kamigirl25 - stateofgrace.net

Your Most Personal Book.
kamigirl25
2
Contents
1 2002
1.1
1.2
1.3
23
July . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
23
1.1.1
Cancer and cable modems (2002-07-01 11:13) - blah - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
23
1.1.2
Sleep... perchance to dream.... or in my case not (2002-07-02 09:08) - cheerful - public . . . .
24
1.1.3
Musings (2002-07-02 12:39) - pensive - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
24
1.1.4
Something I posted on the Adbusters group (2002-07-02 19:20) - peaceful - public . . . . . . .
27
1.1.5
On Human Origins (posted in Archaeology community) (2002-07-03 10:55) - contemplative public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
27
1.1.6
(2002-07-07 19:18) - awake - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
28
1.1.7
Hospitals, Insurance companies, and others who need to be shot (2002-07-08 11:34) - frustrated
- public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
29
1.1.8
No, I said PADtang... get your mind out of the gutter (2002-07-09 09:33) - awake - public . .
29
1.1.9
The Descent of Man (2002-07-10 18:22) - excited - public
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
30
1.1.10
Stupid is as Stupid does (2002-07-11 11:32) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
31
1.1.11
On Pity Parties and other tricks of the Princess Regime (2002-07-31 10:57) - aggravated - public
32
August . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
33
1.2.1
The Bell Jar (2002-08-01 08:26) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
33
1.2.2
The Promise (2002-08-01 15:40) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
35
1.2.3
Sunday blah’s (2002-08-04 19:33) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
35
1.2.4
(2002-08-05 15:28) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
36
1.2.5
On being a Mother and other useless banter (2002-08-08 10:07) - public . . . . . . . . . . . .
36
1.2.6
On Dylan Thomas (2002-08-12 09:22) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
37
1.2.7
Death be not Proud (2002-08-17 10:41) - public
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
39
1.2.8
(2002-08-17 17:43) - aggravated - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
40
1.2.9
Feminist Mystique (2002-08-27 11:04) - discontent - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
41
September . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
42
1.3.1
The wonderful world of Disney (2002-09-04 20:27) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
42
1.3.2
Daddy’s Little Girl (2002-09-05 08:38) - uncomfortable - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
43
1.3.3
The Joy of Cancer and the ineffiency of Big Business (2002-09-14 02:28) - bitchy - public . . .
45
1.3.4
Silencium (2002-09-14 09:29) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
47
3
1.4
1.5
1.6
1.3.5
If I were a character in Ghostworld.... (2002-09-16 21:40) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
47
1.3.6
A picture of me that my boyfriend took tonight... (2002-09-20 23:16) - public . . . . . . . . .
48
October . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
48
1.4.1
Long time no write..... (2002-10-03 20:59) - Serene - public
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
48
1.4.2
(2002-10-04 21:47) - Defeated - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
49
1.4.3
A Woman’s Heart is the Greatest of Mysteries.... (2002-10-05 19:50) - Proud - public . . . . .
50
1.4.4
To hell with the Trascendentalists... at least for today (2002-10-27 15:55) - annoyed - public .
52
November . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
54
1.5.1
Updates... yes, I’m STILL alive (2002-11-09 16:56) - Bland - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
54
1.5.2
Land of the free, home of the everything wrong in capitalism (2002-11-11 19:29) - Despondent public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
55
1.5.3
Give me this day my daily rant..... (2002-11-18 21:09) - Bleak - public . . . . . . . . . . . . .
56
1.5.4
Give me a pair of Levi’s any day! (2002-11-23 10:39) - Inspired - public
. . . . . . . . . . . .
57
1.5.5
Today’s rant: Happiness (2002-11-26 22:54) - mischievous - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
58
December . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
59
1.6.1
(2002-12-07 01:21) - pensive - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
59
1.6.2
Sunday blah’s (2002-12-08 19:45) - lethargic - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
61
1.6.3
OPRAH: just another name for crap (2002-12-11 17:06) - aggravated - public . . . . . . . . .
62
1.6.4
Will the real Karen M. please stand up? (2002-12-22 12:59) - Resolved - public . . . . . . . .
63
2 2003
2.1
2.2
2.3
2.4
2.5
4
65
January . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
65
2.1.1
Relax, I haven’t died... ;-) (2003-01-03 15:13) - happy - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
65
2.1.2
Radiation Sickness (2003-01-16 12:35) - Logical - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
66
2.1.3
Lost (2003-01-24 13:33) - Complete and utter confusion - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
67
February . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
69
2.2.1
I Love to Hate You (2003-02-06 13:20) - giddy - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
69
2.2.2
Pink Floyd (2003-02-18 20:53) - numb - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
70
2.2.3
Green Acres (2003-02-25 08:10) - cynical - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
71
March . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
72
2.3.1
Avoidance is a girl’s best friend. (2003-03-13 22:10) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
72
2.3.2
Cancer is a six letter word. (2003-03-18 23:46) - Utterly defeated. - friends . . . . . . . . . . .
73
2.3.3
Rebuttal (2003-03-20 17:31) - Disheartened - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
74
2.3.4
MORE Rebuttal (2003-03-20 19:56) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
75
2.3.5
The Gambler (2003-03-27 09:55) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
76
April . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
76
2.4.1
Avon Lady (2003-04-09 23:28) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
76
2.4.2
(2003-04-18 14:56) - giddy - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
79
May . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
79
2.5.1
Evolution Revisited (2003-05-02 17:37) - complacent - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
79
2.5.2
Pure as the driven snow...or something (2003-05-06 16:35) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
80
2.5.3
(2003-05-08 23:21) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
81
2.5.4
Hump Day Challenge (2003-05-14 23:05) - Deflated - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
82
2.5.5
Money changes everything (2003-05-21 09:34) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
83
June . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
84
2.6.1
Have your pets spayed or neutered (2003-06-05 09:08) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
84
2.6.2
(2003-06-19 08:35) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
86
2.6.3
Fatland (2003-06-22 15:29) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
88
2.6.4
Want pink corn on the cob? It’s just around the corner, thanks to biotech. (2003-06-24 08:42)
- Highly irritated - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
90
2.6.5
(2003-06-25 20:18) - Desolate - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
91
2.6.6
Cancer Schmancer (2003-06-27 15:09) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
92
2.6.7
Quote of the day (2003-06-28 16:12) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
92
July . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
92
2.7.1
Good news, bad news (2003-07-08 22:23) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
92
2.7.2
Gotta love the hypocrites (2003-07-10 14:47) - public
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
94
2.7.3
Matthiessen (2003-07-12 12:37) - excited - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
95
2.7.4
(2003-07-15 21:55) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
96
2.7.5
The Politics of Musing (2003-07-23 21:27) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
96
2.7.6
My mother, my friend; my mother, my enemy (2003-07-28 20:37) - public . . . . . . . . . . .
97
August . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
98
2.8.1
Top Ten Lists (2003-08-03 21:27) - bored - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
98
2.8.2
Rainbow Coalition (2003-08-09 21:09) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
99
2.8.3
(2003-08-13 10:09) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
99
2.8.4
Wanderlust (2003-08-31 14:44) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
99
September . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
100
2.9.1
I’m a rambling (wo)man...... (2003-09-11 17:52) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
100
2.9.2
Today’s subject: frustration (2003-09-13 21:06) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
101
2.9.3
(2003-09-24 16:47) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
102
2.10 October . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
102
2.6
2.7
2.8
2.9
2.10.1
October (2003-10-01 19:11) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
102
2.10.2
In sickness and in health (2003-10-05 21:49) - melancholy - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
103
2.10.3
Thoughts. (2003-10-08 11:30) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
105
2.10.4
Work woes (2003-10-15 16:56) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
106
2.10.5
(2003-10-16 15:41) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
106
2.10.6
Beck (2003-10-21 13:12) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
107
2.10.7
Flags at half mast (2003-10-24 20:22) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
108
2.10.8
Up to HERE (2003-10-29 15:19) - Undone - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
108
5
2.11 November . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
2.11.1
Crash (2003-11-01 10:59) - Rock bottom - public
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
110
2.11.2
(2003-11-04 15:48) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
112
2.11.3
Cliques (2003-11-12 15:31) - Low - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
112
2.11.4
Cult of Narcissism (2003-11-15 20:15) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
115
2.11.5
(2003-11-22 09:47) - Agitated - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
117
2.11.6
(2003-11-22 14:30) - Continued Agitation - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
117
2.11.7
(2003-11-24 17:22) - anxious - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
118
2.11.8
(2003-11-26 09:59) - Pompous - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
119
2.11.9
Thanksgiving (2003-11-27 08:27) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
122
2.12 December . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
123
2.12.1
(2003-12-02 15:56) - Never good enough - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
123
2.12.2
Doctors and such (2003-12-04 16:48) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
124
2.12.3
All NEW Grief Recovery formula!
On sale NOW!!!!!
Hurry, while supplies last!
(2003-12-08 08:55) - Speechless - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
126
2.12.4
Survivors need not apply (2003-12-12 15:02) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
127
2.12.5
On children (2003-12-13 13:17) - Despondent - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
127
2.12.6
Cancer. (2003-12-27 20:52) - Crushed. - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
128
2.12.7
More ranting. It never ends. (2003-12-28 11:51) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
129
3 2004
3.1
3.2
6
110
133
January . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
133
3.1.1
Netiquette (2004-01-05 15:20) - Mad - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
133
3.1.2
Can’t sleep....clowns will kill me.... (2004-01-10 10:10) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
134
3.1.3
(2004-01-10 16:39) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
134
3.1.4
Martian Chronicles (2004-01-18 10:28) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
134
3.1.5
Cancer rant...of a different kind. (2004-01-18 22:10) - public
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
136
3.1.6
Out of the Blue (2004-01-19 11:01) - Working and sick of PowerPoint - public . . . . . . . . . .
137
3.1.7
Jane Eyre (2004-01-20 14:55) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
137
3.1.8
Physical law (2004-01-21 16:29) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
138
3.1.9
Watch out, Charlie Trotter (2004-01-23 09:26) - Creative - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
139
3.1.10
A moment of pause (2004-01-23 11:29) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
140
3.1.11
Fly the friendly, ADVERTISED skies (2004-01-26 09:54) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
140
3.1.12
Oh well, whatever, nevermind. (2004-01-28 17:27) - public
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
141
3.1.13
(2004-01-29 08:59) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
142
3.1.14
Can you use it in a sentence, please? (2004-01-31 11:51) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
142
February . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
143
3.2.1
(2004-02-02 09:59) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
143
3.2.2
Boob Tube (2004-02-02 20:27) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
144
3.3
3.4
3.2.3
(2004-02-03 11:33) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
144
3.2.4
In praise of PMS (2004-02-03 16:57) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
144
3.2.5
Assure THIS (2004-02-07 12:50) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
145
3.2.6
Beer...it does a body good (2004-02-08 13:33) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
147
3.2.7
(2004-02-09 12:32) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
147
3.2.8
Jane Fonda I’m not (2004-02-10 22:23) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
147
3.2.9
Untold Truths (2004-02-11 09:17) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
148
3.2.10
The leg bone attaches to the...hope bone (2004-02-15 11:49) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
149
3.2.11
Feeling catty today (2004-02-16 14:23) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
151
3.2.12
Stuff (2004-02-18 09:43) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
151
3.2.13
Reserved parking (2004-02-22 14:41) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
152
3.2.14
Good Graces (2004-02-23 13:09) - public
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
153
3.2.15
With this ring, I succumb to critical thinking (2004-02-25 09:05) - public . . . . . . . . . . .
153
3.2.16
12 Things about the World (2004-02-26 14:42) - Observational - public . . . . . . . . . . . . .
155
3.2.17
So very very wrong. (2004-02-27 09:05) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
156
March . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
156
3.3.1
The Wisdom of the Bones (2004-03-01 10:09) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
156
3.3.2
Lance Armstrong I’m not, but.... (2004-03-02 10:40) - excited - public . . . . . . . . . . . . .
157
3.3.3
The finer things keep shining through (2004-03-02 14:59) - Thankful - public . . . . . . . . . .
157
3.3.4
Oh, one more thing on gay marriage... (2004-03-02 15:44) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
158
3.3.5
Venting always feels good! (2004-03-04 14:47) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
158
3.3.6
For all cancer patients who are tired of prima donnas (2004-03-05 11:48) - friends . . . . . .
159
3.3.7
My kitty. (2004-03-06 21:10) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
160
3.3.8
More on my non-existant family (2004-03-07 12:16) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
161
3.3.9
Motherless daughters (2004-03-07 21:07) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
162
3.3.10
Awwwww...... (2004-03-09 13:38) - Exhausted - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
164
3.3.11
Maggie’s (2004-03-10 09:15) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
165
3.3.12
Girl Stuff (2004-03-11 09:52) - public
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
166
3.3.13
Are you socially fit? (2004-03-11 22:08) - Pompously intellectual - public . . . . . . . . . . . .
167
3.3.14
Chez Karen (2004-03-14 19:57) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
168
3.3.15
Trash TV (2004-03-16 09:25) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
168
3.3.16
Remission interrupted. (2004-03-19 11:23) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
168
3.3.17
What it means to lose a breast (2004-03-20 13:58) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
169
3.3.18
New Recipe created! (2004-03-26 14:21) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
170
3.3.19
And the winner is...CANCER!!!! (2004-03-31 09:37) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
170
April . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
171
3.4.1
Andy Dandy (2004-04-01 13:32) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
171
3.4.2
(2004-04-02 08:37) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
172
7
3.4.3
Just when I think it can’t get any worse... (2004-04-03 08:16) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . .
173
3.4.4
Random thoughts (2004-04-04 09:50) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
176
3.4.5
Sick and just feel like whining. (2004-04-06 11:59) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
177
3.4.6
First a rant, then an amusing anectode (2004-04-07 12:20) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
178
3.4.7
(2004-04-08 13:03) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
180
3.4.8
Head Games (2004-04-08 16:30) - Congested - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
182
3.4.9
On Death and Dying (2004-04-10 08:53) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
182
3.4.10
Living is not Winning and Dying is not Losing (2004-04-10 19:34) - Just plain sick of it - public
183
3.4.11
Happy Holiday (non-denominational) (2004-04-11 08:44) - Complacent - friends . . . . . . . .
184
3.4.12
3.5
8
Thanks for flying...today our cruising altitude will be approximately 30,000 feet
(2004-04-11 19:51) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
185
3.4.13
Random stuff (2004-04-12 16:48) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
187
3.4.14
Phone support (2004-04-13 14:43) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
188
3.4.15
(2004-04-15 09:30) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
189
3.4.16
Bad things happening to BAD people (2004-04-15 10:43) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
190
3.4.17
730 days and counting. (2004-04-16 14:20) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
190
3.4.18
On life and death (2004-04-17 09:40) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
190
3.4.19
Everything you ever wanted to know about chemotherapy (2004-04-19 08:41) - public . . . .
192
3.4.20
Osco: Helping make your life easier* (2004-04-20 08:02) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
193
3.4.21
Utica, IL (2004-04-21 08:48) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
195
3.4.22
Hair Loss (2004-04-21 09:30) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
195
3.4.23
Bereavement (2004-04-28 09:12) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
196
3.4.24
(2004-04-28 11:30) - Despondent - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
197
3.4.25
The LIST (2004-04-30 09:48) - Ornery - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
198
May . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
199
3.5.1
(2004-05-02 20:02) - Sleepy - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
199
3.5.2
Cokie Roberts (2004-05-03 11:04) - Contemplative - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
201
3.5.3
Fun with Genetics (2004-05-04 11:07) - public
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
201
3.5.4
Just got the call... (2004-05-04 11:18) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
201
3.5.5
Hail to the Chief (2004-05-04 22:42) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
201
3.5.6
(2004-05-05 13:08) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
202
3.5.7
Skeletons in the closet (2004-05-05 15:51) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
205
3.5.8
Everything you ever wanted to know about breast cancer. I mean EVER. (2004-05-06 15:54) public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
205
3.5.9
Cancer is busy work. (2004-05-07 14:44) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
208
3.5.10
Sunday (2004-05-10 10:54) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
209
3.5.11
The Joy of Cancer (2004-05-11 15:04) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
209
3.5.12
Clinical Trials (2004-05-12 14:42) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
210
3.5.13
Breakfast of Champions. (2004-05-13 11:13) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
211
3.6
3.5.14
Venting (2004-05-13 21:37) - public
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
211
3.5.15
We’ll be together again...I’ve been waiting for a long time... (2004-05-15 11:38) - Tongue-in-cheek
- public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
212
3.5.16
More fun facts about chemotherapy! (2004-05-15 22:05) - Dry - public . . . . . . . . . . . . .
213
3.5.17
Another VOTING scandal...what is this country coming to? (2004-05-16 12:10) - public . . .
215
3.5.18
Bookworm (2004-05-18 09:01) - Trying to organize - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
215
3.5.19
Drowning in Books (2004-05-19 22:25) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
217
3.5.20
Cleanliness is next to godliness (2004-05-20 11:00) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
218
3.5.21
And essay on isolation. (2004-05-20 21:48) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
219
3.5.22
I swear it’s Friday the 13th (2004-05-21 15:39) - public
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
221
3.5.23
Breast care (2004-05-22 12:50) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
223
3.5.24
Dating Pool (2004-05-24 11:28) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
224
3.5.25
Oh, and one other thing... (2004-05-24 11:55) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
224
3.5.26
Miscellaneous (2004-05-24 19:06) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
224
3.5.27
Something’s bugging me. (2004-05-26 18:44) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
225
3.5.28
Two thumbs up? down? How about just curled into my palm in frustration. (2004-05-28 23:20)
- Silly - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
226
3.5.29
Anxiety (2004-05-29 10:50) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
228
3.5.30
Screw Spellcheck. (2004-05-31 10:36) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
229
June . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
230
3.6.1
Update (2004-06-01 10:14) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
230
3.6.2
Volunteerism (2004-06-02 10:53) - public
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
230
3.6.3
An essay on how I was diagnosed. (2004-06-02 15:03) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
231
3.6.4
For Sale (2004-06-04 11:48) - Amused - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
233
3.6.5
Fathers and Daughters. (2004-06-06 21:34) - numb - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
233
3.6.6
Another pointless headline (2004-06-07 10:24) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
236
3.6.7
(2004-06-07 21:11) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
237
3.6.8
(2004-06-08 23:37) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
237
3.6.9
All About Reagan (2004-06-09 13:23) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
238
3.6.10
Out of the frying pan, into the pressure cooker (2004-06-09 14:59) - angry - public . . . . . .
239
3.6.11
Stupid is as stupid does...and stupid does a lot in this country (2004-06-10 09:50) - public . .
240
3.6.12
Just a Mish-Mash (2004-06-14 10:16) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
241
3.6.13
(2004-06-14 20:21) - Anthropological - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
243
3.6.14
No more lawyer jokes for me. (2004-06-15 15:25) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
245
3.6.15
Eight Crazy Nights...or rather, 90 crazy minutes (2004-06-16 22:30) - Critical - public . . . .
246
3.6.16
(2004-06-18 18:42) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
247
3.6.17
Stick a fork in it, the day is DONE. (2004-06-18 23:14) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
247
3.6.18
(2004-06-19 11:51) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
249
3.6.19
(2004-06-20 11:27) - Feeling like a big doofus - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
249
9
3.7
3.8
10
3.6.20
(2004-06-20 14:21) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
250
3.6.21
Rock Me (2004-06-21 10:38) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
250
3.6.22
In other music news.... (2004-06-21 15:01) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
252
3.6.23
Crushing Day (2004-06-22 19:01) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
252
3.6.24
Thesis CRAP. (2004-06-24 09:55) - Dumb - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
253
3.6.25
Random thoughts (2004-06-24 10:15) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
253
3.6.26
Fridays are officially my LEAST favorite day of the week. (2004-06-25 16:53) - public . . . .
255
3.6.27
Death be not Proud (2004-06-26 09:30) - Complacent - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
257
3.6.28
Headbangers’ Ball (2004-06-27 22:11) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
260
3.6.29
Time won’t give me time (2004-06-28 09:15) - Complacent - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
261
3.6.30
And in the pain department.... (2004-06-28 14:36) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
264
3.6.31
What Dreams May Come (2004-06-29 08:55) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
265
3.6.32
Suit of Armour (2004-06-29 20:58) - Humorous - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
267
July . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
269
3.7.1
Social Structures (2004-07-01 09:09) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
269
3.7.2
Darwinism Refuted (2004-07-02 10:34) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
271
3.7.3
Food, Glorious Food (2004-07-06 12:58) - Hungry - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
272
3.7.4
Fahrenheit 9/11 (2004-07-07 21:54) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
274
3.7.5
It must be love. (2004-07-10 10:02) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
276
3.7.6
You say it’s your birthday... (2004-07-13 08:55) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
277
3.7.7
Tumor Markers (2004-07-13 19:48) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
278
3.7.8
Pop Culture (2004-07-16 09:51) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
278
3.7.9
Brain Dump–it’s all coming out at once (2004-07-17 08:13) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
278
3.7.10
Fatherless Daughters (2004-07-18 09:31) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
282
3.7.11
Halle Berry I’m not (2004-07-20 20:13) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
285
3.7.12
Life Lessons (2004-07-21 14:59) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
287
3.7.13
Love actually (2004-07-22 09:40) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
288
3.7.14
A much needed good-bye (2004-07-23 16:53) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
290
3.7.15
Do you Yahoo? (2004-07-24 08:43) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
291
3.7.16
Chemotherapy Interuptus (2004-07-26 16:05) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
293
3.7.17
Media Play (2004-07-26 20:29) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
294
3.7.18
It’s a donkey, not an ass. (2004-07-27 21:10) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
294
3.7.19
Tree Huggin’ Hippies (2004-07-28 09:58) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
296
3.7.20
Hope Floats (2004-07-28 21:52) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
297
3.7.21
Breast Cancer Unawareness (2004-07-29 20:01) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
299
3.7.22
(2004-07-29 23:15) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
303
3.7.23
(2004-07-30 11:47) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
304
August . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
304
3.9
3.8.1
Dairy free (2004-08-02 20:40) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
304
3.8.2
Agronomy Day 2004 (2004-08-03 09:28) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
304
3.8.3
Sleepless and happy (2004-08-05 11:01) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
305
3.8.4
Die Yuppie Scum, Die (2004-08-05 19:10) - Seriously pissed off - public . . . . . . . . . . . . .
306
3.8.5
Research interrupted (2004-08-06 13:23) - Frustrated - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
306
3.8.6
Peace, Love, and Bloodshed (2004-08-07 15:27) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
307
3.8.7
Party All the Time (2004-08-09 09:49) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
308
3.8.8
Even the Non-profits can get ugly sometimes. (2004-08-09 15:59) - public . . . . . . . . . . .
309
3.8.9
Soon to be ”Friends Only” (2004-08-10 08:41) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
309
3.8.10
Anything you say can and will be used against you (2004-08-11 10:43) - Seriously pissed - public
310
3.8.11
Caveat scriptors (authors beware) (2004-08-12 09:05) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
311
3.8.12
You mean it’s NOT a tumor? (2004-08-12 11:36) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
312
3.8.13
For Sherri at IDA (2004-08-13 17:04) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
313
3.8.14
That’s me, with the gun, shooting myself in the head (2004-08-15 14:53) - Wishing for earplugs public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
314
3.8.15
Life interrupted. (2004-08-15 21:45) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
315
3.8.16
The root of it all (2004-08-16 21:02) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
315
3.8.17
The first cut won’t hurt at all... (2004-08-17 09:25) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
317
3.8.18
Fun with Quotes (2004-08-18 12:27) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
318
3.8.19
Born in 1973 (2004-08-19 08:18) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
319
3.8.20
Turtle Soup (2004-08-19 09:21) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
320
3.8.21
Turtle Report (2004-08-19 14:33) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
321
3.8.22
My turtle can beat up your turtle (2004-08-20 09:40) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
321
3.8.23
Turtle Picture (2004-08-20 12:27) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
322
3.8.24
Yet Another Problem with October (2004-08-22 14:27) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
322
3.8.25
Point-Counterpoint (2004-08-24 10:25) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
326
3.8.26
Appreciate your cancer! (2004-08-24 16:06) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
327
3.8.27
The World According to Pat Benetar (2004-08-25 09:25) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
328
3.8.28
Vietnam (2004-08-25 12:58) - Disheartened - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
330
3.8.29
Moody Blues (2004-08-25 20:11) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
330
3.8.30
Drug companies are our friends (2004-08-26 15:59) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
332
3.8.31
Ticket THIS (2004-08-27 10:44) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
333
September . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
333
3.9.1
Remnants (2004-09-01 22:08) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
333
3.9.2
Gym rat (2004-09-03 15:44) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
335
3.9.3
Capitalism re-interpreted (2004-09-04 12:28) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
336
3.9.4
Being Boring (2004-09-05 19:26) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
341
3.9.5
Lovable furballs (2004-09-05 21:51) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
344
3.9.6
The Mismeasure of Man (2004-09-08 10:25) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
344
11
12
3.9.7
An attempt at cultural anthropology (2004-09-09 08:51) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
344
3.9.8
Business versus Pleasure (2004-09-13 10:00) - Overwhelmed - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
346
3.9.9
Creationists Take Warning (2004-09-13 19:54) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
348
3.9.10
Tuition and Fees (2004-09-16 10:11) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
349
3.9.11
Take it or leave it (2004-09-17 10:57) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
351
3.9.12
Don’t call me, my phone is unplugged (2004-09-18 10:15) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
353
3.9.13
What’s that stench I smell? (2004-09-18 20:41) - Amused - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
354
3.9.14
Lifestyle choices (2004-09-20 10:55) - pensive - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
354
3.9.15
Claim THIS (2004-09-22 15:32) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
357
3.9.16
All About Work (2004-09-22 21:27) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
358
3.9.17
(2004-09-24 15:20) - chipper - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
358
3.9.18
(2004-09-27 14:33) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
360
3.9.19
I lost on Jeopardy (2004-09-27 17:16) - Thrilled - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
362
3.9.20
Pack your bags...we’re taking a guilt trip to Limbo! (2004-09-29 21:01) - friends . . . . . . .
363
3.9.21
Mop and Glo (2004-09-30 21:43) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
364
3.10 October . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
365
3.10.1
The Problem with October (2004-10-01 10:43) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
365
3.10.2
On Newspapers (2004-10-03 09:51) - Antiestablishment - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
370
3.10.3
Cut the crap. (2004-10-03 12:29) - Tongue in Cheek - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
371
3.10.4
Of Mice and Men (2004-10-04 14:24) - anxious - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
371
3.10.5
Weekend Update (2004-10-05 09:32) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
373
3.10.6
(2004-10-05 18:27) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
376
3.10.7
MORE Work Woes (2004-10-07 06:50) - Worried - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
376
3.10.8
Health Update (2004-10-07 09:34) - public
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
378
3.10.9
Because I love The Family Guy (2004-10-07 11:30) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
379
3.10.10
Columbus, Magellan and Murray (2004-10-08 13:38) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
379
3.10.11
Overheard at the Presidential Debates (2004-10-08 21:41) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
380
3.10.12
Mixing Politics and Work (2004-10-13 19:49) - Melancholy - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
380
3.10.13
Fun with Anti-Choice Activists! (2004-10-16 13:04) - Irritated - public . . . . . . . . . . . . .
383
3.10.14
Stem Cell Research (2004-10-18 14:41) - Harried - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
386
3.10.15
Fat Camp (2004-10-19 20:29) - Irritated - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
387
3.10.16
Think pink? I think not. (2004-10-21 17:07) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
390
3.10.17
Cancer and Culture (2004-10-23 12:08) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
390
3.10.18
SNL (2004-10-24 11:27) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
394
3.10.19
Ramblings. (2004-10-25 19:22) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
394
3.10.20
Man crushes and motherhood (2004-10-27 20:35) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
396
3.10.21
(2004-10-28 19:03) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
396
3.10.22
Cancer Sales...er...Support (2004-10-28 20:25) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
397
3.10.23
State of Illinois Elections (2004-10-28 21:22) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
398
3.10.24
Cancer SUPPORT, not Cancer Support by Only OUR Definition (2004-10-29 23:01) - public
398
3.10.25
Happy Halloween. (2004-10-31 19:23) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
399
3.11 November . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
399
3.11.1
Spyware Rant (2004-11-01 08:11) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
399
3.11.2
Election (2004-11-02 14:29) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
400
3.11.3
(2004-11-03 08:39) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
400
3.11.4
Obama-bama-bo-bama (2004-11-03 09:52) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
400
3.11.5
Noam Chomsky (2004-11-03 12:55) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
400
3.11.6
After the speech (2004-11-03 15:08) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
401
3.11.7
Boys will be Boys (2004-11-03 19:46) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
401
3.11.8
Middle Class Values (2004-11-04 00:11) - public
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
401
3.11.9
Work Break (2004-11-04 12:13) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
402
3.11.10
Freedom of the Press...provided it serves business and government (2004-11-04 22:39) - public
403
3.11.11
Dumb asses need not comment (2004-11-06 14:00) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
404
3.11.12
Mixed Messages (2004-11-07 16:08) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
405
3.11.13
Pain (2004-11-08 09:22) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
407
3.11.14
There’s Always Work (2004-11-11 22:46) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
408
3.11.15
On Death and Dying (2004-11-16 14:39) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
410
3.11.16
Morality not (2004-11-17 15:09) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
410
3.11.17
A moment of silence (2004-11-18 13:34) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
411
3.11.18
Saga of the Trashy Family (2004-11-20 11:28) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
411
3.11.19
Mouthing Off (2004-11-22 23:21) - Tired - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
414
3.11.20
Giving Thanks (2004-11-25 23:21) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
415
3.11.21
A life as determined by me. (2004-11-28 12:23) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
416
3.11.22
Diamonds and Loving Arms (2004-11-30 09:38) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
419
3.11.23
Peaceful Tidings (2004-11-30 21:26) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
420
3.12 December . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
422
3.12.1
My cancer is acting up. (2004-12-01 19:15) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
422
3.12.2
Bells and Whistles (2004-12-08 11:16) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
423
3.12.3
Dem Bones (2004-12-09 14:50) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
425
3.12.4
No bones about it. (2004-12-09 15:35) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
425
3.12.5
The Wonder of Privatized Health Care (2004-12-09 23:20) - Tired - public . . . . . . . . . . .
425
3.12.6
And now a word from our sponsor (2004-12-12 23:10) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
427
3.12.7
And from the ”Fuck You” files... (2004-12-14 12:24) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
428
3.12.8
Do unto others (2004-12-16 09:45) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
428
3.12.9
Non-working relationships (2004-12-17 16:59) - Disappointed - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
429
3.12.10
Remission interrupted. (2004-12-21 12:45) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
432
13
3.12.11
Kitty-CT’s (2004-12-22 13:42) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
432
3.12.12
Fatherless Daughters (2004-12-23 10:52) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
433
3.12.13
Ethical Behavior (2004-12-26 22:36) - Ready to throttle someone - public . . . . . . . . . . . .
437
3.12.14
The good, the bad and the ugly (2004-12-27 15:19) - Resigned - public . . . . . . . . . . . . .
437
3.12.15
Holiday Rings (2004-12-28 18:58) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
438
3.12.16
And now a word from the ”Fuck you” files (2004-12-29 16:22) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . .
439
3.12.17
This is a post about how my job is fucked up. No holding back anymore. (2004-12-30 17:57) friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
440
3.12.18
Lies, Damned Lies and Statistics (2004-12-30 22:09) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
442
3.12.19
Friday (2004-12-31 15:54) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
443
4 2005
4.1
4.2
14
445
January . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
445
4.1.1
Pancakes and Panoramic Views (2005-01-01 09:47) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
445
4.1.2
Endurance. (2005-01-01 14:46) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
447
4.1.3
New Year’s Resolution (2005-01-02 22:07) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
448
4.1.4
Tools of the trade (2005-01-03 21:12) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
448
4.1.5
3 Day Summary (2005-01-06 22:04) - Really, really demented - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
450
4.1.6
Halos aren’t just for angels. (2005-01-08 10:09) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
451
4.1.7
Bohemian Rhapsody (2005-01-09 09:47) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
453
4.1.8
Bleeding Gums Murphy (2005-01-10 20:02) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
454
4.1.9
Children are NOT saviors. (2005-01-12 07:18) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
454
4.1.10
Two days and counting! (2005-01-12 20:52) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
455
4.1.11
Celebrity Skin (2005-01-16 14:21) - Goofy - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
455
4.1.12
(2005-01-17 09:36) - Explanatory - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
457
4.1.13
Dupont: a French term meaning ”We Poison You” (2005-01-18 11:32) - public . . . . . . . . .
459
4.1.14
Health Care Crisis (2005-01-19 09:54) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
459
4.1.15
The Median Isn’t the Message (2005-01-21 15:14) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
463
4.1.16
To be or not to be (2005-01-23 10:38) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
464
4.1.17
Life is but a stage... (2005-01-24 16:11) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
465
4.1.18
Office Space (2005-01-24 20:01) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
465
4.1.19
What do you mean not everyone in the world is exactly like us? (2005-01-26 22:18) - High on life
- public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
466
4.1.20
I think therefore I take vicodin (2005-01-27 10:05) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
467
4.1.21
Countdown (2005-01-29 10:35) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
467
4.1.22
(2005-01-30 21:03) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
469
4.1.23
I prefer to only have lumps in my oatmeal, thank you very much. (2005-01-31 15:34) - public
470
February . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
471
4.2.1
471
(2005-02-01 13:46) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
4.3
4.2.2
Pussy cat (2005-02-01 22:10) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
471
4.2.3
Odds and Ends (2005-02-02 22:16) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
472
4.2.4
I’m not knocking on heaven’s door (2005-02-04 22:03) - Complacent - public . . . . . . . . . .
473
4.2.5
Sleeping Sickness (2005-02-05 11:30) - Happy - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
474
4.2.6
Cancer Chronicles (2005-02-08 23:32) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
475
4.2.7
Everything comes in three’s (2005-02-09 16:32) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
477
4.2.8
Liver–it’s what’s for dinner. (2005-02-11 15:13) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
478
4.2.9
(2005-02-12 11:26) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
478
4.2.10
Braindrops keep falling on my head (2005-02-13 11:46) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
481
4.2.11
(2005-02-16 14:38) - Just...here. - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
485
4.2.12
Corporate interests (2005-02-17 12:04) - Really fucking irritated - public . . . . . . . . . . . . .
490
4.2.13
And from the ”Don’t Fuck With Me” files... (2005-02-17 13:51) - public . . . . . . . . . . . .
492
4.2.14
Daily Rant on Northwestern (2005-02-19 11:20) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
493
4.2.15
Wild Kingdom (2005-02-19 13:06) - public
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
494
4.2.16
(2005-02-19 15:06) - Crushed. - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
494
4.2.17
Feel good stories and other coping mechanisms (2005-02-20 12:08) - Complacent. - public
. .
495
4.2.18
Karen’s ”mini” rant on breast cancer...AGAIN (2005-02-22 18:58) - public . . . . . . . . . . .
497
4.2.19
Radiation sickness (2005-02-23 18:46) - public
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
500
4.2.20
A very sincere Thank You (2005-02-25 14:24) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
500
4.2.21
Last Wednesday (2005-02-28 12:20) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
500
March . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
506
4.3.1
Ow! My liver! My liver! (2005-03-02 22:31) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
506
4.3.2
I’m in stitches (2005-03-03 10:34) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
508
4.3.3
Carbon based life forms (2005-03-06 11:47) - Really jazzed up. - public . . . . . . . . . . . . .
509
4.3.4
On motherhood (2005-03-07 11:51) - Thoughtful - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
512
4.3.5
Just...updates. (2005-03-09 12:09) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
517
4.3.6
I want to see some green! (2005-03-10 09:58) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
518
4.3.7
The Life that Was (2005-03-10 21:26) - Grief - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
520
4.3.8
Not all journals are created equal (2005-03-12 11:41) - Nostalgic - public . . . . . . . . . . . .
521
4.3.9
SallieMaeSucks.Com (2005-03-14 10:28) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
524
4.3.10
Credit-a-go-go (2005-03-15 09:39) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
526
4.3.11
Romans 9:15 (2005-03-16 15:25) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
526
4.3.12
Talking to myself (2005-03-16 20:06) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
526
4.3.13
Insurance premiums. (2005-03-18 16:11) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
528
4.3.14
Stomach Pains (2005-03-19 12:14) - public
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
529
4.3.15
Maui-Wowie (2005-03-22 21:45) - Relieved - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
529
4.3.16
Don’t be an ass to people because YOUR life sucks (2005-03-23 15:33) - public . . . . . . . .
532
4.3.17
Chemo-sabi (2005-03-24 10:41) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
533
15
4.4
4.5
16
4.3.18
Resurrection Redefined. (2005-03-27 20:48) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
535
4.3.19
Life, liberty and the pursuit of sanctity (2005-03-28 22:44) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
537
4.3.20
No WONDER I feel so barren and lifeless (2005-03-29 14:58) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . .
540
4.3.21
Caveat Emptor (2005-03-30 17:26) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
540
April . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
541
4.4.1
Mothers of the World, UNITE! (2005-04-02 15:50) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
541
4.4.2
Pink Houses (2005-04-04 12:37) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
542
4.4.3
We’re loyal to you, Illinois (2005-04-04 19:08) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
545
4.4.4
We’re number two! We’re number two! (2005-04-04 22:28) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
546
4.4.5
Daily Solicitations (2005-04-07 10:40) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
546
4.4.6
Opinionated Yakkers (2005-04-08 12:56) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
546
4.4.7
Dem Bones (2005-04-09 20:28) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
550
4.4.8
Pink Ribbons on Motor Oil? Not in my lifetime. (2005-04-11 11:38) - public . . . . . . . . .
551
4.4.9
I’m not getting older, I’m getting drier (2005-04-12 10:55) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
552
4.4.10
Crank this. (2005-04-14 20:43) - CRANKY - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
553
4.4.11
Evolutions (2005-04-18 22:11) - Pensive - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
554
4.4.12
My Cousin Vinny (2005-04-19 19:20) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
556
4.4.13
Fatigue (2005-04-20 20:05) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
556
4.4.14
What you CRAVE (2005-04-22 21:54) - A little loopy - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
556
4.4.15
Hand to Foot Combat (2005-04-24 17:36) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
558
4.4.16
Dreamland (2005-04-25 21:44) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
559
4.4.17
Two sickies in one household (2005-04-26 20:56) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
560
4.4.18
Rectum? Damn near killed ’em! (2005-04-27 11:41) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
562
4.4.19
On feet and thyroids (2005-04-28 16:10) - calm - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
563
May . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
563
4.5.1
Andy Bell and Vince Clark (2005-05-01 23:01) - public
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
563
4.5.2
May Day (2005-05-04 13:41) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
566
4.5.3
Rank and File (2005-05-04 22:36) - accomplished - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
570
4.5.4
Protein Power (2005-05-06 15:08) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
571
4.5.5
Sideways (2005-05-09 11:08) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
572
4.5.6
Crabby Cancer Rant (2005-05-09 20:14) - bitchy - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
572
4.5.7
Connections. (2005-05-10 09:44) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
573
4.5.8
Tumor Markers (2005-05-12 16:27) - Seriously Mad - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
575
4.5.9
Victor Davis Hanson is an idiot. Wait, is that slander? (2005-05-13 14:51) - public . . . . . .
576
4.5.10
Alternative lifestyle (2005-05-15 13:11) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
580
4.5.11
The darker side of humanity (2005-05-16 16:39) - Confused - friends
. . . . . . . . . . . . . .
580
4.5.12
Domestic Bliss (2005-05-17 16:53) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
583
4.5.13
Books and more books. (2005-05-18 15:42) - public
585
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
4.6
4.7
4.5.14
Lies, Damned Lies, and Statistics (2005-05-19 13:19) - Contemplative - public . . . . . . . . .
585
4.5.15
Travelocity (2005-05-19 16:24) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
589
4.5.16
Sleepy-Time (2005-05-20 13:36) - Really, really tired - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
590
4.5.17
It’s not about the bike...or the car, or the clothes... (2005-05-23 22:29) - Enjoyable - public . .
591
4.5.18
Recap (2005-05-24 21:33) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
594
4.5.19
And from the ”No Shit, Sherlock” files... (2005-05-25 16:31) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
596
4.5.20
Richard Dawkins... (2005-05-26 10:19) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
597
4.5.21
Strawberry Crush (2005-05-26 22:59) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
597
4.5.22
Darwinian Thoughts (2005-05-27 13:28) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
601
4.5.23
And now a lesson from Bad Analogies 101 (2005-05-31 21:47) - distressed - public . . . . . . .
605
June . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
607
4.6.1
Skin...the body’s largest organ. (2005-06-01 10:57) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
607
4.6.2
An open letter to our tax payer funded museum system (2005-06-01 15:52) - public . . . . .
609
4.6.3
Dualities (2005-06-02 23:16) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
610
4.6.4
Kylie Minogue needs to go away. (2005-06-03 11:22) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
612
4.6.5
Tuesday Update (2005-06-07 11:37) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
612
4.6.6
Blake and I (2005-06-08 21:49) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
614
4.6.7
Livejournal Stalker: Friends please read. (2005-06-09 12:15) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
615
4.6.8
Weekend Road Trip (2005-06-12 21:07) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
616
4.6.9
Beng corny (2005-06-13 23:30) - public
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
618
4.6.10
Solo journeys and the luck of the draw (2005-06-14 22:23) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
619
4.6.11
Farmer Markets (2005-06-15 11:32) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
622
4.6.12
Chemical Warfare (2005-06-16 10:42) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
622
4.6.13
JP Morgan/Chase Manhattan Bank: Why You Should Never Bank There (2005-06-16 14:53) public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
623
4.6.14
It’s three...three...three links in one! (2005-06-20 20:15) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
625
4.6.15
Two for Tuesday (2005-06-21 14:34) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
628
4.6.16
Sisters in cancer (2005-06-23 15:03) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
629
4.6.17
Sallie Mae No More! (2005-06-24 14:50) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
631
4.6.18
The Shifting of Power: Examples from an Agribusiness Model (2005-06-28 20:06) - friends . .
632
4.6.19
Lazy summer days. (2005-06-29 10:53) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
633
4.6.20
This is what results when you’re bored stiff. (2005-06-30 15:21) - public . . . . . . . . . . . .
634
July . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
638
4.7.1
Drunken Stupor (2005-07-02 23:38) - Seriously loaded - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
638
4.7.2
The morning after (2005-07-03 11:51) - public
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
639
4.7.3
Material Girl of the non-Madonna Kind (2005-07-04 13:24) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
640
4.7.4
Time Travel (2005-07-05 14:24) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
641
4.7.5
Is that chicken big enough to wear a saddle, yet? (2005-07-06 11:22) - public . . . . . . . . .
646
4.7.6
Fraudulence (2005-07-06 21:31) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
647
17
4.7.7
Found objects (2005-07-06 22:48) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
647
4.7.8
For all you anthropology nerds out there (2005-07-09 13:54) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
650
4.7.9
Throwing Stones (2005-07-10 19:39) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
650
4.7.10
Sticks and Stones (2005-07-11 12:03) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
654
4.7.11
And just because all bad things come with some good.... (2005-07-11 12:41) - public . . . . .
654
4.7.12
Fun with Message Boards (2005-07-11 15:45) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
654
4.7.13
4.8
18
Medium:
An intervening substance through which other substances are carried
(2005-07-12 09:14) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
655
4.7.14
Fire Rove! (2005-07-12 15:11) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
656
4.7.15
On Birthdays and Eggs (2005-07-13 12:05) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
656
4.7.16
Re-cap (2005-07-13 23:00) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
657
4.7.17
Hurricane Emily (2005-07-16 20:36) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
659
4.7.18
Turtle Report (2005-07-19 13:40) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
659
4.7.19
Wine, Women and Nose Rings (2005-07-24 12:26) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
660
4.7.20
Thyroid: the forgotten endocrine gland. (2005-07-26 22:11) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
661
4.7.21
Chronology (2005-07-29 12:16) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
663
4.7.22
Decisions, decisions (2005-07-29 15:35) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
665
August . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
666
4.8.1
It’s not about the bike OR convoluted heroism (2005-08-01 14:40) - public . . . . . . . . . .
666
4.8.2
Stable Isotopes (2005-08-02 10:20) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
666
4.8.3
I’ve got the next American Idol RIGHT HERE! (2005-08-02 22:58) - public . . . . . . . . . .
666
4.8.4
The best of SNL (2005-08-03 11:01) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
666
4.8.5
The Evolution Debates...continued (2005-08-03 16:50) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
667
4.8.6
Brain Waves (2005-08-04 14:28) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
667
4.8.7
A Hairy Predicament (2005-08-06 11:23) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
672
4.8.8
This is a rant, this is only a rant. (2005-08-07 13:33) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
673
4.8.9
More on ”intelligent” design (2005-08-08 11:24) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
676
4.8.10
Hillbilly Heaven (2005-08-09 23:20) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
676
4.8.11
Ape to Man (2005-08-12 00:28) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
678
4.8.12
Bill THIS. (2005-08-12 14:18) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
681
4.8.13
How Low Can You Go? (2005-08-12 15:05) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
682
4.8.14
Sunday Update (2005-08-14 21:51) - Seriously irritated - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
682
4.8.15
Evolution and Vegetarianism (2005-08-15 12:48) - public
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
684
4.8.16
Southern Hospitality (2005-08-17 16:03) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
686
4.8.17
More CT scan fun (2005-08-18 10:08) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
690
4.8.18
Rambling, long winded writing that makes no sense. (2005-08-18 23:41) - Really sick - public
691
4.8.19
Warning: French Fries can cause cancer (2005-08-19 10:37) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
693
4.8.20
Meow, meow, meow, meow (2005-08-19 20:45) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
693
4.8.21
Gay-dar (2005-08-27 21:13) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
694
4.8.22
College Life (2005-08-28 11:51) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
695
4.8.23
We are Family (2005-08-29 22:26) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
696
4.8.24
Soap Box Derby (2005-08-30 10:37) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
698
4.8.25
Hump Day Madness (2005-08-31 10:58) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
699
September . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
700
4.9.1
The War on Cancer: And the winner is..... (2005-09-01 13:30) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . .
700
4.9.2
Comments on Yesterday (2005-09-02 11:04) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
701
4.9.3
Bus rides (2005-09-02 19:02) - Inconsolable - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
701
4.9.4
Happy Halli-day to Everyone (2005-09-03 09:15) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
702
4.9.5
Red Cross Failure (2005-09-03 10:38) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
703
4.9.6
Truth and Consequences (2005-09-04 20:25) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
703
4.9.7
Nuclear Medicine Associates of Landisville, PA (2005-09-07 13:31) - public . . . . . . . . . .
705
4.9.8
Watch this. Watch it NOW. (2005-09-08 09:51) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
707
4.9.9
In sickness and in health (2005-09-11 11:33) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
707
4.9.10
Food, Glorious, Food (2005-09-11 20:00) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
709
4.9.11
Bits and Pieces (2005-09-12 09:43) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
711
4.9.12
Prison Break. (2005-09-16 16:26) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
712
4.9.13
Kristen (2005-09-20 00:59) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
714
4.9.14
Not even 4000 miles will take me away from cancer. (2005-09-25 17:34) - friends . . . . . . .
715
4.9.15
Rage, rage, against the dying of the light. (2005-09-30 22:33) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . .
715
4.10 October . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
716
4.9
4.10.1
The Problem with October: Annual Update. (2005-10-01 09:45) - public . . . . . . . . . . .
716
4.10.2
London Calling (2005-10-03 10:38) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
719
4.10.3
Take Back Our Month. (2005-10-05 12:05) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
730
4.10.4
Cancer. (2005-10-06 20:17) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
735
4.10.5
Faith-based initiatives (2005-10-11 22:17) - cranky - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
735
4.10.6
Public Meltdown. (2005-10-12 08:57) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
736
4.10.7
Quick update (2005-10-14 17:32) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
738
4.10.8
Details (2005-10-14 23:22) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
738
4.10.9
(2005-10-15 18:29) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
739
4.10.10
Bank THIS. (2005-10-17 19:23) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
739
4.10.11
Update. (2005-10-18 14:35) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
740
4.10.12
Drugs, Glorious Drugs! (2005-10-19 12:10) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
741
4.10.13
Fatigue. (2005-10-20 00:14) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
742
4.10.14
Driving While Stupid (2005-10-20 16:18) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
744
4.10.15
Weekend Update (2005-10-24 10:00) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
744
4.10.16
Word. (2005-10-25 14:43) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
745
4.10.17
All about Boobs. (2005-10-27 15:06) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
746
19
20
4.10.18
Herceptin. (2005-10-29 22:07) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
746
4.10.19
I’m not Gay, but I Love Gay Music (2005-10-30 10:20) - Musical - public . . . . . . . . . . . .
747
4.10.20
Endoscopy (2005-10-31 20:58) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
758
4.11 November . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
759
4.11.1
Bite me. It’s been a frustrating day. (2005-11-01 22:38) - crappy - friends . . . . . . . . . . .
759
4.11.2
”Anonymously mailed from a small town in California....” (2005-11-02 11:26) - public . . . . .
760
4.11.3
Rage, Rage, Against the Dying of the Light. (2005-11-03 18:04) - Bleak - public . . . . . . . .
760
4.11.4
Lorraine and sons. (2005-11-03 19:03) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
761
4.11.5
More on Lorraine. (2005-11-03 19:18) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
761
4.11.6
In Sickness and In Health. (2005-11-04 13:30) - Sick - public
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
761
4.11.7
What, exactly, IS the ”therapy” in ”chemotherapy?” (2005-11-05 21:33) - public . . . . . . . .
762
4.11.8
(2005-11-06 12:00) - Improved - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
762
4.11.9
Sticks and Stones.... (2005-11-07 16:44) - contemplative - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
765
4.11.10
MEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEME (2005-11-07 21:31) - public . . . .
766
4.11.11
Hot or Not: It’s a question of hormones. (2005-11-08 17:44) - Highly Amused - public . . . . .
768
4.11.12
No, really...Intelligent Design is Science. (2005-11-10 18:34) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
769
4.11.13
Wild Kingdom. (2005-11-12 10:16) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
769
4.11.14
I heart my cancer. (2005-11-15 15:36) - blah - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
769
4.11.15
Update. (2005-11-21 16:46) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
769
4.11.16
Long time no write! (2005-11-28 12:29) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
770
4.11.17
The Many Faces of Pain (2005-11-29 01:32) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
774
4.11.18
Food, Glorious, Food (2005-11-29 21:32) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
776
4.11.19
And now something for all you math lovers out there. (2005-11-30 16:19) - public . . . . . .
793
4.12 December . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
794
4.12.1
The Saga of My Job: Part One (2005-12-02 14:56) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
794
4.12.2
The Saga of My Job: Part Two (2005-12-02 14:57) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
798
4.12.3
The Saga of My Job: Part Three (2005-12-02 15:02) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
806
4.12.4
The Body Abundant (2005-12-05 22:18) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
814
4.12.5
Chef’s Delight (2005-12-08 13:19) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
818
4.12.6
Just a quick hello... (2005-12-09 17:12) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
818
4.12.7
Monday, Monday (2005-12-12 07:01) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
819
4.12.8
Cat Fancy (2005-12-14 04:27) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
821
4.12.9
Talk Soup (2005-12-14 11:40) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
822
4.12.10
Admissions (2005-12-16 02:24) - public
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
823
4.12.11
Late Night Talk. (2005-12-17 05:57) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
825
4.12.12
Yellow-bellied (2005-12-19 22:22) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
827
4.12.13
Update (2005-12-21 04:06) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
828
4.12.14
Happy Holidays from the Trailer Park (2005-12-24 05:13) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
829
4.12.15
Karen Updates (2005-12-30 11:57) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
834
5 2006
5.1
5.2
5.3
835
January . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
835
5.1.1
Kristen Marie Biss: 12/07/1980 – 12/17/2005 (2006-01-01 22:05) - public . . . . . . . . . . .
835
5.1.2
A quick hello. (2006-01-07 16:28) - Tired - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
836
5.1.3
Logistics. (2006-01-08 13:45) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
836
5.1.4
Darkness Befalls. (2006-01-11 21:27) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
841
5.1.5
Yes, I’m still alive and kicking. (2006-01-16 10:28) - Hopeful - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
844
5.1.6
Light at the end of the tunnel? (2006-01-17 13:11) - Relieved - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
845
5.1.7
Another quick update (2006-01-19 15:19) - public
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
846
5.1.8
Miracles, Magic, and Mystery (2006-01-22 20:26) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
847
5.1.9
Fatherless Daughters. (2006-01-27 19:40) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
851
5.1.10
You can take your Satin Lips and kiss my ass, thank you very much. (2006-01-28 12:41) - friends
860
5.1.11
And now, something NOT cancer or family related! (2006-01-29 15:29) - public . . . . . . . .
861
5.1.12
Boring Ponderances about Drugs. (2006-01-31 10:00) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
862
February . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
864
5.2.1
Thankful for the little things in life. (2006-02-01 18:47) - Full of gratitude - public . . . . . . .
864
5.2.2
LORRAINE DAY: OFFICIAL BREAST CANCER QUACK (2006-02-02 15:33) - public
. .
864
5.2.3
A loophole of logic. (2006-02-03 10:55) - Fun with Quacks. - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
865
5.2.4
Paradise Lost (and Other Stories from the Prison Front.) (2006-02-05 13:54) - friends . . . .
865
5.2.5
Out of the fryer... (2006-02-05 19:09) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
869
5.2.6
Lies, Lies, Everywhere Lies (2006-02-07 22:55) - Heartbroken - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
869
5.2.7
Update Day. (2006-02-08 12:36) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
872
5.2.8
Congratulations are in order... (2006-02-09 16:51) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
877
5.2.9
March Madness (2006-02-11 23:28) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
878
5.2.10
Alternative Therapies (2006-02-12 18:20) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
881
5.2.11
Sunday Visits (2006-02-12 22:03) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
882
5.2.12
Valentine’s Day: or what I like to call Black Tuesday (2006-02-14 10:05) - friends . . . . . . .
884
5.2.13
This calls for a mortar board. (2006-02-14 19:04) - More complacent than earlier - public . . .
885
5.2.14
Death, dying, peace and joy. (2006-02-16 00:10) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
886
5.2.15
Obsessions and Compulsions. (2006-02-19 22:06) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
890
5.2.16
And now a post for the fun of it. (2006-02-23 15:19) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
901
5.2.17
Big Rambling Bunch of Nothing. (2006-02-26 14:02) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
903
March . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
908
5.3.1
Buyer’s Remorse. (2006-03-05 13:01) - Bittersweet - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
908
5.3.2
Car Talk (2006-03-05 18:57) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
908
5.3.3
And in other news, a whole bunch of nothin’. (2006-03-06 14:30) - public . . . . . . . . . . .
908
5.3.4
The REAL scoop on our friend, Oscar. (2006-03-06 19:03) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
912
5.3.5
Tumor markers. (2006-03-07 14:53) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
915
21
5.3.6
Another Dad Rant (2006-03-09 15:03) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
915
5.3.7
Rainfall (2006-03-13 12:55) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
920
5.3.8
CT Scan Results (2006-03-13 16:23) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
922
5.3.9
What’s Goin’ On (2006-03-14 23:02) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
923
5.3.10
Another long post from yours truly...shocking, I know. (2006-03-17 17:43) - public . . . . . .
926
5.3.11
5.4
5.5
5.6
22
And now another line from the ”Poor me, I’m all alone in the world” pages of my father’s life...
(2006-03-20 16:05) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
929
5.3.12
But I’m with the band! (2006-03-21 12:51) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
931
5.3.13
Doxil update (2006-03-25 15:26) - Sick - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
932
April . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
932
5.4.1
Update (otherwise titled, ”Yeah, this old biddy is still kickin’”) (2006-04-01 10:45) - friends .
932
5.4.2
Webcam Voyeurs (2006-04-02 19:20) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
937
5.4.3
Goin’ (actually, stike that...) WENT to the chapel.... (2006-04-03 18:01) - Ecstatically Happy public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
937
5.4.4
Wedding Pictures (2006-04-12 16:32) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
938
5.4.5
Finally! The Vegas Upate. (2006-04-14 08:53) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
938
5.4.6
Dirty Laundry (2006-04-17 13:19) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
949
5.4.7
No Guts, No Gory. (2006-04-18 22:43) - Explanatory. - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
956
5.4.8
Social Truths and Consequences (2006-04-23 09:43) - Frustrated - public . . . . . . . . . . . .
962
5.4.9
In the Mood (2006-04-24 04:47) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
965
5.4.10
Anonymity is over-rated (2006-04-29 14:25) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
967
May . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
970
5.5.1
May Day (2006-05-01 15:03) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
970
5.5.2
Lovely Tuesday (2006-05-02 15:27) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
972
5.5.3
Thursday (2006-05-04 11:22) - public
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
973
5.5.4
Alive and Kickin’ (2006-05-10 19:37) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
974
5.5.5
Finally! I’ve got access to one of the Internets! (2006-05-14 23:10) - public . . . . . . . . . .
974
5.5.6
Karen Update (2006-05-22 12:04) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
976
June . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
976
5.6.1
Karen’s Passing (2006-06-11 15:44) - public . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
976
5.6.2
Preface To Karen’s Journal (2006-06-15 01:15) - friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
977
Chapter 1
2002
1.1
1.1.1
July
Cancer and cable modems
(2002-07-01 11:13) - blah - public
Ok, first entry... and I really hate to start out with such a rant but I suppose that’s what this thing is for...
It’s 11 am. I’ve been awake what, 4 hours, and already my day sucks. I didn’t get any sleep last night. First,
my stupid cat decided to sprawl all over my pillow, confining my head to a little two inch squared section that was
neither convenient nor comfortable for my head. Then the fat ass cat sits on my hair.... every time I moved around,
it felt like little needles pulling on my head. Like I haven’t already lost enough hair as it is from the chemo. My cat
has to help make me bald, too. Yes, I know the obvious answer is to kick the cat out of the room...but truth of the
matter is that it isn’t the cat that prevents me from sleeping. What keeps me awake at night are my fears.... seems
like I have an abundance of them lateley.
So I wake up, feel ok until I go down to the kitchen. I’m standing in my pantry trying to come up with a creative breakfast idea when the lightheadedness hits me. The last time I had such a feeling was when I was 10 years
old when I didn’t eat for 4 days because my Mom decided it was a good idea to put her fat daughter on Dexatrim.
Anyways, the feeling passed, but again.... just another sign that no matter how good I feel, not all is well underneath.
So I’m driving to work... what the hell is wrong with people? I don’t understand why some people feel it necessary to drive 80mph through a construction zone when 1000 feet in front of them traffic is at a stand still. I don’t know
why this bothered me today... maybe because I really didn’t want to be there, driving along with them.
So I get to work, and go to pull out my laptop and find that my stupid Tumi bag is all fucked up. It’s too complicated to go into, but suffice it to say I needed a pair of pliers to pry the shoulder hook loose from the piping on the
front flap. Since we don’t have any pliers in our office, I was forced to ruin three pairs of scissors to get the damn thing
undone. Now the hook is all bent out of shape and the piping is frayed. Normally, this isn’t something that would
bother me... I usually take this in stride.
So I’m here in the office, and I’m thinking, ”Ok Karen, just shake it off... have a good day... you don’t know
how many days you have left, don’t waste a single one of them...” I’m doing pretty well with it until I decide to call
ATT Broadband and order cable modem service. I go to their website and look at some of their prices, but I’m not to
keen on ordering something like this over the Internet. So I call them, and they tell me they can’t give me the prices I
want because it’s an Internet only deal. Ok, fine. I go back to the web page and try to order from there. All I want
is the basic installation. I don’t need them to install a jack, and I certainly don’t want them to do their ”premium”
installation whereby they load all of their software onto MY laptop. So, I check off what I want, enter my information,
and then get to the page where I need to confirm my order. The bastards default EVERYTHING to the higher priced
items. So I decide to chat with the ”friendly online customer service support” that they provide. This moron named
Eric hops on, and I tell him my problem: how all I want is the basic installation for $22.95, but when I get to the
23
confirmation screen, they’ve defaulted me to the premium installation for twice the price. He tells me to call their sales
support line. I tell him I did, and that they can’t give me the price I want. He tells me then, and I’m not kidding,
to pay for the premium installation and then, before the tech arrives to put in my service, to call and CHANGE the
installation type and my card will be refunded. WHAT THE HELL IS THAT? I just don’t understand why I can’t
order the service they advertise... instead, they attempt to take advantage of the consumer with this type of red tape.
I’m willing to bet most people just pay for the premium installation because it’s easier. I think it’s shameless. I only
wish I had another service provider in my area.
Sigh.... ok, enough ranting for one day, I suppose. Guess I’ll spend the day sitting here watching my hair fall
out...
I suppose the bottom line is that today is one of those days where I just wish I never had cancer.
1.1.2
Sleep... perchance to dream.... or in my case not
(2002-07-02 09:08) - cheerful - public
Wow... what a difference one night of solid sleep makes. My head hit the pillow last night about 11 or so, and I don’t
remember anything until 7 am. My alarm went off at some point, but I don’t even remember that. Total, dreamless
sleep.... Bliss!
I hopped on the scale today and was up 8 pounds...I knew it was water weight, so I did the fail safe test: I tried
on my rings. Sure enough, they gripped my fingers with tourniquet-like compression. My oh-so healthy solution to
this, of course, is to drink copious amounts of coffee... maybe the diuretics in it will help me look a little more like a
person and a little less like the Hindenburg.
But I feel good today.... the hair loss has gone back to normal levels, traffic was light and I’m wearing my favorite
summer dress. I’ve also got that wonderful post-weight training ache going on in my muscles... love that feeling. Every
time I move I know I worked out yesterday. I can’t believe I have worked out 5x per week– no excuses– for almost
14 months now. My friend Beverly said to me last night, ”Karen, with all the exercise you do, if you don’t beat this
cancer thing, then you’re at least not going down without kicking SOME ass SOMEwhere.” I can’t wait for her and
Toni to visit Chicago... there’s this killer sushi place that Edgar found that we all need to try. Hopefully they’ll make
it back here before I lose all my hair.
So even though I’m in a good mood today, I’m still feeling a bit... I don’t know, like I’m on the edge of a cliff.
I feel like at any given moment something is going to trigger a major outpouring of sorrow or frustration or some other
unpleasant emotion. Ack— I hate PMS. I think I’ll be fine today if I just don’t have to deal with any stupid people.
I suppose that is all for now....boring I know... but it’s the story of my life nonetheless.
1.1.3
Musings
(2002-07-02 12:39) - pensive - public
I found out two months ago that I have cancer.
I hate the associations that go along with that word.
Sickness. Weakness. Baldness.
Death.
My life has been riddled with cancer for almost as long as I can remember. My earliest memory of cancer
was when I was three years old. My mother had it. I can t remember what kind it was. Ovarian or cervical or
something like that.
I asked my father once. He didn t know either.
even know what kind. Thoughtless, insensitive jerk.
That s just great.
So I remember her having cancer and having this big operation.
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His own wife has cancer and he doesn t
I remember not seeing her for a few days
and missing her. All I could do during that time was think about going to visit her in the hospital. I was so young I
didn t even know what a hospital was except that it seemed big and scary.
I bounded into her room that day completely oblivious to the fact that she had just had major abdominal
surgery. I remember sitting on her bed next to her eating her mashed potatoes and gravy that came with her noon
meal. She ended up coming home with us that day.
Her incision ended up with a pretty nasty infection, although at the time I didn t realize that that was what
was happening to her. I remember she had this hole in her belly her second belly button she called it and I
remember watching her face grimace as she cleaned the hole with a device akin to a turkey baster. What did I know?
I was three. To me, that second belly button was a wonder. I wanted one myself.
My next memory of cancer came not long after that&. I was 8, maybe, when we found out my grandfather
had colon cancer. I know he had some sort of surgery on polyps, but no one took the time to explain to me what
polyps were. All I remember was thinking that he had the same thing that Reagan had.
That surgery also required a hospital visit, although this time the hospital was in Chicago. I remember watching him
walk out to the visiting room to meet with us. He had on one of those sky blue hospital gowns, only back then they
didn t believe in giving you more than one. So one hand was holding this big pole on wheels and his other hand was
clasped firmly behind his back to hold his gown closed, because back then they also didn t allow you to wear your own
underwear in the hospital. He looked old and frail on his bony and hairless white legs.
I remember asking my Mom what the yellow rubber tube was for, the one that wasn t attached to his arm
but ran up under his gown instead. She told me it was a catheter, but left it at that. Took me a long time to figure
out where that tube could have gone, and once I realized it I wished I hadn t.
My grandpa lived a long time with colon cancer. He died when I was 13. He lived in our house the last three
months of his life and collapsed on Thanksgiving Day. I don t remember much about that time, except for the
medication. The entire top of his dresser was covered with pill bottles, tubes, creams and dressings. I remember
gagging myself when I watched him swallow that liquid chalk-like substance he used for his stomach. He was always
sick to his stomach.
It was only about a year later that cancer struck again, but this time on the other side of the family. My
dad s sister was dying of colon cancer as well, so we trekked our way out to Arizona to visit her one last time. She was
the first woman I ever saw without hair. We went shopping together. She never seemed sick to me, even though she
died only four months later.
Of all the cancers I ve seen, though, my mother s was the worst.
I don t think it gets much worse than what she had.
I still remember the very last voicemail she ever left me before her diagnosis. It was on my work voicemail.
She was calling me to tell me that she was driving herself to the hospital, that she was in so much pain she couldn t
take it anymore. Her final words in that message were, I love you.
When I deleted the message, I remember thinking to myself,
message your mother will ever leave you.
You probably just deleted the last recorded
I was right.
Her cancer was fast and furious. It struck swiftly and left little in its wake.
One day, 6 months later, her skin turned yellow and she lost her mind. She asked me who I was, and screamed when
I tried to touch her because she thought I was a stranger.
She died two weeks later with a catheter and a morphine pump attached to her body.
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Now it is my turn.
I find myself living in a constant state of denial. I tell myself that all that matters is the present moment.
That s perfect for when I feel good. What do I do on the days I feel bad?
I sit here and look down at my shirt. I can see numerous stray hairs sitting there. Yet another tangible sign
that all is not well even though I feel as if they are.
Terminal cancer isn t a disease of the body, though. It s a disease of the mind.
The things that make me cry myself to sleep at night aren t about how I m going to lose my hair or how I
may one day be too weak to walk without someone s help. I cry because I ve lost my choices.
I have nothing to offer anyone any more, other than to share a life of illness with them. What else do I have?
Soon, I will no longer have my looks. My daily routines are completely filled with nothing but cancer laden activities.
Intimacy and sex are another altogether complicated problem.
I no longer have the option to get married or have children or move across the country. I can t change jobs
and I can t start dating anyone new should my relationship end. I am now married to my doctors and my chemotherapy and my hospital.
I probably won’t even outlive my cats.
I am not afraid of dying. We all die.
I am just afraid that I haven t lived yet. And my time is running out fast.
Soon enough, it will be me with the catheters and the morphine and the one final voicemail that will be
deleted in good time.
Was my life worthwhile?
Did I give it my all?
Did I make a difference? To my parents, my friends&to anyone?
Does it really even matter?
My thoughts wrap around me like a cold damp blanket. I think about what kind of coffin I m going to have,
what songs they will sing, whether or not my father will cry as he walks down the church aisle behind my casket.
I can t imagine the world without me in it.
I imagine that I will fade like the morning mist&little by little, the memories will be eroded until suddenly
I m an occasional afterthought, a segway into another conversation.
I had a daughter once. Yeah& she was smart, went to the University of Chicago. Lived up there in the
city. I just don t understand people up there& always driving fast. They have no consideration. And then they come
out here to Woodhaven and think they re all big and important. You know they re all assholes out there& but I had
my day with them. They ll think twice before messing with me again. Everyone in town knows about how I won my
lawsuit. I m always getting asked questions at the post office. People know& don t mess with me. I don t take that
crap from no one.
I know that I will be buried. I know that the grass will grow over my burial mound.
will eventually crumble and erode like even the greatest of mountains.
It s a fate none of us can avoid.
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I know the headstone
Why does it surprise me then, when it happens to me?
1.1.4
Something I posted on the Adbusters group
(2002-07-02 19:20) - peaceful - public
Music: The Shamen– Destination Eschaton
I think it is abrupt to say that the pursuit of information is the sole means by which we hope to fulfill and sweeten our
lives. Humans, by nature, do not act without reason, without motivation. Do we consume information with a voracity
comparable to a Midwestern tornado? Absolutely. But there are reasons we do so, and to understand the toxicity of
our culture, we must excavate these factors.
Humans pursue information because we have collectively created a need for it within our culture. Our culture is
primarily one where consumption rules if you aren t consuming, you aren t really living. We collect information in
order to process it& into marketing research, Gallup polls, and revenue models. Granted, this isn t exactly the type of
creativity Michelangelo envisioned, but it IS a human abstraction nonetheless. So are we creating? Yes, in a sense&but
the story doesn t end there.
I think the best judge of our creative skills arises when we analyze why we need the marketing research, Gallup
polls and other such mismeasures of man. Some social theorists argue that unless information is stabilized in this manner (with science, statistics, etc), the result will be a society where we are swamped with MISinformation. Regardless,
as consumers, we use this highly refined, highly processed information to develop new ways in which to create more
consumers. The end result is a downward spiral as the number of consumers increase, the more information we need
to reign them in and KEEP them as consumers. Therefore, an overaccumulation of information isn t the problem&
it s merely a symptom of a larger, more sinister problem.
Marshall Sahlins describes consumption as a double tragedy: what begins in inadequacy will end in deprivation.
Affluence becomes our goal: we want the better car, the bigger house, the higher paycheck. But one thing Sahlins
is critical in pointing out is that each purchase we make is a deprivation of something else. Our purchases are no
longer defined by the items themselves; they become representative of what we DIDN T buy. Scarcity then becomes
the source by which we judge ourselves, which then triggers us to buy more, spend more, consume more. The solution
to this neverending problem is twofold: either spend more or desire less.
The fundamental problem with consumption is that it is based upon an arbitrary notion of affluence. Affluence
has always been a goal for humanity& only over time, our definition of this word has changed. Even Marx had to
agree that in poor nations, the people are comfortable and in rich nations the people are generally poor.
So what has happened in our society whereby consumption has become our means of achieving happiness? Why
have we forgotten our spiritual roots? Perhaps Toffler was right& we are living in a chronic state of future shock. Our
society demands that we process information and because information is changing at a faster and faster rate, it seems
as if collecting information is all we have time to do. Should we risk scrapping our collection process to take time out
to digest what we ve learned? No&what we do instead is try to kill two birds with one stone. We attempt to sate our
spiritual needs with material possessions. And we do this because we buy into our society s notion of affluence.
Once we relinquish our mind from the drives of affluence, then so too we will relinquish our desire to obsessively
collect information. And only then will we be able to create in a manner that is considered to be more Renaissance
in nature.
1.1.5
On Human Origins (posted in Archaeology community)
(2002-07-03 10:55) - contem-
plative - public
Music: That Petrol Emotion– Hey Venus
Having been lurking in the anthropological community for several years now, I d like to comment on several topics that
have been brought up by this thread.
One of my mentors with whom I conducted stable isotope analysis work was famous for quoting the following: I
27
don t practice anthropology, I practice SCIENCE.
That quote used to run through my head like a mantra& until one day I decided to question it. Is there a difference between anthropology and science? What IS science, exactly?
Contrary to popular belief, the scientific method is not a fool proof tool that eliminates bias from analysis, especially in the world of anthropology where much of our argument is based upon interpretation. A classic example of this
is Raymond Dart and his osteodontokeratic culture. He created a world where blood-thirsty savages practiced tribal
cannibalism and where fear and power were the primary forces of existence. At the time Dart published his theory, no
one took into account his experience with World War II, or the fact that he lost his son at the hands of Nazi soldiers,
and that perhaps THAT was what caused his rather savage outlook of what was nothing more than bones in a cave.
Of course, several years later C.K. Brain provided ample evidence that this osteodontokeratic culture was probably not
the case, and that the odd bone collections Dart attributed to cannibalism was most likely the work of leopards. The
point of this story, though, is to illustrate a critical point: no matter what evidence is presented to us, there is always
a leap from the evidence to the conclusion. Unless we SEE the events unfold in front of us, there is no way to know
with complete certainty what exactly happened. And it is in this space, this leap from evidence to conclusion, where
bias leaks in.
Most often than not, the religious right uses this as their primary argument as to why they DON T believe in evolution. I ve heard time and time again: There s no PROOF of evolution. You re right. There isn t, just as there is no
proof that gravity causes objects to fall from above to the Earth. It could very well be that the Earth is expanding
UPWARDS to meet the OBJECT, and we just don t know it because we don t have the tools or mental capacity to
understand that particular phenomenon. But we measure what we can because it s all we know at the present moment.
And this is precisely the point where things get interesting& how much measurement do we need to do? How much
information can we gather before we know the truth? No matter how much information we have, we will ALWAYS
be required to make the leap from evidence to conclusion. There will ALWAYS be a leap of faith, so to speak, that
our interpretation of the information is accurate.
So, then, what do we do? If no amount of information is going to give us the absolute answer that we seek, how
do we resolve this dilemma of determining our origins?
I think the argument between creationism and evolution goes deeper than just trying to explain what is happening here on this planet. The main issue is that we are asking questions that challenge deep seated issues surrounding
our identity as spiritual and physical beings. We so desperately want to define ourselves and where we came from so
that perhaps it will give us a glimpse as to where we are going. But information alone will never provide us with the
answers, and all we will end up doing is gathering more and more information until we are left with one fundamental
question that we will never, ever be able to answer: Why something instead of nothing?
Do I personally believe in evolution? Absolutely I am comfortable enough with the information to leap to the
concept of change over time. But I understand that time is a human abstraction, and that this leap serves to help me
define for myself the material world I live in right now at this moment. But I can never stop thinking about why we
are here at all instead of there being nothing. It is in THAT moment that I believe some type of creation happened.
1.1.6
(2002-07-07 19:18)
- awake - public
Music: Led Zeppelin– Fool in the Rain
Wow... what a productive day. Went to the farmer’s market, went grocery shopping, cleaned my fridge, made lunch
for work this week and then made one of my favorite dinners: grilled scallops over corn salsa with new potatoes.
Chemo this week was pretty easy. It was packed in the doctor’s office. Everyone was scheduled for the morning
so that the staff could get out of work early for the holiday. But little or no side effects this week, and my hair hasn’t
really been falling out too badly.
Can’t wait for work tomorrow. I’m hoping my project begins to ramp up, and I get busy again. Although I can’t
28
complain about spending all day in the office surfing the web!
Otherwise, not much happening. Boring, to be sure, but my life nonetheless.
1.1.7
Hospitals, Insurance companies, and others who need to be shot
(2002-07-08 11:34)
- frustrated - public
Music: The Power Station– Some Like it Hot
I swear, the sole purpose of medical and insurance institutions is to frustrate customers. I can’t seem to find any other
reason for their existence.
It all started when I got this bill in the mail for ”hospital incidentals.” No itemized bill, no details... just ”incidentals.” The hospital is charging me $4,341 for these ”incidentals” (maybe those WERE gold plated needles they used
on me after all). But I figured, hey, no big deal... they’ll bill my insurance.
So I get the statement from my insurance. Yes, there it is, the 4K charge. But then I see that the network negotiated charge is only $646, of which 10 % is my responsibility. Hey, great!!! I only owe $64.60 for my luxurious use
of ”hospital incidentals.” No problem.
I get my revised statement from my hospital, showing the insurance credit. However, the hospital refuses to acknowledge the negotiated network charge, and is trying to charge me over TWICE the amount that my insurance
considers ”reasonable and customary.” Sigh... ok, fine, I’ve dealt with this before. A few phone calls and all should be
resolved.
I call the hospital. They tell me to call my insurance.
I call my insurance. Four times. Each time, they take my information to pull up my file. As soon as I tell them
I’m questioning a claim, their system magically ”acts up”, and suddenly they can no longer pull up my file, even though
just moments before MY FILE WAS RIGHT THERE BEFORE THEIR VERY EYES. It was almost laughable, as
each of the 4 phone calls I made resulted in the SAME CONVERSATION ALMOST VERBATIM:
Aetna operator: Can I have your ID Number?
Me: # # #- # #- # # # #
Aetna operator: Can I have the name of your company?
Me: XYZ Company
Aetna operator: Can I have your date of birth?
Me: blah blah blah
Aetna operator: Yes, how can I help you?
Me: Yes, I have a question on a network negotiated charge on claim number...
Aetna operator: Oh... I’m sorry, our system just went down. Can you call back?
ACK!!!!!!!
In light of this situation, I’d like to take the liberty of quoting a line from ”Playing Mona Lisa”:
”Yes, I’m working on a book... it’s called ’I Hate People.’”
Serenity now. :-)
1.1.8
No, I said PADtang... get your mind out of the gutter
(2002-07-09 09:33) - awake -
public
Music: Big Country– In a Big Country
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I THINK... that I might start training for a 5K.
I’ve been thinking about this for a while... the Race for the Cure is being held September 15 in Chicago, and I’m really
toying with the idea of running it. Not walking, running. I’m not sure if I can do it, though. First off, I hate running.
Second, I barely have 10 weeks to traing for it, even if I DO decide to do it. But... I did some research on how to train
for one of these, and I started last night. The first week includes a thirty minute session broken down into 6 rotations
of alternating 2 minute runs/3 minute walks. I have to say I did much better than I thought I would. The 2 minutes
seemed to be a bit paltry... I could have run longer. I didn’t want to push myself, though, with my history of shin
splints. And by the time I did get back to my house, they were aching a tad bit. That’s what I hate about living in
the suburbs... everything is paved. Not very conducive for runners. I did manage to find a quarter mile track, though,
not far from my house. Even though it’s asphalt, I can run in the grass on the side no problem, as it’s flat enough.
But I have to say, running last night was so peaceful. It was windy and cool (ok, cooler than it has been), as a
storm was brewing out in the west. I was a bit concerned for safety, since it was about 9 pm and dark... but as I soon
found out, MANY people are out and about at that time doing all sorts of things... walking the dogs, running, pushing
a stroller...it was nice. I do miss running at Matthiessen, though. That was the perfect place to run: gorgeous ravine
bluff, gravel trail with lots of hills (great cross training), wildlife, the sound of running water, and absolutely NO ONE
ever there. If I could find a decent paying job out there in boo foo farm land Illinois, I’d move there in a minute, as I
really miss that.
Otherwise, not feeling all that great today... a little sick to my stomach and good GOD the hair loss. Of course,
whenever I’m sick like this, my first inclination is to blame the chemo, even though logically I know there are probably
500 OTHER reasons I could be feeling this way. Maybe the red pepper Padtang Noodles I had last night at the Thai
place... yeah, that could do it ;-) They were so spicy that Izzy and Michael were commenting on how their eyes were
going to start watering, even though I was all the way across the table. Funny thing is that I still thought they were
bland. Oh, the joys of chemotherapy!
So now I have to come up with some ideas for a bachelorette party... eGAD. I swear, after this summer, I’m NEVER
going to another wedding again, not even my own (not like I’m getting married anyways). This is the year of the
wedding... five people in my office are getting married, one of my best friends and my cousin. My weekends for the
next two months are booked SOLID with bridal showers, parties, and all that other rot that goes along with nuptuals.
I can’t wait until November when everything is done and over with. Hmmm... I’ll also be done with chemo by then,
too... yet another added bonus.
Oh well... I suppose I should do some work. Or maybe not ;-)
1.1.9
The Descent of Man
(2002-07-10 18:22) - excited - public
http://www.livejournal.com/talkread.bml?journal=anthropologist &itemid=36634 #cutid1
EXCELLENT discussion in the anthropology forum on the new species just discovered. This is going to blow the
friggin ROOF off of the physical anthropological community. I bet both Tuttle and Ambrose are wetting their pants
at this moment over this.
Seriously, though...it’s about time something turned up in this area of Africa. Many researchers have been thwarted
in the past from digging there due to unstable political conditions, hostile climate and the fact that rainforest doesn’t
tend to be a great fossil preservative. I remember reading about research in Chad even back when I was an undergrad
(ack... 1995). They were just beginning to get started there, and everyone thought they were crazy. Glad to see it
paid off for them (and for anyone who has any interest in human origins).
Sigh... I miss anthropology.
Karen
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1.1.10
Stupid is as Stupid does
(2002-07-11 11:32) - public
(Written in January, 2001, now posted as a comment for http://www.livejournal.com/users/blakeh/)
I just got off the phone with this guy about a job.
world that could make me go work there.
After talking with him, there isn t enough money in the
Throughout the entire conversation he regaled me with stories about some business self help book called, Who Moved
My Cheese? In all fairness, I suppose I started the whole thing. I mentioned something about disliking managers who
hem and haw over making decisions, and apparently Hem and Haw are two characters in this little pamphlet that is
trying to pass itself off as literature. It became quite apparent that Mr. Job Offer had replaced his bible with a copy
of the tales of Hem and Haw. As he talked about the book, his voice was practically dripping with reverence. Ewwww.
I can honestly say that I have never been a fan of self-help books, whether for business or personal improvement, and I am particularly not a fan of the books that simply offer a list of actions for people to follow in lieu of
actual ideas. Oh, and let s not forget those books that dumb down highly scientific psychological principles into
analogies involving animals and/or aliens. Those really irritate the hell out of me, too.
I had a co-worker once, way back when I first began in recruiting, who was probably the grandest example of
mainstream I could ever hope to encounter. She was a self-help book ADDICT. I remember her talking about some
problems she was having with her husband of five years, and how he liked to come home from work and not talk to
her. Well, I m not sure which book she read, but she just plastered a smile on her face and went on and on and on
and on and on and on about how her solution to the problem was to let him sit in his cave and that when the time
was right, the bear would come out and rejoin the world. I asked her how long this behavior had been going on with
him. She said two years. TWO YEARS. Now, I may not be the smartest Venusian on planet Earth, but I m willing to
bet that the goddamn bear is dead by now. Maybe she should have climbed into the cave on occasion to check on him.
Overall, my problem with self-help books is that they promise the world and offer nothing. I have read a few
self-help books in my time, during that phase in my early 20 s where I was trying to find a solution to the fact
that life sucks. Go to any Barnes and Noble and they have a whole aisle filled with books that promise eternal
happiness, simple living, a booming career or a more fulfilling relationship. But read any one of them, and all you get
is regurgitated common sense that you already knew in the first place. Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus.
What a bunch of bullshit. Why not just say it: men and women have certain fundamental differences between each
other and understanding those differences may help improve the communication skills in a relationship. Do we really
need the whole sappy drivel about the Martians finding the Venusians to be lovely and different and softer and pick
any other female stereotype and insert it here?
What s even better than these books are the gurus who stand behind their books. Recently on one of those
famous talk shows (I ll give you a clue as to which one& it starts with the letter O ), they ve been showcasing this
Dr. Phil who s preaching to women all across the country about how they need to readjust their attitude and lifestyle
in order to lose weight. Ok, well, duh. Here s what really gets my goat, though. I went on to the talk show s website
and they had this little questionnaire there by the good old Doc. I decide to go through the questions because, after
all, deep down inside I am just aching to know whether or not my current lifestyle is contributing to my present weight
problem. I get to the middle of the questionnaire and there, in big bold letters, is this question: Do you participate
in activities that keep you sedentary (watching television, computer use, etc)? Um, what s wrong with this picture?
Doctor Phil, you wrote a book. You are making guest appearances on a nationally syndicated talk show. You are
actively cultivating a presence on the Internet. Apparently Doctor Phil doesn t want any of his fans to read his book,
watch his tv shows or visit his web site, since ALL THREE activities contribute to keeping people sedentary. I m sure
he would rather have his fans turn off that damn tv or put down that book and just go for a walk instead. Being a
good doctor, I m sure he would rather his fans be healthy then actually spend their money or time on HIS stuff.
Fundamentally, it seems as if the only problem I have with self help books is that they gloss over problems
with nonsense and that the entire purpose of them is to sell bubble gum pop psychology to unaware consumers for
no other purpose than to make someone else rich. Ultimately, though, the problem with self-help books goes much
deeper than just these two factors. The people of the world are lapping up these self-help books like a dehydrated dog
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lapping water. Why? Could it be that happiness is eluding them?
It seems to me as if people in Western society are having a series of crises. People aren t happy. They THINK they
are, and perhaps in a sense, it s true. But the happiness they feel isn t internal& it stems from repeatedly gorging
on our culture. Buy this, get a rush. Buy that, get a rush. It s one hit after another, and none of it lasts. Those
that have chosen to remain in the dark and believe in what our culture promises us are realizing that what they ve
ACTUALLY done is purchased ocean front property in Nebraska. The fact that they could have been so easily duped
by our culture is unthinkable to them, even though they can feel the unrest seeping into their worlds. They know
something is wrong, so they look around to find what could possibly be missing in their life. They end up filling the
chinks and cracks in their armour with self help books. Postmodernism redefined.
I think, though, that the reason the masses buy so many of these books is because they are looking for solutions that will resolve their issues yet not disrupt the delicate balance of the ignorant and blissful world in which
they subsist. These books reinforce the notion that we shouldn t question our culture and that there is nothing toxic
about using material goods to fulfill spiritual desires. People walk around with a general sense of malaise and can t
figure out why. They buy into the fact that there must be something wrong with their job, relationship, family, etc.
They buy into this instead of looking inward and realizing that they are defining happiness in all the wrong ways, and
they do this because our culture makes it easier for them to do the former than the latter. Leaving your husband to
sit and brood in his cave is certainly easier than recognizing that you re spiritually hollow inside.
Let s face it& life doesn t always deliver a Disney dream. I am a fundamental believer in love and trust and
all of that other rot. It s just that I believe in a material world where these things occur in dualities. Where there is
love, there is pain. Where there is trust, there is distrust. I don t see how anyone in this world can put a positive spin
on things without at least considering the fact that a negative side exists, too. I m not saying you have to believe in
the negative side, but at least acknowledge that it exists. Trust me, if I thought there was a vacuum packed world
somewhere, where only good feelings lived and love and trust flowed like milk and honey, I d be the first to claw my
way onto the rocket ship that could transport me there. But the sad fact of the matter is this: contrary to the mass
beliefs of our Western culture, this place, this Eden, does not, has never, and will never exist. Life happens whether
we like it or not. And this can mean only one thing: the only way to true happiness is realizing that it comes from
within.
What is ironic is that this is the key to breaking free from the notion that life offers things both good and
bad. Once you realize that happiness comes from within, you can embrace the world as is. The boundaries between
good and bad dissolve. Events are neutral. They only become positive or negative when we allow them to affect our
happiness. Being intrinsically happy allows us to accept and acknowledge ALL that happens to us because if we know,
deep down inside, that even the WORST possible thing can t take away our happiness, then the said event suddenly
loses its grasp on us. Happiness becomes independent of anything life happens to throw our way.
I think it s sad, though. It s sad that people who live in these glass houses have to live in constant fear of
someone throwing a stone through their window. These self-help books do nothing more than reinforce their support
in a materialistic culture. They read these books and end up sitting back, patting themselves on the back, and
reaffirming to themselves that yes, indeed, life is good and that they really and truly are happy. They spend more
time CONVINCING themselves that they re happy instead of spending time actually BEING happy.
Which just goes to show you that ignorance isn t really bliss. It s just ignorance.
Now, who moved my cheese?
1.1.11
On Pity Parties and other tricks of the Princess Regime (2002-07-31 10:57) - aggravated
- public
Ok, I’m sure what I’m about to write is going to be considered in poor taste, but oh well.
I am really sick and tired of people whining about their lives. And it’s always stupid little crap: ”Oh, the flowers
aren’t going to be the right color for my wedding” or ”I can’t believe that so-and-so said that about me.” Even some
of the people I know with cancer: ”Oh, I just can’t stand the thought of having more treatment” or ”I cried every day
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when I was going through chemo.” Jesus Christ, get over it already. Keep dwelling on the fact that you’ve got lemons
in your life and you’ll never make lemonade.
I know it’s harsh of me to say and selfish to boot, but I really do tire of people whining about this and whining
about that. You know what? I’m 28 years old, I’ve got terminal cancer, and frankly, you don’t see me sitting around
commiserating on what a low blow fate dealt me. I work every day... I work out 6x a week no excuses... I refuse
to let this take away my quality of life. Yes, there are times when I don’t feel well physically, which contributes to
feeling down emotionally. That’s fine... everyone–not just cancer patients– has those days. Those aren’t the people
I’m complaining about. I’m complaining about the people who wallow in the supposed misery of their trivial lives like
a pig wallowing in a mud pit.
And on a higher level, I’m really getting tired of the Gen-X anti-establishment-slacker-yuppie mentality. Granted,
I don’t like corporate America... but in all fairness there are GOOD things to capitalism. It’s ironic... I profess to
dislike big business and the like, yet here I sit, working my little corporate job, driving my BMW, and telling myself
over and over that I do it because it is the only choice society allows me to have. And then I try to make ”individual”
choices– like refusing to discuss personal information with retail clerks– to make myself feel as if I’m some type of
culture jamming vigilante. The fact of the matter is that for every bad thing I hate about our culture, there is one
good thing I like about it. And that’s what I get tired of sometimes...everyone finds fault with everything and wants
to find ways to rid themselves of this environmental toxicity. All I seem to hear is bitching and moaning over this
corporate injustice and that business blunder, yet the next words out of their mouths is a discussion of what color Jetta
they should buy. It’s hypocritical. As far as our culture goes, just get over it already. Nihilism never made anyone
happy.
Sigh... I suppose bottom line is that I think people should stop looking outward for their happiness. Their happiness is not stemming from having a perfect wedding or having a culture that doesn’t impose any mental barriers. In
the grand scheme of things, our culture doesn’t matter anyways.
Rant mode off. Tomorrow I’m sure I’ll be back to normal.
1.2
1.2.1
August
The Bell Jar
(2002-08-01 08:26) - public
Wow... what a difference 12 hours of sleep makes (that, and a little shot of Decadron... who knew steroids could
be such fun?). I re-read my post from yesterday, and sheesh! Although, despite that, I do stand by my anti-Gen X
yuppie scum stance. For an interesting outlook on this lifestyle, I highly reccommend checking out www.lptrixie.com
(if you’re not familiar with Chicago’s Lincoln Park neighborhood, though, the joke might be lost).
So I finally broke down and took a Decadron last night (ok, it was only half of one). I began to feel better in
about an hour, and feel even better today. I’m awake, my mood is elevated, my fatigue has been significantly reduced...
amazing, actually. I also dropped some water weight overnight, too... and much to my surprise I’m down 2 pounds
from when I started chemotherapy. That ought to shut Smiley up (she was one of the chemo nurses who gleefully told
me that I would ”definitely gain weight” during treatment, even up to 30 pounds). So to all the Smiley’s in the world:
HA!
But taking that Decadron... brings up an interesting topic... that of chemical imbalances in the body and
their role in mental fortitude. I have had several discussions over the past year on this topic with a certain someone.
Having gone through a major depression (disassociative episodes, oppressive and compulsive thoughts of suicide, all
the classic symptoms), I am of the stance that depression IS a chemical disorder. This other person is of the opposite
end of the spectrum...which has made for some very interesting conversations between us!
First off, though, I’d like to say this... I don’t necessarily believe in all of those drug company defined illnesses such as Generalized Anxiety Disorder. To me, something like that is taking normal everyday stress and turning
it into a problem with a pill popping solution just to increase the revenue of Abbott/Merck/Pfizer/insert major drug
company name here. But depression.... that’s a different story.
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I’ve always found it interesting that people who have never had a chemical imbalance are usually the first to
decide that it’s an overstated problem, the logic behind it being, ”Well, if your depression began with negative
thoughts, why can’t you just think yourself out of it with positive thoughts?” I think the concept of depression being
a dead-ended downward spiral never occurs to them. I also think, too, that those who judge depression in this matter
tend to be men... who have never had to face the wrath of such things as PMS, menopause, or other such significant
hormonal changes that can really wreak havoc on a person’s system. Let’s face it... men just don’t have to deal with
monthly hormonal changes the way women do. I think that does make it inherent for women to be more attuned to
emotions and their emotional balance. But I digres...
Taking this steroid yesterday...I don’t know. The past several days I’ve been, well... down. Nothing has happened in my way of thinking to ”make” me depressed, except for the sheer fact that I physically felt incapable of
putting the energy into staying upbeat. So then I take this steroid, and suddenly things have changed. The world is
sunnier, my mood is active and alert, and things suddenly do not seem so pointless and fruitless. Is it the steroid at
work, or is it the fact that I KNOW I took a steroid (i.e. the placebo effect)? How much does chemical make up really
influence mood, or is there a psychological affect, too?
Despite these questions, I’m pretty well set in my opinion on this. Having spent a time fighting a thyroid
problem, OCD, and now menopause, I am loathe to say that depression and the like are simply the result of ”negative
thinking.” I don’t think depression begins with negative thinking. I think the negative thinking is a by-product of the
fatigue that comes from having a chemical disorder that alters your perception by disrupting your thought process
feedback loop AND disrupting your sleep patterns. I mean, happiness is a daily discipline...and it is damn hard to do
that when you barely have enough energy just to feed yourself (yes, my depression was THAT bad at one point).
I am envious of those people who have been even keeled their entire lives, though. It must be nice to be on
such sure footing, to really feel that you’re in control of your feelings and moods and such. I tire of feeling like
I’m walking on a precipice, that at any given moment the delicate balance in my body could become decidedly
UNbalanced and trigger a series of events that lead me down a path to nowhere. People who have never gone through
this underestimate the damage that can be done by tiny little cells that lay just beyond the realm of their control.
People who have never gone through this don’t understand the compulsive and obsessive nature of these ”negative”
thoughts. People who have never gone through this don’t realize that just when you make peace with one of these
negative thoughts, it rears its ugly head yet again for you to solve yet again, and so on ad infinitum. People who have
never gone through this underestimate the role fatigue plays in being able to keep mentally healthy. And people who
have never gone through this have a rather unsympathetic outlook on those who are struggling with it, simply because
they have never gone through it and therefore can’t empathize.
I think this is what scares me most about having cancer. As I have said all along, having a terminal illness is
not a disease of the body but a disease of the mind. I do fear that at some point my mental fortitude will give way
to something else... and I fear that there are people in my life who are incapable of understanding that. I’m afraid
they won’t understand because they themselves have never had to deal with depression, and becuase they’ve never
had to deal with it, they are not entirely convinced that it’s even a serious problem. And even when they do try to be
supportive, I can’t help but feel as if there is a condescension there, an attitude of, ”Ok you say you have this problem,
because I love you I wish you didn’t feel that way, but I don’t really buy into it.”
Each time I hear more bad news about my condition, I find myself devising new strategies to keep my mental
wits about me. The last thing I want to do is be a disappointment to those in my life who really, if they are honest
with themselves, don’t believe in allowing yourself to become depressed (and that’s the key, they think it’s a choice a
person makes rather than an actual affliction). Then I go to treatment, where people who have been through this talk
to me, and I see the other side of the coin. It’s an environment of enablement, where people are almost encouraged
to be down and depressed, like it’s an automatic expectation of this disease. And because I’ve been doing my best
to be so mentally strong, I look down my noses at these people. I think to myself, ”Wow, how pathetic that they let
themselves wallow in their own misery, especially over a something as trivial as having a little chemotherapy.”
Something has happened to me over the past year... something I don’t like. I’ve lost my compassion for those
who are struggling with their lives. And it’s so hypocritical of me, because I’ve BEEN there. I’ve BEEN where those
people are, so down and so depressed that daily functioning becomes an impossibility. And the thing that scares me
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is that I will be there again. At some point, this disease WILL get to me. The last thing I need is someone–including
myself–beating me up for it.
I’ve become very arrogant about myself. I’ve been arrogant that I’ve found peace and happiness and other
such things in my life. It’s true, I have... and it’s something I want to share with the world. But snidely looking down
my nose at others’ inability to find peace isn’t the way to do it. And the fact that I do that just reinforces my sinking
suspicion: that I haven’t really found happiness yet. Instead, I compare myself to others and find happiness in the
reinforcement that they are so much more miserable than I am.
Maybe I don’t have it right. Maybe it’s the people at my treatments who do. They’re down, sure... but
they’re ok with it. They accept it, and they accept themselves despite how they feel. Maybe I need to get off my
friggin high horse and realize that maybe they are there to teach me something, and not the other way around. Maybe
I should allow myself to feel down occasioncally... and maybe I need to take the stance of this: if I want to be gloomy
and depressed, then to hell with those in my life who refuse to understand.
LOL...all this introspection from one single pill. Or rather, half a pill.
Rock on, Prozac Nation.
1.2.2
The Promise
(2002-08-01 15:40) - public
Across the years I will walk with you–
in deep green forests; on shores of sand:
and when our time on earth is through,
in heaven, too, you shall have my hand.
1.2.3
Sunday blah’s
(2002-08-04 19:33) - public
I am exhausted. Nine chemotherapy treatments down... 15 more to go. It’s finally catching up to me. I’m hoping
the exhaustion is from the fact that they cut my steroid dosage two weeks ago, but I’ve been taking them again, and
nothing. No surge of energy anymore... no increase in appetite. It’s almost like my body is giving up.
I keep getting these bouts of crushing fatigue... all I want to do is sleep, and I can’t believe the apathy that goes
along with it. Not only am I tired, but I just don’t care about anything... don’t care about cleaning my house or
running errands or working or exercising or even eating... all I want to do is sit and rest. And as for eating... God,
I can’t believe that two weeks ago I was complaining of being insatiably hungry. Now it takes everything in me just
to force feed myself. Actually, that’s not entirely true. I’m fine up to about 1000 calories... after that, though, eating
just doesn’t interest me. I sit in the kitchen and try to find something to eat, but nothing even sounds good to me. It
took everything in me this weekend to choke down some extra pieces of cashew brittle (one of my favorite foods). At
least I’m not nauseous... yet. But I suspect that that is on its way, as I’ve noticed that I have been more and more
sensitive to that type of thing lately.
Anyways, one of the nurses came into my room during chemo on Friday... in her hands, she had three gift bags.
She was handing them out to each of the patients in the room. When she came over to me, I picked the prettiest,
pinkest bag she had. In it was a hand made blanket... made of the softest yarn in such a pretty lavender pink color.
On each end was long fringe, and tucked into the fringe was a small angel pin, the very same kind my mother wore
when she was treating her cancer patients. A letter went along with the blanket...and as soon as I read it I began to
cry. This very nice woman– a cancer survivor– makes these blankets and delivers them to the nurses at my doctor’s
office. The nurses deliver the blankets to the patients, keeping the woman’s name anonymous (at her request). Her
letter was so very touching...I sometimes just can’t believe that there are people like that out there. I feel like such a
schmuck... here I am, wallowing in my own self pity about the fact that I am dying, and here is this person who is
taking time to help someone she doesn’t even know. I can’t express enough the gratitude I feel that there are people
out there like her... and yet I can’t seem to get over the fact that I’m too selfish to be one of those people. So much
for my growth as a person through all of this.
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I keep waking up in the mornings now with a mild fever and the taste of bile in my mouth. My nurse at chemo
told me that if my PET scan goes well next month, my doctor might take me off of chemo for a while, so that the
cancer doesn’t mutate and become resistant to it. I’m hoping that that is how it goes... but I have a sinking suspicion,
based on those morning symptoms that have cropped up recently, that I probably won’t have a good scan. Call me
paranoid... but when you have cancer in your liver, the taste of bile in your mouth just isn’t a good sign.
Oh well... another day here and gone. Life goes by so quickly. Seems like I have hardly had time to enjoy it.
1.2.4
(2002-08-05 15:28)
- public
I can’t seem to shake this.
I woke up this morning sick to my stomach, barely able to walk and unable to see straight. It took me a while
to shake it off and get to work, but even then, I don’t feel right. I’m tired. Of everything.
I don’t understand. I thought I had this down. Here I am at square one again. I just want this over with. Life
seems so very pointless for me. What do I have to live for now? More days of getting out of bed feeling sick? Living
with the fact that I’ll be lucky to see my 30th birthday? Knowing that those that I love are going to have to watch
me suffer and die and that I couldn’t do anything to stop it?
Today I can’t bear it. And I’m not sure about tomorrow either.
I don’t want to die. My god, my god, I don’t want to die!
But what’s even scarier to me is that I’m beginning to feel as if I don’t want to live anymore.
1.2.5
On being a Mother and other useless banter
(2002-08-08 10:07) - public
I found out yesterday that one of my co-worker’s is pregnant. I felt kind of honored that I’m the only one at work
that she has told so far. We spent a good hour yesterday talking about it. She’s about 3 months along now, and
just starting to show. She’s nauseous, cranky, tired, head-achy and pees a lot. I told her it sounded like she was on
chemotherapy, too. Funny how two completely different phenomena can have such similar features.
I was sad after I talked with her. Most of my life I’ve been anti-children. I never wanted to have them, never
wanted to touch them, never oohed and aaahed over itty bitty baby clothes. In fact, to this day I have never held a
baby. But hearing her enthusiasm over what is happening to her... I don’t know. Made me feel as if I’m missing out
on some primal female right of passage.
The thought of having children had never even crossed my mind until my mother died almost four years ago. I’m
not sure what happened... but in the months after her death, I suddenly had this desire in me to re-create what I
had as a child. I wanted someone to whom I could pass along the traditions of my family. I wanted to develop that
same dynamic I had growing up–that of a loving family unit. And I wanted someone that I could help to shape and
mold...someone who would challenge the world around them and find joy in being alive.
Lately I have really felt like a big disappointment. I find myself time and time again talking to my Mom, and
telling her that I’m sorry. Telling her I’m sorry that I have cancer, that I didn’t find some way to learn from her
mistakes and avoid it. I tell her I’m sorry that I don’t have anyone to whom I can pass along her jewelry or furniture
or old family recipes. I tell her that I’m sorry I didn’t live up to what I think she wanted me to be. And I tell her that
I’m sorry that I never did the one thing that I think every mother secretly wants: for her daughter to BECOME her.
I think mothers and daughters reflect each other. Mothers see themselves in their daughters, and at some point
(after all that teenage angst), daughters see themselves as their mothers. I think things become so much more difficult
when your mother dies. My reflecting pool is gone now... I often feel lost, like I have no direction. I just feel that I
don’t know how to BE female without her. The past four years of my life have been a struggle for me to justify this,
to find ways to stay connected to her.
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I think it’s strange how my life has paralleled hers in some ways... Her first marriage was to an abusive man. She lost
her mother at 25. She herself had cancer (ok, her first bout) at an early age. But there are also some clear differences:
she married again at 24. She had children by 28. She never finished college. I’ve always wondered why we were so
similar in some areas and so different in others.
I think mothers and daughters do this love-hate dance. Daughters really wrestle with wanting to either rebel against
their mothers or become their mothers. And I think this conflict is reflected in the choices I’ve made and how different
our lives were. The only problem is that I can’t decide which of my choices were made out of rebellion or because I
thought it was something that was truly going to make me happy.
Which brings me back to having children... all while I was growing up, I didn’t want kids. Is that how I truly
feel, or is that just a knee-jerk reaction to my mother trying to tell me, ”Oh, don’t worry, you’ll want kids one day”?
After she died, I suddenly wanted kids... was that another knee-jerk reaction or did I truly change my mind? Cancer
aside, I’ve been leaning lately towards not having kids... is that simply because I’m involved in a great relationship
with someone who doesn’t want them? The thought HAS crossed my mind, on more than one occasion, that I’ve
changed my tune simply because I don’t want to lose this person. So much for staying unattached.
I feel robbed. Cheated. And sad. But I suspect it’s not because I think I don’t want children. It’s because I
CAN’T have them anymore. Everyone else around me seems to be child-minded... but I don’t have that option anymore. I feel left out... again. I mean... I’m 28 years old. I have no mother, no siblings. I have terminal cancer. I
am divorced, childless and can never have children. Is it any wonder I have difficulty finding female friends? I have
nothing in common with any of them... they’re all busy cooking dinners with their mothers and picking out drapery
patterns for their new nursery that their high-school-sweetheart-now-husband is painting. At least when I could have
children, sitting on the sidelines was tolerable. At least at that point it was a choice..I knew in the back of my mind
that if I really wanted to get into the game, I could.
I suppose I shouldn’t lament that which I can no longer have. I suppose I should just buck up and be fine with
things. After all, there are worse things that could happen–and have happened– to me. I just don’t like not trusting
that I’ve made the right choices for myself. And even though it’s a moot point now... I still wonder about whether or
not I WANT to have children. I think if I had a real answer for that, I’d learn a lot about myself.
1.2.6
On Dylan Thomas
(2002-08-12 09:22) - public
Not sure where to begin today.... lots running through my head and I’m having a tough time organizing it all.
First off, I feel pretty good today. But I know better than to trust this feeling. It’s all from the steroids. I
can sit here and feel good about life and everything... but I know that it’s artificial, that as soon as I’m off these meds
it’s back to depression and down time again. I hate knowing that my ”good” mental health state is the result of a few
pills I take each week. Why can’t I just get to this happy place on my own terms? Everyone seems to think, well,
what does it matter if it’s the pills or not? If you’re happy, go with it.
That’s what my doctors and nurses don’t get... I don’t want my symptoms palliated. I want a solution. And
hopping me up on steroids isn’t solving the mental dilemma I have... that I’m NOT ok with this whole dying thing
yet. I may FEEL like it now, but as soon as I go off of these things, I will be back to square one. And, frankly, I
don’t want to be at square one in another 6 months. I want to find resolution to this now... and I can’t do that if I’m
consantly in this state of pseudo-emotional well being. Once the artifical ”high on life” feeling wears off, where will I
be then? Sigh. I wish someone understood this.
So I’ve been working on ”changing” myself lately. My friend Amanda out in Virginia has recently adopted a
new life slogan: want what you have. Ack. I’m trying. Really, I’m trying. But I’m finding that I now define my life
differently. What begins with scarcity ends in deprivation. Everything in my life is suddenly not accepted as is... it
just becomes a reminder of everything that will NEVER be because of this disease. I’ve never really felt, up until this
point, that I’ve ever had doors closed to me. I’ve always been the type of person who believed that I could take on
the world... and win. That is why I struggle so much. Before the cancer, I thought that I was unstoppable... and that
the only reason I wouldn’t or couldn’t achieve something was because I chose not to. I believed that everything was
37
a result of my choice. In a bad relationship? I chose that for whatever reason... maybe born from self sabotage or
hatefulness of myself or whatever other psycho-analytical reason you could insert there. I’ve always been a big believer
in unseen motivation. If there was something I wanted in life but wasn’t achieving, then the only reason I wasn’t
achieving it was because there was something unseen in me stopping it. To achieve it, I needed to unlock the door
and find out what was blocking me from getting where I wanted to go. Not once did it ever occur to me that maybe
I couldn’t achieve it, or that maybe I wasn’t meant to achieve it. I believed that it was just a matter putting in the
time and some self introspection in order to find out HOW to achieve it. I have my own definition or perfection... and
not once in my entire life have I ever doubted that I could achieve it. Something inside of me won’t let me doubt that
I can achieve anything. To me, doing so is akin to settling... and that is probably one of the most distasteful concepts
I could ever entertain for myself. Settle? Ha. Not me. I’m too good for that.
