Good-bye, 2013. Thanks for everything. No. Seriously. Thanks.

Greetings, dear readers. Oh, how I have missed you so! (Heavy sigh). I have been remiss at not posting and

believe me, I have been Jonesing for weeks -- JONESING I say -- to post. Life has been hectic and frenetic and wonderful: reveling in several delightful visits from mid-October to mid-November (fabulous weekends, all of them!!); two trips to The-Great-White-North (including the recent festive season); and ramping back up to full-time status at work -- all good (with a couple of emotional bumps. Heavy sigh. Praying fervently for some dear folks). So, it seemed only befitting to tap-tap-tap away at my humble keyboard on this final day of 2013 to fill you in on whassup/que pasa as well as continuing to use this blog -- my dear, long lost, and (ahem) public confidante -- as my therapy of sorts, to muse, ponder and reflect on the incredibly remarkable and humbling journey that this last year has afforded me. After all, isn't that what life is about? Learning. Growing. Every day. I remember a dear high school teacher of mine who had a profound influence on the way I think and she posted the following quote one day: "Suffering is the sole origin of consciousness." Now, while some of you may tsk-tsk in disappointment, or claim that this sounds rather bleak and melancholy, I understand this with amazing clarity. After all, how can one know joy if one has not experienced pain? It's opposite ends of the same spectrum. Everything is relative.

As humans, I think we are conditioned to hide from fear and pain, to always be Happy, Happy, Happy - "You can take a pill to be happy!!" I'm not suggesting that we should mope around -- not at all; however, confronting fear and pain directly, head-on, wholly helps us rise to the occasion and define our own true selves; lets us reach down to the very core of our being and really discover just how strong and resilient and courageous we indeed are. I have been humbled and touched by how many people have told me how courageous they believe me to be and yet, my response is that each of us has the fortitude and tenacity to face the most onerous and burdensome of traumas and tests, provided there is a willingness to do so. And a desire to look within and find that strength. And that the glass is half-full, vs. half-empty. It's just how we choose to look at things. Counting our

blessings vs. wringing our hands in despair and questioning and wailing "Waaaaaa. Why me??" I digress.

Where was I? Ah yes. Jonesing to post. As a sidebar (plus ça change, n'est-ce pas? :-P), I was curious as to the origin of the word/phrase "Jonesing" and discovered that the pinnacle of literary integrity (!!) -- Urban Dictionary -- defines it as: " A word used to describe an intense craving for a drug. Comes from Great Jones Street in New York City, between Broadway and Lafayette Street, a former junkie hangout." Hmmm. I thought there must be other sources and lo and behold, there was an entire article in the May 11, 2003 New York Times devoted to the definition of Jonesing -- aka jonesin (Slow news day, methinks?) The former bastion of journalism (New York Times now features exposés on Beyonce and Miley Cyrus. Harumph) stated that: "[i]n current slang use, jonesing has evolved from its narcotics-addiction base to a general lusting, craving or yearning." Well, well, well. There you have it. Your useless piece of trivia! 

And now, without further ado, a quick update on The Recent Adventures of Cancerella: 

a) Only one more round of chemo left -- hip hip hooray!! January 17, 2014 is a day to note for This Gal -- no more Big-Blue-and-White-Pills. Yahoo!! On my last visit to see my fave oncologist -- the fab and droll Doc Ferragamo (he was sporting yet another new pair, style maven that he is) -- I asked about the potential 12-month regime and he advised me it was up to me. Hmmmm. Easy one, n'est-ce pas? Minimal difference? Yah. Let me think. BA-bye!
b) Yours Truly is delighted to report that the Recently-Bald-Noggin-Formerly-Hidden-Under-Stylish-Hats/Caps/Cloches-And-Not-Overpriced-$800-Wigs has experienced full hair re-growth (and it's super short and I'm keeping it that way!) and that This Gal has also had an epiphany: we are not our hair. It's TRUE!
c) Appetite is back (Food -- good. Not hungry -- baaaad) and I have put on some weight -- eight pounds to be precise. And honestly, who'd a-thunk that I would ever greet putting on weight with jubilation (cue music): "Hallelujah! Hallelujah!"
c) And last but not least. (Drum roll please). Hear ye, hear ye. The latest MRI shows some shrinkage in Il Tumore, The Tumaaaaaaaaaaaaa, IT. YAY! (This is getting kookier by the minute! Celebrating weight gain AND shrinkage!) ;-) Seriously, though, Yours Truly is happy with that wee tidbit of good news.

So, here I am. At the end of a rather personally challenging year and once again, the ditty "What's it all about, Cancerella?" pops into my mind. (The flick and tune Alfie was a little ahead of my time; however, posing the question is completely relevant). Been spending a lot of time in my head, as it were, and thinking about the highs and lows of this past year and what I have learned. Not making resolutions, as those are just empty commitments -- at least for me they have been -- and the list has always been too long and aggressive, and seeks to fill some guilt-filled gap for an area in my life where I seem to have failed, or disappointed myself. Oi vey. As my dear friend c.c. recently and wisely professed, the word "should" is counterproductive, feeds guilt and does not change the past and thus cannot be used (vs. "should not". HA!). And she's absolutely right. It's all a matter of tweaking the thinking process. 

And, at the end of it all, as shitty as it is to have been diagnosed with That Thang, I refuse to let It rule me -- although it is officially part of me i.e. it ain't going away -- and as I kiss this year good-bye (and perhaps pause to give it a brief middle finger, albeit for a nano-second) and take inventory of all for which I have to be grateful, it all comes back to the same components: Love. Friends. Family. The gift of every day. Being able to see, talk, feel, hear, eat (and soon, to drive!!). Being gainfully employed. Things that most of us take for granted. There are so many folks who focus on things, like the brand of car a person drives, or their zip/postal code or title at work (title schmitle -- it means DICK, bupkus, nada, niente, bugger all, f**k-all, rien, nothing, zip, zilch). And some folks think that these things are worth striving for; that having a big fancy car or a $600 pair of shoes or a bigger title somehow makes them better than someone else and happier than someone else. To each their own, I suppose and it is not my place to judge what motivates another person.

