I felt SOOOO much better after being released from the hospital. I guess the 18-year-old blood is doing its work. However, a new side-effect for me is that I feel just a little queasy all the time. I decided that it wasn't worth taking the medicine which makes me feel brain-dead and tired out. So it reminds me of being pregnant. Yuck.

Steve and the kids had arranged the vacation days into job/reward sequence. They have cleaned and de-junked the toy room, rearranged the furniture in the family room downstairs, and cleaned their bedrooms, so we went to Ikea one day for the reward. I got a wheelchair, which was extra-large, and we had a grand time looking at everything and oohing and aahhing. Steve had brought measurements of the dining area, and we measured several dining tables, but none were exactly what we were looking for. We were all starving by the time this was all over, so we decided to be creative and eat at the Ikea restaurant! It was very delicious, and rather inexpensive.

While I was waiting patiently with the slow eaters, Steve took the quick eaters and disappeared back into the store. We were just about to try to find them when they came back and whisked us all away and made us sit around a table in several different formations. Turns out that the table was 1) on sale, 2) able to seat at least 8 without a leaf, 3) had a leaf to enable it to serve at least 12, and 4) had benches for each side, which means we could put more people of little sizes. So we bought a new dining table! Steve and Joseph put it together, and it is extremely lovely and functional -- the benches push in underneath to be completely out of the way.

What I Did Over The Weekend by Jan Spunker*
* The pizza delivery receipt had this name on it. I guess that's what my name sounds like over the phone when I pronounce it fast, because this is the second time my name has appeared like this. :)

It began Friday evening when some people were getting ready to go to admire the lights at Temple Square. Chris, Nathaniel, Joe and I had decided to hold the fort here because I could feel the achies coming. I was suddenly overcome by a giant wave of nausea and ran to the only available porcelain receptacle. This is very unusual. In fact, I can say this is the first time it has happened since I began chemo. The wave subsided slowly and I headed straight for Mattressville without stopping at Go or collecting $200, even though I probably needed it. From there I dispatched Chris to buy more Claritin, Nathaniel to find the Aleve and the promethazine anti-nausea stuff, and Joe to put a bed buddy in the microwave (flannel bag of rice).

The next big development came when I woke up shivering so hard the bed was shaking. After piling on all the blankets I could reach and waiting at least five minutes, I woke Steve up. He re-warmed the bed buddy and snuggled up, but I was still shaking. Tried to find the thermometer, but it wasn't in the zip bag and I couldn't really sit up to look in the drawer. Steve was by now back asleep and I didn't manage to wake him up. I know I eventually went to sleep because I woke up feeling immensely hot, but I remember waiting and waiting and waiting while I tried every trick I knew: relax everything, sing, count sheep, curl up, stretch out, go to the bathroom, come back, tense everything.

Saturday was basically a blur of me in bed realizing that the sounds I had been hearing for a very long time were actually my three youngest playing with Legos with Haruka; or that it was 1 p.m. and my stomach had said absolutely nothing about food; or that I had refilled my cup at least twice already and this was the seventeenth trip to the bathroom. I did actually descend and try to eat yogurt and granola but after six spoonfuls it was too much and I took my bowl back to bed. That wasn't much better.

The next time I realized I was hot, I sat up and searched in my drawer. The thermometer was buried. When it was done measuring, it said 101.1 and I decided that since my temp had probably been higher at several points during the recent past and 101 was the official Crisis Point Go To The Emergency Room, I should. I yelled for Jason.

Steve actually arrived, so off we went: candy-striped pj pants with pink Survivor t-shirt and red hat, coat, boots, purse, book, cup. They brought me warm blankets while I sat not watching the fish, just wishing to be horizontal. And of course, you always decide after you get there that you probably shouldn't have bothered, but by then you've already started the giant ER ball rolling and you might as well hang on and go with it. The time was somewhere after 4:30 p.m. Steve was reading my book, because his was boring, I guess.

ER Summary: Questions. Waiting. Stethoscope. Waiting. Poking. Waiting. Prodding. Thermometers in ears. Waiting. Machines beeping. Nice nurse. Blood pressure too low. Doctor joking about dancing with his elbows. Waiting. Blood work - why do they need three huge tubes? Third trip to the bathroom, this time with a pee-in-this-cup-please. Waiting. Weird admitting doctor who doesn't seem to realize that the reason everything he touches hurts is that I just had chemo (even though I've told him several times), not that I have appendicitis or leprosy, and if he'd stop poking me it would stop hurting. Waiting.

Amazingly, I am cheerful still. We make jokes. I make fun of Steve for reading my military romance thriller. Steve says I'm worth all the waiting.

I have a UTI (initials are starting to bother me - urinary tract infection), which ordinarily would be prescription and have a nice day. I, however, had chemo last Wednesday, and have blood pressure so low it makes the machine think I'm dead. They call the on-call oncologists (sorry, couldn't resist) and the verdict is: to the hospital. The reasoning, as explained by the tall blond bearded doctor who thinks I look familiar, is that I am already moderately sick and have poison in my veins, and therefore hefty antibiotics through Penelope for 24 hours would be the better way to attack the infection. I really didn't have energy to launch a counter-argument, and besides, I will have quiet and a horizontal surface to sleep on!

By the time my bed reaches room 795, after a strange Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle-house journey looking at ceilings, it is 10:30 p.m. I meed Lindsey and Matt and Brook, who proceed to hook me up to all manner of tubes: one on each leg like I had after surgery so I won't get blood clots, the one the ER put in Penelope to the IV post with IV fluid and antibiotics, one on a finger to monitor my oxygen level and pulse. Brook gets a shock when the blood pressure machine thinks I'm dead, and we joke about it while she gets a manual cuff. The rest of the night is sleep, drinking lots of water, calling Brook to come unhook me so I can go to the bathroom, IV bags of antibiotics, and someone taking blood at 3 a.m. from my arm, since Penelope was busy with IV fluid and stuff.

Sunday morning I am actually hungry, and I manage to eat some of my breakfast, even though the French Toast tastes like plain flour and just looking at the sausage makes me queasy. I feel a little better than yesterday. Greg is my nurse today, and his scrubs have Dr. Bunsen and Beaker all over them. I discover that someone has written about the manual blood pressure cuff on my chart, and Kara and I joke about my propensity to make machines freak out. After a while Kara comes in and asks when I would like to shower. I am speechless, because I am enjoying my book too much to think about anything else and I don't really want to shower, but Kara assures me that she can provide everything I'll need. Sure enough, twenty minutes later Kara has brought soap, shampoo, a shower chair, two towels, a plastic thing to cover Penelope, and a lovely blue hospital gown. However, Roxsann has come to visit, and that is gobs more fun than showering.

Showering while hooked to an IV is an interesting experience. I have to be careful which way I turn so I don't wind myself up in tubing. The hot water feels great, but I'm very glad the shower chair is there. The only real problem I encounter is that I can't figure out how to get the lovely blue hospital gown on so that the IV tubes come out in the right place. I discover that the shelf over the sink has toothbrush, toothpaste, mouthwash, lotion, baby powder, lip stuff, and deodorant. I use the toothbrush right away, because my efforts to clean my teeth with a washcloth in the shower were less than successful.

While I'm brushing my teeth, another resident comes in and starts to ask questions, which I understandably have a hard time answering. The basic gist of the conversation is that they would like me to remain in the hospital until I've been on antibiotics for more than 24 hours. This means I won't be released until Monday morning.

Mom and Dad come to visit just as I'm finishing lunch, which tastes fabulous and sweeps away prior prejudices against hospital food, although I can't quite forgive the Yellow Jello and Juice breakfast and Red Jello and Juice lunch of my previous hospital stay. We have a good chat, and then I'm back to my book. My body is tired of being in bed, so I sit cross-legged with my book in front of me. After a while I notice that the pages have sprinklings of dark hair, and I realize that I've been rubbing my head and the blankets and pillows are sprinkled with hair, too. I guess I wasn't done losing hair after all.

Kara and I take a walk around the floor and have a good time together. I'm having fun talking with all the nurses and PCTs (patient care technician). They are kind, competent, fun to be with. After I get back to the room, I hear a group of people coming down the hall, and can single out Reuben and Joseph, so I'm not surprised when Steve and all the kids, plus Jason and Haruka, show up. The room suddenly seems small. Since I won't be at their dinner and they won't be at mine, we take the time to have our dinner-time ritual of each person sharing something positive about the day. Since it's Sunday, most of the comments are about church. I suddenly feel very isolated, as if I'm cut off from my real self and the connections I have with family members. When Joe and Reuben start getting squirrelly, Steve says it's time for them to go. The room is too quiet after they leave.

I hear the Mormon Tabernacle Choir singing from someone else's room, and turn on the TV. After that broadcast, I find a televised sacrament meeting, and several more religious programs on BYU-TV to watch while I'm eating dinner. How I can be so hungry when I'm just laying around is a mystery to me. When the TV programs start to repeat themselves, I discover that I am thoroughly bored. Luckily, I notice that the guard has changed, and Lindsey is back!

I ask for games or books, and say that she can play with me if she'd bored. While she is gone searching, Kayleen my PCT comes in and I offer her the same deal. Lindsey arrives first, with a Chinese Checkers tin, Mancala, and two mysteries. She goes off again to attend to people, and I discover that inside the tin are chess and checker pieces, and a bag of mismatched regular marbles. I find enough blackish ones to fill one triangle, and enough whitish ones to fill another, and then some with blue centers for another, and some with red centers for another. Success! Lindsey says she lost the only other time she played Chinese checkers, so I try to take it easy, but all those years of cutthroat games against my brothers comes out against my will. We try Mancala next, and since I have no idea how to play it, Lindsey explains. Halfway through the game, Kayleen arrives. It takes on the air of a party. We laugh and joke and make fun of ourselves for the silly moves we make. Lindsey has to leave, so Kayleen takes over. When they finally both have to leave, we have had a great time, and used up two hours! I read some of the Dick Francis mystery and then go to sleep.

