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

Happy birthday dear, sweet brother

Hello all. Well, I had the MRI today. Not that I haven't experienced one before - getting to be old hat. The big news will be on the 21st when we get the results. The more important news is that today marks the birthday of my dearly departed brother Paul, who would have turned 53 today. I was going to write a tribute to him, but instead, I am posting the eulogy that I was honoured to deliver at his funeral this past November. Seems like yesterday and a lifetime ago that Paul passed away from The Big C. Yes, f**king cancer. This is not meant to be negative, however; quite the contrary in fact. Both my big brother and I know that Paul is at peace in heaven and his passing and his suffering put many things into perspective for me. But this isn't about me. This is about my dear brother Paul. Buon compleanno, caro fratello. Ti amo.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The date of August 9 lays claim to many auspicious and momentous events. In the year 1173, construction began on the infamous Tower of Pisa, while on the same date in 1483, the awe-inspiring Sistine Chapel first opened its doors to the multitudes of the faithful. On August 9, 1778, the legendary Captain Cook completed an epically historic journey as the first man to sail through the previously impenetrable Bering Strait, and in 1786, brave souls first scaled the snowy peaks of Mont Blanc. Now, while we might all acknowledge that these events were undeniably memorable, I might also venture to say that for those assembled here today, August 9, 1960 was of particularly special and poignant importance as this was the momentous day when a beautiful, bouncing 8.5 pound baby boy by the name of Paul Tonin first greeted the world.

In the year 1960, there was a shifting of attitudes and mores and culture, as most of the western world embarked on exciting, yet tumultuous times. And yet, there was one thing that remained constant and true and unchanging. You see, in 1960, August 9 happened to fall on a Tuesday, and no truer words have ever been spoken than those of the legendary nursery rhyme that quotes that while Monday's child is fair of face, Tuesday's child is full of grace. My dear brother Paul was -- from the very beginning and throughout his entire adult life -- a man truly full of grace, and blessed with a thoughtful, caring nature, selfless and compassionate in every way, with a tender-heartedness and generosity of spirit that was palpable, that resonated on a deep level with everyone he encountered, and that in his adult years, despite all of his trials and tribulations, was at once inspiring and humbling.

My earliest childhood memories of Paul are all warmly wrapped in that same heartwarming theme...from how he protectively and affectionately held my hand as we walked to school together every day for years; to suffering from the whooping cough when we were both still in diapers and being together in the hospital, side by side in our cribs, and how he stretched his arms through the bars of his crib in his empathic effort to comfort me; to trick or treating with him every Hallowe'en and how he would gladly and willingly and without fail, always be the first to offer to share his many sweet spoils -- this was my dear brother Paul. Caring. Compassionate. Selfless. Thoughtful. Kind.

And those glorious summers -- at that blessed age when there is a not a care in the world and when summers seem to last forever -- those many sunny, fun-filled days spent at St. George's Park, where a perpetually tanned and fit Paul would run and play and laugh, only to rush home for lunch and rush back, so that we could play on the merry-go-round and where he would happily push me on the swings, and where we would run and play and laugh some more. You see, Paul was my childhood best friend. My inseparable second half. My confidante, my playmate, my protector. And those cherished memories are the stuff of which dreams are made, as no one could have asked for a more loyal, faithful, kind-hearted, loving best friend than my dear, sweet, beautiful brother Paul.

 

And while Paul was kind-hearted -- so much so that he literally would not kill a fly -- he was by no means timid or meek and he had strength of conviction for his beliefs and was both courageous and respectful when defending them. Paul was unfailingly tolerant of other's thoughts and opinions and I stand here before you all and before God and can state without reservation that Paul never uttered a disparaging or unkind word about anyone. While that might sound like a lofty claim, and recognizing that the word "never" is an absolute term, it is indeed true and this rare and precious gift that Paul possessed -- this eternal grace -- this is how Paul lived and breathed, without effort and that is his true gift.