With that said, if there's something I learned in emotional waves, floods and typhoons this past year (and the year prior to a lesser degree), it's that the love and support of friends and family is what gets one through a difficult time. Not having lots of things. (Although in the U.S., not having health insurance is not a good thing). It's somehow knowing that although I have to take the journey myself, I do not have to take it alone. And that what goes around, comes around. So so true that. And that I have faced my mortality has made me realize just how incredibly precious every minute of every day is. That the small, wonderful things I have taken for granted are really the only things that matter in the end. 

Looking back on this year, the diagnosis and biopsy seem a lifetime ago and the reality that I thought was mine and the things I used to think were important have slowly and gracefully slipped away. It was like putting my reality into a temporary state of suspension, and with each passing day, that reality morphed and evolved into a new, stripped down, less cluttered reality -- both physically and psychologically. It's just all so clear to me and as much as it comforts me, it also overwhelms me in such a way that I cannot even begin to describe. My hubby teases me from time to time -- gently of course -- about the fact that I seem to cry more these days. And it's not because I am sad. Quite the contrary. No, dear readers. It's because The Dude(tte) has given me the extraordinary gift of realizing that it's not too late. That forgiveness comes from within, that time is relative and to make each day count, that relationships are precious investments to be nurtured and safeguarded and treasured. That laughing with family and friends, sharing memories and creating new ones, savoring a delicious meal with a beloved husband, feeling the wonder of snow, the love and warmth of a beloved pet, the hug of a dear brother, cousin, friend .....that all of these wondrously and seemingly simple events are indeed the essence of joy. Oh. So much more to write but hell, New Year's Eve (and Anderson Cooper and Kathy Griffin!) beckon. HA!

Dear readers, as I bid this year adieu/good-bye/adios/ciao, I want to thank each and every one of you, from the bottom of my heart, for reading my humble little ramblings. Please know that your support in doing so has been an extraordinary comfort to me and has helped buoy me through some challenging times this past year. As I reflect on all for which I am grateful, I thank you, dear readers, for traveling alongside me on my journey and it is my fervent hope that you will continue to accompany me as I enter this next new phase of Le Voyage du Cancerella/Cancerella's Voyage/Il Viaggio del Cancerella. Until then, wishing you and yours a very safe, happy and blessed New Year!

Cancerella, Bud, Les Deux Chats
xoxoxo

What's it all about, Cancerella? (besides a brown pill that results in serious munchies)

Been meaning to write for a few days now but it's been quite a couple of momentous weeks for Yours Truly. Not only did I head back to Corporate America but I also tried the Happy-Appetite-Stimulating-Is-That-You-Jesus? pill. For the record, it must be noted that I did not, have not and plan not EVER to take one of these Pleasant-Petite-Pilules whilst at The Office. That simply would not be prudent, for a myriad of reasons. Why, you may ask? Well, let me put it to you this way. The "Patient Education" packet that I received with this prescription -- and that is fastidiously enclosed with every refill of peppy red, white or blue pellets that This Gal pops -- lists side effects that include clumsiness, difficulty concentrating, difficulty with memory, changes in behavior and muscle weakness -- and that is not in any way an exhaustive list. Hearkening back to (ahem) more cavalier times in my youth (possibly more recently - true confessions. WTF), these side effects sound all too familiar.

Now, having tried these pills (tinted an unpatriotic brown I might add; seems fitting - harumph!!) and having experienced some of these (ahem) side effects in the comfort of my own home, it's best that for the days when I am at The Very Large American Corporation, I sacrifice the fact that these pills -- beyond making me really giggly -- actually do make me eat. Mission accomplished. YAY!! The priority is to appear as graceful and focused as possible at work -- comme toujours, natch! -- as I have this feeling that there is a contingent of folks tenuously circling around me with proverbial kid gloves and thus, I need to appear as "normal" as possible (oi vey but I do dislike that word) and after all, many of these same folks already think I'm a bit odd (YAY me!) And, best of all, I have put on a whopping 3 pounds. Woo hoo! I was seriously becoming concerned at my weight loss and how skinny I was becoming. That's the God's honest truth. Now, I will just continue to smile all day and then rush home, pop a brown pill, smile and giggle some more and eat like a hog. YAY! Giddy up, yo!

So, my first week back at work was good. A little daunting to be honest and it certainly made me realize that life marches on. Not that I ever suspected it would stop; it's just so jarring how much things have changed and how I feel like I am scrambling to catch up. I have been living in a cocoon of sorts for the past three and a half months and it feels like breaking out of that gentle, protective environment and re-entering the real world again, with its alternate reality and hubbub and frenetic energy. Add to that, it was the week after my chemo treatments and so the first couple of days, the fog is still swirling and trying to lift in the old bald cranium. I am so grateful that it's oral chemo (white pills this time) and not the brutal IV type. Plus, somewhere, I think my body has become accustomed to it (shit, what a horrible thought -- think about that -- my body has become accustomed to toxic chemicals that kill cells. And people bitch about weed being toxic? I digress). All that to say, the lingering effects of Chemo Brain do not seem to be lasting as long. YAY! All in all, it was a nice week -- lots of warm welcomes and hugs, a nice little welcome brunch and just trying to ease back into the rhythm of things.

Last week was a little less stressful and I've been giving a lot of thought to being back at work. That, and the

age-old question: "What's it all about, Alfie?" So so many thoughts and emotions and questions. And no worries, dear friends and family -- I know I have been prone to over-thinking at times. I am trying diligently not to obsess. Truly. I realize this is just another stop on the voyage -- like changing train stations in a country like China where I don't speak the language and hoping I boarded the right train. Or learning a new language and stumbling through the first few phrases and hoping I didn't say "Your mother sleeps on a pay toilet" instead of "Hello and hope you are having a nice day." No one is an expert at anything fresh out of the gate, including how to deal with re-entering the work force after having been out on leave for 3.5 months because of a freaking brain tumour, especially a Tumaaaaaaaaaa that is sticking around. I need to be gentle on myself and accept that this is just another part of Cancerella's Adventure AKA Life.