Someone wakes me up at some unearthly hour to take my blood. When I tell her that it has to come out of my right arm because of the danger of getting edema in my left one, she says that they should give me a bracelet to wear telling people that in case I'm asleep.

The next morning I awaken to find a piece of paper towel on my wheelie tray. It reads: "Mornin' Tytto (supposed to have two dots over the o -- Finnish for girl)! Didn't wanna disturb you but I did want you to know I really enjoyed being your PCT. I hope to see you before you go...if not, I'll give you my best wishes now. Kayleen. p.s. Have a great Day!" I am amazed at how much this means to me. How can I make friends in just one night? I feel like I have a connection with them.

Today my nurse is Julie, and my PCT is Brittney. I know people joke about how horrible hospital food is, but everything tastes wonderful to me, and I don't have to decide what to fix or cook it or clean up afterwards. The first person to arrive after Julie and Brittney have checked all my vital signs is Dr. Noonan, who says that I can be released today as soon as Dr. Wardle comes to check on me, which will be about 11 a.m. Three hours to wait. Luckily, Paula shows up with two more books and we talk for about an hour until she has to go fetch Aunt Amy from her doctor appointment.

Before I finish my Dick Francis, Dr. Wardle comes to say that my hematocrit level is dangerously low - 26. I've had lower, but I don't want to get into that. He suggests that I need a transfusion. I ask him to call Dr. Wallentine's office about it. For some reason, I think this means they're giving me iron. Dr. Wardle comes back to say that Dr. Wallentine's office would like me to have the transfusion today, since I'm already in the hospital all hooked up. I call Steve to say I'll be another hour or so. This turns out to be a mistake, because when he comes, I am still waiting for Julie to come get a blood sample. I tell him I'll call when I'm really done, poor man.

The blood sample Julie takes is somehow messed up, so she comes to take another one while I'm on the phone with Mom. My mother says no wonder I need a transfusion, since they keep drawing blood from me. By this time I have realized that they mean a blood transfusion -- two units. It is now after lunch, and I decide that a shower could use up a good half hour if I'm slow. This is ironic, because I have a hard time understanding how anyone can stay in the shower for more than 10 minutes. Brittney brings me towels and the plastic thing to cover up the IV in my port. I do my best to be very slow, but it is hard, and I barely make it last 30 minutes by lotioning extremely thoroughly while sitting in the rocking chair.

Cameron comes to ask if I want a walk. We make about seven rounds of the floor while we talk about books. When I get back to the bed, I can't stand the thought of lying down, so I sit cross-legged and read Paula's book. After a while I realize that I'm rubbing my head and the pages and blankets are covered with hair. I thought I was done losing hair, but I guess not. My eyebrows are looking a little strange too. When I've finished the book, it is only 2 p.m. and there is no sign that my transfusion units have come. I can't stand the thought of starting another book -- a strange feeling for me. Out of desperation, I read the packet of information I was given Saturday night when I came up from the ER. The blurb about the gift shop says it has games. I call down, and the ladies say they do, and that lots of people come down in their gowns while pushing IV poles.

I get my wallet, and Brittney volunteers to go with me. Luckily I still have the pin Kara brought me on Sunday to pin the back of my gown closed so I feel more modest. We take the elevator down to the lobby and have fun exclaiming over all the things in the gift shop. We find the playing cards at last, and I buy some. The ladies at the counter recognize my voice, I guess, as being the one who called. Just my luck, while we're walking back to the elevator, I stub my pinky toe on my IV pole wheels and it dislocates. OUCH! Brittney wants to know what's up, so I explain all about breaking the toes in high school dance and how they dislocate when I stub them and that the best way to get them back in place is to put on a shoe and hobble around grimacing and how Sunitha says I should have them fused.

When we get back upstairs, Mom and Dad are waiting in my room! I get my boot on first of all and walk around grimacing, and happily for all, my toe pops back in within four laps. As always, I am immensely relieved. Mom and Dad and I jabber for about an hour and after they leave I try to play solitaire with myself. I find myself cheating a lot, but I suppose it doesn't really matter. At five, my first unit of blood finally appears. Julie gets me all hooked up, but looking at my IV tube with blood flowing through it unnerves me, so I'm glad when dinner comes and I can ignore it.

I try making up card games but I keep getting mixed up in my rules. The new shift comes on, and my PCT's name is Janet. We decide to be twins. Katie is my nurse, and we have just as much fun talking as I did with the other ones I've had this weekend. How can they be so nice to everyone? I wonder if it's hard to do. The first unit of blood is finally done at 7:45. Janet goes down to get the second, and when she comes back, she says she brought blood from a lush-haired 18-year-old runner. Just what I need!

The debate has now begun about whether I should stay overnight, since this blood unit won't be done until 11:30 or so. I call Steve and he says he'll come get me, even if it's after midnight. Hooray! I don't think I could stand to be here another night. I find Hunt for Red October on TV and resort to playing Phase 10 with myself. Katie says she'll get all the papers ready so I can be on the fast track out of here when I'm done.

I wonder if Steve wants to come watch with me, but he said on the phone that they were watching something as a reward for helping clean the toy room. So I just wait. And figure out sets and runs, and tell Janet that's why it's best to play yourself, because then you always win. Sure enough, the blood is all in by 11:30, and I start getting dressed and signing papers. I call Steve when Katie is getting things ready to flush my port and take out the access needle. Hooray! Janet goes to get a wheelchair while I fill out a thank you note to all the great people who've helped me. While they're both busy, I find a note they've tucked in my book. Katie writes: "It was a pleasure being your nurse tonight. I just wish you could've hung out a little longer. :) Good luck & take care. Have a great New Year." Janet's contribution: "Thanks for being such a great & pleasant patient. I hope the next time I see ya it will be in the Mall."

Steve is waiting just outside the revolving doors, and we're off. My weekend adventure at the hospital is over, and I'm just glad I won't have to do it again next weekend.

:) I can't believe it's Tuesday already.

Catch-up Day! (or is it ketchup? or catsup?) One of my great-great-great grandmothers used to say, "The hurrier I do, the behinder I get." I'd have to say that pretty much sums up my life. When I feel good, I get too busy to write anything, and when I feel yucky, nothing happens to write about.

1. Have had lots of energy some days, not so much other days. Took kids boot shopping (2 at a time) last Saturday, just in time for the SNOW! Also found some wonderful items on sale, about which I can say no more, other than a) now I don't have to make them and b) would you like fuzzy or silky? Sariah, Haruka, Bethany, and Reuben had a wrapping party and now we have things under the tree!

2. Finally managed to practice for the Christmas program. Marveled at how much I love my organ shoes; it is soooo much easier to play with them than the others I was using. Decided that whatever comes out of the organ on Sunday is going to have to do, because a) it is a soft gentle thing and not up to shaking the building, and b) the choir men's section is so awesome that they will probably cover it up anyway. Tried to practice one day with Reuben, and he had enough fun that I couldn't really hear what I was playing. Oh, well. Maybe he'll grow up someday to be an organist.

Not much ketchup today. Sorry.

Jaren gave us tickets to the MoTab/Orch@TempleSquare concert on Thursday evening. I felt okay and rested and played Go Fish and Landlocked with Reuben so that I would have enough energy for it. We also worked on his presents for Christmas which I'm not supposed to say anything about because we had a family meeting and had everyone promise not to ask nosy questions or tell scintillating facts about presents. So mum's the word, but he is getting very good at using scissors.

Dashed off at 6, having finally located the pizza gift card (Thank you!) for the stay-at-homers. We left the freeway in Murray and took Trax, and walked quickly and made it to the Conference Center in time. Jane sat next to us, which made everything more fun than it already was. The concert was fabulous! Great choices of music, well-done arrangements, fantastic guest artists (Brian Stokes Mitchell and Edward K. Herrmann). My personal favorites were 1) the arrangement of "The Friendly Beasts" by Mack Wilberg, featuring Mr. Mitchell singing in a different voice for each animal; 2) Mr. Herrmann's recital of the Longfellow's Christmas, which explained about the "then pealed the bells more loud and deep" hymn; and 3) Richard Elliott's organ rendition of "Go Tell it on the Mountain" with the melody and harmony in the pedal part, during which time he looked as though he were doing a fast tap routine on the pedalboard.

Joseph has wrapped the presents Steve and I bought last week (except his own, of course) and Nathaniel has set up our own puzzle-table in the livingroom. We put up the Christmas decorations last Monday for Family Home Evening (Thanks, Marci & Chad, for the twinkle lights), and afterward Steve said how much he liked our no-nonsense done-in-two-hours style of decorating. The kids have all been playing with the Playmobil nativity set, especially Reuben, who is fascinated by the wise men and their camel.

Still feeling yucky and achy. Thank goodness for couches, blankets, and good books.

Sleep and I are having an argument, apparently. Last Wednesday night I felt like I was awake all night. I didn't come to consciousness and realize that I had been asleep, and I kept thinking things for what seemed hours on end. And here I am again at 4:45 a.m., having lain awake for an hour or so already.

Paul took me to chemo on Wednesday, and we had a nice long time in the waiting room. Since my doctors don't go in for woodworking or amateur radio or scientific magazines, Paul decided to sleep in his chair while looking like he was listening politely to a long and rather uninteresting anecdote. I worked on the puzzle. It was a bit frustrating, because I kept needing edge pieces that I couldn't find and got annoyed that someone hadn't sorted out and fitted together all the edge pieces first, as puzzledoers obviously ought to do!