Paul was also blessed with our family's sense of adventure and wanderlust, and a love of travel. Paul had an innate curiosity and open-mindedness for things and places and animals and people that were different and wonderful and far-away, and for traveling to places that were unlike any other he had seen. As Paul entered the tender years of his early youth and as he started to look towards planning his future with hope and excitement and anticipation, he dreamed of being both an air traffic controller and of being a pilot so that he could venture off to all those exotic far-off places with dreams and aspirations that included hiking the jungles of southeast Asia, meeting majestic yet endangered tigers face-to-face in the wilds of Africa, exploring the vast diversity of cultures and climates in India and helping the poorest of the poor.

At the time that the youthful Paul was embarking on his exciting life's journey with his entire future ahead of him, the illness known as youth's greatest disabler -- schizophrenia -- ruthlessly and unequivocally thwarted Paul's plans. Dear family and friends, I do not tell you this so that you may pity Paul or be sad or angry at this debilitating condition. I tell you this for no other reason than to say that despite the cards that Paul was dealt in his youth and how profoundly and irrevocably that affected nearly every aspect of his adult life, that despite his suffering, Paul's innate goodness, his gentle, kind-hearted spirit, his tolerance and his incredible courage and compassion prevailed without question throughout his entire adult life and right until the day he died. Such was the depth and breadth of his empathy that he lamented that there were people that did not have enough to eat, for people who are persecuted for their beliefs, for people in pain, for endangered animals -- this empathy and compassion is both profound and inspirational.

More importantly, though, Paul possessed an unwavering faith, so genuine and deep-rooted, that while we are here to mourn his passing from this earth and to express profound sorrow at the thought of never again feeling enveloped in Paul's beautiful gentle spirit, both Dan and I -- despite our heartbreaking sorrow at the loss of our dear, sweet, soulful-eyed brother -- take great comfort and solace in knowing that with your love and support and prayers, that Paul is celebrating and reveling in his eternal grace with our parents and that God indeed has a very special place in heaven for beautiful souls like Paul, our grace-filled friend, cousin, nephew and brother.

Giuditta

Two weeks already. When is my hair growing back?

Greetings all. Well, it's been two weeks to the day since the Fun-Fest ended and I must say, it's been a slow and steady process of recovery - just as the dear radiation doc advised. Still feeling tired but mercifully, I am thankful for the opportunity to get lots and lots of rest. My brain is still somewhat bleary and I have trouble remembering simple things and I truly hope that passes; otherwise, I am going to have to resort to writing everything down. Heavy sigh. My appetite has also been very slow to return. Food either tastes like licking the inside of a tin can (not that I have ever done that) or completely tasteless, unpalatable, blah.

Ah, the perverse irony of an Italian not delighting in food. Dio mio! Waaaaa!! One day at a time, I know. More importantly though, I have lost even more weight, to the point where I am now at the same weight as the day I got married. How paradoxical considering I spent most of last year on Weight Watchers. Needless to say, I truly and honestly do not wish to be this thin. I just look forward to the day that food once again appeals to me and my fervent wish is that it's sooner vs. later. One day at a time.

So, last Monday I went to see my epilepsy doc. Yes, my epilepsy doc. Forgive me for not remembering this (see note above re: forgetting things), but I'm not sure if I told you fine folks that I was also diagnosed with epilepsy as well as a brain tumour? The irony about the tumour shrinking is that it may cause seizures to increase. Long story that I won't get into here. Suffice to say, the meds Doc K prescribed to me to prevent seizures are working. No weird episodes (touch wood) and as long as I keep that up until November 24, this gal will be able to drive again. Thank the good Lawd above! (It is a must to have a car in this state). The moral of this story is that all is well on the E front - yahoo! Don't see Dr. K (no cute nicknames for him - not feeling particularly creative today) for another three months. Nice guy but frankly, I'm getting just a wee bit tired of doctors.