I also don't want people to treat me like I'm sick. That tilt of the head with the well-meaning yet somehow pitying undertone in their query: "How ARE you feeling?" Maybe it's the jaunty chapeaux. ;-) I have had some strange looks from folks -- and I must admit, these looks neither surprise nor offend me. It's not every day that one sees someone at The Very Large American Corporation sporting a jaunty cap with a suit and high heels. Mercifully, the folks I work with are smart enough to connect the dots, and polite enough not to ask "Hey! What's with the hat?" I have already discovered that some folks are decidedly awkward around me. I also have learned in the past that those who really matter are those who are worth putting it on the line for; i.e. discussing things in a honest fashion as that is the sign of true friendship -- an equal partnership. Somewhere I think that some people are bothered by the fact that I have come face-to-face with my own mortality -- I get that -- and my humble opinion is that it is their issue to resolve, not mine. If they were true friends, we might talk about it, but at this stage, life is too short and I would rather spend it with people who matter and in that regard, I am truly blessed.

And speaking of friends, I will admit that I have been giving much more thought of late to how I want to

spend my time, who with and selfishly, how I want to be remembered. Deep thoughts, I know. Also a reality. And before the "Hey, one never knows when one could get hit by a bus" protestations, I certainly do not dwell on it ad nauseam -- my mortality that is. I also realized that I need to weather through this phase like all the other phases of this illness as it's part of the process, and that I need to stay present in the moment, alive and awake emotionally on every level, ever grateful for every single day and as positive and focused as possible. I admit -- and perhaps it's because I'm just recently back into the swing of things -- that I have been reflecting on many things of late. Trying very diligently not to have regrets because I cannot go back and change things; rather, seeking the good fortunes in the unforeseen curves, turns and detours in the proverbial road. And that in the end, when I meet my Maker, I know in my heart that the only thing that will matter is the love and caring and compassion and tenderness and joy I shared with my beloved family and friends and especially with my cherished husband  -- those magnificent souls who matter and who give me strength, courage, happiness, hope and so many reasons to be thankful every day. Until then, I will live each day to its fullest and for those days where I feel a little sad or anxious, so be it. I'm allowed.

And speaking of beautiful souls, my beloved hubby and I celebrated 22 years of wedded bliss yesterday. I remember it like it was yesterday. THE best party I have ever attended and that's the God's honest truth, followed by a four-week honeymoon in Europe. Fantastic memories and that's what is important in life. A photo for you fine folks -- many of you have seen this shot before and apologies for the redundancy. I look at this and remember every moment -- and wow. Look at all that hair! (Both of us! Love the 'stache - solely hubby on that one ... and isn't it hot?). Oh, speaking of hair, I am starting to get a little peach fuzz -- YAY! Still going to wear the breezy bonnets though! On that happy note, This Gal is going to pop a little brown pill and call it a day.

Thanks for reading and listening. Love you all.

Cancerella, Buderello, e i Due Gatti
xoxoxoxo

Super skinny (EEK), possibly a blonde and a fun new pill?

On Wednesday, hubby and I met with Dr-Ferragamo-At-Times-Pliner for my monthly check-up and I tell you, I look forward to these visits for the simple reason that I am curious to see what new shoes and dapper duds he will be sporting. He is very stylish for a middle-aged, white, straight dude and somehow I think his wife (a very stylish nurse at the center) and his gay friends dress him, but regardless, he rocks those pink and mint green shirts and the Uber-stylish (and Uber-expensive) Ferragamo and Pliner souliers. As shallow as that may sound, please allow me to level set here, folks. For starters, the visit is held at a cancer center where every single person that is walking or wheeling through those doors is currently, or has been, afflicted to varying degrees with The Big C, whether in remission or not, and while I certainly appreciate how everyone who works there is upbeat and smiling and positive and full of hugs and hope, let's face it -- the reality is that it's f**king cancer we're dealing with. (Sidebar: I have a confession to make. I'm not in a "the Tumaaaaaa is my friend" kind of mood today. Feeling kind of shitty from the chemo so I am taking this opportunity to vent a little. It's my prerogative! Waaaaaaa!)

And second, the key purpose of the visit is so that I can enlighten Doc F with the relative degree of emotional and physical shittiness I am currently experiencing so he can tap-tap-tap enter the info into my file. After all, although I would like to think that we are there to chitchat about his wardrobe choices that day, the reality is that we are there to discuss the fact that I have a Tumaaaaaaaaaa in my head, how much weight I have lost yadda yadda yadda, and on this visit, the shingles and ear incidents and how long my double vision lasted. Confession number 2 (hmmmm.... a long overdue visit to my priest, methinks!). Yup, I didn't share that bit with you folks in my last post. I had double vision for four days last week. Just a wee bit disconcerting. However, hubby and I were in Canada for reasons of vital personal importance to dear family members and thus, there were certain things that were just best kept quiet. Where

was I? Ah yes. Dr. F did indeed delight with a brand new pair of Salvatore Ferragamo loafers yesterday, along with a pink checkered shirt. I tell you, he was looking very urbane. And for simplicity's sake -- and for shits and giggles -- his new moniker will be Dr. Salvatore simply because he is the antithesis of what a Salvatore might look like. More importantly though, I happen to think he's a good doctor -- and he's such a good sport and laughs at all my inappropriate comments, and for those of you who know me well, you know I am easily taken in by someone who laughs at my jokes. (Confession number 3!)

So, here's the deal. I have lost a little more weight since last week and while several years ago I might have been ecstatic to be skinny -- especially after being on Weight Watchers for most of last year!! -- truth be told, I now weigh what I did in university (college for my American friends) and that is highly alarming to me. I simply don't feel like eating a lot of things that I used to enjoy. Now, I must say that when we were in Canada, I did enjoy a Harvey's burger and for my American friends, next time you are in Canuckistan, you simply must indulge. Nothing in the US comes close. A bold claim, I know but true. I also scarfed down a

Beavertail, another AWESOME treat. It's a fried dough pastry, hand stretched to resemble a beaver's tail (no inappropriate jokes, please!) and sprinkled with cinnamon, sugar, lemon .... A-MA-ZING! But we can't get Harvey's or Beavertails here in the US - waaaaa!! All kidding aside though, as I just don't enjoy a lot of food stuffs these days, hubby asked Dr. Salvatore if he would prescribe me some medicinal weed. Yup, medicinal weed. Don't ask, don't get right? ;-) Well, turns out there is a pill form and so, I am going to try that to see if it will boost my appetite. I asked him if it would make me see Jesus (he blushed, then giggled -- YES!) and he said it had similar effects to smoking weed so if I get paranoid while smoking weed (bold of him to presume that I have smoked weed -- harumph!!), then the pill would make me paranoid too. Not going on the record here as this is a public forum but the moral of the story is that this pill thing-y is legal, any side effects should be (ahem) interesting but most importantly, hopefully it will make me want to eat. Beyond that, my blood work is normal -- yeah! -- and because my MRI on August 9 came back as stable, looks like I don't have to have an MRI for another couple of months or so. Originally, the plan was that I was supposed to have MRI's every other month, but looks like that has changed because Il Tumore is in its proper place and contained. Good news there! YEAH!