This is a first for me. I’m here, dying. And there are limitations that I am having a hard time accepting.
The past two weeks were awful... crushing fatigue, horrid mood swings... and it made me realize, just like my
depression did many years ago, that I can’t always control even my own body. And I use my body as an example
here because it’s concrete. It’s not easy accepting limitations when you’ve never believed in their existence before.
I’ve struggled with my weight my entire life. Even ten years ago when I was first diagnosed with Hashimoto’s
hypothyroiditis, I never accepted what they told me: that I would always be heavy and chunky with this. No, no, no...
couldn’t be. I just needed to find the right diet and fitness routine. I just needed to want my health badly enough to
commit to it. I just needed... blah blah blah. I never accepted the limitations of it. And I don’t want to now. I don’t
want to accept that one day I will be too tired to exercise. I don’t want to accept the fact that one day I will be too
sick to eat. I don’t want to accept any limitation that this disease has now given me.
But therein lies the problem. I look at everything as a limitation, a lack, a deprivation. And I can’t figure
out how to look at things any other way because I’ve never done so before. My take on life has always been to grab it
by the horns and run with it in whatever direction I wanted it to go. Should I have just done what my friend is doing,
wanting what she has? At what point does that philosophy contribute to your happines and at what point does it just
mean you’re settling for something? Let’s take my marriage. Let’s say I decided to want what I had. Where would
I be now? Married to the bastard... but had I truly decided to want that, then I suppose I wouldn’t be unhappy.
Theoretically, then... I should be able to be happy with anything. Ok, I buy that. But then there is no longer a point
where you need to change. If you can be happy with anything... then hey...do whatever the hell you want in life. Your
choices suddenly become meaningless. I should have then been happy with my ex. I had the power within me to do
so. Why didn’t I, then? It certainly would have made my life easier at that time.
I think the concept of wanting what you have belittles those in your life. If I just want what I have, then
those in my life are suddenly relegated to being just a number. Hey, you’re in my life. I’ve decided I’m glad you’re
here because I have this life philosophy to want whatever I have. The philosophy means you no longer are particular.
The people you are with are no longer there by choice... they are there by default. If I want what I have, then you
could take someone in my life and place any person in the world in that role. I think it’s a great philosophy when it
comes to material things... if my house burns down or if my car is totaled. But when it comes to deciding whether or
not to stay in a relationship or friendship or whatever... that’s a different story.
So am I really unhappy with the relationships I have? Why am I unhappy with my life? Or rather, why am
I unhappy IN my life? Nothing has changed except my cancer. Why has this one event turned everything upside
down? Should I let it turn things upside down? That’s the ultimate problem I have... I can’t seem to accept this as a
part of my life. To me, it’s accepting defeat. Yes, I’m dying. Yes, I have limitations. Suddenly I have to rewire my
entire way of thinking. To me, it seems that if I accept cancer and it’s limitations, then I’m living my life as a dying
person. I’m not ready to accept that I’m dying.
Maybe that is the resolution I seek, though. Maybe it’s not reinventing my life or my relationships or my job.
Maybe it’s simply this: realizing that I do not have much time left. Accept it. Embrace it. Realize it and learn from
it.
God, what a load of crap.
Rage, rage, rage against the dying of the light. I can’t think of any other way to live my life right now.
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I suppose, though... that I need to realize that my current unhappiness DOES stem from looking at things
through the lens of scarcity. Perhaps I should try and stop looking at things for the lack they represent and instead
for the abundance they hold. Funny, though. I really don’t feel like having a lot of gratitude right now... for anything.
Rage, rage, rage against the dying of the light.
1.2.7
Death be not Proud
(2002-08-17 10:41) - public
Had my PET scan this week... two weeks earlier than I was supposed to because of the strange abdominal pain I’m
having. Let me just say that PET scans are one of the most grueling test to endure. It’s five hours of sheer boredom.
I went through about 45 minutes of MRI images, whereby I had to lay still in weird positions so that they can get
good images. After that, they took me back to get my injection of radioactive glucose. Of course, the tech couldn’t
find a vein (thanks to chemotherapy, they all like to shrivel up). He decides to try a vein in my hand, which, as anyone
has ever had an IV or anything started there knows, is one of the most painful places to receive a needle stick. So he
sticks me, he’s prodding around in my hand, finds a vein, and it blows in 15 seconds. He finally finds one in my arm,
all the while grumbling about how he wants to take it out of my other arm. I keep telling him that my left arm can’t
be used because of the axillary dissection, but he just wrinkled his nose. Like excuuuuuuuuuuse me for having breast
cancer and having to have my lymph nodes removed from that arm. Anyways, we finally get that glow-in-the-dark
Geiger counting goop in me, and then I have to sit for one hour WITHOUT MOVING. The glucose needs to be taken
in by my cancer cells, and any muscle movement will divert the glucose to them, giving a false negative reading. So
I sit in this uncomfortable chair in this cubby hole that is about 50 degrees. The friggin test is $5,000. You’d think
they could afford a small cot. But anyways, I sit for my hour... and then woo hoo... time for the scans. They do two
scans... lower pelvic and upper chest. Each scan takes about an hour. So I’m laying there on my back for two hours
with my arms over my head, trying not to shiver and trying not to think about my aching back. So we’re done with
those two scans, and the tech wants another pass across my middle section to get a solid picture of my liver. So we
do that–another hour–and then back to the MRI so that we can get the corresponding liver images. So... it’s now 1
pm... I’ve been at this place since 8 am. I haven’t eaten anything since 10 pm the night before. I’m starving, freezing,
cranky.... all I want to do is go home, put on a sweater and have a square meal.
And then I see the pictures.
It’s gone.
The lesions in my liver. The lesion in my rib. The infected lymph node under my clavicle.
Gone.
The goddamned stuff is WORKING. Taxotere and Herceptin... wiped out all visible traces of my cancer.
I was so completely underwhelmed by this, though, that people thought I was crazy. I left the place and
hopped on the phone– to Blake, to my Dad, to my friends. They all reacted the same way– sheer elation. The next
day at my doctor, he and my nurses congratulated me... telling me the results were incredible, that it typically doesn’t
erase all visible signs of metastic disease, at least, not in this short amount of time (only 10 weeks of treatment). They
told me to go out and celebrate.
I don’t get it. Why aren’t I happier about this? I mean, I’m glad the stuff is working... but it doesn’t really
change anything other than I probably just bought myself some more time here on this planet in this body. But it
will eventually come back and I’ll just have to deal with the inevitable again. And you know, I’m fine with that. And
that’s why I’m taking this with such a blase attitude.
My big fear is that those I tell are getting this grain of hope in their heads, that maybe I really can BEAT
this thing. I can’t accept that. I have a 1 % chance– and that’s generous– of obtaining a cure. And I know what
they’re thinking: ”there’s no reason, Karen, that you can’t be one of those people.” You’re right, there isn’t...except
that it PROBABLY won’t happen. As I keep saying, the sun MIGHT not come up tomorrow... but I’m pretty sure
that it will, even though I know that anything is possible. Same thing with my cancer. You’re right, I MIGHT beat
this, but chances are I probably won’t. And I’m fine with this (at least, for today I am).
39
I have a difficult time dealing with people who aren’t as accepting of my imminent death as I am. I just
can’t understand it. When my Mom was dying, I never sugar coated anything. I knew that pancreatic cancer was a
killer... less than 4 % survive, and that’s only for people who are able to have a Whipple procedure (which, of course,
my Mom wasn’t able to do). The last thing I wanted was my Mom to die... but I couldn’t–wouldn’t– feign or try to
develop any false hope on this. And I don’t want people doing that with me. I make jokes about dying young. I talk
about it in daily conversation... it’s part of my daily repertoire. And I know people are uncomfortable with it. But I
really want people to be ok with it. I don’t want them sugar coating it or thinking that it might not happen. It will...
it’s just a matter of time.
Maybe it’s selfish of me to expect this from other people. I can understand how this is difficult to accept, especially for people like my father. But to me... making a joke about my death or how I’m going to run up my credit
cards before I kick the bucket makes my death seem less important. And it really ISN’T an important thing. I’m
changing form... going through a transition. On days like today, I’m detached enough from my life to realize that all
the feelings I have on death(missing loved ones, missing my choices, missing out on experiences, etc) are not going
to be taken with me. I’m able to be light hearted about it. Maybe it’s just the slumber-party attitude I have, but
sometimes it would be nice to CELEBRATE my upcoming change. Hey, I’m dying. Let’s go out and have a beer and
celebrate the fact that I can look forward to not working anymore or caring about material possessions or any of that.
And I think that’s why I felt so out of joint with people expecting me to celebrate these wonderful PET scan
results. I don’t think we should always celebrate an extension of life as if it is the end-all, be-all thing. Dont’ get me
wrong... on one level, I’m happy about the scan, about being here longer...I mean, look at my previous posts. I have
my days when I don’t want to die. But when I got the results, I just felt... neutral. Maybe it’s because I know it
doesn’t matter in the long run. Long run, my number will be up, whether it’s from cancer or not.
And that’s what I’m really dealing with here...I’m dealing with my own mortality. I want to deal with it. I
don’t want to lose myself in denial again because I got good test results. I’ve spent my entire life denying the one
universal truth that we all must face... that we will die. I want to be ok with it, so that when the day comes that
those PET results are bad, it will hit me with the same neutrality as those good results.
The bottom line is that I’m trying to free myself. I don’t want my fear of death to ruin the quality of the life
I do have left. And as I go through this process, I am beginning to realize that denial of death is a serious factor in
my unhappiness. Perhaps it is with everyone.
And then there are days that I think I’m becoming too attached to the fact that I’m going to die. But that’s
a topic for another day.
1.2.8
(2002-08-17 17:43)
- aggravated - public
It’s official. I hate people.
Blake and I went to a gym in town today... a new one he’s thinking of joining. We go there and hop on a couple of elliptical trainers, and across the aisle from us is this meathead on a treadmill. He’s wearing his ghetto red
basketball shorts/tank top, his crappy ass Nike shoes and of course the requisite tatoo of the snake/eagle/insert-othermanly-animal-here splashed across his entire shoulder. He’s running and sweating all over the damn place. Hey, fine...
to each his own.
So Blake and I are doing our warm up and Mr. Sweat Box decides to come over and enlighten us with his arrogance and obvious unintelligence. He tells us, grunting in between sentences like the gorillas at Brookfield zoo, that
these elliptical trainers don’t do anything, that I’d be better off hopping on a treadmill and hiking up the incline, or
if that didn’t work, I should hop on some of those rotating stair machines they have up front. But I should ”take it
from him, who has worked on every piece of machinery in the place, that those elliptical trainers don’t do a thing for
anyone... maybe give you a good warm up but that’s it.” I told him that what I was doing worked for me and that I’ve
dropped 40 pounds in the past year. He just says, ”Well, yeah, but you probably changed your diet, too.” Um...ok...
and your point is? What a moron.
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Funny, though...after I thought about it, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at this. Am I so dumpy looking
that people feel the need to judge me based solely on my looks and decide that I need crappy unsolicited advice
regarding my fitness? Or are people just so blown over by their own arrogance that they can’t help but share it with
the world?
I almost wanted to tell him that I usually don’t like to talk to guys who have necks thicker than my ass, but that would
have been mean.
It just blew me away. I mean, come on. Most of America is sedentary at best. I admire anyone who gets out
there and moves. Who cares what they’re doing? If they’re happy, let it be.
People are stupid. I just hope he never breeds.
Oh wait... how silly of me. Can’t very well breed when your dick is the size of a crayon from all the ’roid abuse.
1.2.9
Feminist Mystique
(2002-08-27 11:04) - discontent - public
Ok, I admit it& I watched The Sweetest Thing this weekend. You know, that movie with the ever perky Cameron
Diaz, the ever bijiggity Christina Applegate and the eternally weird Selma Blair. I have only one thing to say about
this movie: this was the biggest waste of my time&EVER. And I ve done some pretty stupid things in my life. Honestly,
this was the worst piece of cinema I ve ever seen since watching my uncle s earnest attempt to record the It s a Small
World ride at Disney World. It was painful to watch& why I didn t turn it off I don t know. I think the best part had
to be the big, show-stopping musical ensemble entitled Your Penis is Too Large. Yeah, you know, I really thought
that hit reality there. I always break out into musical song praising the merits of the male member in the middle of
a Mexican restaurant whenever one of my trashy girlfriends gets laid. And the Betty White look-a-like& nice touch.
That s what I want to go to sleep to at night& the everlasting vision of Betty White looking like a crack-whore and
slapping her ass as she prances across the camera. My body is a movie and your penis is the star & who the hell
comes up with this drivel?
Ironically enough, the answer to that question happens to be that the schlock was written by a pro-feminist writer who
writes for South Park. She apparently wanted women to rank right up there with men with being players and enjoying
fart humor. She wanted to depict these women in control& women who run their own destinies, manage their own
lives and enjoy wanton sexuality on their own terms. This movie was to be, for women&empowering.
Insert here the collective groan of feminists everywhere.
Since when does feminism equate with women behaving like men? I agree, women should have the choice to be
and do anything they want to do, but why is it that nouveau feminists out there all think that the epitome of feminine
equality occurs only at the point where women can fart in public and slut their way through half the men in a major
metropolitan area? Being a player and showing pride in your bodily functions are, unfortunately, a stereotype of men
in our society. But in my opinion, it s not GOOD behavior& so why would I or anyone else for that matter strive
to be like that?
That s the problem with young feminists today. They look at the world around them and see a man s world and
think that the only way to equality, self-expression and freedom is to emulate what they see. Why? Like I said,
belching and blowing the smell at someone isn t good behavior. I think too many young women blindly try to be like
men without questioning whether or not doing so is really a good idea. They sleep around, thinking they are in control
of their sexuality, but I think more often than not they end up getting caught in this trap of trying to be something
that maybe they re not.
Women are continually trying to prove themselves in our society. We try to prove we re as tough as men. We
try to prove we re as lewd as men. We try to prove that we enjoy sex as much as men. Why this incessant competition?
We re DIFFERENT. I don t want to earn my equality on the coat-tails of men. I want to earn it by my own right& by
proving that I can be whoever I want to be without fear of society saying I m not good enough. If I want to be overly
emotional, or overly prudish or overly frigid, then I should be able to do so without being labeled as conservative or
repressed or any of those other monikers. I don t think that behaving like a man is any evidence of how I celebrate my
41
feminism.
But getting back to this movie&god, it was a HORRIBLE example of feminist thought. Here are these women,
large and in-charge, and yet the whole point of the movie is to get the girl married to her dream man. It s a pathetic
display of women trying to be like men yet pandering to them at the same time. Ironically enough, I think that this is
the one (and only) credible thing that this movie displays. Our society dictates that the harder women try to behave
like men, the harder the backlash of the Cinderella dream. We can behave as badly as we want until one day, oh, we re
just tired of the game and want to find that man of our dreams. How do we find that man of our dreams? By NOT
being like men& by being coy and evocative and feminine and mysterious and blah blah blah. It seems as if our society
causes women to be diametrically opposed. Be equal like a man by behaving like him& but when you want something
else, behave differently. What happens is that women aren t taught to be themselves& they re simply taught to play
a role.
That s the part that concerns me. I hear about 12 year old girls servicing boys in the locker room of their junior
high school, and there is no way that someone can convince me that that little girl is doing that because she has really
given it some thought and really wants to do it. We are teaching dangerous things to women of all ages&but the one
thing we AREN T teaching them is to act and behave and think according to their OWN rules. And that s because
society doesn t have any rules for women other than to behave like and/or pander to men. So we teach them to emulate
those who either behave like men or pander to men& to look and act and be like the hollow archetypes artificially
created by our society. Be like Britney. It s ok&because that s how you get to the top.
I shouldn t have to be like Britney to be heard. I shouldn t have to look perfect to be told that I m beautiful. I
shouldn t have to be promiscuous to prove that I m a sexual person. I shouldn t have to hold my own with fart humor
to show that I m comfortable in a man s world.
That s because I m not. I m comfortable in MY world.
I just think it s a shame that more women out there don t realize that being LIKE a man isn t the same as BEING a man.
1.3
1.3.1
September
The wonderful world of Disney
(2002-09-04 20:27) - friends
OK... I just spent the past weekend in hell.
One of my good friends got married at Disney World and I was a bridesmaid. Ok, fine. I’m very happy that she’s
happy, it was a nice ceremony, fun reception, and all of that. I just can’t get over my distaste for Disney, and after
this weekend, I doubt that my dislike will abate anytime soon.
First off, I thought the people were rude. The entire thing–rehearsal, ceremony and reception– were timed to the
minute. Why? Because they had other weddings and receptions timed after my friend’s. They were a revolving door
wedding provider, an upper scale Vegas. And for the price they charged, well, frankly, I thought they could have been
a bit nicer.
But this is my entire gripe with Disney... everything is a commodity to them. They truly didn’t care about my
friend’s well being. She was just another dollar sign to them, another head of cattle to herd through their chapel doors.
There was no special treatment, no little extras given out here and there. If you wanted any little niceties, you had
to pay for it. They charged extra for EVERYTHING... I mean, my friend didn’t even have a runner going down the
aisle, and that was for one of two reasons: it either cost extra and my friend (rightfully so) didn’t want to pay for
it, or Disney didn’t want to do any decorating in the chapel because there wasn’t enough time to tear down those
decorations and decorate for the couple who was getting married sixty minutes after my friend. Either way, I thought
it was a shame.
And let’s talk about Disney, the resort. We made a small trip to Downtown Disney (for those of you who have
42
never been, the goddamned place is a miniature city nowadays, everything branded with the Disney icon, of course).
We went into Virgin Records... what a joke. Disney has seen to it that this ”have everything” record store has become
”family friendly.” No longer do they carry anything racy or controversial... oh no. That would offend the families. I
hate the fact that one major corporation has the ability to mold our values like this.
And speaking of molding and branding... here’s the other thing with getting married at Disney. Cinderella is a
dream that has been SOLD to us. It’s a marketing ploy, merely another way for an overblown corporation to manipulate people so that they can make more money. It appalls me that so many people adore Disney, it’s movies, and
all of that other rot they have to offer. Disney has no SUBSTANCE. It’s all manufactured ideas created for the sole
purpose to make someone else rich. Only they don’t frame it that way. Disney has cleverly designed everything so
that people think that they have their best interest in mind. They package everything as family oriented and good and
wholesome... but come on. Good and wholesome is baking cookies with your Mom, or going fishing with your Dad. It
should NOT consist of fulfilling your lifelong dream of meeting Mickey Mouse and getting married under the shadow
of the Magic Kingdom. Why not, you ask? Because Disney is NOT REALITY. It’s fantasy. And I don’t understand
how it is that our society doesn’t wake up and realize that.
I suppose our society buys into it because Disney is like so many of those self-help books out there: they promise
the world and trick you into thinking that you’re happy even when in reality they offer nothing. People gorge on
Disney because it’s easier. It’s easier to go along with what the TV commercials tell you. It’s easier to cave in to your
kids’ whining about wanting to meet Goofy than it is to explain to them that their happiness will never come from the
unfruitful pursuit of external materials and events. And it’s easier to believe in the promises of our bubble-gum pop
culture than it is to dare challenge it, because we’ve been duped into believing that challenging our culture is unpatriotic or anti-capitalist or anti-family or whatever. Challenging our culture is none of those things... but shhhhh! Don’t
tell that to Disney. Their entire revenue stream relies on the fact that people buy into the ”Disney = the American
way” equation.
Sad fact of the matter is that it doesn’t. Disney is selling a mirage... a fantasy that exists only in one place: in
fantasy land. And they’ve spent a hell of a lot of money in child psychology and marketing to find ways to make kids
life long believers in their fantasies.
Too bad. The real world is just so much more interesting.
1.3.2
Daddy’s Little Girl
(2002-09-05 08:38) - uncomfortable - public
Well, I FINALLY got a cable modem, so last night I sent out an ”update contact info” email to people on my personal
email list, my father included. Welllllll.... I neglected to remember that I had put a link to my live journal into my
signature.
So my father reads my journal and calls me last night to talk about it. I was mortified. I don’t think I’ve
ever said a swear word in front of my father, and here he is reading about my views on feminism and male members
and oh, I cringe to think what else.
And if that isn’t embarrassing enough... the first words out of his mouth are to ask me if I really think that
he’s a thoughtless, insensitive jerk (see posting called ”Musings” for a reference). So I explain to him, that no, I don’t
think that. At the time I wrote that, yeah, I did, and that these journal entries capture a moment, a flicker in time,
but that these moments don’t necessarily carry over into a consistent feeling. Even as I was saying it, it felt like a
weak argument, however true it may be. Either way, the phone call ended and I felt like a heel.
So, I decided to post something today for my father. This was something I wrote about 2 years ago, and described a time in my father’s life about one year after my Mom had died. I hope this dispels any doubt about how I
truly feel about my father.
A Man s Home is his Castle
43
My Dad is the coolest guy on the planet.
I went to visit him recently, and we ended up going to the local mall. Going to the local mall is no small
task out there in boo foo farmland. It s not like where I live now, in suburbia. If I want to go to the mall now I
just hop in my car and in five minutes I am swamped with endless and bountiful opportunities to drain my savings
account. Not quite the case where I grew up. There, the nearest mall is 25 miles away. It s not that the drive is all
that bad. It s the decision to actually GO to the mall that is so gut wrenching. Out there, there s no such thing as
just casually going to the mall to poke around. You d better be going for a specific purpose. That type of mileage
needs some serious justification.
We decided to go because I needed shoes or some other moderately priced item that I knew Dad was willing
to pay for. We get there and we start tooling around and Dad s all excited because we HAVE to go to Bath and Body
Works so that he can get some household air freshener. So, get this. We walk in there, and he s on a FIRST NAME
basis with every clerk in the store. EVERY CLERK. They all shout out his name, like he s Norm entering the bar on
Cheers. Apparently he has shopped here before.
So I m in there eyeing different smelly lotions when I turn around and see Dad doing the same thing. He s
trying on hand gels, body sprays, the whole nine yards. One of the clerks, Eve, I think, comes up and tells him about
their latest shipment of fruity soaps and house sprays. Dad is all over that and is making his way to the new product
bin faster than a starving cheetah on the hunt. It was the first time in my life I ever saw my father LOOK hungry.
We ended up walking out of the store over an hour later with about five different house sprays, three different
lotions and about a dozen soaps (the moisturizing kind, so as not to afflict my father s delicate sensitive skin). He was
happy as a clam and as for me, well, I was thrilled. Who knew that my father was such a cool girlfriend?
Later, in the car on the way home, it dawned on me that this whole thing wasn t really about buying soaps
or taking care of his skin or of masking the wet dog scent in his house. It wasn t about spending money to fill an
empty heart or about bonding with his daughter or even about flirting with the young, almost illegally aged store
clerks. It was about my mother.
My mom died on Halloween, as luck would have it. Or perhaps it wasn t luck but destiny. After all, my father s mother died on Mother s Day, his father died on Father s Day, and his son– my brother– died on Easter. I
suppose Halloween was as good of a holiday as any to carry on the tradition.
Mom was a smelly potioned freak. She used to make special road trips, driving fifty miles one way, just to go
to a shop that specialized in Crabtree and Evelyn products. If you could spray it, splash it, bubble it, slather it or
scrub with it and it smelled good, then chances are my mother had it. I took some of her stuff after she died, and two
years later I m STILL using it, that was how much she had. I figure I m set until I hit thirty, at which point I ll have
to start buying my own stuff again.
My Dad really doesn t have a whole lot left of my mother, to be perfectly honest. They were never the type
of couple who bought things for each other. They were the exact opposite of that couple in The Gift of the Magi.
They had enough love and trust between the two of them that one of them could go to the other and say, Hey, we
don t have money to buy each other Christmas gifts this year. And the other one would say, Ok, one less thing I
have to worry about doing this holiday season. And they were happy with that.
Most of my Mom s small possessions, due to the law of downward genetic inheritance and estate transference,
ended up in my hands. In addition to the smellies and foo foo s, I got my mother s Asian pearl necklace, her Austrian
crystal jewelry set, and some other truly girly trinkets that, had my father kept them, would probably have made
the neighbors scratch their heads and question my father s sexual orientation. As for my father– he got the big stuff,
namely the house and the furniture. Over $80,000 worth of real estate, all in his hot little hands. Hardly seems like a
fair distribution until you realize what is was he ACTUALLY got. He got the bed that held her wasted frame after
her legs failed her and she couldn t walk anymore. He got the couch that housed her vomit from the one too many
doses of chemotherapy and radiation. He got the television set that she paid constant attention to in order to take
her mind off of the pain and depression and the fact that she was dying. And he got the four walls that witnessed her
rapid, seven month transition from a vibrant, self sufficient woman into a wrinkled sunken body that was so wracked
44
with pain it could no longer fend for itself. When you look at it that way, my father got screwed.
My father is a constant source of worry for me. I am obsessively afraid of him dying, or of him being critically injured or of him gambling away his life savings so that he has nothing to retire on. I worry about him rattling
about in that empty house filled with nothing but a couple of cats and a dog and countless ghosts. I worry that one
day it will be too much for him to bear– as it often is for me– and that I ll find him passed out on that very same bed
with those very same sheets holding nothing but an empty bottle of Halcion and a note that says he s sorry. Maybe
it s crazy, but I know what grief can do to a person. And I know my father s life. And it doesn t seem possible to me
that someone can go through what he has gone through and yet still find the will to get out of bed in the morning,
just to fight another day.
But he does it for me.
He promised her he would.
And if doing so means that he has to buy all of the room freshener in the world, then so be it. Who am I to
criticize?
1.3.3
The Joy of Cancer and the ineffiency of Big Business
(2002-09-14 02:28) - bitchy - public
Music: Libera–Silencium
Chemo day today, after having two weeks off. Sigh. It was nice having a break.
Well, the verdict is in... no more Taxotere. They gave me a break in the first place because my fingernails
were beginning to fall off (one of the many side effects of chemo). Well, after looking at them today, it doesn’t appear
that they have healed up all that well, although there is at least some improvement in the nail beds. So... they
switched me to the sister drug, Taxol, at my request (they suggested Navelbine also, but I know it is MUCH less
effective than Taxol). Made from the same basic ingredients, just works a bit differently (and according to recent
studies, less effectively). But should my fingernails actually FALL off (they haven’t yet but were close to doing so
two weeks ago), I have to stay off of chemo until they grow back. Apparently Taxol doesn’t have this side effect, so I
should be fine.
What Taxol DOES provide me, though, is a whole new set of side effects to begin dealing with.
bone aches, neuropathy in the extremeties and.... yes, more hair loss.
Muscle and
I was really, really mad today. When I talked to my oncologist about the hair loss with Taxol, he told me
that I probably wouldn’t exhibit any more hair loss than on the Taxotere. My nurse had a different story for me...
said to expect quite a bit of hair loss, ”much more excessive than Taxotere.” I hit the roof. I mean, I had a choice of
drugs to choose... Navelbine doesn’t cause hair loss. And yes, maybe I’m vain. But come on... I don’t have much
time left to live. If my hair falls out now, it will take at least a year to grow back. More than likely, I will be back on
chemo in a year... and my hair will fall out again. It’s just not fucking fair.
So I hit the roof with my nurse. I mean, come on. I am making major decisions about my health and well
being here. The least my onc can do is provide me with as clear of a picture as possible of the outcome of my decisions.
To his credit, though, my nurse told him how angry I was and he called me at home an hour later to apologize
personally. I’m still not happy about the situation, but I have to give him credit for that. Most doctors wouldn’t take
the time.
So today I feel like a Mack truck hit me. My back already aches from the stuff (they said the pain would be
worse in the first 24 hours after each treatment). I’m exhausted, have no appetite, and my scalp hurts. Ironically,
though, I can’t sleep thanks to the steroids (hence my entry at 3 a.m.). Oh well. I suppose I should shut up and stop
whining. I can’t be THAT bad off... I still managed to get in my requisite hour long workout today, even AFTER my
treatment.
Other news...
I’m moving to Michigan.
Not permanently, of course, but for 2 months for a work project for
45
one of the major automakers. I’m excited about it, actually... it’s quite the challenge. Not too keen on our client
sponsor, though. Everyone warned me about him before I met him, basically telling me in no uncertain words that the
guy was an ass. So I meet him and I can honestly say this: with little or no effort, this pompous windbag has easily
raised the bar of asshole-ness to abusive levels. We all sat there during a one hour status meeting (that took three
hours to complete because the jag off couldn’t shut his mouth), and we all got talked to like we were in second grade.
And he doesn’t listen to reason, no matter how obvious the situation. He’s going to have HIS way, dammit. But to
illustrate what I mean, here’s a sample conversation as we went through a slide presentation that needed his approval:
Asshole: Tell me WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY.... when you made that picture you made the sky blue.
Us: Well, we tried to mimic the real world as much as possible.
decided it should be in our picture, too.
Since the sky is blue in the real world, we
Asshole: (after a long silence) But tell me WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY.... you made the sky blue.
Us: Well, we tried to mimic the real world as much as possible.
decided it should be in our picture, too.
Since the sky is blue in the real world, we
Asshole: (exasperated sigh) You obviously don’t understand my question. The sky isn’t always blue. Now I
don’t care about how others perceive the sky in the real world, that’s not the focus of this project. My job is to care
about this project, and I suggest that this be YOUR job also. But at this point, all I care about is why the sky is blue
in this picture. And you obviously don’t understand the issues of this project if you can’t answer my question.
Us: Well, Mr. Asshole, what would you like us to do?
Asshole: (another exasperated sigh) Now I shouldn’t have to be put in the position of telling you, the ”supposed” EXPERTS on this subject matter, how to do your jobs. I don’t have time for that. If you can’t handle painting
a simple picture, then this project is in serious trouble, and I WON’T push this project through if that’s the case.
Us: Ok, Mr. Asshole. How about if we replace the blue sky with a sky that is different in color? We could
perhaps make it more of a cloudy sky.
Asshole: (slams pen down onto table) You don’t mean to tell me that you’re actually suggesting to make the
sky grey? That makes absolutely no logical sense whatsoever. I mean, think about it... this picture has to be able to
relate to our audience, to make a statement. What colorrrrrrrrrrr..... do people think of when they think of sky?
Us: (pensive pause) Blue?
Asshole: Yes, dammit, blue. I don’t understand why it took a five minute conversation to determine that.
It’s not rocket science. Now, this next picture.... tell me WHYYYYYYYY....
And on and on, ad nauseum. We went through 57–yes, 57– slides at this level of detail. It’s a good think I
don’t have to deal with him directly, because I would have told him to go suck it within a week. Thank god I believe
in karma.
The other major pain in the ass problem on this project is the other company that we are partnering with on
the project. The three people I have to work with directly are all smarmy recruiters, all reeking with a stench of
phoniness you can smell 10 feet away. The leader of this little brat pack, this chunky snippy chick, is the worst of
them all. I just LOOOOOOOOOOVE those types of people who always give you a fake smile, all the while thinking
that they’re actually fooling people into thinking that they’re really sincere. And she’s one of those people who ask
you questions but makes it obvious that she really doesn’t care about the answer.
I know I sound bitter... but I met all of these people for the first time this week, and I really sensed some
animosity from them. I don’t understand why... is it my age? I know I’m young–usually the youngest one on these
types of projects–and sometimes I wonder if that has something to do with it. Or maybe I just come across as a
know-it-all and they’re reaction to me is simply defensive. I don’t know... maybe I AM just paranoid. I’ve been
46
known to be excessively worrisome about what other people think of me ;-)
Oh well... rant mode off for now. Normally I don’t complain about this kind of stuff, but I tell ya, I just
LOVE how crabby these steroids make me. Ah... the joy of cancer.
Tomorrow’s topic: the movie, ’How to Succeed in Advertising.’
rant coming on in the near future!
1.3.4
Silencium
After watching that, I feel a good adbusting
(2002-09-14 09:29) - public
All that’s Past
VERY old are the woods;
And the buds that break
Out of the brier’s boughs,
When March winds wake,
So old with their beauty are–
Oh, no man knows
Through what wild centuries
Roves back the rose.
Very old are the brooks;
And the rills that rise
Where snow sleeps cold beneath
The azure skies
Sing such a history
Of come and gone,
Their every drop is as wise
As Solomon.
Very old are we men;
Our dreams are tales
Told in dim Eden
By Eve’s nightingales;
We wake and whisper awhile,
But, the day gone by,
Silence and sleep like fields
Of amaranth lie.
Walter De La Mare
1.3.5
If I were a character in Ghostworld....
(2002-09-16 21:40) - public
[1]
It figures.
1. http://www.littlegeek.org/quizzes/gwquiz.html
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1.3.6
1.4
1.4.1
A picture of me that my boyfriend took tonight...
(2002-09-20 23:16) - public
October
Long time no write.....
(2002-10-03 20:59) - Serene - public
ACK!!!!!!!
Tonight is, literally, the first night in about 3 weeks that I’ve actually had free time. This new project for GM
has me running in circles. I can’t say I dislike it, though... quite the opposite, actually. Doing new things, meeting
new people... what’s not to like? So here I sit, with a free evening, and I STILL find myself in front of my laptop. I
believe the correct phrase for this situation would be: get a life.
Anyways, I ”moved” to Michigan (lovely Troy, MI, to be exact) and am bunkered down in a Residence Inn with
my four cats. I’ll be here through December or so, coming home every two or three weeks, depending on how I feel. I
found a very nice doctor here to administer my weekly treatments (15 down, 11 more to go, and counting!). They do
things a little backwards, though. My regular doc draws blood out of my port 10 minutes before each weekly treatment.
This doc... nah. They draw blood day before and actually stick me. Of course, being my veins are shot, anytime they
stick me the vein blows. So for the next 3 months I’m going to be walking around looking like I’ve got a serious drug
problem. That’ll be great when I’m up in front of a room full of GM execs.
I guess I can’t complain too much about Michigan... it’s not that much different than Chicago, except for this
whole concept of having to turn right in order to make a left hand turn. That and the fact that everyone drives a
friggin SUV. It’s kind of cool, though, turning on my tv and getting Canadian broadcasts. What was that? Oh yeah...
get a life.
So I’ve been thinking about death lately, surprise surprise. I’ve come to realize that I’ve been using it as an excuse in lieu of learning to live. Things happen to me that anger me, or frustrate me or whatever. Instead of learning
to let it go, I think, ”Oh well, what does it matter? I’m going to die anyways... I don’t need to worry about that.” I
just keep deferring things that bother me instead of learning to live with them. Maybe there really isn’t a difference
48
between the two of them, though. Oh well. Somthing to ponder more when I’m in the mood, I suppose.
Another thing that has really been crossing my mind lately has been the concept of how I would feel if I were not the
one dying but if I were the one who had to watch someone die. I keep thinking of Blake...and how I would feel if HE
were the one dying and I was the one who was going to be left without him. I honestly don’t know what I’d do... how
do you learn to live without someone that is as essential to you as fresh air and water? I think of how I’d feel without
him... knowing that he wasn’t there for me to talk to at the end of each day, that he wasn’t there laughing at my
stupid idiosyncracies and life observations, that I couldn’t turn to him and say ”naive or profound” and know that I’d
get a smile out of him. If I had to watch him die... I’m not sure I could do it. I can’t believe he has stuck with me
through this, knowing all along that one day he WILL have to the deed that I find unimaginable. Sigh. I can’t believe
it took me this long to realize this. I’m a sucky girlfriend.
Otherwise, not much else going on with me. My hair is falling out little by little each day, so I suspect I’ll be
breaking out the hats soon. But things are good... and I hope they continue.
Serenity now indeed.
1.4.2
(2002-10-04 21:47)
- Defeated - public
Horrible, horrible day.
First, I get in an email fight with people from work. I suppose it was MY fault, though. I took the initiative to
send out an email to our implementation team to let them know of a problem we’re having with our software being
compatible with Internet Explorer. So one of my ”teammates” decides to email this to someone on development, who
interprets my email as a personal attack on the quality of the software. Next thing I know, this same ”teammate” is
sending an email back to everyone about how I’m wrong. Ok, fine. So I sent both he and the development guy an
apology email... explaining that I was just trying to help people in the field troubleshoot an issue and keep development
from having to babysit our implementation team. So this bonehead writes me back AGAIN telling me he’s surprised
by my email... jesus friggin christ, I apologized for my error. What more do people want from me? Next time I’ll just
bleed into a vial and send that off. Sigh. I’m making friend fast here in the home office.
So that happens this morning. Then I go for chemo... my first treatment here in Troy. For the love of GOD...
could I have gotten a meaner nurse? I walk in and the first thing she does is weigh me and announces my weight in
front of all five other people sitting through their treatment. Then she starts talking to me like I’m 2 years old, and
introduces me to Crystal, some bitchy looking patient who eyes me with a sneer, and tells me that Crystal has been on
Taxol for a month, so if I have any questions I can ask her about it. I look at the nurse and tell her that I’ve been on
chemo for four months now, three on Taxotere and one on Taxol. The nurse is taken aback and asks me where I was
getting treatment. I told her in Illinois, that I was just in Michigan for work. She sighs and then says really snottily,
”Oh that’s right... you’re the TRANSPLANT.” So she runs off and grabs my bags. I begin asking her what dosage
she is giving me of Decadron, anti-nausea, Benadryl, etc. She’s very curt with her answers... ”20” ”50” ”Youre’ getting
Zofran.” I tell her that I usually get Kytril, and that I only want 5 mg Decadron and 15 mg Benadryl. She just gives
me a dirty look and starts talking about their policies and procedures. I tell her that I understand that, but that I
have a formula that works and I don’t want it messed with. She finally gets the meds, and then proceeds to stick my
port. She misses... thank god I had my numbing cream on for 4 hours prior to treatment otherwise it would have really
hurt when she started to jab the needle around inside me trying to hit the mark. So we finally get that going... and I
begin asking her about how my meds are mixed and why I’m having so much saline. Again the lecture on the policies
and procedures. I finally tell her that it’s fine... I don’t care if she gives me saline... that I’m just asking questions for
knowledge’s sake. She finally leaves me alone... and makes it a point to ignore me the rest of the time. She walked
around to every patient to ask them if they wanted something to drink, if they wanted a blanket, if they wanted their
feet up... every patient but me. I felt so horrible. I never wanted my mother so badly in my life.
So anyways... I finally get done with treatment, and I swear that she did put more than 15 mg of Benadryl in
my IV since it was three hours later and I was STILL very groggy (it usually wears off in an hour). But I drag myself
back to the office, read more emails in my email war, and finally go the bathroom and just collapse in a stall to cry. I
come out of there with red swollen eyes... which just made my post-chemo facial bloat even worse looking... and work
until 6 ot so.
49
So I’m on my way home and I’m telling my boyfriend about my day and that awful email fight, and the first thing out
of his mouth is that he thinks I probably shouldn’t have sent that email in the first place. Ok, fine. That’s a given and
I’ve already beaten myself up over it. Last thing I need is someone else doing it for me. And when I tell him I’m upset
by his comment, he gets defensive and says, ”What, I can’t have an opinion?” Jesus christ... yes, have an opinion. But
realize that sometimes voicing it when your partner is really upset may not be the best thing to do to make her feel
better.
All I want right now is a hug from my mom. It never ceases to amaze me that she’s been dead almost 4 years
now and my need for her still rears its ugly head during my lowest points. It was so strange today... I sat there during
treatment fighting back the urge to simultaneously cry and gauge out the eyes of that nurse, and I could see my Mom’s
face clear as a bell in my mind. I have tried so many times before to remember her... what she looked like, what she
sounded like... and all I’ve been able to get are fuzzy semblances of her. Today was the first day in a very long time
that I was able to recall her like this. It made me happy and sad at the same time.
I miss my Mom. Badly. And all I want right now is a hug from her and to hear her shshing me and telling me
not to worry, that everything will be fine. But I don’t have a Mom anymore. So I end up sitting here feeling miserable
and worthless and unloved and so utterly and completely alone that I don’t think I can stand it.
I’m just inconsolable right now. I hate my life, I hate having cancer, I hate that I feel so alone because of my
own ineptitude at being able to communicate this to other people. I keep hoping that I will find this one person out
there that will understand... that all I have to do is look at them and from that one look I would know that THEY
KNEW. A pipe dream, I’m sure.
Sigh... I’m sure things will be better after a good night’s sleep. At least I hope so.
1.4.3
A Woman’s Heart is the Greatest of Mysteries....
(2002-10-05 19:50) - Proud - public
Music: Tattletale– Glass Vase Cello Case
Better day today... but still I find myself in a rather pensive mood. I woke up today and had a good cry yet again...
then talked to Blake and felt much better. And speaking of him, there are a few things I think I need to say here,
especially after yesterday’s rant on him.
I’ve kept a journal since I was 12 years old... and my one cardinal rule has always been to write with brutal
honesty. That’s great when I’m penning my thoughts into a privately hidden notebook that no one else reads. But
here in a public forum, things are a bit different. Suddenly brutal honesty becomes airing ones dirty laundry. This is
precisely what happened yesterday in my post.
My boyfriend reads my live journal. My friends read my live journal. I even have some very close co-workers
to whom I’ve given access. And one thing I hope everyone realizes is that each journal entry is simply a brief snapshot
of one tiny moment of my life. Even if I wrote each and every day, this still wouldn’t accurately capture all that
there is to me and to my life. But the nature of a journal IS to do just that: capture a single moment, with all of its
emotions and flavors, so that the reader can share in that moment, too. But like a Polaroid snapshot, a journal entry
is merely a glimpse into a life that is much richer and fuller than any observer can ever experience firsthand.
And so it goes with my boyfriend. What I wrote yesterday made him sound like he was an insensitive jerk.
Maybe at that exact moment that I wrote that I did feel that way. But I hope that he– and everyone else for that
matter– knows that what I wrote yesterday was again a snapshot of one tiny moment. It certainly does not reflect the
true nature of our relationship.
I cannot begin to say enough nice things about Blake. In fact, there aren’t words enough in the English language for me to express what he means to me and how much joy he brings to my life. I am thankful for each and
every day we have together.
Blake and I met through a mutual friend. Brandy and I had been long time childhood friends... we’ve known
50
each other since the age of 3, were best buds in high school, went to college together and lived together freshman and
senior year. We grew apart after we graduated... she went to work, I went to grad school, and our lives took decidedly
different paths. But we still kept in touch... and the day she found out I had dumped my loser post-divorce rebound
boyfriend, she didn’t waste a minute. Within 5 minutes of her knowing I was single again, she was telling me all about
Blake. I was skeptical, being she and I were so different (and had very different tastes in men), but being suddenly
single, I figured it couldn’t hurt to at least talk to him.
So we talked. And talked. And talked. He asked me out after three solid days of talking (can’t say I got
much work done that week!). I was so nervous the day of our date that as I stood outside the restaurant where he
was waiting, my leg shook so badly I couldn’t keep my heel on the floor. But I took a deep breath, walked in.... and
totally blew it. I took one look at him and immediately thought that I wasn’t good enough for him. He was cute and
charming and funny and smart and was everything I had ever wanted in a person. I loved him the moment I met him.
But me, in my typical self sabotaging way, decided that I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t risk this person rejecting me... so
I did the one fail safe tactic I knew: I rejected him.
So yes, our date went horribly awry. And two days later I flew out of town to go on a two week business trip
to Sacramento, CA. But he kept calling me. We had decided to be friends... that the chemistry wasn’t there, but that
it didn’t mean we couldn’t have a meaningful friendship with one another. So we talked all day long through yahoo
messenger, and then talked for hours and hours each night on the phone. After the end of two weeks, I felt like I had
known him forever... and what had begun as a friendship had suddenly but not surprisingly swirled into something
more. I flew home from that trip with the sole intention of seeing him and only him. Nothing else mattered to me at
that point.
It took Blake four months to finally tell me that he loved me. I can still remember exactly when and where it
happened, and if I close my eyes I can still hear his voice saying it, exactly the way he said it the first time. We had
promised each other that we would never use those words with blase frequency, that they would never become words
that people just say to each other out of habit. But as time wore on, I found I said them to him more and more. And
at no time were the words ever said with banality or out of routine. I probably now say those words to him at least
ten times per day... and I can honestly say that each time I say it, it is MEANT.
It was a very cruel day this past spring when I had to break the news to him that I had terminal cancer.
The last thing I ever wanted for him was this. The first thing I thought of when I saw those first PET scan pics was,
”My god, how can I tell Blake?” I saw what cancer did to my parents...I saw my dad witness my mother’s slow decline
into oblivion, and more than anything I wanted to spare Blake that pain. There are still parts of me that feel that
way... that maybe I should just end it with him, cut him out of my life for good, so that he can be spared what I know
will be a suffocating and agonizing experience. But he stuck by me, despite my earnest attempts to make it easy for
him to get out. Despite everything, he stayed.
Blake was with me during my surgery, during all of my follow up appointments and during my very first
chemotherapy session which, ironically, fell on the anniversary of our first date. He has stayed with me through the
tears and pity parties and countless late night phone calls. He has been my greatest teacher, my best friend and my
deepest love. I will die having known a happiness that I had wanted my entire life... a happiness that stems just from
knowing that someone like him exists in this world.
I am sure that after reading all of this, Blake is blushing like a schoolgirl about to get kissed for the first
time. But the last thing I want is to have him immortalized in my journal in a way that is inaccurate. Yesterday’s
post snapped a rather unflattering picture of him... and after all he has done for me, I owe him this entry, because
THIS is the snapshot that I want–and deserves to be– immortalized. This is who he really is, and this is what he has
done for me. And I think it’s only fair for the rest of the world to know it.
This is my love.
This is my life.
This is MY BLAKE.
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1.4.4
To hell with the Trascendentalists... at least for today
(2002-10-27 15:55) - annoyed -
public
Music: Mercy Street– Peter Gabriel
I feel terrible today, but it s not from what you d expect.
Yesterday, in about a 4 hour period of time, I blew through $1200. What did I buy, you ask? Lots&but all
of it unnecessary. $300 of it was on food and other miscellaneous items like shampoo and a face mask that ended
up giving me a chemical burn anyways. The rest of it– $900 was all spent on clothing. For $900, I got 3 shirts, 2
sweaters, a long jacket, socks, and a scarf and gloves. And what s more is that TWO of the items totaled $570. What
the sam friggin hell is wrong with me??????
I don t know what to make of this. Have I finally snapped? This is SO unlike me.
I m here in Michigan for the weekend, and I was so excited to have a free weekend with nothing to do (I
stayed in the office until midnight Friday to enjoy such a privilege, but a privilege well earned). My intent was to head
over to Marshall Field s in the mall to buy some basic items like socks and pantyhose while perhaps allowing myself
to glance at the scarves and gloves, as cold weather season is fast approaching. Field s was a disaster&crowded and
busy with merchandise strewn everywhere. After 10 minutes of this hassle (and almost getting a display rack thrown
over on top of me by another irritated customer), I decide to head to Nordstrom s. Mistake number one.
I have always disliked Nordstrom s. Why? It was never because of the high priced merchandise or the pushy
cosmetic counter ladies or anything like that. I just never felt at home there. I could never understand how the store
was laid out, and with the snootiness of the clientele in there, heaven forbid I take a moment to peruse the store
directory (might as well put a big flashing red light on my head that says, Yes, I m a Nordstrom s virgin and I DON T
BELONG HERE. ) But I m in there anyways, and I m looking for the hosiery department (which is conveniently
tucked away in the back and not easy to find at all), and I m desperately trying to prove that I know where I m
going and that I ve shopped here before. I finally decide to pretend to shop so that I can take some time to glance
furtively around the store to get my bearings. What department do I stumble into? Petites. Mistake number two.
So I m looking at a few items, and something in me starts to change. The stuff is actually pretty nice&well
made, well styled and very flattering. Suddenly price doesn t matter to me. I m looking at suits and shirts and
jackets&and I m actually looking at sizes that I haven t been able to wear in over FIVE YEARS. I begin loading up
my hands with things to try on because hey, it never hurts to try things on . Mistake number three.
Well, I m approached by about 5 different sales people, and after being pestered this many times, Tamika finally gets my business. I have her put my stuff into a room for me while I keep browsing. After finding a total of
10 different things I want to try on, I inform her I m finished browsing and she leads me to my room. Suddenly I m
inside the room, and I m panicking. What the hell am I doing? My mind is screaming at met&there is NO WAY this
stuff is ever going to fit my fat body. How am I going to get out of this mess? I ve been here before&where you re in
a room with all these clothes that don t fit because you ve grossly underestimated how fat you really are. And the
saleswoman comes back and asks how you are doing and you tell her fine. She asks if she can bring you anything in
another size, but how do you tell her that there AREN T any larger sizes out there on the floor? That you brought in
with you the biggest size they sell and it s STILL not big enough? In the end you try to sneak out of there, leaving
the clothes behind, but it s never that easy. It s a walk of shame&and all you have to do is look at the sales clerk and
YOU know that SHE knows that you were too fat for the clothes.
But I tried the clothes. And I almost cried when they fit. And when she came back and asked me if I needed help
with another size, I said yes&that I needed a size SMALLER.
So I bought them, the two pieces. The shirt and the long jacket&in a SMALL. Together they totaled $570.
And they weren t even the most breath-taking items of clothing I ve ever bought. In fact, there is nothing remarkable
about the sage and black herringbone shell with the black jacket. Nothing remarkable about them except that they
fit&straight off the rack, with no stretching, hemming, or any other jerry-rigging needed in order to make them look
good on my dumpy frame.
52
But there is another layer to this story. I walked out of the store light as a feather. I had my two shopping
bags proudly displaying the Nordstrom s name. And as I walked along with my bags, quietly sipping my tall skim
mocha blanco I picked up at the store s coffee shop, I felt like I had arrived. I belonged. I had the money and the
means and now the looks of someone& I don t know. Important? Accepted? All I know is that I FELT good. And I
walked with the attitude of, Get out of my way, I m better than you.
Why, why, why is so much of my self-esteem based upon my image? Where would I be if I didn t have the
education or the job or the car of the house or the designer clothing? Would I be able to hold my head up like I did
yesterday? To be honest, I highly, highly doubt it.
So today I feel awful. Buyer s remorse, perhaps. But I think it s deeper than just that. Did I have the
money to buy those clothes? Yes&but I can t help but think about OTHER THINGS I could have bought instead of
what I DID buy. And as I write that, I am reminded of something I wrote in this journal several months ago: Our
purchases are no longer defined by the items themselves; they become representative of what we DIDN T buy.
So I sit here and feel bad not because I spent the money&but because I suddenly feel a lack, a deprivation. I
COULD have spent that money elsewhere. Or I SHOULD have spent it in some other way. Instead of enjoying the
lovely purchase I DID make, I keep thinking that it was money not well spent. Why, in my mind, does something
have to be an absolute, I-will-literally-DIE-without-this-if-I-don t-get-it necessity in order for me to be able to make
that purchase transaction guilt-free?
We are now living in a society where advertisers and corporate giants are making money on this phenomenon.
They KNOW we feel bad every time we spend a dime. I remember learning about advertising in junior high, when we
were taught that advertising companies tried to identify a need within the market and then promote their goods to
that market. They no longer have to do that. They simply get us to spend a $1 and they know that it will begin a
life-long downward spiral towards ever-increasing consumer spending. And then they throw fuel on the fire by creating
this adbusting counter-culture that makes the guilt even worse. You bought WHAT??? You mean you really caved in
to the image they were trying to sell? So instead of feeling GOOD that you bought something you like, you suddenly
feel like hell. You should have spent the money elsewhere, you should have been a more conscious consumer and not
bought from a company that prides itself on altering the hegemony of our culture.
Our purchases are no longer stand-alone items. I no longer think it s possible to purchase anything anymore
without mental justification. Even when I buy groceries and I m cringing at the bill, there s a voice in the back of my
mind saying, Well, Karen, you HAVE to eat. I get really, really tired of trying to fight this battle. Some days, I just
don t give a damn about whether or not my clothing has a little horse and rider on it or not. Some days I DO like to
give in to our culture&give in to the wild craziness of it all, the absolute nonsense of it, the utter gluttony that it
holds. I resent feeling guilty over this.
But I often wonder how I would feel if I were on the outskirts of things. What if I DIDN T have the car and
the money and all of the other things that allow me to be part of this? How would I feel if I were dirt poor?
I know how I would feel. I grew up poor. I had duct tape on my thrift store shoes because my feet outgrew
them and we didn t have enough money to buy me new ones.
I remember being a teen-ager and watching all my friends buy the latest and greatest Guess clothes while I
still shopped at the liquidator store because it was all I could afford.
I remember looking through glossy covered magazines in the library and wanting to buy that Bonne Bell lipstick that all my friends had, but instead I had to rely on my mother s used drug store make-up that she obtained as
gifts across many, many Christmas s and birthdays.
So I m 29 years old and I finally got there. And it feels pretty damned good.
Sigh&of course I am well aware that this ENTIRE exercise has been one big fat justification of a purchase
that I really didn t need to make.
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And so the circle begins again&.
1.5
1.5.1
November
Updates... yes, I’m STILL alive
(2002-11-09 16:56) - Bland - public
Music: No music... some cooking show on PBS and it looks tasty....
A day of updates... seems like I’ve been on the lam lately...
Well, I ended up getting over my guilt induced shopping spree from two weeks ago. Turns out it wasn’t that
bad of a financial hit after all, which just goes to show me that my guilt truly comes from feeling as if every purchase
is a deprivation, not because I’m spending beyond my means. Sigh. A problem for another day.
Work has been swamped...we finished our first round of manager trainings, and I have to say I really enjoyed
the work. I ended up training about 100 different people over the course of 6 sessions in auditorium format. I surprised
myself, in a lot of ways. It has been a long, long time since I’ve been up in front of a crowd like that... in fact, I think
the last time happens to go back to when I had the lead role of Cinderella’s Wicked Stepmother in our annual high
school musical. Sometimes, there is just no better feeling than being the center of attention ;-) I’m actually looking
forward to the rest of our sessions.
Had treatment again this week, after having last week off due to a fungal infection under my fingernails (grody, I
know). They are slowly dying off, one by one. I haven’t lost one yet, and hopefully I can get through my last 5
treatments before one of them does wiggle its way off of my fingertips. It really is starting to take it’s toll on me. My
hair loss has doubled in the past month, the bone aches keep me awake at night, and the fatigue gets worse every
week. Five more weeks. Five more weeks. That’s what I keep telling myself, yet it doesn’t seem to stop the flow of
tears after each weekly session when the pain and fatigue sets in and I realize how weak my body TRULY is. I still
work out, though, 5x per week, but it gets harder and harder each time. Five more weeks. Five more weeks.
So, I finally had a good cry today. I’m not talking one of those sit-on-the-bed-whilst-a-lone-tear-trickles-downmy-cheek cries. I’m talking one of those unable-to-stand-up-in-a-heap-on-the-floor-weeping cry sessions. I’m dying.
No matter how many times I tell myself that, I can’t make it sink in. How can I get beyond this unbelievable wall of
denial I keep building around myself? If I’m not talking myself out of my situation, I’m doing everything I can to
keep myself busy so that I don’t think of it. And it’s hard, because I have no one to talk to about this. I can’t talk to
friends or family...they just tell me I’m not dying, that I’m going to beat the odds. And I understand that...I think if
I were in their situation, I’d have a hard time accepting this. But I need someone to understand this... to understand
the sense of urgency I feel in my life now, to understand that I DO feel a sense of loss sometimes for all of the things
that I WON’T be able to do... like get married or grow old with someone and laugh as my body ages and falls apart.
I need someone to understand that the rest of my life is going to be spent battling cancer... that my life’s main focus
is more chemo and more scans and more surgery and more, more, more CANCER. And no one seems to be able to get
to that point... maybe it’s because no one can truly understand how I feel because they can’t walk in my shoes. But
maybe it’s because they can’t grasp nor accept the finality of my situation. And it makes me feel alone and isolated
and just plain sad.
But then again, I knew from the beginning that this was a solo journey.
pointed at this sudden re-awareness of this phenomenon.
I shouldn’t be surprised nor disap-
Sigh. Enough cancer talk.
So what else is new? Well, in honor of this week’s Election Day, I decided to read the Communist Manifesto.
I bet the housekeeping staff here at the Residence Inn took one look at that sitting on my coffee table and thought
I was planning on overthrowing the government ;-) Karl Marx was one crazy guy, but I respect the intentions of his
ideas. And to set the record straight on this: Russia/China/Cuba/etc are NOT example of true communism as defined
by Marx, so for those of you reading this that are still living in the Cold War era, please spare me the anti-American
flaming ;-)
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I’d also like to add how pissed off I am at the State of Illinois. I came home from Michigan last week and
happened to get my mail (which the postal service has failed to hold for me, as requested, which I find typical of a
bloated American institution). Guess what finally showed up? My Voter’s Registration card. When did I apply for
it? I applied the first time 2 years ago and the second time 19 months ago. Over TWO YEARS AGO. I wonder if
it has anything to do with the fact that I registered as a Democrat, and Illinois is a Republican state? Some of my
co-workers who registered a year ago as Republicans got their voter’s card within two months. Coincidence? I think
not ;-) Good ol’ Illinois... still full of corruption. At least there are SOME things that never change. I wonder if it
would have made a difference had I actually been ABLE to vote in the Y2K elections? I wonder how many other
fellow registered Democrats were in the same predicament as I?
Rotten election day, too, I might add. All Republican rule. That’s ok. We didn’t need the rainforests or prochoice or times of peace anyways. Maybe I should just move to Canada. I’ve been watching lots of Canadian tv lately
here in Detroit... it’s beginning to look better and better to me ;-)
Ok... I suppose that’s all for now. One of these days I’m going to have to actually sit down and write something fruitful!
Karen
1.5.2
Land of the free, home of the everything wrong in capitalism
(2002-11-11 19:29) -
Despondent - public
I HATE drug company commercials.
That goddammed Procrit advertisement was on tv just now. Can I just tell you how offensive I find this trite
piece of shit commercial to be?
I’m sure you’ve seen it... this poor old woman is walking to her local market stand to meet with her friendly
neighborhood fruit merchant... pan away to black and white scenes of her sitting on a step stool in her kitchen. A
voice over bemoans how low her energy level has fallen since starting chemotherapy.
Cut away to another scene.... an overly friendly fat grocer is handing an overly haggard looking old lady a
box of fruit. Ever see Requiem for a Dream? Remember the scene at the end, when the old-lady-turned-drug-addict
looks right into the camera, with her sunken eyes, wiry hair and granite pallor? I remember that scene... I remember
inwardly shuddering with disgust and revulsion at the absolute misery of this person and her condition. Well... let’s
just say that this commercial does a good job of re-creating this moment. And then the voice over comes on: the day
so-and-so grocer had to bring my groceries to me was the lowest day of my life. Yeah. Heaven FORBID someone
needs some help.
But then guess what happens? The old hag gets a shot of Procrit, and suddenly the world is sunny, her complexion is rosy and she’s bounding down 5th avenue with a case of grapefruit like she was 20 years old. It’s a veritable
miracle.
I am just sickened over this commercial, and I can’t quite figure out why. I think I really resent the fear that
this piece of crap inspires. Oh my god... I’m going through chemo... what if I look like that deathed warmed over old
bag they feature because I haven’t yet talked to my doctor about Procrit?
Or what happens when I DO lose my energy level? Am I destined to feel as helpless and forlorn as the commercial says I will?
And let’s address the unspoken question: what happens when Procrit DOESN’T work?
eye bags and hollow cheeks won’t be erased with a simple injection. What do I do then?
Suddenly the under-
The entire commercial is a shameless attempt to prey upon the fears and insecurities of those who already
have enough to deal with. It’s bad enough I get to watch my body fall to pieces little by little each day. Is it really
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necessary to remind me of just how far I may end up going one day? Do I really need some faux airbrushed image of
how bad it’s really going to be one day thrust into my face just so some asshole CEO can tack another million dollars
onto his already engorged base salary?
I know I sound bitter... but frankly I’m tired of being the object of marketing ploys. And to make me fear
the end result of my own disease burns me at the core and wounds me in a personal way I can’t describe. It’s like
taking everything that is vulnerable inside of me and ripping it to bite size pieces. I feel like an animal on display...
someone whose sole purpose in life is to serve as the amusement for others. And to those who advertise this smut,
that’s all I am... an amusement, a statistic, a trifle that needs to be factored into their grand marketing equation. I’m
no longer a person with thoughts or feelings or even a real disease. I’m a fish in a pond, swimming amidst a sea of
sharp hooks... and each hook’s owner is desperately hoping that theirs is the hook that will pierce my lips.
When did this world become so cold?
initiate the buying and selling of goods?
When did the plight of humanity suddenly become a tool in which to
And I can’t understand how no one else sees this. I can’t understand how this has become acceptable.
This is NOT ok. This is NOT acceptable.
And I don’t care if I ever really do feel like death warmed over... I’ll be damned if I ever give in to the makers of Procrit.
Sigh. Same rant, different day.
1.5.3
Give me this day my daily rant.....
(2002-11-18 21:09) - Bleak - public
I am so... DONE... with having cancer.
Four more weeks, four more treatments. I can’t take it.
I hate treatment. Hate, hate, hate, hate, hate it. I hate what it does to me, I hate how I feel, I hate the
people, and I hate the fact that I’m married to it for the rest of my now short-spanned life. And I’m sick and tired
of trying to force myself to feel grateful because of all of these other things that COULD have happened to me but
didn’t. Ok, so I didn’t lose my fucking hair. Does that make my experience any less traumatic? No offense... but I
would trade my position anyday for someone who lost her hair because she was battling a mere Stage 2 cancer. At
least someone like that has a shot of permanent remission.
And I’m so friggin tired of people telling me that I don’t know how long I have left. You’re right, I don’t.
But I’m not a stupid person. I know how statistics are skewed and slanted depending upon the population that is
being measured. Even if I give myself a generous edge, I still only have about a 10 % chance of surviving 5 years. I
wish people understood that when I quote these statistics, I’m already building in leverage for myself based upon my
age and my initial response to treatment. The raw data is far more sobering. But people automatically assume that
because the statistic I’m quoting is already grim that I must have put a negative spin on it. They never believe me
when I tell them that I AM indeed looking on the bright side.
I’m in the home stretch. Why am I cracking now?
I keep having these dreams at night, dreams about my life. Sometimes I dream that I’m standing in front of
the mirror way back in April, and I’m looking at my breasts and nothing is there... that all of this never happened. I
don’t have any lumps or pain or scarring....my breasts look just like they’ve always looked. The dream ends with me
being exactly where I am right now... only that I’m not dying after all.
Other times I dream about waking up and finding all of my hair on my pillow. I wake up from those with a
start, instinctively reaching for my head to ensure that my hair is indeed still attached.
Last night I dreamt of my mother.
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I dreamt that she was still alive, that she had never really died.
But
when we found her she was mentally unstable, and didn’t remember anything about herself, her life, or me. In the
dream I don’t care... I’ll take my mother any way I can get her. She was this total stranger to me... yet I was able to
project what I remembered onto her so that in my eyes, she really became the mother I remember. But in my dream,
I couldn’t tell if she really changed into my mother, or if somewhere along the lines, I began to accept her current
behavior as what had been normal my entire life. It was kind of like I re-wrote my memories and based it on what she
was like now, not what she was like then. Ironically, though... it didn’t matter. The fact that she was there in any
form made me happy. And then I woke up and cried because it wasn’t real and none of it matters anyways.
Sigh... I’m also tired of being here, too, in Michigan. I am homesick beyond my wildest imagination. I miss
my home, I miss my doctors, and I MISS BLAKE.
The holidays are coming up and I hardly feel like being in the Christmas spirit. This will be the first year
ever that I don’t decorate for Christmas. I don’t figure there’s a point this year. I won’t be home until the 22nd of
December. No point in putting up lights for three lousy days.
It makes me sad. I always loved the Christmas tree lights.
I do get angry, though... it seems as if those at the helm of our company don’t really give a damn about
whether or not the employees get a holiday. This happened last year to some people... they got stuck out on a project
in New York because our bonehead sales team sold an engagement that had to be launched by Jan 1 or we had to pay
a penalty.
And it angers me, because these same people walk around the office spouting trite Christian do-gooder phrases like,
”Today is the day that the Lord hath made.” Please. Let’s put the REAL translation on all of that: God helps those
who help themselves. And as far as some of these people are concerned, us employees are just mere tokens to be used
on their behalf so that they can make more money. I’m really tired of people paying lip service to values that we as a
society SHOULD be cherishing but don’t.
Sigh. I’m just really crabby today. I’ve been eating like a royal pig for a week now. I’ve been actually getting up in the morning to work out... and then I go and ruin all my hard work by chowing down on any bite of food
that crosses my path. I can’t WAIT to get off these goddamned steroids.
Oh well. One of these days I’m going to write something productive instead of just doing a cathartic brain
dump. There has got to be a better way for me to use all of this pent up energy.
1.5.4
Give me a pair of Levi’s any day!
(2002-11-23 10:39) - Inspired - public
Just read a great post from Sybil [ LJ User: fey ] Per usual, it has inspired me for yet another daily rant ;-)
You know, I think half the reason I feel so isolated from the rest of the world is because of the guilt I feel over
not feeling the way they think or expect that I should feel. That, and the obvious guilt I feel every time I see in
someone’s face that my talking/referring to my cancer makes them uncomfortable. Now granted, I know that these are
my own feelings and that I need to a) let them go and b) not turn in anger on those who prompt these feelings. These
people are operating in their own framework, which, unfortunately, is behavior that doesn’t mesh with my current
framework. And a lot of people’s frameworks just don’t have room for cancer in any form.
I also feel bad about how I’m treated now. I’ve been working on this project in Michigan with a team from two
other companies, and it was only a few weeks ago that the cat came out of the bag on my cancer. Prior to that, rumor
has it they were bitching about me behind my back, saying things like, ”Well, it must be nice to only work four days a
week.” (I have chemo every Friday, so I set aside those days to work on all of my paperwork, kind of keep a low profile).
I knew the EXACT moment they found out WHY I was missing those Fridays... some of came about in the subtle
ways they spoke to me, others were more obvious (like the one guy who, now every time he sees me, asks me the same
question: ”How are you FEEEEEEEELING?”) And then this week I had to take a sick day because of a blazing case of
sinusitis... I got THREE phone calls in the span of an hour from these people, asking if they could bring me anything
or, and this one REALLY got me, lighten my work load. One part of me truly appreciates their genenrosity in this
matter, simply because one day, after my disease has really progressed, I will probably need the help from others. But
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on the flip side... their behavior singles me out, makes me an anomaly, and is yet another reminder that I’m not like
them, that I’m not ”normal.” And the big problem is that others in my workplace notice it. One person had the gall
lto tell me, ”Well, now that you have cancer, you’ve got it made. You never have to worry about getting fired.” (Don’t
get me started on what I thought about THAT comment!) But sometimes I wonder if people’s judgment of me stems
not just from their own discomfort with the whole cancer culture, but maybe their discomfort with how they and the
world treat ”people like us.” I almost get the feeling that they aren’t judging me and my cancer personally, but instead
are judging me after they compare my behavior to how society SAYS I should be behaving. And when my behavior is
somehow different from what I ”should” be going through, they neatly categorize my behavior into little good and bad
buckets.
When I get down to the crux of the issue, it’s those good and bad buckets I really have a problem with. One of
my earlier LJ posts was a big, big BIG rant on this Procrit commercial. This woman is down and out over her fatigue,
and the message this commercial sends is that this is WRONG. And that’s the problem... we live in this culture that
places behavior in right and wrong categories, categories that are so abstract that I wonder how we got them in the
first place. And NO ONE questions them. So I didn’t go through the Denial-Anger-Depression-Acceptance structure
that someone in my condition is supposed to go through. People say, ”Oh wow...that’s so great.” No, it’s not great. It
just IS.
I don’t like these neat little labels people give me. Labels always imply that a judgment has been made. And
even good judgments are judgments. And I really am beginning to not like it. In the grand scheme of things, judging
me as good/bad/etc doesn’t matter. 100 years from now no one is going to remember this. So if it doesn’t matter
then, why should it matter now? Time is such an abstract, yet I really do think that our current belief system surrounding time is what makes us judge people. We think that what we do now makes a difference in the future, so we
focus all of our energy on doing something NOW that is going to make an impact later. And in order to do that, we
have to first categorize our current environment, we have to MAKE it make sense to us. Only then can we mentally
project a path that leads into our future. So we put everything in our lives, including others’ behavior, into nice, neat
judgmental categories so that we can eliminate the one thing that throws off our entire concept of time: chaos. We
CAN’T just let things be... if we did that, then every moment of our lives would just be. There would be no plans,
no paths, no organization... but ironically this is the key to enlightenment, because letting things just ”be” is the key
to understanding that there truly is no beginning and no end. Birth and death become arbitrarily defined events. My
death is no more an ending than my birth was a beginninng. I have and always will be in existence.
When I was in grad school, I was always fascinated with the great French sociologist/anthropologist Claude LeviStrauss (no, not the jeans maker!) Levi-Strauss was right... we do break everything down into dualisms for the purpose
of putting order into chaos. Breaking through that particular mental habit is the first step toward realizing the fact
that life here, as we know it, is yet another human abstraction. Bottom line is that judgment goes so much farther than
just making other people feel bad about themselves. It is the fundamental action that we take that keeps us forever
struggling when it comes to understanding our ”raison d’etre.”
Wow. Don’t know how I managed to ramble down THAT path of thought, but man, does it feel good to get that on
”paper.” Thanks for reading.
Karen
1.5.5
Today’s rant: Happiness
(2002-11-26 22:54) - mischievous - public
Well, it’s official.
According to trusted sources (i.e. Blake), my journal sounds like all I do is walk around each day in a pissy mood.
So, in order to promote myself as a highly positive, well adjusted individual, I’ve decided to write about something
nice today (Blake suggested butterflies, but even THAT’s a bit too froo-froo for me).
It is funny, though, that all of my posts are, indeed, a series of rants on various subjects. I’m not sure why that
is, other than the fact that I usually don’t get worked up over happy things in my life. At least, I don’t get worked up
enough to write about them. Take today for example. We had the most beautiful snowfall I’ve seen in a long time. It
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was so pretty, with big white fluffy flakes falling gently, shrouding the neighborhood into the type of hushed quiescence
typical of a wintery day. I THOUGHT about writing about this, and even had a few paragraphs typed up already.
But then I thought, ”No one wants to read this kind of Mary Poppins bubble gum schlock about nothing.” People want
scandal and controversy and GenX nihilism. Or at least, that was my thought today. Funny how I accuse the world of
falling for sensationalism, yet here I am falling for it in a different way. Oh well, on with the positivity!
So I’m finally HOME!!!!!!!!!!!! I decided yesterday to bug out of Michigan early and try to actually have a normal
life this week. So I put down about 10 pounds of cat food, left all of the toilet seats up (yes, my cats drink out of the
toilet) and decided that I should stop being such a worrywart and just go home for God’s sake. I did take one of the
cats with me, as she was sick last week and I need to give her medicine on a daily basis. She cried the entire way home,
and then kept me up most of last night caterwauling. But she’s my baby doll kitty and I’m glad she’s around. Funny
how my cats have a way of making wherever I am ”home.”
I have to say, my cats have been a godsend on this trip to Michigan. They’ve kept me company and really showed me
what’s important. I’ve actually learned a critical lesson from this whole Michigan trip: I don’t need much to be happy.
For the past two months, all I’ve had material wise was a small pile of books, a small pile of CD’s and my workout
gear. That’s it. And not once while I was in Michigan did I long for any of my material possessions back home. I had
a roof over my head, clothing, and my cats. That is honestly all I needed. Anyways, as a result of this little lesson,
I’ve decided that this spring I’m selling it all. Everything must go! I’ll keep my books and furniture and stuff, but
I’m losing all the extraneous junk that clutters my life: the knick-knack’s, the clothing I never wear, even the extra
blankets I’ve never used. I’m honest to God tired of having things!
Let’s see... what else is new and positive in my life? I got a haircut tonight at Great Clips. I used to go to Mario
Tricoci until I realized that they didn’t really do anything differently than Supercuts. So instead of spending $80 plus
tip on a hair cut, I decided to instead spent $11 on the cut and then give the stytlist a very healthy tip. I save money,
they get a great tip, and all’s right with the world.
So I go to Great Clips because in the underground cancer world, that’s where everyone goes. For whatever reason, Great Clips has a reputation of being sensitive to those of us with ”chemo hair.” And sensitive he was! My guy
tonight did an AWESOME job. Lately I’ve been having a huge dryness/frizz thing going on (I call it ”rat hair,” as it
truly does resemble our furry little rodent friends), and he managed to style it and smooth it at the same time into
something that was actually flattering. Plus, and it’s always nice when someone other than your boyfriend flirts with
you (just kidding, Pookie!) ;-)
Otherwise, things are on the up and up. Going with Blake to my Dad’s for the holiday. We’re going to roast a
chicken and just hang out and relax. Besides that, not much else is happening... and what a good thing that is, too.
Ok, that’s about all for now. Tomorrow I promise to be back to my surly self ;-)
Karen
1.6
1.6.1
December
(2002-12-07 01:21)
- pensive - public
Ok, I’m having a mental-moral crisis here.
There’s this chick, Crystal, who has chemo with me here in Michigan. On my first day of treatment at this
particular facility, I was introduced to her by the nurse as an example of a person who was on the same medication as
me. When I was introduced to her, she looked up from her crossword puzzle, sneered at me, and then went back to
work. No smile, no hello, nothing. I left treatment that day really not liking her. I remember sneaking secret sidelong
looks at her throughout my infusion, pointing out her every physical fault in order to make myself feel better. I looked
at her wig and patted myself on the back for being healthy enough to keep my hair. I sneered at her body, which
was easily a size 24, and congratulated myself on not letting myself go like that. I looked with disdainment on her
oh-so-unhealthy choice of food–Burger King Whopper, Chicken Tenders, Large Fries and probably what amounted to
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be a 72 oz fountain drink)– and imagined that the reason she was in the predicament she was in was a result of her
inability to really take care of herself via diet and exercise. It doesn’t matter that this chick had a double mastectomy
or that she had the dreaded Adriamycin for chemotherapy or that she has a 2 year old son at home telling her that he
doesn’t want his Mommy to die. For some reason I can’t forgive her her transgression. Maybe it’s because I feel as if
there is this underground sisterhood between us cancer patients, especially those with breast cancer. And somewhere
in my mind, I translated her rude behavior into a violation of those sacred bonds. I don’t know. Either way, I couldn’t
let it go.
So, I’m in treatment again today and something happens: Crystal found out that her cancer has spread. She’s now
like me, a Stage IVer. What was my reaction? As ashamed as I am to admit it, my first reaction was: serves her right.
Someone like her, who is rude to people and walks around like she’s better than everyone, someone like that surely
deserves a bit of humbling in order to get over herself. Little prissy fat debutante wannabe who’s favorite magazine
consists of ”The National Enquirer” and ”Martha Stewart Living” needs to stop being so shallow and get some depth.
Those were the first thoughts that crossed my mind. And after I thought them, I sat there in my pleather
Barca-lounger in complete shock that I had become such a cold, forgiving and uncompassionate person.
Why is it that I can never realize that other people’s problems are no better or worse than mine? I compare
EVERYONE’s problems to mine and gauge it based upon what I’ve had to deal with. What, someone’s father just
got diagnosed with diabetes? Please. Come talk to me after he has pancreatic cancer. Someone just broke up with
their boyfriend? Get over it. At least he didn’t smash your face into a solid glass patio door. I don’t know what my
problem is. Whenever someone has a problem, I compare it to what I’ve gone through, and if it doesn’t measure up,
then my whole attitude becomes very rigid. I think to myself, ”Well, for God’s sake, I had it worse and I made it
through with flying colors... fucking buck up and deal with it instead of whining about it like a little baby.” I can
never seem to remember that at one point, I was in their shoes. I can also never seem to remember that somewhere
out there someone else has it WORSE than me and could easily say the same thing about MY problems.
So I sat there thinking about this, and I honest to God tried to have some type of sympathy for the girl. She
sat across from me, slowly wiping silent tears from her eyes and endured her well-meaning but obviously unaware
Grandmother’s advice of, ”Well, you know, so many people live for years with this disease... why, I know someone
who’s going on NINE YEARS....” Try as I might, I couldn’t feel anything for her. All I did was pat myself on the
back, because when the table were turned for me and I was first told that I was terminal, I handled it so much better.
At least, in MY mind’s eye I did. Funny thing, though, as I look back on my situation was that I remember plenty of
pity parties and cry sessions. In all honesty, I didn’t handle it any better at all.
So why is it that I need to constantly compare myself to others and find them lacking? Do I really feel that
badly about myself underneath that I feel the need to do that? And what is it I’m comparing anyways? The trappings
of our consumer lives, trappings that have been arbitrarily assigned a good or bad status by our fickle society? It’s
crazy, illogical, mean-spirited. But ironically–and this is what puzzles me the most– is that I RELISH this. I love that
feeling of ”knowing” that I’m ”better” than someone.
These feelings started about a year ago, when I finally started to eat right, work out and lose weight. They
were first misconstrued as simply feeling more confident about myself, but I’m beginining to see that they are slowly
morphing themselves into something that I simultaneously loathe yet desire.
As I said, I like those feelings of feeling better than someone. Why do I loathe them? I don’t act on them...I
know they are just thtoughts and feelings and that’s it. To be honest, I don’t like them because they are dark and
dank feelings, the type of taboo issues people don’t talk about. And the fact that I have them means one thing: I’m
not perfect in accordance to the perfect image that I have set for myself. Yes, in my world, the person that I demand
myself to be includes not just perfectly defined actions but perfectly defined thoughts and feelings, too. In my world,
if I’m not 150 % magnanimous and gracious all of the time, then somehow I have failed miserably as a person. And
THIS is why I loathe having those feelings about Crystal.
I think it’s amazing that no matter what I say, do, think, etc. that appears to be in regards to someone else,
the bottom line is that is always comes back to me and my ego. I’m don’t loathe having cold feelings because I think
that it’s hurtful to someone else. I loathe them because I NO LONGER THINK THAT I’M PERFECT. It’s all about
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MY ego.
I look back on my life, and I can honestly say that I have never done a single benevolent thing in my life.
Every action I have ever done has had some payback for me in some way, shape, or form, a payback that was greater
than what I put into it. I have made an emotional profit on every kind gesture I have ever given.
For once, I want to do something that benefits someone else but that is a true hardship for me. I want to
put someone else’s needs ahead of my own, or at least, have that other person’s needs OUTWEIGH my own.
Maybe this is what this cancer is all about. Sometimes when Blake and I talk, I somehow get the feeling that
this is his big lesson in life, that maybe somehow this was all orchestrated so that I could get this one wish I just
requested: to go through a true hardship so that someone can benenfit from the experience.
That’s not to say that I won’t benefit from this experience myself. But I think that in the grand scheme of
things, Blake is going to benenfit MORE than I will. Perhaps this will also be true of others in my life.
You know, it never ceases to amaze me that life is like one big Agatha Christie novel. We are here to weed
through all of the experiences we’ve had to find the clues that point us to the correct answers to all of the questions
that we have.
I think tonight I finally found a clue that will help me to answer the one question that has been haunting me
since my diagnosis: Why?
1.6.2
Sunday blah’s
(2002-12-08 19:45) - lethargic - public
Music: Thomas Dolby– I Love You Goodbye
Ick. I hate Sundays. Although as far as Sundays go, today was pretty good. I slept in until 11 (haven’t done that since
college), had an absolutely fantastic workout today (thank you Decadron) and actually turned out a pretty decent
dinner (free-range Dijon chicken breasts with roasted potatoes and stir-fried brussel sprouts... not bad considering my
grocery supplies are dwindling).
In preparation of selling my house this coming spring, I ran a credit report on myself just to make sure I’ve got
all my ducks in a row. I was quite surprised to find that my credit rating was considered to be ”excellent” per our
friends at Equifax. Not that I expected a BAD report... but I figured with a mortgage, car payment and student
loans that I would maybe fall into the fair category. I was also expecting to see some sort of ding on my report from
this little altercation I had with an apartment leasing company a few years back. They were claiming that I had done
some damage that in actuality occurred AFTER my lease had terminated (but before the new person took over... so
in essence, they caused the damage and tried to pin it on me). I had a lawyer draft a letter to them, and that was the
last I heard from them. I figured they had dropped the issuse but then placed a nasty note somewhere on my credit
report, but apparently they thought better of the situation and left me alone. Glad to see that THAT headache was
avoided.
Otherwise, not much else is new here. Spent most of my day working and pulling together new documentation
for our satellite broadcast training we’re doing after the 1st of the year. I suppose the big news is that I FINALLY get
to come home Thursday. I’ve spent almost 4 months in lovely Troy, MI, and to be perfectly honest I’m rather sick of
the place. I’m sick of the crummy roads, I’m sick of the stupid turn-right-to-turn-left concept, I’m sick of this boring
hotel room and I’m sick of being away from my friends and family. I never thought I’d say this, but thank god for
radiation treatment... it’s the only thing that’s getting me off of this project early.
And speaking of radiation...I’ll be starting that lovely form of treatment on or around January 13th. So the week
before, I’ll be sneaking in one final trip back to Michigan to finish my transition process, and then from the 13th on
it’s radiation treatment every day for 7 weeks. I was a bit disappointed when I spoke with my radiation doc last
week... I was under the impression I could get this out of the way in 4 to 5 weeks. But she really wants to treat this
aggressively–which is fine, radiation therapy is NOTHING like chemotherapy– but I really didn’t want 7 weeks of my
life tied up. I can’t go anywhere, do anything, etc. I have to sit around my house and go to treatment every day. Oh
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well. As I keep saying, it could be worse.
The best news of all, though....I only have ONE MORE CHEMO TREATMENT. After this Friday, I am DONE
with chemotherapy... at least, for now. Still have my Herceptin every three weeks, but that’s nothing– no side effects
or anything from that.
Hmmm.... things are pretty boring in all. Seems like I don’t have much to write about unless I’m ranting on something
;-)
Four more days. One more treatment. Then it’s life back to normal for a while. I can’t wait.
Karen
1.6.3
OPRAH: just another name for crap
(2002-12-11 17:06) - aggravated - public
Music: Fischerspooner–Emerge
I just saw the Oprah October Breast Cancer show, and I am hopping mad.
(And as a side note, yes, I know... my first mistake was watching Oprah, but it’s hotel TV and it was that or
Judge Judy. You decide.)
I am just so tired of women with early stage breast cancer being paraded across the media. Where are the women like
me in this equation?
I watched the show and was just so disgusted. Here are these women, and per usual, Oprah dramatizes each of
their story’s (Chantelle is going to get a bone scan today, and we will be RIGHT THERE WITH HER during the
scan, and later we’ll be RIGHT THERE WITH HER ...dramatic pause....when she gets the results. Stay tuned) So
these women–all of them Stage II–are all sitting around talking about how glad they will be when they’re done with
treatment and how they will have to try to live with the possibility that the cancer MIGHT return one day, but that
they were fighting, fighting, fighting....
Gag, gag, gag, gag, gag.
What is so damned special about a person powering their way through chemotherapy and radiation? Jesus Christ...
not one them talked about DYING. All of them spoke as if breast cancer were a battle and that they were fighting for
their lives. Ok, I admit, that’s a fine and admirable way to embrace what is, in essence, a very unpalatable experience.
But I am just SO SICK AND TIRED of the media placing people like this on display as the prime example of how a
woman is supposed to fight breast cancer. And what makes it worse is that they pick women who actuallyl DO have
a chance at winning their battle, so the implicit message is this: the only way to win your war against breast cancer
is to fight it with all you’ve got. Ok great. What about those of us who CAN’T win? Obviously I’m just not fighing
hard enouogh.
What I want to see out there are women like me, the ”losers” in this little equation. Us Stage IVers don’t have a
chance of surviving this disease (well, pending death by another cause). Where are the talk shows and interviews with
people like us? I would like just 15 minutes on a show like that to talk about MY experience. I wouldn’t talk about
chemotherapy or radiation or any of the other countless physical parts of this disase. Those things don’t matter (and
I’m sick of being told that they do). I’d talk about the esoteric...I’d talk about what it’s like to know that you’re dying
and about how nothing at this level really matters. I’d tell people that having a terminal illness isn’t about learning
how to die but learning how to live when all that you do seems futile. And I’d tell people that eventually you get over
those things and realize that life isn’t about some arbitrary timetable, and that when you finally realize that, all of
the chemo and treatment and such become so...so uneventful that you no longer see a need to kick and scream and
cry before each treatment. You eventually realize that it’s not real and that it doesn’t matter anyways. AND THAT
KNOWING THIS IS NOT A BAD THING!
Sigh. No one wants to hear about how people deal with death. They just want to focus on how they live their
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life. People just don’t get it, though...living your life is DIRECTLY RELATED to how you’ve accepted your death.
And most people haven’t even given their death more than a cursory thought.
I suppose I’m angry because of my ego (shocker, I know!)... because I’m sitting here feeling like I’ve discovered
this secret that no one else has discovered yet, and I want to be the one to share it with the world. And I’m mad that
no one wants to hear my story.
I’m mad because I think I have the answer.
Or maybe I just want people to THINK that I do ;-)
1.6.4
Will the real Karen M. please stand up?
(2002-12-22 12:59) - Resolved - public
Music: Clair de Lune–Debussey
Someone stole my identity. Or rather, Marquise Coleman at 6720 Tudor Lane stole my identity. How do I know
this? The dumb ass placed a catalog order using a fraudulent line of credit in my name, but then asked to have the
merchandise shipped directly to HER. As my boss said, at least it was a STUPID person who stole my identity.
So, I get home last Thursday from my 4 month tour of duty in Troy, MI, and the very next day I get a call
from the loss prevention department of a major retailer asking if I had recently opened a charge account with them.
Of course, I hadn’t (haven’t opened a line of credit since I bought my house nearly 3 years ago) and at the time
the account was opened (it was one of those wonderful ”instant credit” lines opened in-store), I was holed away in
Michigan. Well, apparently the person who opened up this line of credit is an associate at this retail store... and she
then used this line of credit to make a whole bunch of purchases UNDER HER ASSOCIATE NUMBER so that she
obtained HER ASSOCIATE’S DISCOUNT (again, reference the above comment on how a stupid person stole my
identity). She maxed out the account in about 4 hours.
So, I begin calling the three credit reporting agencies (TRW and Equifax were fine to work with& Experian,
however, is the WORST COMPANY ON THE FACE OF THIS PLANET as they make it impossible to talk to a
live person& you just have to trust in their automated system that the fraud block you requested was successfully
processed). I find out she s been trying to open lines of credit at all sorts of retail places& Bachrach s, The Children s
Place, The Gap, and, of course, my favorite shopping hole, Wal-Mart. The only place she was able to successfully
obtain credit was The Children s Place (the others were all denied due to misinformation on the mailed in credit
application or because my credit agency fraud blocks stopped them from being processed). So not too much damage
was done, but it s rather scary knowing that someone is out there with your social security number trying to pass
themselves off as you.
And on a side note, I d like to insert my rant here on The Children s Place (proud owner of Gymboree as
well). The account opened there was one of those instant store credit lines (with the exception of the first account,
all others were done via mail in applications). I called them to inform them that the line of credit that was opened
was fraudulent and that I was not assuming financial responsibility for the account. The get all snippy with me and
ask me, Are you SUUUUURE you didn t open this account? I said, no, the account was opened on December 8th
in Woodridge, IL and that I had ample evidence that I was in Michigan at said date and time the account was open.
They then ask me, Well, having a receipt is no proof that YOU yourself were actually in Michigan. Then they asked
me& get this& IF I HAD CHILDREN. I snapped. I told them that no, I DIDN T have children, that I didn t even
LIKE children, but that even if I DID like children it was irrelevant at this point because I could no longer have them
due to my recent diagnosis of terminal cancer. I can t even tell you how offended I was by this. Their stupid store
associate didn t check proper ID before issuing a line of credit and they try to pin it on an unassuming citizen and
when she denies it, they try to manipulate her words into accepting responsibility by asking nosy questions on her
lifestyle. I hope they go bankrupt.
But anyways, this person who stole my identity&she keeps mailing in credit applications with my billing address but THEN REQUESTS THE CARD TO BE SENT ELSEWHERE. The police now have about three different
addresses and now three different suspects, as each address has a different person associate with it. And then there
was the catalog order. When the retail company called me to confirm the order (they had to look my phone number
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up in information, as the number given on the catalog order was WRONG& you d think that would be their FIRST
CLUE to fraudulent activity), they actually told me what the shipping address was (hence how I obtained the name
and address of Marquise Coleman). So Blake and I did a reverse look-up on the address and got the phone number.
Blake calls her and asks for me. Instead of saying, I m sorry, you have the wrong number, she says, I m sorry,
Karen s not here right now, can I take a message? Hah& bingo. So I turn all of this information over to the police
and learn a rather startling fact:
There is nothing that I can do about this. She didn t take anything from me (i.e. she hasn t stolen money
from my checking account, etc), so technically, there is nothing I can do. The only ones who can prosecute are the
two retail stores where she obtained lines of credit and charged for merchandise.
Ok, that s not entirely true. I CAN do something about this&I have to go to EACH MUNICIPALITY where
the crime occurred, have SOLID PROOF that she committed the crime in that said municipality, AND THEN
PROSECUTE HER SEPARATELY IN EACH MUNICIPALITY WHERE THE CRIMES OCCURRED. And even
then, all I can charge her with is identity theft& I would get nothing out financially and would be responsible for all
legal fees associated with prosecuting her.
I have no proof other than circumstantial evidence. I have no MONEY in which to conduct this type of investigation. And she spread her crimes over about 5 different suburbs at this point in time. That means FIVE
different arrests, FIVE different court cases, and FIVE INSTANCES where I would have to prove that she committed
the crime.
I think that blows. But oh well.
I think instead I ll just send her a Christmas card signed by me. That ll freak her out ;-)
But I ll just say this: I will NEVER, EVER give out my information again to ANYONE unless it is absolutely necessary. I m closing all lines of credit I have, and every three months I am renewing my fraud blocks on all
three credit reporting agencies. This will prevent people from opening lines of credit in my name but will also take me
off of those pesky pre-approved mailing offers I keep getting in the mail.
Although I m still not happy about the situation, lesson learned.
Karen
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Chapter 2
2003
2.1
2.1.1
January
Relax, I haven’t died... ;-)
(2003-01-03 15:13) - happy - public
Wow, haven’t written in a while... time for a huuuuuuge update. By the way, Happy New Year!
Speaeking of the new year, I’m not a big New Year’s Eve person–never have been. All my life growig up, I
usually spent New Year’s eve in bed asleep. Even during my wild and kicking teenage years, the most exciting New
Year’s eve I ever had included hanging out in the bathroom with three of my drunk girlfriends at a part consisting of
approximately 8 people. Woo hoo! This year was fun, though. Blake and I went over to our friends’ house and had a
nice dinner and played some Trivial Pursuit a la the big geeks that we are. We had party hats, little blow horns (or
whatever they call those noisemakers) and even had a Coca-Cola/Ice Tea ”toast” at midnight. It was one of the best
New Year’s I’ve ever had.
And speaking of New Year’s...I fully expect this to be a great year. For some reason, my luck really stinks in
even numbered years (my first love broke my heart in 92, was diagosed with Hashimoto’s disease in 94, major
depression in 96, my Mom died in 98, I lost my job twice in 00, and got cancer in 02). But in odd numbered years....
oddly enough, good things happen (college graduation in 95, first job in 97, left my rotten ex husband in 99, met my
Blake in 01). And sure enough, three days into the New Year and I’ve already got great news.
I had a couple of doctor’s appointments today, one with my surgeon and one with my regular oncologist. My
surgeon kept talking to me about my PET scans, how it’s a new technology and not fully understood. He also
reiterated that it was highly suspicious that my August PET scan showed no trace of disease when my May one did.
According to him, usually SOMETHING shows up, some remnant, some trace, of disease that was once there. Mine
was clean as a whistle, which makes him think that the original PET scan images were misinterpreted. OK, fine, he’s
been saying this all along. I chalked it up to a ”positive attitude” on his behalf.
So then I go talk to my regular onc today, a doctor who has never questioned (at least not in my presence)
the accuracy of any of those images. UNTIL TODAY. He confirmed my surgeon’s assessment, and then also told me
that even if the scans ARE correct and I am, indeed, a full Stage IVer, there are a couple of items in my favor that
MAY ALLOW ME TO HAVE A PERMANENT REMISSION (i.e. CURE). First, I had relatively little spread of
disease, but second, and most important... if all of the scans are correct, then that means that my chemo wiped out
my cancer in THREE MONTHS, an event that is, apparently, phenomenal in the cancer world and is a good sign as
to the effectiveness of the entire 6 month treatment course.
But wait, there’s more... I also found out that I only need to be on my immunotherapy (the Herceptin)
through the one year anniversary date of my chemo... so unless I have a sudden cancer breakout, I’m done with
EVERYTHING first week of June.
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But the good news continues...once I’m done with all treatment, if I can go FOR JUST ONE YEAR with no
recurrence, then when it DOES recur, I have the option to repeat the same treatment I just had. So none of that
nasty Adriamycin or other stuff. I can stick with what I KNOW works.
And, finally...a few weeks ago I had a bone scan and X-Ray to follow up on some pain I’d been having in my
ribs. Well... they compared these films to those I had done last May. Turns out that those suspicious spots in my ribs
ARE NORMAL FOR ME. What does that mean? That there is a very good chance that the cancer has NOT spread
to my bones...that the original assumption was...A MISTAKE. As for the pain... I’m told to ”ease up” on the ab work
during my weight training, as I probably pulled a muscle.
As for other things...my hair is growing back. I’ve got 1” growth in weird places all over my head. Just call
me the queen of awkward hair-do’s. But the frizziness is actually getting better, and I finally colored my hair again
after a 7 month hiatus. Finally got my red back and I feel like me again! Now to just grow it out another 2 inches and
things will be a-OK!
Hmm... what else? I suppose I should mention that I had a wonderful holiday season. Took some time off of
work after my tour of duty in the lovely Motor City and spent my days with family and friends. Blake was a
sweetheart as usual, and really got me some nice goodies for Christmas (I swear, I don’t konw how I managed to live
without stainless steel Calphalon pots...HUGE difference when it comes to cooking). My kitchen, though, is shaping
up nicely...this cooking thing is really developing into quite a hobby for me. It’s about time I found something I had a
passion for.
My Dad, though, went well above and beyond the call of duty of a father. He had asked for a gift list from
me a few weeks ago... so I gave him one with a variety of items on it so he could pick and choose things that fit his
budget. Well, that’s the last time I do that... he got me EACH AND EVERY ITEM ON MY LIST. Vacuum cleaner,
Dust Buster, some travel luggage, a paper shredder... PLUS a big chunk of cash. Next year he gets a list with three
items on it, each under $50. He should’t be wasting his money on me like that.
Otherwise, things are good. Have to travel next week for work, but then begin radiation on Jan 13th, which
consists of every day treatment for 7 weeks. I plan on using the time at home to work (of course!) but also to prep
my house to be sold. Yes, I’m moving to Rockford to be by my Blake. He’s actually going to be buying a house as
well, so it has been a lot of fun house shopping with him. We’ve actually spotted two very nice houses about 6 blocks
from each other in a cute area of town... hopefully when we’re ready to buy they’ll still be available.
I’m also thinking of selling my car (anyone interested in a 99 BMW 323is, 50K, black/grey leather, good condition?). I am SO in the mood to NOT have a car payment anymore. I’ve had my fun with it, so it’s time to grow
up, I suppose, and realize that my self-worth shouldn’t be tied to what kind of status image I can give off. Wish I had
learned that about 15 years ago.
Otherwise, things are good. Here’s to a great odd numbered new year.
Karen
2.1.2
Radiation Sickness
(2003-01-16 12:35) - Logical - public
Ok, I started radiation this week.
I like how everyone said that radiation would be ”a piece of cake” compared to chemo. Blech. I find radiation
to be a whole lot worse. Monday was my first appointment. I go in there, knowing for the most part what to expect
(I was with my Mom when she had her radiation done in 98), but what I failed to anticipate was how I’d feel about
the whole thing:
Radiation is the most de-humanizing experience I’ve ever had.
The first day is typically just your measuring and marking day. They lay you on this cold slab of a table and
pounce on you with about 4 different colored Sharpie markers. They wrapped wires around my breast and then began
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taking a series of X-Rays to determine the proper angles for my treatment. They kept wheeling my table around,
moving it up and down, trying to get these wall-mounted laser pointers to pinpoint the right spots on my chest so
that they can fry me without hitting any major internal organs. Each time they move me they make another mark
on me...until finally they get done and I walk out of there with a road map on my chest that they’ve covered in clear
plastic tape so that it doesn’t fade off before the next day.
The second day wasn’t any better. I go in and after ripping off the layers of tape, I’m again attacked with
the Sharpies. This time, though, they are actually measuring me under the radiation machine and when they finally
get me lined up, they tatoo me so that I don’t have to go through this measurement process each time. Three
permanent blue dots on my chest...branding me permanently as a cancer patient and forever reminding me that I will
never escape this.
Then comes the first treatment.
I can’t quite describe what radiation is like...the lights are low, laser pointers create a bright red bulls eye on
my chest, and the machine buzzes like a bee trying to get into the jello mold at a picnic. It feels like nothing, yet...there
is a sensation. A slight flush, almost imperceptible and not too unlike a sunburn, but deeper, much deeper, than any
sunburn I’ve ever had. I feel it most in my scars, several hours after my appointment. The aloe gel they give me to
soothe my skin works well... but doesn’t seep into the deeper layers where it is truly needed.
I feel like an animal...a specimen on display to be poked and prodded and measured with icy cold steel calipers. I’ve
been drawn on, packaged, photographed naked and have even been given a patient ID number. I’m no longer Karen
M, I’m 24601.
And I’m not even sure it’s worth it. I’ve spoken with two radiation oncologists this week, and both of them
said the same thing: being that I’m Stage IV and NED status, I’ve got a 50 % chance of radiation doing anything
positive for me. That’s it. 50 % chance of it doing any good, plus a whole host of new side effects including skin
burns, fatigue, lymphedema and lung problems (they’re grazing my lungs with treatment). 50 % chance of benefit, 50
% chance that I’m just wasting my time and money and risking my health.
I remember when my Mom first got marked for radiation. She came home that day with all sorts of lines on
her belly and a big bulls eyes right over the spot above her pancreas. She took a bath right after she got home, being
very careful not to wash off the marks. I remember sitting in there with her. She was proudly showing off her marks
to me when all of a sudden she just stopped...and began crying. I remember how I felt...uncomfortable, unsure of
what to say, and really angry that she was letting a few markers get her down. I remember feeling something that I’d
often felt towards my mother anytime she showed any vulnerability: disgusted and angry by her apparent weakness
as a human being. Of course, I never showed her that side of me being that even then I knew it was born from some
internalized Freudian issue, and instead sat there in helpless silence while she cried and cried and cried.
I really miss her. I feel so lost in all of this...in the radiation, in the cancer, in my life. No matter how horrible my life was, my Mom always made me feel as if I brought joy to the world. I don’t feel that way now. I feel as if I
no longer have anything to offer anyone, and that if I have nothing to offer, how is it that I can possibly bring joy to
anyone’s life?
Oh well. I know I’ll adapt to this, like I have to everything new that comes along in my life. Despite it all, I
still love my life.
Karen
2.1.3
Lost
(2003-01-24 13:33) - Complete and utter confusion - public
Not sure where to begin&. Seems like my emotions are all over the place lately, so I suppose I ll just ramble my way
through and see where it takes me.
I feel such a sense of loss this week. I spent the past four+ months burying my head in my work, doing everything I could do to just get through my chemo, and now here I am back at square one and forced to deal with the
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same problems that were there before I began working like a madwoman. And what problems are that?
What to do about my ovaries.
Things have changed quite a bit for me over the past few months. Before, it seemed as if I was a hopeless
case, destined to die within a few years. Then it turns out that maybe that s not the case at all& maybe I DO have
a shot (albeit a small one) of permanent remission. Now, after a conversation with my OB/GYN yesterday, it turns
out as if maybe that s a bit optimistic, being that I m 29 and most likely developed this cancer as a result of BRCA1
and BRCA2 positive genes. And with these genes, I also have a significant increase in ovarian AND colon cancers
(both of which have occurred on BOTH sides of my family WITHIN FIRST AND SECOND GENERATIONAL
DIFFERENCES).
So here I am. 29. Thinking about what I want out of life. Thinking that maybe I do want to settle down
and get married and have 2.2 children and a dog and a white picket fence. I think I may want all of this, despite
the fact that my boyfriend, my soulmate, doesn t. I think I may want all of this despite the fact that I may not live
long enough to enjoy it. I think I may want all of this despite the fact that a pregnancy is probably a surefire way of
causing my cancer to return.
What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?
I m 29. Menopause at 29??????
And more surgery&I m so tired of having my body abused.
Losing my ovaries could help keep me in remission longer and would be a definite prevention for ovarian cancer. But at what cost? Hot flashes, severe mood swings, insomnia&basically making my life miserable for what? Just
to have my cancer return anyways? Just to make me uncomfortable for the last few years of my life?
How do I know if it s worth the risk?
And let s talk about sex drive and birth control. Sure, an oophorectomy is GREAT birth control. But along
with the ovaries, the sex drive goes, too. What s the point in getting birth control if I have no interest in doing the
deed that would necessitate its use in the first place?
And speaking of birth control, I m really upset at the fact the burden of this is on me. Why do I have to be
the one to decide on surgery? Why do I have to be the one to push my body to its limits for the sake of salvaging my
sex life? Menopause causes all sorts of problems for women, while the male counterpart is decidedly symptom free.
It s not fair that this is on me.
I don t want an oophorectomy. I don t want menopause.
want quality, not quantity. Don t I?
I don t care if it gives me a year or two longer.
I
How bad can menopause be? Will it really make a difference?
I can t bear the thought of voluntarily choosing to mutilate myself for a chance that it might make me live
longer.
Logically, though, I KNOW it s probably in my best interest, isn t it? I mean, isn t living longer supposed to
be my goal here? There just aren t any guarantees here&if I had a guarantee that doing this would be helpful, then
it would be a no brainer.
I just can t stomach the thought of menopause. Physically, I don t want to deal with it, and emotionally&.the thought
of it just makes me feel empty and hollow and&.OLD.
So I don t want an oophorectomy because I m not tough enough to handle the side effects or because I m too
vain to feel old?
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But I DO want an oophorectomy so that my sex life doesn t suffer?
It s ALL vanity. Eliminate the vanity, and what am I left with?
Logic.
Logic says do it because it might save my life. Logic also tells me that I probably AM Stage IV and that all
I will be doing is reducing the quality of my already now pre-determined short-spanned life.
I don t know what to do. I don t know what to do.
2.2
2.2.1
February
I Love to Hate You
(2003-02-06 13:20) - giddy - public
Music: Erasure–Pop!
Sigh. 18 down, 10 more to go. Radiation bites.
I’m starting to get used to the whole thing, and it’s starting to feel less dehumanizing...but still I just can’t stand
having to pull myself together and run over there every day. If I thought that it was definitely doing some good, then
I might not have a problem with it. But this whole 50/50 thing really peeves me. Oh well. Almost over.
Anyways, other news in my life...as I mentioned in an earlier post, good things happen to me in odd numbered
years. Don’t know why, and the correlation is kind of scary. But I got ”promoted” at work. I put that in quotation
marks because it’s not a move up the ladder, really. I still have Project Manager title...but they’ve given me the
responsibility of managing the training team and all training for the entire company. I should have figured this was
coming...people seemed pretty happy with the training I did on my last project, and I do think there’s some politics
involved. But overall I’m happy with the move...I really enjoyed doing the training and look forward to recreating
company wide what I did there.
Let’s see, what else? After much soul searching, I have decided to NOT go with the oophorectomy. I mean, face
it. I have Stage IV cancer. Removing them probably won’t help. And even if it did, probably not by much. I would
much rather live a shorter life feeling good than a longer life trying to deal with the pains of menopause. Seems, though,
that with ALL of my decisions, I always take the minimalist approach. Lumpectomy over mastectomy; Taxotere over
Adriamycin; and now this. Something deep inside of me knows that quality is so much better than quantity.
What else? FINALLY got my house painted and carpeting installed! Working this weekend to clean, fix a few
things, clean, pack, clean, oh, and clean. I hate cleaning more than anything else. I’d rather have chemotherapy
(seriously). But it’s got to get done, since my realtor is walking through early next week.
I start traveling for work again right away in March. Heading back to Michigan to work in our Troy office. Then
I’m home the following week, and then start heading to Seattle to do training for another client. OOOH.... have to
tell you....
On March 10... Blake and I are GOING TO SEE ERASURE!!!!!!!!! FRONT ROW!!!!!!!!!!
I am so pumped for this... I have liked them since college (and as for Blake...if you want to know how into synthpop he is, check out his website www.thefirstcut.net). Their song, ”I Love to Hate You” brings back some, um, fond
college memories ;-) But Blake and I managed to score a cheap room at the Westin downtown (thank you , Priceline!)
and are going to spend two days shopping and hanging out together. Which is nice, considering the fact that I’ve seen
him maybe 3 times since I got back from Michigan. Anyways, I’m dying to see them in concert...Andy Bell is hot (but
gay... sigh). Should be a great show.
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Other than that, things are quiet...hope all is well in your world.
Karen
2.2.2
Pink Floyd
(2003-02-18 20:53) - numb - public
Music: Imagination–Xymox
Hmm... seems like I haven’t written much lately. My life has been in total turmoil, yet I’ve had nothing interesting to
write. I think that’s pretty amazing. I can be busy 18 hours of the day, yet none of it I deem interesting enough to
share with others. Now THERE’S a genuine tribute to the banality of daily living in our culture.
I suppose not much is happening to me other than on a superficial level. I’ve got my house officially up for sale
and have been entertaining several walk-throughs. I’ve been working my ass off trying to get this training up to the
level that is expected of the team at this point in time. And I’m done with radiation in two more days.
I had my three week immunotherapy last week and discussed options with my doctor about being tested for the
BRCA1 and BRCA2 genes. He calculated my odds of having the genes based upon my family history, and it turns out
that having a mother and grandmother from opposite lineages both having had ovarian cancer that I probably have a
20 % chance of being genetically positive. Apparently they like to test people if they have at least a 10 % chance. So
there we go.
So what happens if it’s positive and I do carry the genes? Well... then I have some tough choices to make, being
that now the doctors ”aren’t quite sure” that I’m Stage IV. I need to think about preventive surgeries, including both
a bilateral mastectomy as well as an oophorectomy. If I test negative... then we can chalk up my cancer as a fluke and
hope to God that my chemo and radiation put me into a significant remission.
This whole ”we’re not sure now” about my Stage IV diagnosis really peeves me. I remember those first PET scan
pics...I remember the tone in their voices when they delivered the news to me, I remember the look in their eyes as
they tried to gauge my reaction, I remember the hushed whispers behind my back when they discussed my diagnosis.
I WAS Stage IV... terminal, a goner, already a ghost. Now it’s different...they can’t believe that someone could have
such a great reaction to chemotherapy...so instead of thinking ”Wow, that girl really did well” they think, ”Huh, we
must have been wrong in the first place.” Splitting hairs, I suppose, but an irritation to me nonetheless.
