welcome to the danger zone

Posts tagged “gratitude

And On Mondays, We Get Probed.

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Hi there happy people. I hope you’re happy people. It is Friday after all. That means it’s the weekend, right? I don’t care so much about the weekend anymore since I hardly work these days, but it does mean that people are available to do things, which they typically are not during the week.

So I could tell by the number of new views on my Peckalicious facebook page that people were wondering where the most recent post is. While they share the same name, that page is for shit I make and want to try and sell. When I actually thought I could make a side income from making shit. What I learned is that people want handmade shit for like pennies, unless you claim to be Amish, or “country”neither of which apply to me. So now I just make shit to give people. And beside, having to make things for money kind of kills the joy for me. I do it because I like to; money is nice, but I like the creative process.

If you are a facebook friend, you got the condensed version of the Dr. visit on Monday. I get tired of typing it out again and again, so I usually send a group message after my visit and post a synopsis on Facebook. Sometimes it just seems like it’s redundant – things don’t change much, or there’s waiting for things to change. But before I continue, I’d like to make a request or perhaps, just an comment, to people who frequent doctor’s offices, and particularly those who are only there for a damn blood test: YOU DON’T NEED AN ENTOURAGE. Really, unless this is your first blood test ever, you don’t need to bring your whole family. Even if it is, you don’t need more than one person to hold your hand. And pay attention to the instructions at check in. Just because you didn’t listen to the helpful staff who told you what to do with your purple or yellow folder because you were talking to YOUR FUCKING ENTOURAGE, doesn’t mean that because you sat there with it for an hour and now you realize you were supposed to put it in the bin so they know you are here, that the world should stop and you should be called next. Also, to all the fucking whiners in the waiting room. You have cancer. You are here to see the Dr. Threatening to leave because your name was not called in the 10 minutes since you sat down, (with YOUR FUCKING ENTOURAGE) is gonna hurt no one but you. You should be grateful you have time to wait. I know I would personally prefer being at home on the couch with my medication, but hey, you drove here, you parked the car, and came inside, commit. I’ve rarely been to a Dr. where I have been seen on time. The nature of medicine itself does not cooperate with linear time. Bring your happy face with you. And if you are in a hurry because you made other plans (with YOUR FUCKING ENTOURAGE), then you can cancel the plans, or the reschedule that visit. You and YOUR FUCKING ENTOURAGE took up seven seats in this waiting room. I have to sit out in the hall on a bench, with a sweet grandma and her grandbaby (this is sort of a blessing because the baby is muffling your bitching and moaning). I’m not complaining. I brought a book, and my phone to listen to podcasts. There’s a damn refrigerator with drinks for those of us with cancer. Get a fucking cranberry juice and shut the fuck up. I’d like to clarify that it is usually one or two people complaining, not a large number, but they always have a FUCKING ENTOURAGE and they are always loud. You know this waiting room is small, and there is limited space, but please, make sure that you and your FUCKING ENTOURAGE spread out as much as possible. AND WHATEVER YOU DO, PLEASE MAKE SURE THAT YOU AND YOUR FUCKING ENTOURAGE STOP DEAD RANDOMLY IN FRONT OF PEOPLE WHO ARE WALKING BEHIND YOU. Here’s a tip – if you are just there for a blood test, try showing up in the morning. Early. BEFORE YOUR FUCKING ENTOURAGE GETS UP.