On a mildly different note, as I mentioned in my last post, I am heading back to work on the 30th and a pal jokingly said to me that this was my last week of freedom. Been giving that some thought and while I have certainly appreciated the opportunity to rest and rejuvenate at home, I am now ready to rejoin the real world and feel a renewed sense of normalcy. I am optimistic; however, I am also realistic and practical and know that there may be a couple of little bumps along the way, especially with the continued chemo and it is The Big C, after all so God forbid anything could happen. I am optimistic, though, and have found a strength and fortitude and inner peace within me that surprises even me. Funny that, right?

I have always been fascinated by the human psyche and what makes us as people do the things we do and what makes us grow as people. I also think that there are so many folks out there who expend so much energy in avoiding pain or pretending that everything is fine, and in doing so, they avoid living to a large extent. Pretending pain does not exist is simply not realistic. Now please do not misunderstand me. I am not suggesting that we as humans actively seek out pain and suffering; quite the contrary. It's about viewing pain and suffering for the lessons they teach us and how they make us stronger and more resilient and how they make us appreciate life and things that matter. One of the most amazing high school teachers I ever had -- she impacted the way I think to this day, God bless her -- once quoted in one of her English classes (yes, English; not philosophy): "Suffering is the sole origin of consciousness." Now, while that might sound bleak, there's a large element of truth to that statement. It's all about perspective and things being relative. How can you truly know joy if you have not experienced pain? It's just opposite ends of the same spectrum. So, all that to say, this experience has just reinforced to me -- and apologies for being repetitive -- what makes me happy and what really matters. Positive people who care and appreciate what matters and who view the world with a glass half full approach. A beautiful sunny day. Simple pleasures that I have taken for granted and just not ever taken the time to "see" and "hear" before: birds chirping, children laughing, beautiful trees, flowers, music ...I could go on and on.

And ... as I said, I am as ever optimistic -- I just could not imagine spending any more time at home. It just continues to remind me that I have cancer and I am anxious to get back out there, 85% of me and all! Being out in the real world makes me feel more normal (although that word bothers me -- I mean, who has the right to define "normal" after all?), less "sick", more optimistic and productive and just being around people. I miss people! Yeah! I DO feel better. Plus, after having cleaned out every closet (true), the basement (three-day project, that) and every single nook and cranny, there just isn't anything else to clean! ;-) And I am getting over my obsession with my hair. True fact! Hubby -- the awesome dude that he is -- picked up a couple of wigs for me so I will bring them into work with me next week. Whaddya all think? I've always wanted to be a blonde.

So .... that's all This Gal wrote for today. Thanks as always for reading my musings and for humouring me. Received a few more cards this week -- thank you KSL, KV, TL and AF for your lovely cards and for thinking of me! Every single card I have received since The Big C set up shop in my Grey Matter is in my home office and it is completely overwhelming. Looking at all of them reminds me how fortunate and blessed I am to have so much love in my life. Thank you all -- for everything. You are all in my prayers, every night, because after all, giving thanks for what matters is even more important. Humbling exercise ... and quite redemptive.

Love you all and God bless.

Cancerella, Buderello, and the Two Kitties
xoxoxoxoxo

Round 2/Phase 2: Rock My World - White Pills vs. Blue

Greetings to one and all on this glorious official second day of fall. The sun is shining, the air is crisp and it's just starting to look and smell like autumn. I love Sweater Weather and the fall season where hubby and I currently reside is just a wee bit longer than in our beloved home-and-native-land, where it is hot, sticky and humid one day, followed by a couple of weeks of leaves changing and temperatures dipping....then BLAMMO! You are shoveling snow and freezing your butt off for the next six months. OK, perhaps a slight exaggeration and I have likely irked my fellow Canuckistanian compatriots for perpetuating a stereotype (sorry 'bout that), but I tell you that the city where hubby and I resided for 20+ years does indeed - for all intents and purposes - have two seasons: 1) Hot and 2) Really Freakin' Cold. And it is particularly top of mind because we just returned from a trip there and thus, my habitual digressions are markedly magnified.

In any event, it has once again been a while since I have sat down in my home office chair (and a comfy one at that), stared at my computer screen and then proceeded to unleash my musings, anxieties and general outlook on the World-Through-The-Eyes-Of-A-Gal-With-A-Brain-Tumaaaa-And-No-Hair (yes, I confess that I am mildly - ok more-than-mildly - obsessed about my hair. I declare that it is my prerogative and it is my right to throw the odd follicly-challenged temper tantrum!) Where was I? Ah yes. Sitting, droning on and on, not saying much of anything, so time to bring you fine folks up to speed.

When last I posted, I was just getting over a case of the shingles, and I couldn't hear out of my left ear. Mercifully, on the shingles bit, they (touch wood/knock on wood) have not returned. Additionally and on a very positive note, hubby and many of our pals have taken advantage of the new shingles vaccine, so for those of you who have had chickenpox as a child, I strongly recommend that you please take advantage and get vaccinated. Shingles is U-G-L-Y, nasty, sh**ty, painful, icky. Plus, the drugs the docs prescribe for you are just as ugly, nasty and icky. The three-second investment of  "This may sting a little" offers an outstanding return. Point made, methinks. :-)

On the ear issue, the Sudafed my radiation oncologist suggested I take just wasn't helping, so hubby and I did go and see my primary care physician a couple of weeks ago. Gosh, I adore her; she gave me a huge hug when she saw me. I mean, how many of you can say that your doctor hugs you? Heavy sigh. She personifies what a doctor should be and is absolutely in the right profession. I digress. She prescribed a six-day booster pack of methylprednisolone - AKA corticosteroids - and 10-days worth of antibiotics - Giant Pink Pills (at least they weren't Big BLUE Pills!). Yeah. More drugs!!! I've read that for some folks, steroids give them energy and increase their appetite, but sadly, they have the opposite effect on me, so lo and behold, I lost a little more weight over the past couple of weeks and slept a lot. Sounds all too familiar, doesn't it? Heavy sigh revisited. The moral of the story, though, and the good news is that I can now hear out of my left ear. All that matters. Alleluia! Alleluia! All-e-luuuuuuuu-i-aaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!