We saw the doctor at 11 a.m. (9:30 appointment) because there had been a couple of emergencies, one involving fluid in lungs which then collapsed. It struck me that I am having an easy time dealing with a nasty disease. This was confirmed by Dr. W, who asked if I'd noticed all sorts of different symptoms (including more lumps). Quite shocking how a 70% chance of recovery suddenly seemed not enough.

I haven't felt energetic this time. I've had the two achy days and today feels like this will be the third. I wonder if this is what chronic pain feels like? Continually reminding yourself to just put up with it, and pushing it back to a corner of your mind and doing other things until it surprises you by being out in the center again and you realize that you did actually watch it creep back in while pretending not to. Maybe that's what woke me up this morning, or perhaps the realisation that my pillow had gone hard, or that I was really thirsty.

Last night we went to Paula's and I was unpleasantly surprised at the nasty chalky bitterness of the broccoli and the strange metallic tinge to the dip. Even though I think I'm prepared, that I know food isn't going to taste good, I still get a jolt when I bite something and it's true. Perversely, the carrots and baby tomatoes did taste good, which made up for it.

I have become quite grateful for chairs. It felt good to put my body into one of the black chairs in the family room and pull a blanket over me and knit. And last night, I really enjoyed the feeling of surrendering the business of supporting myself to something firm but soft! Hooray for chairs!

Woke up this morning at 4 to use the faciilites and stand in the bathroom while Reuben used them too, which apparently has become one of my jobs as a mother. Since it is now 5 a.m. and I'm still awake, I'll tell you what has been going through my mind.

I've noticed lately that my body doesn't last as long feeling good as I think it used to. I have frequent head and back and leg aches. Case in point: yesterday I went shopping with Steve after dinner. Paul had come over with Haruka and was holding a session of the "I Hate Mathematics Association", with members Bethany and Abbie in attendance, and Jason was here to make people stop fighting, so I felt that it was okay to leave them to it. I sometimes feel like I'm taking advantage of people when I leave my noisy brood with them.

We were looking for cheap frames for Steve's classes to use to make Christmas presents with, so we started with Honk's and progressed through BigLots and RiteAid Pharmacy, took a detour to Maceys for breakfast food to gear up for chemo week, and ended at Dollar Tree, where we finally found frames for less than $6 apiece. Three cheers for dollar stores!

Since I had been ignoring the pain in my legs since RiteAid, I opted out of waiting in the cashier line and waited in the car instead. When we got home, I went up and lay down on my bed with my feet propped up on the wall. I followed Paul's advice and made sure to take a book, my latest discovery: Jacqueline Winspear, a different kind of mystery writer.

As I was jotting these things in a notebook, since I've forgotten where I put my journal, Steve mumbled in his sleep, something about me being brave. I don't feel brave. I feel unwilling and grumpy and apprehensive about chemo today, but I will get in Bapu's car at nine a.m. and check in at the desk, and admire the nurses' "Chemo Sucks" badges, and try to make jokes and work on the puzzle in the office. I won't kick and scream at the nurses who stick needles in Penelope's belly, and I won't cry to Dr. W (although I am now) and I will smile at the nurses and their tall IV pole full of plastic bags of clear liquid that drip into my vein. I will knit on Haruka's lime green hat with hot pink llamas, and I will fall asleep when the Benedryl drips in. And if I'm done in time, I'll get to have lunch with SueZann. And next week after I'm done feeling yucky, and next month when I have my last treatment, and next year and the years after that when I'm still alive, I'll think this was all worth it.

I think I'll tape my big heart card from the Young Women up on my wall today and look at it a lot.

I am sitting on the edge of the tub with my sweats pushed up and my feet covering the drain, which Reuben insists "has sharp teeth". He won't bathe unless the drain is covered, so I'm writing and eating my granola and yogurt.

Thanksgiving was very fun. We made pumpkin, peach, cherry, banana cream, lemon meringue and apple pie and a fruit tart and rolls and two kinds of cranberry stuff and exotic juice and fruit salad. Then we went to Mom's and I helped watch the two kinds of dressing in the downstairs oven while others finished up preparations upstairs. The rolls turned out nicely, since Steve prevented me from my usual blunder of adding too much flour.

We ate and talked and then played games and talked and then ate dessert and talked and played more games.

Sheila, Barney, and the kids came Friday. Since Crystal (now with short hair) and Camille turn 9 soon, and Haruka turns 18 soon, we celebrated by going ice skating on Saturday. I always forget how in the interim between visits to the rink and then have to relearn. The Sakizzie kids and Haruka did very well for it being their first time, and we only had one fall that caused tears. Reuben even skated about 2 times around with Steve or I holding him up by the armpits. Joe chose not to come, which puzzled me, because he loved the skating lessons the kids did a couple of summers ago. Afterwards, Grandma had hot chocolate, and then we had the birthday treats of ice cream and little Italian cookies called Pizzelle, which looked like pressed lace. Elisabeth and I talked knitting and James, Steve, Paul, Nathaniel, and I played a couple of games of Scrabble. It's so fun to have Paul here!

Steve had found his recommend, so we went to the temple Saturday morning while Paul sat at our house and shuffled kids to Grandma's for breakfast and played with LED lights and batteries.

I had called the temple to ask about my hairdon't and whether I should wear a white something to make my head more presentable. the woman I spoke with went and asked someone, and returned with the verdict that I could do what I felt comfortable with -- bare head or covered head, but to make sure the covering was white. I went bareheaded.

Why was this easier than going to church bareheaded? Reuben usually wants to wear my hat during sacrament meeting, but I haven't let him. Mild hypocrisy, I'm sure. I was bareheaded during Joe's Indian-and-pilgrim program last week because the hat I'd chosen had a floppy brim that made it hard to see.

Well, Reuben wants to make biscuits now that he's dry and clothed, so off we go!

Another nice thing about chemo is that it gives me an excuse to use the motorized shopping carts in Maceys without feeling guilty. Today was my second time, the first being Labor Day, just a few days after surgery. I decided to resort to this method after almost blacking out and fainting twice today. This time I did much better at driving and only bumped over one display of chocolate and strawberry ice cream syrup, which Chris helped me fix. Thereafter I drove more carefully around corners. Stopping without running into things was also difficult.

Chris is a joy to shop with. He doesn't throw tantrums about me saying no to toys and candy and strangely patterned stretchy gloves. He can reach the highest shelves, which others find just as helpful as I do, because he lends his services. He knows what kinds of things we usually buy and can find them on the shelves easily. He is so cheerful and good-natured and tells great jokes. He doesn't run around crazily with shopping carts, and he doesn't huff and puff when I discover that I forgot to look on aisle 9 for the gluten-free items. And all that on top of being my chauffeur! He even went into the dancewear store with me to buy new stocking tights for Nani, since I lost her other ones.

I felt better enough after dinner (freshly purchased Tombstone pizza) and the Board of Review, which turned out to be for only Chris since the other candidate was out of town, to go to ballet with Nanika. Phyllis told us last week that she was starting a beginning/intermediate class Wednesday evenings at 7, and we decided to go to it and see whether we like it more than the advanced one we've been going to on Tuesdays. Haruka and Bethany came along. The class was much more my speed, and therefore I'm sure I'll be much more sore this week afterward. I'm having a lot of fun dancing again, and it's nice to know that I'm exercising at least once a week in a method other than going up and down the stairs and walking to and from the car. Washing clothes can also be a mild workout for me, as is showering. I wonder how long it will be before I tackle the Big Quail Valley Hill again.

Liz arrived from New York for Thanksgiving! I love Liz! I love airplanes! I love family! I love school breaks that allow me to make my children cook! Hip hip hooray!

Mom and I divided up the menu for the turkey fest. I told her my kids wanted to do the pies and rolls, and she said, "Oh, good! I hate doing pies and rolls!" I didn't tell her that they want to make six pies and one fruit tart. Enough for everyone to have a turn rolling out pie crust and making filling while I sit around and tell them what to do! Sometimes my chemo regimen is very useful.

Parent-teacher conferences have been this week for the elementary crowd. The children are doing well. I was impressed, as I usually am during PTC time, with the quality of the teachers and the extra effort they put in to understanding and appreciating and encouraging the differing personalities of my children.

I also thought what it would be like to get up and go to work every day, and I'm glad I don't have to. There are a lot of days that I want to do nothing. Is this my natural laziness kicking in, or effects of chemo? Hard to know. Then I realized that I actually do get up each day and go to work, because I am functioning, to a varying degree, as a mother and wife, which is my job. At least I don't have to dress up!

Jason left for Virginia today. I've been teaching him to knit. His first lesson was the knit stitch, and so I got out my circular needles and cast on 81 stitches and knit the first round, then showed him both methods I know, the Finnish way and the English/American way. He and I both thought that the E/A way is easier for beginners to grasp, so I demonstrated that way while talking him through it and then he knitted a hat for himself. I like the circular needles, because then you can just do the one stitch all the way and it comes out in stockinette (the v-shaped interlocking loops). He is very good at the knit stitch now. So last night Haruka drove us out to Wal-mart in Springville, after an abortive attempt to find what we wanted at the one in Orem, and we got Jason some needles to take with him, and I showed him how to cast on stitches and how to do the purl stitch, which is the only other stitch you need to know to knit. It's actually just a backwards knit stitch. So now his assignment is to purl himself a hat, after which he'll be really good at purling and we can have fun with patterns and colors and stuff.