My appointment was at 2. That’s “the get here on time” time. The appointment is really at 2:15PM. I am feeling week and tired, but am having a lovely conversation with the sweet grandma I met who was also a patient of Dr. K, and was scheduled for 2:30. Her grandbaby kept us all amused. I had enjoyed a brownie on my way to the Dr. so I was rather mellow, which I should bring for the whiners and their FUCKING ENTOURAGES, come to think of it. I was finally called around 3:05, which was pretty good for Dr. K, because unless you are one of the first three appointments for the day, you typically wait. No med students today. Just the nurse, Anne, and the Dr. I have no fever, I am not depressed or suicidal, and my blood pressure after a few moments of meditation, is a sweet 124/83. Dr. K and Anne come in, and I tell him about the continued bleeding and my exhaustion and blood craving. I’m not having any pain. He’s super-stoked when I tell him I’ve been off the opiates since Christmas Eve. My herbal medication does that job, although I’d rather have a brownie or some tincture. Dr. K says he’s pretty sure that the pufferfish exploding and continuing to drain is a good thing at present – at least it’s not crushing anything and forcing the intrusion of tubes into my body. I think Dr. K is trying to impress upon me that my experience with tentacles is not forever over because then he starts talking about the possibility of a fistula pushing into my bladder and then requiring double nephrostomies. I remind him that it’s quality over quantity and I’m on a no-invasive-tubes mission. What’s the point of being housebound and miserable in order to extend your life a couple or three months? Better to burn out like a fucking comet. This should come as no surprise is you know me well, even if it makes you uncomfortable. There’s a huge difference between living life and existing.

Anyway, I tell him I want to go to Ireland in April, and I need to know if that’s a reasonable expectation or should I put things in motion sooner, and Dr. K says he thinks it’s reasonable and he’ll work with my treatment to help it happen. It still doesn’t mean I am getting some delicious rejuvenating blood. He says we’ll wait another month and see how the chemo pills have worked, and then I get to have another thrilling CT scan and then we’ll talk about what’s next. My next appointment is February 1st. It’s almost like the pufferfish will be pelvic groundhog, letting us know if there will be six more weeks of bleeding. It’s not even like a period, it’s so random and weird. There’ll be hours of nothing and then it’s like the tide’s coming in. He asks how many pads a day…I guess at 4, but then when I get home, I realize it’s more like 6. Oh wait, I forgot to do my “THIS IS GROSS” warning. Oh well, suck it up ponies. Anyway, we chat and he says we should probably do an exam, considering there’s a hole in my vagina that spewing internal muck and we should make sure it’s not become a disaster area. I agree as much as I hate the probing. I really do. If you ever get cancer, which I sincerely hope you don’t, wish that it’s in your toes or left pinkie, or ear. This internal examination nonsense never becomes an enjoyable part of the visit. I know that some guys think that we ladies enjoy having things in our vaginas, no matter what that might be, but no. We don’t. Especially not while at the gyno. After we have agreed, he and Anne leave so I can get undressed.

I do what I need to, and notice there has been no bleeding since I took a shower at like 10am. Odd. I hop up on the table (when will a woman doctor design a more exam friendly table? There’s nothing remotely comfortable or relaxing about it.) At least, there are no inspirational quotations on posters that you can stare at while being probed. However, if anyone at the PSH Cancer Institute powers that be are reading this, a small TV screen featuring the food network, or the ID channel, or even South Park would be far more effective in distracting me. I sit there on the edge of the table, swinging my seriously unshaven legs back and forth, when – well, hello there tidal wave of blood. At least Dr. K can now see what I am talking about. Gross. I keep waiting. I hear Dr. K on a phone somewhere and then hear him in another exam room. It seems likes it’s been a really long time that I’ve been waiting. Did he forget me? Time is always a little skewed when you are fueled by a brownie, and I am sorta ready for a nap. I don’t want to lie down, because that’s just weird, but I am nodding off. Finally, after what seems like 2 hours (it was 20 minutes) Anne comes back and asks if Dr. K came back. I say nope, so we both sit and wait and chat .Finally, Dr. K returns and we get to the business of ramming instruments of torture into my vaginal cavity. He confirms that there is still a hole in the vagina, but again, comments that this could be a positive thing, and, once again is pleased that I do not try to leap off the table in pain while he does his exam. As long as there’s no pain, that’s a good sign. He says that fistula word again, I shush him. He says that there any odor is probably just because it’s old blood. Double gross. But I’ll take it because anything is better than tentacles and pain. If I have to start wearing Depends to deal with this, I’ll take it, because ANYTHING is better than dragging a catheter around all day and having it cause you even more pain. I don’t think Dr. K or anyone can fathom what it felt like to have that fucking tube jammed in my bladder and constantly abraded by the movement of the cyst. Anyway, we wrap up the exam, I get another prescription for oxy, and sent on my way. It’s 4:10pm.