On an entirely different happy note, two of my dearest friends - MS and LAP - flew me up to My-Home-And-Native-Land this past weekend for a relaxing sojourn at my pal MS's cottage. I must admit I was a little anxious about the trip. The whole airport experience, for starters. It's been a while since I've flown and my "home" airport is not exactly known for being kind and gentle. In fact, it's one of the busiest airports in the US, not to mention the fact that it was in the news recently because of its TSA agents sleeping on the job, stealing, all kinds of events that instill confidence and a sense of well-being (!#?). In fact, they made me take my cap off (which I expected) but the esteemed agent didn't make the dudes with baseball caps behind me take theirs off. WTF, right? What-the-f**k-ever. I digress yet again. I was also worried about how my energy would hold up, the whole appetite thing, and just the fact that I have been somewhat house-bound and very low key these past few weeks. A big scary trip. Imagine - me, who used to travel everywhere for a living ... being nervous about getting on an airplane and taking a short trip. Different circumstances this time around - that's my defense!

Well, I survived the flight and all of that ancillary stuff and the entire weekend was exactly what I needed. So incredibly relaxing, filled with wonderful chats, innumerable gut-busting laughs, fantastic sleeps (complete and utter darkness and zero noise - heaven!) and I actually managed to eat some solid food (it looked delicious)! And if that weren't enough, my friends went above and beyond and planned a whole bald solidarity event. The gesture touches me to the very core of my being and while we had countless laughs while getting ready for the pics, the fact that they thought of it in the first place, that they planned it, that they put themselves in my shoes ... well, that means more to me than I can begin to describe here.

And that's what cherished friends are all about and I thank God every night for the gift of treasured friends like MS and LAP. Thank you both from the bottom of my heart for an incredible weekend, for your boundlessly generous spirit - on every imaginable front - and for the precious gift of your friendship. :-) My profound gratitude for an unforgettable weekend. Grazie mille. Merci beaucoup. Muchas gracias. Thank you.

On a more low-key note, I am resting up for my next fun outing, which is my MRI this Friday, August 9. This day is also significant because it happens to be my dearly departed brother Paul's birthday and the first year he is not with us on his birthday. MS, LAP and I had a conversation over the weekend about guardian angels, so I will take comfort in envisioning Paul as my guardian angel as my noggin is being x-rayed, filmed, photographed and the like, and more importantly, that what the photos and x-rays etc. show are positive. For the moment, I will not think about the results; just my dear bro and positive thoughts.

Oh, and my leave has been extended until September 30. Despite the divertimento this past weekend (I slept most of Monday and Tuesday to recover!), the truth is that it is just too early for this gal to go back to work, for a myriad of reasons and docs thoroughly concur. The continued fatigue. The prolonged and much-needed recovery from the physical "beating" of six and a half weeks of combined treatments. The need for my brain to recover both physically and intellectually, not to mention psychologically. And the uncertainty of how the chemo will affect me on its own (vs. combined with the radiation) is just too large a risk to take in a work environment. Not only are there potential side effects from the chemo that include fatigue, mental fogginess, nausea and more, but the social and psychological pressure to be up, happy and social in a work environment is that much more stressful when one does not know how one might react to strong, toxic medication. So while there is a part of me that wants to go back, I have also learned to accept my limitations (a lesson for everyone; i.e. not just folks who suffer from cancer ... just sayin'..."discuss" ...) and accepting things as they are.

I remain so very thankful for the gift of each and every day and for the love and support of family and friends, for the phone calls, emails, texts and the innumerable cards. So many! Thanks to S&P K for your kind words, to DW (so so sweet), to H&S M (loved the card, and yes, H, I can read your writing!), cousin S (thanks for thinking of me all the way from Croatia!), the M clan (you all ROCK!), to KL for the never-ending love and support, to CF per le sue belle parole, to DO'C (love you too cugina), to Racherella for the never-ending giggles with the diary cards. :-) Sincere apologies if I forgot someone - I have a huge display that features every card and there are just so many it's overwhelming in the BEST possible way. Love you all and thank you again for accompanying both Drew and me on this journey. It's what makes life worth living and what really matters ... all that matters. Love, health, family, friends. And as horrible as The Big C is, there is always a positive side to things - as long as one looks for it. The whole glass half-full approach. It just puts it all into perspective. What matters, that is. So thank you all for reminding me and my fantabulously spectacular man Drew (I could not do this without him. Thank GOD for Drew!) of what matters.