So now they think that maybe I’m NOT Stage IV...even though I had PET scans showing that I was, even though I
had SIX positive nodes (a high number in the lymph node world). They keep calling into question the liver spots...
telling me they’re not sure that it was really metastatic disease they saw in the pics. Ok, fine. What about the lymph
node in the neck? Did they imagine that, too? I just don’t think that there is as much room as they say for wiggling
here.
So it comes down to me. I have to make the decision as to how far I think my cancer has spread, because they
frankly don’t have a clue. So what do I do?
Do I opt for the surgeries and hope for a longer life? How will the quality of that life be with no breasts and
menopause? How will I feel having everything feminine about me ripped away?
But then again, shouldn’t I be confronting this attachment I have to my body? I have yet to have to do that...
I never lost my hair, I never gained the weight. I never lost control of my body in ways that caused me to confront
my physical attachment to myself. Should I try to confront this attachment through surgery, or wait and confront it
with my death? One way or another, I have to confront it. We ALL do. But once I confront it, what’s the point of me
being here at all? What will I LEARN from confronting it and continuing my life?
Amazing that all of this happened last week, yet this is the first chance I’ve had to think about it. I keep myself
immersed in work so I don’t HAVE to. I have become... comfortably numb.
Sigh. I need a vacation.
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2.2.3
Green Acres
(2003-02-25 08:10) - cynical - public
Hi all,
I’d like to start off by asking all of my fellow friends out there...has anyone heard from Sybil [ LJ User: fey ]?
I’ve been checking in here on a regular basis hoping to hear some news. I know some of you who read my journal
also read hers, so if anyone out there knows anything, please let me know. I worry about her and hope that whatever
course of treatment she is undergoing hasn’t sucked the wind out of her sails.
And speaking of cancer...I’d like to insert my rant here on how pissed off I am at capitalism (ha, you didn’t know
the two went together, did you?). I had my first genetics counseling session yesterday (more on that later), but the
counselor and I spent a good deal of time discussing all of the HORMONES, CHEMICALS, AND OTHER UNNECESSARY ADDITIVES in our food supply. She told me that she had a friend who did research at one of the major
universities there in Michigan and has been trying to get his doctoral thesis published but no one wants to touch it.
The topic? The use of hormones in the food supply and it’s effect on female estrogen levels in rats. Basically, the guy
did a comparison study of rats where he fed one group a diet of hormone laced food, fed a second group a diet of plain
food but then supplemented the rats with hormone injections, and then had a control group that just ate plain food.
I don’t remember how many generations he tracked them, but what he found was astonishing. First, he found that
the rats that ate the hormone laced foods had estrogen levels nearly THREE TIMES AS HIGH as the control group
and 50 % higher than the group that received the hormone injections. He also noticed one other thing: the female rats
that ate the hormone laced diet developed more quickly (became fertile at an earlier age), had more menstrual cycles
in their lifetime and...HAD A SHORTER LIFESPAN THAN THE FEMALE RATS IN THE OTHER GROUPS by
about 9 %. The really odd thing was that in the group that had the hormones directly injected into them, these effects
were LESS noticeable. Really, truly, ground-breaking stuff here.
So this guy spends two years of his life developing this thesis, which, ironically, didn’t turn out the way he expected (he
had thought the second group with the hormone injection would show the elevated estrogen levels, early development,
etc). So he does the work, gets shocking results, and wants to throw his paper out there to the world to have others
read it and see if they can repeat it (after all, repetition is the foundation of science). And no one wants to touch it.
Why not? THEY CLAIM IT’S NOT RELEVANT RESEARCH. Had he shown a direct correlation of the estrogen
levels to estrogen injections, then yeah... THAT would have been something to get published (estrogen injections leads
to increased estrogen levels in the blood? NO WAY!). But he finds a correlation with hormone laced food and no,
can’t publish that... it’s too unscientific.
I just think it’s a shame...I mean, had his thesis shown the predominant link to the hormone injection, that would have
been information that could be used by pharmaceutical companies to manufacture drugs for various female hormonal
conditions. But...instead he linked it to our food...which means that the treatment of the symptoms would come NOT
from a newly developed drug but would come from the common people of the world taking preventive action and NOT
eating hormone laced foods. Or it would serve as a treatise to our food industry telling them that hey, what you’re
doing to us is making us sick. But solving the problem wouldn’t come in the form of another drug.
I just don’t understand our world anymore. We are killing ourselves. There’s this great discussion in the anthropological community on whether or not culture is what will allow us to adapt to any situation, thus negating that
humans will ever become extinct. The irony is almost unbearable, though...what we are doing to ourselves is mutating
our DNA with the chemicals and additives and hormones and god knows WHAT else we are ingesting. I hardly see
culture as being this great adaptive tool when we are killing ourselves from the inside out.
I used to believe in the culture as the grand adapter theory until now. I don’t know how I missed it during all
those years of anthropological study, but today, it seems obvious to me: it IS possible for us to mutate our DNA to the
point where it is no longer functional. And it IS possible for those mutations to be passed on to our offspring. Unless
we find a way to fix our DNA, I highly doubt that our culture is going to get us out of a mess of this kind.
I’m a victim. You’re a victim. We’re all victims. No matter what we decide to do now–eat organically, grow our
own food–it’s too late. The damage has been done to us by people sitting far, far away in their ivory towers of corporate power. There is no place left on this earth that is pure anymore.
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Personally, if we DO end up killing ourselves, I say good riddance. This plac would be better off without us.
Karen
2.3
2.3.1
March
Avoidance is a girl’s best friend.
(2003-03-13 22:10) - public
Hi!
It’s true...I have no life. This is literally the first time I’ve had a chance to write in weeks. Lots going on in
my life, none of it cancer related (for a change!). Here’s the scoop:
I was actually promoted at work about 6 weeks ago to head up our training team. It was actually a brilliant
move...moved me into an area I found that I have really enjoyed, and the move was good politically for not just me
but for others in the company (long story). But the bottom line is that this position is requiring a LOT of work. I
thought I worked hard on the GM project in Michigan...how wrong I was. I have been routinely putting in 70 hour
work weeks since the promotion, and there’s no sign of it stopping anytime soon. I’m actually getting really burnt
out, but on the other hand...job security. Job securiity suddenly takes on a completely different meaning when you’ve
got a terminal illness.
The other big news in my life...Yes, I finally calmed my fears of commitment and decided to take the plunge
(no, I’m not getting married!). I bought a house near Blake. After months of agonizing whether or not this was what
I wanted to do with my life, everything just kind of fell into place. I found an adorable little house, and the next day
I had an offer on MY house. April 14th is the big day...my current place closes for the buyer, and I close on my new
house. I can’t wait to finally be settled.
So about my house...it’s great, really. Not as nice as Blake’s house (which, by the way, should have been
MINE had he not changed his mind about it at the last minute), but very cute and significantly less expensive. It’s a
brick Cape Cod, three bedroom, wood floors throughout, bay window, full deck, two car garage, tile entry, and fully
loaded. I’m getting a washer/dryer, refrigerator, dinette set, and loads of other goodies with it. The seller is the son
of one of Blake’s co-workers, and they are building a brand new house from scratch. Since they’re building, they don’t
want any of their old stuff... which is great, because whatever they give me, I can either keep or give to Blake to help
him furnish his house. So far, I’m giving him a washer/dryer and a dinette set. All that, despite the fact that I still
feel like I got cheated out of being able to buy the house he ended up buying. But I’ll not write about that...I certainly
don’t want to air any dirty laundry. Besides, it’s just a pride issue anyways.
So work, moving... what else? Been struggling with my weight a lot lately. For those who don’t know, right
before my cancer diagnosis, I had lost about 35 pounds. Since my diagnosis, I’ve only lost about 5 more (which is
amazing, considering that the large amounts of steroids I was given during chemo should have actually made me
GAIN weight...as much as 30 pounds). So here I am....been done with chemo for 2 months, and done with radiation
for 3 weeks. And I’ve been eating like a royal pig. Back to drinking regular soda in restaurants, back to eating fried
foods, back to relying on highly processed carbs like Lipton Noodles (yum!). I don’t know what happened. I look back
to when I was first diagnosed and how strict I was with my diet so that I wouldn’t gain any weight. It was such a
fruitless struggle back then, because I knew that no matter how much I tried, I was NOT going to lose weight during
treatment. And there is NOTHING worse than having to diet and knowing that it won’t make a difference. But I did
it, and it paid off. Now, here I am and I can actually MAKE a difference...I can actually LOSE weight if I just put
in a little discipline. But I can’t seem to muster it. I don’t get it. I had the discipline when I had NO CHANCE of
succeeding...why can’t I find it now? I’m really down on myself about this. I hate the way I look in the mirror...I feel
dumpier than ever...and spring is coming and I’d love to be a few sizes smaller. I still have about 35 pounds to go to
reach my goal weight and can’t seem to get motivated to do it. It’s enough to make me want to cry.
Isn’t it funny? 6 months ago I was worried about saving my life. Now that that’s on the backburner, all my
old problems come back to me. It’s really depressing. I thought that I had managed to resolve my old issues. Now
72
I see that they were just dormant during my treatment and are now back in full force. So much for progress in the
enlightenment arena.
I’m also in the midst of having hair from hell. Now that my hair is growing back, I’m able to examine exactly how much of it was lost during chemo, and I have to say that I think I probably lost about half of my hair from
the Taxotere/Taxol. So here I am now with half a head of chin length hair that is completely frizzed out from being
destroyed by the chemo, and the other half of a head with smooth, sleek, CURLY hair that is about an inch long and
liable to stick up in the middle of the day for no reason and despite the copious amounts of Dippity Do shellacked to
it. But yes, my formerly straight hair is now....curly. And it’s not even a GOOD curly. It’s this awkward wavy thing
that looks like it had a bad accident with an overly hot crimping iron (remember those, all you 80’s mavens?). By the
time it grows out, I’ll probably be back in chemo again. And I’m aware of how much of a baby I’m being about this.
I should be thankful I didn’t lose all of it instead of bitching and moaning about how I don’t like what I was left with.
I guess I sometimes just really miss the old me. I miss her so much I ache. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to
my new body, with the scars and burn marks and tatoos and med-port and weird hair and changed metabolism and
on and on and on....
I think that’s why I work so much. I think that’s why I surround myself with busy-ness. I think that’s why I
cram each and every moment of my day with non-self related activity. I do it to avoid the inevitable...
That one day, I have to accept what happened.
It wasn’t a dream.
It happened to me.
My god, my god, it happened to ME.
2.3.2
Cancer is a six letter word.
(2003-03-18 23:46) - Utterly defeated. - friends
It’s late and I can’t sleep. Perfect time for writing.
Friday night Blake and I are having dinner with Kelly, one of his co-worker’s, and her husband. I’m not sure
how I feel about this.
Kelly was diagnosed about 6 weeks ago with breast cancer. She ended up having a bilateral radical mastectomy and bilateral axillary dissections. Not fun stuff. They’ve diagnosed her as Stage II, and given that it spread to
both breasts, I’m sure she’s at least Stage IIb or Stage III. But she started chemotherapy last Tuesday and is due for
treatment every three weeks.
So what’s my problem?
Several things. None of it makes sense. None of it is logical. I’ll try to get through it best that I can.
Breast cancer is MY disease. Mine. She can’t have it. I’m the one that everyone is supposed to be oohing
and ahhhing over. I’m the one that everyone is supposed to look at and say, ”Wow, isn’t she amazing.” I’m the one
that is supposed to bring inspiration to others by showing the world how brave and strong and courageous I am.
ME. Damn her for stealing my thunder. Being an amazing anomaly was the only silver lining I’ve found with this
disease, and fuck, if it just didn’t blow away with the wind the minute SHE got diagnosed. Her and her bilateral
mastectomy and her Adriamycin and the fact that she’s mother to a 4 month old. What about me and the fact that
I was diagnosed at age 28 and that breast cancer is a rare occurrence this young and that I was diagnosed Stage IV
right away and that hardly ever happens to anyone, let alone someone my age and then what about the amazing
response to chemo and the fact that I was never sick and didn’t lose my hair when all along I was supposed to? Why
am I no longer special? Wasn’t my experience worth something?
I’m jealous.
I admit it, I’m fucking jealous.
Cancer is great when you’re first diagnosed.
Everyone pays at73
tention to you, treats you like you’re special and profound and worth something. When the novelty wears off, the
painful reality sets in: you’re old hat, nothing new, and nothing to be concerned about. People ask you how you are
and no longer listen when you say that you’re having an off day. After the novely wears off, you suddenly find that
your life hasn’t changed much since before your diagnosis. All of your stupid little problems are still there, only now
you have THIS to deal with on top of it all. Meanwhile, all of your public support that you got when you were first
diagnosed is going to the new girl in town.
I may be in remission physically but the battle for my senses has just begun. Don’t people understand that?
People don’t understand that when I see people like Kelly, I am bombarded with the feeling that I haven’t yet
paid my dues. I battled cancer and got off easy. I slid by with a lumpectomy. I slid by with a chemotherapy that
didn’t give me any major side effects. I slid by without having to confront so many things that SHE is being forced
to confront. And it angers me, because I don’t want the world belittling my experience simply because it wasn’t as
rough as it could have been. And at the same time it petrifies me to the point where all I do is bury myself in busy
work so I don’t have to think about it...to think about what lies ahead for me.
People don’t understand that when I see people like Kelly, I see ME. I look at her and see my future. I’m
Stage IV. One day it will be me with the mastectomy. One day it will be me on Adriamycin. One day it will be me
that gets up each morning in agony as I wait for my hair to fall out. I AM NOT DONE WITH THIS. Kelly IS my
future.
Kelly is getting her ugliness out of the way first time through. She’s already lost her breasts. She’s going to
lose her hair. But she might not lose her life. Not me. I more than likely will lose a breast, possibly both. I one day
WILL have to face Adriamycin and will lose my hair. I WILL one day lose my life. My ugliness is being delivered to
me piece by tortuous piece.
When I was first diagnosed, I was so glad for the reprieve...glad I saved my breast, glad I saved my hair.
am really beginning to regret that decision as a slow realization dawns on me: there are no short cuts in life.
I
I cheated. I’ve cheated my entire life. Anytime fate ever throws me something I find a way around it. I find
a way to get off easy, and then I go about my merry way, patting myself on the back for a job well done.
I don’t want to die this way. I don’t want to die without feeling as if I took something head on.
But I think, more importantly, I don’t want to die in obscurity. Kelly is a reminder to me that my diagnosis
is nothing special. I’m still a number, just like everyone else on this planet.
Which means that when I die, I die. I am yet another casuality of this reckless life we’ve built for ourselves.
I will leave no imprint, make no impact. I will be nothing more than a fond memory that will be quickly eroded like
an ant hill in a strong wind.
My breast cancer...has...no...meaning. No grand lesson. No pathway to allow me to make my mark.
Breast cancer will be nothing more than the cause of my death. It will be what makes my heart stop and my
body go cold. It will be a space filler on a death certificate and a conversation topic for the coroner.
Thinking that it is anything more than that is a delusion of grandeur.
2.3.3
Rebuttal
(2003-03-20 17:31) - Disheartened - public
Anyone here see ”Minority Report?” (oh come ON... I KNOW you love Tom Cruise...)
But in a sense, that is what I feel we are doing with Iraq. We have some circumstantial evidence that MIGHT
indicate that he MAY have weapons of mass destruction but are unclear on what he would do with them if he had
them. So what do we do? Assume their guilty because we THINK they MIGHT do something with weapons we don’t
even know they have based upon the fact that we think that THEY are thinking devious thoughts. Seems to me Orwell
74
and his ”thought police” were ahead of his time.
Bush has come out and said that there is no link between Iraq and 911. But the fear is that Iraq MIGHT at some
point in the future develop WMD and send them to terrorists who MIGHT use them against us.
I don’t get it. North Korea already HAS nuclear weapons and blatantly dislikes us. So do a host of other countries out there. If our intent is to ”stop the terror,” then why not go after a country with KNOWN weapons, KNOWN
hatred, and who KNOWLINGLY harbor terrorists? What sets Iraq apart?
Black gold.
I, like many of you on this board, do not want another 911. But where do you draw the line with prevention?
Does the mother lock her child up in the basement for fear that if she lets him out to play, something might happen
to him? No...we take that risk, because we know that more often than not, the child will be fine. Letting the child out
to play and breathe and learn and grow is worth the risk.
Why have we allowed ourselves to live in so much fear that we feel the need to trample on the sovereignty of another nation? Why do we believe the fear inspired by our media, which deliberately sensationalizes every news piece
for the purpose of ratings? Why did we choose to prevent ourselves from playing outside and start cowering under our
stairs?
When did we decide that THINKING someone was guilty equated with actually BEING guilty?
Just my two cents.
Karen
2.3.4
MORE Rebuttal
(2003-03-20 19:56) - public
Message Board Poster: ”Who really thinks that Saddam has no weapons of mass destruction? He’s been waiting for
years, stocking up and if he unleashes some of those weapons, I wonder what all the naysayers to this war will think?
Were we still wrong in doing this?”
My response:
As a naysayer, I am willing to take the risk that I will be bombed, that my home will burn, that my family will
suffer and that I myself could possibly lose my life.
Iraq has done nothing wrong (or rather, nothing that can be proven). I believe in the concept of innocent until
proven guilty. I believe in it so strongly that yes, I AM willing to take the risk that in the end, I MIGHT be wrong
and lose everything. I can consciously live with that error. I cannot, in good conscience, live with the thought that I
might have contributed to deliberately harming people who may, indeed, be innocent.
And with regards to their culture...who are we to judge the Iraqi way of life as right or wrong? We hear stories
both ways...how terrible it is there, yet there are several online journals of Americans living in Baghdad that have a
different story. Either way, America does not have some manifest destiny that somehow gives us the god given right to
police the world so that they behave in a manner that coincides with the hegemony we seek to spread. I think people
forget that there is a fine line between policeman of the world and schoolyard bully.
Just another 2 cents.
Karen
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2.3.5
The Gambler
(2003-03-27 09:55) - public
Blake got his hair cut. I about died when I saw him, with his short hair and blue shirt that really brings out his
gorgeous blue eyes. How in the world did I get so lucky as to have SUCH a sexy boyfriend? I’m STILL getting
goosebumps thinking about him.
So...things are moving right along with this little move I’m doing on April 14th. A few snags,though. Turns out
I have to replace the furnace on my current house (apparently had a big CRACK in the heat exchanger...lucky I didn’t
die in my sleep from CO fumes). And upon initial inspection, it looked as if my new house had a serious problem
with the foundation of the garage. We had a structural engineer look at it yesterday and he deemed if perfectly fine.
So...Ok, I’m going with that.
But man... I’m telling you, I should have been a structural engineer. The inspection cost $275 and took about 8
minutes. I’m not sure, though, how much I trust his work. I mean, he was very nice and all, but he was older than
Moses and could barely get around the bulding to check the structure. Oh well. I’m sure he’s seen a lot in his time
and I should probably stop all of this needless worrying and be happy that I’m getting an awesome house.
What else is going on? Lost another bet with Blake last night (about a stupid phone number, too). I think that’s
about 10 I’ve lost to him during the course of our relationship. Of course, this just adds to the sting from something I
almost bet him on this weekend that I would have WON had I actually made the bet (yes, it WAS Tim Burton who
directed the first BatMan movie). None of these bets are ever significant...so I’m beginning to think I have a slight
gambling problem when it comes to this boy. Perhaps a 12 step program is in order.
So, that’s all that is new and exciting in MY life. It’s blissful to be so boring for a change.
Karen
2.4
2.4.1
April
Avon Lady
(2003-04-09 23:28) - public
I WANT MY HAIR BACK!
I was watching the Canadian Broadcasting Channel earlier today and they were showcasing some bizarre type
of rodent animal that is supposedly decimating some rural area of some island country somewhere (can you tell I paid
rapt attention?). Anyways, as I was watching the show, it dawned on me:
I have RAT HAIR.
I’m not kidding. It’s thin and dry and brittle and has this really weird wiry kink in it.
through it, it sticks out like old lady hair.
If I run my hands
So I decided to take matters into my own hands today and apply a homemade avocado-olive oil ”hair mask”
to see if I can’t rehydrate it in some way. The avocado is really a nice touch, I must say, with its day-glo green sheen.
I’m actually sitting here right now as I type looking like the next generation of Swamp Thing. I wonder how long I’m
supposed to leave this goop on?
Anyways, I’ve been looking at some old pics of myself today (ok, one old pic, and it happens to be one of my
LJ images), and I really miss my hair. Before I had cancer, I had long hair.... it would hang down to about the middle
of my back, had a little wave in it, and was overall pretty thick and lustrous. Anyways, before I found out I was a
Stage IVer, it was assumed that my course of treatment would consist of the typical Stage II treatment: four blazing
rounds of Adriamycin/Cytoxin and another, milder four rounds of Taxol (hey, that last part came true!). Anyone who
has ever had Adriamycin knows that hair loss is a given. You pretty much wake up one day, your follicles open up and
bam... you’re bald in about 24 hours. Not fun.
76
Anyways, so there I was, thinking that they were going to eventually pump that beastly stuff into me. I decided to take matters into my own hands and prepare myself for the inevitable. I bought hats by the handfull. I
discovered new ways to wrap scarves. And, of course, I researched my ”cranial prosthesis” options (i.e. I bought a
wig). So, the day I went for my wig fittitng was the day I first got my hair cut. I didn’t know what to expect that
day, to be honest. I had read several accounts of women walking into their salons and telling their stylist to shave it
all off. I had also read several accounts of women who couldn’t bear to do the cutting themselves, that if their hair
was meant to fall out, then only by the grace of god (or rather, chemotherapy) would it happen. Fortunately for me,
the person I chose to cut my hair was a breast cancer survivor. She saw my trepidation at the thought of a buzz cut,
so she suggested a compromise. I walked out of there with the cutest little bob haircut I’ve ever had in my life. The
feeling was bittersweet at the time, though, since my first thought was, ”Oh great... I finally find a haircut that works
for me and it’s going to go ahead and fall out next week anyways.”
So, to make a long story short, it ended up that I didn’t need to go through the perils of Adriamycin. As a
Stage IVer, I had the opportunity to pursue different courses of treatment that were only open to patients in terminal
status. Enter Taxotere, the crown jewel cancer drug from our friends at Aventis. According to my doctors, my nurses,
the medical literature and even the stupid little pamphlet I got courtesy of Aventis, I was supposed to lose my hair
with this stuff. Not quite as suddenly as with Adriamycin, but I should have been bald after about a month of
treatment. Needless to say, it never happened that way. Instead, it fell out little by little&into my hairbrush, down
my drain, and onto my shirt in the middle of the workday. I spent 7 long months waking up with a start in the middle
of the night, grabbing my head to ensure it was still attached. In the end, less than half of what I started out with
was left.
So what WAS I left with, after it was all said and done? A head where a) half of the hair is chin length hair
with the consistency of wire and the look of a frayed yarn ball recently gnawed on by my cat, and b) another half
where my hair is a luxurious and silky smooth 2 inches in length with this weird phenomenon whereby it grows
straight out of my head for about the inch and then makes an abrupt right turn. It sticks up funny, too& like Tom
Hanks hair in Big. Makes me look like a big mushroom.
I cry almost every morning now, when I look at myself in the mirror. I cry because I didn t invite this into
my life. I cry because I didn t WANT to change like this. I cry because I hate feeling ugly and unlovable and because
I m petrified that when I walk down the street people don t look at me and understand why my hair looks so bad. No,
they just think, Wow, she s got horrible hair&why doesn t she DO something about that? In this society, a woman s
hair is a reflection of HER as a PERSON.
I remember when I was about 12 and going through this puberty angst I was desperately searching for some
type of guidance as to how to be a woman (forget asking my mother&she had better things to do with her time then
pay attention to her daughter). What type of guidance did I end up with? A beauty guide from our friends at Avon
(yes, I know they sponsor the Breast Cancer walk& I m very aware of the irony&LOL). The one passage that has
stuck with me despite it s disfunction was this one: No matter what else is going on, when a woman s hair looks good,
she feels beautiful. A woman should NEVER leave her house until she feels comfortable with how her hair looks&her
comfort with her hair will shine through everything that she does.
This passage has haunted me in ways few know about. And what I m about to write will undoubtedly clarify
why this issue of cancer caused hair loss is so devastating to me.
For sixteen years, I have battled OCD obsessive compulsive disorder. I wasn t a hand washer, or a picturestraightener or any of the activities commonly associated with OCD. No, my obsession was&my hair. I d get lost in
the mirror every morning, brushing and brushing my hair, over and over and over again. What had started out as an
attempt to comfort myself turned into something very ugly.
It began when I was 13. The first incident was right before I was to go to a dance with my friends. I had
picked out a yellow shirt, and after I put it on I had decided that yellow was definitely NOT my color. So to make
up for it, I decided to do something different with my hair. I spent 30 minutes on it, still wasn t happy with it, but
left anyways. I spent the entire night feeling like everyone was staring at me, with my ugly shirt and messy hair.
Something inside of me, deep in my unconscious, decided that I had to take matters into my own hands so that I
never felt that way again. And so a ritual was born!
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My time in the bathroom began to increase&30 minutes, 35 minutes, until finally, by the time I was 17, an
hour. I blamed it on the fact that it was the 80 s and it took me that long to tease my hair, but deep down I really
felt hideously ugly&but that on those days when my hair looked perfect, I was ok looking. And dammit, on those
good days, I DID feel better about myself. Avon WAS right.
On to college&by the time I hit U of I, styles were changing. The big teased look was OUT&and straight
hair was in. Huh. That certainly was no fun. It didn t take anything at all to have straight hair&wash and go. What
was a girl with hair-exia (as my friends called it) to do?
I spent a lot of time in the bathroom mirror doing things to my hair that made it look like it was wash and
go hair when in reality, it wasn t. Problem solved&.for the moment.
But as time wore on, my need to be in front of the mirror also increased. Some mornings pushed 90 minutes
now, and I was missing class because I couldn t get my hair right. Going into senior year, I tried to schedule classes
in the afternoon so that I could have the morning to do my hair. It was becoming VERY disruptive.
Finally, I hit grad school&.and the problem hit its climax. I was routinely spending 90 minutes in front of
the mirror, but even this was no longer good enough. Before this time of my life, all I did was spend time in the
morning grooming, but once I was able to walk away from the mirror, I never looked at my hair again for the rest of
the day. In grad school, this changed. I was insecure about my intelligence at U of Chicago, and I had started dating
an abusive man who eventually became my abusive husband (now ex husband). I d leave my apartment only to arrive
at my class, head straight to the bathroom and check to see if my hair still looked ok. The mirror checks grew in size
until I was checking my hair about a dozen times a day.
I hated myself& all because of my hair. During these times in the mirror, my mind, unable to be controlled,
would scream at me: why is it everyone in the world is beautiful but you? You re the ONLY person in the world with
hideous hair. This is your cross to bear, deal with it. God, how can you be so STUPID to think that you will ever
have hair that looks nice? Your hair is gross, and you are ugly. No one will ever love you&why do you think you
ended up married to a fat slob who is mean to you? You don t deserve better& you don t deserve anything in life
because you re not pretty enough for it. Go ahead, brush your hair& it won t help because your face is still ugly. And
the fact that you keep brushing it& you can t even control what you do with yourself. You re pathetic.
And trust me, folks, I m giving you the G rated version here.
what I ve written here.
My mind was a lot more cruel to me than
So I finally got help. Prozac for 2 years and then Effexor for 2 years. It helped&somewhat. I still had some
bad days here and there, but overall& I cut my hair time down to about 15 minutes. Not too bad. Things even got
a little better when I left my rat bastard husband, too. But over the course of the past couple of years, when I had
gained some serious weight, I noticed that it still lingered in the back of my mind, although at least I was able to
control it and for the most part, ignore it when I chose to ignore it.
So now here s cancer&and for some asinine reason, I m back to the girl I was in high school, standing in front
of her mirror every morning, crying because she will never feel pretty unless her hair is perfect. I can t find that place
again&that place where I can take a deep breath, look calmly into the mirror and say, It s just hair as I walk out of
the bathroom. I feel trapped by the mirror again&only this time the voice is different.
And that scares me. Before, the voice in my head was cruel and I knew it was wrong. This time, the voice is
an enabler. It soothes me by saying, Your bad hair is not your fault&you had good hair once&so it s ok, brush
as long as you feel you need to in order to feel beautiful. But just remember that brushing won t make your hair
look good again&you will never look good again. You just have to get used to it. This time, the voice is quiet,
understanding&BELIEVABLE&despite the fact that the message is no less destructive.
So I brush, and brush and brush while my mind begins to play a slow trick on me once again.
This is why I struggle so much with my hair now. This is why I complain so loudly about only losing part of
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my hair instead of counting my blessings. This is why I feel ugly again, why I don t feel like I have an inner beauty.
This is why part of me wishes I HAD lost all of my hair from chemo. I keep thinking that maybe if I didn t
have any hair, I d finally break free of this madness once and for all.
2.4.2
(2003-04-18 14:56)
- giddy - public
I DID IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I moved. I can hardly believe it. I’ve been stressed for several weeks now about everything from housing inspections to financing to furniture purchasing. But it’s done. I’m here, in my new house, with my stuff and my cats and
my new, lower mortgage payment. It’s friggin’ great!
The past few weeks were really topsy-turvy for me, even more so than when I was diagnosed with cancer. With
cancer, I was pretty even keeled. I mean, I was down and all that, but it was, at least, a steady depression. This whole
move thing–I swear I was turning bi-polar. I’d be up one minute, down the next, manically high, then snapping at
everyone...I really was beginning to think that my depression was returning.
But I feel good now...still have a few qualms about this whole thing. I mean, I’m here in a city of about only
150,000 people, having moved from an area of about 2 million. Granted, I’m an hour’s drive from where I was, but
what happens if I lose my job? That’s a long commute, and one thing I remember from my recruiting days, people
take an applicant’s commute into account when offering a job. What if Blake and I don’t work out? Then I’m stuck
here in a little city with no friends or culture or anything to do. It’s a lot of pressure.
But on the flip side, I really like my house, although I’m taking care of a few minor flaws. First on my list is
getting a dishwasher (of course, I have to have a carpenter come out and do some cabinetry work so the thing can
actually be installed). I’ve also decided to go ahead and run a gas line into my kitchen so I can have a gas stove (I can’t
stand cooking on electric, and the previous owners did something funky to the coils so anytime I turn the thing on,
this toxic odor emanates from my kitchen). I figured, hey, as long as I’m getting a new dishwasher/microwave/oven, I
might as well spring for a new refrigerator, too. So, all new stuff. I’m going to see if I can donate the old oven/stove
to the Salvation Army or something, which is what I’ve done with all of my old stuff so far.
What else needs to be done? Oh, my basement. I’m so jazzed about this I could spit. The previous owners partially finished one half of the basement, and I’ve decided to carpet part of it and make it a workout studio. It’s the
perfect space for it...has a little nook for a TV (for my workout DVD’s), and has a perfect spot for my next major
purchase: a weight training machine. It will be so nice to not have to move furniture out of my way to work out.
And finally...the last spot where I’m planning on doing some work is my upstairs. The upstairs attic was converted
into a bedroom, and I’ve decided to make this my library. It’s very quiet and hushed up there, with soft carpeting and
paneled walls. When I replace the roof, I’ve decided to put in a couple of skylights to really open the place up. Then
I’m going to bring up a whole bunch of potted tropical plants :-)
Sigh. Ok, enough gushing about my house. Hope all is well in everyone else’s world.
Karen
2.5
2.5.1
May
Evolution Revisited
(2003-05-02 17:37) - complacent - public
Music: Silence
Wow. I just took a look at all of my past journal entries. Interesting stuff there...although I had to laugh when I got
to the rant about how sick and tired I am of people whining about their lives. Hello, Pot? This is Kettle. You’re
BLACK.
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It’s strange to me, to read over all of those entries. I sense a desperation in there, a profound sense of sadness. Yet, here’s the ironic thing...lately I’ve been looking back with nostalgia on the past year and for some reason, I
remember those times as being very PEACEFUL for me.
Yes, it has been one year since my diagnosis of Stage IV Breast Cancer. May 1st–May Day–was the day.
And it was one of those strange types of anniversaries...the kind of anniversary you keep thinking about and obsessing
about but then forget about on the actual day. Very disappointing, not to mention anti-climactic.
I no longer feel as bleak as I did back then, even though at the time I never felt as if I was being bleak. I
read over the passages where I state I would be lucky to see my 30th birthday or that I have less than 1 % chance
of surviving this disease. Although either of those could very well occur, I’ve come to the conclusion that it doesn’t
matter.
The past several months I’ve become totally engrossed in the daily trials and tribulations of living. Working,
house buying, moving...and I’ve been beating myself up for what I perceived as a regression in my mental state. I
mean, a year ago I was making peace with my imminent death and had found an inner peace from it all. Now, the
inner peace is gone and I’m wrapped up in the mundaneness of life, just like before the cancer. It seems as if I ended
up right where I had started, with my stupid little problems and inconsequential nonsense. I think, though...that what
I’m experiencing isn’t regression but is, in fact, progression.
There’s this old parable about a young man looking for enlightenment, so he decided to climb to the top of
the mountain where enlightenment can be found. He trudges and trudges and on his way to the top, he meets an old
man who is making his way down the treacherous slope of the mountain. The young man is so excited...he stops the
old man and asks him if he has been to the top of the mountain. The old man nods...and the young man is just beside
himself.
”Tell me, what did you see up there? What is enlightenment really like?”
In response, the old man throws down his heaving backpack and throws away his cane and begins to do this
wonderful and invigorating dance, full of joy and expression.
The young man beams. ”Oh, it looks marvelous. I can’t wait to see the top of the mountain. But I have one
question...what happens AFTER?”
The old man stopped his dance. He picked up his burdensome backpack and cane and with a sigh, continued
his trek down the mountain.
I suppose, then, that being back at square one doesn’t necessarily mean that you got there the same way you
did the first time.
Happy May Day.
Karen
2.5.2
Pure as the driven snow...or something
Your [1]Ultimate Purity Score Is...
Category Your Score Average
Self-Lovin’ 50%
Explored the pleasures of the flesh 59.2%
Shamelessness 64.3%
It takes a couple of drinks 75%
Sex Drive 31.6%
I got needs, baby, you gotta unnastan’! 72.8%
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(2003-05-06 16:35) - public
Straightness 0%
Knows the other body type like a map 37.2%
Gayness 62.5%
Had that experience at camp 76.3%
Fucking Sick 73.5%
Dipped into depravity 86.4%
You are 48.59% pure
Average Score: 67.3%
[2]Take The Ultimate Purity Test
and see how you match up!
1. http://www.theferrett.com/purity
2. http://www.theferrett.com/purity
2.5.3
(2003-05-08 23:21)
- public
I am very uncomfortable.
I can’t seem to get used to this house yet. Or this town. Or the people. Or the fact that I’m living alone–no
condo next to me, no one on the other side of my wall. I’m in this little tiny stand alone house on a dark hill that’s
open to the wind and rain and god knows what else hiding in my bushes.
Paranoid? Perhaps. Scared out of my mind? Absolutely.
I don’t know if I’m going to get used to this. I have this old, old house now, and we keep getting these nasty
thunderstorms this spring. Last weekend I found a nice big leak in my roof in the crawl space of my attic. I half
expect the friggin roof to blow off one of these nights.
And I found out that two window panes in my bedroom are cracked. Cracked? I don’t remember them being
cracked before I bought the place. Was someone trying to break in?
Today I was down in my basement, checking on a clogged drain. I didn’t hear Blake upstairs, as the noise
from the washing machine was too loud. When he poked his head around the corner of my utility room, I almost
passed out. I swear he scared me within an inch of my life.
And last night, my car alarm went off when my car was parked in the street. I’ve owned the damn car for 3
years, and NOT ONCE has the alarm ever gone off. Not during thunderstorms, not during fireworks, not even when
stupid me tried to pry open the trunk the day I first had it because I didn’t know the auto-alarm lock also locked the
trunk. I don’t know, but the whole thing freaked me out.
And tonight I was at Blake’s, playing a leisurely game of darts, and the minute I heard it thunder and rain I
bolted. Had to get home, make sure the house was OK, that no one tried to break in and that my cats were still there.
What the hell am I afraid of?
In a word, EVERYTHING.
I’m petrified that someone has noticed that I’m a small, single white female living all alone in a house that
has really poor locks on the doors and no alarm system. I’m petrified that someone has noticed that it’s a pretty
dark walk at night between my detached garage and house. I’m petrified that it wouldn’t take much to pry open any
number of windows in this house, taking my things and leaving a nice big opening so my cats run away.
Every single window in my house has the shades closed, especially at nigt.
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And on my way home from Blake’s tonight, with the lightning blazing and the thunder rolling, my first thought was,
”What am I going to do if there’s a tornado?” And I had this image of myself, cats surrounding me, huddled in my
basement, shaking in a fetal position.
Jesus Christ, I friggin dealt with a terminal illness. You mean to tell me that my greatest fear is living ALONE IN A
SINGLE FAMILY HOUSE?
I had better fucking get used to this. I didn’t shell out thousands of dollars to sit quivering in a corner with
a blanket over my head.
2.5.4
Hump Day Challenge
(2003-05-14 23:05) - Deflated - public
What a rotten week I’m having. And it’s only friggin Wednesday.
I got absolutely NOTHING accomplished on my house this weekend.
I ate...brace yourself...3500 CALORIES on Sunday alone. That’s TWICE what I should be eating to maintain
my weight, let alone lose. And let’s not forget that included in those 3500 calories were 6, yes SIX, Krispy Kreme
Donuts.
I’ve gotten nothing done for work this week other than answer e-mail and coordinate training gigs. Meanwhile, I’ve got documentation deadlines looming and it’s turning out that June is going to be a month of travel HELL
as I make three back to back to back trips to the West Coast.
Blake and I are having issues. We’re both having difficulty adjusting to the changes in our lives, and this
whole inability to have sex is wreaking havoc on our relationship.
Oh, and yesterday. This was great. I decided a few weeks ago to go ahead and get genetically tested for the
BRCA1 and BRCA2 genes (for breast, ovarian and colon cancers). So I’ve done all the stupid little counseling sessions
and finally get an appointment with the revered Dr. Kay. I show up for my appointment yesterday in good spirits and
walked out in tears. He was such a supreme ass...the kind of ass that makes you cower and cry in his presence but
then afterwards makes you wish you’d punched him off of his high horse. He walks in with his two nurse assistansts,
takes a look at my file and says, ”So you want to get genetically tested.” I say, ”Yes.” He shakes his head and flops
my file down on the table. ”I don’t know why you want to do that. You’re Stage IV. It’s not like the results are
going to have any effect on your outcome.” I told him that I’m in complete remission, and that this is information I’d
like to know in the event that, say, six years from now I’m STILL in remission and maybe want to take some type
of preventive surgery to eliminate the risk of ovarian cancer. He looks at me and says, ”Well, I doubt you’ll ever be
in that position.” So then one of the nurses (the nice one) pipes up and says, ”Should she tell her family that she is
having this test done?” He shakes his head and says, ”No, not until you get the results. I guarantee that if you tell
your family now, at least three of them will come knocking on my door wanting to be tested, and frankly, I can’t
justify the cost of that nor do I have the time for that.” Bastard.
Blake doesn’t understand why I let him get to me, but Jesus...the guy all but told me I’m already dead. I’ve
been enjoying a nice break from cancer here...living a normal life, getting all wound up over the stupid mundane things
in life. I KNOW I’m dying. But just for a while...I really want to not think about it. Every time I go to the doctor
for Herceptin, every time I have to have another test, every time I get a bill in the mail, it’s a reminder to me of what
I’ve got. I certainly do not need some prima donna doctor writing me off as a dead woman with the flip of his wrist.
For God’s sake, I’m still a person. Fuck that doctor for treating me like a statistic.
So then today was another beautiful day here in paradise. Rained all day, colder than cold and my asthma
was so bad I couldn’t take a deep breath. Blew through $200 dollars for a down payment on a security system for my
house. The guy who sold it to me made a mistake in the paperwork, so after it was signed he says, ”Oh, gee...I guess
you reap the benefits of my inability to use a calculator.” I’m pretty confused by this, so he shows me how he meant
to charge me $476 for the system instead of the $400. I just joke with him, ”Well, their not going to take it out of
your salary, are they?” He says, ”No, just my commission.” I just look at him and raise my eyebrows, which he takes
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as a cue to continue about how they’ll take it out of his commission. That is one of my biggest pet peeves: people
who try to emotionally manipulate me. If I hadn’t already signed the contract, I’d have sent him on his way.
So then tomorrow... ah, yes, tomorrow. ANOTHER doctor’s appointment.
some surgery I’m having. What surgery this time?
This one is a consultation for
Tubal ligation.
I know that I’ll probably cry tomorrow during the appointment, and I know exactly when it will happen. The
doc will walk in and ask me why I’m doing this. I’ve got the words practiced in my head so well: that I don’t like
kids, I’ve never really wanted to have kids, and now that I’ve got cancer, it doesn’t make sense for me to have a child,
not for my sake nor for a child’s sake. But I know it won’t come out that way. I know that I’ll cry as I tell him that,
and that I’ll end up sounding like a basket case. The fact of the matter is that I know I have to have this surgery...
for me, for Blake...but that doesn’t mean I have to like the reason behind it.
I’ve waffled over this decision for a while now. The anger I feel over it is crushing to me at times. I’m mad
that I had to go off the pill. I’m mad that condoms don’t work for us. I’m mad that we’re not comfortable with other
forms of birth control. I’m mad that Blake isn’t willing to step up to the plate and have a vasectomy. Mad, mad,
mad, MAD that this is on MY plate.
But what other choice do I have?
I can’t help that I can’t take the pill.
I can’t help that we’re both allergic to nonoxynol and latex.
I can’t help that he’s nervous about pregnancy risks with other forms of birth control.
And it’s not fair to ask him to have a vasectomy when he will probably be starting his life over in about ten
years, after I die.
I have never felt so distant from him.
but I don’t think that’s it any more.
I thought it was the whole moving thing and all the stress from that,
We don’t kiss, we don’t touch each other...nothing. Logically I know it’s not me, that there’s nothing wrong
with me, but there’s that one part of me that argues otherwise. I know I’ve changed over the past year...I’ve got scars
where there was once smooth skin; I’ve got ratty frizzy hair that sticks up funny and makes my face look really fat;
the Herceptin makes my skin and breath smell metallic, pungent, and, overall, rather unpleasant. There’s a whole
host of things I’m insecure about. And every time Blake and I roll over and just go to sleep, those insecurities scream
at me until I believe them.
I don’t know why this came into my life, but now that the novelty of cancer has worn off, I find that the
drudgery of it is almost too much to bear.
Sigh. Today was the one year anniversary of my surgery, too. Funny how time flies.
Karen
2.5.5
Money changes everything
(2003-05-21 09:34) - public
Ok, this week was a nice and welcome change for me. Why? Because nothing has happened. No clog in my basement,
no leak in my roof, things are finally getting under control. I finally feel like I’m able to breathe for a change. The last
four months–ok, the last YEAR– of my life have been very, very difficult for me. Didn’t seem so at the time, but you
know, hindsight is 20/20 or something like that.
I’ve been thinking a lot about what’s wrong with the world, and came to an answer that is so painfully obvious
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that I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me sooner. My anser? WE ALL LIVE IN DENIAL OF DEATH. Interesting
that it took me this long to come across this, being that I HAVE OWNED A FUCKING BOOK WITH THIS SAME
TITLE FOR FOUR YEARS NOW. God, I’m so profound.
But seriously...I remember when I was first diagnosed. I kept thinking about death, about what it meant for me,
for my spirituality. I look back at last summer and remember possessing this great sense of inner peace. I was dying.
And it was OK.
Then something happened...I don’t know what, but I lost my footing. Suddenly my world became deadlines and
work and moving and money and all of this other material rot. I was on edge all the time–worrying if my house
would sell, worrying if I had enough money to buy a new one, worrying, worrying, worrying. What happened to my
inner peace? Simple...I let my materialism overcome me. Instead of remembering the big picture (with a big white
cloud...inside joke for Blake there!), I became absorbed in the minutiae of having the nicer house, having the new
appliances, having, having, having.
I’m really beginning to realize how bad materialism is for me. But what do I do? Give up everything I own? I
don’t necessarily think that is the solution. All I would be doing in that case is white-knuckling through a self-imposed
asceticism. Sure, I’d get used to having nothing...but would it really solve the problem of my attachment towards and
desire for material things? There has to be another solution. Unfortunately, I don’t know what that is yet.
I was commenting to Blake yesterday at lunch that people 100+ years ago worked a lot harder than people do today,
but not because there was some type of better work ethic in place then (although I think those that subscribe to
Weber’s theory of the Protestant work ethic might disagree with me). I think they worked harder because they HAD
to–it was a matter of survival. Work became a DAILY DISCIPLINE. And over time, the sense of pride that came from
each day’s accomplishments led to the concept of a work ethic.
We don’t have that same phenomenon anymore. In our society, money is the source of survival. Work is no longer
the central point. Yes, we work for money...BUT...money is not just obtained through hard work. Gifts, inheritance,
lotteries...money is no longer part of a DAILY DISCIPLINE. It becomes an entity unto itself, an object to be obtained.
So no longer do we perceive ourselves to be working for our survival...we now work to obtain a ”thing.” Granted, we
still use that ”thing” to pay for food, shelter, etc. But the direct relationship between work and its fruits is no longer
direct.
The same thing can be seen in the multitude of frivolous lawsuits against food companies. Suing Oreos for trans
fats. Suing McDonald’s for making us obese. Come on. Let’s address the REAL problem here. We, as Americans,
have a really hard time equating our actions with the consequences. If we eat McDonald’s daily, chances are we’re
going to get fat. It’s not rocket science. But we have become so removed from the action/consequence link that it
can’t POSSIBLY be our fault if we gain weight from a Big Mac and Fries. Oh no...it must be the fault of the retailer
who is selling us this slop.
Materialism is crippling us. We no longer understand the results of our actions. It’s why we keep polluting our
air, using pesticides on our food and dumping hormones into our meat supply. It’s why factory farmining is so big,
why we are overfishing our oceans and why sweat shops are increasing in numbers. WE NO LONGER UNDERSTAND
THE CONSEQUENCES OF OUR BEHAVIOR.
I don’t know. I can’t help but think that the key to life is DAILY DISCIPLINE. It’s what I need to do to keep
my bearings in this material world. And maybe this is the one thing that is missing in our society. Maybe this is the
source of all of the spiritual angst that is riddling people.
2.6
2.6.1
I did it.
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June
Have your pets spayed or neutered
(2003-06-05 09:08) - public
Monday morning, I had my tubal ligation. I’m officially sterilized, barren, unable to have children.
The surgery was awful. Since my surgeon was affiliated with St. Alexius (read: CATHOLIC)hospital and is
considered a form of birth control, I had to have my surgery off-site at (drum roll please)a HEALTHSOUTH clinic.
What a place. Nice, bright, beautiful lobby. I go to the receptionist and tell her my name, etc. She calls for
the nurse and tells me to wait. So Blake decides to run to the men’s room, and as soon as he does, the nurse comes
out to get me. She’s asking me about my blood test and pregnancy test that, surprise surprise, the hospital forgot to
fax over that morning. She asks me when I had the pregnancy test done, and I tell her Friday. She looks as me with
this knowing look and says, ”Ok, so since then you haven’t...” and then she starts GRUNTING AND GYRATING
HER PELVIS AT ME (and bear in mind, I’m sitting, she’s standing, so you know where my line of vision was). I just
give her a weak smile and say, ”No.” I’m assuming she was talking about having sex, but her gestures could have easily
been misconstrued as some type of native South American rain dance.
So we get that squared away, and then her gaze pans the room and she asks, ”You didn’t come here by yourself did you? Because you know, you can’t drive home.” I tell her that no, my boyfriend was in the bathroom. She
says OK, and that we can go ahead and go back to the room. As we’re walking back, she yells up to the girl at the
front desk: ”Hey, when her boyfriend comes out of the can, send him on back!”
Out of the CAN? Sheesh... even my plumber doesn’t talk like that. Who SAYS that anymore?
So, we go back and I get all settled with my plastic hat and plastic booties and gown that was apparently
sized to fit someone with hippo-like proportions. I had to sign a bunch of consent forms, which I did with my usual
aplomb, until I got to the friendly ”reminder” form.
I basically had to sign a form indicating that I knew that this was irreversible. That I knew that I never be
able to bear children. That I would become, quote...”BARREN” and ”PERMANENTLY STERILIZED”.
It took everything I had not to cry, there in front of all those people.
My signature on that document seemed to take forever to complete. My hand shook, my eyes were blurry
with held back tears. It just seemed so much more terminal, written there in cold hard letters.
All Blake could do was hold my hand and tell me he loved me.
I handed over the papers, they pumped me full of drugs, and it was done.
I woke up in the midst of a coughing fit from the anasthesia and wearing some type of weird mesh undergarment with a maxi pad to stop the bleeding. My surgery was scheduled for 9 am, and I was out of that clinic by 11:30.
The rest of the day was rough. I couldn’t stop coughing, and I was in the strange state of mental unawareness that was suffocating me as much as my shortness of breath. All I could do was sit there and think, ”You know,
this is probably how my cats felt when I took them in to get fixed.”
Maybe karma isn’t such a good thing after all.
So it’s now Thursday, and things are improving. My coughing is getting better slightly, the pain is subsiding,
and the abdominal bruising looks like it’s going away. Physically, I’m still uncomfortable, but emotioanlly....
I now have a door closed to me. Children, family...all gone.
But what’s funny is that this door closed really on the day I was diagnosed. This surgery is really just a concrete finalization of something that ceased to be an option for me over a year ago.
So I don’t know why this is bothering me so much. I don’t know why I feel this underlying sadness. I mean,
I’m not sad I had the tubal ligation... not sad at all.
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I’m sad because I didn’t want this. Like I said to Blake as I waited for them to wheel me off to surgery, ”I
never thought my life would come down to this.”
I never thought I’d be 29 with a terminal illness, making decisions like, ”Should I keep my breast?” ”Should I
try experimental chemotherapy?” ”Should I get a tubal ligation to prevent pregnancy?”
I never thought I’d be 29 and mad at my mother for smoking herself to death and blaming her incessant
smoking on my childhood and adult health problems.
I never thought I’d be 29 and worried about whether or not my health insurance is going to try to stiff me by
declining my medical bills.
I never thought I’d be 29 and worried about life insurance beneficiaries, living wills, and other things I need
to do to ”get my affairs in order.”
I just never thought I’d be where I’m at in my life: motherless, divorced, dying and a cog in the corporate
wheel.
I know I’m feeling sorry for myself. And I know I shouldn’t. My suffering is tiny compared to what so many
others go through on a daily basis.
Sigh. At least Bob Barker will be pleased with my surgical decision.
Karen
Karen
2.6.2
(2003-06-19 08:35)
- public
Life is good.
I mean REALLY good. Barefoot in the sand GOOD.
I’ve been sitting around on my ass the past week recovering from pneumonia (long story), and I’m stuck with
the overwhelming sense of gratitude I have for my life right now.
I love my house. I love my cats. I love the weather lately. I honest to god want for nothing right now.
Except maybe some of that Orville Redenbacker’s Smart Pop Kettle Corn.
only 8 in the morning.
That’s damned fine stuff, but it’s
But something has been happening to me lately, over the past few weeks. Something is being worked out in
my head. I don’t know what, exactly...but connections are being made, new ideas are forming, old ideas are being
revisited and I’M FINALLY CHANGING INTO A PERSON THAT I WANT TO BECOME.
A few weeks ago Blake and I went to the local natural history museum. I haven’t been to a museum in years,
despite the fact that I worked for one while in grad school. I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed that. I just looked at
everything and began to remember the person I used to be.
I was somewhat of a hippie in college. We’re talking long skirts and birkenstocks, complete with tatoos and
beads in the hair, with a repertoire of friends ranging from sorority sisters (ok, doesn’t quite fit the mold there!) to
older, bearded men and long-haired, unshaven women who wore turquoise bangles and amber necklaces. I hung out at
beatnik local coffee shops to do my studying, ate at the local vegetarian restaurants, and spent almost every waking
hour either pondering the post-modern crises of our world at that time or quietly discussing the ”three-way split”
theory of human evolution with my mentor, Dr. Ambrose. I went to poetry readings to listen to Renato Rosaldo
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(”Culture and Truth”) tell of his experiences in a Latin American prison and how he finally realized that he was a
”majority of one.” I sometimes spent my winter afternoons sitting on a bench in a little known on-campus pre-history
museum located in the University’s oldest building, Haskell Hall, quietly penning my thoughts on what I wanted to
be in my life and what I wanted to do with the overload of knowledge I was absorbing. I spent my summer living
for 8 weeks in a tent with no running water, no electricity, no phone....all for the sole purpose of finding pottery and
bone fragments and anything else that would lead us to know about our past. I also spent my free time working in
a lab...one part of the time processing 15 century bones for diet analysis and another part of the time processing 4.2
million year old soil samples so that we could do stable isotope analysis on them and determine, once and for all, what
type of climate was the originating point of our beloved Australopithecine ancestors.
I went to grad school and things were different. The school, stuck in the middle of America’s third largest
city and renowned for its ivory towers and Old World knowledge, had a different look and feel to it. The learning here
was theoretical...class consisted of sitting around and talking about what Levi-Strauss REALLY meant when he said
that the bricoleur was not quite a brick layer. No one got out and did anything....no digs, no beatnik discussions,
nothing. Everything was done in a study group or focus seminar or something like that, and everything had the sole
purpose of making top grade. There were no beatnik coffee shops there, birkenstocks were replaced with Johnson &
Murphy and my hair beads looked escessively out of place. And that was even in MY department, which seemed to
be the red-headed campus child in the sense that...”we were all a little ’different’ over in that social science building.”
Mingling with the snooty b-schoolers, with their ”budget” Polo clothing, stock portfolios and weekend yacht excursions,
made the whole ”fitting in” thing all the worse.
That’s not to say grad school was a wash. In terms of knowledge, I learned more there than in my previous 4
years of undergrad. I did get to work in a cool little art museum, doing everything from member recruitment to actual
curator work. And I did get to participate in Russ Tuttle’s hominid morphology class. The fact that I, simple little
girl from a farm town in the middle of nowhere, actually cradled in my hands the fossils and casts from our ancestral
species that became extinct millions of years ago....that I have seen, first hand, the difference between the foramen
magnums of A. afarensis and H. Habilis...ok, maybe that doesn’t mean a lot to the lay person, but this was a big deal
to me.
I have always been interested in our origins...in our culture...in our planet. The first school project I ever became excited about was the big Mesa Verde project our teacher assigned for us in 3rd grade. We had to do a drawing
of what we thought life was like in Mesa Verde. According to my parents, I talked about this project for WEEKS,
even though it was a one day gig in class. But I remember that project distinctly...and Mesa Verde is still on my list
of places I need to yet see in my lifetime.
As I got older, my parents and I began to do a little traveling, and I’ve been thinking about those vacations.
We didn’t travel to Disney or the Dells or any of that other commercial rot. No, my parents took me to other places,
like Northern Wisconsin, where we spent several days exploring the spectacular waterfalls on the Black River or
looking for rocks along the shores of Little Girl’s Point on Lake Superios. Or we went to national parks.... Painted
Desert, Grand Canyon, Rocky Mountain National Park. Even during the three years we went to Washington DC for
the spelling bee, we always took a trip to the ocean...Delaware, Assateague Island, etc. Sure, the Lincoln Memorial
was beautiful... but I was more interested in watching the horseshoe crabs and collecting shells.
The point in all of this is that I’ve always been drawn to the natural world...and what I’m going through
right now is a re-discovery of that part of myself.
I am extremely unhappy with the state of the world today. I am unhappy with the corporate overrun and
American greed. I am unhappy with the constant bombardment of media ideas that state that the mark of a man’s
worth is his net monetary worth. I am unhappy with the fact that abstract manufactured items have replaced our
planet’s naturally produced items as treasures to collect and horde.
But as I look back on myself, on my life, I remember the early lessons I learned. I remember learning individual choice MATTERS. Simple concept, it seems...but oh so easily forgotten when society treats you like just another
sheep in a herd whose sole purpose is exploitation.
I CAN make a difference. Maybe not a huge one. Maybe not a statistically significant one. But I can make
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a difference to myself, and frankly... lead by example.
I snapped the other day. May 26th, to be exact. In the middle of a mouthful of a chicken breast sandwich, I
lost my taste for meat. Literally. And I lost my taste for a lot of other things in my life. And a decision was made,
born if you will, not from logic but from passion.
The decision is that I am going to change. I’m not just going to think about it any longer, wonder how to do
it, strategize on where to begin...I just am going to do it. In fact, it’s already started through little or no effort on
my part. It’s going to take time and effort to get the rest of the way there, but the marble has been rolled onto the
chute and there is no going back now. And for the first time in years I feel elated, relieved, light as a feather. And as
of right now, the changes that I used to think about don’t feel quite so overwhelming. They no longer loom over me
like a sword of Damacles. I WANT them. I’m excited about them. And I am eagerly anticipating the new me that is
going to come from all of this, from finally evolving into the person I had envisioned myself being so many years ago,
when I would quietly walk the halls of my little museum.
No more meat or animal products. Selling my car. Canceling my cable tv. Living as close to nature as possible. Going back to school and dropping out of corporate America. Some of these can be done quickly. Others, like
school, will take time...years even.
But this is in my blood. I’ve known it all along. It just took me 10 years of living like a consumer to prove
it to myself.
But that’s OK...because now I know. I KNOW.
Karen
2.6.3
Fatland
(2003-06-22 15:29) - public
Issues, issues, issues today.
I get up each morning with great intentions. Today, I’m going to eat right! And by the end of the day, I find
that I’ve eaten not only more than I intended but in some cases more than my actual caloric needs. Which, of course,
means only one thing: weight gain.
And indeed there’s weight gain.... to the tune of about 7 pounds in this past month. I could write a whole
bunch of drivel here on how I’ve been on Prednisone for 3 weeks and it causes weight gain and appetite issues blah
blah blah...but I know it’s just an excuse. And what’s interesting is that the only reason I just wrote that last sentence
is because I’m hoping someone else reads that and writes back to me to stop being so hard on myself, that Prednisone
is awful, blah blah blah. I’m basically FISHING for an enabler here because I don’t want to accept the responsibility
of overeating.
I don’t get it. I’m a reasonable, successful, intelligent, enlightened woman. I completed a Master’s degree at
an Ivy League school in 9 months. I survived an abusive marriage. I watched my mother suffer and die a premature
death as result of her own inability to give up smoking. I have fought and overcome so many obstacles in my life and
have been fortunate to afford success after success after success.
Except with this. For whatever reason, I seem to fail every time I try to lose weight.
I was a fat kid. I mean, REALLY fat. Fat to the point where all I had to wear in 5th grade were alternating
baby pink and baby blue sweatsuits (in a size women’s 16). The teasing was relentless and heartbreaking, and my
mother had me on diet after diet to try to slim me down per my doctor’s orders. I did the cabbage diet, the rotation
diet, and, finally, Dexatrim. All at the ripe age of 10. None of it worked, of course. But nature smiled upon me and
gave me a growth spurt, so at least I went into 6th grade much smaller and much less the target of schoolyard bullies.
I was still fat, though. Smaller, yes, but still fat. But the small success seemed to be enough for me and I
trounced around my school like I was Twiggy. Somewhere in my pre-adolescent brain, I had morphed my body image
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into thinking I was smaller than I really was. And for a while, it was nice. Denial covered me like a blanket and
luckily no one in my peer group ever really called attention to my weight....which just further reinforced my belief that
I WAS skinny, just like everyone else.
I pretty much stayed fat through Jr. High and high school, but it was that really weird fatness that always
remained unspoken. I was never fat enough to be the butt (no pun intended) of anyone’s jokes any longer...but I was
fat enough to never get asked to dance, to never have boys interested in me and to never be the one to get picked for
any type of team in gym class. I knew somewhere inside of me I was fat, but no one ever SAID anything and denial
raked over me so strongly that again I reveled in it and therefore did nothing to analyze the situation.
I hit high school, and my weight became what I call a Chinese water torture issue. It was always there, in
the back of my mind, making me miserable...yet not powerful enough for me to do anything to address it. Instead, I
would stand alone in my mirror, punching my stomach in punishment and feeling such an extreme internal rage at
the fact that it wasn’t fair I was fat when other people could eat anything they wanted and be model beautiful. Yet I
still hadn’t made the connection between the food I ate and the shape of my body, so I just hated the world for it’s
unfairness and, of course, blamed (G?)god for how I looked.
Then came college. Good old college....full of lookist sorority rushes, freshman girl wet T shirt contests and a
whole myriad of eating disorder groups. I spent my entire four years in college paralyzed by my weight. EVERYTHING revolved around my weight...did this make me look fat? Oh, god, I shouldn’t have eaten that. I might as well
keep dating this loser because no one else could ever like me. EVERY DECISION I EVER MADE HAD A WEIGHT
COMPONENT TO IT. I was miserable, uncomfortable in my own skin, unable to talk to people for fear they would
judge me for my weight. But it was at this point that I began to really evaluate my eating patterns and behaviors for
the first time.
You’d think, after ten years of insight, that I’d have some answers. Guess what, I don’t.
I eat all the time. I eat when I’m sad. I eat when I’m happy. I eat when I’m bored. Eating, eating, eating.
I cannot, for the life of me, figure out what it is food is trying to fulfill in my life. So I eat, because I’m confused.
It’s funny...I go through the same mental battle right before I eat. First thought: I’m hungry. Second thought: but
you just ate an XXX hours ago. Third thought: Well, I had a hard workout/prednisone/insert justification here
as to why I might be hungry again. Fourth though: Ok, but eat something light, your next meal is due in XXX
hours. Fifth thought: Ok, I’ve got some vegetables/fruit/health food on hand. Sixth thought: UGH. God, you
know, a cheeseburger/fries/insert really high calorie/high fat food here sounds really good right now. Eight thought:
You can’t...you promised yourself. Although.... Ninth thought: ...although you had a hard workout/prednisone/life
sucks/you have cancer/you’re dying soon/you already have a boyfriend that finds you attractive/you just lost 40
pounds so it’s ok/you’ll eat better later or tomorrow/etc. Tenth thought: Oh, OK, you talked me into it! This is
going to be SO GOOD.
I have a similar dialogue after I eat.
First thought: I can’t believe it’s gone already. Seems like I just sat down to eat. Second thought: Yeah,
that was really good. REALLY good. Third thought: Ok, now I can’t eat the rest of the day to make up for this.
Fourth thought: WHAT? WHAT DO YOU MEAN???? YOU CAN’T DEPRIVE ME. Fifth thought: But that was
the deal! Sixth thought: Oh, come on. We just had this delicious, awesome meal...didn’t it feel GOOD to be a glutton
for a little while? To just totally stuff yourself so that your belly feels full for once? Seventh thought: But look at
me...I’m hideously fat! Eighth thought: Well, all the more reason to eat! Eating feels SO GOOD...it will dispel those
negative thoughts in a flash. Ninth thought: I can’t keep doing this to myself...what happened? I just lost all that
weight...what happened to the will power I had back then? Tenth thought: Guess it’s gone. Guess you’re destined to
be fat. Get used to it and for God’s sake, eat something. Eleventh thought: No, that can’t be. No one is destined to
be fat...I’m just a loser. Twelfth thought: Look. You’re fat. You’re ugly. You always have been and always will be.
You don’t deserve the privilege of NOT eating, nor, frankly, do you deserve the privilege of ever looking good. What
would you do with it anyways? You’ve got a boyfriend. Society is changing anyways. I mean, look at all of the other
really fat people around here. You’re hardly one of THEM. Thirteenth thought: But wait...your’e saying I’m fat, but
that compared to the rest of society I’m not that bad? Fourteenth thought: Sigh. Fat AND stupid. You don’t deserve
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anything I give you. You’re a pathetic blob of fat.
And so it goes. Day after day after day. I can see it happening, yet I can’t seem to find a way to break out
of this pattern or to stop the daily abuse my mind heaps upon me.
When did I learn to hate myself so much? Wherever did I get the notion that I’m not worthy of anything?
And why, why, why, WHY can’t I take responsibility for this?
2.6.4
Want pink corn on the cob? It’s just around the corner, thanks to biotech.
(2003-06-24 08:42) - Highly irritated - public
[1]Bush Urges European Union to Drop Resistance to Genetically Modified Food
Ok, this makes me so mad I could spit. Fair warning, what I’m about to write is essentially a ”shoot from
the hip” opinion and rambles needlessly. I’m sure later on I’ll have some more well-thought out reasoning as to why
I’m opposed to this.
I’m really, really REALLY sick and tired of big business running my life. And I’m really, really, REALLY sick
and tired of having a president that continually milks the humanitarian slant every time he wants to push an agenda
that will make his friends’ (and ultimately, his own) pockets a little thicker.
Famine in Africa? Yes, it’s a shame. Let’s do something about it.
How about we take a page from Francis Moore Lappe and begin to eat a little lower on the food chain? It’s
not bloody rocket science here. If it takes 10 pounds of grain to make one pound of beef....hmmm.... seems to me you
can feed more people on that 10 pounds of grain than on that 1 pound of beef. So why don’t we all just eat less meat,
and then we won’t NEED to genetically modify our food to produce more? We’ll already have a surplus naturally.
Good luck with that sell. You’d have to bump it up against the Texas cattle ranchers, who are one of the top
lobbying groups in Washington and who have been luxuriating in the fact their Texan president can be easily swayed
in their favor with sizeable campaign contributions.
So the solution is to genetically modify foods so that corn is hardier, less pest resistant and can yield a better
crop.
This all makes for a VERY nice little PR move. Dear GOD, people in the world are STARVING! But, thanks
to our friends at Monsanto and ConAgra, we now have ways to ”enhance” our food production capabilities so that we
make more! We can feed the world!
Man... in one fell swoop, our beloved president can be pro-big business and look like Ghandi at the same
time. Moreover, it places in the mind of the average American the idea that this type of technology is GOOD...that
we can use it to DO GOOD THINGS FOR OTHER PEOPLE.
No, what we are feeding is ourselves, and it’s a diet that’s killing us. The only reason anyone in this country
wants to produce more grain is so that we can stuff our cattle so that we can maintain our ”Beef: it’s what’s for
dinner” diet. Which is fine... eat beef...but we’re eating it at the expense of others who are starving and then, if we
follow Bush’s line of logic, expect biotech to bail us out.
WE’RE NOT FIXING THE PROBLEM. We’re just putting a big biotech band-aid over the whole thing.
And the poor American farmers. American farmers are losing $300 million in sales per year? Please. I love
general, vague statistics like that. What constitutes a farmer in this sense? Hog farmers? Cattle farmers? Let’s look
at what they are including in the reference group. And let’s also look at the fact that it’s $300 million in SALES.
What about revenue? Or profit? I’d like some hard figures on that. But besides that, $300 million is a drop in the
bucket compared to the subsidies (i.e. agri-welfare) doled out each year to these poor, large scale, industrial farmers.
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It’s funny. I grew up in a farm town. Most of the farmer’s there have a net worth ranging from around
$500,000 on the low end to the multi-millions on the high end. Even during the mid-80’s farm crisis (remember Farm
Aid?), no one really suffered all that much. Granted, it’s a tiny slice of Americana where I was from, but you’d think
that at least ONE of them would have had something to say about those destitute times.
The point in all of this random rambling is that I’m mad. I don’t want genetically modified foods. I don’t
trust eating them, and frankly, it’s an extremely short-sighted way of solving a problem that can be solved via a
re-distribution of food supplies, sustainable farming practices, and, frankly, changing our self-indulgent diets.
I’m sure I’ll write more on this later, but for now, it feels good to vent.
Karen
1. http://story.news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&u=/nm/20030624/wl_nm/bush_biotech_dc_11
2.6.5
(2003-06-25 20:18)
- Desolate - public
So I spent part of last month in the hospital and it seems as if it were for nothing. I spent the past month on steroids
and just finished up my last dose of them Monday, only to have the shortness of breath return with a vengeance. It
has been increasing in severity practically by the hour these past few days.
I’m so frustrated I could scream. But I can’t, because I can’t take a deep enough breath to do so.
I KNEW I shouldn’t have done radiation treatment. Being that I was Stage IV, they told me it would be a
50/50 thing for me. It might help, it might not. But they said the side effects were pretty minimal, so it made sense
to me to go ahead with it.
And now it looks as if I made the wrong choice. I’m so mad at myself. I put myself through treatment that
seems to have done nothing but scar my lungs to the point where it looks like I might have permanent breathing
problems.
God, when does it end? All I want is a break from all of this... from dealing with cancer and treatment and
the side effects and the endless testing, testing, testing...
I have yet another appointment with my doctor Tuesday, but I’m not sure I can wait that long to see him.
The breathing is getting worse...and I don’t want to wait as long as I did before and end up in the hospital.
I just cannot express my rage at this. I’m tired of doctors. I’m tired of needles. I’m tired of waiting for test
results. I’m tired of living my life with this goddamned disease hanging over my head.
Throughout all of this, I’ve never been jealous of those who are able to live a ”normal” life.
am. Today, for the first time since my diagnosis, I wish this thing had never happened to me.
But today...
I
I don’t care how much I didn’t like myself before cancer. Today... I would give up everything I have learned
so far just to be healthy again.
Just to be able to take a deep breath without feeling like I have a lead weight on my chest.
Just to be able to run and jump and dance like I used to.
Just to be able to get up in the morning and have spilled coffee as my primary gripe for the day.
Today....I actually want the life of quiet desperation offered to most people. I want my biggest choice to be
whether or not I should buy the strawberries on sale at the market instead of whether or not I should keep my
breast/join a clinical trial/remove my ovaries. I’m so jealous of these other people, living their mundane little lives...so
jealous it hurts.
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Just for a day.... I want to be someone else.
I don’t care who. At this point, anyone will do.
2.6.6
Cancer Schmancer
(2003-06-27 15:09) - public
Wow, I’m not going to die of cancer AFTER all!!!!!
Happy Deathday!
Your name:
kamigirl25
You will die on: Friday, September 18, 2026
You will die of:
Snake Bite
Username:
____________________
What’s my Deathday?
[1]Created by [userinfo.gif] Quill
1. http://www.livejournal.com/users/quill18/
2.6.7
Quote of the day
(2003-06-28 16:12) - public
From civil rights activist Dick Gregory:
”Animals and humans suffer and die alike. If you had to kill your own hog before you ate it, most likely you would not
be able to do it. To hear the hog scream, to see the blood spill, to see the baby being taken away from its momma,
and to see the look of death in the animal’s eye would turn your stomach. So you get the man at the packing house to
do the killing for you. In like manner, if the wealthy aristocrats who are perpetrating conditions in the ghetto actually
heard the screams of ghetto suffering, or saw the slow death of hungry little kids, or witnessed the strangulation of
manhood and dignity, they could not continue the killing. But the wealthy are protected from such horror....If you can
justify killing to eat meat, you can justify the conditions of the ghetto. I cannot justify either one.”
Well said.
2.7
2.7.1
July
Good news, bad news
(2003-07-08 22:23) - public
The past week of my life has...almost literally...been a whirlwind.
I’ll just start at the beginning.
On Tuesday I got the results of my DNA test...and about fell off the chair when I did. I tested NEGATIVE
for the BRCA1 and BRCA2 gene. Everyone was shocked...even the doctor. I was supposed to have another
”counseling” session to go along with this, but what’s there to counsel me on? I do not have the mutations that would
almost guarantee that, at some point in my life, I would develop either breast cancer (a second one), ovarian cancer or
colon cancer. So my currect breast cancer....was a random mutation. Perhaps it was caused by my mother smoking
during her pregnancy with me, perhaps it was caused by my lifelong tendency towards being overweight, or perhaps it
was the 10+ years of birth control pills. Whatever, the case, the mutation was NOT because I’m genetically deformed
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in some way.
The news was good...and bad at the same time. It’s a huge weight off my shoulders to know that I didn’t
test positive for these genes, yet at the same time...I feel this empty space. If I WAS BRCA1/2 positive, at least I
could blame my cancer on the genes and know that there wasn’t anything I could do to change things. Now...I don’t
know WHAT caused it. And if I don’t know what caused it, I can’t do anything to prevent it from happening again
or recurring. Makes me feel very unsettled.
So that was Tuesday. Thursday I went for my PET scan.
Remission. STILL IN REMISSION. Not a single hot spot showed up anywhere.
Again, good news, bad news. Good news in that I have another reprieve from treatment and side effects and
doctor’s appointments. Bad news in that I feel another empty space. I spent the past year focusing on cancer. NOW
what do I do with my life? I don’t want to return to the mundane existence I had before my diagnosis...yet, I can’t
think of anything else to do. It’s almost too late...I find myself getting all irriated by little things in my life, and I
can’t seem to find that enlightened perspective I had when I was first diagnosed. That frustrates me...I don’t want to
revert back to this person I was before my diagnosis, but I seem to be drifting that way no matter what I do. Crazy as
it sounds, part of me almost WANTED a recurrence...something to snap me back into the inner peace I felt almost a
year ago. But then again...did cancer really provide me with inner peace, or merely a distraction from my daily trials
and tribulations, an excuse to drop out of the rigamarole of daily existence? I suppose exploring this issue is my next
foray into the unknown.
So...that was Thursday. Friday rolls around and was a disappointing holiday. Blake and I went to my Dad’s.
That’s normally fun, except that he invited some of his friends over, too. Now I’m glad my Dad’s making friends and
all...and this was my second time meeting them...but sheesh! I did not like them at all this time. They were dressed
to the hilt (for a barbecue?) and all they cared about was getting drunk and smoking. I have nothing in common
with them at all...which is fine, they’re not MY friends...but I guess I thought it was rude that all they did was park
their butts on my Dad’s deck and smoke the entire time we were there (they know that cigarette smoke really bothers
me and that I can’t be around it). I felt bad for my Dad...and to his credit, he called and apologized the next day.
But the whole thing was awkward and weird...and made for a really sucky holiday.
But it gets even better. Friday night, Rockford had a huge storm...a microburst...and the city was pummeled
with 112 mph straight line winds for about half an hour (equivalent to an F1 tornado). The power went out about
4 am, the storm blew over and Blake and I went back to sleep. What Blake and I woke up to Saturday morning
was unreal. The city was devastated...over 60,000 houses/businesses were out of power (basically, the entire city).
Trees were uprooted about every 20 feet...BIG trees...the kind that had been shrouding the neighborhood for decades.
Houses were smashed, cars were buried, power lines were draped across roads and sidewalks...it was like nothing I had
ever seen before, and I grew up in the middle of tornado alley and had seen my fair share of twisters. Both Blake and
I were very lucky...no trees had fallen on our property (and I was sweating it...I have a huge and very old oak tree
rooted about 3 feet behind my garage...tall enough to smash BOTH the garage and my house should it ever fall). But
the city was really in ruin...it took us about 25 minutes to drive the 1.25 miles from his house to my house because of
all the downed trees. I half expected to have my house full of water when I walked in the door, but other than a little
puddle on my counter top (caused by the horizontal rain sneaking between the window sill and pane), my house was
dry as a bone. No water in the crawl space OR in the basement.
Anyways...I finally got my electricity back at noon today. During the four days it was out, the temperatures
averages 94F with 75 % humidity. It was miserable. I lost about $200 in groceries and an additional $100 for hotel
rooms (ever try to sleep in a house that is about 90F with no breeze?). But I can’t complain...there are still large parts
of the city without power even now. ComEd and Asplundh trucks are practically permanent fixtures around here.
So...that was my week in a nutshell. Let’s hope the next seven days are a little calmer.
Karen
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2.7.2
Gotta love the hypocrites
(2003-07-10 14:47) - public
Ok, saw this rant in the Adbusting group from this little snit and was going to post a response, but decided against it.
Seems as if most of the intelligent people in the Adbusting community have steered clear from this post, but it still
irritated me anyways. So, I decided to quietly post my comments here.
Comment
Republican, right wing, not educated, not creative, and just plain ignorant, are low class (and im not talking about $ $)
totally uncivilized, white trash, or just plain dumb & selfish by choice don’t bother.. i don’t have time to school you...”
”Just don‘t come at me with your judgements. I despise ignorance, narrow minded & hateful people, etc.”
Wow... pulled those quotes out of your livejournal. For someone who is anti-intellectual, you certainly have a
huge laundry list of criteria that people must meet before they can be your friend. White trash? Low class? Seems to
me that those are white Western concepts, not to mention judgments. But I digress.
That’s great that you’re a Nihilist...it’s very trendy right now. Seems like everyone is jumping on the bandwagon to be just anti-everything. Why is that? Because it’s precisely what is being marketed to us now. What’s
so ironic is that many people are walking around, patting themselves on the back for their ”creative” self thinking
that they don’t even realize that they’re being programmed. So they continue with the delusion...I’m anti-THIS and
anti-THAT because that’s what I really think. In reality, it’s not what you think... it’s just what’s cool at the moment,
only you don’t know it. And hey, let’s remember that Nihilism is also romantic. What sways you more? Blowing
up a factory that is environmentally unfriendly? Or going out there and rallying people to vote, thus enacting social
change within the current social construct?
The Russian intelligentsia didn’t get very far with their Nihilistic tactics either. They may have overthrown
their czar, but it didn’t change the people. Perhaps this was one of the factors that allowed the development of a
subsequent totalitarian regime...perhaps because the PEOPLE didn’t know the significance.
People love Nihilism because it s romantic&not because it solves anything. Nihilism never really addresses
HOW to fix the problem, just to do away with it. So you re anti-American? Great. Let s blow away everyone
associated with this damned, foul country. Be done with it once and for all. But then that begs the question&.
What s next?
And what do YOU suggest as an alternative to what we currently have?
you have nothing more to complain about?
What do YOU suggest we do once
ADDED AS EDIT TO POST
I also think it’s amazing that this person claims to love Mother Earth and all things on it, yet aligns herself with
E.L.F. Reminiscent of a pro-life person who finds justification in bombing abortion clinics.
It’s just funny that I stumbled across this person. Blake and I were talking the other day about people like
this and how they waste a lot of their time defining themselves by what their AGAINST instead of trying to find
productive solutions to the problems they claim to despise so much. And what is amazing is that the whole concept of
this–definition by exclusion–is what is being marketed to us so heavily. ”Obey your thirst” and other like ad campaigns
will have us believe we’re making up our own minds when in reality, we’re not. Personal choice is the marketing tool
of choice right now.
What is also funny about people who are against everything is that I think there is a lack of insight as to
what ”being against something” really means. Ok, America is this huge waste of space. Let’s blow it up! Let’s be
done with it. Ok, great. But if you live in America and want to see it laid to waste, are YOU really ready to give up
your house/car/insert any lifestyle option here? Most people aren’t. We SHOULD be able to...that’s the entire point
of being unattached...but most people, especially the ones who vocalize it the most, are not.
That’s why I think that if you want to scream from the mountaintops to everyone about how horrid things
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are, you had better be prepared to give it all up in a moment’s notice. You’d also better be prepared to have a solution
to fill the vacuum that will be left in the wake of the destruction. To do otherwise is irresponsible.
My two cents. Or as some people in livejournal like to call it, ”intellectual masturbation.” LOL
Personally, I’ll take intellectual masturbation any day, being that the other option is to just not think things
through at all and be swayed by the swan song of our culture telling us to ”fight the unseen enemy.”
(enemy=anything you want it to be, as long as you’re fighting SOMETHING)
Sigh. Free Tibet.
2.7.3
Matthiessen
(2003-07-12 12:37) - excited - public
Going hiking today with Blake to my favorite wilderness spot in Illinois (actually, probably one of my favorites in the
world).
If anyone is ever in Illinois, seek out Matthiessen State Park. It’s a fairly unknown park in the Illinois system,
yet one of the most gorgeous (I would argue that is it THE most gorgeous).
Blake has never been there...I’ve been trying to drag him there for a few years now and we’ve always been too
busy or had other weekend obligations. I think he’ll be very pleasantly surprised at how beautiful the place really is.
But I suppose I’m prejudiced...this park was a sanctuary for me during my early 20something angst stage when I
thought that life sucked. I would go there every evening (despite it being a 40 minute drive) and run the bluff trails,
then just sit and listen to the waterfall and the wind in the trees.
Illinois Heritage Corridor history lesson
Matthiessen State Park was formerly a private property owned by Mr. Matthiessen of Peru, IL. During his ownership
of the park, he constructed three arched stone bridges (ranging in 100 to 200 feet in length)to span the gorge, which
averages about 200 feet in depth. The bridges are connected by a 4 mile circumfrence bluff trail, which winds around
the edge of the gorge and bumps up against weathered sandstone outcroppings. Mr. Matthiessen also constructed a
two stone staircases leading to the gorge floor (one staircase per each respective side of the waterfall).
Upon Mr. Matthiessen’s death, the private property was bequeathed to the LaSalle County (and perhaps the city
of Utica, IL...can’t seem to find good records of this). The property was converted into a public park and included the
addition of a now dammed up lake, which to this day still feeds the small ravine creek. After several years, the State of
Illinois decided to add this park to the other state parks in the area (most notably, Starved Rock and Buffalo Mound
State Parks). The state park included not only all of Deer Park, it also added a second portion about one mile to the
east. This section is known as the River Section of Matthiessen State Park, and concerns the area where the ravine
creek meets the Vermillion River (the Vermillion River meets the Illinois River a few miles downstream yet, and is not
part of the park).
Matthiessen is an area rich with pre-historical artifacts (in fact, I myself have stumbled upon numerous flint bifaces,
projectile points and charcoal bits during my hiking of the gorge floor). The area is closely associated with Kaskaskia,
the old native American city on the Illinois River where Joliet and LaSalle first met the Illiniwek tribe. Additionally,
the area is also associated with the late mound builder natives of the Hopewellian sphere. Local archaeological finds
at nearby Utica Mounds have dated some of the existence there to around 900 AD.
end lesson
So, in a nutshell...go there. You won’t be sorry. ;-)
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2.7.4
(2003-07-15 21:55)
- public
[1]Study links animal fat to breast cancer risk
Just one more excellent reason for me to not eat animals.
1. http://news.yahoo.com/fc?tmpl=fc&cid=34&in=health&cat=breast_cancer
2.7.5
The Politics of Musing
(2003-07-23 21:27) - public
You know, I’ve decided that I’m really a lot happier when I keep my nose out of current events and such. If I read
one more informed, enlightened, muckraking article/op-ed/news bulletin on the state of the world today, I think I’ll
scream. Who cares anymore?
Oh, sure. I can see you wagging your head at me and saying, ”Well, if everyone took that stance, what kind
of shape would the world be in?”
Maybe the solution to the problem isn’t to focus on the macrocosm of global politics anymore. Maybe we all
need to work on ourselves–our spirituality, our sense of wonder, our relationship with those things in nature that just
make us stop and pay attention. Work on the microcosm for a change.
It’s a Catch-22, though. For every person that puts down the sword of political activism in search of a personal journey, another ten people hop on the global bandwagon of ”change through action” so that we can make this
world a better place for our children. Where did we ever get the notion that we COULD change things?
I’m getting a little tired of the high and mighy attitude some people I know have. It’s the attitude whereby
they feel they are morally superior because they choose to live their lives in a particular manner that conflicts with
you. Please. Like there’s a ”right way” to live. Even some native tribes allow murder under certain circumstances.
Who are we to judge?
We aren’t anyone...we’re at best fingernail fungus on the hands of a very large universe. Our morals are no
more concrete than deciding that red is the best color. Inalienable rights? Only by human definition.
That’s not to say that I like the thought of suffering in this world. But it’s funny how suffering is always a
reflection of our own mind. People think I’m suffering. ”How is it you get out of bed every morning?” is something I
hear time and time again. What do you mean how do I do it? It’s simple. Under no control of my own, around 8 am
CDT every day my eyes open. Suffering? No. It’s just...my life.
We always have this vision of what suffering is...it usually involves emotional pain and almost always involves
physical pain. But is it really suffering? When I was in the hospital recovering from surgery, was I suffering? Not to
me. I was in pain...and my focus of the moment was to deal with the pain. I didn’t have time to pontificate on the
origin of my pain and where it placed me in the context of a human tragedy, nor did I have time to think about finding
a saviour to release me from the pain. In fact, nothing focuses you more on the present moment than physical pain.
But to an outsider...it was suffering. To an outsider, I should have been wringing my hands in agony over the
horrors that was wrought upon my body, and I should have been crying out for someone to save me. Perhaps a miracle
doctor. Perhaps a religious miracle. Or perhaps a political organization that somehow had the power to bring peace
to me.
Suffering...is in the eye of the beholder.
We only think we’re suffering when we look at ourselves through the lens of other people.
So why bother with changing the world? Doesn’t it make sense for that first step to be changing ourselves?
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2.7.6
My mother, my friend; my mother, my enemy
(2003-07-28 20:37) - public
I miss my Mom.
I sat next to a mother and daughter on the plane yesterday, both of them flying home to Michigan. I listened
as the mother talked about her hair, and how it tends to get an ”S” curve in the back of it. The daughter said, ”I know
what you mean...but I never noticed that you ever got an ”S” curve in your hair...it’s always looked straight to me.”
I want to talk about my hair to my Mom. I want to talk about my breast cancer, my inability to have children, and all of the other things that are making me a woman.
I wonder if I’m like her? She died almost 5 years ago...so long that I can’t remember anything about her except for her bad smoking habit and her incessant dieting during my childhood.
I know she liked the rose scented lotions and crystal candy dishes and gold bracelets. But I don’t know her
favorite color, her favorite song, or her favorite book. What would she think of me? Would we talk about politics?
Would she like my new house? WOULD SHE BE PROUD OF ME?
My mother was not perfect. She was a know-it all, someone who would make up things just to be right in a
discussion. She didn’t take me seriously most of the time...told me I was ”full of shit” when I was 16 and told her I
thought I might have a thyroid problem. And she often gave me social advice that, had I followed it, would have made
me the outcast of the school. She hated her life when I was little...she dieted excessively, spent inordinate amounts of
time on her appearance, and ended up cheating on my father (and then blaming me when he found the evidence). My
mother...was FAR from perfect.
But she was a good mother, too. She babied me completely anytime I was sick (and that was a lot as a
child). She made sure I went AWAY to college, despite my father’s continual efforts to persuade her that I didn’t need
to do that. And she loved me...in only the way a mother can lover her child.
So I end up having this post-mortem love-hate relationship with her. In fact, I think I’m more angry at her
now than I’ve ever been. I’m mad at her for leaving me. But I’m more mad that the only reason she died of her
cancer was because she spent her lifetime smoking. When I was 7 years old, I was diagnosed with severe respiratory
allergies. My parents were ready to get rid of my beloved pets and rip up the carpet in my room to lay tile...but give
up smoking? Please. My mother couldn’t be bothered to even take it outside to help her daughter. Middle of winter
with the heat on, or middle of summer with the air conditioner on...my mother kept those windows locked and smoked
a pack and a half a day in our littl 900 square foot home. I spent my entire life at home living in a toxic haze.
I’m mad at her for her dieting, too. I remember a time when she was so obsessed with her diet and being a
size 10 that I didn’t even matter to her. I so vividly remember the one outfit she prided herself on wearing: it was a
gray wool skirt with a white pinstripe blouse. Six years later, at the age 12, I found myself wearing that same blouse
and being on that same diet.
I suppose I’m going through the stereotypical phase in my life where I blame my mother for all of my problems. And maybe it’s true...maybe I wouldn’t be so weight obsessed if I hadn’t seen her struggle with it so much.
Maybe I wouldn’t be dying of cancer had I not been forced to live a lifetime of second hand smoke.
I keep telling myself I need to take responsibility for my own life. But I can’t seem to. I can’t seem to get to
the point where I rub my hands together and say, ”Ok, blaming anyone doesn’t solve anything. Let’s find a way to
deal with the issue and not worry about how we got here.”
I want vindication for all of these things in my life. I can’t seem to accept the fact that I ate myself into a
blob or that I ate myself to breast cancer. The thought of it is almost too painful to bear.
So I blame the one person who is no longer here to defend herself. I blame the one person I can hate with no
repercussions.
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Only that it does have repercussions. It allows me to wallow in my blame instead of facing the unspeakable
responsibility of the consequences of my own gluttonous actions. And it reminds me quite painfully of the place in my
heart that used to be reserved for my mother...the place that remembered the shopping trips and mid-week lunches
and mother-daughter chats.
My weight was a definite risk factor for my cancer.
My weight is high because I eat.
End of story. There is no one else involved.
And if my Mom were here today...she’d understand every single word of this.
2.8
2.8.1
August
Top Ten Lists
(2003-08-03 21:27) - bored - public
If I were stranded on a desert island, here’s what I’d want on my mix disc:
1. This Woman’s Work–Kate Bush
2. Imagination–Xymox
3. I Alone–Live (yes, I know they’ve done crap in the past 8 years)
4. Respect–Erasure (or any re-mix of this)
5. Glass Vase, Cello Case–Tattle Tale
6. Heart of Glass–Blondie
7. It’s My Life–Talk Talk
8. Canon in D–Pachelbel
9. Rhapsody on a Theme by Paganini–Rachmaninoff
10. A Sorta Fairy Tale–Tori Amos (despite the horrible video & the fact that she’s a wacko)
Top ten movies I’d want with me:
1. Gangs of New York
2. The Shawshank Redemption
3. Clerks (”This job would be great if it weren’t for the fucking customers”)
4. Office Space (”Michael Bolton–I celebrate his entire collection!”)
5. Real Women Have Curves (bite me, Blake)
6. Lord of the Rings (I’m counting all three as one here!)
7. The Matrix
8. Chasing Amy (”fingercuffs”)
9. Seven Brides for Seven Brothers
10. Raider’s of the Lost Ark
Top ten books I’d want with me:
1. Lord of the Rings series (yes, cheating and counting it as one again!)–Tolkein
2. 1984–Orwell
3. Illusions–Richard Bach
4. Way of the Peaceful Warrior–Dan Millman
5. Anything by Kurt Vonnegut (Timequake, Cat’s Cradle, Galapagos, etc)
6. The Diary of Anne Frank
7. The Martian Chronicles–Bradbury
8. Jane Eyre–Charlotte Bronte
9. Germinal–Zola
10. The Complete Works of William Shakespeare
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2.8.2
Rainbow Coalition
(2003-08-09 21:09) - public
Well, this is just great.
Gay Bear
[1] Which Dysfunctional Care Bear Are You?
brought to you by [2]Quizilla
1. http://quizilla.com/users/londonbelow/quizzes/Which%20Dysfunctional%20Care%20Bear%20Are%20You%3F/
2. http://quizilla.com/
2.8.3
(2003-08-13 10:09)
- public
LiveJournal Haiku!
Your name: kamigirl25
Your haiku: up each morning with
great intentions life is good
i mean really good
Username: ____________________
What’s my Haiku?
[1]Created by [userinfo.gif] Grahame
How true, how true!
1. http://www.livejournal.com/users/grahame/
2.8.4
Wanderlust
(2003-08-31 14:44) - public
Well... where to begin? I haven’t written anything in about a month or so...funny how boring my life becomes when
I’m not fighting a major illness ;-)
I guess I should start with news on the cancer front...still in remission per my last PET scan. I’m still short of
breath from the radiation scarring, but oh well. My hair is, well, it’s there. It’s curly now. I mean, really curly. I have
no idea what to do with it other than walk around like Carrot-Top all day. I’m still looking at another 8 months or so
until it’s finally all re-grown, but at least now it’s looking nice and lush despite its unruly nature. So now I just look
like a freak with bad hair, instead of a freak with bad hair and bald spots.
Work wise I’ve been swamped. I’ve been on the road for the past four weeks... from Troy, MI to Stamford CT,
then Seattle and finally, Los Angeles. I’m home now for about 2 weeks, and then I head to NYC for about 8 days. I’m
actually beginning to look forward to it...I’ve never been to the Big Apple, and I’ll be spending a weekend there. I’m
hoping to hit the MoMA, maybe take in a Matinee, and perhaps hit the Natural History Museum. I’m going to have
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to find a good restaurant to go to, also. One goal I’m trying to meet is to try a good restaurant in every city I go to.
The last four weeks were great, though...Michigan was Michigan... nothing new there. But Stamford, CT was a
really neat little town. We ate at a restaurant called Plateau one night....wow, great Pan-Asian food. And the town
has such a quaint New England feel to it...I was pleasantly surprised with the place. The only screwy thing was the
road situation...they all twisted and turned so you never knew if you needed to make a left or right turn, and they were
all one ways. It took me 10 minutes to drive around the block.
The following week I was in Seattle...WHAT a beautiful city. I stayed at the Marriott on the waterfront. It was
just so breathtaking...I wanted to move there that minute. In the morning the mist would rise off the water, and the
ferries and fishing boats would sound their foghorns as they silently passed one another in the stillness of the harbor.
The city was built onto a pretty steep hill, which made traversing the area in business attire and a laptop a little
difficult (one morning, I dropped my water bottle and the hill was so steep it rolled down the hill faster than I could
run after it). The seafood there was unbelievable. My first night there I grapped a rockfish taco at this little outdoor
stand outside of my hotel and sat outside on the waterfront to have dinner. It was the best fish taco I’ve ever had in
my life. The second night I took a trip to one of Tom Douglas’ restaurants–Etta’s. Out of this world Dabob oysters
on the half shell, and the steamed shellfish entree with udon noodles was incredible (I’d also like to make a special
mention of the chocolate sampler dessert there, even though it’s off the subject of seafood). The third night there I
ate at the Fish Club, which was the hotel restaurant. Best...paella...ever. My mouth STILL waters when I think of it.
So, that was Seattle...and the next week was the L.A. area. You know, many years ago I used to love the area
around there and had even researched moving there with my now ex but still a rat bastard husband...but you know,
after returning this past month, I can’t remember what the draw was. It’s smelly, it’s crowded, and traffic is just plain
disgusting (although it’s still not worse than Chicago summer construction traffic). Yes, the mountains are beautiful.
Yes, you can get a mean salad at any restaurant there. And yes, you are minutes from a beach. But most of the people
I met were very rude and so very narcissistic (I’m sure there are some lovely people there, but frankly, I didn’t meet
any of them). I spent my first day in Irvine and then drove north up to Woodland Hills. I didn’t get a chance to try
any new restaurants or anything exciting like that...but the landscape was beautiful as always and the weather was
gorgeous. Nice place to visit occasionally, but would never want to live there.
So...that’s what I’ve been doing with my life...and it doesn’t look like things are going to let up anytime soon. I’m got
NYC coming up, and then after that I’ll be spending a few weeks back in Michigan.
Which is fine...I would rather be busy than not. But I haven’t spent a single autumn at home in three years due
to my travel schedule, and one of these years I’d like to. It’d be nice to hit one of the local apple orchards, carve a
pumpkin, actually be able to give out treats for Halloween....
Oh well. If that’s my biggest complaint with my life right nwo, I’ll count my blessings :-)
Karen
2.9
2.9.1
September
I’m a rambling (wo)man......
(2003-09-11 17:52) - public
Well, it’s official...I’m a road warrior once again.
It seems like our company does this...we sit idle for the first six months of the year, then all of a sudden we’ve
got to get all of our customers up and running on our software before December 31. We spend the latter part of every
year running around like chickens with our heads cut off. It’s craziness.
So this week I’m in NYC (or rather, Bridgewater, NJ right now, but will be spending the weekend in NYC before heading to Long Island next week). I’m excited...I definitely want to hit a museum, eat at a good restaurant, and
maybe see if I can’t grab tickets to a show. I’ll be hanging out with one of my co-workers who has spent the better
part of 8 months practically living here for our client, so at least I’ll have a tour guide.
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I get to come home next Wednesday, but then...woo hoo.... two days before my birthday I get to head back to
Troy, MI....FOR THREE AND A HALF WEEKS STRAIGHT. Which is fine...I really like our home office...but I
return on the 16th of October, only to turn around on the 18th and head to Puerto Vallarta for a week. I’m hoping
that when I get back from there, I get a chance to have some time at HOME. Between July and October, I think I will
have been home only three weeks (and not in a row, mind you).
Part of me is really beginning to dislike this travel. This NYC trip required me to miss a wedding, a human evolution lecture by the noted Tim White of UC Berkley, and an art fair I really wanted to go to. Later on this month,
I’ll be out of town for my birthday, and then will miss a breast cancer walk that I would have liked to participate in.
I’ve been wanting to take some classes here and there for fun (Spanish, maybe...or maybe just brush up on my French),
but I can’t because I never know when I’ll be out of town. Oh, and piano lessons. I had 10 years of lessons as a kid,
and would love to maybe take that up again.
Problem is, I moved to a really non-major metropolitan area where jobs are either retail or manufacturing. There
is very little white collar, and hardly any consulting type of companies. And not that there’s anything wrong with
that, but it’s not what my area of expertise is in. So to change jobs would require a really good stroke of luck to find
something in my area (and a huge risk, because if I ended up hating it, I’d be stuck there) or...commute an hour one
way into the burbs. Not an appealing idea.
I don’t know. I’m just not in the mood to be on the road this week. I’m sure it will pass tomorrow as soon as I
see the NYC skyline.
Ok. That’s my day :-)
Karen
2.9.2
Today’s subject: frustration
(2003-09-13 21:06) - friends
Today...has been a really, really bad day.
It shouldn’t have been. I’m in the Big Apple for the weekend. I took my first NY subway ride today. I went to
the Guggenheim museum and saw priceless Picasso’s, Rothko’ and Kandinsky’s. I ate at a cool local diner where the
owners/waiters shouted greetings to each other across the restaurant in Armenian. It just doesn’t get much better
than this.
But I woke up down. It took everything I had to get through my work out today. Then I’ve eaten horribly today (french fries, risotto made with truffle butter). I had to have my room at the hotel changed because the high speed
didn’t work in my room, then had to change a second time when they tried to give me a room the size of a small closet.
I finally got to my third and final room only to find out the phone doesn’t work. So for those of you reading this, the
Marriott East Side on Lexington Avenue is a lousy excuse for customer service. Stay elsewhere.
Meanwhile, my boyfriend is having the time of his life...going to weddings, art fairs and so on. He went shopping
today...bought a whole new outfit, some new hair gel and cologne. He’s on the phone with me telling me how great
he looks. He says he doesn’t know how long he’ll be at the wedding...it may be 8pm if it sucks or much later if ”it’s
really, really fun and he’s having a good time.” Yeah, this really thrills me. He’s out having a blast without me, and
hanging out at a wedding where his ex-girlfriend will be. Yes, I know she’s married with a new kid and they’re exes
for a reason...but it’s not fair that he gets himself all dressed up for THEM. But I suppose I’m beginning to touch on
a topic that I probably shouldn’t get into here, which really has to do with issues currently affecting our relationship.
I also didn’t sleep well...kept having weird dreams. Had some dreams about people at work...most notably, two
people who keep scheduling training sessions behind my back and never tell me. Ok, yeah...I’m the fucking manager of
the training team. I run the budget. I manage the resources. I don’t care WHO likes it or not...I was put here because
I have proven that I can deliver, and that I can deliver above and beyond others’ expectations. And if someone has
a problem that I’m in this position instead of them, they need to look at their OWN behavior to figure out why. I
didn’t get here because of ”company politics.” It really irritates me when people can’t be honest with themselves about
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their job performance. And I’m sure as hell not going to tolerate someone deliberately stepping on my toes because
a) they’ve got sour grapes about where they’re at in the company and b) they’ve got a crush on someone and want to
use any excuse in the book (i.e. to schedule training classes) just to talk to him.
There. I’ve said my piece. The only GOOD thing in that situation is that my boss is well aware of the issues
with this person (ironically, it’s complaints from other people in the company, not me, that tipped him off) and understands how difficult it is to deal with them. It’s good to have a supportive boss.
Sigh. I’m just homesick. This trip has been hard on me, and I’m not dealing with it very well.
Tomorrow we’re going to try to grab a matinee on Broadway and maybe see the Statue of Liberty. I hope it will
be a good time.
Wednesday. Home on Wednesday.
Karen
2.9.3
(2003-09-24 16:47)
- public
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2.10
October
2.10.1
October
(2003-10-01 19:11) - public
Well, it’s that time of year again. No, I’m not talking chilly nights, falling leaves and pumpking patches. No, what
I’m talking about is...
BREAST CANCER AWARENESS MONTH.
I don’t have a problem with this. In fact, awareness is a GOOD thing.
But have you SEEN some of those ”Words of Inspiration” on the Yahoo homepage?
”I totally support Breast Cancer Awareness month”–from wanna be valley girl Barbara Streisand.
”There is nothing funny about breast cancer.” No shit, Sherlock. Courtesy of Joy Behar.
”Awareness is key to saving lives. So is early detection.” What?
tences? Oh wait... literacy was BARBARA Bush’s cause.
Can’t Laura Bush speak in complete sen-
The only one I saw that had any salt to it was Suzanne Somers’. Thighmaster aside, her words were articulate, poignant, and spoken like someone who has truly experienced this disease. Of the people I read, she was the
ONLY one who said that the latest technology must be available to ALL women. Not just those who have insurance,
and not just those WHO ARE OVER FORTY.
Additionally, most of the quotes I read state that EARLY DETECTION is the key to surviving breast cancer.
The bad news is that the methods used in early detection don’t always work. But that fact is not given any
consideration, so the following logic is already built into their language: for those of us who didn’t catch it early
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enough, we apparently didn’t have enough ”awareness” to know that we had it. In other words, we didn’t do our jobs
that include monthly breast exams and yearly mammograms. So shame on US for not being ”aware” enough to find
our breast lump! Guess that death sentence that comes with terminal stage cancer is warranted after all!
Perhaps to many people this sounds petty...but the language that non-cancer patients and non-survivors have
towards this disease is pretty insulting to those of us diagnosed with it. There’s an insinuation there that as long as
we do our monthly breast exams, we’ll be able to avoid the dreaded M word (malignancy) and be able to live breast
cancer free until we’re 100 years old. For those of us who didn’t find it in time...apparently we just didn’t follow the
instructions for early detection, so it’s OUR fault.
I think people do this (unconsciously) in an attempt to distance themselves from cancer patients. By linking
cause and effect in this way, it gives them peace of mind (at least temporarily) to know that if they follow set guidelines
they won’t get cancer. Suddenly when cancer is linked to behavior, it no longer seems so RANDOM. And if it’s not
random, then it’s preventable.
The other issue that I see in many of these quotes is about ”the battle.” ”We’ve got to keep fighting.” ”It can
be beaten.” And on and on. I’ve written this before and I’ll write it again: what about those of us who already have a
losing battle in front of us? It doesn’t make sense for us to adopt that kind of attitude.
So...for this year’s Breast Cancer Awareness month, what I would like is for people to realize two things with
regards to cancer: a) the disease is not necessarily a beast that needs to be squashed and b) there is no line of behavior
that is going to steer fate from its course.
If you were meant to have cancer, YOU WILL HAVE CANCER. Period. Doesn’t matter how many antioxidants you pop in the morning. Doesn’t matter how many mammograms you have. Doesn’t matter how many times
you go to the doctor.
But the ironic piece of information that everyone is missing is that CANCER IS NOT A BAD THING. In
fact, NO experience is good or bad until we define it as such. Not cancer, not treatment, and NOT DEATH. So we
can choose for ourselves what kind of experience cancer will be for us based on whether or not we say it’s a good
experience, a bad experience, or even a so-so experience. It all depends on how WE define it FOR OURSELVES.
I embrace my cancer every day. It is a daily part of my life, and for someone to come along now and tell me
that I’m cured...it would devastate me. This is MY disease. My experience. Pain and struggles aside, if someone
suddenly told me that I could no longer have this experience and no longer learn from it, I would be very sad indeed.
My rants on cancer are no different for me than my co-worker’s daily stories on what hell-raising tantrum his
two year old had the night before. Cancer...is MY DAILY LIFE.
And I love my life. So how can I hate my cancer?
So with this, I offer my own version of Breast Cancer Awareness:
Become aware of your LIFE.
Happy October.
Karen
2.10.2
In sickness and in health
(2003-10-05 21:49) - melancholy - public
I am SO sick.
I can’t even believe it. I haven’t been sick in over two and a half years. Ok, I had that minor bout with the
flu two years ago...oh, and that whole cancer thing...but a head cold? The last time I had a head cold was April 2001.
I went through 8 months of chemotherapy and radiation that depleted my immune system while encountering daily
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exposure to a bunch of disease-ridden co-workers and weekly exposure to hospital patients. You’d think that if I could
have gotten through THAT without getting sick that I could have bypassed this little annoyance of a virus I’m dealing
with now.
Ugh. On the flip side, though, the first sign that I’m getting better is when I get crabby like this.
take my rant here as a sign of improvement!
So I’ll
I dragged myself home from Blake’s this morning to find a bunch of my neighbors’ kids’ toys in my driveway.
They’re cute kids, really...but I’m getting sick and tired of them running around like savages in my driveway and
screaming under my bay window. When I was little, I would NEVER have strayed onto someone else’s property...and
this was in a town of 400 people where everyone knew everyone and it would have been OK to do so. I can’t decide if
it’s just the increasing rudeness level of kids nowadays or if the parents just don’t give a damn. All I know is that had
I ever done this as a kid, my father would have had my hide.
So after dumping all of the toys back into their yard I went in and made a batch of fresh squeezed orange
juice. I’ve take to this habit lately of listening to NPR whenever I’m in my kitchen and today I had the opportunity
to listen to ”A Prairie Home Companion” with Garrison Keillor.
My mom had always LOVED Garrison Keillor. I remember her buying ”Lake Wobegon Days” when I was
young (about ten or twelve, I think). I remember reading it and getting bored with it about a third of the way through
(such is the nature of a 12 year old’s attention span). What was funny is I still remember vividly the first several
chapters of the book, as the book described in great detail what life truly was like in small town Americana. I used
to think my Mom was weird, though, when she would listen to the show on the radio. I mean, come on...who in their
right mind would listen to radio when they’ve got good ol’ TV?
Well, all I can say is that the show I listened to today was GREAT. They had a couple of skits on with
Dubya and Arnold called, ”We’re all Republicans Now.” And then they had another skit–can’t remember the
name–about a recording artist who was Minnesota’s second biggest recording artist next to ”that skinny guy in his
underwear.” (think Purple Rain) Ok, so I can’t do it justice here...but now I know after all of these years why my
mother liked it so much.
So there I sat, listening to Garrison Keillor and reading my Sunday Chicago Tribune when it dawned on me
that I AM MY MOTHER.
It’s scary, really. The older I get, the more like her I am. Her morning ritual used to consist of getting up
early, making a fresh pot of coffee and listening to the radio as she ”woke up.” Well, guess who’s doing that now.
And every Sunday she would partition out her Chicago Trib and spend the entire day reading it from front to
back. Um, yeah...there’s another one I partake in.
And television...she was a huge fan of anything educational: Nova, National Geographic, things like that (our
cable was limited in town, so that was the best we had). What have I developed a sudden addiction to? The History
Channel, and in fact watched a riveting two hour special tonight on the Romanov dynasty.