I gave a brief thought to getting Indian food for dinner, but that would mean exiting the warm car to fetch it. Nope, it’s 20 degrees. I’m not getting out of the car until I am home. As I am exiting, I see Alice, the sweet grandma, and she has still not been called back. I give her a fist bump and tell her I hope they call her soon. I was smart and used free valet parking today, even though I always tip, and stand inside while some poor soul freezes getting my car. I hop in, pleased to find that the root beer I purchased earlier is still delightfully cold. Dinner will be Arby’s. It’s on the way home and no need to exit the car. I’m exhausted. I just want medication and sleep but I still gotta pick up the faux beef sandwiches. Finally, I made it home, and the comfort of my couch. And that’s mostly where I am, except when I am in bed, or at work, or out.

Dr. K is always surprised that I continue to try and work. He said he’d be happy to say I can’t but I tell him I need those couple hours of socialization. He’s fine with that if it’s what I want. I was a little concerned that he didn’t want a CT scan right now, but then I realized, what’s the rush? If the cancer is disappearing through the hole in my vagina, that’s a good thing; if things are status quo, we already know that; and if things have gotten worse, there’s not gonna be a lot to do about it, and the knowledge isn’t going to make me feel any better. So I can wait a month. Bad news is that the scan is on the 27th, and the appointment is on the 1st. Five days of knowing what they find, without being able to see the doctor until Monday. I supposed I should be used to that though.

Well that’s all for now people. I am going to work this afternoon from 2:30 to 4:30 if Andy ever returns home with the car, since, of course, I have work and he decided that he needed to get an oil change NOW and oh, by the way, the check engine light is on and he thinks it’s the O2 sensor. That was two hours ago. So I’m gonna grab a little nappy nap and wait. Have a good weekend, and week, and life, and such. Peace!

Update: I was sitting here thinking how pretty sweet my life has been lately, no drama, bills paid, plenty of oil, etc. Then in walks Andy. There’s a cracked tire rod, blah, blah, blah and it’s going to take at least $1000 to fix what they know is wrong, and that’s not including what is the source of the engine light being on.  Car = undriveable. Fucking yay. Well, I’m not dead. That’s a plus. And we didn’t die in a fiery crash when the tire fell off, so that’s good too, I suppose.


An Overdue Thank You for Thanksgiving and Beyond

I’ve written a bunch of blog entries since the last time I posted. I just didn’t want to post them until I could formally (or actually I guess it’s informally) thank everyone who worked together and attended the benefit held for me on November 7th. It was beyond amazing, the food was fabulous, the decorations were fantastic, seeing so many people that I love come out to support me, it was beyond incredible. And can we talk about the donations? From the amazing baskets put together and donated by friends at work, and all the other fabulous baskets donated by friends and businesses (there were about 80!!) as well as all the businesses who made donations either in prizes or food – to the amazing friends who not only organized this “shin dig” as my dad was calling it, but also spent the time cooking, setting up and cleaning up, soliciting donations, putting up with my demands, and can we say boarding planes and flying three thousand miles to either sleep on my couches or in our fine local establishments? And seeing some other friends who I have not seen or hugged in months or years. And my brothers. You all conspired to give me a fantastic day, and I can never thank you enough. I was astounded by how many people came out. I know I say it a lot, but there aren’t words (or words that will be allowed usage by the chemo brain) to properly say thank you. It was a great time, and even if not a single dime was raised, it was enough to just be there with so many people I love. That’s what really mattered. (And that no nuns were offended by my shirt)