And ....the big news is that This Gal is heading back to work in one week. One week! GULP! For the first few weeks, I will go into the office one or two days a week, then work from home the remainder of the time and then ramp up to a full-time week when I feel ready. I am so thankful for the flexibility I am being offered, and plus, the added bonus is that the work I do isn't such that I need to show my face (and bald head) in the office every single day. Speaking of my bald head (yet again) and my Skinnier-Than-Ever-Middle-Aged-Body, I had a chat with my dearest pal CIF over the weekend and I was telling her that I was forced to do some retail therapy recently because many of my clothes simply do not fit me. At some point, I intend to put some weight back on and in fact, I haven't shopped for anything all year and hubby can attest to that, so I only picked up a few things. It just seems so unimportant. After all, it's just stuff, right? So, my pal remarked to me that when I start to think about what I am going to wear and pulling myself together as it were, that I MUST be feeling better and that I am ready to face the world. And I hadn't thought of it in quite that way, but she's right! Bravissima, CIF!

The other thing I decided is that This Gal ain't buying a wig. At least, not in the short term. Nope, there's a permanency to it that is just not quite palatable to me. Perhaps if I had long hair, it might be easier? So hats, caps and scarves it is! Started stocking up on jaunty little cappelli and I must admit, I am stoked about wearing them. And I may do the bald thing but there is no rush for that. This experience has taught me so many things, one of which is setting the right priorities. To jump off the deep end on Day One is not prudent and after all, I want to do it for me and when I'm ready. Is it possible that I'm finally growing up? ;-) Read a great quote recently and it states that maturity comes when we understand small things. Discuss.

And ... Round Two of The Big White Pill starts tonight.

Yup, same chemo except the pills they shipped me this time around are white, not blue. Shakin' it up a bit. I like it. Maybe someone from the pharma company read my rant about how they are sadists for making all of their pills blue. So, five days of The Big White Pill and no vino (waaaaaah!), a full weekend of sleep and then back-to-work - and the real world or a different world I should say - on Monday! So much more to fill you fine folks in on - for now, I have prattled on long enough, methinks. The moral of the story is that I am feeling good, energy levels are good, appetite is still a little slow in coming back but I'm sleeping well and my head feels clear. AND I can add two plus two! (YEAH!). Oh .... also heading to see Dr-Ferragamo-Slash-Pliner this Wednesday. Will keep you updated on the latest developments (fingers/toes/eyes crossed that it's all good news!)

Thanking all of you again - from the bottom of my heart - for all of your love, support, cards, texts, emails, phone calls. Hubby and I seriously could not have gotten through any of this without your love and support and encouragement. How fortunate are WE?? Look forward to hosting some of you fine folks soon - cc, MM, KSL, Big Bro...and DC, it was awesome to have you over a couple of weeks ago; Mama-san and Papa-san - sending much, much love your way; P & S K - SO good to see you; and the M clan - love you all so so much.

Speriamo di vedervi presto. Noi vi amiamo.

Cancerella, Buderello, e i Due Gatti
xoxoxoxoxo

More blue pills, round one/phase two completed and can you speak up, please?

And here we are ...the end of the summer with Labour Day already behind us. When the hell did that happen? It's been a while since I posted, I know. Been dealing with some ups and downs. After all, every day is an adventure! Seems like only yesterday that I started skipping down my own Yellow-Brick-Nuke-Her-Head-Wicked-Witch-And-Make-Her-Take-Toxic-Blue-Pills-Road. The

only thing missing on my fun little jaunt was my own pair of sparkly ruby red slippers -- although I do own a pair of faaabulous red stilettos. And while I am indeed grateful that the 49-day fiesta is behind me, the regime did put many things in perspective for me, not to mention the most important reason for enduring the grueling process in the first place -- to begin to hold Il Tumore at bay. So far, so good -- YEAH! I feel like Diana Nyad. Find a way and keep going.

I must say that the two weeks after the treatments ended were akin to feeling reeeeally hung over after an epic all-weekend party in university (or college for my American friends). With a couple of key exceptions. Food? Blecccch - no thank you. Sleep? Yes please and kindly don't wake me for two weeks. Most disconcerting of all, though, is having found myself with such epic intellectual dorkiness that simple functions like adding two plus two (mild exaggeration for dramatic effect) were simply too mentally taxing. To find myself feeling less

than my-usual-relatively-intelligent-self was a humbling experience to say the least, so needless to say, when the mental smog started to lift and I started regaining some of my energy and little things like the smell of bacon didn't want to make me hurl (a tragic consequence of the treatments), certain food groups stopped tasting like the inside of an old rusty can AND I could add three plus three (exaggerated dramatic effect re-visited) I started proclaiming Hallelujah! from the rooftops. YEAH! I never thought something as simple as appreciating the smell of cured meat from the back/side/belly of a pig - or even having taken it for granted - would be worth celebrating. More importantly, though, having taken for granted simple things like being able to think clearly, concentrate, read for longer than five minutes, hold an intelligent conversation -- to name just a few -- underscored how much I have taken for granted all these years. I have always lived in my head, so to speak, so to find myself attacked where I lived was quite a setback and a blow for me. And so, I will continue to put things into their proper perspective, celebrate the small stuff, not worry about s**t that doesn't matter and not take s**t for granted.