When my Mom was 30, she was a stay-at-home Mom with a 18 month old. She liked to garden, can vegetables and cook. She listened to her NPR, read her paper and loved her coffee.
I don’t understand what is was in her life that made her so unhappy. Was she grieving over the death of my
brother, Kenny, who had died five months before I was born? Was she lonely because the people in our beloved little
town of Sublette ostracized her because she wasn’t born and raised there? Did she finally wake up one day, look at
my father and realize that they weren’t compatible in any way, shape or form?
I know I’ll never have answers to these questions. It will be five years this Halloween since she passed away.
But ironically, I don’t think questions like this ever come about when the person is alive. So it wouldn’t have mattered
had she died when she was 90...I still wouldn’t have answers to these questions because I wouldn’t have had the
foresight to ask them until she had already died.
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In the meantime, it’s a love-hate battle between me and what I remember of my mother, a conflict that will
probably never be put to rest. But today is a day where I really don’t mind being like her.
But that doesn’t surprise me. I always miss her the most when I’m sick.
2.10.3
Thoughts.
(2003-10-08 11:30) - public
Blake and I had a long talk last night, about things we hadn’t talked about in a while.
We used to talk about these kind of things when I was first diagnosed, but then I went and moved to Michigan for 4 months and suddenly the late night, heart-to-heart talks stopped. We were simply too far away from each
other.
I really think that Michigan trip was one of the worst things I could have done, in retrospect.
But last night we talked about me dying. Not if. Not when. But what it was going to be like when it happened.
For some reason, he and I haven’t talked about this for the past 10 months or so. He didn’t talk to me about
it any more, and I took that as he had dealt with it and had moved on. Meanwhile, I’m in the midst of trying to come
to grips with death and dying... will it hurt? will I know when it happens? will I get that suffocating feeling in my
chest like I do when I get sleep apnea? will I try to wake with a start and gasp for breath, only to find that I can’t do
it? will I panic when that moment occurs, or will my higher self take over and allow me to go peacefully?
I’m so scared that it’s indescribable.
And I’ve kept it all to myself for the past 10 months. I had interpreted his silence as confirmation that he
had dealt with it and no longer wanted to be bothered with the details of my own morbid thoughts. But I realized
last night that he’s thinking about the same things that I do, sometimes.
I think about my funeral...who will walk behind my casket...who will come to my house and go through my
things...who will decide who gets what, and when to sell my house...who will take care of my cats...and what will
become of the memories of this person who was once known as Karen Anne Margaret Mini.
I wonder at what point in time I will be forgotten.
I try to put myself in Blake’s shoes... how would I feel if it were HIM dying right in front of me? What
would I think? How would I get through it? My answer is that I couldn’t. Which is probably why I’m playing the
role of the dying person instead of the spectator.
Of the two, his role is infinitely more difficult.
I don’t want him to be alone after I go. I don’t want him to wander around his empty house with his empty
heart and miss me. I don’t want him to ever feel a bit of pain over this.
But I know he will...and it hurts me in ways I can’t explain to know that I can’t do a thing to stop it or
change it or take it away from him.
All I want is for him to be happy. I’ve never wanted anything more in my life. And I just feel like I’m failing
miserably at it.
He said last night that he didn’t want to talk to me, to add to my burden. I wish I could make him see that
him talking to me is the only way I feel like I even have a glimmer of a chance at helping him through this and helping
him find some happiness.
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I don’t want to die, but not because of my own fears surrounding it.
I just hate what my death is going to do to the one that I love the most.
2.10.4
Work woes
(2003-10-15 16:56) - friends
We downsized again at work. This time our team got hit, and we lost our data quality folks. I also hear rumors that
those higher up are trying to decide whether or not our company is going to make it. That’s just great. If they close,
I’m out a job, a salary, benefits and all of the money they owe me for accrued paid time off. This is really, really bad.
I’ve been pretty stressed lately. Maybe it’s because I need a vacation, but I’m also pretty sick of some of the politics
as of late. Granted, we’ve always had a company where various groups don’t talk to one another, but it is worse than
ever. And the personal politics...ick. Turns out that little crush I mentioned a few weeks back actually turned into
something. We now have two people on our team dating (secretly, of course). I hate that. He’s actually a decent
co-worker, but she...well, let’s just say I’m still steaming from our little altercation a few weeks ago. So sorry your stint
as a creative whatever you were didn’t work out...don’t jump on me because you hate your job.
Ack. Enough.
But seriously...I think it’s a HUGE mistake to date your co-workers. I know that some (you know who you are!)
have dated and broken up successfully. But I just really think it’s a recipe for disaster. Most of the time the feelings
aren’t even real. You get all jazzed up on a project and mistake the rush of an impending deadline as like for your
teammate. Next thing you know, bam! Project is over, and you find you’re dating someone you have nothing in
common with. The end result is that at least one person is hurt and usually both are disillusioned. It’s just not worth
it to think of your company as a dating pool.
I hope that doesn’t happen to the two on our team that are dating now. Last thing we need is a (secretly) ugly
break up to make even MORE tension.
Oh well. I’m sure vacation will help my perspective.
Karen
2.10.5
(2003-10-16 15:41)
- public
I’m thinking about changing my livejournal format.
I’ve been mulling this over for a few days now, ever since I got a little bug in my ear that someone is upset over
something I wrote. I still haven’t made a final decision on this yet.
I don’t know...one of the main goals of this project was to remain brutally honest. It’s how I’ve always journaled.
However, I understand that there are areas in my life where I CAN’T name names, mainly for security reasons. So
often times I write in the third person with anonymous pronouns replacing names. So far so good. The only problem
with this is that sometimes people think that my rant is about them personally when, in fact, it’s about something
completely different.
I’m not sure what to say except that if I’ve provided you with access to my journal (and I know everyone to whom
I’ve EVER provided a link), chances are, I’m NOT writing about you in the third person. In fact, except for the
minor ”oops” I had with my father last year, I’ve never written about someone who I know reads my journal (even
infrequently).
So, that being said...I’m not sure what I plan to do. I supposed I could refrain from certain introspection regarding friends and work, but that would be a shame since that is where most of my life experience comes in. I could make
it friends only...but some people who like to read my journal are not on livejournal.
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I guess I’m not sure how to do this. I feel like I’m in the middle of a ”Three’s Company” episode, where Janet,
after hearing Jack and Chrissy moaning in the kitchen, confronts them only to realize they WEREN’T having sex but
were only eating chocolate cake batter.
Except in my case, there is no laugh track. Feelings are hurt and trust is lost. But I mean...can I really be responsible for someone mistaking my writing? Should I change what I write? Maybe I should just forget about the
person who’s mad at me...I mean, after all...if they don’t trust me enough to know that I would never write about
them like that, well...I don’t know.
Blake and I talked about it. His journal is very impersonal...always about an issue or something very neutral (like his
music collection, car, kitty, etc). Maybe my biggest weakness IS that I wear my life on my sleeve.
I suppose I’ll mull this over while I’m on a Mexican beach. I think half of my problem lately is that I’m just at
the end of my rope. Vacation can’t come soon enough.
2.10.6
Beck
(2003-10-21 13:12) - public
How big of a loser am I? Let’s just say that I’m 100 yards away from a sunny, sandy beach and I’m in an Internet cafe
writing in my live journal. How’s that song go? Something about being a loser so why don’t you kill me....
So Blake and I are in Puerto Vallarta...his second and my third time here. I can honestly say that this is going
to be our LAST time here. I’m incredibly bored...sun and sand is great, but it’s Tuesday and four days in a row of
this is pretty much a drag.
Our resort–Villa Del PalMar– is adequate. Nice grounds, nice facilities, but typical time share place....they hound
you as soon as you check in under the guise of ”hotel concierge” and when you don’t respond, call you 50 times per
day to come down and get your ”gold card,” which is a fancy way of getting you to go through a 5 hour time share
presentation. Blech. I’m glad I’ve never fallen for this. We did, however, decide to unplug the phone, and after plugging
it back in last night, it seems as if the hourly calls have stopped. Woo hoo! Now I can actually enjoy my vacation guilt
free.
So we’ve pretty much done nothing the past four days. I mean literally. We walked on the beach. We swam.
We went out to eat. We slept. We read. That’s it. No snorkeling, no horse back riding, no booze cruises, none of that
crappy tourist stuff. Not that there’s anything WRONG with crappy tourist stuff...I mean, I did it all the first time I
was down here...but once you do it once, you’ve pretty much done it all.
We so far have eaten at two of our favorite restaurants...La Petite France and El Panorama. FABULOUS. Both
were places we had gone to on our last trip here, and since we were so impressed first time around with them, we
made sure they were the first two places we returned to. At La Petite France we had seafood crepes, shrimp bisque,
a phenomenal seafood stew and bananas foster. The whole place is done Moulin Rouge style...torch singers, huge
brightly colored French prints on the wall and a very cool hardwood bar with stained glass. If you get to PV, I highly
reccommend this place....and the prices are very good for food of this quality.
El Panorama was another gem we found last time....it’s on the top three floors of a hotel built into the hill overlooking the Bay de Banderas. There’s normally an elevator that takes you up to the top floors, but last night it was
broken, so we had to make the hike on foot. Which is fine, except that it’s an open air restaurant and so by the time we
reached the top we were sweat drenched. But absolutely great food...excellent seafood soup, Caesar salad made right
in front of you using–gasp!–raw egg, and we both had entrees with shrimp the size of our hands. Top it off with another
bananas foster made at our table and I’d say it was about as perfect as it could get. The views are breathtaking there,
and we were just in time to see the sunset. I wonder how many people in the world have actually taken the time to
watch the sun set, to see the red, glowing orb dip lower and lower until it disappears from the horizon. Now I know
why people in Key West stop every day just to watch it.
Anyways, I suppose I should run...I’ve only got a half an hour at the Internet cafe, and my time is about up. Hope all
is well in everyone else’s world.
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2.10.7
Flags at half mast
(2003-10-24 20:22) - public
So, today was our last day in Puerto Vallarta. When we first arrived, I was very antsy and was ready to go home after
about 2 hours down here. All I can say is that between then and now I’ve acclimated quite well to this place. I’m
NOT ready to leave just yet. I’m also not looking forward to tomorrow’s traveling...we originally booked flights on
Continental Airlines in May through Orbitz. We had a two leg trip both ways, with a plane change in Houston. On the
way back, we originally had a 90 minute layover...just enough time to get through customs and walk to our next gate.
Since May, Continental has changed the flight times, so we now have 53 minutes between flights. I highly doubt we
will be able to make our connecting flight, as customs alone will take about 30 minutes. So, our option was to change
the first leg of our flight...uh,yeah, right. Continental is charging a $200 change fee. What the hell? THEY change our
flight time so that we can no longer make our connection and then penalize us when we try to make arrangements that
are closer to the arrangements we made when we initially booked. I can tell you this: my days of flying Continental
are OVER. Oh, and it doesn’t help that we don’t have a seat assignment for the last leg of our flight. I’ve been trying
for two weeks on the Continental and Orbitz websites to make a seat assignment, and every time I try, it kicks us out
of the seats I select. So...this means only one thing: they overbooked the flight, and we are going to be lucky if we get
seats at all. Again, I’ll reiterate: NEVER FLY CONTINENTAL.
Ok, rant over. It’s my last day here and I’d rather not dwell on the negative.
Blake and I went to the spa today for deep tissue massages and manicures. Blake had his manicure first and then his
massage while I had the opposite. After I finished my massage I went into the manicure room with three other Mexican
spa workers. About halfway through my massage I see Blake being walked back to his dressing room by his masseuse.
As he’s walking by, Maya, the woman giving me my manicure, gets these really big eyes and watches Blake as he walks
down the hallway. Anyways, the masseuse drops Blake off and then immediately returns to the manicure room amidst
a round of giggles and laughter. The masseuse begins FANNING HERSELF, and then says a whole bunch of things in
Spanish that I can’t understand but are tremendously funny and naughty. Each woman begins shouting with laughter
as the masseuse talks about ”pantalons.” Now, I’ve never learned Spanish, but I’ve taken four years of French...enough
to know that they are talking about my boyfriends underwear and/or jumbly bits. Either way, I would have killed to
have spoken Spanish at that exact moment.
Blake finally comes out and suddenly all of the women go silent. I finish my manicure and we leave. I tell Blake
about the little conversation as we walk back to the room. When I get to the pantalons part, he stops and kind of
blanches. ”| wasn’t wearing any underwear,” he tells me. Then he tells me about how the masseuse kept rubbing up
against his...for delicacy’s sake, let’s just say private parts...during the massage. Then I ask him the dreaded question:
did it or didn’t it move during the massage? He looks at me and says rather sheepishly, ”Half mast.” I almost pee’d
my pants when he told me that. No WONDER those women were all fawning over him...even at half mast, he’s a well
endowned boy. I’d have been fanning myself too, had I been that masseuse.
What was even funnier was afterwards, when we got back to the room and read the spa bylaws, we learned that
all men must be clothed in swim trunks during massage treatments. Leave it to MY boyfriend to turn an innocent spa
day into some sort of bizarre Mexican Chippendales event.
So as you can see, I kind of wish we could stay one more day, just to go back to the spa. I’m thinking my boyfriend
needs another massage.
Sigh. Yes, I know. I’m a VERY lucky girl ;-)
2.10.8
Up to HERE
(2003-10-29 15:19) - Undone - public
I’m about done with LiveJournal. Someone tried to start a little tiff with me over on the childfree community because
of something I posted about Oprah Winfrey. Don’t jump down MY throat and call ME names because you can’t
understand satire. Get over yourself indeed.
So today’s rant is about the lack of reading comprehension that currently runs rampant in our country.
)
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;-
Actually, it isn’t, although I do think the new S.A.T’s might contribute to upping our potential in this particular arena.
I actually have no rant, really. Just a few odd and end things that have been tying up my thoughts lately.
Marah, moderator of the breast cancer support community, posted a very interesting and useful page today on
breast cancer warning signs and statistics. The very last part of the page listed five year survival rates for the various
stages of cancer.
Mine is 16 %.
Funny. I thought it was a bit higher than that. I mean, I know my OVERALL survival rate is .4 % (I’ve got
THAT number etched in my brain forever), but I had no idea that it was only 16 % for five years from the original
date of diagnosis. I’m sure I read it before, but for some reason, this particular number never stuck.
Huh. That pretty much means I should be falling out of remission any time now.
I’m nervous about this blood test. I’ve been off Herceptin for 5 months now. Long enough for my Grade III
aggressive cancer to bounce back with a vengeance. Long enough for it to come back stronger, tougher and resistant
to chemotherapy.
I have this fear in me that grows silently stronger every day. I keep running these scenarios in my head about
how I’m going to react when Tajuddin tells me it’s back...how my boss will react when I tell him I want disability this
time...whether or not my father will stay in denial...and Blake....
My father has a new girlfriend. She’s moving in with him on Friday (which, ironically, is the five year anniversary of my mother’s death–they were married for 35 years). I used to worry about my father being alone, and
wondering how he would deal with me dying. Now I don’t have to worry.
I don’t know why, but it seems like life is preparing for my death, and I don’t mean that in a higher self,
spiritual sense. I mean that in a material, tangible sense. I’ve moved closer to Blake. I’ve taken one final vacation.
And my father now has found someone to be there for him.
There’s really nothing left for me to worry about now. It seems as if the universe is paving a way towards my
very clean and graceful exit.
Which is why I won’t be surprised if my test comes up positive. Devastated, yes. But I won’t be shocked.
I think this is the monster that has been bothering me for the past several months. I keep looking at my life,
at what’s happening in it, and it all seems as if the purpose of it all is to culminate in my death.
Which, of course, is the purpose of life. But to watch it consciously...I’m having a hard time with that.
Yes, I’m struggling with this. For the first time in 18 months, I can admit this to myself. I’m struggling, I’m
scared and I don’t know how to deal with this. I used to thumb my nose at all of those people out there who couldn’t
deal with their cancer. ”Look at me,” I’d think. ”I’ve got Stage FOUR, and I’m working 80 hours a week, working out
6 times per week and training for a 5K. If they’d just get off their asses, stop eating Burger King once in a while, then
maybe they wouldn’t have this oh-poor-me attitude.”
Maybe they had it right all along...maybe the key they have that I don’t is that they LET THEMSELVES
FEEL. They don’t think that they’re above such petty trivialities.
I guess today’s lesson, then, was about ARROGANCE.
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2.11
November
2.11.1
Crash
(2003-11-01 10:59) - Rock bottom - public
I feel like my life is closing in on me. I don’t even know where to begin.
My dad met this woman a few years back named Rosa Lee (sp?). I remember when he met her...they went
out once and he had a nice enough time. He had no intention of seeing her again, as she was still married but in the
midst of a messy divorce from her (ahem) FOURTH husband. He figured he made a nice friend out of the whole deal.
Next thing he knows, she’s practically stalking him (these are words out of his own mouth here). She would
drive by his house every night, call him endlessly and show up uninvited. My father resorted to not answering his
phone and turning off all of his lights so that she would think he wasn’t home from work yet. One day she got
sneaky...she parked her van at the neighbor’s house and then crept across the yard to his front door. My father heard
the doorbell ring and, since her van was nowhere to be found, answered the door. The next day he calls me on the
phone to rant on her and how he doesn’t like to be tricked that way. The straw that broke the camel’s back was when
she stopped by on Halloween–the four year anniversary of my mother’s death–after he had told her he wanted to be
alone that day. He was hot over that one for weeks.
So this goes on for a while, it seems. Or rather, this is what my father tells me is happening. I had no reason to suspect otherwise, being he was so vitriolic about her in conversation. In fact, one time just this past February
Blake and I met some of his other friends and the three of them spent the night making fun of her and calling her
”Fatal” (as in, fatal attraction). It was a name my father often used to refer to her when speaking to me on the phone.
So, I don’t think much of this, but offer my father advice when complaining to me about what to do about
her. From time to time he would mention her, that she stopped by and they chatted. I would always ask, ”But I
thought you were avoiding her?” And he would say, ”I am, but we’re friends. She’s a nice lady...she likes me a lot, I
guess.” I kind of thought something was amiss, but figured it was harmless enough. I mean, going from calling her
”Fatal” to girlfriend in 3 months? Nah.
His birthday rolls around this year in July... and my dad calls me all excited. Apparently Rosa Lee decorated
the entire TOWN with signs saying things like, ”Happy Birthday to the sexiest FedEx man I know” and ”Wish Don a
happy birthday!” His front lawn was apparently FILLED with these signs, and balloons were hanging from practically
every tree branch in his yard. When he called to tell me about it, he no longer called her ”Fatal” and was obviously
very flattered at what she had done (I’ll refrain from giving MY opinion on her actions). I knew then that something
was up, but again, when I asked if they were dating he said no.
A week later I talk to my aunt on the phone. My aunt is my Mom’s sister, who happens to be married to
my dad’s brother. They live across the street from us, yet my father hasn’t spoken to them in about 2 years now, ever
since a little falling out we all had at Thanksgiving one year. Anyways, she and I talk and I bring up the whole balloon
display, and she says to me, ”I know it’s hard, but it really is the best thing for him. He needed to find someone.” I
don’t say anything, but I wonder what it is that SHE knows about Rosa Lee that I don’t.
September rolls around, and I’m in NYC for work. My dad calls me one night asking if he thought it would
be a good idea if he bought Rosa Lee’s house. I ask him why he would want to do that. He tells me that it’s being
foreclosed on and this would allow her to stay in her house. My head spins as he tells me this, as I can’t even GRASP
all of the things wrong with this story. I bombard him with a series of questions: Why is it being foreclosed upon?
Will she be paying you rent? If she can’t afford it NOW, what makes you think she’ll pay you rent? Where are you
going to get the extra capital to finance this purchase? Do you have a lawyer to draw up a rental agreement? And
who asked for this? Did she approach you or did you offer to buy her house?
My father doesn’t have answers for any of these questions except that he thinks buying it would be a ”good
deal” (money wise, that is). I told him I thought it was a bad idea to do this, and that I really didn’t think highly of
someone expecting a friend to bail them out of their financial woes. He tells me it wasn’t like that, that he offered to
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buy the house from her. Ok, fine. I ask him again if they’re dating and he says no. So I tell him that as a FRIEND,
I think it’s rather selfish of her to even consider his offer. I also remind him that she’s been divorced FOUR times,
each time blaming her husband, and that both her house and her van are being foreclosed upon. I tell him that even
though he’s her friend, he shouldn’t sacrifice his own financial situation to help, and that a true friend wouldn’t expect
him to do so. She created her mess and, my sympathies aside, it’s her responsibility to fix it. He tells me he agrees
with me and then hangs up the phone.
A week ago today–the day after I get back from vacation–he tells me she’s moving in with him. But he
doesn’t SAY it that way. He tells me that he’s going to have someone live with him for a while. I don’t even have to
ask who because I know who it is, but I ask him anyways. He tells me she’s losing her house, and that she will live
with him ”for a while” until she gets on her feet. He also tells me that this will give him extra money, since she will be
splitting the bills with him. He tells me it’s no big deal. I tell him to get a living will.
He calls me yesterday–the five year anniversary of my mother’s death–to tell me how excited he is to have her
there. He asks me what he wants me to do with all of the stuff I still have left at his house, namely my old spelling
bee trophies, wedding dress and my BABY SHOES. I tell him that if he doesn’t want them to just box it up and I’ll
come get it. He tells me about how different his house looks, and how Rosa Lee said, ”By the time I’m done with it,
you won’t even recognize the place.” He tells me about how he has to clean out my old room for her furniture, how
she plans on taking down all of my mother’s pictures to hang up her own, how he packed up some of my mother’s old
clothes to make room in the closet for her FOUR HUNDRED pairs of shoes.
Yesterday was the first day he finally called her his girlfriend. I didn’t even have to ask him this time.
He tells me that she wants to cook Thanksgiving dinner now, to celebrate THEIR NEW HOUSE, even though
two weeks earlier I had told my father that I was planning on cooking for the holiday.
Thanksgiving had always been my mother’s holiday. Every year, she cooked the same meal that her mother
had made for their family: turkey, homemade family-recipe stuffing, sweet potatoes, carrots, cauliflower, peas, cottage
cheese and peaches and cranberry sauce straight from the can. We had crescent rolls, too, but for some reason, they
were never done when we sat down to dinner...so about halfway through the meal someone would remember them and
race over to the oven to grab them before they burned.
So now I’m supposed to go down to that house, the house of my childhood, the house of my mother, the
house of so many love filled holidays, and watch as some stranger reinvents the place and cooks a differnt meal in the
same kitchen where my mother taught me how to make the same stuffing that had been passed on to her from HER
mother.
It’s just too much at once. Why did he lie to me about her? Why didn’t he tell me he was dating her?
I’ve never even MET her. And now I have to somehow get used to the fact that not only has my father
moved on, but that she’s LIVING there, that her furniture is in the same room where my mother rocked me to sleep.
I feel like I’m losing my heritage.
I will never be able to re-create my heritage with my own children. All I have is my past. I will never have a
daughter to talk to about my Mom. I will never have anyone in which I can share family recipes or stories or secrets.
Watching the parents with their children last night as they were trick-or-treating was almost more than I
could bear.
I have no one to talk to about my mother anymore. No one who remembers how she would painstakingly
make baggies up every year for Halloween with a variety of candy because, ”she never knew what the kids were going
to like.” No one remembers how she liked Amish quilts or pictures of barns. No one remembers how much work she
would do just to make her yearly batch of sour cream cookies and doughnuts.
I have no one to share that with. No one who will ever understand the rites of passage that is involved in a
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mother-daughter relationship. Only a daughter understands these things...only a daughter cherishes the importance
of the kind of rituals my mother upheld.
My mother upheld them because she lost her mother, and she needed me to be there to pass them on. And I
will never have that.
I used to think it was ok, because the house was still there. Her barn pictures were still there, her old rolling
pin was still there, her old photograph of her uncle with the pope...all still there.
That’s no longer the case. Now, everything that is left of my mother is now locked up inside of me, destined
to remain there only to die with me when I die.
The world is forgetting her...the world will forget me....
The legacy dies with me.
2.11.2
(2003-11-04 15:48)
- public
Just a quick update....
Tumor marker test came back today...NEGATIVE!!!!!!!!
Still in remission. I can keep my hair, my fingernails, and my LIFE. At least, for a while longer.
2.11.3
Cliques
(2003-11-12 15:31) - Low - friends
So I m in lovely Michigan in the Troy office. I should have known from the day I arrived that this whole thing would
be a wash.
First, I go to check in, and the front desk tries to give me a single room when I had a penthouse reserved.
Fine, they get me one. Their penthouses are on the second floor, so I go and haul all of my stuff up the stairs (which
are narrow, wooden and horribly uneven) only to find out they had sent me to a smoking room. So I call the front
desk and they send someone right over. At this point, I m irritated, but not over the top. One of the housepeople
comes to my room with a key and to help me with my bags. We schlep them all the way across the property to room
1024, another second floor penthouse. We get all the way up there only to discover that I m supposed to be in room
1022. So once again, I ve got to haul everything back DOWN the stairs, around the other side of the building and
then UP another flight. Finally, 35 minutes after I first check in, I m in my room. As soon as I walk in the room, my
sales rep calls to ask how my stay is so far. When I tell her about the hassle, she tells me she feels bad, but will leave
it up to me to decide what I want for retribution. She hangs up without even offering anything.
Fine. I get up the next day and head into the office only to find out the entire implementation posse is in.
This doesn t make me feel all warm and fuzzy, as there s some bad blood amongst the team. So, for some background
on the situation:
About 8 months after I was first hired on here at my company, we went through a major growth effort whereby we
doubled our implementation team. We hired a new director and several analysts (which is what I was at the time).
From that day forward, we had a clique on implementation, and it was a constant war between the old and the
new. Our new director enacted a policy of exclusionism. HIS pets get the good assignments. HIS pets get inside
information. HIS pets get his time. The rest of us were on our own.
His first order of business was to yank me from the first project I was assigned to lead. Instead, he gave it to
his pet, a newly hired Project Manager that had no clue what our company did or what services we performed.
When I was first diagnosed, I still reported to him and so he was the first person at my company I had to
tell. I expected this to be a professional and confidential conversation. I told him I was diagnosed and needed a few
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days off for surgery, and that I didn t know what would happen when chemo started, but that I planned on working
through the entire thing.
How wrong I was. The next day our HR department is calling me to discuss when I m going to take a leave
of absence. Our corporate attorney is calling me to ask how I m doing. My email is suddenly full of people telling me
to not worry, I ll be fine.
For the record, I will never be able to thank those people enough. They took the time and effort to reach out
to me. I do not think that is an easy thing to do.
But I will not forgive my former boss for telling everyone on my behalf. It was not his place, and he robbed
me of my time to deal with it internally before having to deal with it in front of others. I was not prepared to handle
the phone calls and emails and as a result, it just made me feel worse.
It gets better. After I told him, he benched me. Handed my project over to one of his pets.
every week after my surgery asking for something to do. I was lucky if I got 30 seconds of his time.
I called him
It was pure luck one day when I happened to be in our regional office with our VP of Implementation. He
was headed off to begin a project and recruited me to help. I was very leery about this, as I had never even spoken to
the man before. But I went, and it was the best thing I ever did. Two weeks later, he calls me and asks me to head
up the training and data portion of our largest client.
So I did that&moved to Troy for four months to pull this off. Moved here despite still being in treatment
and feeling like hell and losing my hair. And I pulled it off. Somehow, some way, I pulled it off. I came home at the
end of the year for radiation treatment feeling like I had done a good job.
Two months later our VP asks me to head up our training team. Our training team is part of the implementation team, but they report directly to the VP instead of the director. After voicing some concerns, I accept the
position, knowing that I will never have to answer to the director again.
I run into the director in Troy a few weeks after I moved to training. He bellowed about how he was sorry he
had to send me over to training, but that he had seen the things I had done on (our client) and that I just had
to be put there.
Please. He had NOTHING to do with me being put on training. He was told by the VP and President of
the company that I was being pulled off of his team and that he didn t have a choice.
It took everything I had not to roll my eyes at his pompousness.
Since then, I haven t heard much from him. I ve had a few run-ins here and there, when I ve had to point
out the fact that his team didn t do its job&but overall, I don t see him much. Like I said, he s exclusionary, and has
his own pets.
So here I am in the Troy office and he and his pets are here. Like usual, I keep hoping that this time will be
different. Maybe this time I ll actually be TALKED to by them. Maybe I can walk away from this not feeling like
such a pariah. After all, we are all on the same team.
No such luck.
Last night, two of them were making a grand spectacle (under the guise of being secretive) of getting restaurant directions from mapquest. Fine, I don t really care. About 5:30 they leave, but not before one of them makes it
a point to say that she ll talk to me tomorrow. They leave, I know I m not invited, and that s that.
About 6:00 I walk into the supply room and two other people on the team ask if I m going to dinner. I tell
them I don t know anything about that, but that if people are going, I was up for it. At this point, I assume it s just
the two of them and me, since it seemed like everyone else had left the office.
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One of the people on the team hesitates, then says, Let me check with (director).
Oh shit.
So, the person who invited me checks with the director then comes over to my cube to give me directions and
tells me that the two people who left at 5:30 were already at the restaurant having drinks.
Oh shit again.
I almost backed out at that point, but decide not to give them the satisfaction. So I go. On the way there,
our director takes a wrong turn, which eventually made him arrive late.
When I walk into the place, I notice that they are all sitting at a table set for FIVE people (with me along,
it was six). The one who made it a point to tell me she d talk to me tomorrow does a VISIBLE double take. So I
get snarky back and say, What s the matter? You look surprised to see me. She just stutters back that she was
expecting our director.
You could cut the tension in the air with a night. And it stayed that way the rest of the meal.
I did my best. I tried to be as nice as I could. Friendly, cheerful.
figured no sense in making my enemies hate me even more.
It was the performance of a lifetime.
I
So&that was last night.
This morning I wake up and have no hot water. None. Not even a glimmer of some left in the tank. Ice
cold. This time I m livid. I call the front desk and give them hell. The only solution is to walk me to another room to
use the shower. Of course, the room is all the way across the property and it s 45 degrees out. And of course, when I
get there, I find it s a smoking room. Great. I walk back to my room with icy hair that smelled like cigars.
I get to work and realize that I have forgotten to pack a lunch. No problem. I m sure someone is going out
for lunch.
They did. They all went out to lunch.
enough to bring her back a hot meal.
Well, except for one of them who was sick.
But they were kind
No one said a word to me. I ended up going to lunch alone and crying the whole way to Subway.
I just feel like I m in fifth grade again, when all of my supposed friends moved my desk over by the gross
boys so that they could include in their group a girl everyone affectionately called Horseface. I even feel worse than
when I was ten and people used to oink at me for being so fat.
I have never been on the inside of anything. People never like me, and I don t know what it is I do wrong.
Am I too assertive? Do I have some bizarre form of anti-social behavior I m not aware of? Do I smell? Have
bad breath?
What is it about me that makes no one like me?
It was like this in high school. It was only my desperation to not be alone that kept me from having any
friends. The people I called my friends never called me to talk. They never invited me places. They never came
to visit. I always had to initiate, and each time I did I died a little inside because I knew that it was desperate and
clingy and that no one ever reciprocated.
I used to think that maybe I was lonely because I was so desperate all the time. So my sophomore year I decided to take the high road and not to initiate anymore. I thought maybe this way, they d come to me.
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My phone didn t ring all school year. No one gave me a second thought.
This is the reason I don t have any friends now. For whatever reason, I never fit in with anyone anywhere
and people seem to be growing less tolerant of whatever it is about me that makes me unlikable.
And I worry that people will forget me when I die. Apparently I m forgettable now.
And I know I should be above all of this. I shouldn t let their behavior bother me. I shouldn t let them get
to me. And I shouldn t want to hang out with people who behave like this. I m BETTER than that.
But just once I d like to be on the inside. For once, I would like to know what it feels like to be invited, included, REMEMBERED.
I don t want to end my life feeling like the reject I ve always felt I ve been.
2.11.4
Cult of Narcissism
(2003-11-15 20:15) - friends
Conversation between two people at work. No joke.
”I really just LOOOOVED Vegas...but it was cloudy the first day I was there so I didn’t get a chance to lay
out until the end of my vacation.
”Oh, I know...I had the same problem. That was the whole reason I went there, too.”
”I KNOOOOW...I mean, I thought Vegas was supposed to be sunny!I was like...what is THIS? I’m supposed
to get a tan in, like, what, a DAY?”
”I know, it totally sucked. I almost put iodine in some baby oil.”
”Oh my GOD!!! I used to do that, too! I think EVERYONE did that in the eighties.”
”Oh, I know...I can’t believe how stupid we were.”
Ok, so it’s not the full conversation...for editing’s sake, I decided to cut the last portion of what, in reality,
was a TEN MINUTE conversation on the merits of tanning. Unfortunately for me, I was trapped in my cubicle
and couldn’t get away from them. It was enough to make me want to gauge my eyes out. I almost wanted to give
them a stern lecture on how cancer, in WHATEVER form, is NOT FUN. I mean, who ARE these people? Who tans
anymore?
Oh wait...they’re the same people CNN is now featuring in their Fountain of Youth series. People who’s biggest
problems in life are (brace yourselves) their looks.
I’ve been trying to pinpoint why I’m so disgruntled with this mentality. I mean...I am far from living an ascetic life. I like to do my hair, put on make up and dress nicely. But I think my biggest problem is that my
co-workers were SERIOUSLY ENGROSSED in their conversation, as if they were discussing a means for world peace
or something. I think it’s one thing to enjoy the opportunity (and let’s remember, some people DON’T have this
luxury) to do things to look attractive...it’s another thing to make it your life’s pursuit.
What’s interesting is that most of the people I know who are so into material and physical image tend to be
what society deems ”beautiful” (my co-workers certainly fit this bill). Because of that, I’ve often thought that maybe
my pet peeve with them is that I was just jealous because from a societal standpoint, they look better than me. I
don’t often discuss this type of issue with many people because I’m afraid that that is exactly what they’ll think of
me: that I’m a bitter, old, jealous spinster who’s got this chip on her shoulder about her cancer and her appearance
and who can’t be happy for someone else when they feel good about themselves. Most people wouldn’t believe me if I
told them that that was NOT the case. I mean, why would anyone believe me? All circumstantial evidence in society
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would point to the fact that I SHOULD be jealous, and me saying the contrary would be, well...my word against
society.
I have no problem with the ”beautiful people” of the world. In fact, most of my friends were very, very, very
(did I mention very?) beautiful...as in, ”Hi, Welcome to House of Style, I’m Cindy Crawford” beautiful. Was I ever
jealous of them? Not really...I thought it was unfair of society to lump people into neat little ”pretty” and ”ugly”
categories, but I knew it wasn’t my friends’ fault and so I never took it out on them. So in light of all of this, I can’t
really say that I’m jealous of beautiful people...which just means that my problem with people like my co-workers is
an idealogical problem.
What floors me, I suppose, is the complete and utter arrogance and narcissism these people have. Everything
is about looks, nothing is about substance. I’ll illustrate what I mean with yet ANOTHER co-worker conversation...this time I was actually in the conversation.
”Yes, well, I met my boyfriend through a friend of a friend...I had seen him around and had liked him for a
while, but he was dating this other friend of my friend, which I couldn’t understand because I was so much better
than she was. I was so glad the day they broke up.”
”So things are good, then, between you and your friend who used to date him?”
”Oh, no...I don’t even really know her.”
Um...wait...you don’t know her...but somehow you’ve made the determination that you’re somehow BETTER
than she is? Since when are human beings subject to a rating scale based on physical appearance?
Scratch that last question.
(Nonuglies, anyone?).
I forgot that LJ themselves is a proud keeper of just such a juvenile rating forum
The older I get, the more infuriated I am with society’s manipulation of my self-worth. I shouldn’t need to be
Twiggy to be beautiful. I shouldn’t need to have Botox injections to be attractive. I shouldn’t be thinking NOW
about how to finance all of the plastic surgery I’m going to need in my forties.
Since when is a human being’s worth the sum of our packaging? When did we become a box of macaroni and
cheese that only has worth if it has the ’KRAFT’ name on it?
We keep doing it wrong. We keep defining ourselves by what we lack, not just in material items but in our
looks as well. We aren’t perfect until we lack nothing. It’s no longer a matter of losing the weight, losing the grey or
losing the wrinkles. No...we’ve got to have a perfectly TONED body...perfectly STYLED hair...perfectly SMOOTH
skin. Anything less and we might as well be 300 pounds with a beehive hairdo and alligator skin. There is no wiggle
room any more...the polar opposites for what is beauty and what is ugly in our society are growing farther apart.
And I don’t get it. The !Kung San don’t have this type of emphasis on beauty. The Kwakiutl don’t either.
In fact, I can’t think of any Native tribe that EVER held the equivalent of a Miss America beauty pageant. So it’s not
like this whole system of lookism is some social Darwinistic natural selection phenomenon. It’s a completely arbitrary
event in our culture. And because it consumes us, it robs us of ever being able to feel good about ourselves for WHAT
WE DO. In the past ten years, I’ve been through: OCD, a major depression, an abusive marriage, the death of a
parent and a battle with my own terminal stage illness. You’d think that out of all of that I’d have found some sort
of pride and satisfaction in having gotten through that with my head intact. Nah. All I do is worry about the size of
my ass and berate myself for not exercising hard enough during chemotherapy in order to lose weight.
I feel sorry for my co-workers...yes, I know, that’s just so BIG of me to say. But I really do. I never, EVER
want to feel like they do...that first and foremost I am my looks and second I am my achievements. I think it’s sad
that more than likely they are going to wake up one day and realize that all of their life they’ve done nothing but
pursue unfulfilling goals.
I don’t know...then again, maybe they won’t.
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Perhaps there’s a joy in this I can’t understand.
Maybe the
pursuit of beauty perfection really IS fulfilling to them.
Which, of course, just makes me feel even MORE sorry for them.
2.11.5
(2003-11-22 09:47)
- Agitated - public
I just read yesterday’s Chicago Tribune. In every issue, John Kass has an op-ed piece on page 2 of the main section.
I’m not a fan of his at all, being that most of the time his piece is really just an extended rant on whatever most
recently pissed him off. But yesterday’s piece was all about protecting his kids from bad ideas.
Apparently, he has some issue with Disney’s marketing of the movie, ”Bad Santa.” I’m not sure if everyone here
has seen the trailers or not, but basically it’s about a drunk and slovenly Billy Bob Thornton who dresses up as Santa
and goes around robbing places, with wackiness ensuing at every turn. The trailer shows a drunk Santa interacting
with kids. So far, so good.
Except that John Kass somehow picked up on a reference regarding oral sex in the trailer (I didn’t catch that, but
perhaps I live under a rock). Apparently one of his kids piped up and asked a question about the trailer, but because
of the lewd nature of the trailer, he’s rendered speechless. I mean, gee, what DOES one say when a child asks a simple
question about a sexual innuendo that they don’t understand? How about, ”Oh, that was a grown up joke?” The kid
won’t think twice about it again.
So anyways, now John Kass is LIVID that they would dare air such a commercial during (ahem) SUNDAY AFTERNOON FOOTBALL, because last time he checked, ”the National Football League was still family friendly...”
You have GOT to be kidding me. Has this guy actually WATCHED a football game? Or more specifically, watched the
commercials? From about 10 am until 7 pm every Sunday the airways are filled with sexually provocative commercials
for such lofty products as BEER, VODKA, oh, and did I mention, BEER? Does anyone remember Spuds McKenzie?
The ”family friendly” dog that was regularly seen imbibing, dancing and hot-tubbing with scantily clad women? Or
how about Elvira, mistress of the dark? I distinctly remember her cleavage being used to market Miller products about
ten years back. Every time you turned on a Cubs game you were practically smacked in the face with her ample bosom
(hence the name, ”Boob tube.”)
I agree that things are different now. You don’t see too much of that ”party til you drop with naked women carousing
around a sloppy man” attitude. No, you see the opposite...a group of women chugging Guinness and grunting at a
group of construction workers as they slowly remove their shirts. Despite the role reversal, it’s still just as sexist.
So where was John Kass in the 80’s? Where were his cries of protest at the blatant use of sexual images in commercials that aired during his self-proclaimed ”family friendly” afternoon? Where are his cries NOW at such blatant
advertising?
They are nowhere to be found. He only complains when his children draw attention to it. I’m willing to bet that had
his chitlin not spoken up, the commercial would have aired in his home without a hitch, just like all of the other sexual
propaganda that occurs between the downs.
So John Kass, you can keep on being a hypocrite. Let your children watch all the Sunday afternoon football that
they can. Let them grow up thinking that men are beer swilling pigs who can treat women like dirt. Let them grow
up with role models that teach him that it’s ok to want use sex as a means of achieving an end. Just because they
aren’t saying anything about the beer commercials doesn’t mean they aren’t noticing.
2.11.6
(2003-11-22 14:30)
- Continued Agitation - public
Man, yesterday’s Chicago Tribune really hit my trigger buttons. I just read another op-ed piece, this one by Mary
Schmich. Mary Schmich is an interesting piece of work...she’s one of those writers who WANTS to be controversial
but is deathly afraid of it. So she usually ends up writing pieces on quintessential NON-issues...but then tries to make
up for her deep need to not offend anyone by making sure that she takes a definitive stand. She’s the kind of person
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who would leverage her principles and defend those of us who REALLY think that non-stick cookware is better than
stainless steel.
But I digress....
Yesterday’s article was about blogging. It was creatively written in the form of a conversation between two people names Missy and Sissy who got together at their local cafe to discuss the pros and cons of blogging versus a
newspaper. We’re talking Pulitzer prize winning stuff here.
Being true to her nature, Ms. Schmich deftly tries to tap dance both sides of the issue, but by the end of the
piece she does what she always does: takes a very self-important stand on what is, in essence, a non-issue in society.
What does she think of blogging? Not much. At least, not when compared to the valuable information you get
from a newspaper. It’s quite apparent that she feels that people who blog are self-important blowhards who are just
”pining to opine.” Bloggers, in her eye, should ”save their opinions for the coffeeshop and dinner table.”
Well, gee, Ms. Schmich. Maybe if I were lucky enough to have a daily opinion column published in a major newspaper
I wouldn’t have to resort to my pathetic little blog in order to express my opinion. What’s that? Oh, wait, I get it
now...it’s BECAUSE I don’t have a column that I shouldn’t be allowed to express my opinion in writing anywhere. I
should ”save it for the coffeeshop and dinner table.” Only after I have ascended to such elitist levels as to actually be
published once in a while do I deserve my opinion on anything to be heard.
I do agree with Ms. Schmich on one count...we ARE a nation drowning in opinionated yakkers. And if I had my
choice, her daily column would be the first to go.
I should have known...anyone who chooses non-stick cookware over stainless steel is BAD NEWS.
2.11.7
(2003-11-24 17:22)
- anxious - friends
I think my OCD is coming back. I’m not sure where to begin. I suppose there is no eloquent way for me to write
anything that I’m about to write, except to say that what is written below is a mind’s eye view of what it feels like to
have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.
My hair routine in the morning is becoming more ritual-like...everything has to be done at a precise moment
in time, now. X number of minutes until I remove the towel turban...X number of minutes after that I rub in mousse
(and only a specified amount)...hair has to dry X number of minutes before using the blow dryer...only a certain brush
can be used on it, and so on. Each step is completed with the utmost care to ensure that I do each one PRECISELY
and PERFECTLY...because in my mind’s eye, if my hair looks like shit, I know it’s because I fucked up one of the
steps somewhere. Maybe too much mousse. Maybe I let it dry just a smidgen longer than it was supposed to. Either
way, it was MY fault.
And so it goes....it’s MY fault if my hair looks horrible. And if my hair looks horrible, then I look horrible.
So basically I look like hell because of my lazy ineptitude at following my own directions. As a result, I deserve to be
treated like shit...people SHOULD call me ugly...people SHOULD treat me with no respect...after all, how can I ever
expect to be treated like anything important when I’m so lazy? It’s arrogant for me to even consider such an idea!
Respect? I’ll get respect when I can learn to give myself some...and the only way to win my own self-respect is to at
LEAST follow my fucking morning routine.
And when I CAN’T follow my routine...well, then, like the bad person I am I need to stay in front of that
mirror until I FIX the problem. What, my hair won’t curl right because I used too much mousse? Then it’s my
responsibility to stand there and style, style and re-style my hair–over and over again—until it looks RIGHT. After
all, I brought this upon myself by using too much mousse in the first place. So I’m late for work. So I’m late for lunch
with Blake. It’s a punishment I deserve. It’s what happens when rules are broken. The turmoil I face with all of the
styling is simply the consequence of me fucking up one of the steps in my process.
But really, now... do I REALLY have so many rules in place? I mean...they’re only there because I have my
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best interest at heart. I mean...I can’t very well go out with my hair just hanging there. People will laugh. People
will make fun of me. I still remember what it was like to be the fat girl in 5th grade and have people—people who
just the day before were my friends—oink at me in front of everyone and then laugh while I stood there in shame.
I still remember being in 7th grade with excessively hairy legs and being teased by the 8th graders in front of the
entire cafeteria because I wore shorts to school and didn’t even realize that hairy legs were a fashion faux pas. I
still remember the time in 9th grade when my very first crush announced to everyone at a party that I should stop
pestering him after I made one very lame attempt to call him on the phone the night before. Do I want that again?
Because if I don’t follow my ritual, that’s EXACTLY what I’m going to get.
Rules...rituals...such harsh terminology! They’re not really rules...just guidelines that have been put in place
to keep me from looking like an idiot to the rest of the world. After all, being an idiot is my natural state of being. I’m
stupid, lazy, fat and out of control. And that’s fine...I can be all of those things. I just can’t let the rest of the world
know it. If they ever found out, that would be it for me. They’d have a field day with all of my inadequacies. I mean,
look around. No one else has bad hair. No one else eats like a pig. Only me. I’m an aberrant anomaly, a mutant
abstraction that is unfit for participation in normal society. I’m not acceptable ”as is.” Which means my choices are
the following: hide the flaws so that I can at least have some sense of a normal life, or be myself and prepare for
complete social isolation.
Rules, rules, rules...fine, call them that, even though I resent the negative connotation there. I know deep
down that they’re not there to punish me but to help me by keeping me from being unloved by people. I don’t
understand why I can’t follow them exactly! I mean, do I want everyone to hate me?
I don’t know...sometimes I think I do...I mean, look at me. Fat. Fat. FAT. That is one huge strike against
me. If I’m going to insist on being fat, that everything else about me had better be perfect. Being fat with acne, or
being fat with bad hair would DEFINITELY be the end of it all. People can tolerate one or the other but not both.
I’m just lucky that the world has been generous enough to me to forgive me for being such a big eater. I know I’d be
pushing it if I asked them to forgive me for bad hair, too.
Thing is, all of this could be avoided if I just did what I was supposed to do. I mean, I could wipe out all of
my problems in one fell swoop if I could just follow the directions of my mind. I mean...I’d exercise TWICE a day! I’d
only be eating 1400 calories a day with lots of fruits and veggies! I’d be in and out of the shower in 15 minutes flat!
The world would be perfect for me. The fact that it isn’t means that I’m fucking it up somewhere. I’ve got no one to
blame but myself for my world not being perfect.
Yeah, so, I’m fat. I’m ugly. I did this to myself...so I need to spare the world of the whole ”poor me” attitude and lame ass excuses I use to justify my imperfection. Deep down I know there ARE no excuses for not being
EXACTLY who I want to be. There’s no excuse for me being fat. There’s no excuse for me to have bad hair. There’s
no excuse for any of it, but the reason is that I am simply too lazy to muster up enough discipline to follow the
guidelines.
It’s a very simple formula. Follow the guidelines and your life is perfect and exactly the way you want it.
Don’t follow them...well, I know the consequences of not following the guidelines so I’ve got no right bitching about
what happens when I don’t follow the rules.
It’s all about control, really. If I could just CONTROL myself enough to follow my rules then I wouldn’t be
in the predicament I’m in now. I wouldn’t be sitting here bemoaning how I’ve got all this pressure on myself to stand
in front of the mirror and fixing my hair over and over. Like I said, that behavior is a natural by-product of not
following the rules. All I need is a little control to follow them correctly THE FIRST TIME. Then I wouldn’t HAVE
to stand in front of the mirror fixing a problem that only exists when I DON’T follow the rules.
Control. It’s all about CONTROL.
2.11.8
(2003-11-26 09:59)
- Pompous - public
Posted in the [ LJ User: Debate ] community
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i think the 20th century has brought plenty of changes to women + minorities.. but i don’t think anyone will
EVER be treated equal..
what do you guys think? how would YOU describe all of the changes to women + minorities?
Wow...this is quite a question.
The first thing that comes to mind is the concept of ”equal” and what it means. If the definition of being
treated as an equal means ”exactly the same,” well...then I might argue that men and women should not necessarily
be treated exactly the same, as there are inherent differences among us (and YES I’M A FEMINIST). I might also
argue that the various races and ethnicities should not necessarily be treated EXACTLY the same way. I think
lumping everyone together into one homogeneous mixture diminishes the cultural relevance of each particular group.
A rudimentary example of this would be Christmas in America. Just about every major company in America gets
Christmas Day as a holiday, but you don’t see many Kwanzaa holidays. If we define ”equal” as ”exactly the same”,
then we essentially would need to subject all races to all holidays (or, just pick one and make everyone participate).
When it’s put that way, it sounds a lot less equal than it does fascist.
Now...if you define ”equal” in terms of simply giving equal respect and credence for what it is each race/gender/ethnicity
stands for, then I’d say that I hope we as a global culture achieve that. We have made major strides in this arena
in America (and in some cases have taken two steps back before moving forward). Pay discrepancies between men
and women are shrinking...we have more minority students enrolling in college...I mean, gee, the world looks swell. I
suppose the real question is, how much farther can women and non-white races go before hitting the glass ceiling?
Well, perhaps that is the issue. Maybe women and non-white races in America will never go beyond a certain
point. Does that mean that the typical white male boys club is going to rule the roost forever? Not necessarily. I do
think there is a trend going on now in our culture where we are seeing a RECESSION of men as a dominant social
force but not because other races/women are looming forward and taking all of the power. A prime example of this
can be seen in television. There is an increasing trend towards the objectification of MEN now...and I do think that
men are beginning to feel the unnecessary stress of conformity (a stress that has always been prevalent amongst other
minorities and especially women). I think at some point the masses will be relatively equal in how they are treated
and depicted in society. Relatively enough so that the similarities between the groups will be more noticeable than
the differences.
But that’s not to say that EVERYONE in society will be equal. The power is shifting SOMEWHERE, but
it’s not shifting from white middle class men to women and non-white minorities. No, it’s mainly shifting to nameless,
faceless corporations. Granted, these corporations are run typically by old white men...but I don’t think we can
exclusively say that because they are run by old white men that white men are retaining their ideological gender and
ethnic supremacy. Corporations have much more at stake in their decision making than just the wishes of who is the
CEO, and because of that I do think that the CEO behind the corporation can’t simply be relegated to whatever
race/gender/ethnic class he/she was born into.
No, I no longer believe that the CEO of any company is a reflection of race/gender/ethnicity. You don’t see
many CEO’s nowadays pushing a moral agenda into the hegemony of our culture. No, what you see now is a
representation of wealth. Race, gender and ethnic lines suddenly become blurred by the concept of CLASS. It doesn’t
matter if the CEO is an African American. If he’s pulling in $6 million in annual take home pay, then he’s in. And
we increasingly see corporate decisions based not on upholding class/gender/ethnic lines but instead on buttressing
the ability of the CEO to remain a wealthy person. When it comes to corporate America, it doesn’t matter if you’re
black or white or male or female&just whether you’re rich or not.
The next question, then, is to ask how does one GET to be rich? Is there some sort of filtering process in
place that keeps women and non-white races from becoming the next CEO of IBM? Well&yes and no. Yes, there are
relics from the old days whereby women and minorities just aren’t welcome in the board room. But just like in the
masses, those lines are increasingly becoming blurred. There ARE more women at the helms these days&and more
African-Americans&and more Hispanics. The old boys club walls are coming down and are being replaced by unisex
country clubs with a $150,000 annual membership fee.
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So what we see is a dynamic culture where men and women are being treated more equally. We see a culture
where non-whites and whites are being treated more equally. What happened to the conflicts that used to be between
these groups? Where did it go?
Simple. It now exists between the wealthy and the poor. Between the ”haves” and ”have nots.”
We are living in a world where the discrepancy between the ”haves” and the ”have nots” is growing exponentially. Those two groups will never be equal...not in power, wealth, or stature. But...I believe that we will see a
leveling off of discrepancies in people like us...the ”have nots.” Again, I do believe there will be a point in time where
those of us in the ”have nots” will see beyond our different genders, races and ethnicities to realize that AS the have
nots, we actually have a lot more in common than we realize.
Of course, what we’re talking about here are the first stirrings of class-consciousness in the Marxist sense. I
think people in America have always had class-consciousness in some sense. Women have been aware of male-female
discrepancies since Mary Wollstonecraft first wrote her Vindication on the Rights of Woman. African-Americans have
been aware of this since long before the days of Martin Luther King, Jr. We’ve always been aware of the inequalities.
Marxist class-consciousness, though, is about being aware of the inequalities of WEALTH and LABOR and the
consequences of being on the ”unequal” side.
But here’s a general problem with Marxist class-consciousness: capitalism teaches us that anyone can be anything with a little bit of hard work and pulling on the boot straps. The unspoken assumption there is that if you’re
NOT wealthy, it’s because you just didn’t try hard enough and have no one to blame but yourself. This actually
deflects from anyone ever becoming class-conscious, as people don’t ever think that the discrepancy in wealth is a
result of something you’re born into. People are taught that class lines can be transcended.
This is very different than race, gender and ethnic consciousness. Gender differences and race/ethnic differences have always been based on other factors that could never be overcome by hard work alone. Skin color. Genitalia.
Hard-coded physical factors with which we were born. These are issues that can’t be overcome by simply putting
the noses to the grindstone. The inequalities that result can only be overcome by a unified confrontation of those
who choose to discriminate against them. That unified confrontation requires that those within that particular
race/gender/ethnicity focus on the similarity of their situation, and not on their differences. Unification is the key,
and unification is a matter of perception.
The rise of the media is feeding our budding class-conscious perception on a daily basis. Every time J.Lo
comes on MTV with some more ”bling bling” that none of us can afford, we realize how great the differences are
between her and the rest of us. Every time we hear about another CEO’s base salary before stock options, we are
reminded how great that gulf is between us. Class-consciousness is being played right before our eyes&and it’s only a
matter of time before the ”overspent American” catches on to it. Black or white, male or female&it doesn’t matter if
you can’t put a roof over your head.
Marx received much criticism over his concept of class-consciousness and many have denounced is as a relevant theory explaining the social order. And perhaps at the time it was written, they were right. Marx envisioned a
complete and global class-consciousness resulting in revolution. Ok great. The thing is, Marx’s globe was a lot smaller
and revolution consisted of shooting a monarch-not exactly practical. It’s easy to understand how contemporary
scholars scoffed at his ideas, being that our world is significantly larger and much more governmentally complex.
I think, though, that there is one item that Marx and his contemporaries never could have predicted. I think
this is the same item that most present-day Marx dissenters have overlooked. That item is the mass media.
I’m not sure Marx’s ideas could ever be attainable were it not for the mass media. I think you might have
seen pockets of resistance here and there from a group of people against a specific industry, but probably not a global
class-consciousness of the level Marx envisioned. Early visionaries of his theory did have one concept correct, though:
that class-consciousness could be achieved by disseminating the ideas to the masses.
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In the late 19th century, this proved to be a more difficult task than anticipated. Propaganda was out&most
of the masses couldn’t read. Organizing small labor unions usually failed, as even the strongest union didn’t have
enough muster to withstand a long strike against the company. And, of course, there was the whole concept of having
the intelligentsia become ”one with the peasants,” the idea being that by doing as the Romans do, they could begin to
talk one-on-one with the peasants and rouse their consciousness. But it’s hard to do that when you never leave your
own backyard. I mean&if I’m a peasant in 19th century Russia, why should I care if people 1,000 miles away have all
of this stuff that I’ve never even HEARD of? Chances are, I probably don’t even know who lives in the next town
over.
The mass media has solved this problem. One episode of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous will show you exactly that: all of the expensive gadgets owned by someone 1,000 miles away, gadgets that you couldn’t afford without
winning a lottery. And you don’t need to be literate to see the discrepancy. It’s all spelled out right there for you:
they have it, you don’t. The class-consciousness comes into play when you go out and try to BUY it and realize that
you can’t afford it.
Realizing class-consciousness is, in my opinion, where we are headed as an American society, but how this will
interplay with the global culture is questionable. We may very well become a nation of the ”have nots” versus the
”haves,” but how will that interplay in a global world where various ethnic groups despise Americans? If the rest of
the world is busy dividing things up by ethnic group, how can we as a microcosm function with class-consciousness?
Perhaps that is the limiting factor that will ever prevent us from getting there.
2.11.9
Thanksgiving
(2003-11-27 08:27) - public
Although every day I am thankful for what I’m about to write, today is Thanksgiving and is a time to reflect on those
items so that in my darker times I can remember them and realize how lucky I am.
I am thankful for:
Blake...the most wonderful, caring, generous and loving person I could have ever asked for in my life. I couldn’t have
sculpted a better relationship with anyone even if I tried. We are perfectly imperfect together and the gratitude I feel
at having found something so special is beyond words.
My family. Granted, there’s not much of it size-wise, but today my father and his new girlfriend are coming
to have dinner at my house. I am hoping she will be a welcome addition to the family.
Blake’s family. What can I say? They practically adopted me from day one. They are extremely kind and
thoughtful and made concessions in their lives to help accommodate me when I was diagnosed. Unbelievable,
considering I had known Blake less than a year when cancer first hit.
My health. Yes, I’ve got a terminal illness, my arm hurts all the time now and I can’t seem to drop this
weight. But I’m HERE. I can still exercise, read, play piano, cook, travel, whatever I want. I am very lucky. Despite
all of the ugliness, I’ve never been deprived of being able to have a full life.
My co-workers. Yes, I complain about my job, but you know, my co-workers didn’t turn their backs on me
(well, all but one didn’t). When I was diagnosed, they gave me the opportunity to keep working and to do new and
interesting things. Not once did they ever treat me as some sort of ”special” person needing ”special” treatment. They
never allowed me to make any excuses...it was deadlines as normal, and I love them for it.
My job. It’s the best of both world...I get to travel, and when I’m not traveling, I get to work from home. I
am paid well and feel that I am appreciated. I’ve had jobs in the past that I’ve detested...and I am very thankful that
I am not trapped in one of them.
My friends. I don’t keep in touch with many of them, but I love each and every one of them. Elizabeth,
Mindy, Nancy, Brandy and Jenny especially come to mind. We’ve got a long history, and many, many stories. Mindy,
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I look forward to your wedding this spring.
My cats. MamaKitty, Mary, Sidney, and Casper. There is nothing better than coming home from a long
business trip and having all four of you pounce on me the minute I walk in the door. You make my house a home. I
also need to give special thanks to Blake’s cat, Grace, to whom I’m a surrogate mother. Even the 6 am jumping on
the head is appreciated.
My home. It’s not just because I love the house or having more space, although that is all part of it.
also because it’s closer to Blake, my family, and his family–the people that matter MOST to me.
It’s
My medical team. Dr. T, Kelene, and the entire gang at Northwest Oncology in Hoffman Estates, Illinois.
You guys ROCK. I have yet to see any of you fail to smile at any patient, no matter how dire the situation. Your
tireless and thankless energy is beyond admiration. I don’t believe in heaven, but if there is such a place, you will all
have special places in it.
My LiveJournal friends. You guys are great...I always learn something whenever I read any of yours’ journals.
But there’s more to it than that. My journal is a place where I bare my soul. No matter what my mood is, whether
I’m quietly despondent or being a pompous know-it-all, you all just accept me as-is. I wish more people in the world
could be like you.
And, finally...I am thankful that the loved ones in my life also have many reasons to be thankful. What I
mean by that is that none of them are battling an illness, going through a divorce, dealing with the death of a loved
one, etc. It has been a very quiet year for those that I love...and for that I am thankful.
Happy Thanksgiving to everyone. Peace be with you.
Karen
2.12
December
2.12.1
(2003-12-02 15:56)
- Never good enough - public
So, I decide today to go to the doctor to get my wrist checked. It’s been hurting since Labor Day, and even though
I’ve been wearing a splint and all that, it hasn’t healed. So I decide that now is as good a time as any to establish a
new doctor here in town.
It seemed like fate...I searched and searched on my insurance company’s web site to find a doctor that is in
the network and is associated with the specific hospital I want. I initally look for a female, but there are all only
THREE in the network, and they are all associated with a hospital I’d rather not go to. So I opt for a male, but
decide I’d rather have a younger one (thinking that they will be more in touch with medicine rather than their tee
time). I find one and decide to call.
The receptionist took my name and asked if I had ever been there before. I say, No, but then she pauses and
says, ”Is your father Donald?” And then she rattled off my old childhood street address. I was floored. It appeared
that I had called the same practice that I had visited when I was getting my heart defect monitored as a little girl. I
mean, what are the odds?
So I’m pretty happy with my decision here, thinking that maybe the whole incident was good karma. I couldn’t have
been more wrong.
He walks into the room, and yes, he’s young–upper thirties, tops. Not once did he crack a smile. He spoke in
machine-gun style fashion...
Doctor: I hear you have a problem with your wrist?
Me: Yes, it hurts on the outside of the wrist when I turn it this...
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Doctor: Did you have a sudden fall where you caught yourself on your wrist?
Me: No, I think I hurt it weight training but I have a history of...
Doctor: Show me where it hurts.
Me (pointing): Exactly here, although when it started it was more of a generalized pain, so I...
Doctor: I see you have a brace with you. That was probably the right thing to do.
Me: Well, I have a history of carpal tunnel so when...
Doctor: Carpal tunnel usually causes tingling and numbness in fingers one through three. Since this is involving
fingers four and five, it doesn’t sound like the symptoms of carpal tunnel. There are a number of types of tendinitis...DeQuervain’s is most likely what this is. So we should probably get it X-rayed, and then when was your last
physical?
Me: Well, what do you mean by physical?
Doctor: Where they check your complete blood panel and do a physical exam.
Me: Well, I have blood work done all the time from my oncolo....
Doctor: Does it include cholesterol?
Me: As far as I know, it’s everything. CBC, tumor markers, liver panel...if you want I can get copies of...
Doctor: I’ll need copies of all of that.
And so on. I don’t think I got in a complete sentence in the entire conversation.
But then it gets better. He starts in on me about my weight. About how there are a number of good diets
out there...Atkins, South Beach, Zone, and Weight Watchers. He starts in on my about exercise, about how I should
only strive to lose 1 to 2 pounds a week because otherwise I’ll start to yo-yo. I finally stop him and tell him that I’ve
been doing this for ten years and know how to eat right and cook. He just cuts me off by telling me I need to watch
my calories and carbs.
Then he asks what I do for exercise. I tell him cardio and strength training. He begins asking what I do for
cardio. I tell him, and he cuts me off again to lecture me on how I need to do 30 minutes of cardio every day and that
I should think about walking and incorporating that into my lifestyle and that all I need is some ”diligence” and the
weight will come off.
Last time I checked, I hadn’t ASKED for his advice.
People wonder why it is I have such a complex about my weight and eating. It’s because of people like THIS.
People who take one look at me and make a snap judgment based upon what it says on the scale. They think that I
can’t possibly be working out as hard as I say I do. They think I can’t possibly be eating moderately. I mean, gee,
if I were, there’s no possible way I would be this overweight! I MUST be lying to them. OR...maybe I’m not lying
but instead am so uninformed that I’m working out all wrong and eating all wrong. So as the doctor, it’s apparently
THEIR job to educate me. They’re doing me a FAVOR by lecturing me and giving me valuable diet and exercise
information. It’s prima donna doctor to the rescue!
I don’t understand it. I’ve been through hell in the past year and a half and all he can do is lecture me on
how fat I am? Does he think I don’t know? I half expected him to shake his head at me and say, ”Well, as fat as you
are, I’m not surprised you ended up with cancer.”
I’m tired of being treated like a statistic. I’m tired of doctors. I’m tired of feeling bad about myself.
I’m my own worse critic. I don’t need some overblown medical student making it WORSE.
2.12.2
Doctors and such
(2003-12-04 16:48) - public
Well, it looks like lymphedema is finally settling in. I’ve noticed a slight swelling in my left arm and a soreness that is
getting more painful every day. Blech. I was hoping this was one side effect of cancer that would bypass me. Now I’ve
got a lifetime of THIS to deal with, as the condition is chronic and permanent.
I’ve got FIVE appointments/tests in the next 10 days. I’ve got a doc’s appointment tomorrow, Tuesday I
have an eye exam, Thursday is a bone density test, next Friday is a mammogram, and the Tuesday following is
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my port flush/appointment with my oncologist. At some point I still need to get in a PET scan and whatever else
Tajuddin orders for me on the 16th.
And I’m sure he’ll order something for me. Probably a few visits to the lymphedema clinic to get fitted for a
sleeve. And maybe a few other tests...
A few days ago I began developing an ache in my stomach, right under the diaphragm. It hurts to press on
it, and it hurts if I lay on my stomach and try to breathe. I thought maybe it was a cramp, but I’ve been noticing that
I’m getting bouts of very mild nausea right after I eat now...usually only lasts a few seconds, but they are stronger
now than they were last week.
Obviously I’m concerned. I mean, I had mets to my liver...so of course my first thought is that I’ve got a
nice little cancer culture growing in there. But the pain is in the center and a little over to the left...even if I had a
really really extra long medial lobe of my liver, I still think the pain is a bit removed to be the liver.
Which makes me wonder what it is. I’m sure I’ll have to sit through a friggin hour long MRI to find out.
I finally decided that I needed to talk to someone about all of this...I don’t mean talk to my oncologist, or
another doctor or whatever. I mean...talk to SOMEONE.
Like a counselor.
My first appointment is tomorrow. Now, none of this is new to me. I suffered through a serious bout of
OCD, depression and borderline eating disorder between the ages of 21 - 26. Spent 3 of those years on medication.
So, I’m used to the drill.
I made the decision two nights ago after that asshole doctor upset me so much. I spent a good hour lying in
the fetal position on Blake’s bed, just crying and crying and crying. I realized THEN that I can’t hide from this
depression any longer. I’ve ignored the signs, telling myself that I’d ”snap out of it.” Well, I finally got the balls to
admit it to myself: It’s here, and it needs to be dealt with.
It’s just really strange, though...I look back on my behavior since my diagnosis and it’s all there.
When I was first diagnosed, I exercised like a fiend and ate a very strict borderline vegetarian diet, all with
the assumption that I was doing something preventative in nature. BARGAINING.
I left to go to Michigan to work for four months to ”take my mind off of everything.” DENIAL.
I came back from Michigan stressed over radiation, moving, and was just plain irritated at the entire world.
There wasn’t a day that went by where I didn’t feel suffocated by the idiocy of the world around me. ANGER.
And here I am now: daily mood swings, fits of crying, an increase in feeling like nothing matters in the world
(and not in a spiritual sense). I’m familiar enough with the warning sings to know DEPRESSION when I see it.
I am NOT handling this dying thing very well at all. At least...not at this point in my life.
So I’m going to go talk to someone...I’m not sure exactly what I need from it...and I’m not sure what anyone
can tell me to snap me out of this. I mean...what DO you say to someone who was told 18 months ago that she has a
terminal illness? What can possibly be said to them that will make this OK?
The only GOOD thing is that at least now I know there’s an end in sight.
is...ACCEPTANCE.
The only thing after depression
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2.12.3
All NEW Grief Recovery formula! On sale NOW!!!!! Hurry, while supplies last!
(2003-12-08 08:55) - Speechless - public
Ok, so most of you know I’m having a tough time lately dealing with my grief over this whole terminal stage cancer
thing. Today I read something interesting courtesy of yesterday’s Rockford Register Star, a newspaper with the lofty
calibre of...well, it’s a newspaper. Here’s the quote:
’According to the Grief Recovery Institute and it’s ”Grief Index,” the hidden cost of grief in the workplace is
more than $75 billion.’
First of all, I am offended beyond belief that a statistic like that even exists. What kind of moron would actually go and try to quantify human suffering into a dollar amount that would impact a corporation’s bottom line?
To learn more, I go to the [1]Grief Recovery Institute Homepage.
OH. MY. GOD.
First off...they stupid fucks COPYRIGHTED the term ”Grief Recovery.” Grief recovery is a baseline psychological term. They might as well have copyrighted ”Eating Disorder” or ”Manic Depressive.” Way to privatize classic
academic terminology for the purpose of making money! Ahh...the smell of capitalism.
But wait. There’s even more smarminess. Hold the mouse over the huge ”Grief Recovery” logo on the homepage and you get the following messge: ”The Grief Recovery Institute–Grief–it’s like reaching for someone one last
time, just when you need them the most only to find they are no longer there.” I mean...if I’m depressed and decide to
head over to the Grief Institute for some helpful counseling, THIS is what I get? They might as well hand out Exacto
knives with the site, so that we can all slice our wrists after reading such depressing drivel.
But that’s what makes this so sickening...the entire site is an attempt to emotionally manipulate people when
they are in their most down state. Why, you ask, is there such emotional manipulation here? SO YOU’LL
BUY THEIR STUPID BOOKS, PAMPHLETS AND PAY $600 TO PARTICIPATE IN SOME PHONY GRIEF
CERTIFICATION PROGRAM.
Hoping to find SOMETHING salvagable on the site, I read through some of the articles they have posted,
thinking that maybe they have some good information in them. The [2]Article Homepage has a nice little blurb which
goes as follows: ”Recovery from grief or loss is achieved by a series of small and correct choices made by the griever.
We hope these articles give you some valuable insights into those actions and provoke you to begin taking them as soon
as possible.” When you actually go to read the articles, each one is a teaser bit in yet another attempt to emotionally
manipulate the viewer into purchasing their crappy books or participate in one of their phony seminars. The only
”provoking” they do is to try to get you to ”take the first action” of buying their crud.
The whole thing is offensive to anyone who has ever suffered any type of loss.
People like the ones who founded this little money making scheme are bottom dwellers, unfit to participate in
humanity at any level. There’s no benevolence there...there’s no giving back to the community...there’s no desire to
truly help someone. They’ll help you as long as you fork over your wallet. And I use the term ”help” here lightly, as I
doubt that any of their bubble gum pop-psychology crap really serves any useful purpose.
According to John W. James, one of the co-founders, ”Grievers do not lack courage or willingness. What they
lack is helpful information and correct choices.”
Well said! And I can tell you that MY first choice in dealing with grief is to tell everyone I know NOT to fall
for your snake oil sales tactics.
Karma had better hit these people ten-fold when it comes back around to them.
1. http://www.grief-recovery.com/index.html
2. http://www.grief-recovery.com/ArticleIndex.html
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2.12.4
Survivors need not apply
(2003-12-12 15:02) - public
I went in for a mammogram today. No big deal, really. I m not expecting anything to show up. But after I registered,
the receptionist handed me a small pamphlet called, Breast Cancer: Your Right to Know. After reading it, I ve decided
that maybe I should make my own pamphlet. It would go something like this:
This pamphlet is for women with Stage IV breast cancer. Period. If you do not have Stage IV breast cancer, please put
this pamphlet back where you found it so that it can be discovered and read by someone who will find it informational.
If you have Stage 0, 1, 2 or 3, please note that the world caters its support towards people like you. Pamphlets
are published with all sorts of helpful information on YOUR disease, YOUR chances of recurrence, YOUR statistics
on survival. If you check your pamphlets carefully, you ll notice that all information on Stage IV cancer is strangely
missing from its content. It is for this express purpose that the Stage IV pamphlet was created.
At the current time, women with Stage IV breast cancer do not have a place or voice in the cancer sub-culture. We are
not entitled to have our statistics printed alongside yours, as our .4 % survival rate sounds a tad gloomy when compared
to your 95 % in Stage 1 and 70 % in Stage 2. We are not entitled to have our fears of death mentioned and instead
must read endless paragraphs on cancer survivorship. And we are never, ever, EVER allowed to say the D word at
any time. After all, any mention of dreaded word is likely to bring down the positive spirits of those whose struggle
with death isn t imminent.
This pamphlet is meant to be the antithesis of this success only cancer sub-culture. This pamphlet will spell out
three things very clearly for women with Stage IV breast cancer:
1) Your chances of surviving 5 years from the original date of diagnosis is 16 %.
2) Your chances of surviving at all from the disease is .4 %.
3) Pending death by another cause, you WILL DIE FROM THIS DISEASE.
This pamphlet is for women with Stage IV breast cancer. If you do not have Stage IV breast cancer, I d like to
refer you to the bookshelf in your doctor s office. There, you will find a myriad of resources that will allow you to pat
yourself on the back for not having a more serious diagnosis. There you will find a solid library of information that
will teach you how to be a survivor.
This pamphlet will do none of those things for you. This pamphlet will teach you to live under the sword of Damacles we
call death. This pamphlet will tell you who to contact to get your affairs in order, what to expect when your chemotherapy fails for the last time, and how to die with dignity, grace and happiness.
If you do not have Stage IV breast cancer, this is not for you. You ve got plenty of other materials to read. Find
it, and leave this one for those of us who have been ignored by you and your sub-culture for far too long.
This pamphlet is for women with STAGE IV BREAST CANCER. Period.
2.12.5
On children
(2003-12-13 13:17) - Despondent - public
Today’s entry is about children and me expressing my feelings on them. What is written here is blatantly honest and
is something I’ve thought a lot about. I do not want anyone in my life to try to talk me out of feeling the way I do
or try to convince me that my past conversations reflect my true self. THIS POST IS THE TRUTH ABOUT HOW I
FEEL ABOUT CHILDREN.
I do not like children. Or rather, I don’t like undisciplined children that have no manners, no creativity and
no sense of boundaries. In general, I can name probably 100 different things that I just don’t like about kids.
This does not mean, however, that I do not or never wanted to have children. I don’t care if I’ve rolled my
eyes at the 2 year old having a temper tantrum in the restaurant. That is not necessarily indicative of an underlying
desire to not want to have children.
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I have waffled on the idea of children for many years. Logistically, children are a nightmare. Expensive, time
consuming and life changing. Since I like my life, I didn’t exactly like the idea of something coming along and changing
it.
But what I’m beginning to realize is that there is a much bigger picture than just that when it comes to having children. There is an emotional aspect that is rewarding to the point where it transcends the hassles of picking up
strewn toys and wiping a runny nose.
I want children. I want a family. Goddammit, I want the stupid fucking white picket fence.
want someone trying to persuade me otherwise anymore.
And I don’t
Problem is, I can’t have that. Ever.
Two weeks ago I sat through a baptism. It took everything I had to not cry. There’s a certain amount of
pride a parent takes in their children...pride that is born of love and overprotection and a joy that comes from the
wonder of having a child. There are silent bonds between parents and children...traditions that are handed down,
family secrets that are shared. Children are more than just the sum of their hassles.
Not everyone thinks that is a valid reason to have children. The argument I hear most often against it is,
”Well, wanting to share traditions is not a good enough reason to have children.” Then what is?
It’s the bigger things in life that make people want to have children, not the logistics. I mean, come on. NO
ONE WANTS TO CHANGE DIAPERS, CALM TEMPER TANTRUMS OR DEAL WITH TEENAGE ANGST. But
people parent because they know that there is a deeper meaning to having children.
I recognize that. Others I know do not. But its my recognition of this fact that makes things like baptisms
and new births so difficult for me. I understand the bigger picture of having children. Having children is not about
people wanting their lives to change in the mundane ways...HAVING CHILDREN IS ABOUT PEOPLE WANTING
THEIR LIVES TO CHANGE IN PROFOUND WAYS.
I will never have that. And I want it. I grieve so deeply for it that I almost can’t stand it.
Yes, I want children. And there isn’t anyone in the world who can convince me otherwise anymore.
2.12.6
Cancer.
(2003-12-27 20:52) - Crushed. - public
What a sucky day. Period. Then again, what a sucky life. I feel like I’m in the bottom of a deep well and can’t see the
top anymore.
I can’t even begin to delve into how I’ve felt the past two weeks. First off, I need to say thank you to everyone
on LiveJournal (Angelique, you know who you are!) who took the time to send me a holiday card or post warm wishes
in my journal. I am so very sorry I haven’t had a chance to write you back yet. Please know I will repair the damage
ASAP.
December proved to be a round of rousing follow up tests for my cancer. I didn’t think too much of things, really. I went in on the 16th to meet with my oncologist and tell him about some lymphedema (which I’m starting to
develop, albeit slowly) and some pain I’d been having. It wasn’t anything severe...I’d just noticed that over the past
month I’d had some joint problems in my right leg, and that occasionally my leg would lock up as I walked. It wouldn’t
hurt...I’d just have to stop my stride, shake it out, and then continue on. I did have some pain in my lower back, but
figured it was from the depression...the depression seems to make me twist and turn in very strange ways when I sleep.
Naturally I’m concerned...I mean, my grandmother died of ovarian cancer one day in the late 50’s, about a month after
her hip locked up...so I wasn’t exactly comfortable with the parallels here. I also don’t think there’s ever an ache or
pain that doesn’t ring the ”cancer” radar in my head since my diagnosis. Oh well.
I go in and he’s the same wonderful doctor I’ve had since I met him...until I tell him about my pain. He is im128
mediately concerned, and begins to feel around on my lower back. He gets to a spot, presses, then presses again and
asks if it hurts. The second time he presses I grimace a bit and say, ”Yes.” His demeanor changes completely...he tells
me he would like to see me have a bone scan immediately...as in, STAT that day. He leaves the room and my nurse
comes in with some pain medicine for me and is trying to get me scheduled...I ask her if he felt something on my
sacrum that concerned him. She said that all he would say is that, ”I don’t like that she has pain in her whole back
and I want to see her get that scan done sooner rather than later.” We talk a bit, and since I can’t really get scheduled
for that day, decide to wait on the bone scan until the following week, after I get back from Chicago with Blake. They
sent me for an X Ray instead that day, which showed no fractures or anything, so OK. Probably a pulled muscle.
Blake and I head to Chicago...our annual holiday trip. During my time there the pain escalated to levels I never
knew existed. The mornings were ok...but by noon it felt as if there were a vice clamp–one end on my tail bone and
one end on my head–slowly compressing onto my spine. I couldn’t find the source...just shooting pain up my back, into
my head, giving me a headache like I’ve never had before. I couldn’t sit, I couldnt’ stand...I couldn’t do anything but
feel pain. By Monday, I was calling my nurse and arranging a rental car so that I could drive from the city to have an
immediate MRI of my spine and brain. I never knew there could be such a pain in my life.
The good news on the MRI was that the pain was not caused by any type of slipped disc, fracture, or misalignment.
However, the BAD news was that the pain was not caused by any type of slipped disc, fracture, or misalignment. So
by now the whole process of elimination so far means that I’ve probably got either a) a bone met pressing on my spine
or b) a sudden onset case of osteoarthritis from all of the chemo and steroids I was on last year. I go in for a bone
scan that day. The bone scan came back clean...no mets, no cancer, still in remission. Next step: bone density test to
determine osteoporosis levels, which I’m supposed to have sometime next week. So woo hoo! This is good news! I’m
cancer free.
Except that I’m not. I’m still dealing with this fucking disease. Every day something new hurts, every day I’ve
got some more stupid fall out from my fucking chemo or radiation. I’m on 25 mg of Decadron a day and taking Vicodin
like they’re M &M’s. When does it fucking end? When do I finally get a chance to sit back and not have to deal with
the fatigue, the stiffness, the weight gain, the pain, and every other fucking thing my body wants to do to betray me?
When does the tunnel go UP again?
2003 has been...the WORST YEAR OF MY LIFE. Period. Worse than the year when my mom died, worse than
when my husband threw a set of knives at me (blades first), and worse than the year I battled OCD and severe disassociative episodes. I never expected this. I thought I was out of the woods when last year ended. I mean, what was
not to be hopeful about the end of last year? I had just finished my chemo. I had 5 quick little weeks of radiation. I
had moved and gotten my life in order. Everything was supposed to be fucking coming up roses.
NO ONE EVER TELLS YOU THAT CANCER ROBS YOU OF MORE THAN JUST THE TIME YOU LOSE
IN TREATMENT.
The thing is, I don’t have anything left for it to take anymore. I’ve lost my future, I’ve lost my health, and I’m
slowly losing my sanity. WHAT FUCKING MORE DOES IT WANT FROM ME? Besides the last breath in my body,
what else do I have left to give this disease?
I have nothing else. Nothing at all. Let it take me now, let it take me later...it doesn’t matter anymore.
2.12.7
More ranting. It never ends.
(2003-12-28 11:51) - public
Long rant on nothing important...
Ok...had a HORRIBLE night’s sleep last night. I decided to sleep at home instead of at Blake’s, since I
haven’t been able to sleep there lately thanks to his cat, Grace, and her continued insistence with sleeping on: a)my
back, b)my chest, c)my legs or d)my head. Every night about 2 am she hops up onto my bed and decides to nestle
in. This is normally cute and fun for me, except that I’m on mega doses of steroids, have little or no ability to sustain
any sleep and am basically a bitch on wheels at the moment. So her little night stirrings are really wreaking havoc on
my system.
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Well, my night at home wasn’t any better. It was FREEZING in my bed. A few months ago I moved my
bedroom around so that my bed is in the Northeast corner of my bedroom, which is on the Northeast corner of my
house...the coldest possible spot for a bed to be in a house in Northern Illinois. I had three blankets on me, which
kept me immediately warm, but if I moved an inch the rest of the bed was freezing. So that didn’t contribute to good
sleep.
And then there’s the bladder issue. I swear, the older I get, the more that damn thing shrinks. I was up at
least 9 times just going to the bathroom. I don’t get it. When I was in grade school, I could go ALL DAY without
having to go...now the minute I lay down I have the sudden sense of urgency to get up and go fifty times before I feel
settled. It’s just so infuriating.
Then there were my cats. Casper, my little Blue Russian boy kitty, has always slept on my pillow, wrapped
around my head, since he was a kitten. He’s just the sweetest thing...except that last night he just couldn’t sit still.
I swear he was up tossing and turning more than I was...I finally had to kick him out of the room at 3 am after he
decided to park his ass on my hair and I woke up feeling like I had needles jabbing into my scalp. He spent the rest of
the night caterwauling, which caused a huge ruckus with the other three cats. Ai-yi-yi.
Oh, and then there was the pain. I decided to forego Vicodin last night, as I’m sick of the stuff. So I spent
all night with the ”Princess in the Pea” thing going on...had this pain in the upper right portion of my back, right
under the scapula, and no matter how I moved, it felt like I had this rock under my mattress digging into that spot.
I vaguely remember pondering the pain at about 6 am, when the newspaper delivery guy threw my paper on my
doorstep and woke me up...I seem to remember my mother talking about pain in this part of the back with this
particular sensation a few months before her diagnosis with pancreatic cancer.
Sigh. I can’t ever seem to shut my mind off from making parallels to past tragedies that I probably never
have to worry about. I worry about pain in my hip and think about my grandmother’s death. I get pain in my back
and think about my mother. I’ve got one cancer...what are the chances of having another? Arrgh.
Anyways...I finally drag myself out of bed at 10 am, listless and THIRSTY. Well, of course I would be thirsty
after having to pee 900+ times in the span of 10 hours. So I drink some water...which tastes all funky since the
Decadron has totally killed my tastebuds and makes everything taste like warm glob. But I did manage to make a
killer omelette (my first one EVER!) and a smoothie...which of course I can’t taste but at least it LOOKED good on
the plate.
After reading my paper, I decide that I need to find out where to take back some gifts I got from my Dad
and his new girlfriend Rosalie. They gave me a set of knives and a blender that I’d like to return, but they didn’t
give me any gift receipts and I’m a little fearful of asking them for them, being that Rosalie apparently did all of my
Christmas shopping this year (thanks, Dad) and I don’t want to offend anyone. I tried to take them back yesterday
to Target, being that’s where they said they bought them, and so I’d like to insert here my official rant on [1]Target
Stores and what is probably the WORST CUSTOMER RETURN POLICY I’VE EVER ENCOUNTERED BAR
NONE.
Most stores have a retail policy of allowing returns even without receipts...you probably won’t get full price,
as they have no way of knowing what you paid for the item, but they will usually look up the lowest sale price within
the last 90 days or so and give you a store credit. I verified on Target’s web site that they did indeed carry both of
the items I was attempting to return.
So I go in there, and the girl at the front tells me that all I can do is haul the stuff back to the same department and make an even exchange of merchandise for products in the same department. I stared at her for a few
minutes and said, ”So you’re telling me that all I can do is exchange for store merchandise in the SAME department?
All I can do is exchange this for another set of knives?” I can hardly believe this, so I ask to speak to someone else.
She calls over her line supervisor, who is about as knowledgeable as a mushroom cap and she starts quoting
customer service policy about not taking back things without receipts. I’m tell her that’s not true, that I’ve done
it time and again at Target and I always can at least get a store credit. I calmly try to explain to her that I’m not
trying to get money back, or a credit or a debit...all I want is to return their items, unopened and unused, for store
130
credit that I can better use elsewhere in the store. I’m not trying to steal money from them or anything like that...just
trying to spend my MONEY IN THEIR STORE.
So the line supervisor gives this big sigh and calls an LOD person (whatever the hell THAT is, but is apparently one notch up in the food chain in the corporate ladder of this great retail chain). The LOD is on the phone and
tells the supervisor that UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES ARE ANY RETURNS, REFUNDS OR EXCHANGED
GIVEN FOR MERCHANDISE OVER $75 WITHOUT A RECEIPT.
So...I pitch a fit. I can’t even believe this...people are staring at me, and I don’t care. I mean...since when
does a retail store not take back their merchandise? THEY SCANNED THE STUFF RIGHT THERE IN FRONT
OF ME...THEY HAD THE ITEMS STOCKED ON THEIR SHELVES. I WAS PERFECTLY REASONABLE IN
ASKING THAT THEY GO AHEAD AND GIVE ME A STORE CREDIT FOR WHATEVER THE LOWEST
SALES PRICE OF THE ITEM WAS WITHIN THE PAST 90 DAYS. This is standard retail policies for other
stores such as Kohl’s, Carson Pirie Scott, and Lord and Taylor.
The line supervisor just shrugged her shoulder at me and told me I was stuck with it all.
away.
Then she walked
I guess that means I’ve got to start shopping at K-Mart for all of my things...being that Wal-Mart and now
Target are on my shit lists as places I will never spend my money again. I get so TIRED of no one caring about people
anymore.
I think that’s the thing that set me off yesterday.
government, by insurance companies.
I am so tired of feeling abused...by corporations, by the
I AM NOT A GODDAMNED NUMBER. I am a person...people should be treated as if they matter. I’m not
a store statistic, I’m not a social security number, I’m a reasonable person who just wants a little forgiveness out
of life. And I’m not talking about forgiveness of my personal foibles from those people who know me the best...I’m
talking about something intangible that is missing from our culture. A sense of personal touch. A sense of truly being
able to care about someone else–a stranger– and forget for just one minute that gee, my pimples are acting up and I
hate my job so I’m just going to be nasty to everyone because I’m entitled to a little self expression.
I read an article today on cruelty in the paper. It talked about how things like niceness, courtesy and respect
are falling out of favor because people view things like that as ”sucking up,” or ”kissing ass” or, my personal
favorite...”Ungenuine.”
WHAT THE HELL? Since when is being nice a LIABILITY? Does it really take that much effort to go a little bit of an extra mile for someone else? Does it really take that much effort to JUST TRY?
The people I remember most in my life have been the ones who have tried. Like the young woman during my
very first bone scan...I knew she saw something on those scans...I could tell in her face. She couldn’t say anything to
me because she was just the tech who ran the test...but she came out, and I saw the tears in her eyes and she handed
me two cards with spiritual sayings. She had signed the back with ”God Bless.” Two days later I had the news that I
was Stage IV. I still have her cards.
Then there was the letter from friends of Blake’s parents...people I had met only a few times and hardly knew
at all. They had been through some trying times many years earlier...but when they heard about my diagnosis, they
took the time to write me a letter. They hardly knew me, and the fact that they took the time...still means a lot to
me. I still have the letter.
I am so dismayed by things...by our society, by how we are all choosing to live our lives. I have often waffled
between believing that humans are either innately good or innately bad. I’m beginning to think that we’re just
innately stupid, greedy and narcisstic. Yet I know I’m part of the problem...as we all are. We all contribute to the
ways and means of things here. I just can’t seem to figure out a) how to change myself, b) how to help change in
others and c)if I’m just completely off my rocker and think I probably don’t have any authority to demand any change
at all, being that all that I am is a sham wanna be who likes to just sit around preaching to others and bitching about
131
my own fate. Last time I checked, I wasn’t exactly a mover and a shaker who had any right to be criticizing others.
I guess today...I’m just disappointed in humanity.
P.S. Kurt Vonnegut rocks. If you have not already done so, go read Breakfast of Champions. Today.
1. file://localhost/home/ljbookc/tmpbooks/kamigirl25/www.target.com
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Chapter 3
2004
3.1
3.1.1
January
Netiquette
(2004-01-05 15:20) - Mad - public
I don’t like picking fights, but I have an issue with a comment that was posted in my boyfriend’s journal. I originally
posted a ”snarky” comment in reply, but decided not to do that, being it’s not very polite and Blake would kick my
ass. So, since the person is not on my friend’s list and doesn’t even know I exist, I decided to get my rant out here.
You know, everyone in life has problems. None are worse than anyone else’s...it doesn’t matter what the problem
is, really...what matters is the degree of suffering one must endure to deal with the problem. For example...
I have an old childhood friend who cannot have children. Although they are still in the throes of trying, it doesn’t look
likely that she will ever conceive. Now, I have never had this burning urge to have children (recent episodic incident
aside), so I don’t understand what she is feeling. BUT I KNOW THAT SHE IS SUFFERING TREMENDOUSLY. It
doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that out.
My beef here is with people who have one specific problem in life and, because of that problem, make snotty comments
towards people they know who aren’t in their same position. If you’ve got a chip on your shoulder about your own
life’s situation, then deal with it. Don’t try to make other people feel bad because they’re not there in the trenches,
suffering with the same problems you’ve got. Get a grip...and do your own fucking homework by dealing with your
own fucking problem. Don’t try to make your problem MY problem by bombarding me with a guilt trip.
I’m trying to be nice about it...but I mean, come one. I would NEVER post a comment in the journal of one of
my friends telling them to stop whining about their head cold because they should be thankful it’s not cancer. Sometimes, when I’m not in one of my better moods, I may THINK things like that...but I would never, ever say it,
because deep down I know that my bitterness is MY problem and no one else’s.
I was also really turned off by the comment because the person making it has no idea any of the problems that
are in Blake’s life right now. The comment was unfair, unwarranted, and born from her own selfish desire to make
others feel guilty so she can feel better.
I understand why the comment was made. But understanding why doesn’t excuse it. She owes him an apology.
And if she doesn’t want to give him one, the let me be the first to point out to her that hey, she may not have
much money but at least she’ll live to see her 40th birthday.
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3.1.2
Can’t sleep....clowns will kill me....
(2004-01-10 10:10) - public
It’s official. The world’s worst song ever recorded is:
”Circus of Death” by The Human League.
There are many factors that go into making good synthpop music. I could go on and on about how different songs
invoke different feelings, moods, thoughts, etc. That’s the essence of good music. But there are two things synthpop
music should never try to do, and that is a) be political and b) use depressing topics as their subject matter of choice
(exception case in point: ”Luca” by Suzanne Vega).
All I want to know is: exactly how much acid were these guys ON when they decided that this song was a good
idea? I mean...Circus of....DEATH? Did one of them witness a freak and fatal elephant stampede as a child? Did one
of them see one of the trapeze artists miss their partner’s catch and plummet to their death? At what point, exactly,
did one of them make that great transcendent mental leap and decide that, ”Hey! Let’s put my fear of killer clowns to
good use by incorporating it into a synthpop song!”
Oh, and one other thing: ever notice in music videos that the men always have their own microphones but the
women always have to share?
Sigh. I need to get out more.
3.1.3
(2004-01-10 16:39)
- public
(Ahem)
All comments on the Human League were made tongue in cheek. I am in no way serious with regards to women
sharing microphones as a discriminatory practice requiring immediate activism.
Carry on.
3.1.4
Martian Chronicles
(2004-01-18 10:28) - public
I have a rant on Bush, but before I get into that....
I saw a post today in [ LJ User: cancersupport ] that brought me to tears. There was a post there from [ LJ
User: thezerosystem ] (Kristin) who is scheduled to undergo an amputation of her leg and hip because of chondrosarcoma (bone cancer). The post is short...but what struck me was the calmness of the words. I didn’t sense panic, I
didn’t sense grief, and I didn’t sense that she was paralyzed by fear...all things that I imagine I would feel in that
situation. I am in awe by this person’s determination to overcome not just her cancer but the mental onslaught that
comes with the disease.
I am humbled at what humanity must go through to survive. I will remember Kristin whenever I feel the
need to bitch and moan about my tendinitis or back pain or the fact that my cancer will return at some undisclosed
point in the future.
It could have been worse for me. So much worse. Just because I don’t want other people to point this out to
me doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t be pointing it out to myself. It’s high time I start being thankful for what I have
instead of lamenting what I’ve lost.
Ok, now that I’ve got my daily crying out of the way, on to a political issue...
I was a little stumped last week by Bush’s sudden urgency to send people to Mars. I don’t ever recall any
President forging ahead space exploration plans with such fervor. Maybe I’m dense, but it took me a day to come
up with a hypothesis as to why this would be so imporant...after all...what could life on Mars and this particular
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president have in common?
More than meets the eye.
All along, scientists feed the public the concept of ”science for science’s sake,” which, when applied to Mars,
indicates that we want to find evidence of life on Mars simply to satisfy our knowledge of where we are in the universe
and, most importantly, to answer the age old question of, ”Are we the only ones here?” I am quite sure that there are
true scientists out there that love their work and have only this as their goal...but since when has Georgie boy been
interested in something like this? I mean...since when does he really care about pursuing knowledge?
He doesn’t. Let me deduce why.
There is a big push not to just explore Mars but to find evidence of water which, in turn, will hopefully point
to evidence of past life. Biologically, this makes much sense...life tends to congregate near water sources. But water
also contributes in an interesting way when it comes to the preservation of...get ready for it...DECAYING ORGANIC
REMAINS. When organic life–be it animal or vegetable–dies near a water source, it has a very good chance of being
buried under layer upon layer of sediments. Over time and depending upon the specific geology of the area, these
organic remains can become fossilized (dinosaur fossils are superb example of this). OR...depending upon the geology,
the organic material can succumb to basic laws of physics involving temperature and pressure to become one of the
following:
Coal. Oil. Natural Gas.
Huh.
So...there’s the hypothesis.
spiratorial?
Sounds pretty out there.
I mean, do we really live in a world that is THIS con-
According to today’s Chicago Tribune, yes.
Four years ago, a Halliburton scientist named Steve Streich co-authored an article in Oil and Gas Journal titled ”Drilling Technology for Mars Research Useful for Oil, Gas Industries.” This article was unearthed last week by
Progress Report, a daily publication of the Center for American Progress. The article described the exploration of
Mars as an ”unprecedented opportunity” for the drilling industry and described Mars exploration as having a ”great
potential for a happy synergy” between the oil and gas industries.
You can click [1]here for the Salon.com article discussing this topic.
The author of the piece in the Trib (Clarence Page) flat out states that he is not ”proposing that Bush only
wants to go into space to enrich his pals at Halliburton.”
Well, I’LL flat out state that. This is old boys network cronyism at its best.
This administration needs to be removed. PERMANENTLY. We need to find a Democratic candidate that
can not only beat Bush NOW, but will be able to keep on beating him in four more years. Yes, that’s right...it’s
conceivable that if Bush loses this election he can still come back in 2008 and try again. He’s young enough, and if we
are unfortunate enough to get a Democratic candidate in the White House that louses things up (pay attention Howard
Dean!), we could still wind up with EIGHT YEARS (albeit not consecutive) of this administration’s Republican
demolition. Under their guidance, Mars will likely become the new galaxy landfill–and it will happen faster than you
can say ”Halliburton.”
I feel a tremendous sense of loss over this. I remember watching Carl Sagan’s ”Cosmos” on PBS when I was a
little girl. With his long foppish hair and drawling ”bill-ee-yons and bill-ee-yons of stars,” he was one of the world’s
true scientists...one who looked up at the stars not with dollar signs but with wonder.
Space exploration is the stuff that dreams are made of. Thank you George Bush for turning our final frontier
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into a commodity.
1. http://www.salon.com/opinion/conason/2004/01/16/halliburton/index_np.html
3.1.5
Cancer rant...of a different kind.
(2004-01-18 22:10) - public
Ok, I didn’t see the Sex and the City episode, but heard in [ LJ User: cancersupport ] that they blamed Samantha’s
breast cancer on ”lifestyle changes.” Specifically, that she never had children.
I am so mad I can’t see straight.
Instead of blaming WOMEN for causing their own breast cancer, how about if the show instead made mention of the fact that excess hormones in our food supply contribute significantly to the disease? Oh no, they couldn’t
do that. I mean...imagine the uproar from the National Cattlemen’s Beef Association or the Dairy Council.
Oh wait, here’s a better idea...how about they address the fact that birth control pills are a known risk factor,
despite the pharmaceutical companies’ unwillingness to disclose this information, thereby allowing women all over the
country to continue to take hormone based birth control without knowing the consequences? Yeah. They couldn’t do
that...again, there’s that whole uproar thing.
No, it’s just less of a hassle to blame individual women for their individual choices. Makes the story so much
less controversial.
I am offended by the show and anyone involved with the show.
The world needs to stop taking the fucking easy way out.
individually responsible for ”getting” breast cancer.
Quit passing the buck...individual women are not
I didn’t ”get” breast cancer. It came uninvited.
Oh, I’m sure me being overweight didn’t help. But if that were the only criteria for breast cancer, then we’d
have a lot more women with the disease.
There are bigger issues causing this epidemic.
means you, too, Michael Patrick King).
Anyone who thinks otherwise is an uninformed moron (that
Oh, and in OTHER news...
A woman in New York City spent 18 years of her life working for Gucci Corporation. She was diagnosed with
breast cancer, which resulted in a five year treatment regimen. Prior to her diagnosis and treatment, she had worked
a consistent 30 hour work week. After her diagnosis, she continued to work her 30 hour work week. Apparently a new
manager took over and instituted a mandatory 40 hour week. The woman requested–with full documentation from
her doctor, I might add–to remain at her 30 hour per week schedule, stating that an increase in hours was too taxing
for her during her treatment.
Gucci fired her. And to make it worse, Gucci corporate lawyers are defending the decision, stating that she
was no longer fit to do her job.
The woman’s attorney is having difficult time finding a legal precedent showing that breast cancer patients
qualify as disables, despite the 1991 designation of breast cancer as a disease protected by the ADA. Apparently the
judges who ruled on the case are all under the impression that breast cancer is a disease that has a duration of ONLY
THREE TO FOUR MONTHS.
Who ARE these people–these judges and TV executives?
who has breast cancer?
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Does not ONE of them have someone they know
I am truly, truly disappointed with our collective humanity today.
3.1.6
Out of the Blue
(2004-01-19 11:01) - Working and sick of PowerPoint - public
Music: ”Same Old Scene”–Roxy Music
I love Roxy Music.
Bite me, Blake.
3.1.7
Jane Eyre
(2004-01-20 14:55) - public
Ever have one of those days where you just feel...I don’t know...plain?
Moving from Cheer to Joy, Joy to All,
I take a box,
And add it to my wild rice, my Cornish game hens.
The slacked or shorted, basketed, identical
Food-gathering flocks
Are selves I overlook. Wisdom, said William James,
Is learning what to overlook. And I am wise
If that is wisdom.
Yet somehow, as I buy All from these shelves
And the boy takes it to my station wagon,
What I’ve become
Troubles me even if I shut my eyes.
When I was young and miserable and pretty
And poor, I’d wish what all girls wish: to have a husband,
A house and children. Now that I’m old, my wish
Is womanish:
That the boy putting groceries in my car
See me. It bewilders me that he doesn’t see me.
For so many years
I was good enough to eat: the world looked at me
And its mouth watered. How often they have undressed me,
The eyes of strangers!
And holding their flesh within my flesh, their vile
Imaginings with my imagining,
I too have taken
The chance of life. Now the boy pats my dog
And we start home. Now I am good.
The last mistaken,
Ecstatic, accidental bliss, the blind
Happiness that, bursting, leaves upon the palm
Some soap and water–
It was so long ago, back in some Gay
Twenties, Nineties, I don’t know...Today I miss
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My lovely daughter
Away at school, my sons away at school,
My husband away at work–I wish for them.
The dog, the maid,
And I go through the sure unvarying days
At home in them. As I look at my life,
I am afraid
Only that it will change, as I am changing:
I am afraid, this morning, of my face.
It looks at me
From the rear-view mirror, with the eyes I hate,
The smile I hate. Its plain, lined look
of gray discovery
Repeats to me: ”You’re old.” That’s all, I’m old.
And yet I’m afraid, as I was at the funeral
I went to yesterday.
My friend’s cold made-up face, granite among its flowers,
Her undressed, operated-on, dressed body
Were my face and body.
As i think of her I hear her telling me
How young I seem; I AM exceptional;
I think of all I have.
But really no one is exceptional,
No one has anything, I’m anybody,
I stand beside my grave
Confused with my life, that is commonplace and solitary.
3.1.8
Physical law
(2004-01-21 16:29) - public
I’m down today.
I was down yesterday.
Funny how this happens. I finally start to lose some weight (down another pound today, for a total of 7) and you’d
think I’d be feeling good about myself. I eat well. I work out religiously. I’m losing weight, growing into myself,
becoming more accepting, and yet...
I just don’t feel pretty anymore. Instead I feel...old...used...like I don’t have it in me anymore to turn any heads.
Not even one.
It’s strange...I used to feel the opposite. I used to feel objectified but not loved. Now I feel loved but not pretty
enough or sexy enough to feel objectified.
Objectified isn’t the right word. I’m not sure what is. Attractive? Seductive? Worthy of a significant amount of
bodice ripping?
I want my younger days back. My pre-cancer life, where the burdens of what lay ahead for me never stifled the
urge to go for a good romp in the hay.
I miss feeling footloose and fancy free. I’m changed now...and I’m not complaining about that. What I’ve learned
definitely outmatches what I’ve lost.
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I just wish the new normal included some more of the old normal.
3.1.9
Watch out, Charlie Trotter
(2004-01-23 09:26) - Creative - public
Meatless Spaghetti Dinner
Serves 2
4 oz dried whole wheat spaghetti or linguini (whole wheat blend is ok)
Heavily salted boiling water
1/2 med. white onion, chopped
6 cloves garlic, mashed with a mortar and pestle, with a bit of salt to make a paste
1 C Boca Meatless Ground ”Burger” crumbles
1/3 C shredded carrots
1/2 T olive oil
1 16oz can stewed tomatoes (with green peppers–I like Del Monte brand)
1 8oz can crushed tomatoes
Red Pepper flakes (to taste)
Freshly Ground black pepper (to taste)
Chicken Broth (as needed)
10 fresh basil leaves, chopped
2 large sprigs fresh thyme, leaves removed
20 leaves fresh Greek oregano (Italian is fine), chopped
1/4 tsp - 1/2 tsp dried tarragon (to taste)
Boil pasta in salted water until al dente, approximately 9 minutes.
to drain while sauce cooks.
Drain, rinse with cold water and continue
Heat oil in skillet over med-high heat (can be non-stick, but sauce will be simmering for about half an hour
on stove, so you might not want to subject your non-stick cookware to that. Using a regular stainless steel skillet will
require using more broth to keep food from sticking). Add onions and stir to coat. After a minute, add just enough
broth to just barely coat bottom of pan (use less if using non-stick). Stir and cook, about 5 minutes, until onions
begin to soften.
Add meatless crumbles, stir and cook about 5 minutes, again adding broth as needed. Add carrots and cook,
allowing broth to evaporate until mixture is just moist. Add garlic and cook 1 minute, stirring. Add 5 good shakes
of red pepper flakes (to taste). Stir and cook 1 to 2 minutes. Add stewed and crushed tomatoes and 1/4C to 1/2C
chicken broth. Stir, partially cover, and let simmer approximately 20 minutes or until broth thickens. Add chopped
herbs, dried tarragon and freshly ground black pepper to taste. Stir, cook for 2 minutes and remove from heat. Mix
sauce with paste and serve.
Calories per serving (approximate...depends on the brands of tomatoes and meatless crumbles you use): 410, 8
g total fat.
Notes: Chicken broth is used in place of oil, so the purpose of it is to keep food from sticking to the pan. It
is also the main source of salt in this dish, so if you do not want to use chicken broth, you can substitute vegetable
broth or salted water (can use the pasta boiling water). If you use a non-stick pan, you will reduce the amount of
broth you use significantly.
Fresh herbs should not be cooked in the sauce longer than a few minutes or their flavor will deteriorate. Add
them at the end and stir for a few minutes to release the freshest flavor.
Dried tarragon is the key to the slightly sweet flavor of this dish, but don’t overdo it. Fresh tarragon is a bit
too pungent to get the sweet flavor that dried will give.
139
If your stewed tomatoes do not have green peppers, finely chop one small fresh green pepper (or use frozen)
and add it at the same time as the crumbles. Make sure that if you use frozen green pepper that it is not freezer
burnt, or the freezer burn taste will permeate the dish.
Can you believe I created this on my own with the groceries I had on hand?
3.1.10
A moment of pause
(2004-01-23 11:29) - public
This girl [ LJ User: thezerosystem ] has more dignity, character, and courage in her pinky finger than everyone I’ve
ever met...COMBINED.
I’m not big on prayers or anything like that because I’m not the religious type...but I hope that everyone on my
friend’s list takes a moment to read her journal, especially her most recent post.
3.1.11
Fly the friendly, ADVERTISED skies
(2004-01-26 09:54) - public
Blech. I loathe United Airlines. They’re a major hub at O’Hare Airport, and unfortunately, they tend to be the
cheapest when I have to fly to major cities like Seattle (where I’m at now). So I usually fly them, although the
incidents are few and far between, and each time I fly with them I am once again reminded why I should have paid
the extra money to fly with someone else.
Anyways...it’s been a while since I flew United...August, to be exact. But I’ve been flying for years, and it’s
always the same-old, same-old: mad rush to board the plane, cattle car feel to the coach compartment, cramped
seats, grumpy flight attendants and really bad food. Well...one of these factors have changed. After years and years
of providing passengers with the same level of service, United Airlined decided to make a change!
It involves their food service.
Now, on every other United flight I’ve ever taken since 2000, everyone in coach received a cardboard box meal
during their flight. This usually contained a slice of lunchmeat (your choice of ham or chicken!) on cold, stale bread,
plus some crackers or chips, a preservative-laced brownie/candy/insert manufactured dessert here, and if you were
lucky, sometimes a fruit cup. Everyone in coach got one of these. It didn’t matter if you signed up for the low fat
or low cholesterol or kosher meal when you booked your ticket. That information never went beyond the ticketing
system, and so all passengers got the same thing.