This is my best attempt to thank those who organized and donated their time and/or resources, the businesses that made donations, and everyone who helped set up and clean up and cook and bake and just make the day wonderful. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE if I missed someone, either comment here on the blog or send me a text or email. I will fix it. And feel free to print this out or refer people with a link who don’t have facebook or twitter to read it for themselves. I am hoping to put a thank you in the paper, because let’s be honest, if I were to send thank you cards, Andy would find them in a stack to be mailed about six months after I’m dead, because in order to send a thank you card, I would have to make it (yes, I know they sell them, but this is me we’re talking about) then I would go full tilt on card making until I had half of them done, and then lose interest or get sick and then I would say, I’ll do it tomorrow and then it’s May and people think I am an ungrateful bitch because I didn’t send a thank you card, but really I will still be working on them. So without further ado…

First and foremost, without these people, the benefit would never have happened: Lori, Lisa R, Anne S, Heidi E, Michelle G, Lisa S, my brother Stanley, KY, Mary B, Gina, Renee, and B aka Mary Bridget. (And Louise, and of course, Erin) Also thank you to the adult and minor children who were volunteered by their parents to help out. Thank you for all of the time you put into this, and being my friends. More for being my friends, because without your support, I would not have survived this journey as well as I have for so long. You may not think you did anything major, but just knowing you are there means the world.

Next, I need to thank my amazing friends at work, too many to name here. If you could only have seen the baskets they donated for the basket auction – they blew me away – and probably raised a good chunk of change. Special thanks KY, Sue Y, and Patti M, for also making individual basket donations as well. Every unit in my office created a basket by their unit and they were incredible. The generosity didn’t end there – my CYS friends also donated drinks, made food, bought paper products, had fund raisers, and just gave moral support.

Major thanks to the California girls, Debbie, Jeanne, Catherine, Cindy and Dianne (and her boy toy) for braving TSA and flying east during the beginning of fall/winter hell. We fell back into conversation like the decade or more since I’ve seen some of you was never there. I am sorry I was still too weak to be a better hostess, but I think pizza buffet night was pretty awesome. I missed our easy conversation and endless laughter. And to my beloved hummingbird friend, and her awesome mother, thank you for choosing to stay at Chateau Pecky, some of the most curious accommodations you will ever experience – where lights turn on in the middle of the night for no real reason, and just as you fall asleep the furnace kicks on. It was a delight having you as guests in my home. I’ll get some more cancer if it means you girls will visit again. And thank you Ashley, my shark sister, and Roy for making the long journey to the ‘hood to hang out with us as did my wonderful cousin, Ginny. Sharky it made my day to see you. And to Joe, Amanda, Danny, Tom, and especially my surprise guest, Stormy, thank you too, for making the trip – you will always be like my very own children and I was glad to see all of you there. You always make me smile.

And Andy – thank you. For putting up with my idiosyncrasies, my whining, and for your diligent cleaning even after I freaked out. You know you bear the brunt of my moodiness, and I am sorry, but thank you for your help in all of this.

And thank you Stanley for the awesome birthday cake. It was delicious.

And thank you Lori and Denise for your part in making me able to allow people in my home again.

Now for the list of donors and businesses:

I tried to put hyperlinks for the people/businesses that I could – please give them a click if you can, and if you are local – please support them as you can. Again, I am so grateful for their generosity.

Additionally, the Shenandoah Knights of Columbus gave me a very generous check, as did the Chris Antz Memorial Fund. Thank you to my long time friend Denise D. who donated Flyers tickets and to Kellie for my Fuck Cancer shirt. Also I received very generous donations from Jeanne and from Catherine’s massage therapist who wants me to go to Ireland as much as Catherine does. Well, ladies, we’re going!

Most of all, thank you to all the people who came to the event, or shopped and dropped. Thank you to ever person who made a donation, whether it was to me directly or to Gina’s Pennies for Pecky drive. I was astounded at the monies that were raised. I can’t thank each of you individually, because frankly, there were so many people at the benefit or who just made donations, that I can’t name them all. But know that whether it was pennies or T-bills, your contributions made a difference, and if you attended, I hope you had a great time, ate a lot of good food and enjoyed the people, I know I did. Until I had to go puke outside. But that was over pretty quickly.