Wishing you all a grand day.

All our love,

Cancerella, Budereaux et Les Deux Chats
xoxoxoxox

Phase One: Finito. Terminé. Fertig. Done and Dusted. Yipppeeeeeee!!

Well, Phase One is finally over. Halle-freaking-lujah! After 33 treatments to my melon and 49 of those monstrous Blue Pills, This Gal is glad to be over my recent Fiesta-of-Fun. Doc Radiation advised me that I would probably continue to feel tired (sub text: haggard, exhausted, butt-draggingly burnt out) for a couple of weeks yet and I suppose that makes sense. After all, that's a whole lot of nuking and chemical sh*t that my body has ingested and endured over the past nearly 7 weeks, and as the central nervous system is a wee bit slower to cleanse and purge all that toxic crap and those dead cells, I have been resting (read: sleeping) for the past few days. In fact, as I look at my Uber busy social calendar (HA!), I see a whole slew of appointments (I'm a popular gal) for all the hot spots in the area: a wonderful Tuscan trattoria called Dormire; Schlafen, a new German brew pub; and a rooftop bistro by the name of Dormir. ;-) Hmmm there's a theme here. It's about both sleep AND food! Wish I was hungry though. Oh I suppose I should mention that my appetite has not yet returned. It will be interesting to see what happens when I start the six-month chemo maintenance program and how my appetite is affected. After all, the side effects from the past almost seven weeks was the result of double the effects of both radiation and chemo; in any event, I digress, as usual. Suffice to say, my calendar is full of appointments with my current best amiga -- Sleep.

So, on Wednesday I took the mask home -- because Drew and I have plans for it -- and I posted the shot below on Facebook. Not surprisingly, I received a couple of "ugh - shades of Hannibel Lecter" and "ooooh ......scary looking." Scary looking indeed.

Methinks that what is scary is that I don't believe that anyone ever envisions themselves strapped into a mask like this for 33 days and having their head blasted with radiation in an attempt to shrink a cancerous tumor in one's noggin. And that includes Yours Truly. Just never thought about it. Why would I after all? So while the mask is indeed scary looking, the process that the mask represents and everything behind it is far more frightening.  But I am through that part of it now. Yee HAW!

On a lighter note, Drew and I are either going to capitalize on the whole creepy Hallowe'en thing and dress The Mask up with googly eyes and bloody bits and creepy ass sh*t (that's Drew's domain), or make it our own homemade Chia pet ("ch-ch-ch-CHIA!"). Part of me prefers the latter, just for sh*ts and giggles. And really, who knew these babies were still around?

A Google search revealed that Barack Obama is a particular favorite ("discuss"), but I am leaning towards somehow turning that mask into Homer Simpson or everyone's favorite bonehead these days -- Justin Bieber (what in God's name is wrong with that dude?) -- because the more ridiculous, the better. Perspective, right? If turning it into something gut-bustingly funny helps me deal with what it represents, then that's a good thing. That, or Drew will turn it into something beautiful, enchanting and inspiring which will be even more of "Ma Vaffanculo!" to this whole thing.

I also got tired of having bad hair days -- a perverse irony when one only has a half a head of hair -- so Drew and I went to the same barber shop (Drew's spot and my new spot for the next few weeks) and shaved our heads on Thursday. Drew did it for the second time -- my man! -- and this time, I went full-tilt-boogie. Yup. It all came off. Bzzzzzzz. And as Drew so aptly put it, we are now officially boycotting shampoo. Just because. Best part is, this time around, I didn't weep or get choked up or emotional. In fact, I was giggling as I just couldn't believe I was looking at myself with no hair. Frankly, I have grown accustomed to the sight of Me-Without-All-My-Hair and it just is what it is. That's not to say that I'm not looking forward to my hair growing back -- of course I am. I simply grieved the loss of my hair a couple of weeks ago, accepted it as part of the process and moved on.