Now, over the past few years, I’ve noticed that the meals have begun to be infiltrated with some brand name
products: Frito’s instead of chips, Oreo’s instead of brownies, etc. No big deal...we all still got our sandwich and on
occasion, fruit. They really tried to make it a MEAL.
Until now.
Now, the policy is that you, in coach, have the ABILITY to PURCHASE an UPGRADED MEAL for...ahem...TEN
FREAKING DOLLARS. Your choices include a club sandwich or salmon Caesar salad. They’re made by Bennigans,
and to be honest, look pretty tasty (the person next to me got the salad, and I promptly stared at her during each
and every bite she ate). But TEN DOLLARS?
So, I decided to forego purchasing the upgraded meal and figured I could be happy with my tiny sandwich,
chips, and dessert. Hey! It was a long flight...all signs pointed to us getting a fruit cup, too!
So about ten minutes after my seatmate is happily munching (and I’ve succeeded in chewing off all of my fingernails in order to suppress the nagging hunger pains that are causing me to think it might be a good idea to ask her
for a bite), the rest of us mongrels in coach get our standard meal. Woo hoo! Dinner!
Except that dinner isn’t exactly a word I’d use to describe what I got. In fact, I wouldn’t even say it was a
meal.
140
United’s standard fare now consists of a cardboard box filled with nothing but BRAND NAME SNACKS. My
”meal” consisted of cheese filled RITZ CRACKERS, CAPE COD potato chips, OREO COOKIES, TOBLERONE
CHOCOLATE, and SUN MAID RAISINS. No protein, no vegetables, nothing but HIGHLY PROCESSED, BRAND
NAME CARBOHYDRATES.
I quickly did a calorie count of the meal. 500 calories. Now, that’s fairly modest...but it is 500 calories of
NOTHING. Except for the raisins, there was absolutely no nutritional value in there whatsoever.
I was so mad I threw my Oreo’s back into the box, making the grungy Seattlite next to me jump and give
me a dirty look. I ended up eating just the raisins and the potato chips. With each bite, I wistfully thought of the old
sandwich days and cursed at myself for ever complaining about the food back then.
I just couldn’t get over the irony of the whole situation. Here we are, an obese nation that can barely fit into
our airplane seats, and we’re being fed fat laden processed food intended to stave off hunger for, oh, maybe 45 minutes.
But hey...if we want to be healthy, we can go ahead and spend ADDITIONAL money to buy a HEALTHY meal.
For crying out loud...why should I have to pay for my health? I’m paying $600 for a damned ticket on their
airline–an airline that is bankrupt and looking to find ways to retain their cutsomers. You’d think they could afford
to give me a small salad free of charge. If not the salad, then at LEAST the fruit cup.
But then again, you can’t brand lettuce leaves or melon balls with the words ’KRAFT’ or ’FRITO LAY’.
I have a feeling that is someone figured out how to do that, we’d be a lot skinnier in this country.
3.1.12
Oh well, whatever, nevermind.
(2004-01-28 17:27) - public
Oh. My. God.
I am SO hungover. All from five little margaritas. I don’t remember leaving the restaurant, I don’t remember the walk
home, I have no idea how I got into my room...it’s all gone. I vaguely remember ripping out my contacts, throwing my
jacket on the chair and passing out on my bed fully clothed. I woke up in the middle of the night in a panic because
I couldn’t find my jewelry or wallet, and when I got up to look for them, I promptly went to the bathroom to huddle
over the toilet. I don’t know how long I slept like that, but it was long enough for the tile to make a near-permanent
indention in my backside.
I woke up when Blake called...in the midst of my drunken stupor last night I forgot to call him. He was worried
sick...but then proceeded to tell me that my house had been broken into early that morning. I tried to make a coherent
conversation but not sure if I said anything intelligible. After the call I crawled to my bag to grab some ibuprofen,
took them, and then laid back down to wait for them to work.
They came back up an hour later. Isn’t it funny, though, how vomiting when you’re hungover is an instant feelbetter technique?
So I drag myself over to my laptop because I’ve got a virtual training session I need to run in 45 minutes. I go
to login to the classroom and the stupid fucking server is down AGAIN. This happened last week too. Hewlett Packard
really laid an egg when they upgraded their classrooms last month.
I finally get going–with 2 minutes to spare before class–and tried to make myself sound articulate and knowledgeable as I explained the importance of using a pop-up calendar to schedule interviews. Blah, blah blah. I think I could
do these trainings in my sleep at this point.
So now here I sit...classes are done, I’ve had a hot shower and I kept down my lunch.
Seattle is a GREAT city. ;-)
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3.1.13
(2004-01-29 08:59)
- public
I think it’s insteresting that someone who hasn’t posted a comment or a journal post in a month suddenly rears back
up just to post yet another snarky remark on someone else’s post.
Cut it out already. Other people have problems, too, you know...just because they’re not the same as your doesn’t
make them any less valid.
Sigh.
3.1.14
Can you use it in a sentence, please?
(2004-01-31 11:51) - public
The other night we watched ”Spellbound”...the documentary on the National Spelling Bee. Now, for background’s
sake, it’s important to note that I won my regional spelling bee three years in a row (1985-87) and competed in the
national finals in Washington D.C each of those three years. A geek at heart? Perhaps. Regardless, the spelling bee
is something that is very near and dear to my heart, being that it was a part of my life for five years (1983-84 I
participated but only got to third place in my regional).
Anyways...wow. I had NO idea they could make such a realistic movie about this and actually have it be entertaining. We had to stop the movie every thirty seconds because I kept screaming, ”Oh my god! That’s exactly how
it was!” I thought I was going to pass out when Balu Natarajan, the 1985 champion whose autograph I have mind
you, came on and talked about what it was like to win the Bee. It was just so strange...a huge part of my childhood
was tied up in the Spelling Bee. Studying, practicing, learning rules. I wasn’t a zealot like so many other kids...I
mean, I didn’t spend years studying the dictionary or anything. I started January 1, and studied about 6 hours a
night–EVERY night–until the nationals the last week of May. But it was worth it...I mean...when you’re 11, 12, 13
years old, the media attention is phenomenal. I was on the front cover of every local paper, regional paper, and made
it onto the front cover of USA Today in 1986. I was interviewed, sat in parades, had flowers and balloon send-offs...it
really IS a big to-do.
But the documentary really captured something that hit right at home...for many kids, the Spelling Bee is the
first ”way out” you see. It’s the first opportunity that presents itself where hard work really DOES pay off. It honestly
isn’t the smartest kid that wins...it’s a combination of hard work and luck of the words. But luck aside, you can’t get
very far without the work. You need BOTH to be successful.
More importantly, though, the documentary also captured the different motivations for each of the participants. Some had external motivators (like proving to her immigrant parents that their dream of having better
opportunities for their children was fulfilled) while some had internal motivators (like the girl who studied words
endlessly to the consternation and puzzlement of her parents). It was sad and admirable at the same time...you got
the feeling that these kids had a work ethic that the world should envy, yet it was abundantly obvious that these kids
were also not quite...normal. They were the misfits of their peer group. It bothered some of them, you could see that.
Others it didn’t...they worked towards a purpose higher than what their peer group expected. Some sought parental
approval while others sought to be a role model for other kids in her poverty stricken city neighborhood. Either way,
these were NOT the kids who idolized Britney Spears and read ”People” magazine. They were...different.
I can’t tell you how much I related to this movie. I felt like I was back in junior high again, feeling misunderstood by my parents and isolated by my peers. The Spelling Bee was the first method I had found to turn my
differences into something to be accepted. Yeah, I liked to spend my time playing with maps and trivia books while
the other girls put on lipstick and ogled Teen Magazine...it didn’t matter after I won the Bee. I was suddenly ”cool,”
with my face splashed on every newspaper in a thiry mile radius. I was the center of attention...for once. Although
most of the positive reinforcement of my good deed came mostly from parents, it still had a trickle down effect that
made me the temporary ”it” girl.
The Spelling Bee changed things for me socially. Suddenly my idiosyncracies made sense to my peer group, as
geekiness suddenly equated to things as fame and popularity. The understanding carried its way through my school
years...people would see me with an open book or would listen to me answer questions in class...and no one cared.
Being smart like that had been reinforced earlier and so my brain no longer became a marker of my difference...it just
142
became the expectation everyone had for me.
This isn’t to say I ever felt like I belonged when I was an adolescent. In fact, I probably felt more isolated
than anyone else I knew during that time, and I was still taunted and teased quite a bit for my likes and hobbies.
But the Spelling Bee allowed me to have my differences without too much judgment...judgment that no doubt would
have driven me to perform certain acts of social desperation. The Bee established me as a social institution of being
different, so although the Spelling Bee didn’t make me fit in with anyone...but it granted me enough leeway so that I
could fake it.
I owe a lot to the Spelling Bee...I owe it my work ethic, my early budding sense of accomplishment, and a
feeling of determination that I carry with me to this day. It gave me my first understanding that there WAS world
out there beyond my conformist small town with its conformist small town mentality, and it gave me the hope that
one day I would get out. Out of that town, out of that mindset, and out of that same peer idealogy that caused me to
feel like such a misfit. It gave me hope that I could DO something with my life.
And that’s the lesson here...the Spelling Bee isn’t about being a winner...it’s just about knowing that life has
opportunities for you beyond what you already think you know and understand.
At least that’s what it was for me.
The best I ever did in the Nationals was 54th. Out of 215, I was the 54th best speller in the country.
Not too shabby for a girl who was told by her teacher in first grade to stop writing in cursive because it
made the other kids feel bad.
And FYI...the words I missed were Diocesan, Cinematheque and Scree, respectively.
3.2
3.2.1
February
(2004-02-02 09:59)
- public
[1]create your own visited states map
or [2]write about it on the open travel guide
143
1. http://www.world66.com/myworld66/visitedStates
2. http://www.world66.com/
3.2.2
Boob Tube
(2004-02-02 20:27) - public
So...the FCC plans on launching an investigation into yesterday’s Super Bowl halftime ”antics.”
Oh for crying out loud. It’s just a goddamned BOOB. Everyone needs to just shut the hell up about it already.
The most recent Yahoo! article discussed how Janet (Ms. Jackson if you’re nasty) apologized for her shenanigans.
Ok, great. Then the supposed unbiased article went on to make a case against her...basically saying that Janet has a
history of using her sexuality to her own advantage. The article outlined every single ”antic” she has ever done in the
past, like posing topless on the cover of Rolling Stone (gasp!). And they kept repeating the same mantra: this album
was about exploring her sexuality, and THIS album was about exploring her sexuality, and so was THIS one...you
know, as if she were the first musician to ever dare do such a thing.
Please. All of those people out there who have a problem with her baring her breast should maybe think about
exploring their OWN sexuality. I guarantee that if those people got laid more, they would have no problem with this.
And don’t give me that whole argument, ”oh, but think of the children that are watching!” Kids see far worse things in
video games. If we can shove Tekken down their throats (where the girl’s boobs get bigger after each fight they win),
then surely it won’t hurt them to see a REAL woman’s boob. Maybe that’s the key...maybe if they saw REAL boobs
as a kid instead of digital images, then maybe as an adult they’d actually...brace yourself...HAVE SEX and wouldn’t
have to spoil everyone else’s good time because they have sour grapes about their own inability to please a woman.
We’re a nation of frigid freaks. Get over it already.
3.2.3
(2004-02-03 11:33)
- public
[1]
[2]Who’s Your 80s Movie Icon Alter-Ego? Find out @ [3]She’s Crafty
Huh. Never saw THAT coming ;-)
1. http://shes-crafty.net/quizzes/quizzes.html
2. http://shes-crafty.net/quizzes/quizzes.html
3. http://shes-crafty.net/
3.2.4
In praise of PMS
(2004-02-03 16:57) - public
I’ve been having regular period now for about a year...prior to that, I was in a pseudo-menopause state during chemo,
and prior to that I spent 12 years being regulated by birth control pills.
I always used to roll my eyes at women who complained about PMS. I mean, sheesh...how bad could it be?
I have my answer.
I am a bitch on wheels this week...I’m crankier than when I was on steroids, I’m eating like there’s no tomorrow
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and can’t stifle this urge to for chocolate. I’m bloated, I have cramps and am generally pissed off at anyone who even
looks at me funny.
I never used to be this way. All those years on the pill robbed me of this experience so now here I am, 30 years
old, and feeling moodier than a teenager. I’ve got all this pent up aggression that has nowhere to go.
Which makes me wonder...is PMS really a physical problem or more of a social problem? I mean...I agree that
I’m edgier than normal...but why aren’t there more socially acceptable ways for women to deal with this? Is it that
I’m TOO edgy, or that I’m just edgy beyond the norm of what society deems acceptable for a woman?
I’m tired of being called ”bitchy” if I get aggressive...for ANY reason. And I’m tired of people waving off my concerns with the low-spoken comment, ”Oh, she’s just PMS’ing.” It’s not that I’m bitchy or PMS’ing. I’m just pushing
the boundaries of what society wants me to be. Society wants me to be this docile, people-pleasing, soft spoken,
make-everyone-happy gal...and you know what? Fuck that. Yeah, I said it.
I don’t think I’m bitchy. I think that I’m less tolerant now than I am at other times of the month. But which
one is really normal? Maybe the LESS aggressive form of me is the problem...that’s the one that lets people walk all
over me and take advantage of me without me standing up for myself. Maybe that is the part of me that is disfunctional, only society doesn’t like that. No, they want their women quiet and in the corner.
I kind of like my PMS. I am brash, outspoken, and don’t take shit from anyone. Personally, I think I need to be
like this more in my life. People wouldn’t take advantage of me, I’d communicate my needs and wants better and
overal....I think that would make me a lot happier.
3.2.5
Assure THIS
(2004-02-07 12:50) - public
I had a huge fight over my car this week involving spark plugs. The dealer changed mine without my consent and
then tried to charge me $87 for them (but gee, they were doing me a favor by not charging me labor on it). $87 for
spark plugs? Platinum coated spark plugs? I DON’T FUCKING THINK SO. With Blake’s significant help, we
got them to scratch the cost for the plugs...but I still ended up having to shell out $140 to have my AUDI ASSURED
car fixed.
The whole thing really sucked...I couldn’t get my car started last week. After trying once, I tried two more
times and it still won’t run. I finally have to get it towed out of my garage on Monday, which is a scary prospect,
since my driveway is narrow and has a steep drop off. So Audi gets it and says, gee, you tried to start it too many
times and flooded it, so since you caused the problem it’s not covered by your warranty.
Excuse me, but what the hell is that? Next time I try to start my car and it doesn’t turn over the first
time, am I supposed to just DROP EVERYTHING and call Audi? What reasonable person WOULDN’T try a few
more times? Then Audi tried to tell me that it didn’t start because I put the wrong octane gas in it (hmm...the
manual specifies 93 octane...and that’s what I put in...tell me what I did wrong there). Overall, I’d like to offer a big
fat THANKS to Audi and just say this to them: instead of trying to find ways to blame me for my car not starting,
how about you find the reason my car didn’t start in the first place and fix that? Because as we all damn well know,
THAT would be covered by my warranty.
So that’s that. Over done with. On to something new.
While I was in Seattle, my security alarm at home went off.
rived and saw my front door unlocked and my side door open.
Nothing was stolen or anything...the police ar-
So yesterday I get a $300 bill for a FALSE ALARM BECAUSE I DIDN’T HAVE A CITY REGISTERED ALARM SYSTEM. First off...what the fuck? My alarm company–Per Mar–never told me I needed to
register my alarm with the city. In fact, I know three other people who signed up with Per Mar and that has NEVER
been mentioned. Which means that they are probably the ones responsible for taking care of it, and in my case they
dropped the ball. Ok, fine, I’ll deal with them Monday.
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But a FALSE ALARM? I mean...I was 2000 miles away and they found my house with a DOOR OPEN.
What exactly has to happen to my house for it NOT to be considered a false alarm? I mean...what, do they have
to actually haul someone away in handcuffs before they can pat themselves on the back and say, ”Whew! Another
one foiled again!” Most robbers will run after they break into a house and find an alarm. That’s the purpose of an
alarm–to scare people off BEFORE things get stolen. So apparently this is lose-lose for me: I have an alarm that I
pay a monthly fee for, and when it does it’s job, I get fined by the city for using it. All I can say is that if Per Mar
doesn’t take care of this, I’m dropping them like a hot potato.
So I’ve STILL got an expired driver’s license. I found out at O’hare on my way to Seattle that my drivers
license expires OVER FOUR MONTHS AGO. Where the hell have I been, living under a rock? (wait, don’t answer
that!) They had to hand search everything, which didn’t make me happy, but my fault, I understand that. And the
people were nice...not like some other security folks I’ve dealt with, so I really appreciated that (the woman even said
something nice to me after seeing my breast cancer pin). I would like to say, though, that if anyone out there thinks
that having the feds work our airport security makes us safer, you need to pay more attention at the security gate.
In Seattle, I watched the young gentleman screening luggage. In the 15 seconds I watched him, I saw EIGHT bags
go through the scanner without him even looking at them. He had his head turned and was talking to his colleague
about his evening out the night before. EIGHT BAGS...he just held down the button and ran them through the
machine. Come on...at least be smart enough to PRETEND to look at them.
That’s the problem with feds being involved. At least when the airport ran it, they CARED because if something slipped through, they knew they’d have to deal with a lawsuit faster than you can say ”class action.” The feds
don’t have any obligation to make things safer...who’s going to sue the feds? All they have is just some sort of vague
prime directive from a lame president who tells them to ”keep the American people safe.” They have no vested interest
in keeping things safe, but that’s not the point. They’re just supposed to make people THINK they do. Perception is
reality.
And SPEAKING of airports....
Dad calls me today from O’hare...he’s got to pick up Rosalie from her extended trip to visit her daughter in
Baltimore. He’s just so frustrating...I told him to follow the signs, he’d be fine. Well, he ended up parking in the
boondocks, then forgot to remember which level he parked on, and then ended up in the wrong terminal. So he has
to go outside and walk around to get to the right terminal, and then he gets all irritated because he can’t find an
entrance.
Ok, fine. I understand how frustrating O’hare can be. We finally get him settled, and he’s talking to me on
the phone about how neat he thinks the whole airport thing is. He’s getting all excited each time the monitors refresh
and show another flight arrived. Which is cool, I can understand his excitement at seeing that for the first time.
Then he asks how I’m doing...so I try to talk to him about the stress I’m having in my life. He just says,
”Uh huh.” ”I don’t blame you.” ”I can see what you’re saying.” The minute I pause, he interrupts me with, ”Hey her
flight just showed up as arrived. I’ll talk to you later.” And then he hangs up.
Fine, I get it. I’m supposed to sit and listen to him complain about his inability to traverse an airport, but
the minute I try to tell him a bit about my problems he suddenly has to go do other things. I shouldn’t be surprised.
It’s been that way my whole life. Him asking me how I’m doing is just conversation filler to him. He has never once
listened. I’m willing to bet anyone who knows him that he can’t even name what my major was in college (let alone
grad school).
I don’t know. This entire week has been one big wash. It’s Saturday, I’m stuck working the entire weekend
and it’s snowing again. I’ve got a whole list of unfinished chores I need to do and haven’t even had a chance to work
out yet today.
This week wiped out any positive feelings I had about the coming months. It’s tiring getting up each day
thinking that today will be better and after only an hour of being awake, you realize it’s already in the garbage.
So much for my high hopes of 2004 being a good year.
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3.2.6
Beer...it does a body good
(2004-02-08 13:33) - public
There’s a REALLY disturbing picture in the [ LJ User: Adbusters ] community. Since I’ve given up trying to figure
out the political commentary this picture is supposed to evoke, I’d just like to ask this...
am I the only one to notice the beer gut and boobs on the guy on the left? And am I the only one who found
that to be funny?
3.2.7
(2004-02-09 12:32)
- public
Watched ”Lost in Translation” yesterday. Great movie. LOVED it when Bill Murray attempted to sing, ”More Than
This.”
Roxy Music rules.
3.2.8
Jane Fonda I’m not
(2004-02-10 22:23) - public
So.
Yesterday I went down to my workout room to do aerobics. I’ve been doing step aerobics since 1992, when I
took my very first step class in college. I always loved it...loud music, dancy moves, and full body movement. I did it
off an on for about 5 years, then when my Mom got sick I abandoned exercise completely. I finally took it up again 2
years and 9 months ago, only to find that this time I was dedicated. In the past 33 months, I’ve worked out each week
5 to 6 times. I’ve varied my routine a bit...sometimes did kickboxing, sometimes weight training, but always, always
have I done step aerobics. I did it when I was 40 pounds heavier, I did it all throughout my chemo and I did it each
and every time I was inconvenienced by travel at work. It has grown to be a staple in my life...something that I need
to do and something that makes me feel out of sorts if I don’t do it.
I won’t be exercising like that for quite a while anymore.
Yesterday during my workout I snapped the medial head of my gastrocnemius.
the calf muscle where it attached to my femur.
In laymen’s terms, I ripped
It made a loud audible ”SNAP” when it happened, like a rubber band hitting a loaf of bread wrapped in plastic. I collapsed onto my floor, a sense of nausea waving over me at not just the pain but the knowledge that a snap
like that means I really messed something up.
After four hours in the emergency room I came out with a compression wrap and a set of crutches–my first
ever!–and was told to keep my leg elevated for at least three days (the RICE method). I have to see an orthopedist
in a week, who will probably run some tests and determine a course of treatment. Surgery is an unlikely option and
most likely I’ll end up having to have 3 to 6 months of physical therapy.
But I probably won’t ever be doing aerobics again. Or any high impact activity. Even things like biking and
walking uphill could be dangerous for me.
I’m so frustrated I could cry. Exercise has been my one constant throughout the past couple of years. No
matter how bad I felt from chemo, no matter how depressed I felt, no matter how stressful my life...exercise was my
outlet. High impact, heart pounding exercise. Nothing else cured my stress the way that did. Not yoga, not weight
training, nothing.
So now the healthiest thing I had going in my life is gone. I’m going to try to switch to an upper body
weight training routine for the next several months, but that won’t help with the weight loss. And it’s not quite as
portable when I travel for work.
Ah, work. I had to cancel a trip to Atlanta today. Not only did I really want to go (60 degrees there!), but
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this is now the THIRD TIME in the past 7 months that I’ve had to back out of travel. The first time I was in the
hospital with radiation pneumanitis, the second time I was bed bound with meningitis, and now this. I don’t think
anyone believed me today when I told them I couldn’t travel for a while. I could practically HEAR their eyes rolling
back into their heads.
I’m trying not to feel sorry for myself...I really am. But this is a huge mental blow for me. I don’t know how
else to explain it. Cardiovascular exercise has been the single most important factor in my life with regards to
maintaining my sanity. What am I going to do?
So. Let’s do a count. I lost feeling in my left arm from surgery. I lost most of my hair. I’ve lost the opportunity to have children. Oh, and there’s that life span thing...lost that too.
Now I lost the one thing that got me through all of it. I have loved ones to help me, but exercise was always
MY THING. The ONE thing I could do to make myself feel better without being a burden to anyone else.
And I know I shouldn’t feel this way. It’s just a stupid rip in the muscle.
means I can’t do the same things I used to.
I’ll friggin survive this even if it
I’m just so frustrated. This is my remission. I don’t know how much of this I have left, and life has refused
to cut me any slack during this time. It’s one thing after the next, and all I want is time to sit down and coast in my
life for a while. I had such a good feeling about 2004! I felt that this would be the year when things would finally
slow down for me as I grew into my new ”normal.” It started out great...Blake and I were eating healthy, I was finally
organized at work (after a year of getting used to my new position), and things were looking up because I didn’t think
they could go down anymore.
I just give up. I was laughing about it all yesterday, because it’s just so absurd and ironic. Everyone in the
”cancer subculture” talks about remission as if it’s some sort of glorious vacation, and if that’s the case, then I’ve
spent the entire time visiting my mean Aunt Gertrude in Siberia.
But that was yesterday. I was laughing yesterday because I just couldn’t bear to feel the despair anymore. So
for one day I laughed about it. But now that I realize what it is I’ve lost again...I just can’t laugh. I’m at the point
where it just hurts to even read posts in [ LJ User: cancersupport ] that talk about how thankful people are to be in
remission. I know it’s not fair, and that it’s not nice to be jealous of these people who are in remission and lovin’ life.
But I want to be there, too, playing in the sun.
I don’t get it. When do I get MY roses and chocolate that comes with remission?
3.2.9
Untold Truths
(2004-02-11 09:17) - public
Well, I have to say I feel better today. Leg hurts more...but it’s a cramping kind of hurt and even though I’m not a
doctor, my gut tells me that this is a good sign. I still can’t put my foot on the floor flat, and absolutely no weight on
it, but I don’t know...signs of improvement, I think, anyways.
I have an appointment with an orthopedist Friday. I don’t know why, but I have this irrational fear that he’s
going to take one look at me and tell me that I blew my leg out because I was too fat to be exercising. I don’t know
why I have this feeling...maybe because I get the feeling that people don’t think I work out as hard as I do. I think
that when I say I work out, people look at me, look at my weight, and think to themselves, ”Well, she can’t be working
out TOO hard...she’s too big to be capable of that. She’d hurt herself!” Now I’m afraid people will say, ”Ha...poor
un-in-shape girl DID hurt herself!”
Sigh. I’ve GOT to stop putting spin on the world.
really disfunctional.
I learned a long time ago that my vision of society was
Anyways...I just feel better today. Blake and I had a long talk last night and for the first time I realized
something, something that should have been so obvious to me that it’s almost funny that I never thought of it before.
Here I sit, dealing with depression and anger (yes, lots and lots of anger) over my cancer, and it dawned on me that
148
hey, guess what...there’s a good chance Blake is dealing with that, too. I know he’s been upset about my diagnosis
and what it means for us, but anger? I just never associated that with him. I don’t know why not. He’s human like
everyone else, especially in the face of something like this.
I have always put Blake on a pedestal in my mind. He was my spiritual teacher...still is. I was so lost when I
met him, and the ideas and knowledge he introduced to me made me grow so much as a person. He was always so
calm, collected...seemingly so successful at keeping one foot at 30,000 feet and the other foot at 300 feet. I admired
him and wanted to be like him, to learn as much as I could so that I could somehow share his sense of enlightenment.
Which is why it took me so long to realize that his response to cancer and such is human. In my mind’s eye,
he had always been above that sort of thing. And this isn’t to say that gee, he has somehow failed in the face of
cancer. It just means that he’s not superhuman like I thought he was.
I think a large part of the problem is that I did idolize him as being above me...as someone who always remained untouched by the trials and tribulations that threw me for a loop. He was–and is–my rock. But it is unfair of
me to not recognize the fact that the bar I set for him is completely unrealistic. He doesn’t have all of the answers. He
can’t solve my problems. And yes, he struggles with cancer as much as I do. He’s not SUPERhuman...he’s wonderfully
and gloriously human, with anger, fear, frustration, and much, much love. By not recognizing that, I am robbing him
of his ability to work through this issue, and I am robbing US of a chance to work through it together.
I just wanted so much to believe in something PERMANENT after my cancer. Something I could always
count on as being THE SAME. Dealing with the changes in my life have been the hardest thing...and I think a part
of me thought that if I had at least ONE THING that NEVER CHANGED, I’d be ok.
I expected that one thing to be Blake. I expected him to deal with cancer in the same way he would deal
with stubbing his toe, and when he didn’t, I raged at him for not living up to my fantasy expectations. My projection
of this onto him was unfair to him at best and destructive to him at the worst.
This is cancer. It seems is has robbed me of feeling like I have anything stable in my life. But in reality all
it did was REVEAL that truth to me...it only robbed me of a false perception.
There is nothing in my life that will stay unchanged...not my body, not my mind, and not Blake.
to take me a while to get used to this. I may scream and cry over it, but I will embrace this.
It’s going
But the destruction stops NOW.
3.2.10
The leg bone attaches to the...hope bone
(2004-02-15 11:49) - public
Well, I got good news at the orthopedist. It wasn’t my gastrocnemius that tore...instead, he thinks I detached my
plantaris muscle. Apparently this muscle is completely uselss to us (accounts for less than 1 % of our leg stability)
and is often harvested by doctors to repair other, more serious injuries that can occur to a person (like snapping your
Achilles tendon). The plantaris hooks in at your femur and attaches at the calcaneus at the same spot as the Achilles,
and is close to several leg nerves. The muscle is permanently detached so I never have to worry about it happening
again, so it’s just a matter of working through the swelling and nerve damage. I start physical therapy Tuesday, and
should hopefully be walking by end of next week.
But he was a neat doctor...when explaining to me about the plantaris, he said that ”it was a useless muscle,
leftover from when we used to climb around in trees.” I laughed and told him I had a couple of degrees in anthropology,
and we had a nice chat about Australopithecines. He was a neat guy...too bad he wasn’t a general practitioner! I’d go
to him in a minute.
So yesterday Blake said something to me that I’ve been mulling over and over. A few days prior to my doctor’s appointment, I was convinced that I had horrificly ripped my gastrocnemius, that it would take months for me
to recover and that I’d have to forever be careful of that leg. I immediately jumped onto the worst case scenario
bandwagon, and as it turned out, the situation wasn’t nearly as dire as I had imagined. Blake is right...I do this a lot,
and I think it causes a lot of undue stress in my life.
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I think I’ve been a fatalist my whole life, though. I remember being a teenager and being socially petrified of
people not liking me. I would do things I didn’t want to do and pretend to like it just so people would like me. I
never, EVER let on about my REAL interests, and I did that because in my mind’s eye, doing so would have meant
that people would have fun from me in abhorrence and that I would be forever branded as a pathetic and miserable
geek who would suddenly become the running joke of the lunchroom. What’s interesting is that the few times I DID
allow the real me to emerge, that’s exactly what happened...people took it and teased me for months (literally). I was
teased for my weight, I was teased for my clothes, I was teased for my hair...you name it, chances are I was teased
for it. Opera music? I was teased for that AND for having a mother who liked it (ike I had a choice in the matter).
It wasn’t necessarily the teasing that bothered me, though...it was the social isolation that came from it. I’d go to
talk to someone and they’d just laugh at/oink at/name call me and walk away...like I wasn’t even fit enough to have
a conversation with them. What was the sticking point, though...is that the people who did this to me had been, just
the day before, my FRIENDS. At that age, that kind of betrayal WAS my worst case scenario. I spent all of high
school trying to be the person that I thought would be teased the least, just so that I could avoid the nightmare of
being the outcast.
Of course, now I’m an adult and I can analyze the situation and realize that most of the people there fell
prey to the same conformist notions that we all did living in a town of 400 people. They didn’t understand being
different any more than I did. Also, in a town like that, you can’t really tell your peer group to fuck off, simply
because there IS no other peer group to hang around. Small towns are not like a John Hughes movie. You don’t have
jocks and nerds and preps and princesses. You have ONE group...and you’re either in or you’re out. So as you can see,
I understand the situation, which has taken the sting out of it over the years...but I never lost that sense of fatalism
that arose from it.
My life is spent always fearing that each situation I encounter will be the worst possible outcome. Most of
my life is spent trying to prevent this...and I would have to say that this is the main motivating factor in my life. I
can’t rest until a situation is resolved. If someone is mad at me, I can’t rest until I make it right, even if that means
pandering to a person who deserves my ire. If someone claims I owe them money when I don’t, I can’t sleep until I
talk to the person and get them to agree that I don’t owe them anything. I am so, so very afraid of worst case scenario
that it sometimes cripples me to have any enjoyment in my life.
But strangely enough, my life seems to be a series of events proving my case. My marriage WAS that bad...despite
my years of denial. My mother’s back pain WAS terminal pancreatic cancer, despite the initial hope that it was just
pancreatitis. My own cancer WAS terminal stage...despite the statistics and research that claimed it would be highly
unlikely. I don’t know how to take a situation, ease myself with the knowledge that worst case rarely ever happens,
and go on with my life while waiting for it to resolve. It’s sad to say...but I don’t know HOW to hope.
I feel foolish when thinking of hope...naive, uninformed, detached from reality. For some reason it always conjures up a Disney-esque image in my head of a blissfully ignorant Snow White ignoring the fact that her apple was
just poisoned. I think it’s because I relate hope to denial. People ARE that mean, bad things DO happen, and there
is no reason in the world why it won’t happen to YOU. Pretending otherwise just seems moronic to me.
I don’t know...sometimes I think I get my strength from this, too. I definitely think it helped with my mother’s
diagnosis and I think it helped with my own diagnosis. But is it worth it? I mean, to spend my life preparing for the
worst when the worst doesn’t always happen? Is the more prepared reaction to my ONE worst case scenario worth
the agony and worry of the 25 other times I prepare for it and it doesn’t happen?
I don’t know what the answer for me. But I know I’m tired of never feeling even keeled. I’m tired of getting
all riled up over a situation and then feeling relieved later. I’d like to just feel fine the entire time through.
Part of me just doesn’t want to hope. Part of me WANTS worst case scenario simply because I just want to
get it over with and prove to myself once and for all that worst case is never as bad as you imagine it to be. Then I
can go and live my life never fearing it because I’ve realized it’s not all that bad.
I just don’t understand why it is I feel the need to actually experience worst case before coming to that conclusion.
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Maybe part of me wished that I had actually let it happen as a teenager...let myself be the social outcast, let
myself be the one they all threw jello at in the cafeteria...maybe if I had dealt with the demon THEN, I wouldn’t be
dealing with it now.
3.2.11
Feeling catty today
(2004-02-16 14:23) - public
I just don’t understand people who de-claw their cats and then let them roam outside.
I’ve been feeding my neighbor’s kitten (about 9 months old or so) since October. He’s the friendliest little tiger
stripe kitty...practically head butts my door to get into my house. I don’t know WHAT these people are thinking
getting him de-clawed and then letting him roam about the neighborhood, especially when he’s as friendly as he is.
He’s either going to get chewed up by a raccoon or poisoned by the crazy guy next door.
If I didn’t already have four cats I’d adopt him and let the neighbors wonder. They can’t very well care that much for
him if they just let him run around in the cold and with no defenses whatsoever.
Grrr.
3.2.12
Stuff
(2004-02-18 09:43) - public
http://www.livejournal.com/community/cancersupport/173104.html?view= 793392 #t793392
I’ve got to stop riling people up in the cancer community. Oh well.
Leg is getting better...had physical therapy yesterday. Very interesting! Kind of makes me wish I had done that
with my life. He took a look at my stride, measured my flexion (both dorsi and plantar) and tested my strength. He
said it seems as if I probably have damage to BOTH the plantaris and soleus muscles. The plantaris damage is what is
preventing me from locking my knee upon standing and the soleus damage would account for the lack of strength and
the deep muscle cramps. Also, the top of my foot is numb...nothing serious, but something they want to keep an eye
on. The plantaris runs down the leg right next to a channel of blood vessels and nerves. They’re hoping the numbness
lessens as the leg heals.
All they did to my leg was use an ultrasound to apply deep heat to the muscle (the soleus and plantaris lie underneath the gargantuan gastrocnemius muscle, which is the REAL powerhouse of your calf). A heating pad just isn’t
strong enough to get the heat down through the gastroc into the deeper tissue. So they rubbed gel on my leg and spent
ten minutes rubbing it down with the ultrasound. I didn’t feel a thing...but when I got up I was suddenly walking and
had a much more elongated stride. Today I noticed that my knee was locking better upon standing. I’m still a little
fearful, as my knee feels unstable still...but improvement. Whatever they did, it helped.
I’ve been mulling over what to do for exercise. In the meantime, I’ve been doing ”modified” aerobics (ever see those
”Sit and Fit” exercise shows for the senior population?). I’ve also been using my [1]BodyCraft Home Gym quite a bit,
despite the tendinitis in my right arm. I can’t say I’ve gotten my heart rate up...but at least I’m keeping up the habit
(which is half the battle). It’s probably going to be a long time before I can do aerobics again, so in the meantime, I’ve
been mulling over getting a [2]Concept 2 Rowing Machine. Rowing has always been my favorite gym activity (outside
of aerobics) and it’s not high impact. I’m also debating on getting a bike rack for my car. I’d love to just take off on
a weekend and go biking in some of the state parks around here. But we’ll see how the leg is first.
Otherwise, a rather uneventful day in my uneventful life. What a nice change of pace!
1. http://www.body-craft.com/galena.tpl
2. http://www.conceptii.com/Default.asp?bhcp=1
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3.2.13
Reserved parking
(2004-02-22 14:41) - public
Well...my Dad and his live-in girlfriend Rosalie paid me a visit yesterday. They were in town for a funeral and decided
to stop by and go out to lunch. Ok, so far so good...I can deal with their everlasting love of Wal-Mart, I can manage
to keep my mouth shut when they both start in on how the lottery is rigged with a pre-determined winner who also
promised to give a kick back to the governor, and I can accept that they both think the world owes them something
and that the reason they aren’t in better places is because of someone else’s fault. These are what I call slight
character quirks that, although annoying, are fairly harmless.
What almost made me lose it was the parking comment.
Before arriving at my house, the two of them had stopped at Wal-Mart to look for some towels to match the
new shower curtain they just bought. Well, apparently the Wal-Mart they went to didn’t have what Rosalie wanted.
So I told them that hey, just up the road from me is a SUPER WAL-MART CENTER. Huge. Gigantic. Open 24
hours. Has everything you could possible expect a Wal-mart to have. Only problem is that it’s busy, and you usually
end up having to park out in the sticks.
Rosalie’s response to that was EXACTLY as follows:
handicapped sticker.”
(laughing) ”Oh, that’s not a problem.
We’ve got a
Yes, indeedy, she hung one of those handicapped stickers on the rear view mirror of my father’s car. I had
noticed that at Christmas, and the last time I talked to my Dad alone, I asked him about it. He gave me this line
about her only having 25 % of her stomach from a botched surgery several years ago. Ok, fine, I told him...but what
does that have to do with her being disabled?
So he explains further. She had had surgery and got an infection and ended up in a coma so she now sometimes has trouble breathing. As a result, her doctor recommended she get the sticker.
Ok, let me get this straight. She had some surgery for god knows what several years ago...she got an infection, was in a coma, and now has breathing problems. No problem, I get it. But here’s what I don’t get...the woman
works as a cook in a country club, not exactly a sedentary job. She has no problem cooking and cleaning the house.
Not once have I seen her use a wheelchair. Not once has she had to stop and rest when she was out somewhere. She
has no oxygen tank and she’s not on any medication whatsoever. Oh, and let’s not forget the fact that she and my
father both smoke. Breathing problems? Huh.
And interestingly enough, her favorite hobby is shopping.
shopping.
Shopping.
The woman spends 50 % of her life
So...in summary...here’s what I’d like to say on the subject:
YOU MEAN TO FUCKING TELL ME THAT SHE CAN SPEND 5 HOURS WALKING AROUND A GODDAMNED WAL-MART BUT SHE CAN’T WALK THE EXTRA 50 FEET IN THE PARKING LOT TO GET TO
THE FRONT DOOR?
It took every ounce of strength I had not to kick her out of my house and tell her that she was a shameless
bitch. I mean...it is offensive to me on a whole new level.
Every cancer patient out there has the ability to get one of these handicapped stickers when they go through
chemo. Do you know how many people I saw do that? NONE. NO ONE that I ever knew with cancer–not me, not
my mother, not even the really, really sick guy in Michigan–ever got one of those stickers for their car. That’s not to
say that there aren’t people out there...I’m sure there are. But there are two points I’m trying to make here. One is
that I know a lot of people who were a lot sicker than dear old Rosalie who never used those stickers and got along
just fine. And secondly, just because you’re technically ”eligible” to get one of those stickers doesn’t mean that you
should. Those stickers are there for a reason: THEY’RE FOR PEOPLE WHO ACTUALLY NEED THEM.
The laws surrounding these stickers are purposely vague for the express reason of erring on the side of cau152
tion. It’s better to have more people eligible than not just in the off chance that someone who really needs a sticker
can’t get one because of a technicality regarding their eligibility. The problem is that keeping loose restrictions on
these allow people to milk the system. And it’s my personal opinion that it’s people like Rosalie who suck the system
dry.
She doesn’t need the damn sticker. She just likes close parking. And that sickens me to a degree I can’t describe. One of these days someone who really is handicapped is going to pull up and need one of those parking spots.
And they’re going to find that it’s taken because someone like Rosalie didn’t feel like walking a little farther than she
absolutely had to.
I’m frankly just disgusted by the whole thing and I’m ashamed of my father for even thinking her behavior is
acceptable. The way I feel right now, I don’t care if I ever talk to either of them for a very, very long time.
3.2.14
Good Graces
(2004-02-23 13:09) - public
ARRGH.
Hurt my leg again during my workout today. Nothing major, but now I’ve got pain on the medial side of my femur, right above my knee. It happened when I was stretching.
When the hell am I going to get my normal body back? I’m sick of little things breaking on me...my lungs, my
back, my legs. When does it stop?
Or maybe that’s the deal with cancer...maybe you never get it back. Not sure why that revelation should surprise me.
Oh well...I suppose the name ”Gimpy” isn’t all that bad. It has potential for nicknames (we could go with ”Gimps” or
maybe just ”G,” for when I’m hangin’ with the home boieeeeees).
In other news...we’re taking Grace to the vet today about her eye. It’s been dilated for a week now, and we’re
not sure what to do. We’ve been putting antibiotic drops in and some of the redness has cleared up, but the dilation is
still there. She’s still happy and playful, she hasn’t lost any weight and she seems to be able to see out of it, so we’re
stumped as to what’s going on.
She’s a good kitty. I will feel very bad if it’s something serious.
3.2.15
With this ring, I succumb to critical thinking
(2004-02-25 09:05) - public
I love newspapers. Today’s Chicago Tribune headline read ”Bush: Protect Marriage.”
Protect it from what, exactly?
Oh, that’s right, protect it from....the GAYS (shhhhh–don’t say that word too loudly or someone might think
YOU’RE gay too!)
John Kass, my favorite hypocrite journalist, had an op-ed piece in the paper a few days ago stating the he,
too, though we needed to protect the sanctity of marriage. After all, if we start allowing gay marriages, then what’s
next? Allowing polygamy? Incestuous marriages? Apparently gay marriage is the gateway to other societal horrors
just as marijuana leads to hard core substance abuse.
I really just love that kind of argument. It’s the type of argument that tries to shroud itself in rational choice
methodology when in fact, it’s nothing more than an attempt to proselytize one’s own personal beliefs. Let’s analyze
this mode of thought for a moment.
We’ve got marriage...good old plain marriage between a man and a woman. The next step is to have marriage between two women and two men. Why is this so irksome to people? To people like John Kass, it’s a step in the
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wrong direction on a road we don’t want to take. To people like John Kass, it’s not gay marriage that is the problem,
it’s the ”next step.” Exactly which step is it where marriage becomes an abomination? Is it when one man marries
five women? Is it when one woman marries five men? Is it when a half-brother and half-sister marry? Where in the
sand does the line get drawn? And who’s drawing that line?
Defining gay marriage as ”bad” because it serves as a gateway to more unsavory ideas is NOT a product of
logical thinking, as much as people would have you believe. It is, instead, a product of conservative religious beliefs
that puts strict constraints on what is defined as moral. Drawing the line in the sand at this point is not because of
logic...it stems from personal belief. That in iteself is fine...everyone is entitled to personal beliefs. What is troubling
is that people try to shroud their personal beliefs in a sense of scientific logic. Instead of saying, ”Hey, I don’t like
gay marriage,” people say, ”Well, gay marriage is going to lead to this and this and this, so therefore I don’t think it’s
a good idea.” The former is a raw opinion based on nothing but arbitrary morality, the latter attempts transforms
that opinion into a logical, non-biased justification. This is a huge problem for not just those who read/listen to these
justifications but also for the people who hold them.
Anyone who knows me knows that I’m a huge proponent of postmodernism when it comes to anthropology. I
do believe that when you are talking about something you need to first espouse your own biases and then announce
your ideas and theories. This is the only way that an audience can attempt to filter out the personal biases of the
observer from the fieldwork. We are human creatures...bias leaks in whether we like it or not. By not claiming our
biases on the front end, we present our information as fact. Time and time again, theories in anthropology have been
proven to be products of the scientist and not of the science practiced (I wrote my thesis on this and can offer a
sizeable works cited list, if anyone is interested). So to not claim our biases and then present an argument...well, it’s
just plain misleading.
And that’s what I see happening here. Commentaries from friends, in the media...all justifying without laying
claim to their biases first. John Kass may very well think that gay marriage might lead to awful atrocities. Fine. But
I’m willing to bet the sting of his words would significantly lessen if he would have first come out and said something
on the order of, ”Hey, I was born and raised as a traditional Catholic/Southern Baptist/Jew.”
So that’s fine for those who read the justifications. What about those who hold the justifications without accounting for their biases? It becomes easy for them to use their justification as the reason for their bias, and vice
versa. It becomes this nice little symbiotic system of two: I am against gay marriage, gay marriage leads to other bad
things, therefore I am against gay marriage. It’s like saying I like the color blue, it reminds me of the sky, therefore I
like the color blue. Fine. But why is it that the color of the sky pleases me? Did I like the color blue first or the sky
first? If I liked the color blue first, what cased that to happen? And so on.
Questions like this need to be asked here, too, in the case of gay marriage. One has to ask–NEEDS to ask:
what is so fearful about a deviation from traditional marriage? How did the concept of traditional marriage arise?
What about polygamy...why is that wrong? And incest...what about kinship definitions in our culture? How could
that contribute to my dislike of an incestuous union?
These types of questions are important because it fleshes out one very important fact: that the distinction in
types of marriage is arbitrary. The concept of a traditional male-female marriage is a concept we in our culture have
created and accepted very willingly. In fact, we’ve accepted it so much that straying from it requires us to categorize
the straying behavior as a deviation. And like most deviations, people don’t try to understand them. The do what’s
convenient: they categorize them based on their own set notions of what’s good, what’s bad, or whatever other means
they’ve used to categorize this chaos we call life.
Blind categorization is a dangerous thing...ask anyone ever involved in the eugenics movement. Good and bad
are arbitary human abstractions...”good” and ”bad” things only exist because we, as humans, define them as such.
There is nothing in this world that is inherently good or bad. We just think that it is because we’ve set it up in our
own ideology. Man-woman...good. Man-man...bad.
So what the issue of gay marriage needs is not a justification of your opinion. It needs an examination of why
you think it might be good or bad in the first place. It needs you to excavate the very depths of how your order
the world. In fact, ALL issues we face require this. It’s the basis of understanding our fellow humans. It’s how
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compromises are reached, it’s how compassion is gained, and it’s how learning occurs.
Of course, this mentality is lost on our current Administration. In fact, it’s lost on many people. And that’s
why articles like John Kass’s and statements by our President are so dangerous. It promotes opinion as fact, and none
in the masses are wiser to the distinction.
Protect marriage? Please. First, give me some unbiased evidence that marriage should only be between a
man and a woman. Then give me your reasons why it’s defensible.
I guarantee that if you think about it, you won’t get past the first step.
3.2.16
12 Things about the World
(2004-02-26 14:42) - Observational - public
Has anyone ever noticed the following:
–cats in a dead sleep can hear a can of tuna opening over 500 feet away
–Talk Talk was a very overlooked band in the 80’s and is currently being bastardized by No Doubt’s cover
version of ”It’s My Life”
–automatic car washes don’t include the drying cycle unless you pay for the premium wash
–David Hasselhoff’s ears are horizontal, not vertical
–”corporate restructuring” typically means people are going to get fired
–exercise equipment is horrendously overpriced
–people ignore your ”Do Not Disturb” sign on Yahoo Messenger because they think that what THEY have to
say is more important than what YOU’RE doing
–guacamole makes everything taste better
–it’s not a good idea to get toe surgery on both toes the day before you’ve agreed to clean three people’s
houses
–novacaine hurts the LEAST when injected in your mouth versus another body part
–job postings on Monster.com only seem to be there so that companies can SAY they posted it publicly when
in reality they had a friend in line for the job all along
–cats will always try to sleep in the warmest place in your house, even if that means draping themselves across your
laptop computer
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3.2.17
So very very wrong.
(2004-02-27 09:05) - public
You’re Exotic Dancer Barbie. You have some moves,
and will do anything for a few bucks. Take it
off girl, but keep it PG-13 please.
[1] If You Were A Barbie, Which Messed Up Version Would You Be?
brought to you by [2]Quizilla
1. http://quizilla.com/users/frozenebony/quizzes/If%20You%20Were%20A%20Barbie%2C%20Which%20Messed%20Up%20Version%20Would%
20You%20Be%3F/
2. http://quizilla.com/
3.3
3.3.1
March
The Wisdom of the Bones
(2004-03-01 10:09) - public
My life is great. I mean, out of the ballpark great.
I think I figured out one of my problems. I think I was–I can’t believe I’m saying this–overexercising.
Me, the chunky chick in school who used every excuse in the book to get out of P.E. class.
Since the leg injury, I’ve had to seriously curtail my exercise in terms of intensity (you can only get your
heart rate so high with arm movements). What I’ve been doing is going down into my basement each day and doing
light aerobics–walking in place, knee lifts, slow squats (no weight), lots of arm movements and some light upper body
weight lifting. I spend about 40 minutes total down there only 3 to 4 times a week (instead of my rigorous six times).
All I do is just kind of move around to fun 80’s music (who knew Propaganda would make great workout music?). As
a result...
a) My energy level has shot through the roof
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b) My mental energy is at an unprecedented high for me
c) I no longer have to bully myself to go down into the ”dungeon” (i.e., my basement workout room) to get in
my daily torture
d) All of those aches and pains in my back, hips, knees and ankles are practically gone
e) I have FUN with my workout and look forward to it
f) And this is the shocker of it all: I’ve lost 2.5 pounds in the past 3 weeks, yet have been eating MORE (like
the burger, cheese fries and milkshake I had last week—mmmmmmmmmm).
It’s really strange. I have some travel coming up for work, too. Normally, I dread travel. Why? Because it
disrupts my workout routine (hotel gyms are small and cramped, and it’s hard to get in an aerobic routine in your
room, even if you move the furniture!). But now I’m not dreading it. Why? Because I don’t have so much pressure
on myself to get in a great workout. What I had originally judged as a ”sub par” workout is FINE. I can stretch and
march in place in my room. There’s no pressure anymore to do anything else.
This just blows my mind. For the past YEAR I’ve dreaded my workouts.
that I HAD to do–an interruption in my day and a means to ruin my weekend.
It always felt like a daily chore
This leg thing is one of the best things to have happened to me. When I do workout, I have to be very conscious of my body. I never was before. Any little ache or pain caused me to just assume I was being a wuss. Now I
know that my body speaks to me. But paying attention to it not only makes me conscious of any pain, discomfort,
etc. It makes me very aware of how GOOD it feels just to be able to move around. And THAT is something that has
been missing from my workouts for a very, very long time.
All of this from a leg injury. Which just reinforces my belief that everything has a lessson in it.
3.3.2
Lance Armstrong I’m not, but....
(2004-03-02 10:40) - excited - public
Music: My new LiveJournal Mix disc from Blake!
I just received delivery on my brand spanking new [1]Schwinn Airdyne Bike!
I had been debating on what next major item I was going to procure for my home gym, and since the leg debacle, my choices have been limited a bit. I use this bike in physical therapy, so I figured it was a safe bet. Also...I never
thought that these air resistant machines were worth anything (I always gravitated towards the LifeFitness bikes, the
ones with the pretty digital readouts and automatic workout settings). Well...I changed my tune after five minutes on
this thing. I’m hoping to start using this today (!!!) and maybe will be ready for some serious outdoor riding when
the weather gets nice.
1. http://www.ffitness.com/schwinnAir.htm
3.3.3
The finer things keep shining through
(2004-03-02 14:59) - Thankful - public
You know...as much as I complain about not getting along with my father, I have to say he’s the nicest guy I know.
He just offered to spend a weekend landscaping my yard and helping me with gardening. And when I say landscaping,
what I mean is building a retention wall against the big hill in my backyard and filling it with dirt so that I have a spot
to plant a vegetable garden. This is no small feat, as a) it’s a lot of work and b) I’m woefully ignorant of all things
green (I actually killed a cactus in college). So, this is quite a thing towards which to volunteer.
My dad may not have a formal education or may even be considered to be the most ”refined” person in the world...but
he’s a damned fine gardener and landscaper. I still remember the huge garden we had when I was a little girl–a garden
that produced crisp leaf lettuce, luscious red tomatoes, greener-than-green snap beans, bell peppers the size of softballs,
157
fuchsia and pearl colored radishes, translucently golden sweet corn, piles and piles of fresh zucchini squash and carrots
so big and so orange they could be used to wave in airplanes at the airport. We canned a lot in those days (more
out of economic necessity than anything else), and I remember cracking open a jar of fresh tomatoes in January to
make homemade chili. I remember the homemade pickles, the frozen corn casseroles, and my father’s mouth watering
zucchini bread. My father is not a gourmet cook normally–unless he’s working with fresh vegetables from the garden.
Give him a handful of green beans and he’ll whip up the best tasting dish you could ever imagine. His homemade
apple pie is STILL the best around.
I remember the day I went off to grad school and began living on my very own for the first time. My parents
gardened that year. As a going away gift, they canned a case of fresh tomatoes for me. I saved those jars, only
opening them on special occasions when I wanted to treat myself to a really fabulous dinner. I wiled away many an
hour simmering homemade marinara sauce on my itty bitty stove in my itty bitty galley kitchen, using those canned
tomatoes.
I’m very lucky to have a father who’s willing to take the time to do this for me. Maybe I’m a bit sentimental
over the whole thing, but to me, this isn’t just about gardening. This is about preserving my heritage and learning
how to cultivate an appreciation for the same things that my parents appreciated with great devotion.
Most families in the world appreciate things like fine wine, collectible art and aged sherry. My family appreciated
vegetables. And frankly, I don’t see why that’s any less ”refined” than someone with a hoity toity education who knows
the difference between Cabernet sauvignon and Cabernet franc.
<——-(You all know who I’m referring to in that last comment)
3.3.4
Oh, one more thing on gay marriage...
(2004-03-02 15:44) - public
Rock on AAA.
[1]American Anthropological Association
1. http://www.aaanet.org/press/ma_stmt_marriage.htm
3.3.5
Venting always feels good!
(2004-03-04 14:47) - friends
I’m in a REALLY CRABBY mood today. Here, in no set order, is what’s pissing me off:
People who tell me one thing and then do another. If I ask you MONDAY whether or not changes are going to
be made and you say NO, then don’t start sending messages on THURSDAY inquiring about changing this and that.
I asked Monday. If you don’t undersand my questions, then tell me. Don’t give me an absent minded answer because
you’re too afraid to admit you don’t understand the impact your actions have.
People who don’t follow through. If you say you’re going to do something or get something to me by a certain
day, goddamn do it. An occasional ”I forgot” is fine, but when it’s consistent, you’ve got a time management problem.
Let me refer you to Franklin Covey.
People who waste their time. I don’t care if you like to spend your time coding all freaking day. Don’t build useless,
non-functioning pieces of software and insert them randomly into PRODUCTION sites. I don’t care if you think the
technology ”cool.” If it’s not working, it’s nothing more than a Visual Basic paper weight, essentially doing nothing but
sitting there looking pretty and confusing the end user, who ends up calling me wondering what the hell that certain
button is used for. It wastes EVERYONE’S time.
People who think they’re too important to talk to everyone else. Built a new piece of functionality? Functionality that works? FAN-FREAKING-TASTIC. How about telling ME about it? I can’t very well train other people when
you keep sneaking things in there. I can’t monitor all 5000 pieces of functionality all the time. It makes us look really,
really bad when a customer calls asking about something and we don’t know anything about it. Granted, I understand
158
your point that if I were psychic, this wouldn’t be a problem. But I’m NOT, so I need YOUR HELP with this.
People who post opinion as fact. Someone posted in a certain cancer community that radiation scarring doesn’t
cause ”clinically relevant” pulmonary problems. Hellllllllooooooo....let me refer you to my blue, oxygen deprived toes
last summer, when I was admitted to the hospital for that very same thing you say doesn’t exist. I guess I’ve just been
imagining the breathing problems for the last year.
And, finally, people who email too efficiently. If I send an email outlining specific questions requiring more than
a yes or no answer, I expect better than the one word response of ”Fine.” Fine what? Fine, you read my email? Or
maybe as in you feel fine today and thanks for asking? WHAT THE HELL DOES FINE MEAN? Are you some type
of Cro-Magnon who can only answer in non-abstractual language consisting of one word? Maybe if you surrounded
the one word response with a series of appropriate grunts and clicks I’d be able to understand it better.
In sum...today the world can just BITE ME. Although I have to say I feel strangely better having written that!
3.3.6
For all cancer patients who are tired of prima donnas
(2004-03-05 11:48) - friends
I’m in a great mood today, but there’s something I need to write. It has to do with a small disagreement in Cancer
Support. Blake says I did the right thing by not telling the guy to fuck off, being that it’s CANCER SUPPORT, not
”let’s get into a pissing contest so doctors can belittle cancer patients with their overwhelming book knowledge.” I don’t
know...I feel like I wussed out by being gracious, but then again, I’m not sure much can be accomplished by mouthing
off to an egomaniac. So, in my typical passive aggressive manner, I’ve decided to post here what I would have liked to
have posted there. Here goes.
First off, it’s CANCER SUPPORT, you moron. If I want a huge laundry list of medical terminology describing
what’s wrong with me, I’ll ask my own doctor. So check your med-speak at the door...you’re only using it to show off
anyways.
Second...don’t presume to tell ME what MY problem is based upon what YOU just read in class yesterday. You
don’t know me, you don’t know my disease, you don’t know my background. But I’m really glad you feel you can
diagnose me like that. You know, since you’re so good at it, maybe you should open the very first online physician
practice. No need to see patients! Ask them a few questions, and then lump them into a nice, neat diagnosis based
upon some statistic you read back in Radiology 101. Oh, and by the way....it was a LUMPECTOMY. But gee, you
were close when you went ahead and assumed mastectomy.
And speaking of statistics in books, that’s really great you’re reading so much. I mean, so many med students
nowadays just don’t take the time! But before you begin a lifelong pursuit of lumping people into neat little categories,
I’d like to refer you to [1]a little lesson on statistics written by my favorite anthropologist, Stephen J. Gould. NO
person is EVER a statistic.
Fourth...I’m not sure if they teach this in Bedside Manner 101 or not, but here’s a tip for you: LISTEN to people. You completely missed the point of the original post. That person didn’t post because he wanted to debate you
on the validity of lung scarring. No, he posted because he was trying to echo the same sentiment that most of us
have with regards to radiation: we feel scared, we’re not sure if we’re making the right choice, and we’re afraid of our
future. Radiation can be a deeply frightening and dehumanizing experience. Maybe you would have picked up on this
subtlety had you been able to see through your overblown ego and realize that hey, not EVERYONE who posts in
there is hungry for the medical text based knowledge you possess. It’s NOT ALL ABOUT YOU, you know. Using
that original post as an opportunity just to show off is really distasteful.
Fifth...you might want to remember that HAVING cancer is quite a bit different than being a doctor who treats
it. You don’t share the same sense of isolation, you don’t deal with the dread of possible recurrence, and you don’t
have to slog your way through treatment, side effects and countless medication. You don’t have to deal with your
life being put on hold, you don’t have to deal with permanent physical changes and you don’t go to sleep at night
wondering if tomorrow is going to be your last good day. I hope you never have to ever find this out firsthand. But
you might want to think about this next time you decide to brandish your wealth of doctor skills in cancer support,
because sometimes, all it IS about is EMPATHY.
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And finally...I understand that this is all because you’re young. Most doctors I’ve encountered under the age of
35 are like this. The greatest fallacy I see happening with young doctors is that they think being just a SMART doctor
makes them a GOOD doctor. Let’s hope you grow out of this.
Ok, that’s all. Gloves will be put back on now. I just needed to get that off my chest.
1. http://www.cancerguide.org/median_not_msg.html
3.3.7
My kitty.
(2004-03-06 21:10) - public
So.
Went to my Dad’s house with Blake today so that Blake could hook up his new DVD player.
The fucking bitch hit my cat. HIT MY CAT.
I found Barney in 1993, when I was 19 years old. He was a stray kitten, barely 5 weeks old, stuck up in the
storage loft of the hardware store where I worked. He was a beautiful kitten–long hair, gorgeous gold and white
markings and the most stunning golden eyes I’d ever seen on a cat. I carried him around all day at work, trying to get
one of our customers to give him a good home. No one did. That night, when we locked up, I was the only employee
willng to take him home for the night. I figured I’d take him home, then the next day bring him in and try to give
him away again.
It didn’t happen. As soon as my parents saw him, they fell in love. He looked so much like my very first cat
that I salvaged from my parents garbage can when I was a wee 2 years old. I had named my first cat Fred, after my
hero at the time, Fred Flintstone (hey, it was 1975). In honor of that childhood tradition, I named this new kitten
Barney.
Barney was a very loving but nervous kitten. Loved attention, loved to play, but had a few senstive spots on
his body that hurt him if you poked him too much. You could always tell if he was getting irritated by his whiny
”meow,” which was very distinctive from his normal call. If you missed his little audible signal, he would soon remind
you by attempting to nip you. And if THAT didn’t get your attention, then next time he WOULD nip you. Hey,
three strikes and you’re out.
I saw it happen today. Barney sat by Rosalie, and she was rubbing him a little roughly (rough for Barney). I
heard the warning meow and looked over at the two of them. She kept on prodding him. He nipped at her. She drew
her hand away for a few seconds then when right back to rubbing his sore spot on his back. Finally, he reached around
and nipped her. She drew her hand away for a moment, furled her brow, and then brought her hand down HARD,
direct on his back.
He looked stunned, and then jumped down. My gasp from across the room was quite audible.
My father asked me what was wrong, and before I knew it I had started to say something of the order that
she shouldn’t be hitting MY childhood pet. But I stopped myself and through gritted teeth said, ”Nothing.”
Rosalie’s gaze shot daggers in me. She was already pissed at me because ten minutes earlier she offered me
bread to eat and was insulted when I told her I wasn’t eating bread anymore.
I can’t stand it. She’s taken over the whole house. My childhood home is nothing like I remember it. My old
bedroom is nothing but HER furniture, HER Beanie Babies and HER stupid shitty porcelain doll collection she
bought at Wal-Mart. There were at least three times today when she referred to the things in that house as HERS:
HER couch, HER kitchen, HER house. Helllllloooo, let’s take a real close look at that name on the mortgage. And
last time I checked, that kitchen and couch were there LONG before her.
My father is fucking oblivious to it. He was showing me something in my old room, and as we walked out he
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said, ”See, still the same old color walls, same curtains...it’s still your room. Nothing’s changed.”
I stopped dead in my tracks when he said that and turned to look at him.
think the hurt in my eyes was obvious.
His voice trailed off because I
That house...is nothing like the house I grew up in. I’m actually surprised there are still pictures of my mother still
up. But I have a feeling it’s just a matter of time before she gets him to take them down. I mean, it’s at the point
where he can barely take a piss without asking her first.
Fine. He’s happy. But it’s unfair of him to turn a blind eye on things like her hitting my cat. It’s not all
sunshine and roses here, much as he would like it. I don’t like her. Period. Not because she’s dating my father. But
because she’s a narcissistic manipulator who feels the world owes her something.
Like a handicapped parking place or room and board on someone else’s dime.
Whatever. But if I EVER see her lay a hand on one of my childhood pets again, that’s the day they ALL
come live with ME.
And that’s the day I write my father out of my life. I’ve already wasted my childhood trying to have a good
relationship with him. I’m not going to waste my adult life trying to communicate with someone who probably can’t
even tell me what college I went to.
3.3.8
More on my non-existant family
(2004-03-07 12:16) - public
I didn’t sleep at all last night. I spent most of the night up crying, pacing, thinking. I finally fell asleep around 5 am.
Grace spent the night on my bed, which is fine and cute except that she’s a sprawler. I spent the entire night trying
to find a position that provided me comfort without disturbing her. Sigh. She’s SUCH a little princess.
Of course, maybe next time I want to kick her off my bed I should just haul off and hit her. That seems to
be the acceptable course of behavior for cat rearing in my family. (Oh come on...You knew that was coming!)
If it isn’t obvious, I’m still very upset about yesterday. I oscillate between anger and despair. Part of me
thinks I SHOULD have said something. But the other part of me knows better. My father is oblivious anyways. All
it would have done is pissed off Rosalie and my father would have been left in the middle, wondering what he could
do to make things right in his life (here’s a tip: DUMP THE PIECE OF WHITE TRASH).
I have kept my mouth shut on Rosalie for a while now because I know that the minute I say anything everyone’s going to jump on the pity bandwagon and say, ”Oh, poor Karen. She’s having a tough time watching her father
enter the dating pool again after her mother died.” Well, let me be the first to say that that is NOT the case. My
father has dated other people. My father has told me about dating other people. In fact, I’ve given my father a ton of
advice on dating and how to ask a woman out. I WANT him to find someone and be happy.
But not her. My issue with her is NOT that I feel like she’s replacing my mother or that she’s a bossy big
mouth. My issue is that she’s an offensive human being.
She’s been married 4 times. When she met my father, she was still married, but was ”unhappy.” Married or
not, she still stalked him–to the point where my father and his friends called her ”Fatal.” The woman had no scruples
either...she finally figured out my father was avoiding her, so she began to park her van down the street and would
sneak across his yard to ring his doorbell, ”tricking” him into answering his door. What a class act.
All of her problems in life are always someone else’s problem. For example, her last marriage ended because
her husband gambled all of her money away. Um, yeah, right. According to her, she went to visit her daughter for
four weeks in Virginia. When she got back, she found that her husband had gambled away all of their savings, equity,
and assets and then ran up a couple hundred thousand dollars in gambling debt. What the hell? He just woke up
one day and POOF! he was a gambling addict? People like that leave warning signs. Either she was too stupid to see
them or she lied about it.
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I’ve seen the woman shop. My guess is she spent them out of house and home and lied about it to make herself sound better.
After the divorce, her house was in foreclosure. DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG YOU HAVE TO GO WITHOUT PAYING YOUR MORTGAGE BEFORE THEY BEGIN FORECLOSURE PROCEEDINGS? It’s a fucking
long time. The foreclosure is one of the reasons she moved in with my father: the poor thing just didn’t have anywhere
else to go! Very strange, since she collected social security and has an annuity payment of about $1700 a month from
some frivolous malpractice law suit she won several years ago.
I kept prodding my dad on this issue, trying to find out what the hell was going on with her not having any
money despite her annuity and social security income (which totaled about $2800 a month combined–plus let’s not
forget she works part time, too, and had some income from that). He told me her mortgage payment was high because
of the bad credit from her husband. I asked him how much...he said $1400.
So, 2800 minus 1400 equals 1400. She had $1400 to play with each month.
ME SHE COULDN’T MAKE HER HOUSE PAYMENT?
AND YOU MEAN TO TELL
That wasn’t it, my dad said. She just couldn’t have a decent life...couldn’t go anywhere or buy the things she
wanted to.
So you mean she couldn’t go to Super-frickin-Wal Mart every day and buy their crappy ass dishes with the
lighthouses or stupid as hell celestial throw rugs? I mean, come on. If you’re going to decide to NOT pay your bills
and blow all of your money on useless junk, at least make it GOOD QUALITY junk.
So without warning to ANYONE, my father moves her in to his house–my childhood home for 21 years. When I asked
him about the suddenness and why he didn’t tell me about their relationship earlier, he said they weren’t dating.
HUH? So at best, this was an impulsive and stupid move on his part. At worst, they’ve been quite an item for some
time and he lied to me about it. Ah, the warm fuzzies of a disfunctional family!
Whatever. The woman has had her three chances with me:
Her sketchy past indicates that she either lied through her teeth to my father (or is just the biggest moron on
the planet). Strike one.
She’s not handicapped...she just plays one in life so that she can get close parking. Strike two.
She hit my cat.
As far as I’m concerned, that means the bitch is OUT.
3.3.9
Motherless daughters
(2004-03-07 21:07) - public
I just had the most heavenly piece of smoked gouda cheese EVER. It was a local artisan cheese from Wisconsin. I
absolutely love smoked gouda, and I have to say that this was probably the creamiest, best tasting gouda I’ve ever
had.
I’ve spent the entire day crying off and on about everything, and then had a horrible episode of BDD this afternoon when trying to get ready to go out. 90 minutes in the mirror to do my hair, and even then I wasn’t happy
with it. I spent the rest of the night taking peeks at my reflection (called ”mirror checks,” in psych speak) in the
mirrored closet doors at Blake’s parent’s house (which happen to be right there next to their kitchen table). This was
probably one of the worst episodes I’ve had since before I got a handle on the issue five years ago. I just raged at
myself over and over and over again as I brushed and brushed my hair, unable to pull myself out of my bathroom. I
won’t repeat here the things that my mind screamed at me...there’s no need to relive that.
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Blake found me that way when he came over to pick me up. I hate him seeing me like that...just brushing
my hair over and over again and unable to control the behavior. I felt so ashamed.
Later on, Blake told me I looked pretty. Although my mind doesn’t accept things like that when it’s in that
state, it was so nice of him to say it. It made me feel better.
I miss my mom today.
wedding anniversary.
Her birthday was last Thursday, and tomorrow would have been my parent’s 36th
I feel like she died all over again. In fact, I feel WORSE than when she died. At least when she died, I still
knew I had a bedroom I could come home to if I ever wanted to. Now my bedroom looks like one giant lace doily with
dolls everywhere. First thing my dad did when she moved in was clean my old room out.
Ok, fine. I’m 30 years old. But she just has so much stuff! It’s everywhere you look. Sometimes I think it’s
trying to eat the house.
My mom wasn’t perfect but she always put me first. I miss that. I miss someone in my family taking the
time to listen to me about my job and my dreams and all of that. Someone who could reflect back to me what it’s like
to be a woman in this day and age.
How am I going to get through all of this? I don’t have any female guidance in my life. I don’t have any
other women in my life to talk to about cancer and hormones and how it feels to not be able to have children. My
mother went through all of that. She had cancer at 31. She had a hysterectomy and could no longer have children.
She hated her life as a housewife and found a way to do something about it by going back to school to become a nurse
(she had always wanted to be a doctor). She was an oncology nurse, too...of all things, my mother was the one person
in the world who could literally help me the most.
I missed her when I was first diagnosed. But now it feels as if the last vestiges of her are gone. Rosalie
staked her claim in that same house now. I couldn’t even get up to get something out of the damned refrigerator
without her interceding and telling me, ”Here, you can eat THIS.” Well maybe I’d like to take a look in the fridge
myself, like I’ve done my entire life.
I tried to have an open mind about her, but my gut told me otherwise even well before the moving in (when
they were ”just friends”), and it’s just a matter of time now before the rest of my mother’s things are packed away.
One day Rosalie will move the picture to make room for some crappy ceramic dog she bought at Shopko, and my dad,
per usual, will become all enraptured with the new purchase (”Wow...that makes us look rich!”) that he’ll forget that
the picture was even there in the first place. My mother’s Amish aprons have already been replaced by her stupid
lighthouses.
My dad is an ass. He was so generous the other day when he offered to come do my landscaping. Turns out
it was only a way for him to get Rosalie up here to do my gardening for me because, ”she knows a lot about that.” His
big generous offer of help was just another strategy to get her and I to bond.
I don’t want to bond with her. I have nothing in common with her. My dad, though, doesn’t get that. He
thinks all women like to shop and garden and cook in the kitchen. He just assumes that if he puts us in one of those
scenarios that we’ll magically realize that we have a lot in common.
He never listens. I asked him when I was diagnosed what kind of cancer Mom had (I was only three at the
time). He didn’t know. HE DIDN’T FUCKING KNOW WHAT KIND OF CANCER HIS WIFE HAD.
I’m not blaming Rosalie for this whole mess. She’s really not guilty of anything other than being a lazy human being with a false sense of entitlement. Although she contributes to the problem (and, I would say, massages the
situation to placate her narcissistic needs), the ultimate issue here is with my father. He let her just come in and take
over. In fact, he didn’t just let her...he HANDED it all to her.
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Fine. If that makes him happy, ok. But he never once thought that this would be hard for anyone. He had
his brother and my mom’s sister over for Christmas (they are married), and later said nasty things about my aunt
because she didn’t immediately embrace Rosalie. Ok...my mom and my aunt were best friends and the only two in
their large family to move from Chicago out to the boondocks. They didn’t have any other friends in town because
the mentality there is that if you’re not born there, you’re not ”in.” My aunt drove my mom to radiation treatment
every day when she was first diagnosed. My aunt was the one who called me on the days mom wasn’t feeling well
so that I always knew what was going on. My aunt was the one who arranged for the lady down the street to come
into my parent’s house and do my mom’s hair when she could no longer get out of bed. What the hell does my father
expect? I could understand his ire had he been dating Rosalie for a while and had introduced the family to her before
they decided to live together. But he didn’t. He did this on an impulse and then can’t understand why it is anyone
needs to adjust.
It’s because he doesn’t think of anyone but himself. Or rather, he doesn’t try. Maybe that sounds harsh, but
I’ve heard it time and again my entire life. Anytime I try to talk to him about something that’s remotely complicated,
he says, ”Aw, Karen...I hear you, but I’m not smart enough to understand that.”
That’s funny because my Mom always told me he was smart.
I don’t think it’s a matter of smarts with my father. He’s smart enough if he puts his mind to it. But gee,
doing that would take work. And my father may be a hard laborer, but he feels the world owes him something so
when it comes to things like this, he expects everyone to conform to his view of the world.
The man doesn’t know anything about me. And it’s because he never took the time. And as a result, he’s
never been able to see beyond his own feelings on anything. Life is just so unfair to him! He lost his mother at 13, his
son, his father, his sister, his wife, and now his daughter and only remaining child has a terminal illness. Poor him,
poor him, poor him.
I used to hate when he would come visit me in the hospital. He sat there and just moped about how unfair
life was to him. It was such a burden, so much so that I finally just started making excuses so he wouldn’t come visit
anymore.
The man has moped his way to the point where he is unable to have any empathy for anyone.
again, maybe it was always that way with him.
But then
Maybe that’s why my mother cheated. My mother cheated on my father a few years after Kenny, my brother,
was killed (I wasn’t quite born yet). She never admitted she cheated, but she talked about her life after Kenny died,
as she felt she owed me an explanation when I told her that my first memory as a child was of her threatening to
kill herself in our kitchen. I can still see her standing there sobbing, blue checkered shirt tucked into blue jeans and
holding on to a wooden spoon for dear life.
But she said that he wasn’t supportive back then...that my father had buried himself in learning to become
an EMT so that he would never have to stand helpless and watch his child die in the street again. She said she never
received any support at all from him. And then three years later, as she suffered through a cancer scare and a severe
infection from her hysterectomy, he again was not there.
My mother always said she was alone through all of it.
was.
3.3.10
Awwwww......
I never realized until now just exactly how alone she
(2004-03-09 13:38) - Exhausted - public
Music: Nothing but the whirr of my laptop processor
There is nothing in the world cuter than watching your cat enjoy a sunbeam.
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3.3.11
Maggie’s
(2004-03-10 09:15) - public
You know, I don’t mean to sound like a spoil sport...but I’m really sick of people soliciting me for donations in [ LJ
User: cancersupport ] and [ LJ User: breastcancer ]. I am well aware that Avon sponsors a walk, and that the Komen
Foundation sponsors a walk/run, and all of this other stuff. STOP ASKING ME FOR DONATIONS. Or rather, I
don’t think those forums are the appropriate place to post things like, ”Please help with your donation.” If you want
to post and say hey, guess what I’m doing, you’re welcome to help out, that’s fine. But when you start posting MORE
THAN ONCE specifically asking people to please help and send money, then I get irritated.
Ok, that sounds harsh. But here’s the deal: Most of us in there either have cancer or have a close loved one dealing
with it. As such, I’m willing to bet that most of us in those communities already have people we know personally
who are walking/running/biking/etc. in some type of charity race. Plus, most of us in those communities also have
limited funds thanks to recent medical insurance changes that allows insurancs companies to randomly forego paying
medical procedures (ok, I exaggerate a little, but I think most of us agree that our out-of-pocket health care costs are
skyrocketing). So, I’ve only got a certain amount of money to donate to those people performing charity walks. Why
would I give my money to a stranger instead of someone I know personally who’s doing a walk?
Second, the purpose of those types of charity events is to raise awareness. Well, I’m no Sherlock Holmes, but I’m
willing to bet that the people in those communities are about as aware as they ever want to be about cancer. A
solicitation from a stranger isn’t going to make me MORE aware.
I know I sound bitchy here (and I’ll just add that I’ve had a raging case of PMS for the past 8 days, so I’m sure
that’s contributing), but I just don’t think those places are the right forum for trying to raise money. I am more than
happy to see someone drop by and say, ”Hey, I’m doing this walk, feel free to check out my web page on it.” But I feel
a bit violated when I see the same person post multiple times about how they’re doing this walk and they need MY
help.
I suppose I also have a bit of a chip on my shoulder about the whole charity thing anyways. I don’t mind Komen,
but that Avon walk really bugs me. I just get tired of corporations using charity as a means to boost their brand
image. Why couldn’t Avon have created a non-profit subsidiary with a different name to fund their walks? I just feel
that if companies like Avon, Yoplait, Ford, and everyone else who jumped on the breast cancer awareness bandwagon
REALLY cared about people like me, they could have contributed without it turning into a PR circus. Yoplait didn’t
NEED to put pink ribbons on their yogurt containers to contribute. All you need is a friggin checkbook.
I’ve been mulling this whole thing over for a long time now, and a while ago I came up with an idea (you heard
it here first, folks...remember that! I’ll prosecute anyone who steals this idea ;-). I would LOVE to open a not-for-profit
retail store (called ”Maggie’s”, after my mother), that catered to the cancer patient and loved ones of cancer patients.
We would sell hats and wigs and scarves and all sorts of things and have dressing rooms so people could try them on
(no more blind ordering from ”TLC” catalogs!). We would sell soft T-shirts and that Bard skin cream for radiation
patients (no more trying to scrounge it up at Target, who always seemed to be conveniently out of stock). We would
sell lip balm, special lotions, special hair care products and some other OTC items to help patients with deal with
their chemo symptoms. We would have a few rooms in the back where we could have weekly lectures and seminars,
things like massage therapy, employment law and what to eat when you’re going through chemotherapy. We’d sell
books, too–like the Betty Crocker cancer cookbook (one of my co-worker’s wives, Anne R, contributed recipes to the
book). Anything a cancer patient would want, we would have. My favorite part would be the local business network
I’d develop. Basically, I would go around to local businesses and ask if they wanted to be included on the ”list.” The
list would be a compilation of all types of businesses cancer patients would need: meal delivery, grocery shopping,
handy-man work, laundry service, lawn mowing, attorneys...you name it. Anything that the cancer patient was too
sick to do or needed help with (like creating a living trust), we’d have a business that would do it. Part of the list,
though, would include a certification of the business. This certification process would ensure the business was licensed,
had an excellent reputation, and would be willing to do certain tasks for a reduced and fixed price.
I get so carried away when I think of this. I imagine doing gift baskets for people in the hospital recovering from
surgery...I imagine coordinating and organizing charity functions...I imagine doing research for people who come in and
need something. I imagine, more than anything, a place where a cancer patient could go without feeling self-conscious
of a bald head or wheelchair or colostomy bag.
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I can’t tell you how many times I was frustrated as I went through my treatment...had to go HERE for my wig,
had to get my hats HERE, and again HERE for whatever else I needed. When you’re sick, the concept of one stop
shopping suddenly takes on a whole new meaning.
I don’t know...meandering dreams I suppose. I think the biggest complaint I’d get is that something like this would
compete with the American Cancer Society. But you know, I was so disgusted with them during my treatment that
I’m not sure I care. ”Reach to Recovery” completely sucks (yeah, they gave me a 50 year old woman to talk to...she had
Stage IIa and ER+ cancer) and their hats in ”TLC” are turbans from the 1970’s that have been updated with modern
colors (it’s still a TURBAN, for crying out loud). If I had a place like Maggie’s, I’d find someone to give knitting
lessons and we could all make our OWN damn hats, thank you very much.
Sigh. Something like that is a lifetime of work. I’m not sure I have a lifetime to give.
But I just want, for once, to have a place where I can go where my cancer patient identity won’t be interpreted
as just another demographic statistic.
3.3.12
Girl Stuff
(2004-03-11 09:52) - public
First off, apologies to everyone yesterday for not using LJ-Cut. I had no idea that post was as long as it was until I
hopped on and read my friends list. I was scrolling FOREVER.
I’m actually just sitting here waiting for my cams to render. They take about half an hour and I can’t run any
other applications in the meantime. But I can still write in Live Journal ;-)
Anyways, I’ve formulated a new theory based upon my large wealth (ha!) of anthropological knowledge and recent experience with PMS. As I’ve mentioned before, I spent the better portion of 13 years on the pill. As a result,
I’ve never had to deal with much PMS. Since recovering from my chemo-induced menopause, my periods have been
regular as clockwork. Unfortunately, so has the PMS that now accompanies it. For about 10 days before each period,
I am a cranky, withering mess of emotions. I am serious about this...I oscillate between intense anger, intense sadness,
an inability to sleep, severe bloating and a whole host of other things I won’t bother to list here. But, the minute I
get my period, it all goes away. It’s funny, because I can FEEL it...I’ll be sitting around, mulling over what trivial
thing in my life has most recently pissed me off (what do you MEAN the mailman didn’t close my mailbox lid?!?!),
and next thing I know, I feel this sense of calm begin to wash over me. It’s almost like I took a sedative...it has the
same physical effect on me.
Ok, now break to the world of cultural anthropology. Many cultures out there have practices whereby women celebrate
their time of the month (we’re not counting those general patriarchies who think the whole practice was ”dirty”). Most
anthropologists who study this have all sorts of elaborate theories as to why women celebrate their periods. Like maybe
it’s a way for them to celebrate their fertility or youth or god knows what else.
Please. Let’s drop the ritual perspective and look at it through the lens of reality: I think women around the world
celebrate their periods not because they’re happy to be bleeding but BECAUSE THEY’RE HAPPY THAT THEIR
PMS ENDED.
Seriously.
If I ever go back to grad school, I’m going to write a paper on this and prove it.
Celebrate my fertility...ha. You know some MAN somewhere came up with THAT one!
;-)
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3.3.13
Are you socially fit?
(2004-03-11 22:08) - Pompously intellectual - public
An infuriating debate in [ LJ User: blindwatchmaker ]. Seriously...people still believe in SOCIAL DARWINISM? Most
reputable anthropologists gave up on that concept (rightfully so) LONG ago. I typed up a response to the debate, but
it ended up being too long (and I’m not sure I’m in the mood to babysit a post). But I figured I’d post it here...might
as well make good use of my education ;-)
Social Darwinism is a two-fold concept: a) it states that social policy should allow the unfit to die and b) it lies
on the assumption that most human traits are biologically based.
Natural selection, on the other hand, is the external environment’s ability to foster the selection of traits that will
promote the ability of a species to successfully procreate.
The two are quite different and therefore cannot be considered equal.
First: social policy is a human abstraction that leads to a series of questions. Who is making the social policy?
What constitutes ”unfit” in this social policy? At what point do we draw the line? Should the person with the genetic
defect be considered unfit and left without assistance? Or maybe bump it back even further and say that the person
who broke their arm shouldn’t be allowed to receive care from our social institutions (and if they are permanently
disabled, unable to hold a job and become homeless, well, that’s just Social Darwinism at work). This turns the
question into a moral dilemma: do we allow the young person with cancer to just die, or do we treat them so that
they can continue in their life and possibly have children? Last time I checked, morals had nothing to do with true
Darwinian natural selection of a species. That being the case, one could argue that Social Darwinism itself also does
not constitute any type of true natural selection.
Second: what of the concept of cultural relativity? Since Social Darwinism has a biological basis, the natural conclusion
would be to assume that ALL cultures should adhere to the same social policies, since technically we should all be
culturally selecting for the same traits. This makes for an interesting dilemma, then...if we are all to follow just one
course of social policy, which one is the right one? Additionally, Social Darwinism originated from the rational choice
methodology of Adam Smith capitalism. It is essentially a theory of laissez-faire natural selection of individuals as they
move through the social strata. What about the cultures in the world that do not have mobile classes (e.g., a caste
system)? When true natural selection is in action, it works across all members of the species (local variation can be
easily rolled into the genetic population provided the area of variation is not genetically isolated). Social Darwinism
does not follow this principle of natural selection.
Third: Social Darwinism typically avoids addressing the issue of tabula rasa and instead insists that behavior and
traits are biologically based. Considering the abundance of evidence out there depicting that culture is the great driver
of individual traits (Margaret Mead, Stephen J. Gould, etc), it doesn’t seem plausible that the biological basis for
human behavior and disease is foolproof. This opens up Social Darwinism to become a circuitous argument: Social
policy dictates traits, traits are divided into fit and unfit categories, and social policy allows those with unfit traits to
die. In this case, Social Darwinism takes a direction and implies a linear concept of progress. True Darwinian natural
selection does not (natural selection is simply there to serve the purpose of evolution, which itself is simply change over
time).
Social Darwinism is a social idea and operates on a very slippery slope that allows for too much wiggle room to
arbitrarily determine a biological basis for fitness levels. Until we know for sure what behavior, traits and diseases are
genetic, our only option is to operate as moral animals.
Which means that any attempt to NOT help those in our society is simply a matter of CHOICE, not science. And as
a moral animal, I am not comfortable with the CHOICE to not provide help to those who need it.
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3.3.14
Chez Karen
(2004-03-14 19:57) - public
Tonight’s menu:
–Roasted organic free range chicken (smeared with a mash of garlic, basil and rosemary)
–Homemade giblet gravy
–Mashed Yukon gold potatoes
–Steamed Broccoli with lemon and garlic
–Fresh salad of Bibb lettuce and celery leaves with shallot and hazelnut vinaigrette
–Fallen chocolate souffle cake with homemade sugared whipped cream
ALL MADE FROM SCRATCH. Each and every sumptuous bite. I started cooking at 9 this morning, took a break
from noon until 4 to work out, shower, etc, and then cooked until 6:30. Five and a half hours...but man, was it WORTH
it! I melted chocolate, beat egg whites, brined chicken, chopped shallots, sauteed gizzards, mashed garlic, chopped
herbs...you name it, I did it. The only thing missing from dinner was wine, and were it not for the fact that I was
leaving for Seattle tomorrow, I would have opened up a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc(no sense in opening up a bottle
wine when I won’t be around in the next few days to finish it off).
Sigh. I wish I was a chef. Cooking is just so therapeutic!
3.3.15
Trash TV
(2004-03-16 09:25) - public
I’m in my hotel room in Seattle watching Fox News (yes, I know) before I head to the office. Dubya is on, talking with
the PM or The Netherlands. I believe it’s quite possible that the man gets dumber by the day. He can’t answer his
way out of a paper bag, let alone take a beating by reporters.
One of the reporters just asked him about John Kerry’s allegations that other countries support the ”ousting” of
Bush. Jan Peter Balkenende quickly stopped Bush’s comment and said he’d rather focus on the facts of their discussion this morning and not talk about our internal election issues.
Yay Netherlands. :-)
Despite that...Bush is still going to win. What a shame.
3.3.16
Remission interrupted.
(2004-03-19 11:23) - public
I received the call yesterday from my oncologist. My cancer is back.
Tumor markers are up. Low, but elevated enough where he suspects a local recurrence. Since the liver panel and
calcium levels were normal, this means it’s probably in my breast.
If it is, then I can wipe it out with a, as my father puts it, ”simple mastectomy.”
If it is not, then I can say hello again to my friend, chemotherapy.
I will find out on the 29th when I have my PET scan what fate has in store for me.
It’s funny that this would happen now. I almost had myself convinced that I had reason to HOPE...that maybe I
could have a life...could change jobs, go back to school, and DO something other than be in this stasis waiting to die.
I guess I’m going to be a statistic after all.
I don’t know...I suppose this is going to hit me a lot harder once the numbness wears off.
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3.3.17
What it means to lose a breast
(2004-03-20 13:58) - public
I want to thank you all for taking the time to comment on my update the other day. I did respond to everyone...I’ve
just been swamped with work and haven’t had a chance to be timely about things.
So, I’ve been diligently researching mastectomies. Every few minutes I have to stop and take my mind off of
it. I’ve got this wall of tears built up inside a dam that is destined to break...so taking breaks every five minutes is
the only thing keeping me sane while I learn about all of the wonderful potential surgical opportunities out there for
someone in my situation.
As luck would have it, I’m not eligible for the expander type of reconstruction because of radiation treatment.
I guess the skin can’t handle the stretching that’s involved in this.
So that leaves me with the flap procedure, whereby they cut a piece of skin from your back or abdomen, slide
it through a tunnel under your skin up to the mastectomy site and create a ”natural looking” breast. Well, as natural
as you can get considering IT WON’T HAVE A FUCKING NIPPLE. Apparently, the nipple comes later, lovingly
fashioned with skin from your thigh or (ahem) LABIA (I’d like to insert a collective ”OW” on behalf of women
everywhere for that one).
I haven’t even had the surgery–in fact, I don’t even know if I have to have it yet–and I already feel hideously
ugly. Like some part of my feminine essence is already stripped away. I feel like a freak...and aberration of nature...and
I’ve never felt farther from the one thing I’ve always dreamed of, despite it’s irrationality. That one thing was to be
beautiful enough to walk into a room and make heads turn.
I’ve never been beautiful. Pretty, on a good day. I can pass for cute. But nothing worth noting. I always
blamed my weight. And I’m sure that has a lot to do with it. The good thing was that at least I had no one to blame
but myself for my weight. Thyroid problem or not...it was still my responsibility.
But losing a breast...even with a superior reconstruction I fear that I will never feel beautiful. Maybe one day
in my life I can still drop some weight, maybe my hair will finally grow out without being interrupted by chemo, and
maybe one day I can wear that slinky black cocktail dress without having to worry about a tummy bulge. Maybe the
reconstructed breast would even look NORMAL...but it wouldn’t be real.
I complain all the time about things not being real in my world...about how we’re living in this post-modernistic
society where everything is a copy of something else, where there’s no AUTHENTICITY to anything anymore. How
will I feel walking around with the very same thing I abhor attached to my chest wall? Maybe I still have a chance of
LOOKING the part of the beautiful woman...but with losing a breast, I’m not sure I’ll be able to FEEL it. I imagine
being in that situation and feeling like a sham. Kind of like how you feel when you stuff you’re bra and spend the rest
of the day fearing someone will notice, but only a million times worse.
I am afraid.
anasthesia.
I am afraid of what lies ahead for me.
I am afraid of the pain, the recovery, waking up from
Most of all I’m afraid of waking up and looking down at my chest...seeing something there that isn’t me, and
knowing that something is gone forever.
No one likes to think of their body being mutilated.
And I’m petrified that when I look down, I am not going to be able to withstand the mental onslaught that
comes with that first inbstinctive feeling of revulsion and abhorrance at what has just happened to my body.
And now that I’ve written that, I find that I have to stop. The tears are getting close.
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3.3.18
New Recipe created!
(2004-03-26 14:21) - public
Karen’s Curry Chicken Salad
Serves 1
1 T Light Mayonnaise
Curry Powder to taste (can be mild or hot)
Ground Red Pepper to taste
3 to 4 oz chicken breast meat, cut into small cubes
Chicken Broth
Garlic Powder
1 large or 2 small stalks celery, cubed into 1/2” dice
2 T golden raisins
2 T chopped hazelnuts, toasted
2 C chopped Bibb lettuce
2 small plum tomatoes, seeded and diced
Salt and pepper to taste
———————Mix mayo and curry powder in small bowl. Add enough curry so that it suits you (lots if you like strong flavor). Feel
free to add red pepper to add heat. Set aside.
Pre-heat non-stick skillet and add a splash of chicken broth. Add chicken and stir. Add garlic powder to taste.
Continue cooking and stirring, adding more broth as pan juices reduce. When chicken is nearly cooked through, allow
pan juices to evaporate and then deglaze pan with more chicken broth. Cook until broth is absorbed (but pan not dry)
and turn off from heat. Set aside (no need to keep warm).
In small bowl, mix celery, raisins and toasted hazelnuts. Add chicken cubes and mayo and stir until well combined.
Arrange chopped lettuce on plate and spoon chicken salad into center. Spread chopped tomatoes in ring around
chicken. Season with salt and pepper and serve (would be great with mango lassi).
Approximately 400 calories, 14 g fat for entire serving
3.3.19
And the winner is...CANCER!!!!
(2004-03-31 09:37) - public
I had my PET scan Monday...and the results are already in!
I DON’T HAVE TO HAVE A MASTECTOMY!!! Woo hoo! I get to save my breast*!
*In exchange for my liver.
I have three to five tumors in my liver. I start chemotherapy Friday. Navelbine or Gemzar or perhaps another, more aggressive combination of drugs, plus Herceptin again. My doctor will present me with my options in
buffet-style format, and I can pick and choose what I want. Either way, I start Friday. THIS Friday.
Navelbine and Gemzar. Interesting thing is that my mother was on Gemzar. It’s a pretty mild chemo (as is
Navelbine). She took it for her pancreatic cancer in 1998, when it was still in a clinical trial. Now it’s used as first line
chemo for pancreatic cancer.
But not for breast cancer. No, Navelbine and Gemzar are usually given as second line treatment. In fact, if
you go to the American Cancer Society’s web site and look up Gemzar, it’s not even listed as a treatment option for
breast cancer! Basically, they are not as aggressive, and the purpose of that is because at this stage of the game it’s
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”comfort,” not ”cure.” Yes, what it’s all about is extending Karen’s life as long as possible without putting her through
too much physical agony. So let’s just give her some highly tolerable chemo to stave off the inevitable. No need to
give her something that will make her sick, as it won’t save her life anyways and will just make her miserable for the
few years she has left.
Comfort, not cure. Comfort, not cure.
I don’t know what to do at this point. I knew I was going to lose to cancer when I was first diagnosed.
just didn’t know it would be this soon, barely a year after I’ve finished treatment.
I
I’m just not ready to die. Not this, not now.
My mother’s cancer spread into her liver. Her belly became distended several months before she died. She
had that wasted look to her...skinny legs, skinny arms, and bulging belly. Two weeks before she died she had some
sort of liver failure...her skin turned yellow and she was borderline catatonic. My father, a lifetime member of the
EMT squad in town, grabbed an ambulance and we rushed her to the hospital. He drove, and I sat in back with her.
She didn’t know where she was, she didn’t recongnize anything, and she screamed when I tried to touch her
because she thought I was a stranger trying to accost her. She began to throw things at me...her pillow, her cup, her
bedpan. I ended up sitting in a fetal position in the back of the ambulance, trying to keep a low profile because the
mere evidence of my presence sent her into a frenzy. I stared out that back window, at the road falling away, and tried
to focus on the lone ladybug that was trying to make it’s way across the glass.
She died two weeks later. In a hospital, with a catheter and a morphine pump and bed sores and an inability
to comprehend her surroundings.
I am so goddamned scared I can’t describe it.
it’s the beginning of the end for me.
Every ache, every pain, every episode of fatigue...I wonder if
The thing is, I think I’ve just seen the beginning of the end with these latest scan results.
here on out is simply...the ending.
Everything from
MY ending. My life’s opus is going to be ME in that hospital bed, dying in front of my loved ones, my extended belly rising and falling for a final time as a nurse shuts off my pump.
I am thirty years old, and I’m already tired of this. I already feel beaten and weary.
anymore, I don’t want to think about it, I don’t want to put any more effort into this.
I don’t want to fight
I don’t know where I’m going to find the strength to get through this next round, knowing that it’s really all
for nothing. Knowing that I’m going to be sick and hairless and all of that other rot, just to live a little bit longer.
Comfort, not cure. Comfort, not cure.
COMFORT NOT CURE.
3.4
3.4.1
April
Andy Dandy
(2004-04-01 13:32) - public
So, lately I’ve gotten into the habit of watching ERASURE videos while I work out. My favorite song of theirs (right
now, anyways) is ”Fingers and Thumbs.” Great video, too, with Andy in his little leather jacket. Kind of makes me
want to be a gay man.
So today I decided to flip to the ”Lay All Your Love on Me” video. I’ve seen this video before...never quite understood
the whole Snow White, Red Riding Hood and motorcycle chase scene (it actually reminds me of those carnival games
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you play, when you have to race little tiny motorcycle bikes across a panel and the winner gets one big ass hot pink
stuffed animal). Anyways...it’s an ok remake of Abba, and the gold lame (lah-MAY) suits they’re wearing...well, they’re
gold lame. Anyways...
Has anyone here noticed how much Andy is packing in this video? I swear, in one of the shots it looked like he
had a third leg sprouting.
Sigh. There’s nothing like a well-hung gay man in a gold lame suit to really turn a gal on.
Blake, we’re getting you one of those suits.
3.4.2
(2004-04-02 08:37)
- public
Well, I’m sitting at home waiting for my hair to dry. I have to leave in about 45 minutes to go to chemo. I’ve already
EMLA’d my port, so it should be nice and numb for my needle stick.
Everything seems to be moving in slow motion for me today. It took forever for me to put on my socks this morning.
There’s a surrealness about today that I both love and loathe at the same time.
I keep wondering what this round is going to be like. My first round with Taxotere/Taxol went very well. I almost lost my fingernails on the Taxotere, but we managed to catch it before one of them actually fell off. I also had
no sense of taste on Taxotere, and spent the entire three months eating lots and lots of spicy gazpacho (was one of the
only things I could taste). Surprisingly, I didn’t lose my hair, although my scalp was so very, very sore.
Taxol, which followed the Taxotere, had been a bit harsher to me...I lost all feeling in my toes for most of the
course of the drug, and my hair...my lovely, dark hair began coming out by the handful in the shower. I never had the
sudden hair loss, like with Adriamycin (when basically one day your follicles open up and bam...you’re bald in about
24 hours). But by the time I was done...I had lost about 80 % of my hair...not quite enough to break out the wigs and
hats, but close. Of course, this sounds good on paper, but if you had seen me then...the 20 % I was left with was like
dry yarn. It would fuzz the minute I would get out of the shower.
I don’t remember things being that bad for me during my first round of chemo...but I saw some pictures of myself from back then, from right when I finished chemo. I nearly cried when I saw them. The hair loss had happened
over 3 months or so, which made it hard for me to notice the change while it was happening. But a few weeks ago
when I saw a picture of myself from back then...no wonder people had looked shocked to see me. What I looked like
after treatment compared to what I looked like before treatment was quite shocking.
My hair is still not quite fully grown out from my first round of chemo. I was hoping it would be finally done
growing in by June...just in time for me to enjoy it this summer. I wanted to be able to ride in the car with the
windows down, without worrying about how my scalp hurts or whether or not I was going to have to try to pull a big
wind knot out of the back (desperately trying not to pull my hair out at the same time).
I wanted to spend the summer cooking and enjoying the taste of my food. I wanted to stock up on wine, and
spend the long summer evenings sitting on the patio, sipping a buttery chardonnay or a lush, fruity zinfandel. I was
looking forward to painting my nails again, as they had just finally outgrown the damage from the first round of chemo.
And I was looking forward to my body finally returning to normal again...with normal weight loss levels and normal
energy levels.
I don’t want to be pumped full of Kytril or Benadryl or any more of that fucking Decadron. And I certainly don’t
want to be pumped full of a drug considered to be toxic by most of the cells in my body. It doesn’t matter if Navelbine
or Gemzar or whatever I choose today is considered a ”mild” chemo. It’s an invasion of my body–my LIFE!–no matter
what.
Part of me wants to take a leave of absence from work this time...an indefinite leave of absence. Work just seems
so ridiculous now. On Monday I got this frantic email from someone about training, and then Tuesday the same person
followed-up with ANOTHER frantic email, wondering why I didn’t respond to her first one from the day before(I had
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had Monday and Tuesday as scheduled days off). It took everything I had not to tell her to cram it. What, you’re
having a crisis because your client needs some training? Boo fucking hoo. How ’bout you put things in perspective
first and THEN come talk to me about how your lack of training constitutes a crisis in your life?
Sigh.
At least for now, I’ve still got a headful hair–and a blow dryer that’s calling my name.
3.4.3
Just when I think it can’t get any worse...
(2004-04-03 08:16) - public
It does.
My doctor got the final report from my PET scan Thursday, so during my appointment yesterday we went
over the results. In addition to the tumors in my liver, I also have two lesions in my pancreas.
I was floored when Tajuddin told me. Just utterly floored. I’m no doctor by any means, but I’m a research
hound and not ONCE have I ever heard of breast cancer spreading to the pancreas. I did a quick search on it yesterday
when I got home, and there is only ONE post on www.bcmets.org from a woman who had it in her pancreas. ONE
post, of all of the people on that board.
The other stats I’ve found on it are really interesting as well. According to one source, metastic tumors to
the pancreas are rarely found, although the incidence is somewhere around 3 % post-autopsy. Let me clarify one thing
on that, too: that is 3 % for ALL cancers. Breast cancer accounts for a tiny fraction of that 3 %. In fact, breast
cancer spreading there is almost unheard of.
So. When I decide to do something, I go all out, don’t I?
It certainly did explain a lot, though...the back pain I’ve had since December, the bloating, the fever, the
gassiness, the pain in the middle of my abdomen. I had noticed these things over the past few weeks, but they were so
mild I didn’t think anything of them. It’s only been this week, before I knew of the test results, when the symptoms
were starting to become so noticeable as to aggravate me. That, and the fact that there were alternative excuses for all
of them: the back pain could have been from sleeping funny, the bloating could have been from my recent poor diet,
the stomach pains could have been just from stress...there was no reason for me to think to link them all together.
My doctor gave me a prescription for some pancreatic enzymes. I took one last night, before I ate. I now
have no doubt that the symptoms I described above are from my pancreas being out of whack. I noticed relief from
most of my symptoms in about ten minutes.
So, in addition to the enzymes, I started chemo yesterday, as planned, as well as the Herceptin. I chose the
Navelbine over the Gemzar. My doctor was leaning more towards the latter, but after talking with one of the other
onc’s in the practice, thought that maybe the Navelbine would be a better choice afterall. The side effects most
traditionally associated with chemo are supposed to be minimal with this stuff: minor nausea, minor hair loss, etc.
Oh, and the OTHER good news is NO DECADRON!!!!!! I was so tickled pink over that. All I need for the Navelbine
is a quick, 20 minute infusion of Kytril for any possible nausea. On the negative side, I do need to worry about
neuropathy in the legs (basically, loss of feeling, which is a side effect I experienced on the Taxol so I’m expected to
have it this time, too) and...ahem...constipation (they gave me some prescription laxative that is apparently supposed
to work wonders with the Navelbine). The other major side effect is that my white blood counts are expected to
plummet here in the next few sessions...which is fine, hello Neupogen shots...but according to the literature they gave
me on the drug, I should avoid anything that might expose me to infection. In other words, no sushi, no oysters on
the half shell, and I’m supposed to ”avoid large crowds.”
Avoid large crowds? What the hell does that mean? What’s their definition of a large crowd? I can understand the need to avoid areas where I might be crammed into a small space with a lot of people (read: germ infested
children) breathing the same air (planes, amusement parks, concerts)...but...what about things like crowded grocery
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stores or family gatherings? Does that count also? And what about my chemo treatments? I’m crammed into a room
with a whole bunch of other sick people, breathing their same germ infused air. Should I begin wearing a mask over
my face?
I just love gray areas.
So today I just feel like hell. As I mentioned I started the Herceptin yesterday also, which is nothing new, as
I was on this from June 2002 to Jun 2003. Herceptin is really a great drug and the only side effect I’ve ever noticed
is slight flu-like symptoms a few days after infusion. The first time you get Herceptin you get a huge, whopping
mega-dose, and then from there on out your weekly dose is just a ”maintenance” type dose. The weekly dose takes
about half an hour to infuse. Since yesterday was my first Herceptin dose, I had to sit through a TWO HOUR
INFUSION. So you can pretty much guess how much larger this first dose is compared to the maintenance dose.
Not only is the dosage about four times as much, but my side effects are right up there as well. Those slight
flu like symptoms? HA! Replace slight with severe and that’s about how I feel right now. My entire body hurts...even
my eyes hurt today when I went to put in my contact lenses. Ran a low grade temp all last night...I ended up just
laying on the couch at Blake’s house wrapped in a T-shirt, sweatshirt, a fleece robe and a thermal blanket. And my
head...it felt like I had bombs going off in my brain when I woke up this morning. Of course, I would normally just pop
a few ibuprofen and be done with it, but things are different now, with my stomach. Now I have to take my enzymes,
wait twenty minutes, eat something, wait about ten minutes after that and THEN I can take the ibuprofen. I need a
friggin hour of lag time just to take ibuprofen (which I have to be careful of taking anyways with the chemo I’m on).
The other side effect that concerns me, and one that I am fairly confident is from the Navelbine, is that my
scalp hurts. I brushed my hair this morning and winced at the pain of my brush pulling on my hair. My doctor told
me that my hair will probably thin and get, what I call, that ”fried from the inside out” look that I had with the
Taxol. My nurse Kelene said that that hasn’t been the case with what she has seen. Apparently they treat a LOT of
patients with Navelbine, and what she has seen is that most women don’t have a problem with their hair at all. We’ll
see...the scalp pain bothers me. I’m actually quite shocked that this particular symptom is already manifesting itself,
less than 24 hours after treatment. With my luck, I’ll probably go bald on this stuff (ok, fine...at least it will happen
during the summer).
The good news, though, is that I am already beginning to feel better this morning. I came home from Blake’s, took my
enzymes and set about making some steel cut oatmeal (gotta make sure I’m getting enough fiber with the Navelbine).
I made a single serving, mixed in some Splenda and cinnamon and topped with with some raisins and almonds. I got
through half of it before losing my appetite. Ok, fine...I can stand to eat less...it’s not like I’m going to waste away to
nothing with a little bit of appetite loss. The thing I’m focusing on is that I ate it in relatively less discomfort. So...I’ll
chalk that up as a victory.
I don’t know...I’ve done this before. My mom, when she had pancreatic cancer, could only eat a few bites of
food before she got sick. When I moved home to take care of her, I made sure that we had nutritious, calorie dense
foods for our meals (hence my 60 pound weight gain). So she would eat, say, half a cup of food at each meal only. But
it was half a cup of NUTRITION–green beans with olive oil, chicken sauteed in canola oil with a whole wheat bread
crumb coating, fresh corn on the cob–so I know how to do this. Sadly, I know how to do this.
It’s so strange thinking of my mother at this time in my life. When my doctor told me my cancer was in my
pancreas, I just sat there and said, ”Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god.” I think he thought I was upset, but it wasn’t
necessarily that. My mother’s illness suddenly flashed before my eyes. The parallels that my mind drew in that split
second are unfathomable and horrifying.
The thing is, I don’t have pancreatic cancer. No, I have very aggressive, terminal stage breast cancer that is
now IN my pancreas. What’s the difference, exactly? I mean, my cancer is just as aggressive as pancreatic cancer.
Cancer in the pancreas causes a tremendous amount of disruption in the body, regardless of whether it’s pancreatic or
a secondary cancer. So what separates my mother from me?