I, of course, have a shit camera on my phone, so I didn’t take pictures. Andy used my dad’s camera, but all of the pictures he took were blurry. So I am posting what I have received from friends, Thank you for taking them. There are pictures of the baskets, me, my cake, my friends, the tables and some of the people who attended. I wish someone got a shot of the food…it was incredible – roast beast, fried chicken, chicken parm, mac and cheese, mashed potatoes, scrumptious filling, blind pigeon casserole, polish meatballs, italian meatballs, pierogies, baked ziti, porketta, chicken and dumplings, hot dog, salads, veggie pizza, subs, meat and cheese trays – there was food for days. And then there were the bacon wrapped bang bang meatballs that Michele made especially for me. And banging they were.

Anyway, I started this at 9pm and it’s close to 3am. Wow. I just want to say one last time that I am so grateful for the amazing generosity, love and friendship that was so obvious from everyone involved in, and attending the benefit. I really really really appreciate it, more than you know, and you are making it possible for Andy and I to have experiences that we would otherwise not have if not for your kindness. Yes, the benefit raised enough money for Andy and I to do the only thing I really had on my “things to do before it’s too late list” – go to Ireland. There was also enough money for me to splurge on a 32” flatscreen. (yes, you read that right, 32”), get a new vacuum that does not spew the dust back out as soon as it sucks it in, and to make sure our electricity remains on for many more months.

I only put first names and last initials if necessary to allow people privacy. I’ll be happy to add your last name if you want. Enjoy the photos, and Happy Thanksgiving. I have so much to be grateful for – a roof over my head, the day with my son, food in our fridge, no one blowing up our house and the love of amazing friends. Thank you for everything – the laughs, the texts, the couches to lounge on and watch football at your house, etc. etc. I can’t describe what that kind of support feels like. Love to you all and a pleasant day with the people you love. Stay tuned for several posts in the next few days. Sleep a happy sleep. I’m off to attack the ham before I pass out. I got a turkey to stuff in a few hours.

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Sometimes, Life Throws Me a Bone

Tonight was The Menzingers at Union Transfer in Philly (awesome set, nice venue) with Mewithoutyou (great performance) and two other bands…one I missed because they closed a road in Fairmont Park and put up no signs causing mass chaos and delaying us. Got to hang out with Lizz and Blaine and had a mostly painless night. It was a rough day emotionally, so I’ll take the absence of any kind of pain.

Picture it – 2am, there I was, driving home in the rain, Andy passed out in the passenger’s seat. I was listening to the Jealous Sound, enjoying the dark, wet night, singing (or wailing as some might say) when I notice something that looks like a leaf crossing the road. It bounced 3 times before it I realized it was no leaf, it was a frog. A very brave frog who decided to cross the road. She was just a wee thing. But it reminded me that life is tough and all, but it’s got cute little surprises now and again. A brief bit of joy in the night. AND then I saw a second one. Double happiness. Two tough little buggers.

But because I am me, I immediately thought perhaps this is the apocalypse, and it’s raining frogs? Or does it rain blood? I forget.

In other news, I bought a panda suit today. Because life is too short to not have a panda suit. Really I just wanted the head, but apparently all the available panda heads are just ugly. I can’t wait to sit on the porch and wave to cars.

And I’m thankful.

And now, I’m going to crawl into bed, and watch last season of Vikings again. Goodnight pumpkins, Dr. is Monday, so I’ll be back soon.


Tarpits, Minefields, and the Joy of a Tuesday

Well here it is, Tuesday. I feel like I have slept most of this month away. I am up and awake now, before 10 am, out of bed, which is crazy, because the only reason I was getting out of bed before 10 am for the last three weeks was for dr. appointments and to puke. It feels strange and wonderful, and shaky. I’m craving a mint hot chocolate, but today is shower day, which I can’t take until Andy is awake to do a new bandage on my back.