Once I see how long it will take for the hair in the absolute bald spots to grow back -- the radiated spots are completely bald and the hair there takes much longer to grow back than hair that falls out because of chemo -- then I may contemplate a temporary henna tattoo. It will either be something beautiful and spiritual like "Each day is a gift" (which I truly believe and something for which I thank God every day), or something a little more radical like "F**K Cancer" in Urdu or Dari or Chinese (traditional). Haven't decided yet.

Next steps include an MRI on August 9 -- this is The-First-One-After-The-Treatments -- and where the Docs will have the first peek at the 2,500 or so images of Il Tumore to check out what state It is in. In other words, I'm remaining hopeful that this first phase of the Nuke-and-Chem-O-Rama was all worth it. Think positive, Cancerella; think positive. Then, on August 21, Drew and I meet with Doc Radiation, Dr Ferragamo and Dr Neuro-Oncologist (He-Who-Drilled-The-Hole-In-My-Head) to review said MRI results and until then I am going to Zen out, meditate and take the advice of my dear uncle and not think too much about it all. Speaking of family, my freaking AWESOME cousin and his wife shaved their heads as a tribute and to show support. Words cannot describe how unbelievably touched both Drew and I are over this unbelievably selfless, generous and incredible gesture of love, kindness and support. There have been few times in my life when I have been absolutely and completely gob-smacked and this is one of them. Overcome with gratitude and love and emotion.

And it just reinforces to me -- again and again -- what really matters. Love. Family. Friends. Health. The small wondrous things in life. Everything else? i.e. stuff? Doesn't matter. Not one iota. Means absolutely nothing in the end. Things cannot comfort you in your hour of need, or ease your worry or pain or suffering. And as awful as this experience is, there is always a bright side to things. It just opened my eyes that much wider to what I have always intuitively known and felt anyway -- about what matters in life; about what is worth complaining about. And please know that I do not say that to sound holier-than-thou or judgmental. It's all about perspective. For folks who -- God bless them -- have never been through anything traumatic, it's all relative. It's the whole question of how can one experience or define true joy if one has never experienced true pain? I am waxing far too philosophical here. Suffice to say, that each day is indeed precious and time with family and with friends, love and health are the only things that really matter to both Drew and to me.

So that's all the news that's fit to print today and this week, dear family and friends. Will keep you all updated on what happens next and in the meantime, thanking you all again -- profoundly and from the bottom of my heart -- for your love, support and kindness, for your cards, calls, texts, emails....and for reading this blog. Seriously, I could not have gotten through this first phase without each and every one of you and for that, I am, and will always be, eternally grateful, as is Drew, my amazingly dedicated caretaker, the love of my life, my gift from God! Thank you for the gift of your love and friendship.

Grazie per viaggiare con me,

Cancerella, Balderello e I Due Gatti
xoxoxoxo

T Minus 2 - Reprise + Full circle

Greetings dear family and friends. It's been a rather eventful few days and thus, the MIA from This Gal's online Gazette-cum-Comic-Book (at times). My I-Am-10-Pounds-Thinner-Wish-It-Was-For-A-Better-Reason physical self and my I-Am-Feeling-Rather-Sloooooow (Sometimes Slow Witted) intellectual self joined forces to protest this sudden burst of activity and essentially I was confined to a prone position most of yesterday in order to recuperate. Ah yes, the undeniable link between mind and body. The end of Cancerella's 33-Day-Plus-Carnival: Phase One cannot come soon enough. Two more days and to that I say thank GAWD.