One major factor: my cancer is still breast cancer. And breast cancer responds much better to treatment,
even in a case like mine where I’m ER– and can’t use a majority of the drugs out there (like Tamoxifen).
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My mother didn’t die because her cancer was more aggressive than mine. My mother died because pancreatic
cancer doesn’t respond to drugs. Things like Gemzar, which is now the first line of defense against pancreatic
cancer...well, you might as well spit in the wind. The cancer doesn’t respond to treatment, and as such, grows
unchecked in the body. The average life span is about a year from the date of diagnosis...and it’s a rough year, because
the patient is very, very sick. The cancer...makes you sick.
So. What does this mean for me?
It means that if my cancer doesn’t respond to treatment I will, essentially, follow my mother’s footsteps. It
doesn’t matter that it’s not pancreatic cancer. All that matters is whether or not it responds to treatment at this
point.
If it doesn’t respond to the Navelbine, we try the Gemzar. If it doesn’t respond to the Gemzar, we try Xeloda. If it
doesn’t respond to that, we try Taxotere or Taxol again.
And if that fails...by that time I will be too far gone to try anything else.
I have maybe FOUR MONTHS...to get a grip on this. Each month they will be checking my tumor markers,
my liver panel and my pancreatic panel. If they fail to decrease, we switch drugs and then test again in four weeks.
If I do respond...that’s great. But I will probably now be on chemotherapy...FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE.
The rest of my life.
My doctor was telling me about the Navelbine...how some women respond really well to it...that it really keeps the
disease in check...and that they’ve been on the drug for over three years now...
The rest of my life.
Things clarified for me yesterday, when I found that out.
I will be taking a permanent leave from work now. I don’t have much time left, and I’m certainly not going
to waste it by worrying about making fucking screen cams for clients who don’t appreciate the work that goes into it
anyways.
I will be moving in with Blake. We had been talking about this even before I found out about the tumor
markers and had been taking steps to do this. I am hoping, though, to be settled in his house–OUR house–in about
two weeks. I plan to have my house on the market by end of April.
I will be getting my living will together here in the next few weeks. I want a ”Do Not Resuscitate” order,
which basically means that when I flatline, that’s it. I don’t want any CPR, any feeding tubes, none of that. And
I want to die in a hospital, too. I don’t want my house–OUR house–to be invaded with hospital beds, hospice care,
morphine pumps, commodes and catheter lines. I don’t want Blake to have to see my sheet-covered body being
wheeled out of his front door on a gurney.
I want to have funeral services in Rockford, but I want to be buried in Sublette, next to my mother and
brother, and I want to make sure that there is room on that plot to bury my father as well.
I plan to donate my corneas. It’s about the only thing left that they will be able to harvest from my cancerridden body, and it goes to a good cause. There’s a man in Naperville that is now seeing again, because of my mother’s
corneas. It’s actually really nice to know that.
I am not going to survive this. I may be lucky and get a slight stay of execution, if I respond to chemo, but
if not, then I don’t have much time left.
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I remember writing last November about things...how I felt as if my life was rearranging itself to make way
for my clean and graceful departure. My father had found someone to share his life with...I had moved to Rockford...I
had taken one final vacation with Blake...all of my loose ends were being quickly tied up. I didn’t have to worry about
my father dealing with the loss alone...I didn’t have to worry about who would sell my house...I didn’t have to lament
the fact that I just wanted to see sun and sand one final time. I’ve done all of that.
Maybe I’m being overly dramatic here–but I just think it’s interesting that I wrote that in November...well before I thought that there was anything wrong with me.
I feel like I’m on a cart in a tunnel. The tunnel is made of cement, has a road in the middle of it with a yellow dashed line down the center, and at the end of it is this tiny speck...it looks like light, but one can’t really tell. I
feel like this cart has been doing nothing but picking up speed over the past few years...and now it’s going so fast that
I’m scared...it’s a rickety cart, shakes and wobbles as it traverses the cement highway with the now blurry yellow line.
It wasn’t meant to go this fast! And as it speeds up and we get closer to the end of the tunnel, I can see that it wasn’t
light that was there after all...it was simply a bright yellow cement wall, a dead end, that from a distance looked like
an daylight. Unless I can somehow stop the cart, I am going to crash into it...I’m going to crash so hard that it will
kill me.
I can see it coming. But as I sit in the cart I know that there isn’t anything I can do to stop the cart...there
is no brake...and no way for me to block the wheels from turning. My only choice is to leap off now, knowing that if I
do so I am sure to have my body dashed onto the walls, or I can stay on the cart and hope that something unforseen
stops me before I run out of time.
I’m clinging to the cart for dear life because it’s the only chance I have.
But I’m alone in the tunnel.
from god.
So if I haven’t figured out how to stop the cart, then my only hope...is an act
I think tomorrow....I might go to church.
Mindy and Ethan...Thank you so very much for the flowers...I cried when I got them yesterday. When I feel
better I will give you two a call. I would love to hear more about your wedding plans (I got the invitation...beautifully
done!)
3.4.4
Random thoughts
(2004-04-04 09:50) - public
Blah. Still feel blah today, although it’s an improvement from yesterday. Yesterday ended up not being too
bad...around noon I began to feel better–enough so that I went downstairs to sneak in a workout. I can’t say it was
a stellar workout...I spent 25 minutes doing low impact aerobics on 4” step board (before the leg injury I used an 8”
board). I stopped because my legs felt like jelly and I got lightheaded. But I broke a sweat and sustained it for 25
minutes. So I’ll count that as a victory.
Last night was awful. The horrible flu symptoms came back. All I did was lay on the couch, again wrapped
in my four layers of fleece clothing. I woke up early this morning with piercing pain (I’d say a level 7 out of 10, with
10 being the highest) on the right side of my abdomen, right under my rib cage. It took about an hour to go away,
but once it did, I felt ok. Not great...but I might be able to actually go to the hardware store today.
Anyways, in other news...
It’s Daylight Savings Time! I love Daylight Savings Time...always a sign that spring is on its way, that the
weather is getting warmer and that soon it will be shorts and sandals weather. I always feel positive and energized
when this time of year rolls around.
Thank god I don’t live in Indiana.
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I don’t mean to disrespect any Hoosiers here, but why in God’s name
can’t you all make a uniform decision on this? I get jet lagged just THINKING about all of your different time zones.
But I digress.
I actually had thought that we moved our clocks forward LAST week. I was so proud of myself because I
usually forget to do this. I paraded around last Saturday, telling everyone not to forget to move their clocks forward.
I especially warned Blake’s parents, who had just gotten back from vacation. I was afraid they might have forgotten
about spring forward, being that they had just spent the past week about 100 miles from anywhere. Considering that
they needed to take someone to the bus station first thing on Sunday morning, I wanted to ensure that they weren’t
late.
The next day I get a call from Blake bright and early. His parents had gotten up at 5 am to take their friend
to the airport...only to find out that gee, it was really 4 am.
I was indignant. With the phone in one hand, I marched over to my wall calendar and proudly stated to
Blake that MY calendar said that we were supposed to move our clocks ahead this weekend.
And then I noticed the tiny, size 2 font letters following my calendar message. It said, (UK).
Bloody hell.
So no harm done or anything...but I’ve now become fodder for being teased at family gatherings.
Of course, I suppose this isn’t nearly as bad as believing that the pheasant we had for Christmas dinner was
actually shot by Blake’s uncle...with a shotgun...from the deck...of his suburban home.
Gullibility, thy name is Karen.
3.4.5
Sick and just feel like whining.
(2004-04-06 11:59) - public
Ah, blech.
I feel like hell. Again. This isn’t getting better. Blake thinks I might have a cold, but I’m not convinced. It
doesn’t feel like a cold...I’m not congested, don’t have a sore throat, no fever. I just feel achy and have the chills. Oh,
and that whole nausea/bloating/no appetite thing. If it’s a cold, then it’s the strangest one I’ve ever had. And it’s
rather convenient that it decided to manifest itself in the middle of my chemotherapy infustion.
So, I’ve spent the better portion of the past two days making arrangements for leaving work. I’m planning my
official leave to begin on April 19th.
I’m so unhappy about this. I can’t seem to stop crying. I pull myself together just long enough to call someone
to talk about HR law, long term disability, etc. And then I get off the phone and just bawl. I KNOW in my heart this
is the right decision...I mean, I’m not going to spend the rest of my days working when I need to focus on chemotherapy
and getting my affairs in order. But I’ve worked with these people for years...they are my FRIENDS. It’s so hard, it’s
just so hard...especially knowing that I probably won’t be coming back.
In other news, we’re getting the ball rolling on the move. I am in the process of scheduling someone to come out
here in the next couple of weeks to repair the chimney and do some brickwork on my house. Blake’s father will swap
out my appliances with Blake’s older ones (stove, dishwasher, washer/dryer). Blake’s father is also buying my grill and
will give me his old one to include in the sale of the house (it’s hooked into the natural gas line...so you never have to
have propane!). My dad is coming this weekend to fix my faucet and hang my upstairs ceiling fan. Blake and I are
going to paint my cabinet and do some touch up painting tonight and tomorrow. After that, all it needs is one good
scrub and it’s ready to sell.
We’ve got to do a little bit of work to Blake’s house as well. Have to get some flooring for his basement for a
workout area, and have to rearrange some of his furniture. We also need to buy a few other things...shelves, a hanging
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pot rack...in order to have room in his kitchen. My kitchen right now is bigger than his and is filled to the brim
with pots, pans, appliances, knives, and all sorts of other things a good cook should have. So we need to make some
arrangements over there before I’ll feel at home.
I’m really going to miss my house. I love this little place. I’ve got a library upstairs, a workout room in the basement,
huge deck with a gas grill, beautifully warm wood floors, a gorgeously re-done bathroom....it’s perfect for me. It’s
the kind of house I’ve always wanted to have...small, cozy, nice yard and in a fabulous historic neighborhood that is
walking distance to some type of waterfront park (in my case, the river). And it’s not that Blake’s house is bad...I
mean, he and I fought over who was going to buy his house last year! But it’s not like here. He’s got a smaller yard
that is packed in next to the other houses. His kitchen is smaller, his living room awkward because of an inglenook.
Everything in it is neutral...neutral walls, neutral carpet, and his wood floors are narrower with more of a cool beige
feel rather than golden. It’s nice...but it doesn’t have the warm yellow walls and ceramic tiled bath and large bay
window with the window seat. We had thought about selling both of our houses and buying something more...I don’t
know...different. But we can’t afford it with me not working.
Stupid cancer. It IS going to take everything after all.
3.4.6
First a rant, then an amusing anectode
(2004-04-07 12:20) - public
I have to get a few things off of my chest. Chalk this up to PMS or misplaced anger over my situation, but I’ve just
got to put it down and get it out of my mind.
I am beginning to get annoyed at people in my life trying to tell me what I should do about my cancer. I
don’t CARE if you’ve ”heard of” three other people who went to Cancer Treatment Center of America for ”some sort
of cancer” that was ”supposedly terminal stage” and but is now cured. This is MY life, MY situation, and here’s what
I think of your advice:
First off, I LIKE my doctor. I’ve been to a lot of doctors in my lifetime and have yet to find one that listens
as well or is as compassionate. He completed his residency treating breast cancer patients at Northwestern University
and spends his vacation time doing Doctors Beyond Borders. He’s ethical, honest, and hates talking about cancer
but does it anyways because he knows that it’s what he has to do to help. Who’s to say he’s not one of the best
oncologists in the area? You? Just because you heard that your neighbor’s cousin’s wife’s sister’s daughter was cured
ELSEWHERE? Please. Breast cancer is not like, I don’t know...mesothelioma. It’s fairly common, and NO ONE is
holding out any ”special secrets” when it comes to treating it. I TRUST my doctor...I TRUST my nurse...and I know
that the people in that office care a great deal about each and every patient that walks through that door.
Second, don’t come to me with crap like that....you ”heard” that ”someone with cancer” was cured. Who?
What kind of cancer? Where was it spread? Come to me with SPECIFICS: TYPE of cancer, STAGE of cancer,
PLACES of metasteses, DRUGS that helped. Cancer patients are unique entities...even someone with the exact same
pathology as mine will still react differently to treatment. Comparing me to someone else you know that has some
kind of cancer that you can’t even name isn’t comparing apples and oranges. It’s comparing apples and space aliens.
Not all cancers can be placed under the big cancer umbrella and thought of as responding universally to the same
treatment. Terminal stage thyroid cancer is a hell of a lot different than terminal stage breast cancer.
Third, on this whole comparison thing...don’t assume that gee, because this person that you heard about was
cured that I will be cured too. I would hope that would be the case, but don’t get huffy if I don’t take your unsolicited
advice to chuck my doctor and adopt a strict raw foods diet. I can see you shaking your head, muttering under your
breath, ”Well, if she had just done what I told her she wouldn’t be in the mess she’s in now.” Guess what...if my
DOCTOR doesn’t know about your secret, chances are it doesn’t have a lot of validity.
Finally, don’t ever advise me to go to Cancer Treatment Centers of America. They embody the very thing I
loathe in the cancer culture: they manipulate you with fear in order to make you buy their services and products,
and they use slick marketing and advertising to accomplish this. I don’t WANT my oncologist to be represented by
DDB Needham. I want his/her reputation to be word of mouth from patients. Relying on glossy television spots
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showing terminal people beating the odds isn’t uplifting...it’s misleading, ESPECIALLY when they put a tiny, size 4
font disclaimer at the bottom saying, ”No case is typical. You should not expect to experience these results.”
And speaking of manipulation....this is off the subject of my above rant but is something I want to comment
on nonetheless. Someone posted the following quote in [ LJ User: breastcancer ] the other day:
If you don’t have time for a mammogram, imagine what chemotherapy will do to your schedule.
Apparently this was taken from one of those public awareness posters on preventing breast cancer (you know
the posters I’m talking about...remember the ”Smoking is Glamorous” one that was plastered in every public
high school back in the day?). Now I understand the point–let’s shock women into making sure they get their
mammograms!–but I am bothered by the tactic here.
As with most of these scare-em-into-acting campaigns, there’s an unspoken message that offends me, and that
message is the assumption that those of us who DO have breast cancer have it because we, being the bunch of lazy
women that we are, didn’t get our mammograms. That poster might as well have two pictures on it: one of a nice,
healthy looking woman with flushed cheeks and another of a bald, sallow woman with peeling skin and parched lips.
Under each picture, respectively should read the following phrases: ”Had her mammogram” and ”Didn’t have her
mammogram.”
Phrases like the one posted a few days ago BLAME BREAST CANCER ON THE ACTIONS OF THE WOMAN.
Well, guess what folks: it doesn’t always work that way, and I’m sick of that mentality being shoved down my throat.
Instead, say something on the order of, ”Although preventative treatment isn’t foolproof in catching cancer early, IT’S
THE BEST CHANCE WE HAVE. DO YOUR PART TO TAKE CHARGE OF YOUR OWN HEALTH.” Granted,
maybe it loses some of it’s in-your-face cache...but it’s much more empowering than scaring a woman into acquiesence.
It also puts the implied assumption of inaction NOT in the hands of those who already have cancer BUT IN THE
HANDS OF THOSE WOMEN WHO STILL HAVE THE CHOICE TO DO EVERYTHING THEY CAN TO CATCH
IT EARLY. Go after the healthy ones–they’re the target audience in the first place–and leave us cancer patients to
treat our disease in an environment where we don’t feel constant guilt over the fact that society thinks we slacked on
our mammograms.
There. I’ve said my piece now.
In other news...we watched The Matrix: Revolutions last night.
might want to skip over the next section of my journal.
If you have not yet seen this movie, you
The first Matrix movie was fantastic...brilliantly done. The second one was ok...not as good as the first, but
it’s a sequal so I can forgive the whole 20 minute rave scene where Morpheus is apparently crowned god for a day
while Keanu ”My Acting is Like Driftwood” Reaves and Carrie-Ann ”I Only Wear Latex to Draw More Male Viewers”
Moss get it on. But this third one...oh for crying out loud.
First off...what is with all the love bullshit? I love you Neo, I love you Trinity, I love you crazy woman who
stayed to defend the dock, I love you husband of the crazy woman who stayed to defend the dock, I love you Jada
Pinkett, I love you Oracle. There were over a DOZEN HUGS in this movie. That is ELEVEN HUGS TOO MANY,
and is enough to qualify this DVD to be placed in the ”Romantic Drama” category at the movie rental store.
Second...there is a little girl in this movie who has no purpose other than to help the Oracle bake cookies.
Oh sure, some may argue that she was the catalyst that got Neo to talk to the nice Indian guy in the train station at
the beginning of the movie. Ok fine...except that, unlike the other Matrices, this scene didn’t go anywhere. The whole
Frenchman/Trainmaster thing was utterly and completely pointless except to serve as a tribute to the latest and
greateste special effects. In fact, in that first scene when Morpheus and Trinity (or Trin, as she’s now affectionately
known) blow up the Frenchman’s bodyguards looked almost identical to the scene in the first Matrix movie when Neo
and Trin storm the building where Morpheus is being held hostage. Anyways, once they all got Neo back, it was back
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on track to saving Zion! The trainman never came up again.
And speaking of Zion...what is up with the full body robotic suits that constitute their defense system? Has
anyone here ever seen a little movie called Aliens? Sigourney Weaver dons the very same thing when she has to go
save little Newt from an untimely death by the pissed off alien queen/mother (think of the aliens as the giant, deadly
ants of the universe, who build colonies and have one big ass female that hatches eggs all day). Only thing is that
Sigourney’s didn’t have the shotguns and she also didn’t have the luxury of ammunition runners. Oh, and her suit was
banana yellow. But I digress. The point is that it was a blatant copy of a classic horror movie from twenty years ago.
And then there was the very touching scene of Trinity’s (Trin if you know her well) tragic and untimely death. The
woman has five pieces of rebar sticking out of her and yet she STILL has the stamina to make a five minute soliloquy
to Neo about how she should have told him on a rooftop that she loved him instead of waiting to tell him an hour
later. What an amazing woman! And Neo–dear, dear Neo–begins to cry. Which would have worked except that by
this point in the movie, HE HAD NO EYES. A little tip from Acting Class 101: if your character is not supposed to
have eyes, you probably should rethink the crying thing.
And, finally...what is with all of the fishermen’s sweaters? EVERYONE wore one. Some were red, some were
blue, and all were studded with holes, rips and snags...you know, to make them look both comfortable AND rugged.
I felt like I was watching a live action version of a J. Peterman catalog all night: ”The war was tough. Dangerous.
Thankless. The captains led their teams deliberately and valiantly, risking both life and limb for the peace of the
world. Their days were hot and laborious, and their nights were cold and rigorous. Comfort was a luxury in which
they could not afford to partake–except when it came to the clothes they wore. Small cabling with loose necks and
wrists, made only of pure Zion grown organic cotton, and woven with the same love for freedom shared by all those
who call Zion home. It is our signature piece, our Captain’s Sweater...comfortable, durable, and proven to withstand
even the hardiest of conditions. Available in Peaceful Persimmon and Clear Sky, in sizes S-L for men and women
everywhere.”
And with that one, I’m out of here. Please remember to denote the color when you order.
3.4.7
(2004-04-08 13:03)
- public
So this morning my cleaning lady, who also happens to be a mutual friend of both Blake and I, calls Blake this
morning. She was cleaning my house, but I was staying over at Blake’s house to wait for the Culligan guy so that we
can move my reverse osmosis system when I move in. Anyways, this is the same woman that I wrote about yesterday:
wants me to go to CTCA because she heard that they’re miracle workers who cured someone five people removed
from her of some kind of cancer she can’t even name.
She called for two reasons. First, she called to tell me that she was cleaning my fridge and noticed that I had
a lot of greens and then she insisted–not asked–but insisted that Blake tell me that I shouldn’t be eating any greens
because her uncle who died who knows how long ago had liver cancer and wasn’t supposed to eat greens. (Ok,
fine...but a) it was a different person who died a decade ago and b) I DON’T HAVE LIVER CANCER).
Sigh.
The other reason was to follow up on a message she had left Blake yesterday about having me apply for some
Make a Wish foundation thing. Blake calmly informed her that I was not interested, that I would rather leave that
for people who need it, and that I was in a fine enough financial situation that allowed me to afford whatever wish I
could possibly want at this point. She pushed the issue, but finally backed off when Blake put his foot down. She then
began asking questions like, ”Well, she hasn’t given up hope yet, has she?”
Given up hope? Hope for what? Hope that I’ll beat this and keep on living just so that in ten, twenty, fifty
years I’ll die? No one escapes death, so...what am I supposed to hope for, exactly?
I don’t want to die.
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I think that’s an innate feeling everyone has.
Maybe it’s an instinct, maybe it really is
as simple as being a fear of the unknown. Whatever it is, most people don’t WANT to die. But we all end up
dying...so what’s our problem? Why do we have such a huge problem with it?
Blake wrote something today that eloquently states the problem: in our society, death is considered to be a
failure. She died because she failed to eat right, she failed to stop smoking, she failed to get her mammogram, she
failed to drive under the speed limit...we ALL have something upon which to blame our eventual deaths. It’s a
narcissistic attitude that we don in order to deny the inevitable...well, SHE failed to eat right, so her dying was HER
problem. By blaming the person who died, we somehow deflect the event as being self-inflicted, a just rewards for a
life NOT well led. This makes it so much easier for us to continue to wallow in our denial. ”They had it coming by the
way they lived their life” is the subliminal message we send to ourselves...and what’s more, we BELIEVE that. Then
when death happens to us we sit there like a deer in headlights, wondering gee, what did we ever do to deserve this?
Blake sometimes knows me better than I know myself, and he hit the nail on the head when he said that my
problem isn’t dealing with the fear of my own death. No, my problem is dealing with a society that views death as a
failure and in trying to defend my choices and actions against a culture that prides itself on judging over these very
actions. We dole out death as a punishment, as the ultimate equalizing force for things such as murder and rape.
It’s part of the great duality where birth is good and death is just BAD. All of our behavior is wrapped up into this
duality, with certain behaviors leading to life and certain ones leading to death. The end result is the ultimate battle
between good and evil, life and death...and it’s played out via the actions we take in our lives.
Guess what, everyone. ALL ACTIONS LEAD TO DEATH. Period. We begin dying the minute we are born.
None of us escape. The battle...is an illusion.
But on the flip side, what, exactly am I supposed to hope for in this great battle? Eternal life on this planet
is out of the question...so what’s next? If not eternal life, then maybe I should just hope to live LONGER.
Longer? How long is enough? At what point do I hit the bar of quantity and decide that it’s a good time to
die? 40 years old? 60? Maybe I should go for the home run and try for 110!
It doesn’t matter if I’m 30 or 80 when I die. Everyone dies with a to-do list. We will always have things we
want to do, things that interest us, things that make us get out of bed in the morning. No one is EVER going to
wake up one day and say, gee...I’ve done everything I’ve ever wanted to, I’m bored, and I don’t see a purpose for my
existance anymore...OOPS! Guess it’s time to die!
No, it doesn’t work that way. I have no doubt that if I lived to 80 my to-do list would be just as big as it is
today. So why bother scratching and clawing to live just a little bit longer? The fact that my to-do list will always be
there just proves one thing to me: that the concept of time is a human abstraction, a tool that we as humans use to
measure the distance between change. There’s nothing magical about time, and nothing beneficial in accummulating
as much of it as possible. Like I said, in the end, it all balances regardless of if your 5 or 55.
So if I’m not hoping to live longer, then what am I hoping for? To not suffer physically? Well...sure. I think
EVERYONE wishes they could just go to sleep and magically awaken in a cloud filled heaven. Again, it doesn’t work
that way. Pain...is usually involved, and that’s true for everyone. Pain also happens to be relative. For example,
I absolutely cringe at the thought of an earache. But major surgery? I was out of my hospital bed and stretching
within 24 hours after my surgery. Some people out there would be the exact opposite. Pain is relative for different
people...and who’s to say that the pain I have now would be any better with another form of dying? I trust that fate
is giving me something I can handle...so to hope for something else...well...all I can say is careful what you wish for.
So....we’ve knocked out eternal life, longevity and painlessness...what else is there to hope for?
Quality. Do I hope for quality in my life?
This is a trickier question to answer, because quality encompases both pain and quantity. I mean...what IS
quality? What makes life worth living? What is, exactly, the measure of a man’s life? Is it living the longest time
possible? Is it living with the least amount of pain as possible so that you can continue to do things? I’m sure there
are those that say that would contribute to a quality life.
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But what good is longevity without companionship? What good is going out and doing things if you have no
one to do them with? I can’t imagine a less quality filled life than the one where I live to see 70 and have to watch a
sunset in solitude.
So I guess it’s true...I HAVE lost hope. I don’t hope for eternal life because I understand the fruitlessness of
it. I don’t hope for more longevity because I understand the abstractness of it. I don’t hope for less pain because I
understand the reality of it.
And I don’t hope for more quality because I already HAVE it.
I have said this before and I will say it again: if I died tomorrow, I would die happy.
What else could I possibly hope for?
3.4.8
Head Games
(2004-04-08 16:30) - Congested - public
Ugh. On top of all this cancer bullshit, I managed to get a head cold as well. I’ve been suffering with it since the
weekend, with last night being one of the WORST nights I’ve ever had in terms of being sick (just ask Blake).
But that has all changed. In the process of cleaning out my bathroom cabinet, I found three doses of Advil Cold
and Sinus.
I feel like I just won the lottery.
3.4.9
On Death and Dying
(2004-04-10 08:53) - public
Well, had chemo yesterday, despite feeling like horse manure. I think yesterday has been the worst day so far. But I
went in, my counts were fine, so on with the Navelbine.
Which is fine. I am more concerned at this point about getting my chemo on a regular schedule than I am
about how I feel afterwards. I mean...I kind of have a time issue to worry about, and don’t really want to delay my
treatment because of an advanced case of the sniffles. But they gave me an antibiotic and told me to start taking
them if my fever went above 100.6 (what, not 100.5?). Oh well.
I feel better today. After my treatment yesterday I was able to pinpoint some side effects that I now know
are chemo and/or Herceptin related (last week I wasn’t sure...I couldn’t tell if it was side effects or me coming down
with this blasted head cold). I didn’t have the flu like symptoms this week, but that’s also because I’m now on the
normal weekly dose of Herceptin. I do notice that I get kind of sick to my stomach...not nausea sick...but pain,
bloating, crampy sick, and my food doesn’t digest right even with the pancreatic enzymes. I remember last week this
went away around Monday-Tuesday, so I’ll measure it again this week. I can still eat and all...but it just feels...I don’t
know...HEAVY in my upper abdomen.
Ah, the joys of cancer!
I also handed over my paperwork to the nurse to give to Kelene (my regular nurse, who was off last week) for
my work disability. You know, I am still so torn on this. I get so much out of work...structure, a sense of accomplishment...I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself by not working. Oh sure, I’ve got that whole terminal illness
thing to deal with...but what am I going to do with my time now? I feel such a sense of loss over this.
I don’t know...after my first round of chemo and working 60+ hours a week through all of that (in a different
state, I might add!), I decided that next time I had treatment I didn’t want to do that. It was too much for me...I
ended up burnt out and emotionally drained, something which I haven’t yet really recovered from even to this day. I
never DEALT with things...just used work to brush over what was happening to me. But I also knew that I NEEDED
to keep working...I knew that there would be a day where my cancer would come back and that I would need the time
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off then, at that point.
So what makes me think that that time is now?
It all comes down to my belief in the terminalness of my own cancer. I know the facts, the figures, the stats
(not like stats are ever accurate). I know that I maybe have 2 years left. I know that I will initially feel fine with
this...yeah, I’ve got some discomfort in my abdomen and am fatigued, but come on...I can work, right?
The reason this is so hard for me is that it is tangible confirmation–a confirmation that I’m making to myself–that I
am dying. I’ve been putting this off for so long now...but how can I ignore that my cancer is back and that I’ll be on
chemo for the rest of my life now? How can I just keep on working?
I know I would regret it if I did...I know I would regret spending any amount of time away from my loved
ones for work. But part of me wants to keep working so that I can keep living in the denial.
See, this is where cancer gets hard. At what point do I decide to die gracefully? At what point do I begin
making these kinds of changes in my life without feeling like I’m ”giving up?” My giving up work is me telling myself
to get ready to die. At least, in my little world it is.
Part of me is screaming to not change anything...to not let cancer get the best of me. But then there is the
other half that says that the cancer is HERE...and I may not be able to get rid of it but I can enact changes in my life
so that I can get the most enjoyment out of my time left...and isn’t THAT the true way to prevent the cancer from
getting the best of me?
I’m ready to give in to this. To accept my fate. But I don’t feel like anyone else in my life is ready to do
that. My boss keeps talking as if I’m still going to come back to work in the future...and while I appreciate that he’s
not paving over my place with a new worker, there’s still a huge part of me that cringes at his hopeful assumption.
I am dying and I need people to be ok with it. I NEED it...because I’m having a hard time accepting it myself and need others to help me with this.
I need to know I have their blessing to do this.
3.4.10
Living is not Winning and Dying is not Losing
(2004-04-10 19:34) - Just plain sick of it
- public
Some bonehead (I won’t mention names) posted something about inner strength being the key to why some people
beat cancer and others don’t.
That’s exactly the kind of mindset I detest. There’s a little thing called ANATOMY that gets in the way. Not
all cancers are the same. Not all Stage 4’s have the same odds. There are some Stage 4’s that still have pretty good
odds of winning. And there are some...that do not. Inner strength is great...when you actually HAVE a fighting chance.
A little bit of research on Stage IV breast cancer just might make one rethink the assumption that gee, you can get
through it if you just put your mind to it!
Why am I the only one who gets it? Why am I the only one who seems to understand that living longer isn’t
what it’s about? Why am I the only one who seems to realize that living is not the ultimate prize and that death is
not the ultimate punishment?
You want to talk about inner strength? Trust me, dealing with impending death and FINDING HAPPINESS IN
THE LIFE YOU HAVE LEFT requires a significant amount of inner strength.
I unlocked a formerly private post from a few days ago that speaks a little more eloquently to this.
I’m so frustrated. Even though the above mentioned comment wasn’t written in my journal (and wasn’t even from
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someone on my friends list), it upset me greatly. I AM NOT DYING BECAUSE I AM SOMEHOW DOING SOMETHING WRONG!
Maybe I just need a thicker skin. Or maybe I just need to take a break from LiveJournal for a while.
And as a side note...with regards to my subject line, I think I just found the name of the book I’m going to write one
day.
3.4.11
Happy Holiday (non-denominational)
(2004-04-11 08:44) - Complacent - friends
Ha ha...I snuck some of [ LJ User: ethel ]’s cookies that she sent to Blake. Mmmmmmmmmmmm...
Another absolutely beautiful day here in Illinois. We lucked out this weekend–in fact, the whole month so
far–weather wise. I wish I had a digital camera so that I could post a picture of the absolutely perfect daffodils outside
my front door.
Dad and Rosalie came to visit yesterday. She was actually pretty pleasant to be around. Dad installed my
ceiling fan in my library and took a look at my faucet in the kitchen (it’s leaking...turns out it just needs a new filter,
which I’ll have to order from Moen). I’ve got the mortar people coming this week to fix the chimney and rebrick a few
places on the front of the house, I have a little touch up painting I need to do inside, I have to caulk outside around
my bay window, and then have to do a little outside trim painting. I also need to call a roofer to fix two missing
shingles (thanks to our last wind storm) and will probably caulk around my turret in front. Then...we should be ready
to sell!!!!!
If anyone is thinking of relocating to beautiful Rockford, IL... I’ve got the perfect house for you...in a great
historic neighborhood, quarter mile from the riverfront park, 3 bedrooms, 1 bath (recently remodeled), 1700 square
feet of living space, wood floors throughout, partially finished basement with home gym (equipment is negotiable),
ceramic tile entry and bath, huge deck with natural gas Weber grill (included with house), new appliances (stove,
refrigerator, microwave are 1 year old, dishwasher, washer and dryer are 4 years old and only in service for one person),
brand new Hunter-Douglas window treatments, dining room table, area rugs and kitchen prep table included, water
softener and reverse osmosis systems installed, home security system, cable hook-ups throughout, Living room wired
for surround sound system, deck wired for outdoor speakers, new Berber carpeting in bedroom and basement (1 year
old), central air, air-forced heat, two car garage, very nice landscaping, lawnmower included (but you probably won’t
need it because of the crazy but harmless neighbor who will insist on mowing your lawn for you all summer long).
I’ll post some pictures one of these days.
place.
But now that I wrote that...man, I’m really going to miss this
I’m looking forward to living with Blake, though. I’m already scoping out what to do with my office, with my
work-out space and with the kitchen. I’ve been scouring IKEA’s website for two days now. I’m actually going to take
a visit to the IKEA store in Schaumburg after chemo next Friday, since I’ll be 10 minutes away from there anyways.
You know, this leave from work thing is actually going to be ok. I don’t have to haul my laptop with me and
work during my treatment. I don’t have to rush back home after treatment is over to make up for lost time. No...now
I can go to places like IKEA, Whole Foods and Trader Joe’s after treatment is over. I can spend my time doing what
I love: cooking, reading, and I’ve always wanted to learn to garden and landscape. And I can do it on MY schedule. I
don’t feel well? No problem. I’ll go lay down, and get to it in an hour, or two, or even the next day.
Oh, and speaking of work...I forgot to mention this last week, as I was a bit choked up over this.
Over the past three years of working at my company, I have been challenged, frustrated, bored, irritated, and
upset I don’t know how many times. A few weeks ago, I was talking with one of my co-workers...this was right before
I found out my cancer was back and was at the same time that I was being recruited by another company to run
their Cyborg training and project management teams. It was a great opportunity, actually. But my co-worker said
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something that put things in perspective for me. He basically said that people don’t stay at our company for money
or status or for climbing the corporate ladder. People stay because of the quality of life and the like-mindedness of the
people.
And it’s true. I remember when I was first going through chemo and moved to Michigan to work on the GM
project. I had never been to our corporate headquarters and knew no one except through various email communications and an occasional phone call. I didn’t tell many people about what I was going through–many people knew, but
they didn’t know why it was that I left every Friday at 10 am and returned at 2 pm looking haggard and tired. The
outpour I received when word got out was phenomenal.
The reason I worked so hard first time around was because of THEM.
My job is very demanding. I often work 60+ hours a week, I travel frequently, and the environemtn tends to
a high-stress reactionary environment. Because of this, there are some companies out there that would have benched
me or asked me to take disability, claiming that I was no longer fit to do my job. They didn’t. They handed me GM,
said do whatever you can...whatever you do, it will be good enough. They trusted me...and they made me feel as if I
wasn’t useless or an invalid. And because of that I gave it my all.
So...these people...have been no less than wonderful this time around.
We have a great disability policy at our company, depending upon your tenure. For my level, I was supposed
to get 8 weeks at full pay and 12 weeks at half pay, which is pretty phenomenal. But the problem is that I need to be
off of work for a full 6 months before I am eligible for long term disability. In this scenario, I am going to be without
pay for 6 weeks until lont term kicks in.
My boss consulted with the president of the company... and they decided to bump me up to the next higher
level so that I now have 12 weeks at full pay and 14 weeks at half pay...enough to get me through to when my long
term kicks in.
They did it for no other reason than that they care. This money comes out of payroll, not an insurance policy. And maybe to a multi-million dollar company this is a drop in the bucket to them...but it’s not to me. And the
thing is, they didn’t have to do this.
I don’t necessarily expect that they will keep my job intact during my absence. But I hope that they will let
me work for them nonetheless–even if it’s back to the bottom of the pile.
They are good people...each and every one of them. I am looking forward to my leave and taking care of myself so that maybe I can bump this thing back into another lengthy remission. But it’s hard...because I will miss them
so very much.
Sigh. It never ceases to amaze me that no matter how many times you do it, good-bye, even if temporary, is
just plain hard to do.
I think it’s funny how human nature is a double edged sword, proving to be both disappointing and inspiring
at the same time. Today is a day where I am inspired.
3.4.12
Thanks for flying...today our cruising altitude will be approximately 30,000 feet
(2004-04-11 19:51) - public
I had a wonderful Easter. We went to Blake’s uncle’s house for dinner. Blake’s mom had told the family last week
about me, but no one brought it up. Blake’s Aunt Trudy did get me this awesome book called ”List Your Life.” It
basically is a book and each page asks you to list something. Topics range from mundane to profound, from ”List all
the items in your wallet” to ”List all the places you’ve been to that have made you feel immortal or have moved you
to tears.” I’ve decided I’m going to do one of these every day (or close to it) in my LiveJournal...I’m going to ask for
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participation from those of you on my friends list as well. But don’t worry...we’ll start tomorrow ;-)
Anyways, I ended up getting sick after the hors d’ouevres. Again with that crampy pain in my abdomen,
even with my pancreatic enzymes. I’ve read a few white papers that have mentioned that patients on Herceptin often
complain of pain at the tumor sites...so I’m going to chalk this up as that kind of pain.
But you know...despite it, it didn’t deter from my good time. I thought a lot about this on the way home,
about this concept of having a ”good time” and how it related to a ”quality life.”
I learned something very important last year, when I was holed up in a hotel room in Michigan...when I was
450 miles from my home, working in a strange city and trying to muddle my way through chemo with a strange
doctor. I remember one weekend when Blake had come to visit me. We had a fire in the fireplace (Residence Inn’s are
pretty nice that way!), I had free-range chicken baking in the oven, and we were listening to music we had picked up
at the used CD store. I had a small pile of books next to me and my four cats were lounging around with us on the
couch. Blake and I just sat and enjoyed the fire, talking and laughing, petting my cats, and waiting with excruciating
anticipation for dinner to be done.
It was then that I realized that all I needed to be happy was to have Blake next to me, my cats near me,
food to eat and a warm roof over my head. Everything else in life...was surplus.
Quality, to me, isn’t about being able to run through a meadow or sit on a beach in the ocean air. Quality
isn’t even about having hair or being able to keep down my lunch anymore. That’s not to say I won’t struggle with it
when it happens...but in the end, I know that for me, quality is all about the intangibles...those very same intanglbles
that manifest themselves in that hotel room nearly 18 months ago.
I think I’m glad I’m dropping out of work for a while. The fact is that the rest of the world (read: corporate
America) doesn’t get this idea of quality being immaterial. How can it when the entire premise of capitalism is all
about making money? You can’t very well give up everything when the culture you live in tells you that the one with
the most toys in the end wins. Like I said earlier today, my co-workers are phenomenal–that’s not what I complain
about. My concern is with the idealogy in which we all live and breathe.
I remember the last time I had these stirrings of primitive enlightenment...it was when I was first diagnosed
two years ago. I had been given some unspoken ”bench time” by my boss for a few months and really wasn’t working
at all during that time. I felt free then...detached from the things that made me unhappy, ready to accept whatever
happened to me. When the GM project came along I was ready to begin working again because I thought that I had
found a permanent sense of peace. I found, though, that the more I became engrossed in work, the more my budding
sense of enlightenment faded. It wasn’t very long until I once again believed in the sanctity of the deadlines and
pressure, and I found myself unhappy again.
It’s hard to remember that nothing–none of what we think of as existence–matters when you’ve got an urgent
deliverable due the next day.
I found that I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t keep my head at 30,000 feet and 300 feet at the same time. I tried...but the
300 foot level is so much more ”in-your-face” than the view at 30,000 feet. It’s so hard to evoke feeling one with the
universe when some jackass on a cell phone just cut you off in traffic and then flipped you the finger to boot.
I sometimes think the 300 foot level is easier. After all, everyone is doing it. It’s easy to find people to enable you in thinking that Omarossa’s antics on ”The Apprentice” are more important than, say, understanding why
you feel the need to buy a bigger television like Joey down the street. In fact, it’s just plain easy to buy into a culture
that tells us that the pursuit of material items is a means to achieve spirituality.
It all comes down to attachment, really. We live in a culture that banks itself on the fact that humans will
always develop attachments. It’s very hard to throw that back into culture’s face, to explain to people why things like
taking a final vacation or even taking a final WALK...isn’t necessarily important.
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At least, those kinds of things aren’t important at the 30,000 level. Even the attachments I have to my own
body–attachments to my hair, attachments to the belief that I ”shouldn’t” ever be sick–don’t matter at this level.
I KNOW there is a place where quality is not based on physicality. I’ve seen it glimmering on the horizon. I
sensed it in that hotel room. It exists...I know it does.
My goal, then is not necessarily to get better. If I do, great! That’s icing on the cake.
What I want out of all of this is to be in that place that I speak of, the place where nothing matters.
My goal...is to get THERE.
In the meantime, I still need to remain seated with my seat belt fastened until the captain turns off the ”Fasten Seat Belt” sign.
3.4.13
Random stuff
(2004-04-12 16:48) - public
Made some homemade gazpacho today...fresh tomatoes, cucumber, peppers, jalapenos, onion, lime juice and cilantro...I
ate TONS of this stuff during my last round of chemo. Threw it in a bowl, topped it with some fresh avocado and
served it with a cucumber salad that I like.
It was really good going down. But I’ve been sitting here in pain for the last two hours ever since I ate it.
Those stupid enzymes don’t help at all anymore.
The same thing happened when I ate yesterday, too. Seems like I’m going backwards here. But it’s funny because this never happens at breakfast. Maybe I need to just space my meals more...like every 6 hours or something.
Or maybe I could just eat one great big meal once a day!
But the good news is that I got in a workout today, after having a week off. It was rough...I’m still congested
and dehydrated, but 25 minutes of mild aerobics and 10 minutes of stretching. I would have done some higher intensity
except for the fact that I hurt my leg AGAIN. How? BY WALKING DOWN THE FREAKING STAIRS.
I’m frustrated today. My stupid leg has yet to heal from the injury two months ago, this stupid pancreas
problem is getting worse, and I’m feeling very overwhelmed by this move.
In an effort to make myself feel better, I’ve decided that I’m going to start my list project with the following.
Feel free to jump in with a comment on your own list.
List all the beasts, characters and creatures you were for Halloween.
In chronological order from oldest to most recent:
1)
2)
3)
4)
5)
6)
7)
8)
Wonder Woman (with the plastic mask)–4 years old
A gypsy–8 years old
A pilgrim–9 years old
A cowgirl–10 years old
A pilgrim–11 years old
A tourist–12 years old
A gypsy AGAIN–13 years old
A frumpled old housewife (with rolling pin)–15 years old
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9) A gypsy freaking AGAIN–19 years old
10) Shannen Doherty–20 years old
11) A go-go dancer–21 years old
12) A black cat–23 years old
Wow, what a boring list. That didn’t make me feel better at all.
To make up for it, this year I going to go as a dominatrix.
3.4.14
Phone support
(2004-04-13 14:43) - public
Well, I think I figured out a few things about this abdominal pain. After doing a little research it seems as if the thing
that is easiest for me to digest is carbohydrates...rice, pasta, things like that.
Man, the Atkins people would have a field day with me. I saw that they posted their own version of the
”food pyramid” on the back of Time magazine this week. It’s very misleading...almost looks official until you see the
tiny little Atkins symbol on the bottom.
In the 90’s it was all about low-fat (Snackwells, anyone?). Today it’s all about low-carb. What’s next? The
I-only-eat-meat-on-days-with-the-letter-T-in-them diet? None of it beats good old fashioned portion control and
exercise anyways.
But I digress.
I’m doing better today, with the abdominal pain. I was so hungry around 11 am that I wandered into the
kitchen and ate a serving of pretzels. I completely forgot to take my enzymes. I braced myself for the onslaught of
pain...but it never happened. It seems as if there IS something to this carb thing afterall. I’ll keep testing.
Had a great workout today...35 minutes doing one of my favorite [1]Cathe Friedrich DVD’s. I’m still only on
a 4” platform and still not doing any of the jumps (sigh). But I suppose it’s time I stopped comparing myself to the
Karen ”before the leg injury” and start comparing myself how I performed just the day before.
Ok...not much happening today. Today’s list is a bit more sobering:
List all of the phone calls that changed your life.
1) May 1, 2002: My surgeon called me to tell me that my biopsy came back, confirming our fears that it was
breast cancer.
2) June 5, 2001: This was the very first time I ever heard Blake’s voice (”Hi, can I please speak with Cathy?”)
3) March 29, 1998: My mother called to tell me she was going to the hospital for back pain. It was the last
voicemail she ever left me, and I saved it until long after she passed away that October.
4) October 22, 2003: My father called to tell me that he had a girlfriend and guess what, she was moving
in.
5) March 10, 1988: My very first boyfriend called and broke up with me, sending me into a spiral of adolescent depression for many, many months (”No one will ever love me!”)
6) March 18, 2004: My oncologist calls...I am no longer in remission.
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Huh. Apparently no one ever calls me with good news. Maybe I should just take a hint and chuck my phone.
1. http://www.cathe.com/
3.4.15
(2004-04-15 09:30)
- public
Yesterday was a VERY bad day...at least, pain wise.
Today...I feel GOOD. I guess no one can accuse cancer of having any consistency.
It’s strange, too...I know EXACTLY what kind of day I’m going to have within 5 minutes of waking up. If I hurt when
I wake up, then it’s going to be a crappy day, as the pain only gets worse as the day gets long. If I’m not in any pain,
then that usually means it’s going to be an OK day.
Today is a good day.
The mason contractors are here, re-bricking my chimney and replacing some bricks on the front of my house. Blake’s
dad is swapping out my appliances this afternoon for Blake’s appliances. We solved our phone line problems last night.
This move is just chugging right along. Now all I have to do is PACK.
I finally got off of my ass and contacted an attorney. He was reccommended by one of Blake’s co-workers, and so
far he sounds great. He took my call personally, was very nice on the phone, soft-spoken demeanor and such. I liked
him a lot. I plan on having him close on the sale of my house as well as help me with all of my ”estate planning.”
Anyways, I decided to do a fun list today (ok, fun for me).
List all of your favorite cooking ingredients
• Olive Oil
• fresh garlic
• Red or white wine
• McCormack brand curry powder
• butter
• chicken broth
• shallots
• Baleine sea salt
• fresh cracked pepper
• cilantro
• scallops
• cumin
• fresh basil, rosemary, thyme and oregano from my herb garden
• free range poultry from [1]Good Earth Farms
• San Marzano tomatoes from [2]Todaro Brothers
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• peppers and onions
• my great aunt Dolly’s homemade pasta, tortellini and gnocchi
Mmmm....now I’m hungry.
1. http://www.goodearthfarms.com/
2. http://www.todarobros-specialty-foods.com/
3.4.16
Bad things happening to BAD people
(2004-04-15 10:43) - friends
I am normally not a person who wishes bad things to happen to others.
But in this case...I hope the entire family gets what is coming to them. They are sorry excuses for human beings.
They are big fish in a small, small, SMALL pond. Of course, they can’t see beyond their own overblown egos to
realize this. They blame everyone else for their problems and when one little thing goes wrong in their life, they are in
a ”bad mood” and use their bad mood as justification for treating their employees like shit.
The sad thing with people like this is that they never learn. It wouldn’t matter even if one of them DIED. They’d
STILL walk around like their problems are somehow worse than anyone else’s. And what’s worse is that they’d demand
sympathy even though they’ve never ever given sympathy to anyone in the past before and would never reciprocate in
the future.
They are pathetic. I don’t care if they have money, I don’t care if they drive top of the line cars, I don’t care if
they have a big house. The measure of a man is not his net worth. They are contemptible, and it’s almost comical
that they are the only ones who don’t know it. The perception of who they think they are is very different from the
reality.
I don’t really care what anyone says about ”turning the other cheek.” These people don’t deserve the effort.
Sorry for the rant...but I really hate it when stupid people trample on my loved ones.
3.4.17
730 days and counting.
(2004-04-16 14:20) - public
I had a conversation with my oncologist today.
Two years. Pending some sort or miracle cure that might be in a clinical trial, I’ve got about two years.
When I asked him how he felt about me taking leave from work, he told me that yes...the time is now appropriate for me to do this, and that I should be focusing now on doing the things...that I may have always wanted to do.
So...it’s official now.
I’m not sure how I feel about this yet.
3.4.18
On life and death
(2004-04-17 09:40) - public
So. Today Blake and I have to go to his grandmother’s birthday pary. It’s supposed to be some fancy affair his parents,
aunts and uncles had catered or whatever. We were told to wear formal attire, which I think is a bit ridiculous. I
don’t care how you dress it up...it’s STILL just a birthday party. The only incredible thing about it is that she’s 90
years old.
NINETY. How fucking ironic is this going to be?
her age and trying to come to grips with dying.
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She’s 90 and celebrating her wonderful life.
I’m a third of
I’m actually feeling pretty bitter today, if you can’t tell.
I just don’t feel like going to this party, with everyone laughing and having fun and reminiscing on what a
wonderful life this woman has had. And then there’s going to be Blake’s rich aunt who will probably get sloshed and
start lecturing to me in slurred speech about how I’m ”gonna beat this diseashe...I jus’ know it.”
I know I shouldn’t complain. They’ve been wonderfully caring and kind.
fun of sends me a card weekly. Why am I dreading this?
In fact, the aunt that I just made
I just don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to see anyone. I don’t want to have to smile and laugh and
listen to stories about having a long life.
I was listening to a song in the car on the way home from chemo yesterday. It was a song that had been
popular in 1992, right when I was beginning my sophomore year in college. As I listened to the song, I had a sudden
flash of myself back in August of that year. I remember heading back down to school, moving into the sorority house,
preparing like crazy for formal rush, and trying to register for classes. It was soooo hot that year...and like every other
house on campus, our sorority didn’t have air conditioning. It was such a bittersweet time for me. I hadn’t made
many friends my freshman year due to one of those on again/off again love affairs where I loved him but he didn’t love
me and subsequently ripped my heart out. So moving into the Beta Chi house was fun and exciting for me...I was out
of that relationship, I was making new friends, and was having more fun that I ever did my freshman year. It was one
of the best times of my life, heat and all.
So...what does this have to do with this party?
I’ve never known what to do with my life. Never knew what I wanted to be, never knew where I was going
to live, never knew anything. My sophomore year in college was the year of my life when I was most in flux, and yet
felt the most pressure to make some decisions. What should I major in? Did I want to get married one day? Did I
see myself having kids? Where did I want to live? I had always struggled with these questions, but never before had
they seemed like REAL issues. I mean, when you’re in high school and live at home with the parents, none of these
issues seem like they require an immediate solution.
I used to imagine all sorts of things that year: being a chemist, a teacher, a researcher, an archaeologist. I
imagined being single with lots of close friends, I imagined finding the ”one” and settling down with a family. I thought
about living in a condo in the city as well as finding a house in the suburbs. I waffled on each and every issue and
struggled and struggled and struggled, until finally I accepted that I was going to be one of those people in the world
who would never have an answer to the question, ”What do you want to be when you grow up?” I made peace with
my inability to choose.
But the one thing that was never in flux for me was the idea that I was going to grow old. No matter how
flustered I was at the big questions in life, not once did I ever doubt that I would be sixty years old one day and
joining the AARP. Not once, in any scenario that I imagined, did the concept of ”early death” come into play.
I know I’ll be OK with this eventually. I came to grips with everything else in my life and I know that this
won’t be any different. I just didn’t anticipate how much grieving I was going to need to do. I’m grieving so deeply
right now I can’t even put my arms around it.
It’s a different kind of grief, too. It’s not like when my Mom died. I grieved over that, but it was always
within the context that ok, go ahead and grieve and move on with your life. Yes, she has died and I was sad...but I
still had my life ahead of me and a future with an unbelievable amount of potential.
This is different. My whole context has changed now. Grief is always looked upon as an interruption, as
something that gets in the way of your life’s progression, as something that side tracks you from all of the things that
you envision doing with your life. What do I do now? I have no life progression. There is no such thing as doing
something with my life anymore. I can’t go back to school, I can’t change careers, I can’t create a family. This is grief
for grief’s sake. And it’s different than anything else I’ve ever felt.
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I know I’ll be ok with this eventually. I trust that over the past two years I’ve made enough spiritual headway to know that I’ll piece this together, and this will be a beautiful process. But beautiful or not, today I’m saddened
beyond words at the loss of my life.
And going to a party to celebrate someone else’s long life just doesn’t appeal to me right now.
3.4.19
Everything you ever wanted to know about chemotherapy
(2004-04-19 08:41) - public
Well, I went to that birthday party...and it was fine. No one said anything to me, and in retrospect I don’t know
why I thought they would. Everyone respected the fact that I didn’t want to talk about it, and I ended up having a
pleasant time. Ella, Blake’s grandmother, was having such a good time she was practically GLOWING. She hugged
me and told me that it meant a lot to her that I was able to make it. It meant a lot to her, and I’m so glad I did.
Today I woke up feeling like I’m coming down with something. My entire body aches, and my throat is swollen. I’ve
also got this strange pain in my muscles, like my muscles want to jerk and the strain of keeping them in place is what
hurts. I also have bone pain...lower back, knees and shoulder. Very strange, and I’m really frustrated by all of this.
Maybe I picked up a bug at that party (lots of old people there, some of them were sick).
My counts were pretty low on Friday (1.8, a ”borderline” number). But I’m young, I tolerated chemo well before, and I recovered from my cold so they decided to treat me anyways. I have a feeling that this week my counts will
be too low and I’ll have to skip a treatment. We’ll see.
I’ve been getting bloody noses this weekend also. My first one happened at the birthday party while I was
eating. Blake noticed it and I immediately went to the bathroom. He followed, and it took a good 15 minutes before
it stopped bleeding. I don’t think anyone noticed. But then I woke up yesterday morning with a pool of blood in my
mouth and had to wait about 20 minutes for that one to stop bleeding. This happened to me before on chemo, right
around this same timeframe. I eventually stopped getting them, after about four weeks or so. Guess I’ll just hang on
and wait this out, too.
The GOOD news in all of this...is that my abdominal pain is minimal to non-existant now. It stopped hurting Thursday, and never really came back (an occasional bout here and there, but lasting for only a few minutes). I
haven’t been taking my enzymes either. So whatever the case...it seems that this stuff is WORKING.
I only worked out four days last week...a day shy of my goal of five days. The fatigue is really hitting me this
time around...it seems like I’m tired the minute I get out of bed in the morning. But on the flip side...Blake and
I worked all weekend on his house and are about halfway there. I’ve got to pack this week, and rent a truck for
Saturday, and that should be that. Then I can spend the summer UNpacking and fixing up the rest of the house.
My aunt Tina called over the weekend. A little background: Tina was my Mom’s sister, and married my
Dad’s brother. My Mom was one of 9 kids and grew up in Chicago. When she met my Dad, they lived in the city
for a while and then moved out to Sublette, my Dad’s hometown, to take over my Dad’s father’s business and raise a
family. Tina married my Dad’s brother, Jack, and moved out to Sublette as well. Tina was the only family my Mom
had out in that one-horse town, and was my Mom’s best friend. Tina had two boys–Chris and Greg–who were 3 and
5 years younger than me, respectively. Chris and Greg and I were inseparable until I hit high school. We spent the
summers riding bikes, playing board games, and building gravel cities in the driveway for our matchbox cars. There’s
actually a very amusing story in there about how Chris and I convinced a very young and naive Greg that we had
replaced his brain with a chicken brain and that in a matter of minutes he would begin clucking and pecking. But
that’s one of those family stories that only the three of us really find amusing, so I won’t tell it here. Suffice it to say,
they weren’t just my family, they were close childhood friends.
Anyways, Tina called to let me know that Chris’s wedding was off. Long story...but apparently Amanda (Chris’s
fiance) decided she ”wanted her freedom” or something like that and blamed Chris for holding her back or something.
I guess Chris is devastated...I mean, he quit his job and left his family to move to Orlando for her (she gave him an
ultimatum). And four years later she decides she wants her freedom.
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I feel bad for Chris...but when Tina was telling me the story, I felt shades of me in there. It was the same
thing with me with my marriage. I KNEW it was a mistake to be with Neal (my now ex), but I just felt all of this
external PRESSURE to get married, like it was the next step I was destined to take, like it or not, after college. There
were other issues involved with me, though...like the fact that Neal and I were NOT compatible (he was an ass in the
truest sense of the word) and that I still hadn’t figured out the difference between love and attachment yet...but I
understand the pressure that is on women in their twenties to settle down and start cranking out kids. It’s an almost
unbearable pressure.
I know that none of this would be comforting to Chris except for the fact that Amanda’s actions are most
likely NOT personal. Chris didn’t do anything wrong. I’m sure she’ll spin it as such to alleviate the guilt that she
feels for not having figured this out sooner. I did the same thing when I left Neal. Sometimes it’s the only way we can
justify the actions that we need to take in order to take care of ourselves.
What’s amazing is that I say that even when I know that Neal DID deserve the blame. I mean, the man
threw things at me when we fought, made fun of my mother when she was dying, and tried to get women on the
Internet to come over and give him blow-jobs while I was serving as my mother’s caretaker (I know this because he
tried to pick ME up while I was at my parents and signed on under THEIR screen name). But despite the fact that
he was an ass, I can STILL look at the situation and realize that getting myself INTO that situation...was all about
me not being able to stand up to the pressure.
Chris is a good guy–he’s in no way like my ex.
wrong. I hope he realizes this soon.
Maybe they weren’t compatible...but he didn’t do anything
I told my aunt about my news. She hadn’t heard about any of it simply because my father is pigheaded and
is holding a grudge against her for some stupid comment she made at Thanksgiving two and a half years ago. Of
course, Rosalie enables him, so he doesn’t even bother to try to talk to Tina or Jack anymore. Which is great...Tina
and Jack are my GODPARENTS, and I could use their support. Does my father think of this? Noooooooooo....he’s
too busy wallowing in his own sense of self-entitled indignation. It’s the story of his life, but I digress.
I’m not sure how she took it. Tina has always been a bit self-centered...always related everything back to her
and her world. I told her it’s in the pancreas, she gives me a story about her adrenal gland. I tell her I’ve got maybe
2 years, she tells me that my news blows Chris’s canceled wedding news out of the water. I don’t know. Maybe she
just didn’t know what to say. Who does, really?
I don’t know...I don’t know what I expected from the conversation.
cry on the phone. I don’t think I could have handled that.
I’m just glad she didn’t break down and
Sigh. I’ve got a fucked up family. No mother, a father who can’t see beyond himself, estranged aunts and uncles...I guess that was another thing I never expected in my life. My mother held everything together, and when she
died, the family as I knew it died with her.
Oh well. I suppose there isn’t much I can really do about things, and frankly I don’t feel like worrying about
them today.
It’s a beautiful spring day and I don’t want to waste it.
3.4.20
Osco: Helping make your life easier*
(2004-04-20 08:02) - public
I’d like to go on the record right now and say that Navelbine bites. It’s effective, but at what cost? I’m sick AGAIN.
I couldn’t sleep last night due to spastic BONE PAIN that felt like someone was jabbing hot pokers into my ribs and
lower back. I’m so fatigued that I end up spending hours in my day just sitting because I literally can’t muster the
energy to move my muscles. I’m periodically nauseous for no rhyme or reason. Last night, from about 5 pm onwards
I did NOTHING but lay on my couch, wrapped in a thermal blanket and watching crappy sit-coms because I couldn’t
reach my remote without having to get up and I couldn’t find the energy to do even that.
I don’t get it.
This is supposed to be the EASY stuff.
Taxotere and Taxol were supposed to kick my ass.
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Did I get sick? Did I lose my hair? Was I in pain of any kind? No. But they give me piddly little Navelbine and I’m
suddenly down for the count.
I swear I’m going backwards here.
I went to Osco last night (the only time I got my ass of the couch) to get two prescriptions filled. I don’t
know was going on in the universe last night, but everyone there was in a BAD MOOD. But I was proud because I
thought I handled it well.
So I walk back to the pharmacy counter and I hand my prescription to the tech, who promptly scrunches her
nose, sighs really loudly, and says, ”Ok, want to tell me which doctor wrote this?” I tell her the name, and she begins
scanning the list of doctors names at the top of the prescription form. I tell her his name is in the upper right and
say it again. She sighs even more loudly and says (with obvious exaxperation), ”I’m still not seeing it.” I finally grab
a pen and circle it for her. She complains about his handwriting, and I point out that his signature is a stamp, not
handwritten. I could tell by the look she gave me that she was not pleased with me. She mumbles something under
her breath and then barks, ”Fifteen minutes.”
So I’m wandering around the store waiting for it to be filled, and eventually decide to wait in the designated
”waiting area” once I’ve decided to purchase some orange juice. So I wait. And I wait. And I wait. The three people
behind the counter are talking and laughing and having a great time. After about 15 minutes I see one of them pick
up the phone.
The tech on the phone motions for me to come over. She’s on the phone with my insurance company because
apparently my prescription for Darvocet triggered some flag in the system that requires a personal conversation with
a healthcare teleconsultant. She’s asking me why I need so much pain medication. I ask her why she wants to know.
She tells me that the insurance company needs to know. I ask her why the insurance company needs to know. She
asks them on the phone why they need to know. They tell her that they normally don’t fill a prescription containing
this amount of pain medication and want a diagnoses. She tells me this and I ask her how much my doctor ordered
for me. She tells me 100 pills. I ask if there are any refills on the prescription. She says no. I tell her that doesn’t
seem like a lot to be concerned about. The insurance company is on the other end wanting her to call the doctor for
verification. I tell her that I have his verification and that it’s in the form of a signed prescription, albeit it’s a stamp
and not really a handwritten signature. She gives me a look and hands the phone to me. The insurance company
asks for my diagnosis. I tell them terminal stage breast cancer. They say ah, yes, we see in our system you have some
other claims with that diagnosis. They thank me for the verification and ask to speak to the tech. I hand the phone
back and go sit down to wait some more.
After another 10 minutes or so the world’s youngest pharmacist calls me over to ring me up. I ask if I can
purchase my orange juice at the same time or if I have to take it to a front register. He looks at it, sighs, and says,
”Yeah, ok.” So he’s ringing me up and then begins shouting over the top of my head to Betty, one of the associates in
the store who just brought out a case of antacid from the back. They begin having a conversation about whether or
not they wanted to order take-out and if so, whether or not they wanted pizza or Chinese or perhaps they shouldn’t
order out at all but maybe one of them could run and go pick something up, like Steak ’n Shake. Meanwhile, Skippy
has STOPPED ringing me up, because apparently he can’t talk and work a register at the same time (which I’ve
heard is right up there with being unable to walk and chew bubble gum). He finally looks down and remembers that
he has a customer and begins asking me if I have any questions on the medication. I say no. He decides to explain
the Levaquin to me anyways, pointing out each and every warning label they slapped to the bottle. He reminded me
to not drink alcohol, to avoid excessive exposure to sunlight and/or ultraviolet radiation, and to make sure I avoid
magnesium, iron or aluminum supplements or antacid products two hours before and after taking the medication. At
this point I don’t even nod my head. I just stare. Looking visibly uncomfortable, he gives me my total and I run my
card through the debit machine. I get a message that says, ”Please wait for cashier.” However at this point, Skippy
has resumed his conversation with Betty concerning the merits of pepperoni versus sausage and doesn’t realize that
he needs to hit a key on his register in order to process my purchase. So I wait and wait and he finally looks down at
me and says, ”Oh” as in, ”Oh you’re still here.” He hits his button, finishes the transaction and hands me my receipt.
He tells me to have a good night. I tell him to enjoy his pizza.
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As I was leaving the store, I looked back and saw all three of them in a little cluster, whispering as they
watched me walk out.
Final score: Karen 1, Osco 0.
Ha, ha...I win. :-)
*Official store motto.
3.4.21
Utica, IL
(2004-04-21 08:48) - public
[1]Utica, IL, a wonderful town replete with historic significance, was nearly wiped out yesterday by a tornado. The
downtown was leveled and four people are confirmed dead. I am so very saddened by this, as I spent a lot of time in
Utica and much of my father’s family still lives within 10 miles of the town in LaSalle County.
I did my archaeological field school at the Zimmerman site, about 3 miles from the town. I lived in a tent for
eight weeks with no electricity, running water, or phone. We relied on Utica to provide that for us. I remember
shopping at the downtown country store for groceries. I remember grabbing lunch at Duffy’s, and playing pool at the
Milestone Tap on the edge of town. Part of the field school required us to do outside research on the local area. My
topic was Utica and it’s link to the Illinois Heritage Corridor. I spent many hours in local libraries, sorting through old
documents from the early 1900’s. I spent hours interviewing the people who ran the Utica Museum, an institution that
comprised about a quarter of downtown and had a working blacksmith’s shop. I remember taking pictures of the old
limestone house in town, the sister structure to the ”Sulphur Springs Hotel,” which was the location of our campsite.
The amount of historical information that has been lost here is truly astounding.
Utica is also considered to be the gateway to a number of state parks: Starved Rock, Matthiessen, and Buffalo
Rock. Starved Rock is pretty well-known here in Illinois. Buffalo Rock is unique also in that it consists of effigy
mounds that are really spectacular when viewed aerially. Matthiessen, though...Matthiessen was my favorite. I wrote
a post about a year ago on Matthiessen, right before I took Blake there for the first time. I spent so much time there
and remember driving through Utica on my way to and from the park. It was such a nice town...tucked into a river
dell and protected by gorgeous limestone cliffs and outcroppings. The town was bucolic...and I am very sorry to hear
about this devastation.
Some links of interest:
[2]Illinois Heritage Corridor
[3]Starved Rock and Matthiessen Parks>
[4]The Zimmerman Site
1.
2.
3.
4.
http://story.news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&u=/ap/20040421/ap_on_re_us/spring_storm
http://www.nps.gov/ilmi/
http://www.iit.edu/~travel/srsp.html
http://www.museum.state.il.us/muslink/nat_amer/post/htmls/arch_zim.html
3.4.22
Hair Loss
(2004-04-21 09:30) - public
So, now that I’ve finished my ode to Utica, I thought I’d write about some other things.
My hair started falling out yesterday. It’s not coming out in clumps or anything like that. But when I was in
the shower I noticed a lot of hair coming out when I was rubbing in my conditioner. I let my hair air dry, but when I
ran my brush through it even more came out. When I woke up this morning, I stood in front of the mirror and ran
my hands through it. Each time I ended up with hair tangled around my fingers. After about six run-throughs I had
a nice little clump of hair in the sink.
My eyebrows and eyelashes are falling out also.
I rubbed my right eye a few minutes ago and it was like a
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snowshower of lashes falling down onto the desk. I’ve got a little segment on my eyelid now where there are only a few
lashes left.
I also noticed my hair on my legs is coming in thinner. I’ve got this thing about having to shave my legs every day, as I hate stubble of any kind. I’ve been noticing that the stubble has been lessening over the past week...and
today I can probably get by without shaving at all.
What concerns me is that the pace of this hair loss seems to be faster than last time. Ironic. I was supposed
to be freaking BALD from head to toe on the Taxotere and Taxol, and I wasn’t. Navelbine is supposed to cause
”minor” hair loss and in most cases doesn’t cause it at all. And here I am, shedding like a cat molting it’s winter fur.
What’s the deal? Why do I keep insisting on doing this cancer thing BACKWARDS?
I haven’t even grown my hair all out from the last round of chemo. It’s been a long, messy road with it, too.
I was only left with about 20 % of my hair, and what was left was like rat fur (fried from the inside out). When it
started to grow back in, it came in kinky curly for the first two inches, wavy curly for the next two inches, and then
stick straight (my normal hair). So for the past year I’ve been wandering around with these layers of hair: frizzy rat
hair, kinky curls, waves and then straight. I finally was able to cut the last of the frizzy rat hair out last September, 9
months after I finished treatment. The kinky curl was finally gone this past December (a year after treatment) and
I was hoping to have the final wavy stuff gone by June or so. I just wanted to be able to enjoy the summer with my
chin length, straight dark hair...wanted to be able to let it blow in the breeze without my scalp hurting or be able to
drive my car with the windows down without worrying that the wind was going to pull even MORE of it out.
I know it sounds like I’m whining. I’ve had a few people comment to me in the past about how lucky I was
to not lose all of my hair. Perhaps. I’ve never lost all of my hair, so I can’t compare the two situations personally.
All I can say on it is that KEEPING your hair through chemotherapy is no picnic either. At the end, right when I
finished treatment, I spent so many mornings crying in front of my bathroom mirror that I almost went and shaved
my head, just so I could start over. It was THAT BAD.
Most people in the world at least recognize that when you’re young and bald, it’s probably because you’re going through chemotherapy. It doesn’t make the hair loss any less traumatic...but the public usually recognizes it as
disease related. When your hair just turns shitty from chemotherapy...well, the public just assumes you have bad
hair...and bad taste.
I was really hoping I wouldn’t have to deal with this again, that I wouldn’t have to spend my days unconsciously running my fingers through it or that I wouldn’t spend my nights waking up with a start to grab my hair and
make sure it was still there. Navelbine isn’t supposed to DO this!
I suppose I could always switch drugs. Gemzar, I know, doesn’t cause hair loss. And there are other things
about the Navelbine that don’t agree with me and make me think I’m not tolerating it well. What do I do, then?
Switch drugs for vanity’s sake?
Sigh. Today is not a good day.
I guess some days you get the bear, and some days the bear gets you.
3.4.23
Bereavement
(2004-04-28 09:12) - public
I was doing OK this morning until I read the journal of [ LJ User: e cutie ]. Now I’m a mess.
I first came across Erin’s journal a few months ago after she posted in [ LJ User: cancersupport ], asking if anyone else in there had terminal stage cancer. At the time, they had given her ”days to weeks to live” (in her own words
there). She didn’t post often, but when she did it was always about fun things...going to the spa, having friends over,
prom. She wrote about her pain, about how she no longer wanted to be wheelchair bound, and some of the other
not-so-fun parts of cancer...but those bad things never seemed to eclipse her natural enthusiasm for the good things in
her life. I always admired that...I always admired how it never seemed as if her disease overshadowed her life.
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I didn’t know her. But I feel such a tremendous sense of grief over this. She was only 18. Her last few entries
were talking about prom. PROM.
It’s so hard for me to imagine how she did it. I’m nearly twice her age and still can’t deal with my own death.
It makes my head spin to think that she dealt with it in high school. I can’t even imagine having to deal with it at
that age.
It’s one of those things that you know academically. I KNEW she was going to die. I just never thought I’d actually be witness to the event. It seemed like such a faraway thing, even though she had ”days to weeks.”
She inspired me. She was a guide to me...someone I could look at and emulate as I go through my own terminal
illness. I looked forward to her entries because it helped ME cope.
It’s just not fair. I don’t care how unenlightened that sounds. It’s just not FAIR.
3.4.24
(2004-04-28 11:30)
- Despondent - public
Well, hi. I haven’t been around lately. I meant to post something this morning but couldn’t seem to get my thoughts
together. I don’t really have anything good to post at the moment, and I don’t mean to depress anyone with what I
have to say. But this place is a catharsis for me, and I need to write.
I am so DONE with the Navelbine.
I don’t care how easy it’s supposed to be...it’s NOT. Not for me. I am in so much pain I can’t stand it. I
spent the last two weeks popping Darvocet like they were M &M’s, and when I’m not taking pain meds for abdominal
pain I’m lying in bed feeling like I have the flu. My entire body aches, my throat swells up, and my head just pounds
and pounds and pounds. I keep getting chills during the day and night sweats...but I keep taking my temperature and
the highest it has gotten has been 98.9. I don’t have a cold, and I just finished a round of heavy antibiotics, so I know
I don’t have an infection.
It gets worse every week, and each week the side effects last longer than the previous week.
sores, all of my joints hurt, I have no appetite and my back just aches and aches.
I’ve got mouth
I had an ultrasound last Friday. The technologist showed me the lesions in my liver.
The fucking things are still there, despite treatment...sitting in my liver, looking like large moon craters. She
didn’t show me the pancreatic ones, but she did tell me my gall bladder was clean (although the liver lesions are very
close to my bile duct). She expressed some concern about my left kidney, but didn’t say anything more (and I’ve been
too busy to call my doctor). Overall, she looked petrified as she snapped my pictures. She began asking me about my
disease and how old I was when I was done...and she was practically in tears when I told her I was only 30. I don’t
know what she saw on that screen when she was doing my test, but I know it wasn’t good.
My counts came back all screwed up last week. My red counts were low enough to qualify me as anemic, so
they started Procrit shots. Let me tell you how much fun these are. They can’t use your port for this because it has
to be injected under the skin, kind of like how a diabetic injects in insulin. So they poke the needle in, which really
doesn’t hurt all that much since it’s just under the skin...but the medicine itself burns like hell. Except that it’s not
SUPPOSED to...just some people like me are lucky and find it to be very painful. It took my nurse five minutes to
push it into my arm. She suggested that next time I try my thigh or abdomen. I’d like to insert a very loud ”OUCH”
here. So yeah...I’m now on Procrit now as part of my weekly treatment and get to have one of these lovely shots each
week. Yay me.
My white counts are low again, but they decided to go ahead with one more treatment. They are giving me
this week off from the Navelbine, although I still have to go in for my Herceptin infusion and, of course, my wonderful
Procrit shot.
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I am just so frustrated I can’t even think straight. I want to feel good...I didn’t think I’d go downhill this
fast, this soon. I am keeping my fingers crossed that this IS the Navelbine...that it’s not the Herceptin or more
importantly, that it’s not the cancer.
I should be having my tumor markers checked this week, as well as my liver and pancreatic panels.
expect that they have improved...but even if they have, I have got to try something else.
I don’t
I feel so weak spirited...like I’m wimping out on myself. What’s wrong with me? I’m a tough girl. Why can’t
I tough this out?
I hate myself for saying this...but I just can’t live like this. I’m practically bed bound. I don’t care if Navelbine has an excellent track record...I can’t take it. Maybe if I knew I was only going to be on it for three months or
something, then maybe I could deal with it.
But that’s not the case. I’m on it indefinitely...and I just can’t take it.
3.4.25
The LIST
(2004-04-30 09:48) - Ornery - public
Music: Nothin’s Gonna Stop us Now–the OTHER bad Starship song
Today’s local paper published the list of the top 50 worst songs ever recorded, and I’d like to say the following on it:
Thank you, Blender magazine, for validating a belief I’ve had for 19 years: ”We Built This City” by Starship
does indeed suck.
I remember when that song came out in 1985, when I was in 7th grade. I distinctly remember being in music
class with this girl Shauna (who is a very nice person today, but back then I couldn’t STAND her–adolescent angst,
you know). Shauna LOOOOVED this song...and the lemmings that idolized her at the time LOOOVED it too. I
remember sitting in this music class one day, when our teacher was sick and we had a substitute. Our assignment was
to ”listen to music.” Someone in Shauna’s posse conveniently had a copy of the ”Knee Deep in the Hoopla” cassette
tape. Since Shauna liked it so much, guess what we listened to over and over and over again. It was enough to make
me want to jam pencils into my ears. Even at age 12 I knew crap when I heard it, even if no one else did.
But today...all that has changed. I was right all along. Ah, the sweet smell of vindication!
Which just proves my point that if you wait long enough, even 19 years, it all comes back around.
With regards to the rest of the list, I have to say it vindicated me on a LOT of songs that I’ve always detested but the rest of my peer group always seemed to love. ”Broken Wings” by Mister Mister (proud winner of World’s
Stupidest Band Name two years running!) should have been higher than number 19. ”Don’t Worry, Be Happy,” which
came in at number 7, could have been dropped a few points (it was, after all, an a capella performance...let’s give
some credit for the labor alone on that one). ”Kokomo” was also on there at number 12, which was another stinker
I had forgotten about. But then again, I’ve been trying to foget about the ”Cocktail” soundtrack since 1989, when
I mistakenly thought it would be a good idea to audition for the school dance team by doing the mashed potato to
”Hippy Hippy Shake.” But I digress.
There were also a few songs on the list that surprised me, NOT because they’re good songs, but because I
can think of a whole bunch of other ones that are WORSE and should have displaced them. For instance, ”Barbie
Girl.” What’s not to like about this song? It’s fun, it’s catchy, and it’s controversial. Mattel freaking SUED over this
one, claiming that Aqua was stereotyping the Barbie image. Think about this for a minute...Mattel accused Aqua of
stereotyping. Mattel, marketers of the biggest female stereotypes for girls age 3 to 11, got mad at Aqua for portraying
Barbie as a dumb female. Um, yeah, hi Mattel...remember the ”Math is hard!” Barbie? It was about time someone
called Mattel on the carpet for their blonde little girl in a fantasy world, and it took a band like Aqua to do it. This
song should not be on the list, especially when there are so many other bad songs out there.
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And speaking of songs that should be on the list but aren’t, I was very surprised to see the omission of Timbuk3’s big hit, ”The Future’s So Bright, I Gotta Wear Shades.” I read the list THREE TIMES because I thought that
for sure this piece of crap was there and I just somehow missed it. But no...this one didn’t make it, which completely
dumbfounds me. Does anyone remember this song, and the stupid, stupid video that VH-1 played incessantly during
it’s early start-up years? The video consisted of desert scene with a stupid freaking donkey wearing sunglasses because,
you know, his future’s so bright and all. It’s an ASS, for god’s sake. How bright of a future do you really have when
you’re name is synonymous with the mammalian sphincter muscle that controls fecal elimination? No, Blender really
missed the boat by leaving this one OFF the list.
Despite the occasional omission, the list really dredged up some oldie but goodie songs that I never would
have remembered (or even thought about again) had their name not shown up in my paper today. ”The Final
Countdown” by Europe, for example, or ”The Heart of Rock and Roll” by Huey Lewis and the News (second place
winner for World’s Stupidest Band Name, which was narrowly edged out of the first place spot by the aforementioned
Mister Mister). Now I KNOW of these songs, and may have even liked them back when they were released (yes, I
owned the ”Sports” cassette tape–extra points to you if you know which band’s album that was). But had I been
asked to make a list of the worst songs ever, I NEVER would have thought to include these. I would have been too
busy including things like Britney Spears’ homage to technology, ”Email my Heart” or perhaps Patrick Swayze’s,
”She’s Like the Wind” (whose chorus sounds uncannily like it’s singing ”She’s Microwave”–give it a listen, you’ll know
what I mean). Actually, I’d probably just include all of the songs from the ”Dirty Dancing” soundtrack (as well as the
follow-up soundtrack released a year later, ”More Dirty Dancing”). But again, I digress...this is supposed to be about
Blender’s list, not mine.
The only critique I have is that I wasn’t sure by what criteria Blender was using to decide if a song was bad
or not. I mean, did it have to come from a major recording artist on a major record label? Or are things like showtunes
and Disney themes also eligible? If so, then there is a whole host of music they forgot about (four words: it’s a small
world). And what about Barry Manilow? Where is he on the list? All I can think of is that he must have fallen under
some type of exclusion clause. It’s the only reason I can fathom as to why ”I Write the Songs” wouldn’t have made the
list. So while I really appreciate the Blender list, I think an explanation is in order as to what they used to qualify if
something was bad or not. It just would answer a lot of questions.
But overall I have to say kudos to Blender. It was a good list. Not perfect, but a solid beginning. We
NEED lists like this. We NEED to be critical of our pop culture, and what better way to do that than to tear apart
our music! I mean...do it for Marconi, who plays the mamba on the radio. Do it for the runaways eating up the night.
Don’t you remember what we built this city for?
Of course you do.
3.5
3.5.1
May
(2004-05-02 20:02)
- Sleepy - public
[ LJ User: blakeh ] has now posted pics of my house for me! If anyone is interested in buying a house in beautiful
Rockford, IL (Brown Hills area, quarter mile from Sinnissippi Riverfront Park), take a look at his journal. I’ll cut you
a deal :-)
Yesterday was the two year anniversary of my diagnosis. It’s funny because I remember that day so vividly–I
know exactly where I was, how many times the phone rang before I answered it, and what else I was thinking as I was
being told. But what was funny is that at the time it was such a non-event. I mean...I had known the minute I felt
the lump under my arm, two weeks earlier, that I had breast cancer. That particular phone call just made it official.
Some people celebrate their diagnosis day, as in ”Woo hoo–I made it another year!” Not me. I never really
found any satisfaction in using this date as some sort of milestone checker. And it’s not because my cancer is back
and I’ve got sour grapes over dying. It’s just that this seems like the WRONG thing to celebrate. Marking a date on
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a calendar just indicates that I’m stressing quantity over quality in my life, so I’ve decided that I’ll celebrate when I
go DO something...not when an arbitrary date on the calendar passes.
Despite that, I still feel like I should be doing something to mark the occasion. Like have a cake with candles
or something.
Or maybe I could get my girlfriends to take me to Sugar Shack. Oooh....male strippers!
Maybe there’s something to this celebrating thing after all.
Health wise I’m...better. My doctor was out of town Friday, so I met with his colleague. Very knowledgeable,
but I’m SO glad he’s not my doctor. I told him about my problems with the Navelbine and that I was done with it.
He started giving me some guilt trip about how this has the best chance of knocking out those liver mets, and that,
although I need to talk to my regular doc about this, maybe I could consider half doses or something. He was polite
and all...but I could tell he was one of those ”textbook” doctors...the kind that has read all of the material, knows
what’s ”technically” best for a patient and is someone who will try to push that option at all costs. Like I said, he was
a nice guy...I got the sense that he was pushing this Navelbine because he honestly thought it was the best choice for
me, not because he was being egotistical. But I wrote another post a while back on this, and I still stand by it: just
because you’re a smart doctor doesn’t mean you’re a good doctor. I said no to Navelbine, and that’s that. It wasn’t a
decision I made lightly either. I mean, I certainly don’t want to give up on a drug that has the highest success rate
for my particular position. But it comes back down to that quantity versus quality issue. His textbooks may list all
sorts of statistics showing that I can average an additional 4 months of life on this drug...but the studies never tell you
about the QUALITY of your life while you’re on it. I am willing to give up those four months of bedbound living for
four months where I can actually go out and have some fun. Besides...I can always come back to this later if I change
my mind.
So, no treatment last Friday, and it’s doubtful I’ll be getting it again next Friday. My counts were down even
further than before (my G.B should be near 4, and this week it was .6... that’s a decrease of about 85 %). I had the
Herceptin, and so far I haven’t had any of those side effects...so the natural conclusion is that they were all from the
Navelbine. My nurse told me that it sounded like I was torn up pretty badly from the stuff and that it probably would
take me two weeks to recover. I’ll still have the Herceptin this week, and will meet with my regular oncologist to go
over my options. I’m going to lean towards the Gemzar, I think...but I definitely want to know what else is out there.
In the meantime I’ve felt better but I’m sleeping like I haven’t slept in years. I slept ALL DAY yesterday and
then went to bed at 11 and slept ALL NIGHT. I woke up around 10 or so this morning, took a huge nap this afternoon
and am STILL having a hard time keeping the eyes open now. The good news is that the mouth sores and flu
symptoms are nearly gone. My back still hurts, but the horrible aches in the extremities are gone, my throat is hardly
swollen anymore and my tongue is back to its normal size. The only major problem I’m still having is the abdominal
pain...but I suspect that this will get better as I recover. I have a feeling that the Navelbine just kind of ripped my
gastrointestinal tract apart over the past four weeks...so I can’t very well expect this to improve overnight. In the
meantime I’ll just keep sleeping...which in retrospect, is something I”ve never really done enough of anyways.
I’m looking forward to getting some more things done around here. This week I’m going to try to lay my
flooring for my aerobics room in the basement. I’ve got the 1” Dojo Tiles that are just the coolest thing...even if I
don’t get to the point where I can do aerobics again, I will at least have a very nice matted area to do yoga and
stretching. I might even decide to take up something like pilates or T’ai chi or start kickboxing again (we’ve got a
heavy bag down there already). I will hopefully get the stack gym moved over in the next month as well, so then I can
do some weight training again. I’ve got a cable jack down there, a new stereo stand and new stereo speakers down
there also. Whatever I decide to do for my exercise, at least I’ll be able to make it a NICE place down there to do it!
Otherwise, things are better and for that I am thankful.
And with this post, I’m about done for the day. ’Night everyone.
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3.5.2
Cokie Roberts
(2004-05-03 11:04) - Contemplative - public
I was listening to an interview with Cokie Roberts on NPR just now. First off...what a cool lady. She just wrote a
book on the founding MOTHERS of America (Abigail Adams, Dolly Madison, etc.). It was really a great interview.
But towards the end she began talking about her ordeal with breast cancer, and as she did I began to cry.
What bothers me is that I can’t tell if I’m crying because I don’t like hearing that another woman has to go through
this or because I’m jealous that she’s not terminal stage.
Maybe it’s a bit of both.
3.5.3
Fun with Genetics
(2004-05-04 11:07) - public
[1]Telomerase Inhibitors
This is my next quest.
1. http://www.pubmedcentral.nih.gov/articlerender.fcgi?artid=138678
3.5.4
Just got the call...
(2004-05-04 11:18) - public
Tumor markers are DOWN.
(Well, somewhat.)
Ca19-9 went from 550 to 106.
Ca15-3 remained elevated at 43.
CEA is now at 2.5, a normal range.
Click [1]here for an explanation of what each of these numbers mean.
The only concern is that some of these numbers can be increased just from pancreatitis alone. The implication,
however, is that the pancreatitis cleared up because the mets are shrinking (hence causing the markers to decrease).
It’s a bone. I’ll take it!
1. http://cis.nci.nih.gov/fact/5_18.htm
3.5.5
Hail to the Chief
(2004-05-04 22:42) - public
Just watched ”Love Actually.” It was a nice little flick. Entertaining. A good date movie (for my single friends out
there–hint hint).
I just have to say that Billy Bob Thornton in the role of President of the United States...LOVED it. They picked one
of the lowest dregs in Hollywood to play the ”most powerful” man in the world. Classic.
And they say the British have no sense of humor.
Otherwise, I had a GREAT day today...best I’ve had in about five weeks. No pain, and no pain medication! Because of that, I was so very productive. I did some administrative stuff for my house, finished laying my Dojo tiles,
returned the digital cable box to Insight, grocery shopped, and then fixed my favorite dinner: grilled sea scallops with
corn salsa, steamed asparagus and homemade chocolate brownies (ok, they were from a box...but I mixed in the eggs
myself). And best of all was that I got in a workout today...my first one in three weeks. It wasn’t stellar...22 minutes
of aerobics followed by 15 minutes of stretching...but I did it. And I’m not dropping dead from exhaustion either.
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It’s strange. Most people in the world would go through a day like mine and find it ordinary and commonplace.
But for me, I feel like I just scaled Mount Everest.
It really IS all about the little things in life.
3.5.6
(2004-05-05 13:08)
- public
I just finished the most unusual lunch ever. Chilled asparagus spears with Dijon-shallot dressing (leftover from last
night), some imitation lobster meat with cocktail sauce, a slice of smoked gouda, and cucumbers marinated in a sour
cream-cider vinegar dressing. Topped, of course, with a fresh brownie. I wonder what kind of wine would have pulled
that all together?
Anyways, I’ve been giving a lot of thought to today’s entry, ever since [ LJ User: I wont give up ] asked
me about my spirituality. I suppose now, more than ever, I’ve been mulling this over. I guess it’s time for a dissection.
First off, I was born and raised Catholic. Baptized, first communion, confirmation...all of that rot. I can’t say
I was a devout Catholic, or that I even BELIEVED in any of it. It was always an OBLIGATION in my family. I
mean, none of us ever sat around and discussed the miracle of Christmas or anything else. For us, religion was more
about ritual and tradition and decorating our walls with my Mom’s papal blessings (her uncle was a high ranking
official in the Catholic church and was friends with the pope–yes, friends and I have the pictures to prove it!).
Anyways, we (as in, my family) stopped going to church when my father was laid off (ok, fired) from his job
in 1983 and my mom had to begin full time work on the graveyard shift at a hospital 35 miles away. She worked every
other weekend and was still trying to finish her Bachelor’s degree at a university 45 miles in the OPPOSITE direction
of her hospital. So between work and school she had precious little time for anything else. As a result, my mother
made the very reckless choice to put family first and church last. That was a very rebellious thing to do in a town of
400 people, where the mindset was that the number of times you went to church equated with how good of a person
you were.
So religion was not instilled into me. I had the technical know-how of Catholicism, but no real sense of spirituality. None of it ever made SENSE to me...
We believe in God the Father, maker of heaven and earth, of all that is seen and unseen
Ok. I get this. I can understand the concept of God. I can even understand the non-gender interpretation of
the word father. Whether you really believe in a white haired old man sitting on a throne in the sky or a general
oneness in the universe, I think this phrase is vague enough to cover it. So yes...I believe that there is a spiritual being
out there that is open to individual interpretation.
My personal interpretation is that we are all one–you, I, the crazy guy down the street that you can’t stand.
Out there, in the world beyond, we are just one big bundle of light and energy. I believe that one of the purposes of
this particular level of existance that we’re in here on Earth is to learn to be separate from ourselves.
We believe in Jesus Christ, his only son of God.
Begotten, not made, one in being with the Father
God from God, light from light, true God from true God.
Ok, I get this, except for the ”his only son” part. I think we ALL stem from the original source, that we’re
all ”sons” of ”God.” We are all light, and we are all one in being with the ”father.” And begotten versus made...splitting
hairs over terminology.
For me, this passage exemplifies the paradox that is inherent in our world. As I said, in the great beyond we
are ALL one–there is no you, I or anything else. In the spiritual realm, we have no mind, no body, no ego...we are
simply energy, existing for no other purpose than to exist. And yet here we are, on this tiny little planet in this tiny
little universe–one universe in a infinite pool of them, I might add–and we are SEPARATE. It’s a paradox that is hard
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to grasp.
For us men and our salvation he came down from heaven: by the power of the Holy Spirit he was born of the
Virgin Mary, and became man.
Here’s where I begin to lose the trail. I don’t believe in the Immaculate Conception except under the belief
that ALL births are virginal in the sense that we are creating life, creating ”man,” in a way that seems pure and
natural. And the premise that we harness the Holy Spirit...well, personally, I think the term ”Holy Spirit” is
interchangeable with God or oneness. What we’re talking about here is a simple question: why something instead of
nothing? No matter how hard we break things down–no matter how detailed we try to define the ”Big Bang”–we will
always, ALWAYS come down to that very question. SOMETHING else is out there, beyond our comprehension, that
started all of this. Whether you want to call that God, the Holy Spirit, Allah, or a Oneness...it’s all the same. We
are here PRECISELY because of the help of this unknowable entity. We are, in fact, the creation of this unknowable
entity. For me, that entity is again simply a oneness, not a distinct spiritual being.
For our sake he was crucified under Pontius Pilate; he suffered, died, and was buried. On the third day he
rose again in fulfillment of the Scriptures; he ascended into heaven and is seated at the right hand of the Father.
Well, I’m pretty sure that Jesus was indeed crucified under Pontius Pilate. I have no doubt he suffered. But
died, buried and reborn? This I doubt–at least, in the most literal sense of the words. Perhaps he was not really dead.
Historical research has shown that his tomb was essentially a cave...granted with a big rock in front of it, but it wasn’t
like he was laid in a coffin in the earth and arose. This part of the creed is where my skepticism is at it’s highest,
simply because I don’t think that this was intended to be interpreted as literally as Catholocism dictates. I do believe
he ”ascended into heaven,” heaven being defined in my mind as simply existence. I do believe that once our bodies fail
us on this level that we are incorporated back into the oneness.
Or rather, I should say not incorporated–part of the paradox is that we never really left–but rather we are
able to throw off the limitations of our own mind and become aware of it. Think about how limiting our mind is! I
think the classic example is the gravity analogy. When I drop an apple, it falls to the earth. Or does it? Perhaps the
earth is rising to meet the apple, only we don’t interpret it that way because our mind sees something else. The world
beyond this one here on earth is like that...it’s there, but we can’t see it because we are bogged down by our own
minds. Only the truly enlightened have ever glimpsed the joy of the oneness on the other side.
He will come again to judge the living and the dead, and his kingdom will have no end.
Well, I believe in the no end part...as I believe that time is a human abstraction and exists only as a human
created tool used to measure the distance between change. But the whole judgment thing...can’t say I believe in the
gatekeeper concept.
We believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the giver of life, who proceeds from the Father and the Son. With the
Father and the Son he is worshipped and glorified. He has spoken through the Prophets.
Again, Holy Spirit, Lord, giver of life...whatever. Again, splitting terms here. It’s all about the ”oneness” to
me. Spoken through the prophets? Well...I do believe that there are people out there who have experienced this
oneness (i.e. they are enlightened) and who can speak towards this.
We believe in one holy catholic and apostolic Church.
Nah. Can’t say I believe in a church. But that’s just me.
We acknowledge one baptism for the forgiveness of sins.
I think I take issue with this phrase most of all. The concept of sin is again another relative term. Take
murder, for example. Most people in the world concede that murder is a ”sin.” Well, most people except for the head
hunter tribe in the Philippines. To them, head hunting (yes, literally the hunting of a human head) is an accepted and
RESPECTED practice. But then again, murder is tied to our belief in death being BAD. Good and bad judgments
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are always, always, ALWAYS(!) relative and usually is a matter of perspective. And from a cultural standpoint,
perspectives change over time...what was once a sin 500 years ago is no longer one now. So forgiveness of sins? No.
There is no such thing as an absolute sin.
We look for the resurrection of the dead, and the life of the world to come.
Well, I suppose I can go along with this one as long as you don’t put too much of a literal translation on the
”resurrection of the dead” part. Life of the world to come? Yeah. I can go along with that.
As you can tell, I’m hardly a Christian, let alone a Catholic.
I suppose I chose to dissect the Nicene Creed here because I wanted to point out that I AM a product of my
upbringing...who I am today is a direct result of who I was yesterday. And I can’t omit the fact that THIS is the stuff
on which I was bred, and THIS is the stuff that I had to reconcile in my ongoing quest for spirituality.
More recently, though, my spirituality definitely leans towards more on an Eastern slant...I wouldn’t say Buddhist or Wicca or New Age specifically, but I’ve definitely dabbled in all of those. Believe it or not, the best example
of how I feel spiritually can be found in Richard Bach’s book Illusions. It compares life to, of all things, a MOVIE:
Think about this for a minute. You decide to go see a movie. You walk up to the ticket booth, pay your
money, and buy your popcorn. You enter the dark theater, find a seat, and settle in to watch the picture in front of
you. Suddenly the theater grows darker, the curtains open, and you are transported into faraway places with faraway
people.
What makes a movie good, exactly? Is it lots of action? Is it good acting? I would daresay that what makes
a movie good–truly GOOD–is its ability to make you forget that you’re in a theater. A truly good movie will pull
you in, making you forget about the shadows of the other seats or the people next to you or even the glow of the exit
signs. You are IN the movie, a spectator on the front lines, and the characters become part of your life, even for only
a split second. You BELIEVE in the movie. You laugh with them, you cry with them, but whenever anything gets
TOO bad...well, suddenly you’re back in that theater again with the seats and the people and the emergency exits.
The fun...is that you can allow yourself to experience the emotional highs and lows without risk to yourself.
This is exactly what life is. We are part of a spiritual oneness that for some reason has decided to see a
movie. This movie is HERE. On this planet, in this universe, in this level of existence. We paid our money, bought
our ticket, and have settled in for quite an experience.
The only thing is that in order for us to have an experience, we must BELIEVE. We must believe that this is
real, that this is all that matters. Without the belief, we wouldn’t have a good experience at all. Again, think of it in
terms of a movie, specifically the WORST movie you ever saw. Not a great experience, sitting through one of those
movies.
Problem with all of this is that we believe so much that we forget that we’re in the theater. Things get
bad...VERY bad for some of us...and we subject ourselves to struggle after struggle because we somehow forget that
what is happenening isn’t REAL. All the world’s a stage...and yes...we really ARE merely players.
But it’s hard to remember this, especially when human pain seems so real. Again, this is one of the great
limitations of our mind. Our mind MAKES it real (yes, I’m aware that that quote is from the Matrix!). But cut me
and I might as well spew fake blood. In the grand scheme of the universe, that’s all it is anyways.
Why is it necessary, then, to have such a good experience? Why THIS kind of life? Because it’s fun. Yes,
fun. Or at least, it WOULD be fun if we could all just remember that it isn’t real. Once our attachment to the
material world kicks in, we struggle with the changes that comes with this level of existence, and our fun experience
turns into tragedy as we begin to suffer through perceived losses.
We aren’t losing anything. It just feels like it because we’re attached to them. All that is happening is change. Once
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we devoid ourselves of our attachment, we begin to realize that truly...NONE OF IT MATTERS.
We are, as Richard Bach very eloquently states, ”the sea otters of the universe.” I have no doubt in my mind
that this is the truth.
However we wrap it, whether in a fatherly God, Jesus, or anything else, it really doesn’t matter.
Humor. Paradox. Change.
absolute laws of the universe.
Per Dan Millman, author of Way of the Peaceful Warrior, these are the ONLY
I happen to agree.
3.5.7
Skeletons in the closet
(2004-05-05 15:51) - public
On a lark I decided to use Google to look up some people from my past. I came up with a few interesting tidbits.
[1]Here is a link of the first guy I dated in college (and someone I was hung up on for YEARS...thank god I’m
over THAT). Use the drop down to select Michael D. Sebastian.
[2]Here is a link to my second boyfriend in college (and someone I was never really hung up on, although he was
a nice guy and didn’t deserve to be treated the way that I treated him).
[3]Here is the link of my ex-husband and his new girlfriend/wife. I have no idea if they are married...her maiden
name was also ”Smith.” At least he won’t be able to brow beat her about taking his last name (something I had refused
to do).
[4]Here is link to the family tree of Tim, my last boyfriend prior to Blake. I didn’t see Tim’s name listed on here, but
his brother Brian is here. I have no idea whatever happened to Tim, and frankly I don’t care. I was miserable the
entire time we were together.
Oh the joy of Internet searching. Glad I relived THOSE memories. Ick.
1. http://www.ennisknupp.com/DesktopDefault.aspx?tabid=51
2. http://pview.findlaw.com/view/3303726_1
3. http://www.anywho.com/cgi-bin/amap.cgi?lastname=Smith&firstname=Amy+%26+Neal&npatelephone=847-760-6246&streetaddress=
1411+Eliot+Tr&city=ELGIN&state=IL&zip=60120&country=US
4. http://www.diesbach.com/sghcf/t/thierrin.html
3.5.8
Everything you ever wanted to know about breast cancer.
I mean EVER.
(2004-05-06 15:54) - public
Picked up [1]Fighting for our Future yesterday at Border’s. Every time I go to the bookstore I scan through the health
section at the cancer books. I usually turn away disgusted, being that I really can’t stomach those ”chicken soup for
the (insert any word here) soul” books. Just too fluffy and frou frou for my taste. The only cancer book I’ve found
(besides the one listed above) that was worth it’s salt is [2]Dr. Susan Love’s Breast Book. If you are a woman, go buy
this book. If you are a woman with breast cancer, go buy this NOW.
Anyways...so this new book I bought is actually interesting, if not a bit redundant. The first chapter talks a
bit about the history of breast cancer activism. Now I knew that back in the 1960’s that the radical mastectomy was
THE course of treatment for breast cancer. No chemo, no radiation, just lob the thing off and hope for the best.
Here’s what I didn’t know: prior to the feminist movement, women were not consulted on this. A woman would be
put under anasthesia for a biopsy. While she lay there on the table, under anasthesia, the doctor would run a quick
pathology on the sample. If it was cancerous, off came the breast. The woman DID NOT KNOW PRIOR TO GOING
INTO SURGERY WHETHER OR NOT SHE WOULD WAKE UP WITH HER BREAST.
205
On behalf of all women everywhere, I’d like to insert a collective shudder here.
Also...250,000 women in America under the age of 40 currently have breast cancer. That comprises 5 % of
the total population of women who currently have breast cancer. This number-250,000–is just 30,000 shy of the
population of Iceland.
Yes, that’s right...you heard it here first.
to populate a large island.
We’ve got enough young women in this country with breast cancer
If you are in your thirties, your chance of getting breast cancer is 1 in 249.
If you were like me and in your twenties at the time of your diagnosis, your chances were 1 in 2044.
I cannot find any statistics on if you have acquired breast cancer as a teenager.
Anyways, interesting stuff.
Per usual, though, I have a complaint about the book. Ok, not a complaint...more of just an observation.
The book lists the five year survival rate for young women with breast cancer as 82 %. [3]Young Survival
Coalition also has this listed on the homepage of their web site. This is misleading...survival cannot be lumped into a
general statistic. Survival is based on both pathology and stage of the cancer. I do not have an 82 % survival (try .4
% for me...and yes, that decimal point is in the right place). But a woman with IDCIS (Stage 0 cancer, basically), has
close to a 100 % chance of surviving. I think it is very, very, very wrong to put a statistic out there like that without
explaining this.
Second...the book does not do anything to distinguish between ER+ and ER- cancers. There is a very significant discrepancy of survival rates between these two pathologies (the former being longer than the latter). The book
makes the blanket claim that ”younger women are more likely to have tumors that are ER- (p. 34).” Very true...but
the book does not clarify that the statistics they quote incorporate the survival rates of ALL women. In other words,
when you put it on a bell curve, those with ER+ status are skewing the curve to the right and giving false longevity
readings for those of us with ER- status.
Third...going back to that blanket statement on how young women tend to be ER-...the book devotes several
pages to hormonal treatments including Tamoxifen, aromatase inhibitors and ovarian ablation/oophorectomy. This is
fine...except that the book does not clearly state that these treatments are not used for you if you are ER-. This is an
important factor, as the book speculates that a younger woman’s higher levels of estrogen are what causes her cancer
to be more aggressive than a post-menopausal woman (p. 12). Their whole presentation of this material seems like a
bit of a bait and switch to me...hey, you’re young so your extra estrogen is causing your cancer and here are all of
these great drugs used to block estrogen! Oh wait...they won’t work for you after all. It’s good information, soundly
researched...they just need to clarify this more.
My fourth observation is a bit more personal. Throughout the book, they have several ”survivor” stories.
Fine...I have no problem reading about what a woman went through. My issue is that you don’t know anything about
the survivors they are quoting and the few survivors that DO provide you with their history are mostly at worst Stage
2. But you don’t know if they are ER+, Her2/neu+, or any of those other factors that could possibly allow you to
relate to them. So my criticism isn’t that I didn’t see anyone like ME in there. My criticism is that by omitting that
type of pathological information the author manages to keep the stories isolated and unrelatable. Maybe it’s just me,
but I DO have a problem relating to a story without knowing if that story-teller has even gone through chemotherapy.
My fifth observation–and this is a biggie–is that the book states the following: ”Recurrence and metastasis are
frightening for women of any age–and, statistically, they’re not very likely possibilities for you.”
206
Ouch.
Ok. I agree. The chances of being diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer in your twenties is somewhere
around 3 %. My issue isn’t with the facts of the statement in the book. My issue is with the WORDING. To me, it
sounds like quite a big brush off. There was a time in my life when I would have been IRATE over this–another book
once again NOT dealing with the fact that young women DO die from this!–but I’m actually rather numb to this kind
of treatment anymore. No one wants to deal with young women having terminal stage breast cancer, and this book is
no exception.
In their defense, they tried to make up for it. They put in a flimsy 6 paragraph section at the end of the
book talking about death (glossing over the nitty gritty with tips on ”visual imagery”), but hey, at least they tried.
This is more than I’ve seen in most books on DEATH, let alone cancer.
Speaking of death, I also read another interesting book last night called [4]How We Die. I didn’t buy this–
should have–but decided to buy another book on the cancer industry (can’t wait to read this one...great muckraking
book on cancer and the people who profit from it). Anyways, How We Die looks like a great read, albeit a bit
gory. It discusses, in objective detail, what the body goes through with various forms of dying, including death from
Alzheimer’s, heart attack, murder and cancer. Although I didn’t buy the book, I took the time to read the entire
cancer chapter in the store.
Now I’ve seen people die of cancer. I always assumed that death came from, say, toxins polluting the body
because of a failure of the metabolic processes that allow for the normal cleansing of these kinds of things. Whether it’s
through a liver failure, a blockage, or a neurological stoppage, I basically thought that you just kind of got ”crudded
up” with your own toxins and basically poisoned yourself to death. I mean...if your liver or kidneys are disrupted this
seems plausible. If your lungs are cancerous, you can’t very well rid yourself of the carbon dioxide. Anyways, you get
the point.
Imagine my surprise to read that most cancer patients essentially die of–get this–malnourishment. The metabolic
processes ARE affected by the cancer but not in the way that I thought. Basically, you no longer are able to extract
nutrients from your food, so your body turns on itself. Only problem is that your body can’t extract nutrients from
your stored fat either. So instead it begins to feed off of your muscles, using protein for energy. In a nutshell, you
become one big gigantic Atkins machine, using protein and fat and avoiding carbohydrates. The end result is a wasted
appearance and an inadequate supply of nutrients that we normally get from our food supply.
Somehow knowing that makes the concept of death a little easier to take.
But I thought that there was some irony in that. Here we are in America, richest country in the world, and
we’ve got millions of people starving to death. I think it makes a nice commentary on the concept of global capitalistic
greed. Poetic justice, even.
But again I digress.
Anyways, that was today’s lesson.
another informative essay.
Thanks for tuning in.
As soon as I read [5]The Cancer Industry I’ll post
Because I know you all just love my pearls of widsom ;-)
1.
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/0071427813/qid=1083867880/sr=8-1/ref=sr_8_xs_ap_i1_xgl14/
102-8790995-7079351?v=glance&s=books&n=507846
2.
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/0738202355/qid=1083868401/sr=1-1/ref=sr_1_1/102-8790995-7079351?v=
glance&s=books
3. http://www.youngsurvival.org/
4.
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/0679742441/qid=1083877069/sr=8-1/ref=pd_ka_1/102-8790995-7079351?v=
glance&s=books&n=507846
5.
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/1881025098/qid=1083879591/sr=8-1/ref=sr_8_xs_ap_i1_xgl14/
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102-8790995-7079351?v=glance&s=books&n=507846
3.5.9
Cancer is busy work.
(2004-05-07 14:44) - public
You know, a heck of a lot has happened in the past 24 hours.
Yesterday I met with my attorney and made it official: Blake is now the executor of my estate and is my power
of attorney for both property and health care. So whenever my doctor renders me incapacitated, Blake will be able
to make decisions regarding my financial transactions (such as paying my bills) and health care decisions (such as
enforcing a ”Do Not Resuscitate” order). When I die, he will be the executor of my estate (although I do not plan on
having much of one).
After speaking with my oncologist today it looks as if next week I’m going back on the Navelbine, although at a
dosage reduced by 20 %. He was very impressed by how much my tumor markes have dropped–so pleased, in fact, that
he thinks it would be worth my while to give the Navelbine another shot and actually recommended that I do NOT go
forward with a new chemotherapy. I am not pleased with this, but I trust him and, based on some other information
I’ve described below, I know he’s right.
I’ve decided to go ahead and begin pursuing a clinical trial. Tajuddin and I talked quite a bit about them today,
and he basically said that I’m in an optimal position for a Phase 3 clinical trial. Often times, Phase 3 clinical trials
look for the most ”pure” patient–that is, someone who has had a minimal amount of chemotherapy. Having certain
chemotherapies at any time in your past could disqualify you from a clinical trial, so if you intend to participate in
one (or more), you have your best chance of finding one if you don’t taint your system too much with chemotherapies,
hormone therapies or immunotherapies. Phase 3 clinical trials usually consist of drugs that are ”commonly known” (in
other words, they have an actual name, not just a formula number). These types of clinical trials take these known
drugs and just rearrange them, combine them, or add a new drug to an already known treatment formula. I can do
as many clinical trials as I want, I can back out of any trial at any time, and once I exhaust my options (or decide I
no longer want to be in a clinical trial), I can go back to standard chemotherapy treatment. In the meantime, I’ll be
on the Navelbine until I meet with a doctor at Northwestern University and figure out which clinical trial(s) I may be
eligible.