Some time this week I finished Steve's llama hat with ear flaps, which I've knitted and ripped out and knitted and ripped out about four times before finally getting it right. Now I just need to line it with fleece like the one Nancy brought me. Mine has black monk cord tassels hanging down from the ear flaps. They look like braids! I'm wearing it as I type. Haruka and Chris immediately expressed interest in wearing knitted llamas on their heads also, so I took them down to Heindselman's. Haruka chose lime green and hot pink, and Chris choose a nice blue and said he'd like the same tan color I used on Steve's for his other color. I also found some orange-and-white striped yarn in the closeout basket, so I got it for socks for someone. I try not to buy more yarn than I have projects lined up for, so now I have to stop buying yarn because I have four projects worth of yarn and only one in progress.

Steve and I were planning to go to the temple, but we couldn't find his recommend. It wasn't in any of the places we thought to look. Paul came over while we were looking, with dinner from Mom, and offered to stay and herd children, so we went out anyway. We tried Olive Garden but the wait was 45 minutes, so we went where we probably wanted to go in the first place -- Bombay House. Daniel was there and we chatted for a few minutes. We tried one of their new dishes, which was very good but not my favorite. So funny how certain tastes become favorites and others don't. I was very grateful to be able to taste! I'd have to say that my favorites at Bombay House are the chicken tikka masala and the lamb korma, with the paneer saag coming in a close 3rd. In my next life, I will learn to cook like that.

I have found an apt poem. Copyright law prohibits my quoting this poem here. However, the ubiquitous Internet has provided some sites which have quoted it, so I will refer you to one that looks respectable:

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/archive/poem.html?id=176300

Just replace he/him/his with she/her. And in the third stanza first line, replace 'Lug' with 'Slug'.

We have the flu. Jason spent some time by the porcelain throne Sunday morning, Joseph got it Sunday night, and Haruka carried it to her house and had it Monday morning. Bethany hasn't had to run to the bathroom, but she has been laying in bed clutching a mixing bowl, so she's not going to school either. Sariah stayed home a couple of days last week with unhappy innards. Steve said he was feeling yucky this evening, so I sent him to bed early, hoping that he'd get over it and not have to plan for a sub, which is almost as much work as actually going in to teach.

I was extremely careful when removing soiled sheets from Joe's bed in the night, and helping him shower and get clean pjs and spreading out the minimum clean bedding necessary, and getting him a mixing bowl. I washed my hands and arms up to the elbows with plenty of hot water and soap and sang the ABC song twice for good measure. Apparently Joe had another episode which Steve took care of in the night, because I awoke to find baking soda spread liberally in the hallway and Joseph on a sheet spread on the floor.

I know that I'm supposed to go to Aunt Amy's house to stay away from germs, but if I do, I don't know who will take care of the sickness chaos. Steve is perfectly capable and probably willing, but that brings us back to the substitute issue. I definitely don't want to give it to Mom's crowd if Haruka hasn't already. I am praying constantly that I won't get it, and I repeat the hand/arm washing ritual as often as I dare. No cracked bleeding hands yet. Whew. Thank the Lord that Chris and Nathaniel haven't shown signs of catching it.

We now have another baking soda spot on the family room floor. Steve learned this trick from a school custodian, who came in to sprinkle magic powder on his classroom carpet one day after a student hadn't followed the protocol of grabbing the trash can and running from the room, Steve's signal that sickness is imminent. He trains his classes every year to NOT come to him and say, "I feel si-UUUUURRRRRP!" Ick. Anyway, the custodian divulged that the main ingredient in his magic powder was baking soda -- it soaks up the liquid and takes away the smell, and you can leave it on the spot for a day or two and then vacuum it right up. Very handy.

This reminded me of the nasty flu episode right after Reuben was born, when everybody got it except Jason and me, even my mother who came to help, and we just kept washing sheets and hands and arms and praying fervently that we wouldn't get it. I was so worn out by the weekend, when Sariah had her baptism, that I could hardly walk. I remember liking my bed a lot after that week, too.

I should have known.

I should have seen that my fractious three-year-old would throw up yesterday evening when his older sister carried him into the bathroom because he complained that his stomach hurt. I should have known that since he was a mean young cuss all day, he didn't feel good.

Luckily Steve was awake to handle it, because I was leery of getting flu germs. I had to wake him up a couple of times in the night to deal with other episodes, praying all the while that the germs hadn't found me.

This morning, Reuben acted perfectly normal, kept down his 2-Tbsp-water-every-ten-minutes-for-an-hour and then his tortilla-chip-every-ten-minutes (in lieu of crackers because we had none), and did not throw up again.

I, however, was completely overwhelmed by the normal chaos and cacophony of Saturday-morning breakfast getting, and it was only 9 a.m. I went back upstairs.

Bapu called us to help unload the truck at 10. My contribution was sitting on a chair in the basement and pointing. The nice neighbor men and boys and my nice children all interpreted very well, so that when I unwisely walked down the hall and had to hold the walls on the way back to my perch, there was a clear path through the basement to the back bedroom, which will be Paul's starting on Monday, when he and Mom are slated to arrive in the pickup. I'm excited!

Apparently Reuben informed Bapu that he needed to go bowling because of his haircut, because Bapu obliged and took my children plus Jason, Nanika, and Haruka bowling after the truck was empty. I went to bed. I like my bed.

When Kathie and Dr. W. were giving me the chemotherapy roadmap talk, during which they outlined every possible side effect known to man and some specific to women, I got the idea that each treatment cycle would be similar to the previous one. Surprise! Every time is different.

This time around, I experimented with the anti-nausea drugs by not taking any. I didn't feel nauseated at all. I also did not have the overwhelming brain fog and head buzz I had last time. I did take the Claritin/Aleve combination Thursday evening when I noticed that my skin hurt when I rubbed my neck and my bones hurt when Steve hugged me.

I haven't been overly tired. In fact, I felt well enough today to drive over to the elementary school and mosey in to the library to be with Sariah during the Maturation Presentation, which I missed completely last year even though it was written down. She was not happy with me about that. Driving, walking, and sitting were entirely too much to deal with during cycle Number Two.

This time is Number Three, which means I have three left, which also means I counted wrong and my last treatment is around January 14 instead of Christmas as I have been telling everyone. Shucky darns.

Bethany and Abbie came here after school to work on birthday presents for a friend's party, and somehow Reuben heard them mention that the party involved bowling. This was a big mistake, because he suddenly remembered that Bapu had promised to take him bowling if he let me cut his hair, which he did. However, Bapu is in Illinois helping Paul and Mom pack belongings into a Giant Yellow Truck to drive here, stopping only once to sleep at a rest stop and shocking us all by calling us to help unload the truck eight hours before we begin to expect his arrival.

Reuben decided he was invited to the birthday party too. He was extremely upset when I didn't share this conviction, and proceeded to exhibit a most impressive screaming display, which was still going strong when we pulled into our driveway after dropping B and A at the party location.

He wouldn't let Nathaniel undo his carseat harness. He wouldn't let me undo his carseat harness. He ranted and raved about bowling for at least five minutes, at which time I went into the house to call for reinforcements, because I could tell that a) I would not be able to carry him into the house, and b) I was no longer able to put up with the emotional baggage he was flinging about.

Reuben screamed in the car while I drank a calming 500 mL of water (only 800 more to fill the daily quota) and tried to think who might be able to soothe the savage beast that had entered my son's body.

James.

He wasn't home, but said he could come in about fifteen minutes. Nathaniel came in to say that Reuben was now screaming for me. Lovely. I decided to go sit in the car and not say anything, because I didn't want to be sucked into the rant. Reuben did let me undo his carseat harness this time, but it turned out to be a mistake, because then his rant involved writhing around on me while screaming. At least I was sitting down.

James and Jason arrived at the same time. After some convoluted negotiations, James and I convinced him to let James carry him inside while I held his hand and Jason held the door. Then I sat on the couch and Reuben sat on my lap for another while before I noticed he was asleep.

I woke up sad today, for some reason. I cried in bed before Steve left, and then pulled myself together and helped the kids get off to school. Reuben wanted to call Bapu, and ended up asking to go play, which was fine with me. I didn't want to stay home crying, so I gathered up my library books and headed to the library. Note to self: brown van is out of tissues, or they have migrated to the back.

It's embarrassing to stand crying at the circulation desk while you wait for Jill to come up from her cubby office in the bowels of the cataloging room. I think she was surprised to see me, and to see the amount of tissues clutched in my fist, but she didn't say anything about it and I followed her back to her sanctuary, where she moved some boxes of books so I could sit and cry.

I am sick of being tired, and tired of being sick. I am pretty much useless right now -- I just lay around and sometimes shuffle downstairs to eat. I can't be my mom self very well, and I can't be my wife self very well, and although I'm doing fine at being my reading self, that's not much good to anyone. I needed a hug, and my mother is in Illinois. Jill gives pretty good hugs, though.

And she suggested that we go out to lunch, which sounded fun. It was.

I continued to cry off and on all day. I wasn't despairing, really, just sad. I guess this cancer treatment stuff is sad, but I'm glad I'm not weepy every day. Being cheerful is much more fun.

Reuben woke up one morning this week and said, "Mommy, we have the same haircut!" Sure enough, if his buzz was a little sparser and I had a little more hair in my buzz, we would in fact be haircut twins.

Yesterday we went to Layna's baptism. It was so exciting to see her dressed in white with a wonderful glow in her face. Afterward we went to the house for a brunch and CB said what a bummer it would have been if I had cut off all my hair and then hadn't lost any. Looking back, I don't think that would have mattered to me. I was at the point of feeling that if I had to have cancer, then I darn well wanted to look like I had cancer so people could see that I had cancer. I was not ready to hide away and brush it all under a rug or something.