I am so glad that the end of The-Laser-And-Eradicator-Merrymaking session is nearing its end, as I must admit that I have never felt so haggard. It's a weariness that permeates to the very core of my being. I suppose it makes sense, really, as both the radiation and the chemo are attacking both cancer cells (f**kers) and my healthy DNA, plus the fact that enduring these treatments simultaneously means double-plus-bad the side effects. Add to that, the radiation boost treatments are true to their moniker. They are kick-ass (i.e. kicking my skinnier, flabbier middle-aged ass), targeted beams aimed directly at The Tumaaaa, whereas the other treatments were of a broader scope. Still tiring on a cumulative level, but these boost babies are longer and much more intense. On a lighter note, I envision an intergalactic super shero with a high-powered laser beam gun thing-y (hey, I'm Canadian; we don't do guns ;-) ...) and she is nuking Los Tumor Cerebral. Yeah. Nuke those bad f**king cells. Por favor. Muchas gracias.

I'm so looking forward to waking up in a week or so and feeling a little more energized, with a little more appetite and just feeling less bleary and befuddled. On a positive note, no more headaches (YEAH - no steroids!) and oh, did I mention, only two more days? Ah yes, I did. Something to celebrate! On that happy note, a few high-level updates for y'all.

On Wednesday, Drew and I drove out to see The-Doctor-Formerly-Known-As-Dr-Mint-Green-Shirt-Now-Known-As-Dr-Ferragamo and to add to the delight of seeing him - not only is he entertaining, but also a damn fine doctor - he was actually wearing his blue suede Ferragamo loafers! Ooooh la la.

More importantly, though, my CBC (complete blood count) results came back normal - Hurrah! - so basically that means that I can enjoy an outing at Tarjaaaay or in other words, I can be around other normal people - recognizing that "normal" is a relative term - as my white blood cell counts, hemoglobin and platelets are all good. Thank GAWD for that (reprise). Something else to celebrate. So, I will see Dr. F. and the kind neuro-oncologist, the Doctor-Who-Drilled-The-Hole-In-My-Head in five weeks' time and before I see them both, I will have another MRI - one of many over the next couple of years. The MRI will advise all of us what shape The Tumaaaa is in; i.e. to what point IT has shrunk - the whole goal of this six-and-a-half-week-fun-fest, so I'm just waiting for the call as to when I will don yet another mask, get hooked up to an IV, be given a button to press if I start hyperventilating from being claustrophobic, then rest comfortably for two hours (HA!) in The Big Tube again. Fingers, toes, eyes crossed that the results will show that Le Tumeur, Il Tumore, IT has shrunk or at least been held at bay. Will cross that bridge when I come to it and will remain hopeful until then. Or as my dear uncle said to me late last week on a call: "Don't think too much." Good advice, that.





Initially, the plan was to have this past weekend be a celebration of the treatments being over and possibly heading to one of my beloved's favourite spots for his birthday. We did in fact celebrate his birthday on Thursday (his actual birthday) with a dear beautiful friend and had a delightful time. Simply and utterly delightful. One of life's many blessings - good friends, good food (or so they told me), good times - the stuff of which memories are made. Merci mille fois, JF, pour une soirée parfaite. Je t'aime beaucoup! Oh, as a sidebar, here's one of the many many reasons I married this man. Seriously, is he not gorgeous? Still makes my heart flutter.

And on the note of this past weekend, Drew and I attended a fabulous barbecue with the dear folks with whom I work; i.e. our team. Truth be told, I was feeling mildly apprehensive about going - and I do mean mildly, with the primary reason being that I was concerned about keeping my energy levels up. On the handful of outings I have taken over the past few weeks, the last few grains of sand have filtered through to the bottom of the hourglass at about the two-hour mark.

To a much lesser extent, I must admit that I was feeling a wee bit anxious about the hair thing. Goofy, I know, but it's the first time I've been at an event with a larger group of people I know. It was akin to exposing myself on an entirely different level and after all, there's a first for everything. In the end, my anxiety was all for naught. Hat came off, I did not feel at all awkward - despite what the radiation has done to my funky Mohawk - and I am so thankful to all the wonderful people who were there for making me feel comfortable, supported, loved, "normal" as it were. And the best part is, the hourglass kicked in at four hours - incroyable! It was truly a delightful, lovely event and Drew and I are so thankful to our unbelievably gracious hostess and host and to each and every one of my esteemed, caring and considerate colleagues and friends for their grace and kindness. Another of God's many blessings.