I’ve also decided that I’ll be pursuing a Phase 1 clinical trial once all of the above trials and treatments fail. Phase 1
clinical trials are quite a bit different then later phases. Phase 1 is where you don’t know what you’re getting, as the
drug doesn’t even have a name yet (only a number). They are small studies, and usually only take patients AFTER
all other possible options have been tried. They are for those people who are in the last phases of their lives. A few
days ago I mentioned telomerase inhibitors. A Phase 1 clinical trial is where I would find something like that.
Let’s see...what else? I’ve decided to give up sugar. When they weighed me at the doctor’s today I was UP four
pounds, which promptly caused everyone there to pat me on the back for a job well done. I can’t think of any other
place in America where you get kudos for GAINING weight except at an oncologist’s office. But despite the fact that
the weight gain is good news in terms of cancer care, it made me feel bad. I am actually pretty sure that the four
pounds is only water weight, being that I had gained those four pounds overnight, but still. I’ve been eating like crap
lately and have had to reduce my exercise a bit, so I can definitely stand to cut down on the calories. Besides...cancer
practically LIVES off of simple sugar, so it certainly can’t hurt to stop putting it in my system.
I’ve decided to spend the next few months planning my funeral. The funeral industry is a complete racket and
I’ll be damned if I’m going to let them rake my loved ones over the coals during their time of grief. So I’m going to
plan everything that I can. Maybe I’ll [1]order my casket here and have it delivered to the house. I wonder how they’d
ship it. Would it come in a plain, non-descript crate? Or would it come in a large box with the words, ”100 % Stainless
Steel Adult Coffin” splashed all over the side of it? We’d be the gossip of the neighborhood. But seriously...check out
those [2]Trappist caskets. They’re actually hand made by a group of monks in Dubuque, Iowa. Since that’s not that
far away, maybe we could avoid the shipping charges and go pick one up. We could use it as a coffee table or store
it on our deck as a container garden until we actually needed to use it. Come to think of it, I DO need a place to
transplant my rosemary...
Anyways, that’s about all. I had another stay of execution from treatment this week, so I’ve got another 7 days
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of feeling good to look forward to. I don’t plan on wasting it.
1. http://www.funeraldepot.com/caskets1.htm
2. http://trappistcaskets.com/showroom.html
3.5.10
Sunday
(2004-05-10 10:54) - public
Damn you, [ LJ User: blakeh ] for scooping me on [ LJ User: ethel ]. I wanted to be the first to post about her.
Anyways, Blake and I met Laurie (the aforementioned [ LJ User: ethel ]) for the first time yesterday, since she
was in Chicago for Convergence. We went shopping at IKEA–Blake’s first venture there!–for some desperately needed
housewares. Blake and I didn’t grab too many items this time around, but Laurie knabbed some cool pendant lights
and turned us on to the world’s greatest cheese grater (an item that is strangely missing from the IKEA website). She
also gave us a couple of CD’s by the Tim Malloys, which we listened to in the car on the way home. Very cool stuff
there...Blake and I really enjoyed the live album (haven’t listened to the other one just yet!).
We went to dinner at Dover Straits in Hoffman Estates, which I thought for sure was going to be packed for Mother’s
Day. It ended up only being a ten minute wait, and soon Blake and I were on our way to corrupting Laurie by having
her try her first oyster on the half shell. [1]Blake, of course, posted a picture of this special event, although she retained
ownership of the pic we took of her eating them in the Jaegermeister hat.
Anyways, we had a lot of fun! One of these days in the near future Blake and I are going to road-trip our way
up to the Twin Cities and hang out at the Rec and hit some of the better used CD stores around there.
Otherwise, it’s Monday, I’m still really sore from my workout on Saturday, and I might spend the day in the yard
(depending upon the weather). Five more days of reprieve.
And counting.
1. http://www.livejournal.com/users/blakeh/62082.html?mode=reply
3.5.11
The Joy of Cancer
(2004-05-11 15:04) - public
Today’s entry is a lesson in positivity.
Top ten GOOD things about having breast cancer:
10) You suddenly become the center of attention at your doctor’s office
9) Old friends you haven’t talked to in years come out of the woodwork, allowing you to get to know them all
over again
8) You could be the meanest person on the planet and suddenly everyone likes you (it’s out of pity, but who
cares?)
7) You have a perfectly legitimate excuse to dye your hair pink and shave it in a criss-cross pattern (it’s going
to fall out anyways)
6) You become a walking encyclopedia of oncology knowledge and can show off at parties by using terms like
”axillary dissection,” ”anti-emetics” and ”her2/neu receptor status”
5) You learn that by sharing your experience you can connect with people from all walks of life
4) The track marks on your arm from treatment suddenly make you more mysterious, as everyone thinks you
have a drug problem
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3) You now have enough prescription medication so that you can actually use your medicine cabinet for MEDICINE
instead of face cream
2) You have the potential to become very rich, as you realize that ginger ale and saltine crackers are stocks in
which you should invest
and the number one good thing about having cancer....
Two words: Med-Port!
3.5.12
Clinical Trials
(2004-05-12 14:42) - public
Frustrated, frustrated, frustrated.
I FINALLY managed to get an appointment with the doctor who can advise me on clinical trials. My appointment is at 9 am on June 2–THREE WEEKS FROM NOW. And on top of all that, it’s in DOWNTOWN
CHICAGO. I live two hours away in good traffic. Trying to drive from here to downtown during prime rush hour is
suicide. So I’ll be shelling out some dollars so that I can stay overnight at one of the hotels on the Magnificent Mile.
And to be honest, I’m not even sure it’s worth my while. I’ve been diligently researching clinical trials today,
and it seems as if there aren’t any I’m eligible for. [1]Here are the ones available at Northwestern University. There
are some more out there, but most of them are geared for a) post-menopausal women, b) women who have not yet
received Taxotere (docitaxel) or Navelbine (vinorelbine) and c) women who have not yet had Herceptin (trastuzumab).
Well, guess what. I’m not post-menopausal and I’ve had all THREE of the drugs I just listed. There are a couple that
seem interesting...but many of the ones that peak my interest are ”closed for accrual.”
It just sucks. I keep telling myself to pursue a clinical trial so that I can at least contribute to posterity here.
But...Northwestern is a long and irritating drive. Maybe that sounds whiny...but I don’t really want to spend the
better part of my time commuting for four hours a day.
I suppose I’m questioning the whole decision to go this route. I WANT to be altruistic...but I think I need to
be honest with myself and realize that part of me is doing this because I AM hoping. As crazy as it sounds, I’m hoping
that I’ll be the one who gets lucky and becomes involved in that ONE clinical trial that proves to be a cure. I know
logically it doesn’t work that way...that that is not how clinical trials are even structured. But I hope it nonetheless.
Which just makes things harder. Hope has a funny way of being a double edged sword: it promises everything yet has the deceptive ability to deliver nothing.
Part of me is just screaming at myself, telling me to stop all of this hope nonsense and face reality: I’m going
to die of this. Period. If someone else hasn’t found a cure by now, then chances are one doesn’t exist. I don’t know
why I think that I’m somehow going to be the chosen one.
It all has to do with ego, with the belief that we ALL have that we somehow matter, that we’re important to
the world somehow. I may not be able to imagine the world without me in it, but that doesn’t mean that the world
will stop turning the day that I die.
I’m actually reminded of a story Blake told me about someone he once worked with. This man drove a 7 series BMW, and had bought the car originally because it was the most expensive one on the lot. This man has been
known to say things like, ”People SHOULD get out of the way when I drive. Why? Because they should be able to
tell by the kind of car I drive that I’m important and have important places to go.”
As you can see from this story, importance...is a figment of our imagination.
I need to get over this attachment to my life so that I can begin making GOOD decisions here. I don’t want
to end up like my mother! She was diagnosed with advanced pancreatic cancer–and given less than a year to live. She
felt OK at first...not great, but could still go out and do things. She chose to try chemotherapy and radiation, even
210
though she knew it would fail. She was an ONCOLOGY NURSE. She KNEW the odds. Yet she did it anyways.
So instead of feeling good and enjoying her life for those first three months she was sick from chemo/radiation
and spent all of her time going to the doctor 45 minutes away. But she still dreamed, and planned a vacation with my
Dad for summer.
Of course, by the time vacation rolled around, it was too late. She was to sick, but this time it wasn’t from
self-chosen treatment. It was from the cancer. She couldn’t travel anymore, she hardly ate, and could barely walk.
She had missed her window of opportunity to go out and do things with her life because she chose to spend that time
in chemotherapy.
As for the vacation...she waited too long.
I don’t want to be in that position...to be so desperate for life that I end up wasting the time I have left
making myself sick in treatment or driving to a treatment center miles and miles and miles away. But how am I going
to feel when I DO get sick for that final time? How much regret will I have if I look back at my life and find that I
could have done more to beat this? Never mind that beating this is an impossibility...how am I going to feel if I don’t
try 150 %? Or 175 %? Or 200 %? At what point will I be able to look back at my life and feel satisfied that I tried as
hard as I could?
There is a huge, huge part of me that doesn’t want to go forward anymore. I don’t mean give up treatment.
What I mean is that I don’t want to completely disrupy MY LIFE for something that is at best a supreme long shot
and at worst a time waster.
What bothers me the most about that, I suppose...is that other people consider that to be ”giving up.”
And I hate that they think that. Like I REALLY need to feel as if I’m letting everyone else down by not
trotting off to some strange treatment center in the Bahamas for some radical drug manufactured from some rare
nettle.
I just wish I had some answers. ANY answer, at this point.
1. http://www.cancertrials.northwestern.edu/Trials/
3.5.13
Breakfast of Champions.
(2004-05-13 11:13) - public
Just when I didn’t think I could love Kurt Vonnegut more, he goes and writes [1]this very brilliant piece. Makes me
want to go pick up my copy of Cat’s Cradle and read it all over again.
1. http://www.inthesetimes.com/site/main/article/cold_turkey/
3.5.14
Venting
(2004-05-13 21:37) - public
You know, fuck the world today.
As you can probably tell, I’m in a BAD MOOD.
I start chemo tomorrow. Navelbine. I don’t care if it’s 20 % less than what I was on two weeks ago. It’s still
toxic sludge they are going to pump into me and I’m not happy about it.
My doctor thinks the reduced dose ”might” help with the side effects. Blake is pretty convinced that it will. I
can’t help but be gun shy about it. Last month, when I was on this stuff, I spent hours each day curled up in a fetal
position, popping pain pills by the hour, just hoping and praying that the crushing abdominal pain and bone pain
and joint pain and throat pain and chills and headaches and bloody noses and swollen tongue and oh god everything
else...would just GO AWAY.
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I spent a better part of my day today feeling like dead man walking.
I just don’t want to do this again. Not tomorrow, not next week, not EVER AGAIN. And I don’t think anyone
realizes how scared I am at this...that there’s a pretty good chance that I’m going to get done with my infusion tomorrow and that I’M GOING TO BE SICK. That I’m going to walk out of there sick, that I’m going to drive home sick,
that I’m going to go to my room and curl up in bed sick.
I feel so isolated today...like no one understands WHY I’m scared of this. Well, gee...take a step into my world
for JUST ONE SECOND and then maybe you can understand why I don’t find things like work or chores or cars
important. I’m too busy trying to answer questions about pain medication and alternative chemotherapy options and
clinical trials. Oh, and that upcoming death thing. I’m kinda dealing with that, too.
Sigh. I don’t want to do this tomorrow. I just don’t want to do this.
3.5.15
We’ll be together again...I’ve been waiting for a long time...
(2004-05-15 11:38) -
Tongue-in-cheek - public
Music: ”Who Needs Love Like That?”–Erasure
Just a quick note, as I can’t write a lot right now...
Just wanted to point out my new ANDY BELL icon. For those of you who don’t know, Andy Bell is the lead
singer of [1]ERASURE. Andy and I have a long history together. The first ERASURE album I ever bought was 1991’s
[2]Chorus, specifically for the title song, ”Chorus.” Now I had heard of ERASURE before. I mean, I remember when
”Chains of Love” and ”A Little Respect” came out (from [3]The Innocents album), and, of course, every fraternity Barn
Dance I’ve ever BEEN to plays their staple dance hit, ”Oh L’Amour” (from [4]Wonderland). Later on, [5]Abba-esque
came out, and then [6]I Say, I Say, I Say. I kind of lost track of them after that, being that I got bogged down in
crappy grunge music for a while...but when I met Blake, ERASURE was once again renewed in my life.
I didn’t see my first ERASURE video until I met Blake, and let me tell you, I fell hard and fast for Mr. Bell. I
hadn’t crushed so hard on a gay man since I was 9 years old and dreamt of marrying Boy George (of [7]Culture Club
fame). Althoug Boy and I never worked out, I was convinced that one day, Andy and I would be together.
Fast forward to March, 2003, at the Chicago Theater. There I was, front and center, as Andy danced and sang
his way into the hearts of thousands during [8]The Other Tour. In a span of about 60 minutes, Andy went from
[9]dancing in full Victorian garb to [10]dancing in leather briefs and boots. It was unbelievable...there was my beloved
Andy, doing a striptease just for me, dancing so close to the edge of the stage that he could have SWEAT on me. It
was a magical night, full of song and dance and good times. It was a night I’m sure he won’t forget anytime soon.
Andy and I share a special bond now. So it’s with this in mind that I dedicate my new LJ Icon.
Andy, baby...[11]this one’s for you. May I turn into a gay man one day so that we can finally be together.
1. http://www.erasureinfo.com/
2. http://www.erasureinfo.com/discography/albums/chorus.html
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
http://www.erasureinfo.com/discography/albums/theinnocents.html
http://www.erasureinfo.com/discography/albums/wonderland.html
http://www.erasureinfo.com/discography/singles/abbaesque.html
http://www.erasureinfo.com/discography/albums/isayisayisay.html
http://www.culture-club.co.uk/
http://www.erasuregig.com/2003.html
9. http://www.erasureinfo.com/gallery/othertour/othertour1.html
10. http://www.erasureinfo.com/gallery/events/other_tour_15.html
11. http://userpic.livejournal.com/14873672/576215
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3.5.16
More fun facts about chemotherapy!
(2004-05-15 22:05) - Dry - public
Ah, well, crap. I was doing well today until about 3 pm. It’s been a steady progression downhill since.
Yesterday went...OK. Tajuddin and I talked quite a bit about my problems with [1]Navelbine, and the conclusion is that the abdominal pain is NERVE PAIN caused by the drug. Navelbine has lower extremity neuropathy as
one of it’s major side effects. In fact, this side effect has been so severe in patients that patients have lost control of
their bowels and/or bladder. It tends to be a notch higher on the neuropathy scale than even [2]Taxol, which is known
to cause loss of feeling in toes and lower extremities (I was on Taxol the entire three months...and not once during
that time did I ever feel my toes.) Anyways, the Navelbine goes above and beyond neuropathy in the legs...I guess it’s
known to travel up into the trunk of the body. So...this is what we think is causing the pain.
As a result, we decided to try and head things off at the pass with some additional anti-emetics. In addition
to the [3]Kytril, I’m also getting a [4]Reglan infusion as well. They Kytril will prevent nausea, and the Reglan,
although being an anti-nausea medication, is intended to ”keep the pipes flowing,” so to speak. In other words, it will
act on my G.I. tract to keep things moving...which may or may not help with the pain. We’re basically operating
on the theory that my nerves are paralyzing my G.I. tract, and that the pain is being caused by food stagnating in
there (causing bloating, cramping, and all of that other fun stuff that happens when normal people eat lots and lots
of BEANS). It’s a long shot, but we’re hoping that the Reglan will help with this.
I also snagged a free month supply of Prevacid, too. Woo hoo! We’ll see if that helps.
Anyways, here’s a rundown of my day yesterday.
So after I met with Tajuddin, I go and grab a chair in one of the chemo rooms (they have two rooms in the
office: one with two chairs and one with three chairs). For anyone who’s never been around cancer, what happens
is that the patient (in this case, me) sits down in a nice comfy Barca lounger in a room that is either a) freezing
cold or b) blazingly hot and waits for a needle stick. The rooms usually include blankets, pillows, a TV/VCR, and
nurses/aides that will get serve you the beverage of your choice (it’s kind of like flying, actually–and as a side note,
I’ve had chemotherapy in four different locations, and the description is pretty much accurate for each place. In most
cases even the CHAIRS are the SAME COLOR).
Anyways, moving on...a cancer patient’s needle stick is either an I.V. in your arm/hand (I’m sure you’ve all
had one of those at some point), or, as in my case, you get stuck in your port. A port is a catheter that is inserted
directly into an artery, with the access point being EITHER under the skin OR external to the body.
Now for reference’s sake, there are a few different kinds of ports. [5]Here is a good site explaining the differences between, say a PICC line, [6]a Hickman, and a port-a-cath. I happen to have the port-a-cath, manufactured by
Bard. This particular port-a-cath has an INTERNAL access point. Meaning...they have to use a needle to puncture
THROUGH my skin and access the catheter line. Relax...it’s not as painful as it sounds. They give you lidocaine
cream to numb the skin before the needle stick, and even if you DO happen to forget the lidocaine...it is still much
better than an IV stick. Anyways, below is a picture of MY port-a-cath. It looks like a thick quarter under my skin,
with the insertion scar above it.
213
So...now that we’ve covered that...basically what happens is that the patient (again, this means me) receives a
series of bags of liquid saline infused with the particular drug they are intended to have. Typically, each medication
should have a separate infusion, but occasionally the nurses will mix more than one drug in a bag. So yesterday I went
in sat through five bags of saline: one bag for the Reglan (20 minutes), one bag for the Kytril (20 minutes), one bag
for the Herceptin (30 minutes), one bag for the Navelbine (10 minutes), and one bag for a saline rinse (10 minutes,
and required for the Navelbine). After that, they flush the I.V. line with Heparin (to prevent the port from clotting
over) and saline. Then...pop the needle out, slap on a Band-Aid, and you’re ready to go home!
So my infusion takes approximately 90 minutes from start to finish. That sounds like a lot, but believe it or
not, this is significantly less time than my first round of chemo. Two years ago, my infusions were TWO AND A
HALF HOURS. 30 minutes for Decadron/Kytril combo, 30 minutes for Benadryl, 60 minutes for Taxotere/Taxol, 30
minutes for Herceptin. As you can see, I’ve REALLY streamlined my time management with this Navelbine.
So, about the treatment...it was...strange. I think I actually had a very small panic attack in the middle of
my Reglan and Kytril. I remember sitting in the chair, feeling unable to breathe. I wrapped myself in my blanket
and tried to take long, deep breaths, but I couldn’t seem to calm down. I kept thinking, ”Oh my god...is this how it’s
going to feel when I die? Is it going to feel like I’m suffocating? Oh god, I don’t want to die!” I couldn’t stop thinking
that...over and over and over again. I pulled the blanket over my head and tried to block out where I was and what
I was doing, but nothing worked. After about 45 minutes of this I asked for some ginger ale, and after drinking it I
finally calmed down a bit. I was so GLAD to get out of there.
But the Navelbine infusion went well...I actually felt pretty decent yesterday, although just exhausted beyond
description. I woke up nauseous today, around 7 am, and tried to roll over and not think anything that would cause
me to lose my...well, whatever it was in my stomach at that point. I drifted in and out of sleep until 9 am, and then
woke up feeling very good. I had breakfast, caught up on email, and then decided to go work in the jungle, er...yard.
It ended up being a lot of fun...I pulled weeds, I transplanted hostas, and really cleaned up a flower bed that had been
neglected for YEARS. I ended up being covered in dirt from head to toe–which is fine. I mean, I spent five years of my
life training to be a freaking archaeologist. I’m USED to playing in the dirt. Anyways, all was well until about 2:30.
I hit a wall. A BIG one. I felt nauseous again, and was achingly tired. I dragged myself inside and forced
myself to take a shower. Blake’s parents and brother were coming over for dinner, and I had some cooking to do.
I noticed in the shower that both my scalp AND fingernails were EXTREMELY sore (my fingernails are so
sore it’s hard for me to type now). I got out of the shower, made the dry rub and sauce for the chicken, and then
blew dry my hair. Now, I had begun losing my hair a little bit about a month ago, and I was sorry to see that things
hadn’t improved during my break. But eGADS...I had so much hair in my bathroom sink it clogged my drain. I
finally managed to pull all of the loose stuff out (didn’t want it falling in the food), and came out to meet Blake and
his parents and brother.
214
We went outside to show them my handywork. As we all stood there on the deck. Blake began to pull all of
this hair off of my T-shirt. A LOT of it. It had all just fallen out...like leaves falling off of a tree.
Things kept going downhill during dinner. The chilly, flushed feeling came back, the fatigue increased, and
the bone pain began a slow, steady beat in my joints. I did manage to get through dinner OK, and actually had a
good time.
After dinner, Blake, his brother and I watched a movie. The movie was short–74 minutes–and during that
time the flushed feeling grew worse, my head began to throb, and that oh-so-familiar abdominal pain began to slowly
manifest itself. Little by little, all of the side effects I had before began to creep back.
I’m not sure why I’m surprised. So far, it’s definitely better than the first time around. But these things are
cumulative. It’s only going to get worse with time.
I have a feeling the next two days will be very revealing as to how well I’m going to tolerate this stuff.
1. http://www.cancer.org/docroot/CDG/content/CDG_vinorelbine_tartrate.html?internal=1
2.
3.
4.
5.
http://www.cancer.org/docroot/CDG/content/CDG_paclitaxel.html?internal=1
http://www.cancer.org/docroot/CDG/content/CDG_granisetron_hydrochloride.html?internal=1
http://www.cancer.org/docroot/CDG/content/CDG_metoclopramide.html?internal=1
http://www.barttersite.com/port1.htm
6. http://www.geocities.com/Heartland/Stream/5287/Hickman.html
3.5.17
Another VOTING scandal...what is this country coming to?
(2004-05-16 12:10) -
public
I’m sorry...but [1]THIS is news? For crying out loud. It’s AMERICAN IDOL, everyone. How about we save the outrage for something important, like, oh, say, for example...the potential voting problems during the upcoming
Presidential election??
”Many would-be voters are disenfranchised” Please.
I think I’m blind now, from the strain of my eyes rolling back into my head a little too far.
1. http://story.news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&cid=514&e=9&u=/ap/20040516/ap_on_en_tv/tv_american_idol_5
3.5.18
Bookworm
(2004-05-18 09:01) - Trying to organize - public
I finished [1]Upright last night. FANTASTIC book. The author (Craig Stanford) worked heavily with my thesis
advisor from University of Chicago in writing this book. The first several chapters practically scream [2]”Russ Tuttle”.
There was even a section in there on normal science and physical anthropology. This tickled me pink, being that my
thesis was titled, ”Structuralism, Normal Science and Physical Anthropology: Finding a Pattern in the Muddle.” I had
always thought my thesis was crap...at least, from an idea perspective. Now that I’ve seen some of the ideas in print, I
feel somewhat vindicated! So...I guess you could say that I would definitely list this book among my all time favorites.
Which got me to thinking about my all-time favorite (and least favorite) books. I decided to list them:
Timequake by Kurt Vonnegut. Of course, I think just about ANYTHING by Vonnegut is brilliant...but I really liked his concept of time stopping and then starting again, with people forgetting everything in between.
Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte. What young, plain-looking girl WOULDN’T find solace in a story where the
quiet, mousy girl is loved without knowing it? One of the first fiction ”classics” I ever read (I read it at age 8).
215
The Jungle by Upton Sinclair. Ok, so it gets a bit simplistic and preachy at the end (he suddenly turns socialist and wham! all of his problems are magically solved). But it’s the hallmark of all muckraking books and will
always have a special place in my heart because of it.
Germinal by Emile Zola. I LOVE Zola. Love how his characters represent things like morality and goodness
and corporate bourgeoisie. I’ve read several of his books, and this one was my favorite.
Reviving Ophelia by Mary Pipher. Every woman should read this.
Dr. Susan Love’s Breast Book by Dr. Susan Love. Every woman should OWN this.
The Broken Mirror by Katherine A. Phillips, M.D. This book changed my life–literally. I had suffered for ten
years with body dismorphic disorder, an offshoot of obsessive compulsive disorder that involves ritual and compulsive
behavior involving body parts (mine was my hair). I won’t go into details here about the problem, but suffice it to say
that THIS book finally made me realize that I actually had a problem that wasn’t from my own self-created mental
weakness. Shortly after reading this book I sought help, and today I am virtually free of any of the OCD behaviors.
For anyone who has ever had OCD, you know how important that is to being able to function normally.
The Hobbit or any Lord of the Rings book by J.R.R. Tolkien. I read these well before the movie (like, 1989),
and I tell you...I STILL get the heebie jeebies whenever I read about the black phantom riders sent from Mordor to
capture Frodo. Tolkien was a fantasy genius and a damned good story-teller.
The Martian Chronicles by Ray Bradbury. I’ve always had a fascination with Mars, and trust me, he delivers
a healthy dose of Martian fascination with this one.
The Joy of Cooking by Irma S. Rombauer and Marion Raumbauer Becker.
the amateur cook.
One of THE best references for
Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoyevsky. First I should say that I’m biased...I love Russian history.
But the fact that this book takes place in St. Petersburg only adds to what is already a brilliantly woven piece of
literature. What is murder? What is right? Maybe morality IS relative. Read this book to find out.
Illusions by Richard Bach. I’ve written about my love of this book before. It provides one of the best life
analogies I’ve ever come across (that life is a movie). Neat little spiritual book that has highly influenced me.
The Darwin Awards. So what if it’s America’s Funniest Home Videos for books? It’s darned funny stuff, and
frankly I’m all for watching natural selection in action. Darwin would have been proud!
Now for the FUN part, the BAD ones:
The Sexual Politics of Meat by Carol J. Adams. This woman obviously loves being a vegetarian and this
book is her way of trying to make some kind of profound sense out of her decision to become one. She parades
weak argument after weak argument to bolster a hypothesis that is thin at best and laughable at worst. Her use of
”absent referrents” is akin to a black box: we have meat, insert an absent referrent, and presto-chango! Meat suddenly
becomes sexist. The end result is a circuitously written argument with tangents that never go anywhere.
Tuesdays With Morrie by Mitch Albom. Maybe I’ve got a chip on my shoulder because I’ve got cancer and
think I have a moratorium on death knowledge. Or maybe the chip comes from the fact that the author has taken
this book and turned it into a marketing circus. Either way, I didn’t like this book. I thought it was basic and naive
and that it banked on the fact that everyone will assume that this book is supposed to be profound simply because
it’s written about a very delicate and tragic subject. I found it neither inspiring nor profound. But that’s just me.
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The Autobiography of Linda Lovelace by the aforementioned Linda Lovelace. Believe it or not, the PARENTS
of one of the guys I dated in college had this book stored in their basement, and I picked it up one day while waiting
for my boyfriend to get out of the shower. Last time I checked, porn and grammar didn’t go together, and this book
is living proof of that. I did, however, enjoy her humorous comments on marketing a line of hair care and skin care
products called Soap-Cum-Poo.
The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People by Stephen Covey. Try ”Seven ways to regurgitate commen sense
so Stephen Covey can get rich.” This book represents an hour of my life I’d like to get back.
Eat Right For Your Type by Peter J. D’Adamo. Good grief...if you’re going to write about ”cavemen” at
LEAST have the decency to browse through a physical anthropology textbook so that you don’t sound like a complete
idiot. I have never seen so many scholarly mistakes in a printed book EVER. Of course, I haven’t read Forbidden
Archaeology yet, but until then, this poorly researched diet book is the reigning champion.
Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus by John Gray. If you want a book of stereotypes, THIS is it.
The soft, lovely Venusian should just sit quietly by while the tough, rugged Martian retreats to his ”cave.” Let me
translate that...when the man comes home from work, the woman should hand him his drink and get her ass back into
the kitchen to make him his dinner. This was a horrible little book that set the women’s movement back ten years.
A Vindication of the Rights of Woman by Mary Wollstonecraft. I really wanted to like this book, being it’s
the first solid example of feminist writing. But the freaking Victorian-style English with it’s ten-lines-long sentences
punctuated by a plethora of commas, prepositions and semi-colons drove me out of my lunatic mind. Brevity, by any
other name, is thy FRIEND.
As you can tell, I love books. It takes me a long time to read a book because part of the fun for me is dissecting it from every angle. I am very, very critical when I read, to the point where I sometimes have to go back and
re-read sections because I missed the overall gist of what the author was trying to say. I have a feeling it comes from
spending too much time in academia (where professors spend an agonizing amount of time slamming their colleagues
ideas and writings). Blake will sail through a book in three days, while it takes me two weeks to slog my way through
it.
Anyways, Blake and I are in the process of re-organizing our library upstairs. I think one of my fun projects
will be to create a database of the books we own, similar to what Blake has done with his CD’s (you can see his online
CD collection at his website, [3]TheFirstCUT). Maybe one day we can get an online book club going.
On the health front...I’m feeling VERY GOOD! I went non-stop yesterday...did several loads of laundry, put
together two bookcases, cleaned the basement, made dinner and went to Home Depot & Lowe’s with Blake to stock
up on garden stuff. And the icing on the cake was that I also got in a workout yesterday! I got more done yesterday
than I did on most days when I was HEALTHY.
Anyways, hoping to catch up on emails and all of that other stuff today. I swear, I’m busier NOW than when
I was working! Funny how that works.
1.
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/0618302476/qid=1084838030/sr=8-1/ref=pd_ka_1/102-9053165-6483323?v=
glance&s=books&n=507846
2. http://web.grinnell.edu/anthropology/ASPworkshop/russbio.htm
3. http://www.thefirstcut.net/
3.5.19
Drowning in Books
(2004-05-19 22:25) - public
[ LJ User: blakeh ] posted pictures of our [1]library project, which we’ve been working on for two nights straight. The
pics posted don’t do it justice as to how messy it really was up in our room.
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We’re going to give away our duplicates to a literacy council or library or something (or we may post a list of them on
livejournal and first come first serve!).
Anyways, I’m exhausted. Hauling books around is tough work.
1. http://www.livejournal.com/users/blakeh/66693.html?#cutid1
3.5.20
Cleanliness is next to godliness
(2004-05-20 11:00) - public
Well, today is Thursday, and you know what that means: cleaning lady day. Now I’ve spoken about Angie before...she
was the one who wanted me to go to ”Cancer Treatment Centers” and wanted to apply for the adult version of ”Make
a Wish.” She spends half of her time cleaning the house and the other half either playing with the cats or yakking.
But she’s cheap, so we’ll live with it.
Anyways, today’s discussion had to do with religion.
Now I believe that every single person has the right to believe whatever they want and that no one person’s belief
is more important than anyone else’s. I do NOT believe that any person, group, religious organization or any other
self-described entity has a moratorium of knowledge on spirituality or the after-life. In my opinion, if everyone else in
the world adopted that kind of model of relative thinking then we’d have a lot more peace. But that’s just me.
Now I didn’t want the discussion to go this route because I knew what would happen. Angie is a devout
Christian with no sense of science or logic whatsoever. This doesn’t mean she’s an awful person–in fact, she means
very well–but it is just so antithesis to who I am that it rubs me the wrong way. Being that I’m NOT Christian, I
certainly didn’t think it’s a good idea for me to get into a discussion with someone who thinks that all sinners burn in
hell. But that’s how the conversation went anyways.
I posted about my spiritual beliefs a while ago, so it should be no surprise to anyone that I don’t believe in
anything like the traditional notion of ”god”, or in the Holy Trinity or in the Bible or in angels or heaven or hell or
anything at all like that. She was very respectful as she asked me questions about my beliefs, and I answered honestly
as best as I could.
Now, most of my spiritual beliefs are pretty logical and, one could argue, could be construed across different
social constructs. It’s pretty simple with me: there’s something instead of nothing, it’s all based on energy, and this
level of existence is one of an infinite number of learning grounds where our ”something” can go to learn. My beliefs
are based on deductive reasoning, for the most part, which is one of the reasons that they are able to go above and
beyond certain cultural constraints (but not all...I understand that HOW we think is culturally constrained also, if for
no other reason than our language constrains our thought).
But here’s what bugs me about people like Angie (ok, bugs is a strong word, as it implies disrespect, but I
digress). What bugs me is that these people use belief to support their belief and circuitous arguments to bolster their
logic. Let me explain:
K: I don’t believe in hell.
A: I believe in hell because I heard of someone who was very mean and when he was dying he was screaming that his
feet and legs were burning.
K: Did you know him personally?
A: No, I just heard it happened and believe it.
OR, it usually goes something like this:
K:
A:
K:
A:
I don’t believe the Bible is the word of god.
You have to believe that the Bible is the word of god.
Why?
Because the Bible says it’s the word of god.
There’s no logic here. None at all. Now I understand that at some point, you HAVE to make a leap of faith.
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Like I’ve always said, no matter how logical you get or how detailed to try to define, say, the Big Bang, you will
ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS come to the question of, ”Why something instead of nothing?” If you believe in
something, then you’ve made a leap of faith.
But I don’t think that the leap of faith should be in the Bible, or in a fatherly god or in anything else than
can be contribued to CULTURAL origins. Culture is relative simply because there ISN’T any NATURAL selection
acting upon it to weed out the ”right” one versus the ”wrong” one (there may be ”Social Darwinistic” pressure, but that
is very different). What I’m trying to say is that there is nothing in nature–no weather pattern, no cycles of drought,
or anything else like that that would normally act as selective pressure to our anatomy–that is selecting certain
religions to be the ”most” adaptive. And if you want to make that argument, then from a natural selection standpoint
religions should be adapted to their environment and therefore NO religion is the absolute one that everyone else
should believe in. People who live in the tundra SHOULD have different beliefs to serve their survival purposes, just
like people who live in the plains should have their own set of beliefs for THEIR survival purposes.
Wait...re-read that last sentence. Think about that, and think about it hard. BEFORE the push towards
Christianity and Islam two millenia ago, it was exactly like that. In fact, it was like that in the New World prior to
its discovery by Europeans. No one believed in Christianity before Columbus. Not the Inuit, not the Tillamook, not
the Iroquois. They all had their own beliefs (and their own lifestyles).
What was it that made Christianity such a juggernaut? Or Islam?
Very simple: Bureaucracy. Christianity ceased to become just a religious belief and morphed into a political
machine to dominate and control and conquer(The Crusades, anyone?). The boundaried between religion and politics
mixed, mixed to the point where politics masqueraded as religion. What we are left with today is a by-product of
thousands of years of abuse, corruption, and interpretation that are no more absolute than me saying that the color
green is wrong.
Essentially, Christianity came to be not because of deep, enduring religious beliefs. It was born of political
machinations and became part and parcel of Western culture. A proper dissection of Christianity comes NOT from
dissecting the Bible or your own beliefs. It comes from dissecting your culture and in understanding how culture
WORKS.
And how culture works is not just a matter of looking around you. It’s understanding the machinery that
grinds it out. It’s looking at culture through a variety of lenses such as structuralism, conflict theory, interaction
ritual, and a whole host of other ways in which we can interpreting and explain the chaos around us. But it’s also
understanding that at the end of the day, culture IS A HUMAN ABSTRACTION.
And as culture goes, so goes religion.
Sigh. If only Ann B. Davis were available to clean my house.
would be whether or not to serve applesauce with the pork chops.
3.5.21
And essay on isolation.
Somehow I think our deepest discussion topic
(2004-05-20 21:48) - public
Well, tomorrow is Friday. Another end of a week, the approach of a relaxing weekend...
Oh, and chemo. There’s that.
Sometimes I’m a bit blown away by the surrealness of my life.
I’m reminded of that Seinfeld episode, where they all go to the Chinese restaurant and then leave right before
the maitre’de calls them for their table. I remember Elaine talking about how going out to eat changes as you get
older. When you’re a kid it’s exciting and new and you get to try and do these new things. But then you get old and
it becomes routine and common...and in the case of the show, an outright hassle at times.
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That’s how I feel about chemo. When I first started it two years ago everything was new and exciting and
scary. I was meeting new people...I had questions about everything...each day I learned something new. And all of the
things that happened to my body–the hair loss, the slacking metabolism, the fingernail detachment, the inability to
feel my toes–were watched in wonder, not revulsion (the revulsion came months after treatment, after it had sunk in
what I really had gone through). There was a certain novelty to it all that made me almost enthusiastic about it all.
But you know...I just don’t feel that way anymore. I’ve got this ”been there, done that” feeling and frankly,
chemo is just one big hassle anymore. The appointment scheduling, the same folow up conversation with my doctor
every week, the freaking 90 minute infusion. It’s all I can do to not stare at the clock every five minutes while I’m
there. It’s just funny because it never USED to be this way.
You know, most people get jaded in life by things like money and power.
CANCER.
Leave it to me to get jaded by
At 30, no less.
My perspective is so different now, compared to most people my age. On my birthday last year, a friend who
was about a year older than me had sent me a card with an inscription saying that turning 30 was hard for her. The
whole thing made me chuckle. I mean...everyone else is out there worried about wrinkles and gray hair and how many
candles they have on a cake. What do I worry about? Menopause and losing my hair and whether or not I’ll be
around to ADD another candle to my cake this year.
Maybe the reason this all seems so surreal is because I just feel like no one relates.
The thing is, I would never want someone to be able to relate to me as I go through this because the only
way for that to happen is if someone else were in my same position also.
And I certainly don’t wish that on anyone.
Ah, the joy of a concept we call the Catch-22.
I own that book, Catch 22, by Joseph Heller, but I’ve never read it. The first line is as follows: ”It was love
at first sight.”
I’ve never read beyond that first line. I think it’s because I don’t believe in such a concept.
But for some reason, I believe in something similar with regards to cancer. I’ve always said early on that this
is a solo journey. No matter how much I talk or write or publicize my journal, no one will ever be able to truly
understand. This is true for all walks of life, though...I mean, when I get irritated at the bozo who just cut me off in
traffic, no one else can really feel the same sense and level of irritation as I do. But it’s ok because it’s just traffic. I
really don’t need someone in the world understanding my frustration at the trivialities in life.
But cancer is different. Sometimes the isolation of this is overbearing, crushing me to the point where I feel
like a caged animal–full of rage and anger that I’m cornered by this, unable to get out from under it.
And then my fantasy kicks in. I imagine I’m in a crowded room full of strangers I’ve never, ever laid eyes on
before. I scan the room, looking for a sign, a GLIMPSE of someone–ANYONE–I might know.
And then it happens.
We lock eyes.
I have no idea who this person is. I can’t even tell if it’s male or female.
But I can take one look into this person’s eyes, and I know that THEY know EXACTLY what I’m going
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through.
THEY KNOW.
They get it.
And isn’t this exactly what we always look for in our search for this non-existant thing we call love at first
sight?
Maybe I should read Catch 22 after all.
3.5.22
I swear it’s Friday the 13th
(2004-05-21 15:39) - public
Today has been one big string of freakishly annoying events.
I woke up at 5 am today from a sizeable allergy attack. The room was god-awful stuffy, so I turned on the
fan, grabbed some Kleenex and attempted to go back to sleep. I fell back asleep promptly at 7:05–ten minutes before
my alarm was due to go off. So the alarm goes off, I slam my hand down on the snooze and inadvertently turn the
thing off. But at this point I don’t care because I’m sleeping rather soundly. So, right away, we’re off on a late start.
I woke up half an hour later with a gasp from a nightmare involving crazy neighbors and me inadvertently
killing our cat Grace by putting her in an electric fry pan that the crazy neighbors had turned on without my
knowledge. Trust me, the dream was much gorier than I’m even able to state here.
I finally get my ass out of bed and go downstairs to wait for Blake to finish his shower. I had forgotten to
empty the dishwasher last night so I had all of these kitchen chores to do before I could even attempt to make coffee.
So I get that done and then oops! No time to enjoy coffee as it’s after 8 and I have to get in the shower if I’m going
to make it to chemo on time.
I kiss Blake a quick goodbye and set about to getting in the shower. Right in the middle of everything we get
hit with a pretty nasty squawl line and our power goes out. Now our bathroom is on the interior of the house and has
NO windows. So it’s pitch black, I can’t see a thing and amidst all of my fumbling manage to drop the 40 oz bottle of
shampoo onto my freaking foot. I won’t write here all of the expletives that came out of my mouth, but let’s just say
they involved a higher power condemning maternal females engaging in acts of procreation.
Anyways.
I get out of the shower and remember that it’s chemo day and that I had forgotten to get some more Tegaderm patches for my port. For reference’s sake, Tegaderm patches are pieces of clear adhesive–that’s all. But in order
to prep my port for treatment, I need to put the lidocaine on the port and seal it with the Tedagerm patch. It’s
imperative to make sure that the seal is airtight (this keeps the lidocaine from losing potency and also ensures that it
doesn’t gop all over your clothes).
So, no Tegaderms. I decide to make a homemade patch involving plastic wrap and hospital tape. So I go to
the kitchen and grab the only box of Saran wrap we have, which is kelly green since it was leftover from my holiday
baking at CHRISTMAS. I run around upstairs trying to find my roll of tape–I know I’ve got one–and can’t find it to
save my life. I finally root around in the Band-Aids box and find a big one that has adhesive on all four sides. So now
all I have to do is cut a piece of saran wrap to cover the absorbent pad on the band-aid (can’t have my lidocaine being
absorbed!).
Do you have any idea how friggin hard it is to cut saran wrap into a 1” by 1” square? I almost turned the
scissors onto myself, I was so frustrated. But I got it done and it actually made a nice little wrap.
Of course, now I’m even LATER and have 15 minutes to throw on clothes, dry my hair, grab all of my stuff
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and head out the door. I decide that no, I’m not going to worry about my clothes and hair, that I’m going to sit, have
my morning smoothie and read the paper a bit. I needed to calm the heck down.
So I throw my smoothie stuff in the blender and go outside to grab my newspapers. Now I find the Rockford
paper no problem, as the delivery guy always neatly sets it right in front of the door. But my Chicago Tribune is god
knows where. Every day I go out to get it it’s like a freaking scavenger hunt...is it in the tree? Mabye the hostas. Or
maybe it’s like the guy next door and on the roof. Today, though, it is under the front tire of the neighbor’s van.
Mystery solved, I go inside and decide to see if the Rockford paper managed to get the ad for my house into their
classified section.
They did. Can someone please tell me how it is ”W/D included, Cntrl Air” becomes ”w/den”? I paid $85
dollars–highway robbery, mind you–for 3 line ad and they get a whole SECTION wrong? At least with this newspaper,
the delivery guy is decent.
So, I drink my smoothie and decide I’ll just take my coffee to go, since I didn’t get a chance to have any. I
pack up my stuff, head out, get in my car and realize that I didn’t get gas yesterday. I’m sure I don’t have to tell
anyone HERE how annoying it is to get gas anymore thanks to the ridiculous prices at the pumps.
After that, I FINALLY get on the road. Except that it had rained earlier in the morning and as you know,
according to the ”How to be a Stupid Driver” handbook, whenver the road has a drop of water, you MUST go 20 mph
under the posted speed limit. It took me 20 minutes just to get out of Rockford.
I FINALLY got to St. Alexius after a very annoying drive that included me spilling half the contents of my
coffee onto my sweatshirt. I pull in and find not a single parking spot within eyeshot of the building. So I park in the
sticks and walk, walk, walk, walk, walk, walk, walk. I finally get in the door and see an elevator that just opened with
people getting off. Now this is actually a great stroke of luck, being that the elevators in this building are slower than
a Galapagos tortoise. So I wait patiently for people to get off, meanwhile watching this older couple push right past
the exiting people to enter the elevator. The IMMEDIATELY hit a button, which caused the door to start closing
BEFORE EVERYONE HAD EVEN EXITED. I finally held the door open with my hand to let everyone off and then
proceeded to get on. Grandpa and Grandma Bitch-a-Lot looked pretty miffed that I had done that. But oh well.
Turns out that all three of us on this big merry love fest of an elevator were going to the same floor. Of
course, when the doors opened they pushed their way off ahead of me and proceed to travel at a snail’s pace down the
hall. Now my oncologists’s office is at the END of the hall. So I walk patiently behind them, hoping that they will
turn off into one of the other doctors’. No such luck. The proceed with agonizing slowness to MY doctor’s office. No
matter. Once we’re inside, it’s all by appointment.
I get called in right on schedule, meet with Tajuddin, and all’s well. He tells me to grab a chair for treatment. The rooms were pretty full today, but there’s one chair left. I throw my stuff down, have a seat, and take
a magazine and bottle of water out of my bag. I read for a few minutes then decide I should probably go to the
bathroom before they hook me up to my pump. I place my magazine down ON THE CHAIR, place my bag ON TOP
OF IT, and walk TEN FEET to the bathroom.
I walk out of the bathroom to my nurse apologizing profusely to me. Turns out that during the NINETY
SECONDS I was in the bathroom, Grandma Mega Bitch had thrown all of my stuff off of my chair and had taken it
for herself. I run in there and calmly begin picking my stuff up off the floor and she says to me, ”Oh, sorry dear.”
Sorry dear my ass. But I decide not to say anything since the other lady in the room is audibly puking her
guts out behind the divider, and I figure last thing she needs is more strife in her life.
So now I have to wait, since there aren’t any other chairs open. They offer me a private room, but I decline,
since the waiting room was full today and they really do need the rooms to see patients and hey...I don’t have anything
better to do.
After about ten minutes I finally get a chair! We get settled, they plug me in, and it happens: another bathroom break. Now let me just say that it’s perfectly permissible to go to the bathroom during chemo. Only problem is
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that you’re hooked up to a pump on an IV pole, so in order to go you have to unplug the pump, wrap the electric cord
up so you don’t trip on it, and then drag the whole contraption with you to the bathroom. Because it’s on a battery,
the pump usually begins making a very loud ”beeping” noise just as a friendly reminder that hey, it’s not plugged in.
So not only is it very annoying to you, it is also annoying to everyone else–especially, as in my case today, to the other
guy in the room with me WHO IS TRYING TO SLEEP.
So, fine. I go to the bathroom. And I go again. And again. And AGAIN. I went to the bathroom SIX
TIMES during my treatment today. I thought people were going to kill me. I think next time I’ll rethink that whole
coffee-on-the-road idea.
So, I get done, and get in my car to go home. Now my eye had been irritating me for the past day...probably
got something stuck in it when I was working in the garden yesterday. Anyways, I’m going through the toll plaza near
Elgin and the my damned contact falls out. Just FALLS OUT. Right there, in the middle of traffic. So I pull over and
fix it because I’m blind as a bat without them and realize I don’t have any eye drops with me. So I use bottled water,
which cleans the lens but then when I go to put my contact back in causes this really horrible suction cup sensation.
I ended up driving the rest of the way home with that eye shut, it was so badly irritated.
Anyways, I FINALLY get home–my bastion, my sanctuary, the one place where everything is right in the
world. Except that my cat had puked on the steps going into the kitchen, I stepped in it without knowing and spread
it all over the house. So I had to go around and clean THAT up.
And the final, final, FINAL straw in my day so far: Blake will probably get stuck working Memorial Day
weekend.
However, the GOOD news in all of this is that if I’ve got the energy to complain this much, then I MUST be
feeling pretty decent! So rock on with the gripes. As far as I’m concerned, it’s a sign of GOOD HEALTH.
3.5.23
Breast care
(2004-05-22 12:50) - public
[1]This pisses me off–but not for why you think.
So, this woman is 39 and has two breasts lumps. Her doctor doesn’t order a biopsy of it, but she finally gets one
8 months later. Turns out it’s cancer, and when they find it it has already spread to her liver and sternum.
Now the spouse is suing the clinic for ”loss of consortium” because the woman has been given ten years to live.
Here’s what pisses me off about this:
I’m sorry, but if this woman was so concerned about her two breast lumps and her doctor refused to authorize a
biopsy, then she should have found another doctor unaffiliated with the clinic. Medicine is NOT an exact science–I
find it hard to believe that a doctor would refuse to order a biopsy without a good reason (like, if there was a clean
mammogram). ”Wait and see” is common in breast cancer simply because breast cancer isn’t going to go from breast to
all-out Stage 4 in a few months. Now I’m not advocating that women should always wait on getting their lumps...but
ultimately, OUR breasts are on OUR bodies, and WE are responsible for them. Trust me, there is a doctor out there
who would have ordered a biopsy for her. She should have found one.
I get really tired of this ”victim” mentality propagated in women, that we’re somehow not responsible for our own
health and that we’re at the mercy of doctors, the so-called ”experts.” I find this to be complete rubbish. The only
person who is an expert on MY body is ME. That’s it, no one else. I look at a doctor as if they are a mechanic: they
have the knowledge and expertise to do their best to fix what’s wrong, but ultimately they are hired by ME. And if
I’m not happy with the service, thanks, but I’ll be shopping elsewhere.
Doctors aren’t these magical, ”know all” deities. They are people who just happen to have special training. Period. Now although I may not have their same special training, I am no less intelligent than ANY of them. I chose
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NOT to go to medical school because it wasn’t what I wanted to do, not because I’m somehow mentally inferior. Give
me enough time, and I, too, can explain in excruciating detail the Krebs-citric acid cycle. The fact that I chose not to
does not mean that my doctor should be elevated to prima donna status.
I would NEVER sue any of my doctors unless they displayed GROSS negligence (omitting information from me,
performing procedures without my knowledge, lying about my dianosis, deliberately misreading test results). Most
doctors I know–even the ones I don’t like–really DO try their best.
Ok, rant mode off. Continue with your normal Saturday routine.
1. http://story.news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&u=/ap/20040522/ap_on_re_us/gay_marriage_lawsuit
3.5.24
Dating Pool
(2004-05-24 11:28) - public
Per [ LJ User: blakeh ].
Name Three Things That Would Immediately Eject A Person From Your Potential Dating Pool:
ANY tobacco use whatsoever...cigarettes, cigars, pipes, and that horrible chewable kind (I’m trying to be a Copenhagen
free girl, thank you very much)
Anyone who is disrespectful to strangers in public (such as, being rude to a waitress, cutting people off in traffic and
giving them the finger, not holding a door open for someone else). I personally think that people who exhibit this
behavior in public are far worse in private.
Anyone who has the following mentality: anti-choice, anti-women’s rights, racist, sexist, ethnocentrist, pro big business,
anti-social services, or anyone else who thinks GWB is doing a great job. These attributes would NOT be compatible
with me at all.
Name Three Things That You’re Flexible On, But Would Prefer Your Potential Date Exhibit:
I would like him to be able to define the word ”anthropology” and be able to a) use it in a sentence and b) cite at least
one example of anthropology. This can be as simple as naming a book, a site location, a fossil specimen or a researcher.
Examples include things like, Origins, Olduvai Gorge, ”Lucy” or Richard Leakey.
I would like him to enjoy the same kinds of books/music as I do
I would like him to enjoy wine and gourmet food. An adventurous eater is GREATLY appreciated.
Name Three Things That Your Date MUST Possess:
He MUST be proactive, hard working, and able to compromise.
He MUST believe in and practice the concept of fidelity within a committed relationship
He MUST have an underlying curiosity about life...this could include wanting to learn about new things, travel to new
places, do new things. Basically, someone who is constantly questioning EVERYTHING and doesn’t take anything at
face value
3.5.25
Oh, and one other thing...
(2004-05-24 11:55) - public
I really dislike being in the middle. Shame on me, though, for taking the bait and not recognizing that it was someone
else’s disagreement I was jumping into. Next time, I’ll know better.
Going to take a nap now. Not feeling well from treatment.
3.5.26
Miscellaneous
(2004-05-24 19:06) - public
Very down today. Had a talk with my boss and realize how much I miss my job and how I really don’t like that they’re
moving on without me. Never mind that I told them to and that it really is what is necessary. I mean, you can’t
operate in limbo, and I will probably never be coming back. I still don’t like it, and it makes me feel very, very sad.
I’ve been really tired today...exhausted both mentally and physically. I tried to get some plants into the garden,
but only got partway done. I was moving so slowly, and every time I stood up I got dizzy. But it was beautiful outside,
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and during the afternoon everyone is at work or school so it’s so very peaceful. I managed to get my irises in...not sure
if I did it right, as I couldn’t seem to keep part of the rhizome ABOVE the ground like you’re supposed to. Every time
I tried, I found that the plant would fall over because there wasn’t enough dirt supporting it. I hope they take.
Got in a few herbs...the catnip, lavender, chives, fennel, dill, savory, sage, lemon basil, marjoram, rosemary and
the nasturtiams. It took me several hours just to do all of this, and all I had to do was dig a hole and pop them into
place. I had already prepped the soil last week. I was just SO tired.
It’s funny, but I’ve been finding gardening to be very calming to me...very much a mental elixir of tranquility. All sorts
of things going on out in the yard today...I saw a family of field mice running along the fence, the babies all tiny and
cute. I saw a newly hatched fly...so new that his wings were glossy and his body still gel-like. And there’s something
so peaceful about running your hands through cool, black dirt that is so soft it feels like silk. I lose myself in the whole
activity...so much, in fact, that I find myself talking to the freaking plants as I put them in the ground.
I don’t know. Lots going on today with my Dad, too (too much to get into here). Maybe I’ll write about it tomorrow, once I’ve cleared my head.
For those of you reading, I hope the weather is as beautiful there as it is here.
3.5.27
Something’s bugging me.
(2004-05-26 18:44) - public
I had a very bizarre dream last night, but something that has kept me deep in thought for most of the day.
Anyways, in the dream my doctor told me that my chemotherapy had failed and that further or different
chemotherapy was not likely to help much either. He told me, though, that not all hope is lost yet...that there was
another treatment out there that was pretty standard and that he was surprised I had not heard of it.
The treatment involved submerging me fully into a tank of water (with a mouthpiece fitted to an oxygen
tank). They would then dump different kinds of insects into the water. Each kind of insect would be dumped in
separately and sequentially. I have no idea what kind of insects these were...some were reddish brown, others darker
brown, but all of them were somewhere between a ladybug and box elder in size. Their purpose was to crawl under
my shirt, then under my bra, and eat the cancer.
I remember being in the water in my dream, and watching the first batch of bugs float down towards me. My
doctor was outside of the tank and was paging through a photo album, holding up each picture so that I could see it.
Each picture showed the same woman in different poses. This woman had gone through this insect therapy as well,
and he was showing me the pictures so that I would know what to expect.
He flipped to a page that showed her ribs, and I almost screamed. Her flesh had been completely eaten away
on her ribs. All that was left was grayish dusty bones. Although she was very much alive, her ribcage and chest cavity
were skeleton like and obviously dead.
I clawed my way out of the tank and began searching every inch of myself to make sure none of those bugs
had yet attached themselves to me.
I woke up then, still with the creepy crawly feel of a thousand little legs on me.
What’s ironic is that it’s not the symbolism that has me ponderous, although I’m sure Jung would have had a
field day with this one. I woke up with a deep sadness because I realized something in this dream: I’m not willing to
do anything to survive.
I can’t seem to stop thinking about this today, and wondering what it is I’d be willing to give up for a cure.
Would I be willing to give up my breast? How about my leg? Or what if I had a choice to live another 50 years, but
as a quadriplegic?
It dawned on me today...that maybe I really just don’t want to live badly enough. Isn’t my life, SHOULDN’T
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my life, be worth more to ME than any of the things I just listed?
Blake and I had a long talk last night, not about cancer, but just some other things. I ache inside sometimes,
when we talk about the future and I realize that the future he is talking about for himself–moving, going back to
school, getting a new job– is probably so far ahead in time that I won’t be able to be there to share in it. It’s HIS
future we speak of...not ours. It is during those times that I want more than anything to live.
Except that I don’t want to have to give anything up for it. Giving something up would be too hard and
would be too much of an inconvenience! I’d rather die, apparently, then have to work at this too much. Even for
Blake.
So when it comes to cancer, it’s like everything else I’ve ever done in my life: I’m doing it half ass.
I don’t know. I remember the day I felt the lump under my arm. I KNEW. I don’t know how I knew, but I
KNEW.
I knew it was cancer.
I knew it had spread.
And I knew I was going to die of this.
I had such a sense of destiny back then. My whole entire life has been one big struggle. My childhood sucked, teenage
years sucked worse, my horrible marriage, watching my mother die...I don’t feel like I’ve ever just had a break from
one challenge after another. About a year before I was diagnosed, I had finally gotten things together with myself. I
was taking care of my body with a good diet and regular exercise program. I had finally cut my ties to several bad
relationships with people that had sucked the life out of me. I had resolved the majority of my spiritual unrest. And I
had just met Blake...who I knew was my soul mate from the moment I met him.
When I felt that lump, I felt that everything made sense. THIS...is what I had been training so hard for.
Everything that has ever happened to me in my life came together in a beautiful little point that suddenly made sense
to me. Everything I had been through...my depression, my mother dying, my horrible marriage...was just to prepare
me for this, my final challenge in life. And everything I had resolved...I had resolved just in time for my life to end. I
would not die wondering what it was like to have spiritual beliefs or to find a true love.
Everything made sense to me that day. It made sense in a split second.
Sometimes I wonder if I get caught up in all of that. Maybe that wasn’t some inner voice talking to me that
day. Maybe it was just some trick my mind played on me to make me OK with all of this.
Maybe I caused all of this. Maybe it IS all my fault.
Maybe I could have stopped all of this had I just worked a little harder. Had more ”inner strength,” as some
like to point out.
Maybe dying IS losing after all.
3.5.28
Two thumbs up? down? How about just curled into my palm in frustration.
(2004-05-28 23:20) - Silly - public
Music: Roxy Music
Ok, it’s time. Time for another movie review.
Or in this case, two movie reviews.
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Ok, so two nights ago Blake and I watched Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King. Now, for those of you
who saw my list of all time favorite books (posted a few weeks ago), you know that the Lord of the Rings trilogy
was on that list. I love Tolkien, love the books, and love the movies. Peter Jackson did an amazing job breathing
life into an already living and breathing text. But perfection is a goal not often reached, and it is with this purpose
in mind that I make the below comments. Remember, criticism can be taken badly or, as it should be in this case,
constructively. Besides, it’s not all criticism anyways.
First off, they might as well have called the movie, Lord of the Platitudes. Now I love over-drama as much as
the next guy, but I thought I was going to shoot myself with all of the lame, obtuse references to life being a chess
match. ”The board is set, the pieces are in motion” may very well be a direct line from Tolkien–I don’t know, I’m not
enough of a geek to go up to my library and check–but even if it was, I think they could have pruned the bush a little
bit and taken some of that crap out of there. In the movie’s defense, though, Ian Mckellan is a stellar enough actor
that he almost had me convinced that my king was about to be castled by my rook. But enough talk of childhood
games.
Secondly on my list: the death of the head Nazgul. This is more a criticism with Tolkien than it is with the
movie, but it is a question I have nonetheless. Why is it that Gandalf, a WHITE wizard mind you (newly graduated
from the gray level), admits that he cannot defeat the Lord of the Nazgul, but this itty bitty, pasty white girl can?
”No man can kill me,” saith the Nazgul warrior. ”I’m no man!” she cries, pulling off her helmet and stabbing him in
the face. Well, for crying out loud. If it was THAT easy to kill the bastard, why bother sending all of the women and
children into hiding? Seems to me that they probably could have served more of a purpose in the battle, ESPECIALLY
since this battle was supposed to the battle that ended the world. Seems to me the concept of women and children
would lose its importance in this case. If the world is going to end, no sense being in hiding...you’re just going to die
anyways. Might as well go down fighting.
My third criticism–and this isn’t a real criticism of the movie but of circumstances surrounding it–is as follows: what is up with magazines like People, US, and In Touch plastering pictures of Liv Tyler all over the place when
the movie premiered? I mean, yeah, she was in the movie...BARELY. Playing a bit part (that had all but 5 lines in
this last movie) should not constitue her getting as much fanfare as she did. In fact, I expected so much MORE from
her that I almost expected to hear Daddy Tyler belt out ”I Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing” during the big reunion scene
between her character, Arwin, and Aragorn (the rightful king of Gondor). But oh, wait...wrong movie, wrong story
line and wrong leading male actor. Last time I checked, it was still Vigo Mortensen and not Ben Affleck in this flick.
And SPEAKING of Ben Affleck...we also watched Paycheck. Let me begin my rant by first saying that I
LOATHE Ben Affleck. No, check that. Loathe is not nearly a strong enough word. In fact, I think I would need to
invent a word to describe how icky I think he is. Anyways, I just wanted to get that out in the open, just to clear up
any potential bias I might have on this movie.
I have to say, though, I was pleasantly surprised with Paycheck. I mean, it didn’t suck nearly as much as I
thought it would. It was entertaining, had some good action scenes, and, of course, I always love movies that have
this future apocalyptic feel to them. And I DO like Paul Giamatti. So all in all...not a waste of money.
THAT being said, I did notice a few flaws in the movie. Like the acting. I don’t think I need to say anything more on the man formerly known as Bennifer. But Uma...aw, c’mon Uma. Now I know you weren’t given much
to work with in terms of dialogue. But that one scene at the end, when you were in the greenhouse and you had some
sort of pink barette in your hair...I’m sorry, but you just can’t do ”bouncy.” It’s ok, though. I still love you for Gattaca.
There were a few other scenes in the movie that seemed a tad, oh, I don’t know. Ludicrous, perhaps. Like
the scene at the end when they’re on the catwalk and Bennie’s watch suddenly starts flashing ”GO” in alternating
red and green letters. Both of them leap off of the catwalk and grab onto what I can only describe as supersized
clear plastic shower curtains. So they’re hanging on for dear life and the lab and everything is exploding and debris
and glass is flying but none of it is hitting them (apparently it’s a BULLET PROOF shower curtain). Anyways,
Uma’s curtain tears, and just as she is about to fall to her death Ben catches her. So he’s hanging onto his curtain
with one hand and onto her with another. It’s a very precarious situation, and one wrong blast could send them
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spiralling, spiralling, spiralling downward. Well...unfortunately for them that’s exactly what happens. An explosion
tears through the top of the curtain and they fall and fall and fall...ALL OF FOUR FEET. I was in shock. I mean,
all my life I’ve been jumping off of ladders, countertops, stairs...you name it, I’ve probably jumped off of it. And all
along I had no idea my life was in danger. Next time I’ll look for a shower curtain to hang on to, being that my life
depends on it and all. Thank God I learned this before it was too late!
Anyways.
I guess the thing that peeved me the most about the movie was the ending, and when I say ending I mean
the very last scene in the movie. Everything is done and over with, Benji and Uma were declared dead, and all is
right with the world. So they go to see their friend (played by Paul Giamatti). Now, right there I think that would be
the first mistake. The ”friend” is always the first person the FBI tails. Granted, they were declared dead and all, but
I would think they would still be tailing Paulie just in case. But ok, I can let this one slide. This movie IS all about
suspending my disbelief anyways.
But here’s the part that irked me. Now in the movie, Bennie made this machine that could see the future.
And he knew all this bad stuff would happen and that in order to escape he would have to be declared dead. So,
because of this death issue and the fact that he can no longer get a job because of it, what do you think he decides to
do to make sure he has money to live? You got it...he bought a lottery ticket. And because he could see the future,
he was able to pick the winning numbers. His lottery ticket was worth over $90 million dollars.
Now think about this. The guy was wanted by the Feds and the only way he could escape them was to play
possum. How in the HELL is he going to cash that in anonymously? It’s not like you just walk up to the local 7-11
where you bought it and they hand you a check made out to ”cash.” There are lawyers and media and fanfare, none of
which are fitting someone who is trying to keep a low profile. I guess Ben forgot about rule number one in life’s little
lesson book: if you’re escaping the FBI by pretending to be dead, winning a huge lottery draw is NOT the way to
keep that ruse up. Sooner or later, someone is gonna see your picture in a newspaper and they will find you and put a
cap in your ass. So lottery win? Not a smooth move. But hey, I’d want someone to put a cap in MY ass too if I had
dated J.Lo.
But criticism aside, it was a decent movie with a definite John Woo feel. In fact, I think if you swapped Ben
Affleck for Tom Cruise you’d end up with MI:2. But seriously...kudos to any movie that takes a piece from Philip K.
Dick.
I think I’m movie’d out for a while.
time being.
3.5.29
Anxiety
I’m going to stick to watching DVD reruns of Freaks and Geeks for the
(2004-05-29 10:50) - public
Ok, so I had fun writing yesterday’s post about movies. I don’t know why, but I find myself in my element whenever
I’m critical of something. Now doesn’t THAT make me sounds like a fun person to be around. Anyways.
So, chemo yesterday. I want to take a moment to thank [ LJ User: grrlanimal ] for posting a comment a while
back on a dystonic reaction. I’ve noticed that for the past three chemo sessions I’ve had the very same thing happen to
me at nearly the exact moment in time. About five minutes after my Reglan infusion I begin to have a horrible anxiety
attack. It comes on very quickly, lasts about half an hour, and then goes away fairly quickly. I usually am able to
walk out of chemo feeling OK...not great, but OK. The first time this happened I thought it was just me...I remember
looking up at my saline bag on my IV pole and feeling this overwhelming sense of panic. Last week it happened also,
but to a lesser degree so I figured that it was just a freak thing. Well, after yesterday’s incident I can say for certain
now that this is NOT in my head. Same reaction, same time, same duration for three weeks in a row and only for the
three weeks I’ve had Reglan...well, I don’t need to be Einstein to realize that two plus two equals four here.
Yesterday’s attack was, without a doubt, THE MOST HORRIBLE EXPERIENCE OF MY LIFE, EVER. I know
it sounds like I’m being overly dramatic here, but I swear I’m not. I would give anything–ANYTHING–to NEVER feel
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that way again. The closest approximation I can get is to say it was like how I imagine I’d feel if I were in the middle
of drowning. I kept thinking that I was going to die, not necessarily right there in the middle of chemo, but just a
general sense of oh-my-god-i’m-going-to-die-i-have-to-stop-it. I had a hard time breathing, I couldn’t settle down and
all I wanted to do was rip my IV line out and make a run for it. I couldn’t stop the panic..and inwardly I felt like that
drowning person, struggling against heavy water for one more gasp of air. I wish I could describe it well enough to
give it justice.
Yesterday’s attack was so bad that it haunted me all day long. Although I didn’t feel the panic any longer, I remembered how bad I felt during the attack, and that was enough to scare the living daylights out of me. I feel better
today, thankfully...but the whole incident really makes me wonder about the human mind and dying and all of that.
It’s nothing I can write about now, but soon maybe. I’m not sure I want to (or am ready to) delve into this just yet.
The good news is that at least now I know without a doubt that this is a medical reaction, which does two things for
me. First, it makes me doubt my mental state just a little bit less (I mean, having cancer is stressful and all, but I
didn’t think I was THAT close to cracking just yet!). But second, now I’ve got a solid reason to tell them to take that
Reglan and shove it. I’d rather live with the abdominal pain, thank you very much. At least physical pain is pretty
black and white.
So, not a good day yesterday. I’m exhausted, as in, down to the bones exhausted. I have a feeling that this is
not from chemo, as it seems like I’ve got another sinus infection (gotta love this time of year when you’re a walking
allergy machine like me). In fact, my hemoglobin was UP yesterday, to 11.9 (I’m one tenth away from being in the
”normal” range). I hovered in the 11 range my first time through chemo without a problem with fatigue, so I’m going
to assume the same for this time and charge the sinusitis with my lethargy. That BETTER be the problem, as I have
no desire to resume those stupid and horrendously painful Procrit shots.
Ok, I think that’s enough whining for today. I just needed to get that off my chest about the dystonic reaction.
I find, sometimes, that once I get things out of my mind and into my journal that it frees my mind. It kind of goes
along with that same vein of people being more forgetful when they regularly use Palm Pilots and other automatic
schedulers. Once you get the appointment down in your Palm, your mind tends to forget about it (”hey, I’ve got it in
the palm...no noed to keep my brain cluttered with this!”) until your alarm goes off reminding you that you have an
appointment. Anyways, I find that LiveJournal works the same for me with things like this. Now that it’s down, I can
allow myself to forget. And that attack yesterday is definitely something I don’t want to remember.
In other news, it’s raining here. So much for gardening today.
3.5.30
Screw Spellcheck.
(2004-05-31 10:36) - public
Ok, everyone. It’s Memorial Day week. And you all know what this means.
It’s NATIONAL SPELLING BEE WEEK.
As a three time national finalist (1985-87), I am proud to post this link in my journal:
[1]Scripps National Spelling Bee.
Blake thinks I’m a big geek. He thinks the Spelling Bee is horribly boring but could be improved if we made it
X-Rated:
Announcer: ”Timmy, your word is VIBRATOR.”
Timmy: ”Could you use it in a sentence, please?”
Anyways.
The National Spelling Bee will be broadcast on ESPN2 and ESPN this Wednesday and Thursday (see the ”Schedule” section of the website for broadcast details). Please watch! This is the event of a lifetime for these kids. Also...it’s
quite humbling to see them whiz through the spelling of words that, frankly, I couldn’t even pronounce correctly any229
more, let alone try to spell them.
So, Wednesday and Thursday. You all know where I’LL be on those days.
1. http://www.spellingbee.com/
3.6
3.6.1
June
Update
(2004-06-01 10:14) - public
Just a quick note:
My email is still down in the wake of transferring everything to my new laptop. I know some people have emailed me,
so please know that the delay is due to the fact that I can’t access anything at this point. I am hoping to have this
resolved by the end of the week, so hang in there.
3.6.2
Volunteerism
(2004-06-02 10:53) - public
I’ve been doing some research today on some breast cancer charity events. What a frustrating endeavor.
You know what I want? I want to find a breast cancer run/walk/charity event where the money goes to help local women as they go through treatment. I’m a little tired of hearing about these corporate sponsored walks that
supposedly raise millions of dollars to donate to the black hole cause of ”research.” What exactly are they researching?
And who is doing this research? If it’s someone like Johnson and Johnson, well, screw it. Last time I checked, pharmaceutical companies were pretty damn profitable. Why would I want to send them MORE money just so they can
come up with ANOTHER drug used to treat a kind of breast cancer I don’t even have?
Local women need this money more than any drug company. Do you know how expensive it is to have breast cancer?
Even WITH health insurance I have spent over $10,000 in the past two years for medical bills. Now that I’m on disability, my salary has been reduced by half, and I am soon to be stuck paying hundreds of dollars a month for COBRA.
Now don’t get the idea that I’m complaining about my lot in all of this. I realize how lucky I am. What bothers me
is that this is EXPENSIVE even with health care and a job that provides me with disability payments. What about
the women who don’t have health benefits, or who are forced to take an unpaid leave from work for treatment? How
are they even able to pay their mortgage/rent/utilities? THESE are the people that need those millions of dollars. Or
at least SOME of it.
I know that I have a bit of a chip on my shoulder over the whole breast cancer awareness thing. I just get tired
of media stories and flash headlines that have inaccurate or misleading information, OR have information pertaining
only to women who have ER+ Invasive Ductal Carconima. No one addresses women with ER- IDC, let alone those
with Invasive Loboular Carcinoma, Inflammatory Breast Cancer or Paget’s Disease. I also get tired of generalizations,
such as, ”Did you know that tumors detected early are nearly 100 % treatable?” No shit, Sherlock. How about telling
me what to do when cancer has NO early warning signs and it is terminal stage by the time it was discovered? Not
ALL breast cancers start out with a nice, palpable lump in the breast, you know.
I keep waffling on joining ”Reach to Recovery,” a program sponsored by the American Cancer Society that is intended to help women newly diagnosed with breast cancer. I hesitate only because my experience with it was so, so
crappy. Basically, the program is designed so that a volunteer contacts you shortly after your surgery to talk with you
about the disease, treatment, surgical recovery, etc. The problem is that they align a volunteer with you based upon
the surgery you had. I can understand that as there is a huge difference, both physically and emotionally, between a
mastectomy and lumptectomy. But it needs to go FURTHER than that. My volunteer was a 54 year old woman who
had ER+ Stage 2a breast cancer in 1994. She had had a lumpectomy and axillary dissection, and had had ONE lymph
node positive. Her age at diagnosis? 44.
Hmmm...wow. I had 6 lymph nodes positive, was ER-, and freaking Stage FOUR...at age 28, mind you. When it
came to chemo, she kept saying to me, ”Oh, it will be the worst 6 months of your life, but you’ll get through it and it
230
will be over with.” I kept having to tell her that gee, no it WON’T be over, being that I was Stage IV and was going
to have to KEEP going through chemo off and on the rest of my life. For some reason, she couldn’t grasp this concept
and kept harking on this six month milestone. I couldn’t take it anymore and finally changed the subject. That ended
up being no better. She kept giving me this ”canned” response about how I could NEVER lift anything with my left
arm–not even a grocery bag– and ”had” to use an electric razor to shave my left armpit from now on. Which, of course,
is GREAT advice if you’re reading an oncology textbook from FIFTEEN YEARS AGO. The point is that it was the
response she was trained to give, not a ”real life” response (or if it was, she was sorely out of touch with breast cancer
reality).
I was just so very frustrated with the whole situation. None of what she said was RELEVANT to me. I do understand that a large part of it has to do with the fact that there are certain rules and guidelines that she MUST
follow as part of the ”Reach to Recovery” program. And that’s what I don’t want to get wrapped up in...I don’t want
to have to give ”canned” responses to anyone just because I’m supposed to avoid some sort of liability issue. I want to
give real world knowledge. I don’t know everything about breast cancer...in fact, I’ve barely scratched the tip of the
iceberg. But what I DO know is, I feel, more helpful than being told, ”You can never lift with your left arm again” or
whatever else they can pull out of a textbook.
I don’t know. I feel like I want to do SOMETHING. I just don’t know what. And I worry that my energy level
won’t be where it needs to be to really be able to help. It’s the consistency issue that concerns me. I have no idea
what kind of day I’m going to have until I wake up, and even then it can turn on a dime. I’ve been trying to determine
if there’s a pattern to the fatigue...but from what I can tell there isn’t. It makes things very, very frustrating.
Oh well. I’ll keep looking. I’m sure there’s something out there for someone in my position. I am actually fairly
confident that something will come my way at a time fate deems right.
3.6.3
An essay on how I was diagnosed.
(2004-06-02 15:03) - public
You know, it was recently pointed out to me that nowhere in my journal do I ever tell the story of exactly how I was
diagnosed. I actually didn’t begin this journal until two months after my diagnosis. I suppose it would be helpful to
have this down (even for my own sake).
Everything began in the early part of 2002 when I began to have a sense of discomfort under my left arm. I
never thought anything of it because in November of 2000 I had had surgery in that area to remove a fatty tumor
(completely unrelated to any breast cancer). Anyways, the surgeon who removed my fatty tumor said that the area
might have some extra sensitivity because of the way scar tissue can ”knit” together. So in 2002 when I began to
noticed that the area was a bit more tender, I chalked it up to the fact that I had just begun a weight training routine
and keeping my elbows at my side during bicep curls was causing it, being it was only uncomfortable during that
particular exercise.
As March gave way to April, I noticed that the soreness wasn’t improving, as it wasn’t just bicep curls that
bothered it. If I put my arm down wrong or even lay on that side of my body I would feel the tell-tale discomfort. I
knew something was not quite right. One day in the shower I decided to see if I could pinpoint the exact area that
was hurting. I expected to find the area of tenderness to be centrally located on the scar from the removal of the fatty
tumor. It wasn’t...in fact, the scar didn’t hurt at all. I began to move upwards, towards my armpit, when I found it.
It was a lump–hard and firm and about the size of a ping pong ball–that was lying very, very deep in my armpit. It
was Monday, April 15th.
I made an immediate appointment with my general practitioner and managed to squeeze in on Thursday,
April 18th. In the meantime I began doing some research and was startled to find a significant number of references
linking underarm lumps to breast cancer. It sat in the back of my mind, but I didn’t give it any serious thought.
I saw my doctor on Thursday. Now my doctor is a pretty laid back kind of guy. As I sat on the table, he
felt the lump under my arm. I was explaining to him about the fatty tumor, the pain, and how I was sure it was
from exercise. He stopped me in mid-sentence, looked me straight in the eye and asked, ”Have you ever had a
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mammogram?”
At age 28, of course I hadn’t.
Anyways, my doctor ordered a mammogram. When I called to schedule, the hospital told me they could
squeeze me in in JUNE. I told them I couldn’t wait that long, that this wasn’t a routine mammogram. The lady on
the phone sighed and said, ”Fine. We’ve got an opening in three weeks.” I hung up with her and called my doctor. He
made a few calls for me and got me in on Monday, the 22nd. Up until this moment, I had always joked about him
being more concerned about his tee time than his patients. All of those comments stopped the day he did this for me.
I went in for my mammogram. I filled out the paperwork, undressed, and was placed in the machine. The
tech snapped one picture, and then positioned me for my second picture. Something in my paperwork made her stop
what she was doing and ask me my age. I told her 28. She said, ”Hold on a minute” and left the room–with me still
in the machine. I stood there, with my breast squished between two plastic flexi-plates for what felt like five minutes.
She eventually came back, released me from the machine and said she couldn’t proceed. I asked why and told her that
I had a doctor’s order. She said it didn’t matter because I was too young. I told her I had a lump...that I needed a
test. She said that I should be having an ultrasound. I told her OK, let’s go get an ultrasound. She said she couldn’t
do that. I asked why. She said it was because I didn’t have a doctor’s order.
What was supposed to be a quick half hour test turned into an all day ordeal. My doctor called and, after
telling them what he thought of them violating his orders, sent down the paperwork for an ultrasound and told them
to still give me the mammogram. I remember laying on the table during the ultrasound of my armpit, wathching
the screen and seeing all of these black lumps that looked like they were appearing over the horizon. I counted 6 of
them. They decided to do a quick scan of my breast, even though I didn’t have a lump. Since most breast lumps are
usually formed in the lower, outer quadrant of the breast, they decided to start there. A black spot appeared on the
horizon...a spot that looked like the other 6 that had been under my arm.
The mammogram ended up being inconclusive, but the ultrasound was the determining factor in whether the
lumps should be biopsied. On April 29th I went through an ultrasound-guided core biopsy of the breast lump and the
large lump under my arm. On May 1, 2002, it became official: I had breast cancer.
I chose to have breast conservation surgery instead of a mastectomy. On May 14th I underwent a lumpectomy
to remove the breast lump and an axillary dissection to remove the lymph nodes under my arm. The axillary dissection
proved to be complicated...the large lump was a cancerous lymph node and was entwined in one of the three nerves
that run from your armpit down your arm. They ended up severing the nerve, causing permanent numbness down
the entire inside length of my arm and causing a ”winged scapula” on my left side. The lumpectomy was also a bit
dicey...turns out there were TWO lumps in the breast, not just one, and I barely squeaked by with clean margins.
Four days later the pathology report came back, and it wasn’t good: 6 out of 22 nodes positive (a high number in the
breast cancer world), ER negative, PR negative, Her2/Neu positive, Grade 3. Basically, it was the most aggressive
form of invasive ductal carcinoma a person can get.
So, we finished surgery and I prepped for chemotherapy, which was originally slated to be 4 rounds of Adriamycin/Cytoxin followed by 4 rounds of Taxol (both on a 21 day cycle). Before beginning chemo, my oncologist had
me run through a series of tests...X-rays, MUGA scan, and a bone scan. My bone scan came back showing possible
malignant activity in my ribcage. As a precaution, I was ordered for a PET scan. I actually saw my PET scan images
as I was walking out of the room, much to the discomfort of the technologist. I saw, with my own eyes, that I had
two lesions in my liver and that the lymph nodes under my clavicle were infected also. In the final report, it was
determined that the ribcage was still inconclusive as to whether or not cancer was there. But the liver lesions and
lymph nodes in the neck were impossible to miss, and so on May 31, my status went officially from Stage 2B to Stage
4–terminal stage.
Because of the change in stage, I was now eligible for certain treatment options that, at the time, were not
available to earlier stage women unless they were in a clinical trial . Instead of doing AC and Taxol, I began
weekly treatments with Taxotere (the sister drug of Taxol) and Herceptin (an immunotherapy specifically marked
for Her2/neu+ receptor status). Both of these drugs are only available to early stage breast cancer patients through
clinical trials. So on June 7, 2002, I began my first treatment with Taxotere and Herceptin. I stayed on Taxotere
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until I petered out on it in September. I switched to Taxol and stayed on that until December 13th. I went on and
had radiation Jan/Feb, and then on May 29th of last year (03), I finished my year of Herceptin and was finally able
to enjoy a remission without any treatment other than having my port flushed every 6 weeks.
Despite being terminal status and having no siblings, I still decided to get genetically tested for the BRCA1
and BRCA2 genes in May/June 2003. Mutations in these genes are associated with a significant increase in a woman’s
risk for breast, ovarian and colon cancers. Despite an extensive family history of those three cancers as well as
pancreatic cancer (which has been recently linked to a genetic mutation involved in breast cancer), my results were
negative. This doesn’t mean, as the good doctor who managed my test pointed out to me, that I do not carry genetic
mutations for breast cancer. It just means that I don’t carry the genetic mutations in these two particular genes.
There are several other genes involved in breast cancer that, as of yet, cannot be tested.
Despite the chance that breast cancer is still very likely genetic in my case, I have done my best to eliminate
from my life many of the breast cancer risk factors. I no longer take any oral contraceptives of any kind, I had a tubal
ligation to prevent any accidental pregnancies, I am continually working at lowering my weight to a normal level, and
I do my best to eat a well-balanced diet devoid of too many animal fats. Some of the risk factors I can never change,
like early menses or growing up in a house full of second hand smoke from smoking parents. But I have done all that I
can to help reduce the spread of this and to keep myself in optimal shape for, what is for me, a lifetime of treatment.
I am now 30 and have lived with terminal stage breast cancer for over two years now. In the beginning, I
never had a palpable breast lump, my mammograms were clean, and not once did I ever feel bad or sick. I had no early
warning signs that this was inside of me. I had no symptoms that I ignored. It crept up on me, silently, stealthily,
until it was too late.
This is my story. This is how it happened.
In the beginning...it was a sneak attack.
3.6.4
For Sale
(2004-06-04 11:48) - Amused - public
I just finished showing my house to the most annoying couple ever. They looked like holdeovers from the seventies:
fifty-ish, skin so tanned it looked like leather and driving a brand new red Chrysler Sebring convertible with the license
plates, ”Luhvrboy.” She had that old, Farrah Fawcett thing goin on with her hair, only it was so bleached it was almost
white. He had on these sunglasses a la Erik Estrada in CHiPs and sported one of those Tom Selleck mustaches.
They kept talking about all the ”money” they had. How they’re selling their 2200 square foot house with brand
new everything and that it will go like hotcakes because it’s in a prime area. They thought the size of my house was
”so cute” but that it would be an adjustment from their luxury living. He was all concerned about whether or not his
Cadillac would fit down the driveway while she was concerned about fitting her China hutch in the dining room. I
mean...it wasn’t a NORMAL China hutch. It was apparently colossally big, based on the amount of money she claimed
to have spent on it.
But hey, their money is as good as anyone else’s. I’m willing to bet, though, that if they buy the house they’ll
end up with a hot tub on the back deck for all of their swinger friends.
3.6.5
Fathers and Daughters.
(2004-06-06 21:34) - numb - public
You know, this weekend was a mixed bag of tricks. On the good side, I got an offer on my house (and no, not from the
swinger people)! The gal dropped a check for her earnest money this morning, and we’re hoping to get the contract
finalized by Tuesday. She wants to close quickly, so I have a feeling we’ll have this thing wrapped up by end of June.
I really hope so...I don’t want to pay another month of mortgage on a house I’m not living in.
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Saturday my Aunt Tina and Uncle John (or Jack, as he’s known) stopped by. This really made my day.
Tina is my Mom’s sister, and Jack is my Dad’s brother. They got married shortly after my parents did, and actually
moved out to po-dunk Sublette. Their kids, Chris and Greg, are the closest things I have to siblings. Tina, Jack and
the boys used to be very close to my family, but things changed after my Mom died. I’m not sure what was going
on, but there was a fall-out between Tina and my Dad, and that ended that. My Dad, being the enlightened fellow
that he is, believes in holding grudges and to this day hasn’t said more than two words to Tina. It’s been over TWO
YEARS now since he has had anything to do with them. And that’s a shame, because Jack is his own BROTHER
and the last of his family outside of me. Tina, although by no means a perfect person, is still the closest I can come
to having a mother. She was my mother’s best friend, and is the only female link I have left to her.
So like I said, my Dad and Tina had a huge falling out Thanksgiving Day of 2001. Now I was there, and
yes...Tina had made a few harsh comments. I don’t blame my father for getting up and walking out of dinner (and I
actually followed right behind him, being I was also upset that she was treating him that way). But you know...the
whole concept of a grudge flew right out the window 6 months later when I was diagnosed with cancer. This is my
family and I don’t want to die with this kind of rift, especially one that is caused by something as pointless as ”pride.”
Since my diagnosis, she has been nothing but nice to me, and has never said a harsh word about my father.
So Tina and Jack came in yesterday to see me, take a look at my new house and take a walk through my old
house. It was really nice to see them...I hadn’t seen them since Christmas. It was nice to hear about what’s going on
with my OTHER aunts and uncles on my Mom’s side of the family. We all used to be very close but now...well, let’s
just say that my mother was the glue that held everything together.
So Dad calls me tonight. I told him that Tina and Jack came in yesterday and took Blake and I out to
lunch. There’s dead silence on the phone and then he says, ”Oh?” He said it really snippy-like, as if I somehow
betrayed him for talking to them.
I just am so sick of this! I have tried to ask him to please get over this...for ME. This is my family, these are
my godparents, and I’m DYING. I am so sick and tired of him expecting me to fight his battles for him, and to be
thought of as some kind of traitor when I don’t.
So he tried to pick a fight with me about it on the phone tonight. Started asking me questions about, ”Oh,
what did THEY have to say?” and ”Oh, they told you about Chris? Well, they don’t tell ME things like that anymore.”
And then there was my personal favorite: ”I bet Tina can’t STAND Rosalie.” Well, gee, Dad...who can? But I suppose
that’s besides the point. The fact of the matter is that Tina and Jack defended my father’s actions with Rosalie more
than I ever could.
I just didn’t respond. I don’t have it in me anymore to deal with him. What makes me the saddest is that I
think I’ve finally crossed that Rubicon in realizing that my father and I are just...I don’t know. He’s my father, and I
love him. But I can’t deal with everything being about HIM anymore. It’s just too hard.
And on top of it all, he’s at it again with the gambling and lying about it to cover his tracks. He and I share
a credit card (it’s actually in his name, but I’m a user and manage the account, although I have no financial
responsibility for the debt). Anyways, about a year ago he had taken out over $6,000 over the course of two weekends
in cash advances at three different riverboat casinos. When I asked him about it, he gave me some song and dance
about how he misrepresented his casino losses on his taxes and needed the ATM receipts to prove, in case he got
audited, that he really did lose that much money. When I made the obvious comment that ATM receipts have
DATES on them and would clearly show that he withdrew the money in the following tax year, he told me that those
particular receipts didn’t have dates on them. Um...OK.
Anyways, a few weeks ago he called me and gave me some schpiel about how Rosalie’s ex was at it again
(Rosalie’s ex supposedly had a gambling problem...or so she says). But the story went something like this: she and her
ex had a joint bank account that received automatic deposits of her monthly social security and annuity payments;
her ex borrowed $3,000 from the bank while they were married and didn’t pay it back; so the bank decided to freeze
Rosalie from being able to take any withdrawals out of the account and seized the assets in there to repay the loan
her ex didn’t pay back.
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Now, I’m no rocket scientist, but I’ve been through a divorce and NONE of this makes sense. First off, she
should NOT still have a joint checking account with her ex-husband. Second, if her ex had taken a loan out without
her signature, then she is not liable for repayment. If she DID sign the loan, it would have shown up on her credit
check during the divorce and they would have resolved it then.
Anyways, my father told me that he had gone ahead and taken out $3000 from the credit card to loan to
Rosalie until she got the mess straightened out. The thing that REALLY tipped me off that this story might not be
the truth was that the $3,000 was taken out in cash advances on the credit card...over two weekends...at a riverboat
casino.
And they were always in small increments... $500 here, $300 there...but multiple withdrawals.
$3,000 withdrawn...when you add in the cash advance fees, the total jumps to $3,500.
And it was
He has blown through so much money since Mom died. He’s in debt up to his eyeballs and just refinanced
his house–and took out an equity loan significantly in excess of what the house is worth. The house is 35 years
old...and he has NO EQUITY in it. He borrowed the maximum amount on the house to pay off debt.
I ask him WHAT debt. Mom left us a pretty big chunk of money when she died. There is no WAY that her
medical bills for her 7 months of illness were over $20,000. How do I know? I managed her freaking insurance and
medical bills when I was her caretaker. And it didn’t go to pay for her funeral...she had a second, small insurance
policy that completely covered that (and then some). So his answer to my question? Medical bills and funeral costs.
When I call bullshit on him, he gets frustrated, mixes up his story, and tells me there was a lot of other medical bills I
didn’t know about.
And then there was his 401K. His only retirement money. He had over $100,000 in there in 2000. That same
account is worth only about $10,000 now. He blames the ”bad economy” on this. Bad economy? Yeah, OK, I lost
some money, too, when the tech bubble burst...but not 90 PERCENT OF MY PORTFOLIO.
I just don’t know what to do anymore and I don’t know who to talk to. The only people I could even imagine talking to about this are Tina and Jack...and if I did that, he’d be furious. Plus...I don’t think it would do any
good anyways. He won’t listen to me, and he certainly won’t listen to them. With me he pulls the ”father knows best”
attitude, and with them, he’d pull the ”they’re just jealous of me” attitude.
I just don’t understand. Ok, actually, I do. He’s always been insecure...always afraid that the world was
judging him. How do I know that? I’M EXACTLY LIKE HIM. He gambles. I have obsessive compulsive disorder.
They’re both manifestations that come from deep feelings of worthlessness. He’s obsessed with what everyone else
thinks of him and has bought into the idea that a man is judged by the number of things he owns. Hence his
relationship with Rosalie. Rosalie is such a freaking Wal-Mart loving pack rat that he can’t help but be enamored
with her gobs and gobs and gobs of stuff. In his eyes, more possessions = favorable reputation.
As long as I’ve known my father, he has been obsessed with ”looking rich.” He always thought there was some
secret formula out there to easily obtain these riches, and that he was the only one in the world who didn’t know
about it. He has had a chip on his shoulder his entire life about not being wealthy and has managed to blame nearly
everything else for this misfortune. When he was fired from his job for insubordination, he was ”railroaded.” When
the family down the street bought a new car, it was because they got handed a bunch of money when someone in
their family died. His not having money was not his fault, and everyone else having money was some inbalance in the
universe that made them all lucky but not him. He has never ONCE taken a good, hard look at himself and realized
that the only person to blame for his lot in life is HIM. HE mouthed off to his bosses and lost his job, HE spent money
like it was going out of style in order to keep up with the Joneses, and HE was the one who was too afraid to go out
and better himself. The secret to having money isn’t hard. In fact, it’s simple: spend less than what you make. He
never understood that. He was too busy feeling bad about himself and overextending the entire family to buy things
in order to try to fill that void.
Maybe I should have sympathy for him...after all, I understand what it’s like to feel so bad about yourself
that you’re willing to do just about anything to feel better. But after 30 years of this, guess what. I don’t feel bad for
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him at all. In fact, I’m seriously pissed off at him for being this way. For crying out loud, grow up already. He’s 62
going on 16. Yeah, so he’s had a few bad things happen to him. His Mom died when he was 13. His 2 year old son
was hit by a car in front of him and died of massive head injuries. His father died in a nursing home in the early 80’s.
His wife died of a very sudden and very painful cancer. And now his daughter–his only child–is dying of cancer.
Boo fucking hoo. Let’s compare here. In the last ten years alone, I’ve a) spent several years in recovery from
OCD, b) lived through a 4 year abusive relationship/marriage, c) served as the primary caretaker of my mother as
she suffered and died, d) went through a major depression that included a suicide attempt and time in an out-patient
mental hospital and e) dealt with my own bout with terminal stage cancer. And he’s crying over things that have
happened to him across a timespan six times as long.
I really can’t take it anymore. I can’t take the self-induced pity parties or the constant excuses or the ”whole
world is conspiring against me” attitude. And it’s all because he thinks he’s entitled to something in life because of all
the ”bad things” that have happened to him. And he becomes overcome with jealousy when he sees other people ”get”
what he thinks should rightfully belong to him because of all of his tragic suffering he’s had to endure.
He doesn’t know anything about me. He looks at me and still sees me as the 3 year old little girl who used
to cling to his leg and beg him not to leave whenever he wanted to go somewhere. He remembers me as the two year
old toddler rescuing the kitten from the garbage pile right before the garbage truck arrived. He remembers me as the
pre-schooler who used to play beauty parlor with the cat by shampooing his fur. He doesn’t see me for any of the
things that are important to me. He doesn’t see me as a college graduate, or as an anthropologist, or even as someone
who is struggling with cancer. His view of me is just...completely one-dimensional. It doesn’t matter how hard I try
or how hard I work...to him I will always be–and ONLY be–the little girl who sang along to her record player and
rocked her Rub-a-Dub dolly to sleep.
And as touching as that is...it simply just breaks my heart.
3.6.6
Another pointless headline
(2004-06-07 10:24) - public
Wow. Yahoo really is a leading edge news publisher:
[1]New Era of Cancer Drugs
The first paragraph of the article is as follows:
A new generation of experimental cancer-fighting drugs - most of them so new that they don’t yet have names - might
one day change the way doctors treat advanced cancers, scientists announced Sunday.
I really had to laugh at that. Can we be any more vague here? Experimental drugs...most of them don’t even have
names yet...,might one day change the way doctors treat advanced cancers.
I hate shitty reporting. Most of the drugs that qualify as targeted therapies are in very early–as in , Stage 1–clinical
trials. It will take a good decade before they begin to surface to the general public. Take Herceptin, for example. It’s
been in clinical trials since the mid 90’s (1995-ish), and it STILL doesn’t have full FDA approval for breast cancer
patients (not early stage patients, anyways). So gee, thanks Yahoo and USA Today. Now the rest of the public will be
cheering us cancer patients on with, ”See, they’re coming out with things all the time for cancer! I know you can beat
this now!” and other uninformed (but well intentioned) attempts to make us feel better.
Now I agree that targeted therapies are the ”new generation” and are a good thing (I mean, hey, I’m on Herceptin).
But the problem is that the media feeds mere snippets of information to the general public, which just perpetuates the
spread of MISinformation. Advanced cancer is still a long ways away from being a world of ”trial and error” in finding
the right chemotherapy agent.
I don’t know. I suppose I’m just not in the business of selling hope based on a few promising leads that will take
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years upon years to complete (if some of them even go to fruition). These types of headlines make mention of a few
drugs and offer a few very basic statistics (37 out of 106 patients? hardly a significant study), but they don’t give any
details. Cancer pathology comes into deep play with these targeted therapies. Take Herceptin again, as an example.
Herceptin has a great track record of controlling breast cancer. So why isn’t every breast cancer patient on it? Because
it only works for those patients who have a Her2/neu positive status. And Her2/neu positive is a very small minority
pathology when compared to the entire population of women who have breast cancer. So you can report all you want
on how good the drug is based on your study...it doesn’t extrapolate to how this is going to affect the overall population
of those with the same kind of cancer.
I’m just a complete and utter cynic when it comes to these kinds of things (and for the record, I was this way
well before I was diagnosed with cancer). Drug companies aren’t out there trying to figure out which type of targeted
therapy is going to help the most people. There is no benevolence factor here. Drug companies are studying cancer
cells and mapping protein receptors based on a) the ease of mapping and b) the relative ease of finding a treatment to
fit that receptor. This is why drugs like Tamoxifen and Arimidex are so popular in the breast cancer world: estrogen
receptors were fairly easy to map, and it was easy to develop drugs to block those receptors. Of course, it doesn’t hurt
that 80-something percent of women have ER+ breast cancer (it always helps to have a steady market demand for your
drug). The point I’m trying to make is that these drugs were NOT developed because some generous pharmaceutical
company mapped the proteins on the entire breast cancer cell and decided that gee, treatment for THIS particular
receptor molecule would help the most patients. No, developing a targeted therapy involves getting new drugs to
market the quickest and ensuring that the drug has a sufficient enough population of patients who can use it. I am
pretty convinced (and here’s where I get really cynical) that those people in the world who have the rarest cancers
and rarest pathologies will probably never see a targeted therapy, even though their cancer could very well have one
developed for it.
1. http://news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&u=/usatoday/20040607/ts_usatoday/neweraofcancerdrugs
3.6.7
(2004-06-07 21:11)
- public
Here’s what I accomplished today:
Scheduled an appointment with the attorney about the house and confirmed the appointment with the prospective
buyer
Did four loads of laundry (both mine and Blake’s)
Worked out (an hour of weight training)
Two loads of dishes(cleaned and put away)
Returned all of the calls to people who had inquired about the house
Put all of Blake’s clothes away and organized both his closet and his dresser
Made dinner for Blake and myself
Cleaned up the kitchen and dining room three times
Made brownies (NOT from a box)
Organized my recipe collection
Picked up around the deck outside
But I suppose that doesn’t compare to working an 8 hour day at a real job. After all, I guess I really don’t ”get
going” until well after noon on most days. But considering I have a horrendous headache and feel very fatigued, it’s
not bad.
Can’t really write much now. I’m actually rather nauseous and need to rest a while.
3.6.8
(2004-06-08 23:37)
- public
I was going through my files to find all of my paperwork for the house closing and came upon my original pathology
report after my lumpectomy and axillary dissection. There is a good reason I put it away and never looked at it again.
I. TUMOR TYPE: INFILTRATING DUCTAL CARCINOMA
237
II. TUMOR SIZE: 2.0 X 2.0 X 1.8 CM & .6 CM NODULE .8 CM AWAY FROM THE MAIN MASS.
III. TUMOR GRADE: POORLY DIFFERENTIATED
COMPOSITE GRADE: 8
NUCLEAR GRADE: 3
TUBULAR GRADE: 3
MITOTIC GRADE: 2
IV. INTRADUCTAL AND/OR INTRALOBULAR COMPONENT:
A. PERCENTAGE OF TUMOR: 20 %
B. TYPE: GRADE 1-3
C. COMPOSITE GRADE:
NUCLEAR GRADE: 3
NECROSIS: PRESENT YES
ARCHITECTURAL PATTERN: SOLID CRIBRIFORM AND COMEDO
V. MARGINS: NEGATIVE YES
DISTANCE FROM MARGIN: 0.3 CM SMALL DCIS
VI. ANGIOLYMPHATIC INVASION: PRESENT AND MANY
VII. DERMAL LYMPHATIC INVASION: NOT AVAILABLE
VIII.AXILLARY NODES:
NUMBER OF AXILLARY NODES (INCL.SENTINEL NODES): 27
NUMBER OF POSITIVE LYMPH NODES: 6
CAPSULAR PENETRATION: PRESENT
ANGIOLYMPHATIC INVOLVEMENT: PRESENT
IX. TUMOR BORDER: INFILTRATING
X. NON-NEOPLASTIC BREAST: FIBROCYSTIC
XI. TNM & STAGE: T2 N1
XII. PREDICTIVE:
ESTROGEN RECEPTOR–NEGATIVE–UNFAVORABLE
PROGESTERONE RECEPTOR–NEGATIVE–UNFAVORABLE
MIB-1 60 %–UNFAVORABLE
HER2 NEU 3+/STRONGLY POSITIVE
3.6.9
All About Reagan
(2004-06-09 13:23) - public
I grew up in a town not far from Dixon, IL, the town where Reagan went to high school and home of the Reagan
Boyhood Home Museum (they basically took the house where he grew up and turned it into a tourist attraction).
When I was 12 I was in the National Spelling Bee in Washington, DC and represented the Dixon Evening Telegraph.
Now bear in mind that the Spelling Bee takes up an entire week in DC, and the entire time the spellers are tromping
around town they are wearing ribbons depicting their names and the name of the newspaper they are representing.
Because it was an election year that particular year I was in the Bee, Reagan hosted a little ”get together” with
the spellers and their parents in the Rose Garden. So, as he mingled with people, he came over to our group. He’s
shaking our hands, asking if we all ”studied hard,” when he notices my ribbon sporting the name Dixon. He says to
me, ”So you’re the one representing Dixon...you know that’s my old hometown, right?” I kind of blush and say yes,
and then he says to me, ”Have you been through my boyhood home?”
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To this day, it never ceases to amaze me that the whole conversation was ALL ABOUT HIM.
3.6.10
Out of the frying pan, into the pressure cooker
(2004-06-09 14:59) - angry - public
I hope no one minds, but I turned off comments for this post, as this truly is nothing more than a pressure valve for
some very deeply held pent up anger.
Today is one of those days where I feel just one step closer to dying.
I’ve actually been kind of a mess since last night, when I came across some of my original paperwork from
when I was first diagnosed. I have it all, too–my first mammogram/ultrasound report, my biopsy report, my pathology
report, my bone scan films, and that very first PET scan report, when I first found out I had tumors in my lymph
nodes, ribs and trapezius muscle, plus two 1 cm lesions located in both lobes of my liver, respectively. It was strange,
because I had forgotten how dire the situation was in my liver. One of the lesions was nestled right next to my hepatic
vein, and the other one was dangerously close to my gall bladder. I also had an old signed document enrolling me in a
clinical trial. It was a clinical trial for Taxotere and Herceptin. The reason I kept these documents instead of enrolling
in the trial is because I found out, right before I handed them to the doctor, that I was terminal stage and I no longer
needed to be in the clinical trial to get those two drugs. So the paperwork I had...was signed by me when I thought I
was Stage 2 and actually thought that I had a chance of beating this.
I can’t tell you how it felt to read those, to see the words in cold, hard type. I had buried them for a reason,
probably to keep myself in denial. But seeing them again last night was like being dunked into vat of freezing-cold ice
water. I think it’s safe to say that today...the rose-colored glasses are OFF.
I’ve been doing some research on end stage breast cancer and am finding everything to be very sobering. I
can’t seem to stop thinking about what is going to happen to me when my chemo begins failing, but more importantly,
I can’t seem to stop thinking about WHEN it’s going to fail. At what point do we call it quits? How much pain do I
have to be in, exactly, before I throw in the towel?
There are things I want to do, places I want to go. I feel good now. But I am financially strapped. This is a
temporary situation, but I fear that it will be too late by the time the budget crunch eases.
I keep thinking about my funeral and how pissed off I am that I’m going to miss seeing all of my friends.
Funny how they don’t visit or call now, while I’m alive. No, they take the chicken-shit way out and pay their respects
after I’m no longer around to appreciate it. And they will sit there and cry, and then at the dinner afterwards they
will tell stories about me and remember funny things that I did and I WON’T FUCKING BE THERE TO SHARE
IN IT.
Don’t remember me when I’m gone. Remember me NOW.
I just sit here and feel like I’m falling apart...piece by slow agonizing piece. I lose more and more hair every
day...my skin gets drier and drier...I find myself so fatigued that I daydream about sleep, yet can never seem to find a
peaceful slumber...
If I knew I would win in the end, it would all be worthwhile. I try my best not to complain in real life...to
not to let anyone who knows me in person see what it’s like...because everyone expects that I WILL beat this.
But I won’t, and it’s OK because I’ve known it all along. I just can’t keep up the ruse any longer. I CAN’T
put on a smile and say things like, ”But I’m doing well now and feel good and that’s what’s important” to people
anymore.
I’m NOT doing well, I DON’T always feel good, and what’s important is that all of this is for nothing because I’m going to die fo this anyways.
And I DON’T want to hear any more people tell me that there’s still a chance. I don’t care how selfish that
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sounds. Unless a) you are my doctor or b) you yourself have Stage 4, ER-, Her2/Neu+ invasive ductal carcinoma with
mets in your liver and pancreas, don’t you DARE tell me that ”there’s still a chance.” I’ve got about as much chance
of surviving this as there is the sun not coming up tomorrow. So unless you’ve got some specific information about
a treatment option that is tried and true and has a solid statistical background with regards to survival rates, save
me the rah rah rah. Because until then, everything with me IS trial and error until we finally get to the point where
EVERY treatment is an error.
I don’t understand...why is accepting my death so hard?
and grief and anger, anger, anger?
Why does it have to be filled with so much sadness
I want to work through this and just enjoy the rest of my time. That’s all I want.
But this anger...is a real sticking point. If there is one thing that I have regretted so far, and one thing that
I know I will regret in the end, it is this anger.
But I don’t know how to stop it.
3.6.11
Stupid is as stupid does...and stupid does a lot in this country
(2004-06-10 09:50) -
public
Ok...thanks for listening to me vent yesterday. After I wrote, I went downstairs and had a 45 minute workout, then
came up and had a Corona with a fresh lime wedge. I felt better immediately. Ah, the power of beer!
You know, they ought to make it a law that if you’re stupid, you can’t have an opinion.
My cleaning lady Angie, although a good-hearted person, is about the most uninformed fool I’ve met in a
very long time. We just had a rather enlightening conversation about people from India. Apparently she has a female
friend who’s brother just met and married a woman he met off of the Internet. She’s from India, and her name is Jenny
Thomas. Because of this, Angie’s friend thinks she’s involved with Al-qaeda and has called the FBI to investigate.
Angie, of course, is convinced she’s a terrorist as well. Here’s her proof:
1) Her name is Jenny Thomas, HARDLY a name befitting someone from India with a traditional, sari-wearing
family and therefore must be fictitious.
2) Jenny has a brother living in Vancouver, which is where all of the Al-qaeda were living before funneling
into America to commit unspeakable acts of terrorist crimes
3) Jenny says she’s 35 but really only looks 20. She also refuses to tell anyone what day her birthday is.
4) Jenny is a very good looking woman, so she must be a terrorist otherwise she would have been married
long ago.
5) Jenny speaks with–get this–a BRITISH ACCENT, not an Indian one.
6) Jenny is a very independent woman, as proven by a loud altercation with her brother.
someone from ”over there” where the women are subservient to men.
This is atypical of
And, finally, the piece de resistance:
7) Jenny fits the physical description of one of the female terrorist profiles Angie’s friend found on the Internet.
Here were my rebuttals:
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1) India was a British colony for several centuries.
British names is plentiful and not all that uncommon.
Although the family may be traditional, the presence of
2) Al-qaeda was NOT congregating in Vancouver NOR is Al-qaeda made up of people from India. Al-qaeda is
a MUSLIM FUNDAMENTALIST GROUP. Vancouver is actually a very common place for Indians to live, as their
visa process is significantly less stringent than America’s. Living in Canada is NOT indication that gee, you might be
there for nefarious reasons.
3) I know LOTS of people who are older and have baby faces ([ LJ User: blakeh ] is one example). And
maybe she’s not telling anyone her birthday because a) she’s sensitive about her age or b) IT’S NONE OF THEIR
DAMN BUSINESS.