It has been very interesting to notice that as people have learned I have cancer, how many have come forward to tell me about their experiences with cancer, either their own or someone they know. I had debated about going to one of the cancer support groups, and finally last Tuesday (Nov. 4) I went to one, after having Penelope flooded with iron (this has gotten much better, so now I don't jump and shriek when the nurse puts the access needle in the port). The ladies were all friendly, and we sat and talked in turn about how things were going and what we were dealing with, and then the door opened, and a friend of mine from Virginia walked in. She had moved here when we came back from Virginia, but I had not known she had had cancer, and she obviously didn't know that I had it now. It was strange for me, the new person in the group, to listen to their explanations of the side effects of treatment they were still dealing with, or people who had helped in one way or another, or feelings they had at last year's benefit concert. I don't know whether I will go to another support group, because I got a look at what happens beyond where I am now, and I am not sure I want to go there. I'm uncertain whether I have a choice.

Some people seem to completely get over cancer and never look back, except to share with me that they went through it. Others make it look like having cancer changed their whole lives and they are different people now. And from where I am now, I can't see the merging of what's happening now with what I will be because of this.

Penelope has been quite unhappy today, so I have spent most of the evening on the bed, hoping that whatever I did to cause this discomfort will reverse itself. Penelope is complaining on the right side of my body, and my left side is complaining because I think some of the nerves are healing and it hurts too. So no matter where Reuben wants to put his little head to snuggle with me, it's not going to work today.

Being germ-free is just about impossible, especially with children around. We have hand-washing regimens (sing the ABCs while you do) and no-coughing-on-mommy policies, but with four people in the house having runny noses, coughs and such I was bound to get something. Monday I was feeling lousy, with a sore throat and runny nose, and headache. Yesterday when I went to Dr. W's office for my iron shot I tried to locate a tissue box in every room because I'd used all the ones I had brought.

So I asked Steve and Jason to give me a blessing, which they did. Nanika called to see if I was going to dance Tuesday night, but I decided sleeping would help me feel better. And when I woke up today, I felt fine. No runny nose, no sore throat, no cough, no headache. In my opinion, a miracle. The shortest cold on record.

I have decided that since my Purple Port insists acting like a completely separate part of me in annoying ways, it should have its own identity. Therefore, I have named it Penelope. I forgot to tell Steve this fact until he was hugging me and I said, "Ouch, you're hurting Penelope," and he looked at me like I was insane, which of course I am. I think he's rather relieved that Penelope turned out to be made of plastic.

The other fun thing that happened this week is that on Monday, another package arrived for Mme. J. Hortensia, with HATS! A letter was included, which read, "Herein is the culmination of several evenings worth of effort and belabored discussion with heated opinions flaring from persons of many sizes and artistic sentiments. Fear not; after much tribulation cometh the unanimity. May you get your head around these and wear in peace. Dear regards, Your Far-off Beloveds." Thanks, Su, Naomi, Kent, and Jan!

[pictures coming]

I enjoy all the hats people have given me, because then it's like hairdos -- I can choose which one I want that day, depending on my mood and what else I'm wearing. It's not that I'm ashamed of my near-baldness, but it is getting cold outside, and sometimes my head is cold inside the house too! I never knew how much fun hats could be.

I woke up this morning and was enjoying the warmth of snuggling with Steve in bed, when a jolt of panic coursed from head to toe. I have only one week until my next treatment.

I am still tired today. Last treatment cycle, I was feeling quite well by this time. The new pattern is that I have a burst of energy and am able to act normally and then all of a sudden I am too tired. And while I am resting, my mind is going a mile a minute, planning all the things I want to and should do, but when I stand up, I find that my body doesn't want to fall in with my mind's plans. So this morning, I showered and washed my hair -- well, my head anyway-- and called to Steve that at least my hair wouldn't take all day to dry, and dressed and ate breakfast and badgered little boys to find their shoes. When it was time to go, my body said very firmly that under no circumstances was it willing to cooperate with any scheme involving walking. So we drove to church. What a waste.

Sitting in fast and testimony meeting was enough to convince my body that walking could be tolerated, so I was making my way to primary when Ann stopped me in the hall. She said that this morning Linford got up and was lounging and wiggling and moaning about being hungry, and she told him that he didn't have to fast, but that if he chose something or someone to fast for, then when he felt hungry he could think about that thing or person and it would help him fast. He was quiet for a minute and then asked, "Do people die from cancer?" Ann said that sometimes they do and sometimes they don't. Linford said, "Can I fast for Janice?"

I started crying at that point. It seems incredible that a little boy would even think about me when he was hungry, and be concerned that I might die, and decide to ask Heavenly Father to honor his fasting by blessing me. I feel humble that I am important to Linford. I know that other people are praying for me too, and I am amazed that I even matter to them, and that I matter to God, for I have been shown that I do.

Underlying everything that is happening right now is a core of strength inside that I know is not me. I use that strength and rely on it many times each day. The thought of doing what I'm doing without that core seems dark and cold and ominous. How do I matter to God that He would give me such a vital gift right at this time?

Choir practice was better this week. My eyes didn't lag behind and I could follow what was going on with less effort, but my hat was bugging me, so finally I just took it off. Barry's voice piped up from the back, "I love it when she plays with the top down." Everyone laughed. I can see the similarity, although I have no long tresses for the wind to blow when I'm "playing" with my convertible's top down!

Bapu and Haruka and James came to enjoy Chris's dinner with us. Chris and Steve had made the pies, and Chris made his favorite beef stroganoff, which we tripled. It wasn't enough, though, because when Nanika showed up, the pan was empty. Luckily, she was happy with pie. I was thrilled that the beef stroganoff tasted like beef stroganoff!

Halloween has never been my favorite time of year. I am usually the Halloween Grinch, but this year I managed to help people with costumes without my heart being two sizes too small or my shoes being too tight. Sariah was curlered and ready to be a vampire princess; Joe went as a wizard [in the robe Sariah made last year]; Bethany was an East Indian princess; Nathaniel appeared as a trash can; Reuben was Captain Hook (the orange/red striped pajama suit from India makes a wonderful pirate tunic, and we tucked the white pants into his boots); and Steve went as an American Indian.

Sometime later, two packages arrived from India, one addressed to "Madame Bananice J. " and one to "Janice Hortensia". Since neither of those fine ladies was home, I took the liberty of opening their mail. Thanks, Sukenaja, for the apron and tunic and polo shirt! I had to try them on immediately, of course, and when I saw the apron over the tunic, I had the best idea for a Halloween costume. A trip to Saver's, and the costume was perfect! I can't believe I was excited to dress up. Halloween was fun, something I never thought I would say. See if you can guess what I am (photo by Haruka):

I have discovered another side effect of chemo that is not really pleasant, and Halloween made it very evident. Haruka [dressed as a high school student agonizing over what colleges to apply for] and I and Chris [dressed as an Enterprise crew member from the TV show Star Trek] were hanging around the door waiting for trick-or-treaters, and eating the candy. I love Twizzlers, so I chose some out of the bowl and started eating it. I just about gagged -- it was nasty! The taste was so bad I had to go spit it out. Things don't taste the same as I remember them. In fact, everything tastes like cardboard of different textures. I've tried all my favorite things. Chips and cheese with salsa was crunchy cardboard with a hint of sawdust, and though I could tell that the salsa was there because it was a bit more spicy than the rest, I couldn't taste "salsa". A banana was like mushy cardboard. French fries were long, rectangular bits of cardboard with red moist cardboard ketchup. Even raspberry yogurt with granola and grapes stirred in was moist cardboard with cardboard bumps.

This phenomenon is not very encouraging to someone who is supposed to be "keeping up strength" and "eating healthy meals" and such. James suggested that I just eat cardboard, which would be mighty cheap, but I'm afraid it wouldn't have much nutritional value. And looking at cardboard on my plate every day would be depressing. At least the stuff on my plate looks like food, though it all tastes cardboardy.

So I find myself leaving the table hungry after eating only one cardboard baked potato, one of my favorite things, because I can't face any more of that taste in my mouth. And eating apples and carrots and things I'm supposed to eat because they help the treatment is just as unappealing. Even chocolate tastes like sweetened sticky cardboard. Blech! Ack! Ergh!
Enough about brown recycled paper products!

When I went to the elementary school for the Halloween Parade, I discovered that even though I had called to find out what time to be there, I had missed it. After visiting the kids in their classrooms, I was waiting for Nathaniel by the office, and Mrs. M was talking to a mother who was saying she was wearing a wig and hat because she had been quite sick and had lost her hair. I said I had too, and pulled off my hat to show her. She got very teary and said something about me having a good attitude, and I said that I could, because I had expected to lose my hair. Her doctors apparently have no idea why she has lost hers. That would be much harder -- just waking up one day and having your hair come out whenever you touched it. It was weird enough having that happen when I was expecting it and had shorn it off so it wasn't 23-inch-long hairs coming out on everything.

Chris and some friends went to celebrate a certain milestone at the Christa McAuliffe Space Education Center by going on a "space mission". They enjoyed it very much, and Steve enjoyed watching them, although he found it advisable to retreat into the back room and watch through the windows when he began feeling like telling them what to do.

Since Reuben woke up screaming at 3 a.m. that his leg hurt, and by the time he settled down again, I couldn't go back to sleep, I think I should sloth away to bed now.

p.s. For Halloween, I went as....[coming when I put the photo in]

First, I'd like to apologize to all those whose innate sense of biological purity was dented in any way by my assertion that I am a slug. I do realize that slugs are hairless, but had never considered the biological illogicality inherent in my analogy. Let's blame the drugs -- such a convenient excuse I now have for everything! Thank you, Dave, for helping me realize that I probably should have said I was a sloth [and also for the sly comment about the other six deadly sins]. It is possible that I could, in biological honesty, compare myself with a slug at some point during this experience.