So what’s new in my world? Lots and nothing. I’ve been down with the sickness pretty much every day. I feel better one day, and think I can actually be social and do things, and then someone is unknowingly carrying a rare virus that is usually defeated quickly by your immune system until it gets to me, and then hello, it’s a human with very little resistance, let’s dance. I am sure I’ve endured the black death the last few days, and probably some extinct pox. I’ve puked more in the last 30 days that I have in my whole entire life. And that’s with using appropriate nausea control techniques. And the things I have puked in and on are countless! Plus let’s not forget that tube in my back that gives me an added thrill every time my automatic nervous system spasms. It’s good times.

The tube in my kidney. What a pleasure source that bad boy is! I did get a mini-reprieve with it, though. When I went in for my tube change, I laid down my case for why it should come out, and almost won. But using logic, my plan was confounded. We agreed to leave a tube in, capping it off, sans the pee bag, for two weeks – if my kidney goes back to doing it’s job without complaint, then they will pull it. In the meantime, I’ve discovered the sweet spot on my hip where I need to place my hand when I need to cough, sneeze or breathe deeply, so I am not thwarted by pain.

But let’s talk about pain. Last Wednesday, I went in to interventional radiology to have the tube change done. I took a couple oxy and some medicinal herbiage before the ride so I’d be more comfortable when I got there. I was. Then they promised me some more medicine, when they did the procedure. Unlike the draining of the cyst, I don’t believe they give you any medication to help you be drowsy. No, they are very kind to you, promising pain relief until they wheel your ass in the procedure room. Then they tell you to get on your stomach, put your arms above your head and trust they will not hurt you. They lie. First they start poking you in the back with needles they claim are local anesthetics. Just a pinch they say. Just a pinch. Just a pinch of the claw of giant crustacean tearing into your flesh like it intends to eat you. I stay surprisingly still for the first two shots. Then the third hits a nerve or something and I elevate three feet from the table and mutter “ouch”. I think the team realizes that they might have hurt me. Now, I am shaking from the pain, and it’s freezing in there, so I shake for the rest of the procedure. They took out the old tubing and put a smaller less cumbersome tube apparatus in there. They did a really good job with the bandage. I get to roll back on my back and go to recovery. I’ve done really well they tell me. I just want to go home. They must have given me fentynal at some point because I’m mostly not in pain now. I get dressed and they even let me walk up to meet Andy.

I was hungry. I wanted one of those turkey and cranberry sandwiches from Panera. I went in with Andy at first, but realized I needed to be back in the car, so I gave him my order and went outside. He brought out the goods and I ate a cookie and some lemonade. I thought I was going to be fine. Just not really hungry. The sandwich could wait. Then the meds started to wear off. I didn’t bring any with me. In the next ten minutes, my pain went from 2 to 2.4 trillion. Every inch from my waist to my neck on the right side of my body was a fucking minefield of pain. I do not exaggerate when I say that speaking hurt me. Breathing hurt. Coughing was some primitive torture activity. I couldn’t cry, I couldn’t talk, I could only whimper like I was hit by a car and left alongside the road to die. I wanted to die. I wanted fucking morphine.

Finally we go home, I thought I was going to be okay. Then I tried to get out of the car and walk into the house. Every fucking step was a new adventure in torment. I got in the house, and faced the steps where my safe bed and vial of oxy were waiting for me just a few hundred steps away. And every step found me crying and moaning and doubting that I would ever get to the bed. But I did. I shoved some oxy in my mouth, and advil, and tried to smoke but couldn’t really inhale. Then I tried to lie down. That was not easy. I literally had to throw myself down on my right side and not move from that position. I told Andy if I didn’t get some relief in an hour, that we would need to call an ambulance. I was having really bad pain in my chest and back and I was scared it was serious. But I also tore cartilage in my chest before and it often would be painful if I was in a position that pulled at it again, so it could have also been that. I was hoping it was that. I nodded off for an hour and when I woke, I wasn’t in as much pain, so that was good. I was still paralyzed and unable to move, but I was no longer in fear of imminent death. Another four hours of sleep and I was almost able to move. By morning, I could actually sit up. A few more hours, and I could walk. Things were improving.

