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

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