Second, I have attained a new level. I was going to be late for a meeting tonight so I just ambled as fast as I could out the door and drove to the meeting and didn't even think about my interesting head covering (uncovering?) until I was talking with someone and put a hand up to scratch my head. I completely forgot that I have a hair-don't! This is exciting for me, because it means that I am not hung up on my appearance, odd though it may be.

Third, I am impressed and grateful for my children's ability to cook. Reuben made scrambled eggs for me on Tuesday, and Joseph made pancakes this morning. I supervised from my chair, though I did get up to show Reuben how to not squish the eggshell while getting the inside out. He was such an apt learner that the next egg was perfectly cracked and deposited in the bowl.

And for the finale to this essay, I feel that I am now on my way out of the pit. Today is Day Nine, and I have managed to a) rinse dishes and then sit and play a game with Reuben; b) find the dirty underwear to wash and then sit and play a game with Reuben; c) make the machine wash the underwear and then sit and play with Reuben; d) walk to Cindy's and sit and give her a piano lesson and walk home; e) make the machine dry the underwear and then lie down and play a game with Reuben; f) sit and enforce practicing and homework; and g) drive to the store and push a cart while the kids loaded it with pumpkins, milk, and other sundry necessities like mini Heath bars and pumpkin goop scoopers!

I had my second treatment on Tuesday the 21st. It went much faster this time. The nurse who put the butterfly thing into my port disinfected the area and said, "Take a deep breath," and STABBED ME! I jumped and yelled, quite loudly, I think, although I wasn't really listening to myself because I was too intent on the pain. I could tell she felt badly about it, so I tried to say something about this being my first time, which only made her feel worse. I had to sit and breathe and concentrate on looking at the clock with a blue rim in the next room for what seemed to me a long string of seconds before I was able to smile and feel like walking back to the waiting room. I heard myself say, "Well, that was more exciting than I was anticipating," and found understanding in the eyes of some of the other patients sitting there.

I had a seat by the puzzle table that is always up in the waiting room, so I concentrated on that, and a nice woman sat across from me. We had a good time bantering back and forth about her daughter and my mohawk and how I was so awful as to actually find places for five or six pieces when she handed them to me. The nerve of me! I love talking to people like this, who can just strike up a friendship over colored bits of cardboard and a common cancerous enemy, with funny little comments and laughter.

The doctor suggested that I try taking one Claritin and three Aleve to alleviate (hee hee) the aches. James had brought me Aleve as a surprise, and I already had some Claritin. I took them Thursday evening after Christopher's band concert and again Friday evening. The majority of the aches went away -- they were hovering around the edges, asserting themselves every now and then -- but I was completely wiped out. I slept Friday until about 3 p.m., and was so lost in drug fog that when Elisabeth called to say she is coming for Thanksgiving, I wasn't sure it had really happened, and I had absolutely no recollection of saying anything to her in reply. I hope I was coherent. After I got up, the drug fog seemed to center in my nasal passages and behind my eyes, and then radiate in a band around the rest of my head. It wasn't an ache, really, more like a band of pressure or weight that increased the mass of my head so it felt huge and unwieldy. I was absolutely drained. I felt hollow, like all my energy had been scooped out and my body was a husk lurching in slow motion.

Saturday was much the same. When I made it down to the kitchen for breakfast, the floor was so nasty that I called Sariah to sweep it. I sat on the low blue stool and retrieved the spoons and measuring cups and pencils out of the dust pile before she brushed it up into the dustpan, and then I was exhausted. I'm surprised I made it back upstairs to bed. When I ventured down a couple of hours later, I managed to sit in a chair and check library books off the list as Nathaniel found them and put them in bags to be returned to the library, and then I had to go back to bed. This gave rise to my new modus operandi: Think hard about how much energy will be required by any course of action and whether you are willing to expend that energy before embarking upon said course.

Therefore, I saved up all my energy for church on Sunday. I felt a bit better that morning, but by the time Stephen had driven me to church and I had made it to the pew, I needed to just sit, and concentrated on gathering energy for the move to the organ for the choir number. It's a wonderful thing that something I love as much as playing the piano and organ is really just sitting on a bench wiggling my fingers up, down, back and forth! Such minimum of movement is a perfect fit for my current requirements of physical exertion (p.e. = zero). The other exciting thing about Sunday is I didn't have head buzz because I didn't have to take any drugs! Hooray!

As I re-read this, it is kind of inside out and backwards. Oh, well. I have a whole list of things I've forgotten to write about, anyway, so I'll just head to bed and enjoy my Helen MacInnes for a bit.

Just thought I would let you know that I am still alive, and the family is still being busy, and that I am a slug (thank you Tall Paul for all the help with slug-ish-ness). I am slow and I leave a slime trail behind me (mostly hair at this point). Energy level close to zero or less than zero. Mind active (not on drugs currently, except residual chemo stuff) and personality firm, but have begun to evaluate everything on the basis of energy required. If I don't want to expend the energy necessary for the results I want, then I keep my mouth shut and slowly slime away somewhere else.
:)
p.s. state of head is like a forest and several clearings: less and less forest and more and more clearings. Couple of large bare clearings on the top.

Yesterday in the shower I became suspicious that more hair was falling out than does for a normal person. I know, I'm not really normal, but then, who is? So today Jason and I took a stroll to our friendly neighborhood grocery store and perused the offerings of hair gel. Jason is the hair-gunk-expert-in-residence today. After some analysis, during which I discovered that there are more hair products out there than I care to know about, we selected Dep ("It's Every Man's Style) Sport X-treme Vertical Glue 12 Extreme Hold Spike Grip Concrete Cement and, in case that wasn't enough, Aussie Instant Freeze Hair Spray (No Worries Guarantee; Radiant Hair in One Use) Extreme Hold. Amazingly enough, the back of the hairspray reads, "Whoa, Nelly! (your hair's name is Nelly, right?) Take the reins and put a super-hold on your magnificent mane." Who could pass that up?

You see, I had promised certain daughters that I would let them (gulp) play with my mohawk. But I felt I must first fortify myself with french fries from the friendly neighborhood fast-food joint. I made some comment about my hair, and Mrs. R came out from behind the grill to extend her condolences over the loss of my locks. She said she used to recognize me on the street because of my hair, and it seemed like she still would be able to. They are such nice people.

Bethany did the gelling. She decided I had succumbed just in time, because every time she finished one section and took her hands away, her palms were covered with hair. After the gel came the hair dryer, then the hairspray, and then more blowdrying. When I was done, my hair felt like plastic. It stood up, though. [picture forthcoming when i find it]

Of course, the fun kept going because Reuben wanted to go to the park, so on the way Suzanne saw me and couldn't believe I'd actually gotten a mohawk, much less let my daughters make it plastic. I kind of like having a mohawk. It's a lot less work, probably because there's a lot less hair, and I think I look pretty good. Not that I'm humble or anything. Besides, my dangly earrings show to advantage.

Rhetorical question: am I a show-off? Last week I had to make the assignments for who would play the organ in church for the next couple of months, and I decided that since none of the other weeks in October were good for me to play, I should play this week (yesterday), even though there was no church last Sunday and I could have had someone else play. Does this make me a show-off who just wants attention and knew I could get it by sitting up at the organ in my new church hat to cover my Mohawk so I don't scandalize the elderly and embarrass my father (Mom is unembarrassable, being at Paul the Tall's currently)?

Not that it matters, of course, because I did anyway. I wore a blue-white-green print dress and borrowed Bethany's white bubbly cardigan sweater, and sported my new cream-colored straw hat decorated with the blue "cabbage roses". I felt quite festive. And hopefully nobody noticed that on the closing song I forgot to look ahead at how the introduction went and lost myself for a couple of seconds. Or that one of the pedals got stuck and I had to turn off all the pedal stops so it would quit playing an A when I really needed other notes instead. (It turned out to be a sacrament cup which had fallen on the pedal board and gotten squished.)

I do love playing the organ, and the piano for the primary, and I'm glad I haven't gotten released. It's calming, somehow, to be able to help in such a small way. It's interesting to watch the children. I really enjoy the feeling the Spirit that is present with those little people.

I took Christopher driving today! We drove to Bapu's, and then around on side streets a little, and then up to the driving range behind the high school, and then around side streets some more. It was pretty okay. I didn't get cramps in my hands from hanging on white-knuckledly. I guess I can handle this new step.

Tonight was a Young Women's Evening of Excellence, which both Steve and I attended with Bethany. All of the young women were excellent, but I especially like Bethany's and Haruka's brand of excellence. I'm biased, I know. Bethany received a lovely orangey rose, which matches the flowers Roxsann brought today. She also brought me a new hat. Black straw, with a brim that can be worn up or down. Very elegant. I think I like wearing hats, and that after this is all over, I'll keep wearing hats. They cheer me up about being behind on writing thank-you notes to all the wonderful people who are helping us in so many amazing ways.

1. Felt good. Even had energy, which may have not been a good thing, because then I was feisty and made people work.

2. Made people work. We decided at Family Council a couple of weeks ago that we needed to change the job choosing process. There are now 4 "home zones," each of which has two people assigned to take care of it every day: livingroom, bathrooms, family room/toy room, and laundry. We didn't include the kitchen because it is supposedly covered by the mealtime job rotation, which works with varying degrees of success. The theory behind the home zones is that these are the main areas of the house where messes are made in the course of daily life, and two people are more likely to keep them tidy than one (credit goes to Alice for planting this idea in my slow brain several years ago). This way, the livingroom is mostly clear of the unfortunate but entirely understandable habits we have of dumping all our possessions immediately upon entering the house, and it gets vacuumed at least once a week. The bathrooms get cleaned at least once a week (we need to work on convincing people that tubs and showers count as cleanable objects in the bathroom) and are mostly tidy. The family room and toy room do not succumb to inevitable entropy too much, and at least one load of laundry gets done each day.