I couldn’t make my appointment with palliative care. Reschedule. I didn’t have the strength or the energy. I had to blow off the Bouncing Souls show that I was so looking forward to. I shouldn’t complain, my kidney was working and I could move and most of the time, breathe. I was still having trouble coughing and sneezing. Then the black wave of depression crept into the space where pain had been hanging out in my brain, and down, down, down, way fucking down, we went. If you don’t have depression, you can’t understand. I try to make it as visual for the untainted as I can, and this was like the La Brea tar pits of depression and I was a fucking woolly mammoth. It was all over except for suffocation. That sucking quicksand of sorrow ate me up, and the crying started. Without belaboring the incessant crying and snot-blowing, let’s just say thoughts during the breakdown run from “I’ve failed as a mother, and Andy will hate me for the rest of his life” to “what the fuck have I done with my life?” to “I’ll never get that PhD, great work dumbass.” Until you really spend a lot of time reflecting on your life and the possibility of a very short future, you can never understand that level of sorrow or failure. People can tell you otherwise for hours, but you can tear any positive self image down to smoldering ash in a matter of minutes when you start to consider things that will most likely never happen because there’s just not enough time. I’m just now starting to realize the psychological impact this disease has on me. I keep it together most days, but when this shit crumbles, it goes down hard and and fast.

I hate to keep harping on this but I feel I have to remind people that I write this to sort through what is in my head more than anything else. If the details of this fucking monster inside me helps someone else, I am thrilled, but writing is always for me. I love that people read it, I love that people comment on it, but I love the way I feel drained and empty when I stop writing, like all the shit that swirls in my head has finally been released or at least organized. Writing also scares me – when I see what I have only been thinking appear on the page it’s like tearing off a scab and wondering if it is ever going to stop bleeding. How raw this gets depends on how much pain I am in when I write – and sometimes I hold back because I can’t face another entry that is just all about my grief, and I know I shouldn’t. I can’t – because there’s no where else I can go with this. I know there are therapists, and I know I have friends, but let’s be honest here, very few people pour out what is really inside to anyone else, because we all want to keep our pain, our shame, our fears hidden. If you don’t, I admire you – I know I have secrets no one will ever know.

So now it’s evening – I went out for a bit today in the car. Visited work until I started to feel nauseous and then took a ride and spent some time in a cemetery until I felt better. Then I drove and cried and screamed and came home exhausted. Smoked my nausea away, and hoped for sleep, but no, my feet are twitchy and my legs are restless and so is my brain. Part of it is knowing that next Monday we’ll be talking treatment and progression (or hopefully, lack of progression) of this stupid C-monster and the damn pufferfish. And as many of you know, my friends are hosting a benefit for me on November 7th here. Some of my oldest and dearest friends from California are flying in and I am thrilled – it’s going to be amazing to see them all again. And I am sure many of my dear friends that live here will also be there and I am so blessed and grateful that they are doing this for me, but there’s a huge part of me that realized just now that it’s like saying goodbye to my loved ones and I don’t know that I am ready for that. I know that sounds negative, because anything can happen, and I do believe that, but I am also very much a realist who prepares for the worst, and the very thought of maybe never seeing them again after that weekend tears my fucking heart out. Just like every day that I wonder if I have told Andy every thing I want him to know – and hope that he knows that he changed my life and I love him more than I have loved anyone in my life. That, my friends, is my nightly terror – leaving my son alone in this world. I don’t care about anything else. I just want to make sure that my baby is going to be okay and that he knows how sorry I am that all this has landed in his lap during the time of his life when he should be discovering what he loves and who he is and he’s stuck taking care of me. And the tears flow again.

I was trying so hard to keep this light and fucking positive and I can see that that has been a huge fail. So much is undone. And you’ll think to yourself, well get out there and do it! And the reality is that there are somethings you don’t just “go out and do.” When faced with what you are going to do, you have to let go of the dreams you had that can’t possibly fulfill because it’s just not possible. And you grieve for all of them. So much grieving. And even as I type this I’m trying to self-talk myself calm – I want to bolt and stop writing because it hurts so much. But this kind of pain is progress. Unlike the physical pain – which is nothing more than annoying. And at this point, more of an annoyance than a hindrance. There’s that at least.