So, a couple of updates. Saw my radiation oncologist last week for my follow-up appointment and told her about some itchy, painful spots on my back that had been bothering me for a couple of days prior to the visit. Nothing related to my head nuking, but thought I would mention it to her nonetheless. Well, lo and behold, the itchy/painful bits turned out to be shingles. Yup. Freakin' shingles. WTF, right? Thankfully, it was a mild case. Glass half full. Glass half full. It could have been worse. Glass half full. Because of my weakened immune system and the stress to my body from the Merda/S**t/Merde it has been through plus the fact that I had the chickenpox as a child, I was susceptible to shingles. Niiiiiiiiiice. So guess what? Yup. More giant blue pills. Antibiotics, 1 gram each, three times a day and one inch long. The pharmaceutical companies are a swarm of sadists. That, and they seem to be obsessed with the color blue. On sheer principle, I am boycotting the color blue from my wardrobe from now on (not that I own that much blue clothing in the first place -- blue just isn't my color but this just reinforces it, damn it!) Moral of the story is that the bottle of said Ginormous-Blue-Not-Red-My-Favorite-Color-For-Clothes-Not-Pills is empty and I am feeling better, thankfully. Yee-freaking-HAW.

Second update is that when hubby and I met with The-Doctor-Formerly-Known-As-Ferragamo-Now-Known-As-Pliner to review the MRI, he stated that the MRI revealed fluid build-up in the mastoid process, the area right behind the ears. Evidently, this fluid accumulation is quite common after Melon-Zapping. The long and short of it is that I have some hearing issues in my left ear; specifically, it's blocked and I can't hear very well. I feel like I need an ear horn: "Eh? What did you say? What? Can you speak up please?" Poor hubby. Mentioned it to Doc Radiation when I saw her as it was just starting to come on last week and yadda yadda yadda, I am now taking Sudafed. Yeah, well, that's not working either. Doc Radiation had advised me that if the Sudafed didn't work, she would put me on a round of steroids. Hmmm. My first reaction was NO! Oops, I meant, NO thank you! (Where are my manners?) Then again, it's only a 6-day run so that may be necessary. In any event, hubby and I are taking a fun little trip to see my family doc tomorrow. What the hell. See what she says. Just keeping my fingers crossed that I won't need to see an ear/nose/throat specialist. Oi. Just what I need. Another specialist. In the meantime, it's another one of those things I've taken for granted. Waaaaaa. I miss being able to hear well! Fingers crossed this resolves itself and soon.

But the most important update is that I have completed the first round of the chemo maintenance -- double the dose for five days -- three weeks off and then lather, rinse and repeat for another five months. So far, so good. Woo hoo and let's hope it continues to keep The Tumaaaaaaaaa at bay or shrinks the Mo-Fo. Started feeling tired Day 3, with appetite fading by Day 4 and appetite completely disappearing by Day 5. I slept for most of the three days afterwards and then felt better energy-wise on the fourth day. YEAH! Appetite is still slow in coming back and certain foods still smell funky to me (dang), but I'm pleased that my energy levels seem to be recovering. They are not at 100%; then again, I haven't felt at 100% since before I got sick. I do feel OK though, save for the ear thing, so I am pleased about that. Having said that, I am scheduled to go back to work on September 30, and there is a little part of me that is a wee bit anxious, as you might imagine. Transitioning back to the real world, keeping my energy levels up, being around lots of people after having lived in virtual seclusion for almost four months, questions from folks....

And then, there's a larger part of me that says: you are a strong woman and give yourself credit for that. You have just undergone some grueling treatments and kept positive throughout, save for the occasional breakdown which is completely normal and understandable after all. You are going through a life-changing experience. And ... you are blessed with an amazing husband who has been there for you through thick and thin as well as phenomenal family and friends and some special folks at work who all love and support you. It's all about keeping things in perspective -- who and what matters. It will all be fine. :-) One day at a time. On a lighter note, a fun (!!) fact is that my hair is still MIA so I have two choices: a) My wicked self tells me to walk into Corporate America au naturel. Yes, I'm talking with my naked (GASP!) head fully exposed. There is a part of me that wants to do it. Just because. Then as a very wise gal recently reminded me (thanks TL!), I will have to answer questions. Hmmm. Need to think that one through. b) My sensible self tells me I should shop for wigs, caps, scarves and the like and cover up. Et voilà -- some super sexy (*snort*) shots of Yours Truly in a couple of Uber stylish wigs (*guffaw*). These chortles and giggles are courtesy of my dear pal R., who I can always thank for endless amusement and smiles. Bisous, ma chèrie! In the meantime, the quest for my lost locks continues. That, and a decent wig.

Before I sign off, I want to thank TP for a delightful afternoon out a couple of weeks ago. It was absolutely wonderful to have lunch with you and profound thanks for your company and generosity of spirit. Thank you as well to KB for a lovely outing, for your never-ending enthusiasm and sunny outlook and for the extraordinarily beautiful and thoughtful gift. And deepest and heartfelt thanks to all of you who have continued to keep in touch. Via this blog, email, text, phone calls, cards. Please know that your support, your thoughts and prayers, your well-wishes and your love are so unbelievably appreciated and have helped both hubby and me through this critical first phase more than you might imagine. And after all, isn't that what life is all about? Family. Friends. Love. Health. At the end of the day, too many things and boatloads of stuff simply don't matter. People do. Thank you all and sending love and bone-crushing hugs your way. And extra-special thoughts and prayers to Papa-san and Mama-san.

À bientôt, chers famille et amis. Nous vous aimons.

Cancerella, Budereaux et Les Deux Chats
xoxoxoxo

The blue moon does in fact portend good news...

Well, last night featured a blue moon and while I would love to explain the innumerable variations as to why it is called a blue moon, why this rarest of full moons is not in fact blue in hue, the origins of the term et cetera to the power of a quadrillion, I will save everyone the tedium of such insignificant minutiae.

Suffice it to say that the rarity of the occurrence happened to coincide with the fateful meeting with the Doctor-Formerly-Known-As-Doctor-Ferragamo-Now-Known-As-Doctor-Pliner (he was wearing very smashing Donald J. Pliner souliers aujourd'hui) to review the results of the MRI This Gal (i.e. Moi) had on August 9. This MRI, dear readers, was to give insight into how successful the treatments were in holding back the growth of Il Tumore, The Tumaaaaaaaaaaa, The-Growth-In-My-Head-That-Is-Evidently-Not-Going-Away-And-Not-Paying-Rent-Either (beotch). To say that I was anxious about this meeting would be untruthful and I have been keeping busy these past few days -- as my energy levels have allowed -- by completing projects that have long been bellowing my name. Clearing/cleaning out the entire basement: check (three-day project, that!). Washing the windows: check (thanks for your help, Drew!) Clearing out the bookcase: check. Clearing/cleaning out the dining room: check. You get the picture.