4) I know lots of good looking women who have NEVER been married. Last time I checked, there wasn’t a
law that said if you’re not married, barefoot and pregnant by 21 that must mean you’re a terrorist. Maybe she decided
to skirt the issue of arranged marriage and wait to find someone she loved. Sometimes doing the latter takes a lifetime.
5) OH MY GOD! Not a British accent! Because, you know, India WAS a British colony for, oh, 300 years or
so.
6) Hmm...last time I checked, India was not part of the Taliban regime. Women there can vote, hold political
office, work full time and DON’T HAVE TO WALK 5 FEET BEHIND THEIR HUSBANDS AT ALL TIMES. Again,
this is NOT a fundamentalist Muslim state. Birkas are OPTIONAL here.
And, finally, my rebuttal to number 7:
7) When Angie’s friend looked at the Internet description of the female Al-qaeda terrorist, NO PICTURE
WAS INCLUDED. But it’s amazing anyways that Jenny would fit the description of a ”petite, thin woman with dark
skin and dark hair.” I mean, if I were in the FBI, there’d be no question that Jenny was a terrorist based on her
matching that! It’s not like there are a whole lot of petite, thin, dark skinned brunettes out there in the world or
anything.
I swear, Angie needs to get her head out of her ass and take a lesson in geography. The ignorance she evokes
is simply mind boggling.
3.6.12
Just a Mish-Mash
(2004-06-14 10:16) - public
So we got Dish Network on Thursday. It’s already gone out on us once this weekend during a rainstorm, and guess
what...it’s raining now and it’s out AGAIN. I’m pissed. That’s TWICE in five days. If this damned thing is going to
not work every friggin time it rains, I’m sorry but we’re going back to cable. I’m not paying money for this kind of
crappy service.
Had chemo Friday. I think we FINALLY hit on a combination that is tolerable. I dispensed with the Reglan,
and guess what...no anxiety attack! It was actually a pleasant treatment. I got in a lot of reading, and felt completely
fine throughout. My nurse, Kelene, is so very cool. She’s also got a degree in anthropology, so we swap books and talk
anthro all the time. She bought me one of those Darwin fishes for the back of my car from [1]here. This is a really
neat site. I especially love the bumper sticker they have for sale that says, ”Don’t pray in my schools and I won’t
think in your church.” Or the button that reads, ”I think you’re confusing an open mind with a vacant mind.” I have
a feeling I’m going to be spending some money here ;-)
This weekend was good, although I’m tired. I got in a 65 minute workout on Saturday!!! 55 of those minutes
was doing aerobics (the other ten I spent stretching). It was honestly one of the best workouts I’ve had since I snapped
my leg muscle in February. And it was the day after chemo, too! However, I paid for this the rest of the day with
fatigue and achy bones (I don’t recover like I used to), but who cares? I can deal with that. If I alternate my cardio
with weight training, I’m fine. I’m still proud of the fact that I’ve managed to keep up a 5x per week workout schedule
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for three years now (only a handful of times where I haven’t met that goal). Now if I could just pefect my diet...
Let’s see...what else? Oh...this is a good one. I’m now the proud owner of about two dozen hives on my legs
and lower torso. I thought they were insect bites, and that maybe I had a spider crawling around in my bed biting me
when I slept, but now I think otherwise. For the past three weeks I kept waking up with what looked like insect bites
on my legs. They’ve been getting worse, and then got better last week (my week off from treatment). I woke up this
morning and eGAD. I counted about 19 different spots on my legs where I had a bump and about half a dozen spots
on my lower torso. I also itch like CRAZY everywhere...my back, arms, and my head. I spend about 25 % of my time
now just scratching (which is a real turn-on for [ LJ User: blakeh ]). I think I’m going to have to start taking Benadryl
again at night and using Benadryl cream during the day. I have a strong feeling that because of how universal this is
(I itch all over), that this is from the chemo and not from some hidden insects. Oh well. I suppose I can deal with a
little itchiness. It can’t be any worse than when I was on an archaeology dig and ended up with poison ivy all over,
including my face.
Saturday my Dad and Rosalie came in to help me move out the rest of my big furniture. I don’t know what
to say about that except that they think they are the most persecuted people on the planet. My Dad went off on this
big schpiel about Rosalie’s house, which is being foreclosed on. Apparently last fall she had a buyer lined up ready to
buy the house, but that fell through for two reasons (according to them): a) the bank tacked on all of these surplus
charges relating to the foreclosure so that the buyout price was now significantly more than what the buyers were
willing to pay for the house and b) the bank ”wouldn’t wait three days for the buyers to come up with the money.”
Dad and Rosalie are all bent out of shape over this. According to them, the bank didn’t HAVE to tack on those
charges nor did they HAVE to refuse to wait those three days (they think the bank did it randomly just to ”stick it to
them”). And I hate to say it, but he’s partially right. The bank didn’t have to tack on those charges nor did they have
to refuse those three days, at least, not if ROSALIE HAD PAID HER FUCKING MORTGAGE FOR THE PAST
YEAR. She’s got no one to blame but herself for this mess.
Oh, and THEN they were all bent out of shape because the county health department sent her a letter telling
her she needed to take care of the grass (she hasn’t cut it since moving in with my Dad in October). Well, she
refused to do it (”I’m not bothering to take care of the house when the bank says I can’t live there”) and said that
her ex-husband was supposed to take care of that (which is a load of shit). So the county sheared her grass and then
”broke in” to the house and winterized it. Well...what the hell do you EXPECT is going to happen? That house is
YOUR RESPONSIBILITY until it is removed from your possession. She got the house in the divorce. Foreclosure or
not, if she doesn’t take care of it the county has every right to do it for you. And don’t give me this bullshit story
about how the ex-husband is supposed to maintain it. I guarantee that no judge would put that into a divorce decree.
That’s about as plausible as her story that the judge ”gave her” the van but made her ex financially responsible for it.
She’s either a lying sack of you know what, or she’s incredibly dumb. I have a feeling it’s a bit of both, but oh well.
My Dad also went off on credit card companies, how they are randomly raising his interest rates. Oh, please.
Credit cards raise interest rates when you a) make a late payment or b) go over your limit. It’s spelled out in the
contract. This is just another excuse he’s building to make sure he can blame his financial problems on someone else.
And it happened again at dinner, too. He sat there and flat-out lied about all of these medical expenses from
Mom. You know, I’m sick and tired of this. How dare he blame my mother for this and dredge her through the mud,
just because he can’t control his spending! I sat with her when she was dying, going over life insurance policies and
medical bills. She spent hours trying to figure out the finances to make sure that we were all taken care of in her
absence. It was the one thing that she could do to put her mind at ease...to know that she was taking care of her
family. Fuck my father for ruining the one thing that made her feel ok about dying.
I know he’s gearing up for a bankruptcy. Last time he came to visit he said that he was considering it, and
Rosalie was right there, chiming in that, her ”sister had dun it, her brother had dun it, and her daughter had dun
it.” What a bunch of fucking mooches! Bankruptcy is there for people who, literally, can’t pay their bills because of
things like unemployment or medical bills. They are NOT for people who can’t control their fucking spending habits
and think that life entitles them to be able to buy whatever they want. Stop shopping at friggin Wal-Mart for crappy
ceramic statues for the yard and maybe you can make some of your minimum payments (or hell, Rosalie...maybe you
could have paid your damned mortgage).
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In light of all of this, I’ve actually come to a very hard decision. I have three life insurance policies totaling
about 75K. Two of the policies are small–5k each–and have my father listed as the beneficiary. The other one has both
Blake and my father listed for a 50/50 distribution. The objective was to let my father keep the two small policies
and let him use those to bury me, and the larger one would be for him to use for whatever he wanted.
I’ve decided to change that. I will let him keep the two small policies, but the larger one is going to go entirely to Blake, who will now be in charge of my funeral arrangements. Also, Blake will use the money to pay any
outstanding debt of mine that has my father’s name on it (I have one loan he co-signed for me...it’s due to be paid in
a year but if something happens before then there will still be a balance due). Otherwise, the money will be Blake’s. I
want him to go and have a good life with it. I want him to be able to quit his job with his asshole bosses and be able
to go back to school to study something he loves.
It’s very strange to write this, but I no longer feel any obligation towards my father anymore. I can’t help
him. And this isn’t about anger, or that I don’t like Rosalie or that I don’t like HIM anymore. It’s about the fact
that the money wouldn’t help him anyways and would probably just make things worse. Giving him money would
be like throwing it away in the wind and I don’t want that. I’m young and don’t have much...but I want to know
that what I have HELPS. I now know EXACTLY how my mom felt about wanting to take care of her loved ones.
The problem is that my father is now beyond the point of being helped. His problem goes so far beyond managing
money...no amount is going to make him feel better about himself or make him understand that he is NOT the sum
of his material possessions. No amount of money is going to bring him happiness. He has made his own bed like he
has his own life and if he doesn’t learn the lessons from that then it’s HIS problem. Not mine.
And on a more logistical note...I’ll be damned if I’m going to give him money when he’s planning on filing
bankruptcy. Screw that. I’d rather see Blake go back to school to study psychology and go out in the world and help
people.
Ok that’s about all...time to go workout.
And as a side note, I started this entry over an hour ago and guess what...satellite is STILL out. ;-)
1. http://www.evolvefish.com/
3.6.13
(2004-06-14 20:21)
- Anthropological - public
I’ve been mulling over some things lately about my disease and death and all of that other fun stuff. Some of this is
based on a very lengthy conversation that Blake, his family and I had last night over dinner. Some of it is based on
a comment [ LJ User: Iamnotbroken ] wrote to one of my journal entries a while back. And some of it is even based
on the little Yahoo news article today on pre-death visions. I’m not sure it’s anything new, necessarily...maybe just a
different way for me to frame my argument on how death isn’t a bad thing.
The very first book I read on Cultural Anthropology in college was a book called, [1]Culture and Truth by Renato Rosaldo. The very first chapter talks about his work in the Philippines with a tribe (the Ilongots) that practices
headhunting. Without going into a lot of detail, what basically happens is whenever something tragic happens to a
tribe member they go and lob off someone’s head (yes, it is LITERALLY a headhunting tribe). It is an accepted
practice and not at all considered ”murder” amongst them.
I’ve always been fascinated with this concept although I had a lot of questions. My primary question, though,
was how in the world did this tribe manage to continue its existence? I mean...a tree falls on me in the forest and my
arm is cut off. What do I do? I go and chop off someone’s head. Fine, so far so good with the headhunting. But that
person who was beheaded...what happens to their children? Do they get to go off and lob off someone’s head because
of the intensity of grief over the death of their parent? If that’s the case, then when does it stop? If everyone keeps on
killing, there won’t be anyone left.
I never had this conundrum resolved until recently, and it’s so simple it floors me.
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Tragedy...is a culturally defined concept. It’s simply another human abstraction.
Believe it or not, this topic came up at the dinner table last night. I didn’t say too much on this, simply because I spent a lot of my time observing and processing what I was witnessing. And what I witnessed was a simple
misconception in which we all partake: that there are universally defined events that are ”good” and ”bad.”
Most people consider there to be a difference between death by cancer and murder. Other than the logistical
portion of the demise, there is absolutely no difference between the two. How can I say that? Because murder is a
societal definition. When I die, are people going to say that cancer murdered me? Of course not. The distinction
between the two is really and truly a matter of our perception of the world. Once we strip that away, what we are left
with is simply...death.
When discussing death last night, the other thing that slapped me in the face (although this is an attitude
I’m accustomed to facing and is something I’ve written about ad nauseum) is the other pre-conceived notion of death
being a BAD THING. Blake’s dad said something (and I can’t remember this verbatim) but is was on the order of
how something like headhunting is absolutely wrong and that in general people should live their lives in such a way
as to promote the longest life possible for individuals. I wanted to push this issue–why it is he believes that life is
good and death is bad–but the conversation turned another direction. Either way, it is another good example of this
pervasive mentality we have in Western society...that death is something that should somehow be avoided at all costs.
What floors me, sometimes, is that people refuse to see death any other way than a necessary evil (and I’m
not referring to Blake’s family here...just people in general). And I can’t figure out WHY. Is it really just a simple
matter of fearing the unknown, of fearing what is in the ”great beyond?” Is it born from our attachment to other
people here and the grief that we feel at losing someone in our lives? Or maybe it’s a more insidious thing...maybe a
silent fear that by accepting death we will no longer WANT to live (and heaven knows we can’t bear to part with our
will to live!).
I don’t know what it is. Maybe I’m just a freak of nature here, but I’m going to say this anyways. Dying is
a beautiful thing. On the days when I can keep the above-said fears at bay, I look forward to my death. It is welcome
NOT because I am anticipating a lot of pain and suffering, or because I no longer want to live (I wouldn’t be in chemo
if that were the case!). I welcome it because to me...death is no different than birth, or marriage or even from the split
second it takes me to begin and finish typing the word, ”death.” All it is is a CHANGE. That’s it, nothing more. All
of the other thoughts and feelings we associate with it are simply attachments.
Everyone walks around with this expectation of living. We expect that we will grow up, get old and do certain things with our lives. And when that doesn’t happen, when things like cancer or AIDS or depression way-lay
us, we cry boo-hoo and bury our selves in pity parties. Now I’m not discounting the grief that comes from this...but
in the end, what we need to realize is that the grief stems NOT from our perceived loss but from our overextended
expectation. The only thing we SHOULD expect out of life is change.
Of course, this is not an easy lesson to learn.
understand this.
Sometimes it takes a lifetime–even MANY lifetimes–before we
Death seems real to us simply because a person that was once in our life suddenly is no longer there. There
is seemingly TANGIBLE EVIDENCE that something final has occurred. But is that really true? I still love to put
forth my simplistic analogy in cases like this, and that analogy is as follows: if I drop an apple from a tree, is the
apple really falling to the ground or is the ground rising up to meet it? In the latter case, the only reason I don’t see
it that way is simply because I PHYSICALLY do not have the capability to perceive it that way. I am limited by my
five senses. But just because I can’t see it that way doesn’t mean it’s not happening that way. I, as a human being,
am not omniscient (and neither is science, thank you very much).
In other words, perception is NOT reality.
And if that’s the case, why do we believe so steadfastly that death is some bad finality?
SEEMS that way to us doesn’t make it true.
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Just because it
And this is why the Ilongot do not destroy themselves. They don’t have the same abstract definitions of
death as we do. Not only do they not understand the difference between death by murder and death by natural causes,
they also don’t view death as an inherently tragic event. The end result? Well, if death is not tragic in their eyes,
then there’s no reason to headhunt when one of your loved ones die (I’m aware I’m making the grave anthropological
mistake here of oversimplifying their culture, but please allow me this indulgence to make my point!).
The main point is that everything–yes, EVERYTHING–that we feel or know (or rather, that we THINK we
know) is culturally based. There is nothing ”hard wired” in us telling us that murder is wrong or that death is bad.
We fall prey to that thinking because it’s all around us. Well, of course it is. The concept of death being an end, a
finality, is such an obvious product of rational choice mentality that I’m surprised no one put two and two together
before. The concept of death being bad...really is nothing more than a product of the Age of Reason.
People hold up the concept of reason as if it’s the end-all, be-all. Reason is good. Logic is smart. Choices
are our own making. What a bunch of cultural dogma! Now I agree that reason and logic and choice are good things
to call on when you need to balance a budget or buy a house or do something else within our culture. But you can’t
take reason and logic and choice and apply it to the bigger questions of the universe. Why? BECAUSE REASON
AND LOGIC ARE SIMPLY OVERLAYED UPON OUR CULTURAL FRAMEWORK. The very concept of reason
and logic are the current cultural paradigms, not inherent pieces of our personality, and they are no more superior
than believing in superstition. Strip a man in today’s world of his culture...and you’ve stripped him of his logic. Strip
a man in the Dark Ages of his culture...and you’ve stripped him of his superstition. Logic...is not an inherent trait
(although our pride likes to think that it is!).
Death is not a bad thing, despite that our so-called ”logic” tells us otherwise. It really isn’t. In fact, I’d argue that fighting it tooth and nail is bad (if anything is bad in this case). Fighting the concept of death blindly does
nothing more than make you spin your wheels in a mired-down bed of spiritual futility. And that’s because fighting
it–and I mean the kind of blind fighting that our society promotes–is nothing more than using logic and reason to
try and keep you from doing the ”bad” deed. By fighting it in this way...you STILL haven’t overcome the cultural
constraints surrounding it and as a result...you have yet to develop any real meaning in it. When you fight it, you are
simply reflecting culture back on itself.
I think one of the truly most ironic paradoxes of our time is that all of that mumbo jumbo found with fighting death is simply our culture. There’s no inherent need to think of death as bad or to batten down the hatches and
”beat” whatever it is that might be killing you. It’s our culture influencing your thoughts and telling you that there
is a difference between murder and disease and that death is bad. IT’S CULTURE. So, when it comes down to it,
thinking that way...IS A CHOICE.
And personally, for me, it’s a poor choice.
When it comes to my disease, I am going to go down fighting. Trust me, I will.
But not in the way that you think.
1.
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/080704623X/qid=1087262767/sr=8-1/ref=pd_ka_1/102-9218321-2967331?v=
glance&s=books&n=507846
3.6.14
No more lawyer jokes for me.
(2004-06-15 15:25) - public
Some days I hate humanity and other days I am blown away by its potential.
I’ve been trying to get in to see this attorney to help me with my social security disability paperwork. He canceled yesterday due to illness, so we rescheduled until Thursday. Well, his assistant called today to reschedule, since
he’s still out with the flu. She felt bad for the delay, so she spent time with me on the phone asking me questions to
see what it was I needed from them.
This woman was so nice I’m in tears. She asked me about my diagnosis and was in tears herself when I told her
245
that I was 30 and had terminal stage cancer. She took fifteen minutes out of her day and walked me through the whole
process. She answered all of my questions, told me what I needed in order to process my social security paperwork
and said that if I needed any help at all with any paperwork that I could call her anytime. No charge, no attorney’s
fees...just willing to lend a hand to someone who needs it.
I don’t know why, but it’s always the little things in life that make me cry.
3.6.15
Eight Crazy Nights...or rather, 90 crazy minutes
(2004-06-16 22:30) - Critical - public
I created a new LJ icon.
I don’t care if you chose to star in the Spiderman movies. To me, you’ll always be [1]Daniel Desario.
Sigh.
Speaking of movies, Blake and I watched ”50 First Dates” last night.
Because, you know, that’s essentially what this movie was.
Before I begin, I have to admit a certain fondness for Adam Sandler. Way back in 1994, he came to perform
at the University of Illinois in Champaign-Urbana (where I was a senior). He gave a good show, albeit a bit predictable, with the usual round of tasteless jokes and bevy of songs including ”The Turkey Song” and an unforgettable
rendition of ”Red Hooded Sweatshirt (The Shama Lama Ding Dong Mix).” Despite this, he was always hit or miss
with me in the movie department. For example:
Coneheads: MISS. You just can’t recreate the classics sometimes.
Airheads: MISS. Pretty boys + bad metal music = annoying as hell to Karen.
Mixed Nuts: MISS. I couldn’t even get through the first fifteen minutes.
Billy Madison: MISS is too kind of a word for this one.
Happy Gilmore: HIT, but only because I’ve been wanting to punch Bob Barker for years
The Wedding Singer: HIT, but only because of the Pete Burns look alike singing that Culture Club classic, ”Do
You Really Want to Hurt Me”
The Waterboy: MISS. Even Kathy Bates couldn’t save this one. And grilled crocodiles? Ewwwww.
Big Daddy: MISS. I cringe at the thought that they taught a 5 year old boy to say ”But I wipe my own ass” just for
the sake of the camera.
Punch-Drunk Love: HIT, HIT, HIT! Finally...a refreshing change of pace from Sandler slapstick, and guess what...he
pulled it off exceptionally well.
Anger Management: MISS (yawn).
And that summarizes my experience thus far with Mr. Sandler’s filmography.
So what did I think of ”50 First Dates?”
Surprisingly...HIT.
I really went into this with a lot of trepidation. I thought that at best it was going to be a rehash of ”The
Wedding Singer” or at worst a bottom feeder version of ”Billy Madison”. It was neither. In fact, it was surprisingly
touching. But a few things DID peeve me, so I feel that now is the appropriate time to purge myself of these items so
that I continue my fondness for the man who so tenderly introduced me to Lunch Lady Land.
First off, WHAT in god’s name was with all of the freaking bad covers of classic 80’s songs? Things were getting bastardized all over the place...”Hold Me Now” by the Thompson Twins, ”Lips Like Sugar” by Echo and the
Bunnymen, and ”True” by Spandau Ballet (to name but a few). All ruined forever. The worst, though, was the remake
of ”Slave to Love.” I thought I was just going to die listening to that drivel, wafting over the dialogue, as I curled into
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a fetal position crying, ”Why, god, why?” I’m sorry, but NO ONE sings that song better than Bryan Ferry. NO ONE.
Thank you, Hollywood, for ruining another classic. If you can afford to have the movie shot on location in Hawaii, I
would think you could afford to pay for the legal rights of the ORIGINAL song.
Ok. So we’ve got the music thing off my chest. The next issue on my list involves this brain injury business.
When Lucy decides she wants to go see her doctor about her accident from a year ago, everyone hops in the Suburban
and heads off to..”The Brain Injury Clinic.” I’m sorry, I must have missed something. I’ve seen road signs that say
”Hospital,” and ”Rehabilitation Center” and even something specialized like ”Cancer Care Center.” But ”Brain Injury
Clinic?” Who goes to the doctor and pulls up in front of a sign that says THAT? I would think something more
appropriate would be in order, like, oh, I don’t know...”The Center for Neurology.” But what do I know? I’ve never
had a brain injury, so it could very well be that there are clinics all over the place and I’ve somehow just missed them.
Other than that, the movie was actually very endearing. I was glad that they didn’t take the easy way out
by having her memory return via something asinine like a smack in the head with a bowling ball. They kept the
storyline intact and as a result there were some very touching scenes towards the end of the movie. I was honestly
near tears during the very last scene, when she wakes up and watches her ”Good Morning” videotape, and then walks
out onto the deck of the ship to meet her daughter for the first time...again. They had a ukulele remake of ”Over the
Rainbow” playing in the background...and for this scene, the remake WORKED.
As for Adam Sandler, he did a very nice job throughout most of the flick. His usual self-deprecating sense of
humor was still there, but it was definitely tempered with a more mature side akin to his role as Barry Egan in
”Punch-Drunk Love.” I could have done without the scenes involving his she-male assistant, but oh well...I guess you
have to give the kiddies something to laugh at.
Adam, boy...you’ve come a long way since Billy Madison.
again.
Let’s hope you never return to those dark days
And don’t you EVER remake another Bryan Ferry song. I personally will lead the charge against you getting
disbarred from the Actor’s Guild.
1. http://userpic.livejournal.com/16172771/576215
3.6.16
(2004-06-18 18:42)
- public
You know, today sucked.
Of course, once again I don’t have the time to write about it. I’ve got fifty million things going on and no fucking time to deal with how I feel right now.
For those of you who think that I have all the time in the world simply because I’m not working full time, you
can bite me. I DON’T have time, and you should stop being a lazy-ass and do your own thing.
3.6.17
Stick a fork in it, the day is DONE.
(2004-06-18 23:14) - public
Ok, I finally have time to write. I’ve calmed down a bit since earlier but I’m still pretty agitated.
Today just blew. Plain and simple. The world can go take a flying leap today.
I suppose I should mention that I’m on steroids...AGAIN. That little rash I mentioned briefly earlier in the
week turned into a major outbreak of god knows WHAT. My doctor doesn’t seem to think it’s chemo related, being
that in his experience, the Navelbine usually won’t cause this kind of outbreak unless you’re going into anaphylactic
shock during your actual infusion. Since this happened several days after the actual treatment, they think I probably
just had some sort of contact dermatitis. So they’ve got me on a methylprednisolone pack. The pack consists of six
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straight days of steroids, with each day decreasing in dosage. I’m on day 4. So far, I’ve had 72mg of this crap and I’m
feeling pretty cranky. I also have no tastebuds, which always happens to me on these damned things. Anyways, they
went ahead with treatment today, and if I break out again in the next day or so, then I guess we can conclude that
gee, Navelbine IS causing me a rash.
So chemo today. Sucked. I forgot to prep my port with the lidocaine cream so they had to do a needle stick
without it being numb. Plus I had Claire today, the nurse that I don’t really like. I mean, she’s ok...very nice...just
very different from me. She’s in her sixties and has very traditional notions of men and women’s roles (women take
care of the INside of the house, men the OUTside). Ok, fine...but then my regular nurse comes in to help the person
next to me and we begin talking about all of the crazy religious people out there who don’t believe in evolution and
instead believe that the world was created at 11 am October 26, 4004 B.C. Anyways, I got the feeling that Claire
didn’t approve of our blasphemous comments, and frankly...I really didn’t want to piss of the person who was getting
ready to stick a needle into me.
Went out to lunch with a friend afterwards. We went to the Cheesecake Factory. It was fun...good food...but
I got nauseous in the middle of my cheesecake. And it wasn’t just ANY cheesecake, either. It was a TOBLERONE
cheesecake. Sigh. At least it looked good on the plate.
I didn’t get out of there until 4 pm or so, and it’s a good hour drive from Woodfield Mall (where we ate) to
Rockford. Of course, in Friday afternoon rush hour traffic, it took about twice as long. This hillbilly (from Rockford,
of course, no surprise there) drove like a complete shit the entire way...tailgating people, pacing people, weaving in
and out of traffic. He almost caused half a dozen accidents when the big Ford truck behind me and the Honda Civic
I was passing decided to pace each other–deliberately–to keep the guy out of their way. Of course, he blew past all
of them at the next toll plaza only to pace some other random car a few miles up–just to deliberately piss them off.
Well, guess who else got stuck behind this freaking moron. I was so ready to call the police...but what do you really
say in a situation like that? WAH...I’m stuck behind some moron who’s pacing another moron at 70 mph and I want
to go faster and I’m a big crybaby and can’t take care of myself on the road.
So, I get home and start thinking about some other issues going on right now and immediately get all pissed
off at things that I can’t really get into here. Let’s just say it involves the fact that there is someone out there who
loves nothing more than making excuses for everything and thinks that just because I don’t work all day that I should
be able to do all of their work for them. Don’t give me this bullshit about being too busy or not having time. Because
in case you don’t remember, let me point out to you that at one point in my life I simultaneously worked 60+ hours
a week, relocated to another state by myself for four months, went to chemo for 4 hours every Friday, exercised 5
days a week, and STILL managed to make time for friends, family and loved ones by driving home 5 hours one way
every other weekend. I did it during chemo, so as far as I’m concerned, YOU HAVE NO EXCUSE. Your job is not
an excuse, your social life is not an excuse, nothing you could possibly say to me is an acceptable excuse. So get your
shit together and learn some responsibility and quit expecting other people to share in the little, itty bitty workload
that life has given to you. And besides....my full time job right now IS dealing with cancer. You think that all I do is
sit around at home and eat bon bons? You think that I laze around all day watching TV and wishing I had more to
do? You think it’s so easy dealing with cancer? THEN YOU FUCKING DO IT.
(as a side note, if you just read that paragraph, I wasn’t talking about you.
lot of details at the moment, so I deliberately kept it vague)
If you’re wondering what set me off today, besides the steroids...
When I cleaned out your room, I painted
the walls to cover any memories.
But still it seemed like you were hovering over.
Still out there keeping an eye on me.
And I never really was able to tell you.
That’s why I’m telling now, that you can’t hear
It aint gonna be the same around here without you.
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I just don’t want to get into a
And I’m holding back a flood behind one tear.
And we’ll go down to the
Post mortem bar and catch up on the years that have
passed between us and we’ll tell our stories.
Do you remember when the world was just like a
carnival opening up.
I never thought that I would ever see the day.
And I don’t wanna believe it’s true.
You see you were supposed always be there.
A little part of me died with you.
And we’ll go down to the
Post mortem bar and catch up on the years that have
passed between us and we’ll tell our stories.
Do you remember when the world was just like a
carnival opening up.
If I could have just one more day with you the way it used to be.
All the things I should’ve said, would pour out of me.
I took a walk and I didn’t know which way I was going.
But somehow or other I ended up here,
where you said we were gonna meet again and I guess I was just hoping.
The place had been closed down a while, it was all dark in there.
All but we’ll go down to the
Post mortem bar and catch up on the years that have
passed between us and we’ll tell our stories.
Do you remember when the world was just like a
carnival opening up.
–Zane Campbell, ”Post Mortem Bar”
I don’t know how I can live with myself sometimes.
3.6.18
(2004-06-19 11:51)
- public
Fahrenheit 9/11 comes out next weekend. Blake and I are going to see ASAP.
I also got my voter’s registration card...FINALLY. You all know where MY vote is going this fall (ABB, baby).
I’ve been doing a lot of reading lately by my favorite essayist/scientist/anthropologist, Stephen J. Gould.
It’s my personal opinion that EVERY PERSON should read one book from each of the ten perspectives in the social
sciences before making decisions in life. Those ten perspectives include: historical narrative, rational choice methodology (Adam Smith), Marxism (Marx/Engels), Protestantism/Capitalism (Max Weber), Structural-functionalism
(Durkheim), Structuralism (Levi-Strauss), Interaction Ritual (Irving Goffman), Freudianism (Freud), Symbolism and
Post-modernism.
Because of all of this, I’ve got an entry brewing in the political science arena that’s sure to be controversial. Stay
tuned!
3.6.19
(2004-06-20 11:27)
- Feeling like a big doofus - public
So.
Blake and I went to the store about 5 times this week during the process of running errands, and each time we’ve
forgotten to pick up toilet paper. Well, today we finally ran out.
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So now we’re fighting over who is going to own the only box of Kleenex in the house.
We give new meaning to the term ”losers.”
3.6.20
(2004-06-20 14:21)
- public
And now an update in the geek department:
Blake just came home with 4 cases of Charmin.
3.6.21
Rock Me
(2004-06-21 10:38) - public
Ah, Monday morning and I’m exhausted. The steroid high is finally wearing off, and I’m back to feeling fatigued. The
weekend was really, really good. My Dad and Rosalie came in Saturday night to go to dinner with us for Father’s Day.
I actually had a GREAT time...my Dad was really nice, telling stories about his family, his time in the service, and
when he and Mom ran the tavern in town. I like my Dad when he’s like that. He’s had such a very interesting life...and
he remembers so much! I have a feeling, sometimes, that I get my very good memory from him.
Sunday we went over to [ LJ User: heiney 9 ]’s house for Father’s day dinner. He cooked up a very succulent
pork loin along with some fresh corn on the cob...and probably one of the best margaritas I’ve ever had. It was very
nice and very relaxing.
In other news...
I think I’m addicted to VH-1 classics. Every time I hop on the computer I turn it on and watch videos from the
80’s. What’s cool is that we didn’t have MTV when I was growing up (I lived in a town that didn’t have a large enough
population to support cable service, so all we had were four local channels). I’m seeing some of these videos for the
very first time.
Anyways, ”Metal Madness” is on right now. Now when I was in high school, metal was all I listened to. I mean,
I liked Depeche Mode and Erasure and Pet Shop Boys...but in a town of 400 people you either listen to a) AC/DC or
b) Garth Brooks. That was it. If you listened to anything else, you were very, very, VERY uncool (and if you were a
boy and claimed to like such things, you were called such niceties as ”fag” or ”fudge packer”). The only exception to
the rule was a brief introduction of rap in late 89, when everyone thought it was cool to listen to 2 Live Crew’s ”Me So
Horny” and ”Put Her in the Buck.” But that was only acceptable because it had lots of swear words and talked about
fucking.
Yeah, Amboy, Illinois was a REAL enlightened town. What’s funny–or sad, really–is that things haven’t changed
much. But oh well. I don’t live there anymore, so let them rot in their backwards little town.
So, back in high school I listened to a lot of metal, and to be honest, I did really like some of it (at least I didn’t fake that
part of my personality). I’ve been going through a backlash for the past few years lately, rejecting all metal-type music
in favor of pure synthpop, but I think I’ve sufficiently gotten the ”I-Hate-Everything-From-My-Crappy-Upbringing”
out of my system and am now beginning to remember how much I did like some of this music.
So today I’m going to list some of my favorite metal songs/bands, and some of my least favorites. I have a feeling that I’m going to make [ LJ User: blakeh ] cry here, but just remember...nothing that I write today will EVER
diminish my love for [1]Mr. Bell.
Favorite Metal Songs of the late 80’s
Little Fighter by White Lion
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Poison by Alice Cooper
Animal by Def Leppard
Shook Me All Night Long by AC/DC
Desperately by Slaughter
I’ll Never Let You Go by Steelheart
Cum on Feel the Noize by Quiet Riot
Dr. Feelgood by Motley Crue
Wild Side by Motley Crue
Youth Gone Wild by Skid Row Favorite Metal Albums of the late 80’s
Dr. Feelgood by Motley Crue
Hysteria by Def Leppard
Stick It to Ya’ by Slaughter
Appetite for Destruction by Guns N’ Roses
Smashes, Thrashes and Hits by Kiss
New Jersey by Bon Jovi
Dirty, Rotten, Filthy, Stinking Rich by Warrant
Pyromania by Def Leppard
Flesh and Blood by Poison
Out of the Cellar by RATT Least Favorite Metal Songs of the late 80’s
When the Children Cry by White Lion
Baby, Don’t Treat Me Bad by Firehouse
Born to be Wild by Steppenwolf
Don’t Close Your Eyes by Kix
Anything by TRIXTER
Bathroom Wall by Faster Pussycat
Once Bitten, Twice Shy by Great White
When I See You Smile by Bad English
Beth by Kiss
One by Metallica Songs that Have a Story
Smooth Up In Ya’ by Bulletboys. We all had a good chuckle the day we played this song and caught our friend Brandy
singing ”Smooth Opinion.” Our friend Jenny also had her own version of the song. To this day I’m amazed that she
didn’t do any permanent damage to her vocal cords.
Little Fighter by White Lion. We almost blew the speakers out in Brandy’s parents’ car listening to that. It’s amazing
that none of us went deaf.
Mr. Brownstone by Guns N’ Roses. Let’s just say lots of drinking was done to this song. Yeah, we were SO COOL
when we were 15.
Patience by Guns N’ Roses. I had a slumber party that year, and since none of us could sleep we all snuck out to the
car, popped in this cassette tape and sat around telling stories about how we lost our virginities.
Born to be Wild by Steppenwolf. They played this song NON-STOP the night we decided to go out and deface ”Stop
Ahead” signs by spray painting them to read, ”Stop and Give Head.” Yeah, we were a classy group of kids. Ok, I have
to stop now. I could go on forever, listing all of the trashy memories of my childhood, but I think I’ve hurt Blake
enough. I’m sure he’s in a fetal position with his fists balled into his eyes at this point. Anyways, rock on, everyone. I
know I will be. Oh, and bonus points for anyone who can tell me the name of the album AND artist of the song title
that is in my subject line.
1. http://userpic.livejournal.com/14873672/576215
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3.6.22
In other music news....
(2004-06-21 15:01) - public
Someone–ANYONE–owes the world an apology for Rod Stewart.
3.6.23
Crushing Day
(2004-06-22 19:01) - friends
Today was a long day for me. I drove into the burbs to have lunch with a friend, and by the time I got home I needed
a serious nap. But the entire drive home I was pondering something that we had talked about.
To my gentlemen friends, I especially welcome your honest input on this post.
Now Blake and I have gone round and round on this in the past and have actually agreed to disagree on this. Here’s
the issue: men and women can have platonic relationships.
Now I whole heartedly agree that this can happen, and have several males that I count in the ”friends only” category not because I’m consider myself to be out of the dating pool but because I can honestly NEVER see myself in
any type of sexualized relationship with them (ewwwww). Blake, meanwhile, takes the opposite stance and believes
that no such thing as ”platonic” exists because no matter what, the guy is always thinking, somewhere in the back
of his mind, that he wouldn’t mind a romp in the hay with his female friend. In this case, it all comes down to the
definition of ”platonic.” Does platonic simply mean that two people maintain a friendship without sexual relations? Or
does platonic mean that two people maintain a friendship without THOUGHT of sex ever happening? From my point
of view, I, as a woman, believe that you can have the latter. Blake dissents.
Anyways, what does this have to do with today’s discussion at lunch? Well, the topic of work ”crushes” came up.
Now I’d like to go on record here by saying that anyone who has ever done any two-person project work should understand that a special fondness does indeed develop between the two people the longer the project continues. I do NOT
feel that this fondness goes beyond that, regardless of whether or not you work with an opposite sex co-worker. I have
worked with both women and men and have developed the same sense of fondness and loyalty towards both. These
feelings of fondness do NOT, however, translate into any romantic feelings whatsoever.
However....
The dynamic IS different between my relationships with the men versus the women. I have no problem talking to
my female co-workers about my relationship problems, female problems, and family problems. My male co-workers,
though...well, let’s just say that I don’t get nearly as frilly or fluffy with them. I stick to tried and true topics: politics,
company dynamics, and the larger life issues that plague us both (such as a general stance on their love life versus
intimate details about how they feel about their spouse/girlfriend/latest conquest). With my female work friends I
talk about feelings. With my male work friends I talk about opinions. Regardless, though, I bond with both of them.
Just because I bond in differently with the males in no way makes it beyond platonic.
When I feel a sense of fondness towards my co-workers, romanticism them is the LAST thing I think of. I am
concerned that they like me, that they approve of me, and that they think I’m interesting/smart/insert any other
adjective here. But any behavior I exhibit is for the strict intent of ensuring their approval of me out of my own sense
of insecurity, NOT to flirt/tease/use female wiles.
I guess my question is, is this the same as with males? Do males go into a work relationship like this with the
purest of intents, or, as Blake says, do they work the situation (maybe not consciously) on a more sexual level? Are
males able to have a platonic friendship with a woman WITHOUT the MERE THOUGHT of turning that friendship
sexual? I know that women can...we call it the ”he’s like my brother” syndrome. Is there a ”sister” equivalent for men?
I have to believe that there is. But if you think otherwise, please let me know.
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3.6.24
Thesis CRAP.
(2004-06-24 09:55) - Dumb - public
I found my Master’s thesis the other day. I can’t believe I got an A on this piece of crap. Here’s a sample of the
introduction.
Since the publication of Darwin’s The Descent of Man in 1871, several models have been postulated to explain the
origins of bipedalism. Darwin was the first to postulate why bipedalism developed (Darwin, 1871), and since then, a
number of theories have developed from such men as Sir Arthur Keith, william King Gregory, and Dudley Joy Morton.
In the 1950’s, W.E. LeGros Clark attempted to systematize physical anthropology by establishing a standard method
for comparative anatomical analysis. Clark (1955) addressed the issues of personal bias and the interpretation of characteristics (i.e. data), both of which were summarized and articulated in a later paper by Washburn (1973). Tuttle,
whose work followed Clark’s and Washburn’s, exhibits many of Clark’s standardizations.
The scenario described above can be analyzed as normal science and through a structural framework. Darwin’s
thesis that man evolved from natural selection serves as a paradigm (Tuttle, 1974). Keith (1923, 1927, 1934,1940),
Gregory (1920, 1934), and Morton (1922, 1924, 1926) all contributed to the growing body of knowledge surrounding
this paradigm. Clark (1934, 1949, 1955, 1959) introduces certain methods that accord with structural aspects. Finally,
Tuttle’s work (1967, 1969, 1974, 1975, 1986, 1988) is an example of the results of Clark’s work.
The purpose of this paper will be to first introduce evolutionary anthropology as a normal science. Normal science will then be compared to structuralism, and hence physical anthropology and strucuralism will be linked. Finally,
I will analzye one specific aspect in physical anthropology through the structuralist perspective. The specific topic to
be sidcussed is the brachiationists’ models of human evolution (more specifically, the evolution of the upright posture).
I really wish I could have been one of the brilliant ones.
3.6.25
Random thoughts
(2004-06-24 10:15) - public
So. After thinking about things, I no longer think that these liver mets are such a bad way to go. Granted, I’d rather
not die at all...but in the grand scheme of things maybe I got off easy. Well, so far, anyways.
I keep thinking of all the places breast cancer usually travels. The bones are the most common place, and
usually the mets there are the easiest to treat. But what happens when the treatment fails and the mets in the bones
keep growing? I know there is a lot of pain associated with this, but in addition to that there is a whole host of
other issues. Fractures, joint replacement, even amputation in some cases...are all part of the package deal with bone
metastases. There is loss of mobility and daily rounds of high dose pain medication. No, none of that appeals to me.
So then I think about the lungs...the second most common place for breast cancer to spread. Not as easy to
treat as bone mets, but definitely controllable. Lung mets have all sorts of fun side effects, such as shortness of breath,
cough, and fluid build-up. In most cases, patients get to have needles stuck into them to drain the fluid OUT of the
lungs. The pain levels aren’t supposed to be as bad as with bone mets, but you still get the same loss of mobility.
Only in this case, the loss of mobility is not due to brittle bones but because you can’t breathe deeply enough to fuel
yourself to do anything. No, I certainly don’t want to have to deal with any of this.
So then I begin to think about the brain, the fourth most common place for breast cancer to spread. Two
weeks ago I sat in treatment with another woman who was blabbing her story about breast cancer to anyone who
would listen. She yammered on and on and on about her battle and was completely oblivious to the fact that she was
scaring the crap out of the lady next to her who was newly diagnosed with breast cancer and just getting her very
first chemo treatment. What was it that was scared the second woman so badly? It was the first woman’s description
of how they treated her brain mets. She sat there and described, in excruciating detail, how painful it really is to have
a halo screwed into your head so that you can undergo something called gamma-knife radiation (a specific treatment
253
used to treat brain mets). Now I knew that brain mets usually requires a halo to be screwed in so that they can
radiate your brain (chemo usually doesn’t work on brain mets). But I had no idea that they put the screws into your
head WHILE YOU WERE AWAKE. Apparently they give you a shot of novacaine in four spots on your scalp (OW)
and then one by one they twist in each stainless steel stud. And what’s great about brain mets...is that although
radiation is very good at knocking out the lesions, they have a habit of reappearing again and again and AGAIN.
Which means you have to do the halo over and over and over.
I have to say, the woman scared ME. And I consider myself to be a veteran in the breast cancer arena.
So, in light of all of this, I don’t think I have it too bad. Mets in my liver...ok. They are hard to treat and
cause the quickest decline in health when treatment fails. Is that really so bad? I mean...would I trade that for bone
mets? Sure, I might live a little bit longer with them...but in what kind of health state would I be in?
I need to stop complaining about my situation. I’m one of the lucky ones. If my mets stay confined to my
liver and pancreas and I die this way, then fine. At least in this scenario, I KNOW what to expect. Some bloating,
abdominal pain, inability to digest food, weight loss, muscle wasting...so what? I don’t look forward to it, but it’s
better than some of the alternatives I’ve described above. And when I go, you know...when it’s my time, I just want
it to happen. I don’t want to drag this out. I don’t want to suffer for years fighting bone mets and being in a lot of
pain. I don’t want to have to keep going in and having my lungs drained. I don’t want to have to go round and round
having my head radiated.
There really isn’t much they can do for liver mets other than chemo. And to be honest, chemo isn’t that bad.
I read an article recently that claimed that there are certain people out there that have a particular genetic make-up
allowing them to be very tolerant of chemotherapy. I don’t know how it happened, being that I’ve got screwed up
genetics in other arenas, but I was lucky enough to fall into that category. I’m in my second round of chemo, and I’m
still exercising, reading, writing, having as full of life as possible. I know so many people out there who spend their
time debilitated by chemo. Granted, I don’t feel 100 % on it...but compared to everyone else, I got off easy.
It’s a funny feeling, though, feeling like I got off easy. I sometimes sit around blinking my eyes in awe at my
good fortune and wondering why it is everyone complains about having cancer. It honest to god has not been that
hard for me! I waffle between thinking that I’ve either just handled it well and or either it has been easy for me
because, in essence, it HAS been easy and that here in the near future the other shoe is going to drop and I’m going
to find out, once and for all, why everyone else claims to have a hard time with it. It’s almost like I’m WAITING for
it to break me, to make me fall to my knees and beg god, in whatever form, to just make it stop.
I don’t want to get too comfortable with the idea that cancer is something I can handle. I have this growing
fear that as soon as I begin to believe in something like that, THAT’s when it will happen: the brain mets, the pleural
fluid, the tumor pressing on my spinal cord. And then I’ll be kicking myself, saying, ”See...you thought it was going
to be easy and because of that fate had to prove you wrong.” It’s like I think I’ll jinx myself if I think that cancer is
something other than a force to be reckoned with.
But I don’t want to think that. I don’t want to hate my cancer...and I don’t. I never have, in fact. I’ve had
this disease for over 2 years now, and I can’t go back any longer. It’s part of me...it IS me...and I can no longer
imagine my life WITHOUT it. I realize that a lot of people won’t understand that and will come at me with things
like, ”You should NEVER think of yourself as your cancer.” Well, why not? It IS part of my life. People talk about
their kids, their spouse, their family vacations...me, I talk about chemo. That’s the way it is.
Besides, I don’t think people have any clue about anything when they say things like, ”Don’t be your cancer.”
I AM my cancer, and I am PROUD of it. And if you disagree with that, it’s just because you don’t get it. Which is
fine, since there is no right or wrong way to deal with this disease. I am fully aware that I don’t get it when people
tell me not to be my cancer.
A few people I know use visualization as a means to fight their cancer. Most people think in terms of battle
lines, as in, ”I imagine the warriors of my immune system battling the mean, ugly cancer cells and beating them into
submission.” You know, I can’t think of a more agitating visualization. If it were me, I’d imagine myself talking to the
cancer, reasoning with it, explaining that it can’t spread uncontrolled otherwise it will kill the very host that supports
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it’s life. I don’t imagine fighting my cancer. I imagine lulling it into sleep, so that we can peacefully co-exist for many,
many years. Me and my cancer, together forever.
Or until one us kills the other.
But I suppose that’s no different than any two roommates who are trying to occupy a small space.
My cancer is my friend. I understand it. I’m an anthropologist at heart and I’ve studied evolution for YEARS. It’s
just trying to survive, same as anything else in this world. It evolves, it adapts, it changes over time. Why is that
wrong? If I CAN’T find a way to outsmart it, then guess what? It wins. Just because I’m human doesn’t mean I’m
somehow beyond the laws of survival of the fittest. I mean, it’s no different then if I were a tiny little Australopithecine
that had just gotten caught by a leopard and suddenly became Sunday supper. You snooze, you lose, folks.
And there’s nothing WRONG with that. It’s just part of life.
I’m going to die anyways. Whether that’s via cancer, a heart attack, old age, or car accident, SOMETHING
is going to take me out. There are pros and cons to all of them. Hardly anyone ever just goes to sleep and then
doesn’t wake up.
To be honest, cancer isn’t that bad of a way to go. I have time to get my affairs in order, I have time to say
good-bye, but more importantly...I HAVE TIME TO LEARN ABOUT THE PURPOSE OF LIFE.
It’s a chance of a lifetime that most people never get.
So, no...I don’t hate my cancer. I don’t even dislike it. I sometimes don’t like the feelings that come from it,
but feelings again are fleeting and mobile and never last permanently.
I have had it good, and I hope to keep having it good. I will die young. But so what?
It only matters if you die happy. And I will. How can I ask for more?
3.6.26
Fridays are officially my LEAST favorite day of the week.
(2004-06-25 16:53) - public
I am SO SICK of my Fridays going to hell.
Chemo today was frustrating, to say the least.
I get there and find out that, gee, I AM supposed to see the doctor today. I’m getting a bit frustrated with
this every-other-week bullshit. I’m there every week for treatment and talk to him anyways. Trust me, if I have
anything to say to him, I won’t be shy about advocating it AT THAT POINT. I don’t need an appointment every
other freaking week to sit down with him for a 10 second conversation consisting of ”How are you feeling?” ”Good”
”Ok, grab a chair and we’ll get you started.”
I had some paperwork that I needed to have done for my disability insurance, which is due to kick in sometime in October. My regular nurse wasn’t in today, so Tajuddin went ahead and took care of it for me....except that
you can’t read his handwriting and he put down TODAY’S DATE as the onset of my symptoms, instead of April
when I first took a leave from work. I have a feeling my insurance company is going to kick that right back out at me
and say, ”You need to be disabled for six months before we pay you! Now shut up and wait two more months.” I love
Tajuddin to death, but c’mon, doc...you’re killing me here.
So anyways, I’m sitting in a chair and waiting for someone to come in and give me a needle stick. So I wait.
And I wait. And I wait some more. I got up to go to the bathroom and there they are, all three nurses, just hanging
around shooting the shit at the counter. They see me, nod, and CONTINUE THEIR CONVERSATION. I went to
the bathroom, came back, sat down, and waited EIGHT MORE MINUTES before one of them dragged themselves
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away from the conversation long enough to be bothered with accessing my port. Now I understand that they are not
there to be at my beck and call, and I understand that I sometimes have to wait when they’re busy or they have an
emergency. But there were only TWO OTHER PATIENTS in the office besides me, so they weren’t busy, and I’m
sorry, but their FUCKING CONVERSATION DOESN’T CONSTITUTE AN EMERGENCY in my eyes. There was
no reason I had to wait nearly 15 minutes for someone to give me my needle stick.
I think they knew I was a little edgy because Karen (one of the three nurses today) really hustled to get my
lab work done and to check my blood counts. In fact, I’d say it was the FASTEST bloodwork I’ve had, EVER. So
after doing that, she breezed back in and hooked me up to my Kytril bad and I was on my way.
I brought my book with me today, [1]Exploring Ancient Native America, which is a decent little introduction
to, well, ancient native America. I have a hard time swallowing lines like, ”the women used this time to catch up
on news and make acorn meal,” being that who the hell knows, really, what the women talked about while grinding
tubers and nuts, but I can deal with it because it’s just an introduction to the subject matter and is not a scholarly
text. Anyways, the point is that the book is an easy read, and before I knew it twenty minutes had passed and my
Kytril bag was empty.
So, like always when my bag is empty, the pump goes off. Now I may have mentioned this before, but I’m
going to say it again. The pumps are LOUD...as in, oh-my-god-bombs-are-landing-everyone-take-cover loud. Especially when you’re not expecting it.
So my pump goes off. And it keeps going off. And KEEPS going off. The lady in the chair next to me is
jump-starts herself awake, and then she and her husband glare at me...like it’s MY fault the pump is going off and no
one is around to take care of it. After several minutes of the pump going off, I finally reach over and hit a button on
it, hoping that whatever I do will make it be quiet. I’m in luck–the pump stops beeping and the people next to me
settle down. I figure that a nurse has probably heard it, being that it was going off for several minutes, and that they
will be with me as soon as they finish with whatever other patients are ahead of me.
So I wait, and I wait, and I wait. Five minutes goes by, and not a soul. At that point, the stand-by alert
has now faded on my pump, so it starts beeping AGAIN. This time, I’m furious and I figure screw them all, it’s going
to beep until someone comes and takes care of it. So I let it beep...for nearly five solid minutes. Finally the husband
gets up and storms out of the room. He’s Korean and doesn’t speak English very well, and I can hear his broken,
heavily accented voice coming down the hall as he yells at the nurses. He storms back into the room and throws
himself down in his chair and holds his wife’s hand, who is looking very green and ready to throw up. Finally Claire,
one of the other nurses, saunters in with crumbs on her lapel. Apparently Mr. Anger Management had disturbed all
of the nurses in the back room, WHERE ALL THREE OF THEM WERE HAVING LUNCH.
Ok, fine. A person’s got to eat. BUT WHAT KIND OF MORONIC SYSTEM OF DOCTOR OFFICE MANAGEMENT HAS THE ENTIRE STAFF TAKE LUNCH AT THE SAME TIME WHILE PATIENTS ARE STILL IN
THE TREATMENT AREA? Maybe it’s just me, but I would think the COMMON SENSE thing to do would be to,
oh, I don’t know...HAVE ROTATING LUNCH HOURS.
So Claire hooks me up to my Herceptin, which is supposed to be a 30 minute infusion. She leaves the room
and goes back to finish her sandwich, and I settle back into my book. After a very interesting chapter on the Anasazi
and Chaco Canyon I finally look up. It is now 1:30. My Herceptin was started at 1 pm. I look at the bag and have to
stifle a scream: IT IS BARELY HALF DONE.
By this time, lunch is over and I see Karen floating around and try to grab her attention. No luck. I wait
some more, and see her again. I try to get her attention. No luck. Ten minutes goes by and I see Claire, and this time
raise my voice and call her name, thereby causing the husband and wife next to me to give me a dirty look. Claire
comes in and I very politely tell her to speed up my Herceptin. She squints at the bag, squints at the pump and
readjusts it. She stands there for a minute, making small talk with me, and then goes to leave. I ask her how much
longer I should expect for the Herceptin. She looks at the pump and then says, ”Oh, gosh...I actually slowed it down.”
She readjusts, and then says, ”About ten minutes.”
I tell her that’s not good enough, that it’s supposed to be pushed in a 30 minute time frame and that we
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were now going on 45 minutes. She doesn’t say anything, but adjusts the pump, and I’m done in about 3 minutes.
She’s trying to make small talk with me, but at this point I’m not feeling very social and all I want is to get the hell
out of there and get on with my day.
So after the Herceptin, the Navelbine and the saline rinse are right on schedule. I finally get out of there at
2:05...45 minutes past when I would have gotten out of there had I not had to wait all that time. In an attempt to
make myself feel better, I spent my entire drive home screaming at the top of my lungs (windows up!) at stupid
drivers who don’t understand the concept of not pacing people in the hammer lane.
So I’m tired, I’m frustrated and I’ve lost my voice. And to top it off, we’ve got a dead baby robin and a
dead shrew floating in our pond. I was hoping to work out in the yard tonight to work off some of this frustration, so
now my first order of business is to dispose of the carcasses. Ain’t nature just freaking grand.
But...and this is the big but here that makes everything OK...today was week three of Navelbine.
have to go back now for two more weeks.
1.
I don’t
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/041592359X/qid=1088197926/sr=8-1/ref=sr_8_xs_ap_i1_xgl14/
002-4560805-8100027?v=glance&s=books&n=507846
3.6.27
Death be not Proud
(2004-06-26 09:30) - Complacent - public
You know, as someone who’s days are numbered, let me say that it takes a really BAD day for me to say that I’m
glad it’s over. That’s exactly how I feel about yesterday.
One thing I did do was decide to go downstairs and workout. I got in 40 minutes of aerobics and then did
some light stretching. I felt immensely better, but more importantly, I did this on CHEMO DAY. I’ve NEVER been
able to workout on a chemo day before. I guess yesterday my mental anguish surpassed my phsyical anguish enough
for it to be warranted. I’m a bit sore today, but I’m still glad I did it, as it was the best mood booster I could have
given myself.
So Blake and I have been watching on DVD the TV series, Dead Like Me. We watched the pilot episode a
couple of days ago, and then yesterday we watched the second episode. The gist of the series is that an 18 year old
girl dies and becomes one of several ”grim reapers” who has the responsibility of removing the souls from people when
they die. If you’ve ever read Piers Anthony’s On a Pale Horse, it’s kind of like that.
Anyways, I’ve been watching this series with a wary eye, being that it’s about death and I have a lot of unresolved feelings about this particular topic. So far, the show has been good, although I keep hoping they resolve the
whole ”death is BAD” image they are projecting.
But yesterday I had to shut it off. There was a scene that was so disturbing to me...so upsetting that I wandered into the kitchen in a daze, and then sat down at the top of the stairs and rocked back and forth, back and forth,
with my hand over my mouth because I thought I was going to vomit. I finally calmed down, after about half and
hour, but I’ve been thinking about this scene ever since.
Basically what happened is that Georgia, the 18 year old girl who just died and became a grim reaper, is
struggling to understand death and can’t stomach the thought that she is now responsible for removing the souls of
people. So she decides that next time around she’s just not going to remove the soul, and assumes that the person
just won’t die. But apparently, that’s not the case (although she doesn’t know it yet). If you are scheduled to die, you
die, and if the soul isn’t removed it stays in the body. It stays in the body and is aware of AND FEELS everything
that is happening.
Cut to the scene where the dead guy is lying on a table in a morgue. His soul is still in the body. Suddenly
the scene is showing what it’s like from the perspective of the dead guy’s soul. You are suddenly looking at the room
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from the perspective of the dead guy, lying on the gurney, and are literally looking at the room through his own eyes.
You can see the doorway to the hall, the fluorescent light shining above you...and you can see the mortician walking
over to the you, to your body. He’s got a small surgical buzz saw in his hand, and he begins to make a cut in your
abdomen...and inwardly you are screaming in pain, telling him, begging him not to cut you. But because you’re dead
and your body no longer works, your soul has no voice and no one can hear how much pain you are really in. And
so the mortician continues his job...ripping open the body, removing organs, and then sewing the body back up with
thick, ridged seams.
It was a horrifying scene for me, simply because it preyed upon my biggest fear, and that fear is that maybe...just
maybe...that is exactly what happens when we die.
I mean, what if everyone has it wrong? All of these scientists and doctors and such. We measure blood pressure, heartbeat, brainwaves...and when they stop, we conclude that the person is dead and go about disposing of the
body.
But what if we’re really NOT dead? I’ve said this time and again in my life, but perpception is not always
reality. Again with my analogy involving gravity and an apple: what if the apple isn’t falling to the earth, but the
earth is rising up to meet it, only we don’t know that because we don’t have the proper instruments to measure it and
so to us it looks like the apple is falling?
What if it’s that way with death? What if I’M STILL IN THERE WHEN MY BODY ”DIES,” ONLY NO
ONE KNOWS IT BECAUSE WE DON’T KNOW HOW TO MEASURE IT?
I woke up this morning thinking about this, and thinking about the concept of the ”soul.” Now I don’t believe
in the Holy Ghost or anything like that, so I don’t believe that each of us is a unique soul that goes back to a fatherly
God to live in a fluffy, white cloud kingdom. No, I believe in the concept of one great spiritual being, of which we are
all part, and that the purpose of this existence is for this one large spiritual being to learn how to be separate from
itself. So it’s in this context that I use the word ”soul.”
I think...that it’s a black or white scenario.
We have some sort of ”soul” or ”life force” within us. It’s what makes us live, breathe, experience, feel...you
name it, that’s what it does. But you can look at it one of two ways.
First, we could say that this life force is strictly organic, that it’s simply a series of synaptic firings across a
series of neurons, and that when those firings stop, that’s it. There is no afterlife, there is no eternity, there is
just...nothing. We cease to exist, period. It’s a pretty cut and dry scenario here.
Or, we could say the contrary. That our life force is a soul, an entity outside of ourselves that uses our body
as machinery to gain experience. The soul has a life of its own, and when the machinery fails, the soul goes elsewhere
because the soul is eternal.
Let’s look at this second situation for a minute. Let’s say we do have a soul, a life force that exists within us
and that leaves us to pursue other things when the body dies.
What is it, exactly, that keeps our soul within us? What binds our soul to this body, and what is it that removes the soul once our body dies?
Is our soul here out of grand design from some master developer? Is our soul forced into this life, through no
will of its own, to learn and grow from these experiences? Is there a big teacher in the sky, forcing us to learn these
lessons for our own good?
Or...IS IT A CHOICE?
I have to admit that I’m torn right now, between these two. Growing up Catholic, I’ve always been force-fed
the first scenario, with God playing the role of grand developer of the universe and me playing the role of the lowly
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servant destined to live a life that someone else has deemed fit for me. But in later years I’ve thrown away this concept
in lieu of it being a choice, something that I’ve designed for myself based on what my spirit knows about what lessons
I should be learning so that I can contribute to the collective spiritual whole.
If I chose this, then WHY? Why do we choose to do ANY of this? Are we that bored, out in the spiritual
realm of existence, that we need to create worlds like this where we can learn about such fun things as pain, suffering
and attachment?
I keep remembering this Star Trek episode that I saw when I was a little girl. Basically, Kirk and Spock happen upon this planet that has this big castle on it. They beam down to investigate and find this teenage boy, who is
apparently king and all powerful. The boy keeps trying to get Kirk and Spock to do certain things and when Kirk
and Spock refuse, the boy begins to inflict all sorts of nasty things on them. In the end, Kirk and Spock find out that
this boy is creating all of this...the games, the castle, the planet...because he really IS a young boy who is bored and
lonely and simply wants someone to play with.
Is that what WE are? Is our collective spiritual oneness simply a young boy, bored out of his mind, trying to
devise new ways to entertain ourselves?
Sometimes I feel like my life is one big game of Clue. The answers I seek are here...only I have to be alert
enough to recognize the clues as they present themselves to me.
What if, though...this isn’t a choice? What if there is some grand master out there who decides when and
where souls go? If that’s the case, then what guarantee do I have that mine will leave my body when I die?
What if...there is such a thing as hell? What if hell is having your spirit trapped in your body after you die
and getting to watch people hack it to pieces and then lay you in the cold ground? What if this is hell NOW, only
none of us know it?
I am afraid. Very afraid.
I want to believe that death is a beautiful thing. I watched my mother die, and I remember the feeling at
that moment...this feeling that something was leaving her, an essence, a sense of spirit. It was tragic for me, but
beautiful for her. But what if that was just a trick my mind played on me in order for me to come to grips with death?
What if she was still in there when her corneas were harvested, or her body was prepared or when we shut
the lid of the casket that final time?
I don’t know what the answer is anymore. I used to think I was comfortable with the idea of death, but as
my biological clock begins to tick its final seconds, I am finding more and more that I’m afraid of what is going to
happen when that clock goes off.
The train I’m on that is speeding down the tunnel towards the cement wall at the end is intent on me finding
out EXACTLY what happens.
I’ve been feeling detached lately...detached from myself. I’ve been going through my days looking at myself in
the third person. I hear myself saying things, see myself doing things, and it’s like I’m a fly on the wall, watching me
from a distance.
I feel as if I’m letting go.
And maybe that’s part of the process...I don’t know because no one talks about this. Maybe when your time
comes, you know it instinctively and these things begin to happen. You begin to detach and you begin to fear. And
maybe it’s this fear that drives your soul to choose to end your own life, to just stop fearing and get it over with
already!
But it’s not just fear.
I mean, there’s a healthy dose of curiousity in there, too.
I wonder, sometimes...what
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it’s like on the other side. Will I finally get the answers I seek? Will I become omniscient? Or will I just start over
again?
I think the worse thing in the world will be if I’m reincarnated. I don’t want to start over from the beginning
and have to learn this all again. I’ve got a nice life now, and I really don’t want to have to go back and live through
anything harder.
I’m winding down. I know it, I sense it. I can feel it in the depths of my soul. It’s not something I can consciously control, nor is it something I can change. My soul has a life of its own and is doing its own thing now. And
I’m left with the sudden feeling that I need to say good-bye to everyone.
What’s strange is that as petrified as I am, as deeply sad as I am...I’m not necessarily unhappy. In fact,
there’s this strange sense of calm over me. It’s like I’ve got my mother inside of me, taking care of me and making all
of my preparations and I don’t have to do a thing but sit back and bask in the joy of knowing that I’m going to be
OK.
Maybe this is enlightenment.
what it actually feels like.
I’ve always said that things like death and life don’t matter, but maybe this is
I don’t know. I don’t know the answers, and I don’t know how to end this dialogue with myself. I wish I
had some flowery verse I could tack onto the end of all of this to resolve all of these fears and curiousities and
observations, but I don’t have anything. I’m at a loss as to what to say next.
And maybe that’s ok, because maybe the rest will come in its own time.
But for now...I leave it as it is, and I leave myself exactly as I am, simply because there is nothing more I
can do.
3.6.28
Headbangers’ Ball
(2004-06-27 22:11) - public
In honor of my latest metal craze, I’ve drafted the following list:
Top Ten Criteria for Making a Heavy Metal Video
1) Attire for all frontmen must consist of the following: leather, spandex, or ripped jeans topped with either a
ripped shirt or no shirt. Hats are optional, as are long black trenchcoats and leather arm bands, but all will create
a nice effect when used appropriately. Sequins, pastels and sandals are strictly prohibited unless you are Poison,
who operates under a special grandfather clause as a result of Brett Michaels proving that he’s manly by dating a
nationally known sex object. Wearing such undesirable acoutrements without appropriate grandfather clause will
result in your video being relegated to the Light Rock section at Border’s (and as we all know, the Light Rock section
is the graveyard of the music industry). So be a bad ass...and leave the pink tube top at home when you decide to
rock out.
2) All metal videos must include some form of fire. This can be something large, such as a burning building,
or a smaller blaze contained in a small gas drum. The fire MUST be real and not an animated image. If fire is not
available, rolling smoke is an acceptable substitute.
3) At least 75 % of the band must have long hair. It doesn’t necessarily have to be teased, permed, or styled
otherwise, but there must be at least one section that falls below shoulder level. In addition, the lead singer MUST
have at least one of his/her eyes covered by aforementioned hair during the entire duration of the video. If the lead
singer runs hands through hair to uncover the eye and the hair falls back into place covering the eye, bonus points will
be awarded.
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4) Rules of manual contact are strictly enforced during any metal video, and must occur between the lead
singer and any of the guitarists/bassists. Manual contact must include one of the following: a) a ”high five”; b) a
”chest butt” whereby the two individuals run towards each other and then leap into the air, slamming their chests
against each other; c) the ”hug walk”, whereby at least two members of the band sling their arms around the others’
shoulders and walk forwards towards the camera; d) and if none of these options appeal to the band, this rule can be
sufficed with a simple hug between the lead singer and any other band member (hugs must be at least two seconds in
duration and should include shoulder clapping. as if you are congratulating the other person for a job well done). No
video will be considered a metal video unless at least one of these criteria is met.
5) At some point during the video, it is required that there be at least one extreme close up of the lead
singer. Bonus points if the close up allows you to identify previously completed dental work.
6) You must, AT ALL TIMES, take yourself SERIOUSLY when performing in a metal video. It is important
to sing and walk WITH PURPOSE. Remember, you are the voice of a generation. When singing of beer, chicks and
parties, just remember that you are not just creating music but advocating a way of life. Treat it with the respect it
deserves.
7) Scenery in you video must include at least one five second snippet of the following: a) previously recorded
footage of a live stage performance that includes shots of screaming fans and lust crazed women, b) a post-apocolyptic
world where matters of life and death hang in the balance of the music, c) any kind of strife whereby a young girl is
caught between the siren song of life and her strict, overly religious parents (see Bon Jovi’s videos for ”Runaway” and
”Living in Sin” as textbook examples of this genre) or d) any kind of footage shot while the band lip-syncs on the roof
of a building.
8) Synchronized guitar playing. ANYONE who has any sort of guitar in their hand MUST PLAY AT THE
SAME TIME IN A VIDEO. Separate guitar playing that actually displays the talent of the musicians is considered
to be a distraction and will result in the audience failing to pay attention to other required video elements you may
inserted into the video. Remember, it is more important for the audience to see your version of Stonehenge on fire
than it is for them to see that you can actually play your instruments.
9) At one point during the video, a scantily clad woman (with no more than 25 % of her body covered in
clothing) must make her presence known. NO EXCEPTIONS ALLOWED.
10) If you choose to include animals in your videos, the following are NOT acceptable to be used as specimens: kittens, puppies, gerbils, chipmunks, koala bears, or any other animal that would cause anyone to say,
”Awwwww.” Animals with marginal cuteness (kanagaroos, panda bears) can be shown but ONLY within the context
of fighting or mauling. It is preferred that all metal videos containing animals should utilize tigers, snakes, or hawks.
Please note that marine mammals are STRICTLY prohibited (although large fish, such as sharks, are permitted).
3.6.29
Time won’t give me time
(2004-06-28 09:15) - Complacent - public
I don’t have much to say today, other than I feel like crap.
I’ve got mouth sores now. When they first sprang up last Thursday, I thought they were just a couple of
canker sores. But then other parts of my gums, palate and throat were getting red, sensitive and swollen, so I began to
do a bit of research on stomatitis (basically, inflammation of the mouth), which is a known side effect of chemotherapy.
Based on what I’ve read, I have a feeling these things aren’t canker sores. Either way, they are unbelievably painful.
Because of where they are located, I can’t even talk or smile without wincing.
Have I mentioned that cancer sucks?
Otherwise, I just don’t feel good. I’ve felt this way since yesterday. I can’t pinpoint the problem other than I
just don’t feel WELL. I’m tired, my back aches, I have a headache, I keep breaking out into sweats, and my abdomen
feels bloated and tender.
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I’ve been putting off telling my doctor about this, even though I’ve noticed some changes for the past couple
of weeks here. I mean...I know what it is. He knows what it is. If I tell him about my symptoms, all he’s going to do
is run me through a series of tests so that we have tangible proof of what it is.
Part of me just doesn’t want to know anymore. I want to keep the blinders on and pretend I don’t have cancer. I keep telling myself that all of these symptoms are just because I’m no longer on the Reglan. Which...could be
true, to be honest. I’m on break this week, so if things clear up, then I guess I will relegate everything to just the
chemo.
But if it’s not the chemo and is the cancer, THEN what do I do? I don’t want to switch chemo’s until I talk
to the clinical trial doc on July 27th. I’m actually kind of kicking myself for changing my appointment with him in
June. I should have just gotten it over with back then instead of rescheduling. If I DO get tested in the next couple
of weeks here and the tests come back showing the cancer on the move, at least I would have had my research done as
to what I can do next.
Have I mentioned that cancer sucks? I have? Oh. :-)
Anyways, I’ve been thinking more about all of these issues of time, attachment and other fun existential things and
how it pertains to my mental state.
I’ve been feeling very down lately as things begin to sink in for me. That I’m really NOT going to survive
this. That I can’t talk about things five, ten, twenty years down the road for myself. That when I talk to Blake about
moving and going back to school, that it’s HIS future I speak of and not OURS.
I woke up early this morning and came downstairs to have my smoothie and coffee. It had rained last night,
so it was cool and damp out. Our backyard looked lush and green and was crawling with the squawky, chirpy ruckus
of birds on the move. As I sat there watching the water puddles on the deck dry in the morning sun, I began to
ponder this whole notion of ”future state” for myself.
I remember when I was diagnosed two years ago, all I wanted was the ability to be able to live in the ”now.”
I didn’t want to worry about anything else other than focusing on what was in front of me and trying to realize that I
should be thankful for what I have NOW.
So. I think I’ve gotten to that point. I look at my life now and I can’t find a thing wrong with it. Even the
cancer has its place. It all fits together so beautifully and wonderfully that I sometimes blink my eyes and wonder if
this is really MY life. How did I get so lucky? How was it that I found love and happiness and peace when for so
many years my life was nothing but turmoil and despair and thoughts of suicide? I used to think that I was destined
to be one of those people who are just naturally sad all the time. When I look at my life now, I am filled with such a
sense of happiness that I can’t imagine having ever thought that.
So that’s my life now. It’s great and big and wonderful and I love it.
But there’s still a pink gorilla in the living room that, for some unknown reason, I’ve been unable to see until
now. I mean, I knew it was there...I just couldn’t seem to identify it no matter how many angles I turned it.
You know what it is? What it is that’s been bugging me? It’s my future, but not the fact that my future
holds that I’m going to be in pain and on lots of medication and die and all of that. What really makes me feel robbed
is that I don’t have the luxury to PLAN a future.
Funny how that works. First all I want to do is focus on the NOW. And when I get that accomplished, all I
can do is lament the fact that my ”now” somehow seems empty because I can’t talk about what I’m going to do in five
or ten years.
So I began to really think about this today. Why is my future so important? Or rather, why is the IDEA of
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my future so important?
And it’s not so much as just MY future is important.
WITH BLAKE.
What it is–and this is key here–is that it’s my future
I find myself walking on eggshells anytime a conversation with Blake turns in the direction of ”someday.” As
in, ”someday we’re going to sell this house and move {insert geographic location here }.” Or as in, ”someday we’re
going to have to go on vacation {insert place here }.” I can’t bring myself to think or talk in those terms because it’s
just too painful for me. It’s painful to me because I’m going to say all of these things and then go and die on him
and then after I’m gone he’s going to remember that conversation and be sad that we didn’t get to go and get that
accomplished together.
I don’t think it’s a secret that Blake and I have had a very rough time in the past 18 months dealing with
this cancer. After my initial diagnosis, things were perfect between us. We snapped together like two Lego’s and had
the kind of relationship most people dream about. Then came my Michigan project, then radiation, then my move to
Rockford...and it all seemed to go downhill from then on. It wasn’t a matter of not loving one another or not wanting
to make this work...for some reason, we just couldn’t communicate. Everytime we said something to each other it
ended up being the WRONG THING. Things have turned around since my recurrence, but it’s still just very hard
sometimes.
I’m beginning to think that maybe the reason we say the wrong things to each other is because there are so
many things that we’re just flat out afraid to talk about with one another. This future business is a perfect example
of that.
What is really frustrating–although not discouraging–is that I don’t think he and I can EVER talk about
these things until we change our framework on it. And doing that just requires a lot of self analysis to understand
why we’re so afraid to talk about it in the first place.
Take this issue with my future. I am scared to death of talking about it because I don’t want to disappoint
him when it doesn’t happen. Ok, fine. But let’s dig deeper and find out why it is that I find the thought of a future
with him so comforting.
I thought about this issue this morning, and after going round and round finally realized that again...this is
all about attachment.
First, I want to say that I think most people in the world define attachment differently than I do. To me,
lack of attachment is not about being an unfeeling, robotic being that relies solely on logic and rises above such petty
things as feelings and emotions. No, to me attachment is simply our perceived (key word there) dependence upon
something to make us happy. It’s why consumerism is so rampant...it’s because we begin to believe that happiness
can come from a car or pair of shoes or electronic device. But it’s not true...none of it. Happiness only comes from
yourself.
Believe it or not, Blake and I discussed this very topic on our first date over three years ago. We sat there at
the table, dinner dishes cleared, talking about how love and attachment are two separate things. He told me that
he believed that it was possible to feel intense love for someone, but that if that person left the next day to not feel
sadness. The reason for this, he explained, is that it’s not love that causes pain but attachment, and that one of the
keys to a higher spiritual self is finding a way to love without attachment. At the time I vehemently disagreed. I asked
him, ”How can you love without attachment? Isn’t the intensity of the pain following a loss indicative of how much
you loved that person?” He smiled and said, ”No.”
I remember being so frustrated by this. There I sat, really liking this guy, and come to find out that he was
going to float into this relationship risk free. He could love me, but if things didn’t work out, well...it wouldn’t even
break his stride. It really unsettled me because somewhere in my mind I equated the pain of loss with proof of love.
Over time I began to think about that and began to realize just how stupid that was. Pain as proof of love?
That’s not what love is. I mean...a band-aid is painful when you rip it off. But if you wet it down first, it barely hurts.
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Does that mean, then, that because it hurt less in the removal that it healed the cut any less?
So, what does all of this have to do with my future?
I’m attached to Blake. I love him, but I’m also dearly and desperately attached to him. I know this because
the greatest source of anguish I have is that I’m dying and going to a great beyond and have to leave him. I don’t
WANT to leave him. I am less scared about dying and being in pain than I am of getting to wherever it is I am going
and missing him. The mere thought of being forced apart from him is emotionally debilitating to me and is the worse
form of hell I can think of.
I realized today one of the purposes of the concept of human defined time. We look at the world in the context of past, present and future, and I really think we do this because it provides us a level of comfort. The present–the
now–is fine and good. The only problem is that as human beings, we become attached to things and people and places
and all of that. So our view of the present becomes skewed with thoughts of, ”What do I do if this goes away?” What
do we do? We comfort ourselves with thoughts of the future. We imagine ourselves doing things and having our lives
a certain way, and usually our imagination is a direct extrapolation of all of the good things we have in the now. It’s a
great mental deception we place on ourselves to allow us to stay in a state of attachment to our things, our lives and
our people. I mean, if we never imagine them going away, then we never have to deal with the attachment.
My problem is that I’ve got this terminal disease. My thoughts of the future are cut short, and without them
I find that I’m confronted with all sorts of bad feelings and fears about how long I’ll be able to keep my present state.
I’ve lost my security blanket, in essence. I sit here, looking at my life now, and I am scared that I am going to lose
what I have (namely Blake). I no longer have this imaginary vision of the future keeping the fears at bay.
I guess there are two ways to look at it. First, with regards to this future issue...you know, no one’s future is
certain. We like to pretend that it is for comfort’s sake, but any one person reading my journal could right now walk
out their door and get hit by a bus and screw over all of their future plans.
So, in my case I’ve got an increased risk (ok, a SIGNIFICANT increased risk) of my future being waylaid
than the average person. Does that mean I shouldn’t think about it or talk about it? After all, if it brings comfort,
who’s to say it’s wrong? It’s kind of like believing in God. If it brings you comfort, then who’s to say you shouldn’t
believe it?
The other side of the coin is that believing in the future just allows us to stay attached to our things in life.
When the goal is to find love without attachment, then the thought of the future becomes a very dangerous illusion
that prevents us from truly finding peace.
This latter scenario...this is something I need to work on. In fact, this is something that most people don’t
ever learn in their lifetimes. But it’s a worthy endeavor, I believe, and is a personal goal of mine.
But for now I’m going to be OK with myself for thinking about a future, even if it just means tomorrow, or
an hour from now. The interesting thing about this is that even the smallest amount of ”future time” brings comfort.
I don’t need these grand designs about how my life is going to be in 25 years. We think that way because we’re taught
to, but the fact of the matter is that just thinking about what you’re going to have for lunch in an hour is just as
comforting.
And today, I think I’m going to have tuna salad.
but oh well.
Blake will hate it, being he hates the smell of tuna fish,
I’ll also be planning on the fact that he I and will be able to laugh about it tomorrow.
3.6.30
And in the pain department....
(2004-06-28 14:36) - public
So a friend of a friend recommended I try Listerine Blue for my mouth sores, said it would numb them.
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So I did. And guess what, it DID numb them.
(After about 30 seconds of the most intense pain I’ve had, EVER).
I didn’t even have it in my mouth the entire thirty seconds. I took a tiny sip, swirled once, felt a twinge, and
then immediately spit the stuff out. Unfortunately, spitting it out wasn’t enough to stop the twinge from turning into
an all-out scream-at-the-top-of-my-lungs pain session.
So, after I settled down from that, I figured I’d try what everyone else recommends, which is a salt rinse.
And I thought ths Listerine was bad.
Now my mouth throbs, and the sores are about twice as big as they were before.
I am so DONE with having cancer.
3.6.31
What Dreams May Come
(2004-06-29 08:55) - public
I had a very sad but very telling dream last night. This is actually a pretty rare occurrence for me. First, I NEVER
remember my dreams although I know I have them. When I wake up I can usually grasp at the dream for about five
seconds and then it fades away, but I never recall anything that happened in them. Second, most of the dreams I DO
remember are pretty nonsensical and usually include people I know (but who don’t look like themselves) doing things
they would never do in very strange geographic landscapes. So as you can see, whenever I DO remember a dream, it’s
important for me to get it down. I mean, I just never know when I may have another one (which is a shame, because
I love dream interpretation and I certainly don’t have enough memorable ones to fulfill that as a hobby).
Anywho, this dream was pretty cut and dry.
It was a gray day out...not a dark, doomsday gray...but just a light gray sky, like it was ready to mist at any
moment. It was race day. Blake and I were there, trying to get in amongst the pack of people who were already lined
up at the starting line. We held hands as we wound our way through the crowd, trying to get as close to the front of
the line as possible. We finally did find a path, and ended up right there at the very front. I don’t remember what I
was wearing–I think a read T-shirt– but Blake was wearing shorts and a cobalt blue T-shirt. The gun went off, and
we started our race.
The race was intended to be a 5k, and right out of the starting gate we had to run down this long hill. We
were on a road out in the middle of the country. Flat, shrubby green landscape lay before us as we chugged on down
the hill. At first, we were in front, sometimes running right next to each other, other times running one behind the
other. We were always arm’s distance away, and no further.
We could hear the clamor of the pack behind us, and weren’t surprised when some of the die-hard runners began to race past us. They were very thin, very lanky, and looked as if they hadn’t eaten for a long time. They were
unisex, with short hair covered in a red and gray baseball cap. They wore light gray tank tops with numbers pinned
to their backs and light gray running shorts that were so short it allowed us to see every muscle fiber in their legs.
They seemed to be running fast, but in reality they probably should have sat down and had a square meal.
The race eventually took us to my old Jr. High School, a massive, two-story building from the 1930’s, that
was situated in the middle of a town. The race path was to run through the school, navigate the schoolyard, cross a
very busy street, and then continue on in the race on the town roads until we ended up back where we started when
we began the race.
So Blake and I grabbed hands and entered the school. There were people everywhere! It was so crowded and
hot that Blake decided he needed to put on a bandana. I was against this because I didn’t want to lose precious time,
but we were so far ahead of everyone else that he insisted it wouldn’t be a problem. So he put on his bandana...a
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ping gingham bandana that gave him a pointy head and made him look like a little girl. I told him no, that this was
Jr. High and that we wouldn’t be able to get out of there alive with something like that on. I told him to try tying
it again, that it was the pointy head that made him look like a baby girl. So he tied it again and the same thing
happened. I kept bitching about it so he took it off and put on another one....this time a light lavendar gingham
bandana that had the same pointy head effect and still made him look like a girl. He was intent on running this way.
I sighed and followed him, although I was embarrassed to be seen with him that way and tried to distance myself a
little.
It was dark in the school, and as we tried to navigate through the crowds, I lost him. But we were close to
getting out of the school and I figured we would just find each other out in the schoolyard. I FINALLY get out there
and realize that the schoolyard won’t be any easier than the school. The yard is crawling with kids who are outside
for PE class. They are playing all sorts of games–baseball, kickball, softball–and because of that it’s just as crowded
as the school. I look for Blake and see him...he’s already crossed the street (bandana OFF) and is talking to someone.
I look over there and realize he’s talking to our friend, Brandy (side note: in real life, Brandy is the person responsible
for introducing Blake and I to each other). Brandy is not in the race, but just happened to be out with her friends
that day (namely, her ex-boyfriend Tony).
So I try to navigate the school yard and it’s a mess. I look back across the street and Blake is gone. I know
that he couldn’t have gone further without me, being that he didn’t know the race route, so I figure that he’s back in
the schoolyard looking for me. I look and look and look for him and can’t find him anywhere. I finally make it to the
street, cross it, and find Brandy, who is standing in a separate courtyard area complete with sunshine, blue skies, and
Greek columns (the rest of the world in my dream still has those gray mist clouds). I ask her, ”Has Blake come this
way?”
She looks at me and says, ”No. I haven’t seen him at all.”
I stand there completely puzzled. I must have been mistaken when I saw him talking to her earlier.
turned back to her friends and began to walk down the courtyard path away from me.
Brandy
I look back across the street and try to seek him out in the schoolyard. I can’t find him anywhere. I want to
go back across the street, but for some reason the race won’t allow it because it’s too dangerous. The street is very
busy, and the reverse cross would most definitely mean I would get hit by a car and be killed.
I look at the race path ahead of me. It’s a tree-lined city street with Victorian houses and Victorian-style
street lamps. The sky is dark grey, and a heavy fog has floated in. It is completely deserted at this point...all of the
other runners have either gone far ahead of me or never crossed the street and gave up in the school. I look down the
street into the fog and see balloons tied to the street lamps indicating that the race goes that way. But other than me,
there is no other person, and not a sound to be heard. Even Brandy and her friends have faded away at this point.
I look back across the street at the schoolyard and the games are getting done. Each of the teams is doing
the ”good game” line, whereby they walk single file in opposite directions and slap the other team members’ hands.
The schoolyard begins to clear and again...no Blake.
The only thing I can assume is that he either went way on ahead of me or he quit in the schoolyard and went
back to the starting point to wait for me. Either way, I assumed he was at the starting line.
I miss him.
I look at the race path ahead of me, at the peaceful hushed fog and soft glow from the lampposts. Part of
me really wants to go on that way, to finish the race and be proud of myself for such an accomplishment. When we
had originally started teh race, the running was easy for me...easier for me than for Blake. I was in good shape and I
knew I could do this. I knew I could run this race because I knew that I had trained hard and properly for it. I really
want to finish.
I look down the street again. I don’t know for sure that my path will always be marked with balloons, but I
know the town that we’re in and I figure that worst case scenario I can leave the race path and find my way back to
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the starting line on my own via my own route down the city streets.
The other part of me wants to go back, though, to the school. The busy street is deserted now, so I can go
ahead and cross anytime. But I don’t know if going back is the right answer and I don’t know if I can make it back to
the starting line that way. I’m afraid of getting more lost and I’m afraid that going back will take more time than if I
go forward. And I’m afraid that Blake will get tired of waiting for me back at the beginning and just leave without
me and go home. And then I’d never find him.
I stand there on the corner, looking both ways and not knowing which way to go. All I want is to be with
Blake. But I’m paralyzed by my choice, and I’m ashamed to admit to myself that the more the Victorian road appeals
to me the less I think about Blake. I finally realize that I’m afraid to go down the Victorian road because I think that
it will MAKE me forget Blake. Yet I really want to finish my race.
I’m frustrated now, as I stand there all alone on the corner in dead silence, trying to make a decision. I know
that Blake is waiting somewhere, and that he will soon be tired of waiting and that I’ll be forgotten by him if I don’t
do something. But I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what the right decision is. I just know that I have to get
back to the starting line to find Blake, if he’s even there. Maybe he didn’t even go back there. In fact, I have no idea
where he is anymore.
I woke up then, still with the image of me standing on a dark corner with silent street lights, paralyzed over
what to do.
3.6.32
Suit of Armour
(2004-06-29 20:58) - Humorous - public
Thanks to [ LJ User: myasma ] and [ LJ User: pengybean ] for their recommendations on the mouth sores. I called
my doctor today and they got me a prescription for something called Miracle Mouthwash. It’s a fun little concoction
of: Lidocaine, Nylocaine, Benadryl and Mylanta. I’m supposed to ”swish and swallow” this stuff 4 to 6 times a day as
needed.
I just had my first dose, and let me tell you....mmmm, mmmm, good!
[/sarcasm]
Ok, so it tastes as bad as it sounds. The good news is that I can no longer feel ANYTHING in my mouth,
including my tongue. Maybe now’s a good time to get that piercing I’ve always dreamed of....
Blake and I went out for Swedish pancakes tonight. We were watching Dead Like Me. In the show they always eat at this waffle house. I guess the subliminal messaging worked because five minutes into the episode Blake
and I both looked at each other and cooed, a la Homer Simpson, ”Ooooooh...pancakes....” So we chucked the thawed
chicken into the fridge and headed out for a nice plate full of what I like to call the short stack of heart attack. Yes,
they are that rich and buttery (and yes, they are THAT GOOD!). The lingonberries didn’t go over well with my
mouth, but I’m getting very good at placing food on the back of my tongue and then tipping my head to my left side
so that the food stays AWAY from the sores.
I’m also fighting with my doctor. Not my oncologist, but my general practitioner. Or rather, I’m not really
fighting with him...just trying to mediate a dispute between Osco ”Where the Customer Comes Last” Pharmacy and
one of my GP’s nurses.
For about five years now I’ve been on a medication called ArmourThyroid. It’s for Hashimoto’s Disease, which is
an auto-immune disorder that causes hypothyroidism that grows gradually more and more severe over time. I used
to be on Synthroid until I did a little bit of research on the difference between T3 and T4 hormones and realized
that Synthroid wasn’t doing shit for me except giving me false normal readings on my TSH tests (the tests used to
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determine thyroid problems).
Anyways, like I said, the thyroid problem gradually worsens over time, so that as time goes on you must increasingly take more and more medication. I was first diagnosed with Hashimoto’s when I was 19 (and had had it
in an undiagnosed form for probably about five years before that). So now, at age 30, suffice it to say that I’m on a
pretty high dose of thyroid medication. The normal dosage of ArmourThyroid is 60 mg, or 1 grain. I am on–no lie–300
mg, or 5 grains. That is, literally, FIVE TIMES the dose of the average person. No joke, this is a serious problem.
So I called my prescriptions in today, and realized my doctor had to call in a script for my ArmourThyroid.
No biggie...happens all the time. About 4 pm today Osco calls me in a panic because they ”can’t get any of the
thyroid anymore.” I kind of stutter, ”What?” And the pharmacist goes off on this schpiel about how they called all of
these manufacturers and they just can’t get the drug anymore and they don’t know who manufactures it and that
they had this happen to another patient and they ended up switching to Synthroid. So I say to her, ”You can’t get
ANY of it?” The pharmacist says no, and tells me that I can get out the phone book and call other pharmacies OR
call my doctor and find another drug. I thank her, and get off the phone.
So I call Walgreen’s and ask them if they have any ArmourThyroid. The say sure, what dosage do I need? I
tell them 300mg, and the lady tells me that they don’t have that dosage but have smaller ones. I ask her if she’s had
any issues with obtaining ArmourThyroid, and she says not to her knowledge. I thank her and hang up the phone.
So then I go to the website, which CONVENIENTLY has the url of–get this–http://www.armourthyroid.com.
Forest Pharmaceuticals, the parent company, made a freaking website STRICTLY FOR THIS DRUG. After poking
around, I decided that no, ArmourThyroid, although an older therapy, is NOT off the market and that there shouldn’t
be a problem obtaining any.
So I get back on the phone to Osco. I want to get to the bottom of this.
I finally get a hold of the pharmacist I talked to earlier and explain that I don’t understand why she’s telling
me they can’t get ArmourThyroid. She tells me that none of their suppliers stock it anymore. So I ask her: ”Do you
have any SMALLER doses of this drug?” She doesn’t even hesitate: ”Oh, sure. We’ve got plenty of it.”
Ok. So I ask her if they would be able to fill a prescription if I had my doctor re-write it. As it stands now,
the script reads to take one 300 mg tablet daily. What if, I proposed to the pharmacist, the script stated something
to the order of taking five 60 mg tablets daily?
The pharmacist hestitated, and then said to me, ”Huh...um....I don’t think we could even come up with a
combination for you to get you to 300 mg per day.” So I ask her what doses she has in the ArmourThyroid. She tells
me they have 120 mg tablets and 60 mg tablets.
It took everything I had not to march over there and give her a stern lesson on simple arithmetic. Instead, I
took a deep breath and calmly explained to her that I could easily take two 120 mg tablets and one 60 mg tablet daily
to reach my 300 mg quota. Her response?
”Oh.”
I finally have to prod her to give me an answer...will they fill the prescription like that if I have my doctor
re-write it? She mumbles, ”I guess so” and we hang up.
So I call my doctor’s office. The nurse can hardly believe her ears.
”What do you mean they can’t get the medication?”
”They told me that none of their suppliers have it.”
Pause
”What pharmacy are you working with?”
”Osco”
Inaudible mumble
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”I just don’t know what to say to that. I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
”Well, that’s all they told me. They also told me that they told you the same thing and that you told them that I had
to handle it if they couldn’t get the medication.”
”WHAT?”
”That’s what Osco told me.”
Inaudible mumble.
”That’s just...never mind. Crazy. Don’t worry, we’ll take care of this. What’s Osco’s phone number?”
I hung up with a smile on my face.
Of course, my prescription STILL wasn’t ready when I went to Osco tonight.
prescription I’ll be getting filled there.
No matter.
This is the LAST
It’s nothing personal...I just prefer that my pharmacists be able to add a row of three digit numbers. I don’t
care if they have to use their fingers. I don’t care if they have to use paper and visually carry the one. At least
recognize the fact that if you’ve got smaller proportions of a larger one that you can usually add the smaller ones
together so that you get the sum you need.
I don’t know. I kind of hate to switch pharmacies. I don’t think I’ll find this kind of entertainment anywhere
else.
3.7
3.7.1
July
Social Structures
(2004-07-01 09:09) - public
Can I just say that Social Security is the most FUCKED UP system we have in this country?
I’ve been trying to complete my paperwork for my Social Security disability. Their website offers all these glorious promises of a streamlined, paperless process whereby you can complete all of the forms online. It sounded good to
me, so I figured I’d give it a shot.
I got to a question that asked me if I expected my disability to result in death. I checked ”Yes” and immediately
got a warning messge telling me that I needed to contact social security via phone and to not do the form online.
So I call today. I was only on hold for about five minutes before someone got to me. She was very nice, took all
of my information, and scheduled an appointment for me at my local Social Security office to go over this disability
process.
But then she began asking me questions and telling me what information I would need to provide during the interview. She told me the following:
Birth Certificate
Driver’s License
Social Security Card
Copies of all medical files
Names, addresses and phone numbers of all doctors, hospitals, clinics, etc.
List and dosages of all medications I’m currently on
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Proof of Income in form of W-2 and pay stubs
Proof of monthly mortgage/rental payments
Make, model and year of all vehicles I own
All checking and savings account statements and statements from any other accounts (like 401K) that I may have I’m
a bit puzzled by this, being that the attorney I talked to informed me that my assets have nothing to do with whether
or not I receive disability payment (I’m not applying for SSI, which is disability assistance for low income individuals
and families and DOES require an asset check). So I ask the lady why they need all this information. She tells me
that they need to verify my assets, and that in all honesty, it sounds to her as if I’m not going to qualify because I
MAKE TOO MUCH MONEY. So let me get this straight. I’ve worked for 15 years of my life and have contributed
roughly $75,000 to Social Security during that time frame (that’s a conservative estimate based on previous W-2’s).
YOU MEAN TO TELL ME THAT I CAN’T USE ANY OF THAT MONEY? What’s next? Are they going to start
disqualifying old people who reach the age of 65 from getting their payments because they made too much money in
their lifetime? It’s ridiculous. That is MY money I’ve contributed and I GODDAMNED want it back. Anyways. So
I tell her that my work disability runs out in October and that after that point I will have NO INCOME at all. She
tells me that I may have to wait and apply THEN for Social Security. OK...again, let me get this straight. I make too
much money NOW on my work disability payments to qualify for Social Security (even though I’m not applying for
any disbursements until October). BUT...if I wait until I’m piss-ass broke in October and applying for food stamps,
THEN I suddenly become an eligible candidate? WHAT IS WITH THIS COUNTRY? This whole system is rigged to
KEEP PEOPLE POOR. I’m serious. I’m lucky in the sense that I’ve got Blake to help me. But what to people do
who don’t have that kind of help? What does the single mother working a minimum wage factory job with no benefits
do? If she gets sick and can’t work, by the time she’s eligible to apply for Social Security she’s already a few months
late on her rent/mortgage and will either be getting kicked out of her apartment or is risking foreclosure. I don’t know
how people do it...how people live so close to the edge like that. One little sickness or illness or injury and they lose
EVERYTHING simply because we don’t have a social program that really provides any help. I know some would
argue that we don’t need social programs in America...that we shouldn’t be giving ”handouts” to other people, that
it’s an insult to the ”American” way of life that consists of ”pulling yourself up by your own bootstraps” or some other
rot like that. I’d like to point out the obvious here in that you can’t very well pull yourselves up by your bootstraps
when you don’t have boots in the first place. But for those who think that we don’t need social programs, I’d like to
invite you to think about what you would do if you had a long-term terminal illness whereby you couldn’t work at all.
Unless you are independently wealthy, what would you do? Go live with one of your friends? Have a fund-raiser where
everyone donates to your cause? Expect your church to support you? It’s all ”mooching,” so to speak. Whether it’s
family, friends, church or society, when you are in that position you need help from SOMEONE. The purpose of Social
Security and other such programs is to help people in these circumstances, and to do so in a manner that allows the
individual some dignity while doing it. I don’t want to have to beg my family to let me live with them, or panhandle
my friends for handouts, or expect my church to send me the holiday gift basket just so I can have a square meal. No
one should have to do that. The purpose of Social Security is to provide people with assistance so that they CAN live
with a little bit of independence during a very traumatic time in their lives. Because trust me...no one WANTS to be
on Social Security. No one WANTS to be on food stamps. I’m willing to bet my entire life savings that if you gave a
supposed ”welfare queen” a choice between welfare and a steady job with benefits that paid more than our laughable
minimum wage that he/she would TAKE THE STEADY JOB. The problem is that people who are disabled, sick or
whatever have few options available to them for work. Yeah, they can go sling hamburgers at the local burger joint, or
maybe they can get some light factory work. At minimum wage, it won’t even cover the cost of the babysitter you’d
have to hire to go to work in the first place. It’s a Catch-22 for these people. They literally can’t AFFORD to work. At
least, not in the jobs that our supposed ”economic recovery” has made available to them. People don’t realize that the
apple doesn’t fall far from the tree in terms of economic class. Everyone falls for the concept of the ”American Dream”
where you can go and ”make something of yourself.” But do a little research and you’ll find that statistically...it is
RARE–check that, it is beyond rare–for someone to shift upwards in economic class in this country. We like to hold up
these rarities, such as Michael Dell and Bill Gates, as examples with a ”Yes, it can happen to YOU!” message. But in
reality...almost everyone is going to die with not much more of an improvement than what they grew up with. I really
disagree with the Republican notion that we don’t need social programs or assistance or any of those other programs
deemed to be ”socialist” (they use that word like it’s a bad thing...but do a little historical research and you might find
that the word doesn’t mean what you think it does). We DO need social programs simply because social stratification
IS A SOCIAL PROBLEM. It’s not a problem of laziness or an unwillingness to work. It’s a problem where the same
opportunities are NOT available to lower classes as there are to upper classes. Let’s take my mother, for example.
She grew up poor. And I don’t mean poor as in, they-couldn’t-afford-to-buy-her-a-car-at-age-16 poor. I mean, they
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couldn’t afford to buy SHOES poor. When I talk about receiving the church basket of canned goods, I talk about my
mother’s family. My mother worked hard. She finished high school in 3 years–and graduated at age 16. She enrolled
in a pre-med program at the University of Illinois at Navy Pier. She had no money, but had earned a scholarship. The
scholarship was great...paid for her tuition...but only if she was a full time student. She continued to live at home,
but because times were so hard her father told her that if she needed to work full time and contribute to the family
income. So she had to make a choice: move out, work full time to pay for rent and food...or live at home and work full
time to help out the household. She had a nervous breakdown after her first year, trying to juggle school and work.
She couldn’t drop classes because she would lose her scholarship (and then wouldn’t be able to afford school) and she
couldn’t stop working. She dropped out, and later worked and worked and worked to become a nurse, being that she
couldn’t afford her dream of becoming a doctor. She was one of the hardest working people I knew and accomplished
much in her short life. But when she died, she and my Dad weren’t too far from where she had come from, despite a
lifetime of work and saving. Now compare that to some of my old college friends. Let’s take Sara, who was a friend of
mine in grad school. Sara came from ”old money.” She had an undergraduate education from Bryn Mawr, her father
was the president of a prestigous university in New Jersey (I’ll refrain from saying which one for confidentiality’s sake),
and her hobbies included la crosse, polo and snorting cocaine. There she was at the University of Chicago, a private,
Ivy-league college who’s tuition costs more than a single family home in some areas of the country. She was not going
to her classes, not doing her homework, and flunking out. But she was having a great life otherwise spending daddy’s
money. She had bought a brand new Passat when I was there and routinely spent about $500 a week on her drug habit.
She was also in the middle of planning her wedding and complained constantly about how her mother had limited her
to a $25,000 budget. She didn’t care that she was flunking out and wasn’t going to graduate. It really was no concern
for her. What’s the point I’m trying to make with this? For people like my mother, the opportunity for college was
a hard and difficult road. For people like Sara, the opportunity was just handed to her. It doesn’t matter whether
or not Sara ever accomplishes anything in her life. When her father dies, she, as the only child, is due to inherit a
LOT of money that will keep her in good financial straits for the rest of her life. But more importantly, the point I’m
trying to make is that opportunities for getting ahead in life (like college) are NOT equally available for all people all
the time. Just because college is technically ”open” to all people doesn’t mean that all people have the ability to go. I
mean, right now I could probably become a research anthropologist. I’ve got the technical know-how and the formal
training. But I would have no means to support myself financially during a career transition like that, so therefore it
is not an opportunity for me. My first goal is to pay for a roof and food. Whatever is left over from that can go for
frivolities such as furthering my education or starting a business to become rich. And it’s the same thing with jobs.
People assume that if you are on welfare or social security or even unemployment that you just don’t want to work.
Could it be, though, that it’s not a matter of not wanting to work but not having the same opportunities? I mean, if
you are working 60+ hours a week just to pay for your food and shelter, what can you possible have left to go further
and get ahead? How do you get the same luxury of choice as other people? I don’t think there is any shame is having
a social program try to level this playing field. There is a huge difference between an ”excuse” and a ”reason.” There
will always be people on social security and/or welfare who make excuses for themselves and for their lot in life. You
know who these people are. They are the ones who have an excuse for everything you say to them and they spend
a lot of time trying to convince themselves and the world that everything that has ever happned to them is someone
else’s fault or is a result of circumstance and not their own doing. You are always going to find those kind of people
”milking” the system. But that’s true for ANY walk of life. Should we throw away the entire system simply because of
a few bad seeds? No. The system is needed because there are people who do have legitimate REASONS for needing
the assistance, and not having the same opportunities as others is a legitimate reason. The problem is not whether or
not we have a system. The problem, I’m beginning to realize, is how the system is STRUCTURED.
3.7.2
Darwinism Refuted
(2004-07-02 10:34) - public
I just LOVE sites like [1]this. Vague references (’some researchers’), blanket judgments (’primitive notions’) and an
obvious religious skew. Don’t get me wrong...the site is well done. But man, what a load of crap. And I DON’T take
kindly to people using quotes from Stephen J. Gould out of context.
In other news, I was supposed to go to the doctor today, but canceled since I’m finally feeling better and the sores are
starting to recede. In fact, I feel so good that I’m going to go to lunch with Blake at Nippon’s (a Japanese restaurant
here in town). I’ll still have to take a nap this afternoon, but at least I can eat now without tears of pain welling up
in my eyes.
Otherwise, not much happening. I guess no news is good news.
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1. http://www.darwinismrefuted.com/
3.7.3
Food, Glorious Food
(2004-07-06 12:58) - Hungry - public
Well, it’s Tuesday and I’m bored out of my mind.
I’m having a good week, though. Last Friday was my day off from chemo, and I REALLY started to feel good
on Sunday. I’ve noticed that it’s taking me longer and longer to recover each week. I’m not necessarily surprised by
this, being that this is kind of how chemo works, but it’s something I’m tracking nonetheless. I used to start feeling
good on Wednesdays, 5 days after my treatment. Now I’m pushing 9 days. Being that this is over a week, it means
that I’m probably destined to no longer have ANY recovery days during my three week regimen. Blech.
The other good news is that some of the problems I’ve been having–the back aches, the stomach pains, the abdominal bloating–are all gone. I feel...NORMAL. This is a good thing, as I was really really afraid that the problems
were an indication that the cancer was flaring up again in my pancreas.
I think that’s the thing that frustrates me most about my situation. I can’t tell a chemo side effect from the cancer,
being they BOTH CAUSE THE SAME SYMPTOMS. I’m due to have my tumor markers run here soon, so that will
be the final determination.
Anyways, my July 4th was pretty mundane. Blake and I didn’t do anything, really, but we DID have his parents
over for dinner on Sunday. I started cooking at noon that day and didn’t sit down until 6 pm (thank god it was a day
I felt good or I wouldn’t have been able to pull this off). Here was the menu:
Cheese Sandwich appetizer (a Blake family recipe consisting of cocktail ryes, miracle whip, onion and swiss cheese–and
SO GOOD)
Lamb loin chops marinated in a paste of olive oil, minced garlic, kosher salt, tri-color pepper and fresh rosemary and
oregano from the herb garden
Roasted tomates with olive oil, lemon rind and fresh rosemary
Homemade focaccia with rosemary and Asiago cheese
Hobo potatoes: baby reds–couldn’t find fingerlings in town!–sliced and grilled in a packet with lemon slices, sliced
fennel (from the garden), onion and garlic
Bibb lettuce and nasturtium (from the garden) salad with homemade shallot vinaigrette
Lemon bars with cherry topping (Blake’s mom made this...she makes the BEST lemon bars, EVER) Beverages consisted
of martinis, Fat Bastard Chardonnay, Rancho Zabaco Heritage Vines Zinfandel, and homemade strawberry lemonade
I had made for Blake. After dinner we played Trivial Pursuit. I’m normally pretty good at this but for some reason I
sucked. Maybe it was the five glasses of wine. Or the fact that our questions consisted of things like, ”What obscure
Russian ballerina in 1925 was known for having one index finger slightly shorter than the other?” while the other team
managed to get questions like, ”What color were Frank Sinatra’s eyes?” We had so much fun I’m already planning
another one! I’m going to pay homage to my Italian roots and plan a traditional five course meal, complete with
antipasta appetizer, salad, pasta course, main course and dessert. And I think I’m going to scrounge through [1]Todaro
Brothers for ingredients. Anyways, dinner Sunday turned out really, really good, which never ceases to surprise me
being that I’ve got a rich history of things not turning out. To celebrate how far I’ve come culinarily (is that even a
word?), I decided to try and recall all of my food disasters past. Food disaster number 1: Boston Creme Pie. I
list this as my first food disaster because this was my earliest food disaster. I was a mere 7 years old and had already
mastered such culinary quests as peanut butter cookies, macaroni and cheese and boiled hot dogs. I was feeling bored
and restless and looking for a challenge. Enter Betty Crocker’s recipe for Traditional Boston Creme pie. I embarked on
this escapade while my mother was sleeping and my father was working (after all, culinary geniuses need their space
in the kitchen). I read through the ingredients, choosing a few substitue ingredients to replace those items we didn’t
have, and onwards I went. I beat eggs, greased pans, and made homemade chocolate frosting. I was DETERMINED
to prove myself as a culinary prodigy. The end result was a beautifully layered (although slightly lopsided) masterpiece
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consisting of two fluffly round cakes with a layer of vanilla creme between the two and topped with chocolate frosting. I
was so proud! That is, until I tasted it. To this day, I don’t know what I did wrong, but based on the gritty, cardboard
taste of the cream and frosting, I would guess that some of my subsitutions didn’t quite pan out. Still, I give myself
bonus points for having done this at a time in my life when most of my peers were busy playing with Barbie. Food
disaster number 2: The Stir Fry gone Awry. I’m going to start out by saying that I always have and I fear always
will just totally SUCK at doing stir fries. I never know what ingredients to put in, I never know how long to cook
the vegetables, I never know how hot to keep the pan, and I never know what to put into a good sauce. Even when
I have a recipe I still manage to find some way to turn it into a soggy, salty, inedible mess. My first stir fry, in 1994,
was no exception. I was home for college on spring break and was bored stiff. In an effort to relieve the boredom
I decided to take over the kitchen. I plugged in my little CD player, popped in ”Heart of Glass” and set about to
making the WORST chicken stir-fry I’ve had, bar none. The chicken was rubbery, the veggies were soggy, and I over
soy-sauced the entire thing. But the thing that REALLY tipped it over the edge was my attempt to be a gourmand
and throw in several handfuls of whole dried red peppers. Now I like spicy foods as much as the next one, but even
this one blew the roof of off my tastebuds. We ended up plating the meal into the garbage and ordering a pizza. To
this day I still don’t own a wok. Food disaster number 3: Rice Krispie Treats. Now I have no idea how I managed
to fuck these up, but suffice it to say that I did–THREE TIMES. What’s sad about all of these situations is that they
all happened when I wa