On that happy note, This Gal needs another nap. Only two more days. And yes, I know I have now said that three times. What can I say, but the finish line is within reach and ringrazio Dio for that. Thanking each and every one of you - as always - for your love, cards, very funny postcards (!), texts, emails, phone calls, FaceTime calls and never-ending support, compassion and encouragement. I love you all from the bottom of my heart. Truly, utterly, completely (as opposed to "truly, madly, deeply" - ah yes, those one-hit wonders Savage Garden. Remember them?)

And I have taken the liberty of mildly tweaking Racherella's sign-off (thanks R!!). Hugs and tanti baci.

Stay Tuned as Cancerella Comes Back Soon From Being Gone Fishin'

Cancerella, Beauderello, e I Due Gatti
xoxoxoxox

Finish line moved out just a wee bit ....

This past Friday, I gleefully skipped over to my regular "OK, I Am Going To Put Your Mask On Now" session, with the thought of looking forward to the Light Show Behind My Eyelids cum Hallucinations - as always - except this time I was thinking "WOO HOO! Only five more of these powwows left!"

So, when the nice technicians - one of whom hugs me - sweet right? I mean after all, they were the same techs who nuked my boob 18 months ago, so they've seen me in my semi-naked glory - said "We are taking photos today", I was a bit befuddled. All I could hear in my head was Shaggy from Scooby Doo. "Huuuhhh??" You see, they take photos on Mondays, not Fridays. Naturally, I asked "Hmmmm, just out of curiosity, why are you taking photos today?", to which they responded "It's for the eight boost treatments". Now, dear readers, I know these treatments have left me a little thrown off balance - literally and psychologically - and not operating at my usual energy levels - again physically and intellectually - but I can assure you that the detail of how many treatments I was receiving was very clear to me. Six weeks. 30 days. 30 treatments. NOT 33.

On my way out, the nurse asked if I wanted to see Doc Radiation to talk about The New Number and at that point, I was simply bone weary  - on every possible level - and politely declined and said I would look forward to meeting her on Monday, our usual rendezvous day. When Drew and I got home, I started Googling "boost treatments" but by that point, I was starting to see double and drool (not true - added that for dramatic and comedic effect ;-) ...), so I gave up, thought "she has a reason for this", and listened to Drew's reasoning which was that Doc Radiation is, and always has been, very thorough - true dat. The only hiccup in this scenario is that I had to order more of The Big Blue Pill, and F**K is all I say to that. Oh, that and UGH, underscored by F**K. I want my appetite back, please and thank you; I'm down 10 pounds. My blood pressure is 94 over 48 (a wee bit low right? No wonder I feel dizzy) Shit. I find the smell of barbecued chicken (YUM) and my favorite pasta dish revolting. Sad but true. I digress, but this is one of the realities of this regimen, one which the neuro-oncological community cannot agree is completely effective (specifically, on the chemo end of things). I digress again. Apologies all, but I have a pounding headache today which I have managed to successfully dodge throughout This Fun-Fest. You see, the radiation kills tumor cells, these dead cells must be cleared up, and in the meantime they take up space and cause swelling. Turns out that the central nervous system is not as good at clearing up dead tissue as the rest of the body. So, I will probably have to take steroids to reduce the swelling if the headaches keep up and good old Tylenol doesn't help the thump-thump-thump stop already. Steroids always make me think of those neckless gronks in the gym. To each their own. I was on steroids for a few days last year and had every possible negative reaction imaginable. OK, this officially concludes this session of Cantankerous Cancerella Carping. And for the record, I am allowed from time to time. So there. ;-)

 

So, like I said, I had to order more of The Blue Pill, the drug that kills the DNA of the cancerous cells, along with some healthy DNA (hmmm, sense a theme here?) and doing that in the US of A ain't easy, my dear friends and family. I won't bore you with details, but it took me most of Monday (yesterday) but SUCCESS! More of the dreaded chemo pill is arriving this Friday, all wrapped up in shiny paper, tied up with a bow and lovingly addressed to Yours Truly; that, or in a plain brown UPS box. So there you have it. Nine more days. Oh yes - I got a little off topic there but most importantly, the reason I am having 33 treatments vs. 30 is because of the amount of Grays (Gy) which is the unit of measure for the radiation. In short, spreading it out over 33 treatments vs. 30 is actually less toxic. Something to celebrate - truly. I adore Doc Radiation. She truly does rock. In the end, extending the proverbial finish line out over a few more days will be a good thing; it's still within site - just a wee bit further out. All about context and perspective and it's all good.