So, today was said Big Day. Drew and I arrived at the Cancer Center to find it full of fellow cancer patients, which immediately threw up a multitude of warning signs, flashing lights and sirens that it was going to be a looooong morning, as they were clearly a little behind in appointments. So, instead of playing Words With Friends or futzing around on Facebook, I decided to just take a look around instead. Perhaps it's because the fog in my Still-Bald-Coconut has finally lifted and I actually see things more clearly than the last time I was at the Center, or more aptly, it is the first time -- admittedly -- that I actually went in there with my eyes open, as it were, and allowed myself to notice some things.

First of all, each of the people waiting for radiation treatments or to see an oncologist was much older than I am. Significantly older. Secondly, most of these people were also grossly overweight. Now, dear readers, I do not say that to sound judgmental. Quite the contrary. I say that from a health perspective. It got me to thinking that while I did smoke for many years (yeah yeah - I KNOW - shitty, awful habit; I should have known better blah blah blah), other than that, I did take good care of myself. I was a gym enthusiast, I ran for a while, I ate well, kept a steady weight and a healthy one at that -- again, you get the picture. And so, as I sat there gazing around the waiting room, it dawned on me. Why me? Cancer. Not just once. Nooooo. Twice! And twice in 18 months. I mean, W---T--- F??? Now, before some of you kind folks protest and shout "Hey! Lots of people have had it much worse than you!" or "At least you're not a child!" or "Be strong! No self-pity at this point!" and whatever other declarations you may rush forward to make, I came to the crushing realization this morning -- in the waiting room and then tearfully in Doc P's office (as he looked on with mild bewilderment) -- that this whole experience has finally -- finally -- just hit me. Square in the solar plexus. Right between the eyes. In my head, my heart, my brain, my psyche, the very core of my being -- my soul. The whole concept that "HOLY SHIT. I have a F**KING brain tumour." And that it is not going away. I have to live with this beotch. F**K. Kiss my astrocytoma, indeed.

And while I have written about it and about life not being the same, I think I finally made the actual emotional connection today. Better late than never, I suppose. Ah yes. So the news. Right. The MRI showed that the tumour has not grown. According to Doc P/F, this is good news. Evidently, with the kind of tumour I have (it can be rather aggressive, beotch that it is), the key thing is holding it steady. So, the treatments -- and all your kind thoughts and prayers -- succeeded in holding that malignant malingerer at bay. Giddy up! And profound thanks to you all!! And as Drew's Papa-san so graciously reminded me, one GOOD step down.

So, come this Monday, August 26, Phase 2 starts and that's the double dose of The Big Blue Pill, aka The Titanic Teal Tablet. T Cubed. Sounds like a new hip hop artist. As Doc P/F reminded me today (and I had already done the research -- lesson learned), the arc of when I might feel the effects may be different, the whole appetite, fatigue thing will be variable and like before, things might taste like I'm licking the inside of a rusty tin can. Brunch or dinner anyone? Hey, it could be worse I suppose. I will get through the physical stuff. That part is just one component and as always, thinking of the whole Glass-Half-Full philosophy (my glass is currently full ... of wine. So there! Pfffft.) To be perfectly honest with you, I wish I had some weed. Now THAT would be pleasurable. Did you know that the state where Drew and I live offers legalized medical weed? I need to pursue that with greater zeal. Sanjay Gupta approves. I digress. So yes, chemo for the next six months. MRI's every two months to check on Il Tumore and hopefully, the prognosis will remain as is; e.g. Beotch hasn't put on any weight. Hmmmm .... I need a name for my new persona. My pal R offered up a couple of options (I must admit, I almost peed my pants ... you must admit - they are laugh-out-loud funny!) Look familiar?

On a psychological note, I really need to come to grips with the fact that I have a terminal illness. I know, I know. I can hear some of you now. "Think more positively!" "It's not a terminal illness; it's just an annoyance. Deal with it!" or better yet, "It could be worse -- you could get hit by a bus tomorrow!" God forbid! (Love that one). I understand folks want to make it better by adding perspective and reminding me that I could have it a lot worse. The reality, dear readers, is that I have a tumour in my brain and yes, I really am trying to be positive every single day. I continue to focus on the here and now, to be thankful for every day, to put things into perspective and especially about what and who is important. And yet, I need to find a way to finally make peace with the fact that I have to live with this thing in my head. That it is officially a part of me, of who I am and yet, that I do not want it to define me -- at the risk of sounding repetitive. And with all that said, it does change everything. I cannot deny that it doesn't. To say that life goes on exactly the way it was is delusional at best. I suppose it's like any other adjustment; only this one has a wee bit more at stake.

As I come face to face with my own sense of mortality -- as somber as that may sound and again, at the risk of a reprise of the "yeah, but you could get hit by a bus" statement -- please know that I have no intention of dwelling upon how much time I left. I suppose it's the realization that life really is fragile. That I have taken so much for granted. That I have never had to stop and think about my own mortality. Why would I, after all? I have been in good health, I'm young -- relatively speaking -- all of that. And so, to find myself staring at It, having to live with It, and especially now on a daily basis ... well, this will take an adjustment. And having grieved many times in my life -- for my parents, dear uncles, dear friends, my brother -- I accept that grief is also part of the natural process and so, I must allow myself to grieve the fact that life as I know it really will be different. Only then can I emerge on the other side, stronger, happier, at peace with all of this. Ignoring all of these feelings and pretending it's all OK, that nothing has changed is simply not healthy. I've been there before, many years ago and thus know whereof I speak.

And so, for the moment, Cancerella (aka me) will celebrate the good news and yet, rest and rejuvenate. Face my demons. Make "friends" with the Beotch and then prepare the warrior princess to begin the next phase (gosh, I sound like freakin' Sybil. How many personalities will I have for God's sake??). All kidding aside, thanks for reading, for listening and as always for your love, support and prayers.

And the journey continues.