3. Grumped at my husband (apologized later) about the difficulty of making people work. I have been discovering repeatedly that having cancer and dealing with the effects of treatment make my roles as person, wife, mother, daughter, and friend expand and contract in strange and unpredictable ways. There are times when I completely give up any plans to be in control of anything or get anything done or exert influence in any way. I retreat into my box of misery and wait it out. There are other times when my mind wants to act like my old self and direct people and express what I think should happen but my body won't provide the support necessary. I'm not very good yet at this part. Then, like today, I feel like I used to feel and act like I used to in my roles, and all of a sudden wonder whether I still have that right, given my propensity last week to just let things slide because I didn't feel well or able to cope properly.

It's strange to have this before/after line in my head around which I have to work. It's odd to think that because Dr. T said those five little words to me on August 11th at Sunitha's house, I now belong to a segment of the population that I never expected to belong to. It's a little scary to contemplate what changes in me will be permanent because of this experience. Darn it, now I'm crying.

Got a birthday card from Elisabeth. She sent a bunch of quotes! I'm so excited! Here is the one I opened today:

"Never iron a four-leaf clover, because you don't want to press your luck." -- Author Unknown

I really did laugh for quite a while. And then I called Elisabeth on James' phone and told the friend who answered to tell her how much I liked the gift. It truly is a gift to me, because first of all, I get to anticipate when I'm going to open the next one, and second, I enjoy reading things Elisabeth thinks were good enough to include in a birthday card, because we all know she has impeccable taste.

I feel better today, but....Apparently one of the dangers of chemotherapy is the problems it creates in your going-to-the-bathroom schedule. I know; this isn't very kosher to talk about. But I have to worry about it, according to the papers I was given by Dr. W, because of the difficulty of keeping hydrated while having strange poisons flowing through my veins. So the pattern has been: first I couldn't go when I was supposed to, and now I'm going more than I'm supposed to. I have to count how many times I visit the bathroom so I know whether or not I should go in to the office to get fluid inserted into my port. So I'm waiting to see if I have to visit the bathroom again today and have results of the less than firm kind, then off to see the wizard!

I shall move to a nicer subject now. This is another "but". I feel great emotionally, mentally, whatever, but...My body is giving off faint signals of caution. My scalp feels sensitive to movement, as though it were a bobblehead that takes a couple of extra seconds to stop moving. Just below my ribcage, my stomach is giving off "pay attention to me" vibes, not full-blown nausea, but enough that I am aware of it all the time. Every now and then, a joint twinges slightly, as though it were shifting to find a more comfortable place. And weirdest of all, my eyeballs feel heavy, as though they'd added a layer to two of clothing and are having a tighter time squeezing into their sockets. And of course, I have a nice lump under my right collarbone, exactly where my bra strap and seatbelt are supposed to fit, that feels like it doesn't exactly belong to me. The Purple Port, you remember.

Alone, each of these things wouldn't bother me. Added up, it's like a fussing little refrain in my brain, running off to check on things, running back and wringing hands a bit, then rushing off again. It takes up space in my concentration.

Another thing is that I'm cold. My favorite thing to wear these days is my light blue shiny silky pajamas (from Saver's, which makes it better somehow) with my fuzzy lavender bathrobe over them, with socks and my pink slippers on. But today my hands are still cold, fingernails bluish, and so are my toes, and I'm even wearing my new knit beanie with tassel.

Mom took Nathaniel and me to see his ear specialist up north today. I was almost sure I could do it myself, but with all those caution signals, I thought I would pay attention and be cautious. Getting from the parking garage to the actual clinic is quite a journey. You have to walk to the entrance, then down a long hallway, then go up one floor in an elevator, then get lost while you try to remember which hallway you went down last time (five months ago), and then realize you should have gone the other way, then find yourself again in time to walk down about a mile-long corridor looking for Clinic #9. By the time you realize that you really do need a Little Girls' Room, there isn't one and so you keep walking, hoping there's one closer to where you're going, but there isn't. So you decide to wait until you actually arrive, and then you remember that there is one farther down past the clinic if you act like you're going into a completely different section of the place instead. You decide to have Mom wait in the clinic with Nathaniel while you pretend to know where you're going and you are incredibly relieved to find out you were right. There it is!

Nathaniel's appointment was a success. His prosthetic hearing bone still exists! His eardrum has no hole! He can swim! His hearing improved 15 points! You don't have to come back for a year, by which time they will have changed the long journey and you'll have forgotten where the close bathroom is. Oh well. Such is life.

Celebrate! Rejoice! I don't hurt today! I didn't really jump for joy, however, since absence of ache does not necessarily translate into energy. In fact, I move about like a snail, although Paul the Tall insisted I need to work harder at leaving a slime trail behind me.

So, for scientific exploration's sake, let's recap the days since chemotherapy started. Day One: had chemo, felt fine. Day Two: felt fine. Day Three: aches begin. Day Four: ACHES! Day Five: more aches. Day Six: yet more aches. Day Seven: no aches! In three weeks we'll know if this is an actual repeating pattern. Scientific but depressing.

I feel like I am just waiting for something. That my days have no real purpose and I am suspended in a strange sort of parallel life. Yesterday I caught myself staring blankly into space while standing in the livingroom, and I wondered why I wasn't doing anything. But I couldn't think of anything I was supposed to be doing. It was a little scary not to have some need to fulfill.

And today, my mind is alert and my spirit is cheerful, yet my body doesn't respond very well to those cues. It's like the old me is inside a new me that can't hear me very clearly.

Thanks to those who have called and sent email messages and visited. They help to remind me that I like living and so I'm willing to put up with being poisoned systematically for a while.

p.s. I've decided that I don't have a hairdo, I have a hairdon't, because after all, there isn't much hair to it!

There are many variations of aching, I've discovered. There's a kind that radiates out from my head. There's a kind that is centered in my leg joints and hips. There's one by my spine and along my arms. And then there's a kind that waits until I move, and then pounces. Some of them are a steady ache, and others flicker on and off like Christmas tree lights.

I've been aching since the middle of Friday. Although sometimes I ached less than other times, that's still 3 and a half days of aching. Sometimes it seems like the acetaminophen helps, and other times it doesn't.

I must look quite funny: skinny Mohawk lady walking like old person needing cane.

Well, the doctors and nurses were right. I feel like I have a bad case of the flu: all my joints ache, my head aches, and I can't get comfortable in any position. I am not nauseated at all, thanks to my hefty anti-nausea medications. I'm supposed to monitor my temperature, so every time I feel hot, I grab the thermometer. So far the highest has been 99° F, so hopefully I won't have to go to the emergency room, which is where I go if my temperature reaches 101°.

The best thing about today is that I have a nice soft bed to lie in. And some kind soul brought me rice pudding, which is especially good with strawberries and ice cream topping. It's hard to sleep, but I'm afraid I did drop off during some of the Conference talks. I have also found that I'm much less willing to sort out sibling problems when I feel this way. Bethany helped Reuben make cookies and cupcakes and then cleaned up her mess!

Right now, this feels like a very long road. But it's better than the alternative.

The deed is done! Janice has a Mohawk!

The stylists first pigtailed me, and then they hacked each pigtail off and put them in zip-top bags so I can send them to Locks of Love.

The tassels are about 23 inches long, and yes, I feel lightheaded now. Next, the stylists washed my short hair.


They gave me zig-zag parts to divide the mohawk part from the part they would be shaving off. And then....
THEY SHAVED!

Next, they trimmed it so it had at least a little chance of standing up. The hair that was left was wavy, and they had to use Liquid Steel gel and Shaper Pierce hairspray and lots of blowdrying and pulling to get it to stand up properly. For a finishing touch, they added a pink extension in the long piece I had them leave at the back.

I think I look pretty good for a middle-aged skinny female person with a Mohawk! It was fun to go around shocking people this afternoon. I think I'll go to the elementary school tomorrow, hee hee hee.

Dad took me to chemo at 10 a.m. I had already taken the pills I was told to take this morning: 2 dexamethasone and 1 promethazine, plus my regular old Levoxyl. I was hoping to get a shot at working the puzzle they keep in the waiting room, but no luck.

When the nurse came to get me to draw blood, she was able to access and print the blood results from yesterday's surgery, so I didn't have to have more blood taken. Yippee! She was concerned about the level of iron in my blood, which was 26, because it was too low, so she consulted with Dr. W. They decided to give me some iron along with the chemo, and a shot to jumpstart the bone marrow making more blood cells. Apparently 32 is the lowest iron level doctors like to see in blood.

The chemo room is L-shaped, and has blue vinyl-covered recliners arranged around, which vaguely resemble LaZBoys, but don't look as cushiony. Mine had a giant 9 stencilled on the side. A tiny little flip-up table is attached to the right side. As I was leaving, I saw someone with a bigger table set up in front of them. I wonder if they are just available for the asking.

The first thing they attached to my port was saline solution, and then two drugs to combat allergic reactions: benedryl and avoxil. Benedryl always makes me sleepy, and sure enough, I drifted off for a while. Next came some more anti-nausea fluid. I didn't progress to the chemo medicines until about noon. Their initials are T and C, but I've forgotten their polysyllabic scientific monikers, so TC will have to do. Those lasted until about 2:15 p.m., and then I got iron and a shot. I have to come in tomorrow for another shot. I was actually finished about 2:45, and so I waited for Dad outside on the benches in front of the office.