Also wanted to share something I came across on the American Cancer Society's web site; that the pressure to always maintain a positive attitude can be unrealistic. This statement gave me great comfort because there are times when I do feel discouraged or sad. And so, the thought that I am not alone and that forcing myself to say "Hip Hip HOORAY!" every single day, that this is just not realistic, came as a relief to me. Having said that, I have always seen - and still do see the world with a glass half-full perspective and so I continue to thank the good Lord above for that view on life. And the truth is, I know in my heart of hearts that people mean well - I really honestly and firmly believe that. And that is the God's honest truth. If this experience, my first cancer experience and especially the loss of my dear brother last year reinforced to me and really taught me, it's not to judge people. First and foremost, it's not my place - or anyone's place for that matter - and as I said, I really do believe that people operate with the best of intentions (with the exception of those folks that are on the ends of the statistical bell curve. As with anything, there are always exceptions to the rule, but for this discussion and this audience, the truth is that I believe everyone falls under the 95th percentile!)

The reason I bring this up is that the other day I was chatting with someone about my hair loss - which by the way when it comes to radiation is a different story than chemotherapy in that it takes longer for the hair to grow back and in some cases (God forbid) the hair doesn't grow back (will cross that bridge when and if - GOD forbid! - I come to it). This person - again, well-meaning said "No big deal. It will grow back." Now, I know this person meant well and yet, there was a part of me that mused about the fact that they were not thinking about the emotional trauma of having one's hair fall out. That it is not quite as simple as just stating "It will grow back." Please do not misinterpret me, dear readers - I am not judging this person, nor am I angry; not at all. Like I said, I am sure they thought they were offering the whole "RAH RAH!! No biggie! Just a little detour in the road!" kind of back-slapping, go get 'em, stay positive kind of encouragement. But it got me to thinking. That there are folks that just don't know what to say because it's The Big C. Or believe they are offering encouragement. Or believe they are being empathetic. And I get that. I really really do. And I am so eternally grateful for all of the support and love and neither Drew nor myself could get through any of this without the outpouring of love and support from our network of family and friends - it is so vitally important, for both someone suffering from cancer, and for Drew, my beloved caretaker and soul mate. And for that, thank you a thousand-fold, a quadrillion-fold!

So, dear friends and family, I hope you will take the time to read some of the great resources for friends, family, co-workers on how to deal with people with cancer, like Yours Truly. And again, please know that I am so grateful to each and every one of you - from the bottom of my heart - for supporting and accompanying both Drew and me on this journey. And I hope you will find the links helpful in providing you a little more insight into the feelings and experiences that I may not be expressing as fervently, or as succinctly, or as capably as I would like. From the perspective of someone dealing with The Big C, I certainly found them very enriching, encouraging and regenerative.
http://www.cancer.org/treatment/understandingyourdiagnosis/talkingaboutcancer/index

And with that, I bid you all a fantastic day. It's hotter than Hades here; hope you are staying cool where you are and enjoying your summer. Hard to believe it's mid-July already. Thank you all again - profoundly - for all your love and support, for your texts, phone calls, sweet, funny and touching cards, your FaceTime calls, your friendship and for being there for us. We simply could not do this without you. Grazie mille. Merci beaucoup. Vielen dank.

Con amore,
Avec amour,
Mit liebe (somehow the German doesn't sound quite as ... ummm ... well, you know! Entschuldigung - that means "apologies". Wow, intense language!) :-)

Cancerella, Buderello and Les Deux Chats
xoxoxoxo