Cancerella, Buderello, and the Perpetually Confused Kitties
xoxoxoxoxo

T minus 2 - reprise number 3

Buongiorno tutti. It's been a while, I know. I am scratching my bald head in mild disbelief that it's already the middle of August. To quote an overused idiom, time really does fly. Seems like only days ago that the kind gentle neuro-surgeon drilled the hole in my head and then proceeded to tell me that (wait for it) - GASP! "You have a tumaaaaaaaaaaaa." Everything after that seems at once blurry yet clear. Paradoxical, I know. On the one hand, I recall every day of treatment, how I felt every single day, every single appointment with every single doctor (oi VEY - keeping the U.S. medical and pharmaceutical industry alive and well. Shit!) and on the other hand, there's a wee part of my brain that I think - mercifully - put up a "Gone Fishin'" sign (thanks Racherella). All that to say, been doing some thinking. Hmmmm.

Speaking of thinking, one thing I am trying not to think about is D-Day with Dr. Ferragamo this Wednesday. ("D" is for "discovery" - thinking positively here, with tongue planted firmly in cheek nevertheless!) As charming as The-Doc-With-The-Uber-Stylish-Italian-Designer-Blue-Suede-Shoes may be, the key objective of the visit will be to review the results of the 2,000 or so images the tech took of the inside of my brain week before last as I lay there trying to tune out the bang-bang-bang-throttle-throttle-throttle of the MRI machine. Oh. Please allow me to digress for a moment as I rant about the insurance companies.

Under the pretense of "saving me money", my insurance provider called me a couple of weeks ago and suggested that I have my MRI done somewhere more "cost effective." When I asked them if I could refuse said "Kind Offer" (puh-LEEEZE!) and more importantly if they would still cover the cost, they replied - hesitantly of course but affirmatively nonetheless - that yes they would; however, they reiterated that it was beneficial to ME that I reconsider their generous offer. Now, first of all, it has nothing to do with me, dear readers. The insurance companies are pissed off that they have to pay more for a superior service and thus, it's eating into their handsome profits. Please, like they give a shit about me?! Secondly - and again, more importantly - would you compromise on something like an MRI? Especially for your brain? Why would I purposely go to the Wal-mart of MRI's when it's my freakin' life at stake? To save a faceless, Very Big Corporation of America a few drachmas? To quote one of my favourite Monty Python expressions: "I fart in your general direction"; aka: "Methinks not!!" I digress, as usual.

Where was I? Ah yes. The impending rendez-vous with Docteur Chaussures Bleu. Trying not to think about the outcome of that visit and yet, I have been thinking about the conversation I had a couple of weeks ago about making "friends" with Il Tumore, with "cancer." Seems odd I know, especially with the F**K cancer philosophy and yet, I finally understand it. It was a different experience dealing with The Big C when I had breast cancer. I had a lump, then I didn't have a lump, followed by seven exhausting weeks of radiation and then thought I had put IT behind me. I dealt with cancer, but more as an inconvenience, an annoyance, a declaration that I had beaten that bitch. This current situation is so different, and much and all as I want to believe that the treatments will make the tumor disappear completely, the reality is that surgery would have greatly reduced the size of the tumor. Alas, because of where the tumor is located, surgery just wasn't an option, so the bottom line is that the treatments are intended to hold the tumaaaaa at bay.

Which means I need to find a way to live with IT. To accept it, to continue to come face-to-face with it, yet not make it the primary focus in my life. I don't want cancer to be all that defines me; to have this perpetual imaginary neon sign over my head that reads "This gal has cancer" or "This gal is in remission - Handle with care." Yet, there are things that I need to deal with this time around that are decidedly different than with my bout with breast cancer. MRI's every other month. Constant monitoring. The tumor co-existing with me, myself and I and in an area of the body that is not only the epicenter of the central nervous system but as Thomas Edison so eloquently stated: "The chief function of the body is to carry the brain around."

I want folks to just treat me the way they always have; as the big goof that I am. Except now I'm bald for the unforeseeable future (I'm actually starting to get used to it and like it. It's very low maintenance!) Speaking of my Uber simple coif, Drew and I both went for a trim last weekend and the hair on the part of my head that wasn't nuked is growing back nicely but the nuked parts are still bald and smooth as a baby's butt. No signs of hair at all. Not one single strand. Sigh. Looks like I'll be shopping for wigs after all - I may opt for long haired wigs, pig-tailed and all, just for shits and giggles. Thoughts? My pal R suggested vintage style cloches, which I adore. In any event, many of these thoughts relate to the Going-Back-To-Work scenario and I came across a quote that states that "over-thinking leads to negative thoughts", or as my dear uncle so aptly states it: "don't think too much." So, that's all she wrote about that! One day at a time; one thing at a time.

Still wrapping my Steadily-Becoming-Clearer noggin around the fact that this little journey has made me realize that life as I knew it will never be the same. Perhaps profound, perhaps trite but nevertheless true. Everything has changed: priorities, plans, the future, what's important, who's important (will write about that later - some interesting examples to share with you fine folks). Drew and I have already discussed possible "what if" scenarios as there is no sense in pretending that they don't exist. Avoiding possible realities does not make them go away. And in my view, it is not negative thinking to weigh all options; it's practical, realistic and what mature adults do. I have been reading several blogs and forums and the increasing pressure to "Stay positive! Stay strong! Chin up! Keep smiling!" though appreciated and welcome is simply not practical on a daily basis and at full-throttle 100% of the time. Cancer and the associated physical and emotional shit it brings with it exerts an enormous toll and so, there have been moments of fear, sadness, frustration and anger. I can assure you, dear readers, that those moments have been few, but I will admit that there have indeed been moments when I have felt less than sunny and positive and a wee bit more introspective. However, with the love and support of friends and family (thanks for a wonderful brunch last weekend, LK and WWM and for the gorgeous scarves W!!, and for a wonderful celebration on Sunday, RM!)  and especially with the steadfast, self-sacrificing, devoted attention of my extraordinary hubby Drew, I have mercifully been lifted from those temporary grey moments.

And on the theme of happier notes, in the meantime, appetite is slowly coming back, head is clearer, not feeling as drag-down-exhausted ...one day a time. Thankful for every day! Until Wednesday then, sending each of you many hugs and many thanks, as always for your support, cards, emails, texts, calls, friendship and love. 

Tanti baci,
Cancerella, Buderello e i Due Gatti
xoxoxo