Dad has probably read more magazines in the last two days than the last six months combined. He just sat quietly until lunch time and then went off, and came back with some chicken nuggets for me, which was very wonderful, as I had forgotten I was supposed to bring my snacks with me.

My friend Janet was waiting when I got home, with pictures of her bald head and wig from her experience with breast cancer, and a whole box of videos and DVDs for me. Sariah made us peach smoothies, which were very refreshing. We had a good chat, and she got to meet Steve before she left and our friends Bryan and Sara came to take us out to dinner and Sara's concert.

We went to the Bombay House, of course, and the concert was wonderful. I was still feeling very good, not a bit sick, but I was so tired by the end that I was sleeping on Steve's shoulder. I did manage to take my anti-nausea pill before I collapsed into bed. The strange thing is that my cheeks and chin are flushed, but I don't have a fever.

I must say that was the nicest surgery I've ever had. No nausea or itching from the anesthesia. The nurses let me sleep, and I was ready to go by noon. Of course, as soon as I stood up after being released from all my tubing, nature called very loudly and insistently, and the toilet nearest me was occupied. So as I hobbled out in the corridor looking for a restroom, I caught the eye of a nurse and asked if there was another toilet that way. She kind of stared at me for a couple of seconds, and then pointed and helped me get inside in time, thank goodness. I heard her talking with Dad about how nice it was to see him a second time this week, even though the previous time had been at a funeral. I was puzzled, and tried to think who she could possibly be. After a few minutes, I realized that she had looked familiar, and that the only funeral Mom and Dad had been to last week had been Mom's cousin Gerda, so this nurse must be one of Gerda's daughters. Then I could see the similarities of features. It was Becky. She and Dad talked for a while and then we left.

My port looks vaguely like a tiny purple mouse. It is triangular, with rounded edges, and its "tail" is the part that hooks into my vein. The middle has three bumps, to help the doctors locate it, and a little circular plastic membrane in the center, which is where the needle goes. The needle looks a little like a yellow butterfly with IV tubes coming out of it. The port is completely under my skin, and I have a card and keychain thing to carry with me to show airport security folks in case I set off the alarms, apparently. James and Jason had fun planning smuggling jobs for me, which I politely declined.

I rested all afternoon, getting up barely in time to dress for the photo shoot of my lovely hair. The photographer asked questions first, and kept asking questions after Steve came, so we had a nice chat, and then he started taking photos in his office. He wanted the glasses gone, of course, and I didn't smile much, because I didn't much feel like smiling, so I probably look pretty scary in most of the pictures. He took lots from the back, so I'm sure those will turn out fine. It was actually fun! It was interesting to watch as he would move his body and the camera a little this way and a little that way to get different angles or bits of light. At the end, we were discussing how I'm donating my hair to Locks of Love, and he asked for one more picture: me sitting by him with my hair draped over his non-hair. It made me think of that guy in Finland who had grown out his combover so long that he could wrap it around his head, so he wouldn't look bald. Well, he looked bald anyway.

The hospital called this evening. I'm supposed to report to the surgical center at 6 a.m. The portable catheter insertion should take, total time, 6 hours. The chemo guys wanted me to trundle across the street to their office afterwards for a chemo treatment, but I'm not sure I'll be up for it. A friend of mine said having both the same day was a giant mistake for her.

So that means the chemo treatment will be Wednesday. I think I'll take my book, my journal, my new deck of playing cards, courtesy of the Aloxi drug company, and my children's book of card games (easy to follow instructions) so I can play solitaire. Estimated treatment time: 2 hours.

Tomorrow evening I'm going to have a photograph taken of me and my hair. Stace suggested it, and I thought for about two seconds and decided I would like one. I'm hoping I feel all right. Wednesday evening Steve and I are having dinner and maybe a concert with Bryan who is flying in that day. And then Thursday at 2:45 is the Official Hair Slash And General Craziness Party. Bethany has been begging me to check her out of school for it; maybe I will. It is an important occasion, after all. My first Mohawk and dye job. If my body doesn't follow the pattern Dr. W told it to after chemo, I'll have to reschedule.

Today I feel like just getting started on the trauma so I can get it over with. I still don't really want to know what it's like, but I'm tired of waiting. I'm as ready as I'll ever be, which is why I'm still up?

To bed!

Happy Birthday to Me!

I am happy that the doctors all agreed to let me have my birthday unmedicated. We went to Steve's favorite cabin in the woods. Time seems to go slowly there; we ate and played games and ate and went for a walk to the beaver pond and waited while Chris caught twelve bugs for his collection, walked back, ate, and then, in a frenzy of activity, packed up and headed home so I could go to the Relief Society meeting. I ran in the house in sweats, and two minutes later ran out of the house in blouse and skirt and Steve drove me to the meeting. I missed the first speaker, but it was lovely being there. I soaked in the feelings and really appreciated Dieter F. Uchtdorf's comments, especially those about how we are treasured daughters of God with infinite worth, and that it is our purpose to seek and experience eternal happiness and joy. So if I can't feel like I'm doing much but lying around feeling sick, at least I know I can create smiles somehow.

I think I'm resigned now to just go through what's happening and do my best to come out of it a nice person still.

Today was teary.

I just don't, don't, don't want to do this!

I don't like the idea of having a portable catheter sticking out of me for three or four months. I don't want evil poisonous drugs flowing through my veins. I don't want to feel yucky. I don't even want to plan what day to feel yucky! I don't want my hair to fall out -- I'm so vain about it. I love it! I love having people tell me how beautiful it is. I love it brushing my elbows when I wear it down. I don't want to feel tired. I don't want other people to feel like playing Visit Miss Scarlett Clue with Reuben when I don't. I don't want to feel too sick to read Harry Potter with Joseph, or to listen to Nathaniel's long narratives about his group's inventions during science class, or to read Sariah's saga about Silky, Milky and Bonquetia, or to help Bethany find fabric scraps for sewing stuffed snakes, or to take Chris up to the bell tower to catch unfortunate moths and katydids having parties on the huge lights. I especially don't want to feel too sick to lie next to Steve and hold his hand while he tinkers on his computer and I read.

Bad cancer! Back! Down, boy! That's chemo talking. But *@%#! I DON'T WANT TO DO IT!

If you don't want sobering news, stop reading now!

Here are the basic points from the appointment with the chemotherapy guy.

1. They want to do a genetic test to determine if I have a couple of defective genes that make cancer recurrences nearly 80%. We are checking on insurance coverage of the test. Possibility of me having the genes is 5% or less.
2. I will have a chemo treatment once every three weeks for 18 weeks. This translates into about 5 months, give or take. Then they will wait three weeks and then my radiation treatments will be Monday through Friday for 6 1/2 weeks. Altogether, approximately 7 months of treatment. They will give me anti-nausea medications as well.
3. They are calling Dr. C, my surgeon, to arrange a time for him to "install" something called a "portacath" so they won't have to hook up an IV for each treatment. They can just hook the tubes up to the portacath. They're hoping to schedule for this week and start chemo next week.
4. The day I receive the chemo drugs is considered day 1. I'll feel fine on days 1 and probably 2. I'll feel like I have the flu on days 3-6. I'll feel very tired on days 7-14. I'll start feeling better on days 15-21. Steve and I need to decide whether it would be better for me to feel yuckiest during the week or on weekends, so we can choose a treatment day.
5. They have no predictions on exactly how this is going to affect me. We will just have to do it and see. They did say to plan on losing my hair, feeling tired, having food and drink taste like cardboard, having a metallic taste in my mouth all the time, having muscle pain and joint tenderness, and possibly loss of appetite and mouth sores.
6. I will need to be very careful about monitoring myself. Any fever/chills mean I immediately go to the emergency room or the doctor's office. Nausea means I call and we try different anti-nausea medications. If I am unable to drink 64 oz. of fluids every day, I have to go to the office to get intravenous fluids. If my skin starts to crack and bleed, I need to go to the office. I need to try to avoid sick people. Lots of luck, with six children and a schoolteacher husband :)
   

The good news is that my insurance will cover nearly 100% of costs associated with treatment, and that having chemotherapy and radiation increases my chances of remission and living cancer-free to 70%.

Thank you all for your prayers and help and phone calls and emails and letters and cards and visits. I love you! We're going to beat this thing!

p.s. extreme locks-for-love hair slashing and general haircutting craziness coming up. expect photos. my only chance to look like Joseph's true mother (with the help of a platinum blonde wig!) and to be a redhead.

Have been all day without the giant Ace bandage around my chest and have felt fine. I went with Nanika to a ballet class, just to see her dance, I guess. It was fun to see her out there. I asked Kathleen a while ago about dance classes, but there aren't any public modern dance classes, really. Dancing is one of the few forms of exercise I really enjoy; others are walking up The Big Quail Valley Hill with Stephen, and using a jumprope.

Maybe I should start dancing again. I'd probably have to start as a beginner, since I haven't danced for 15+ years. How many, exactly? I must have started when I was 7 or 8 and stopped at about 25, which means... [calculations take a while with my current state of mind]... 17 years? Wow.

As I sat there watching, I was amazed at how many terms were familiar to me, and how I could visualize what my body would be doing if I were out there at the barre. I could almost feel it in my muscles. I can't say I was ever a very good dancer, but I enjoyed it and learned a lot. It would be interesting to see if it comes back.

I'm very tempted to sign up: they're sure to have a beginning adult class. I would love to know if I would feel well enough to, but there's no way to know how the chemo will affect me. I think it's the not knowing that gets me.