--but this woman's kitchen is my holy ground.

Tiny:  Eiffel Tower necklace from my mother-out-law.  Look, it even shimmers like the real thing does at night.

Lunch:  Oh, it looks so healthy, doesn't it?  Especially with that bag of cherry tomatoes on the left.  You should know that the bag of oatmeal cookies is not in this picture because I had eaten them prior to this lunch. 

Shadow:  my favorite photo of the week. 

Inside your wallet:  All the bits and slips of paper I've collected over the years:  quotations, pictures, love notes, my dad's business card.  They even have that funky wallet smell. 

Gaffes and Gratitudes

Still cultivating that gratitude . . . with the gaffes right on my tail.

gaffes

• Buying a tub of Trader Joe's peanut butter cups for "special treats" and "to share" and "to use for baking".  Then, D.R. and I blacked out.  We woke up with fistfuls of pleated brown wrappers.  You can prove nothing. 
• Being of the age when the number of glasses of wine consumed directly correlates to the number of hours napped.
• Having my boss call me out on a word I've been misusing for--oh, about a decade.  I tried arguing my logic . . . with my boss . . . the M.D. with a matching Ph.D.  I lost.  Proud of my college education that day.
• Failing to wash my face or brush my teeth for three nights in a row.  Not great for my skin or teeth, but at least D.R. had a vision to wake up to. 
• The moment I realize my contribution to the conversation ended about 7.5 seconds ago.  Now I'm hovering . . . j u u u u u u u u s t  hovering.  It happens more times than I'd like to admit. 
• My pantyhose waistband rolling down and violently unleashing the Belly Beast.  It's never not sexy.

gratitudes

• The rainy early morning run that filled me with peace and accomplishment and left no room for frustration in my day.
• The lovely friend that challenges me and makes me ask myself Is that all you can do?  As Gina Barreca says, "Lorelei Lee got it wrong in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes: It's not diamonds that are a girl's best friend, but your best friends who are your diamonds.  It's your best friends who are supremely resilient, made under pressure, and of astonishing value.  They're everlasting; they can cut glass."   
• When I can extend my washed hair 2-3 days.  It may be funky but those up-dos hold really well.
• Seeing my "site visits" number go up.  Thanks for reading, peeps!
• D.R. bringing me flowers . . . because it's Tuesday.
• Having two different conversations with married men who spoke so highly of their wives -- as partners, as professionals, as mothers.  We need more of these men in the world.  We need our daughters around these men so they know what a real man looks and sounds like.  
• That my dad still finds ways to show he's hanging out with me . . . watching over me.
• Fence hunting at the dog park. 

Puppy butts.

A Project To Save This April's Fool

As if the Unemployment/Cancer combo wasn't enough in 2011, I also had to pay taxes this year.

Ugh.

Blech.

Shit.

Blurgh.

I've drowned my sorrows in a giant cupcake and a giant bubble bath.  I'm now in a pruney sugar-crashed state of relaxation.

I have two choices:  descend into dark twisty pity spiral of anguish, or find a distraction.

Hmmmm.

What to do . . . what to do?

May I have another cupcake, please?

I went looking for a project on Pinterest and found this simple but effective idea.  I have no idea who this woman is, but I like the look of her blog and I'm a terrible photographer.  Let the fun begin!

Love that our bathroom's beige walls look green, helps bring out those luscious bags under my eyes.  That scowl is all I can muster for the IRS.

 

 

 

 

 

Creepy Beefus

What is a Beefus?

It is the evolution of Alice B.'s name over the 3 years we've had her.  My family is actually kinda famous for this.

One starts out with their given name (Alice B. Pinto -- because we're terribly clever giving our dog a surname and middle initial), and through a series of substitutions ("The Bean"), applicable movie characters, song lyrics, or topical figures (LaBoeuf from True Grit resulted in "The Beef".  Downton Abbey resulted in "Lady Beantham"), prefixes or suffixes ("Beeficus"), additions or subtractions, we arrive at the current alias.

The Beefus.

My father was really the king of this nickname evolution.  It is the reason my sister is known as "Boonzie" and I am known as "Bimpsy" around our family.  A number of our high school friends were also honored with a nickname, some of which have stuck to this day.  That's how you know we really like you.

Along with her strange nickname, Alice manages to be uber-creepy in photos.  Oh, we've attempted cute and cuddly photos, but that's just not how she rolls.  I am also a shoddy-at-best photographer, which only adds to her mystique.  

  

This is her Clint Eastwood face.

This is not her Clint Eastwood face.

The Lohan.

Wielding her Sith powers over the broccoli.

The house elf.

Google Tasmanian tiger and tell me there isn't some DNA crossover.

Waiting for the Precious

Straight chillin'.