Well, I am spent for tonight. I’ve tried to enhance this post with some cemetery pictures from today. It didn’t work. Maybe I didn’t save them in the right format. Who knows. The featured image was supposed to be this crazy tree that is way at the back of a pretty hidden entrance to a cemetery I frequent. It always has artificial flowers attached to it. And it’s updated regularly for the season. I like to sneak into the cemetery that way so I can check out the tree. People don’t appreciate the subtle beauty hiding in the places most people ignore. I’m always going to find my happy in an interesting cemetery. It’s like water is to my soul. Maybe Saturday when we go to Philly, I can convince Andy that we need a stop at Laurel Hill…it’s such a beautiful place in the fall. Just so I can take a drive through and enjoy the trees and death and decay. I am going to head to sleep, so I wish you sweet dreams, cupcakes. Thank you and come again.


Beating Back the Blackness

So as I was shoving that third piece of pizza into the yawning chasm of my mouth, I finally gave in and accepted that I am sunk in blackness and I was stuffing my feelings. Also why I have put off writing for so long again. Because I’m a scaredy cat. Not like a cheetah or a lynx, but like a big ol’ cowardly lioness. And it’s paralyzing.

I promised myself that I would write first about the good things, because there have been a lot and when I look back at them, I feel like a whiner for feeling the way I do. Of course that doesn’t make my pain and weakness go away, or make it any less valid, but I am grateful for so much and for the people in my life, and I don’t say it enough. So let’s do this, and if I am not ready to pass out when I get through the good, then we’ll move on to the bad. If not, there’s always tomorrow.

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OWTH

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Silent Bell

So first there was the fabulous road trip to Minneapolis. Once again, Andy and I hit the road for punk rock adventure. Andy got me tickets to Dillinger Four’s 21 birthday 4th of July Show at the Triple Rock in Minneapolis. We drove straight from home to Minneapolis, speeding through the dark night through the states of Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois. Well, okay, it was getting a little light out as we drove through Chicago, but for the most part, dark Indiana, Illinois, and Ohio are similar to the daylight version. Wisconsin was pretty and has a curious number of large animal statues at different roadside shops and hotels. Like a giant moose. Or a giant mouse with cheese. There were more, but Andy wouldn’t pull over for everyone. Minnesota is also quite lovely. We hit the aquarium in the Mall of America, which was small but very cool, unlike the Mall of America, which is, though large, a mall. Okay, okay, it has an aquarium, and that Nickelodeon amusement park area, and a way cool lego store, but bottom line, its a mall, and the massive amount of people and the mindless consumerism reminded me of why I shop online. Of course, that was the first time during the trip my body betrayed me and we headed back to the hotel, which was fabulous. My sore sick body fell in love with the bed, and even more so after I swam for an hour in the pool. The next day, we went to the Minneapolis sculpture garden which was very cool. (Note to self: EARLY mornings and LATE afternoons are best to be outside when your body likes to randoIMAG2366mly overheat to 1000 degrees throughout the day.) They have a giant spoon with a cherry on it that’s a fountain, and a bell that doesn’t ring, for which Andy and I posited theories about what a silent bell represents before moving on to two sculptures which we both decided were representative of vaginas. Once again I had to retire to the hotel to rest before we could go to the D4th show. After a quick nap, we headed out to the Triple Rock. The show was amazing – albeit hot – and I hid behind a tree most of the time avoiding sun. Even cooler than the show was getting to meet Ranae and hang out with her at the show, not to mention that Ryan gave me an awesome gift of the vinyl Jesus and Mary Chain’s Darklands, which is my favorite record of all time. I also got to meet a bunch of great people and make fun of a selfie stick. After the show, Andy and I went back to the hotel to catch a quick nap before the after party, but Andy is a still a young pup and he fell asleep so I ended up going back to see The Underground Railroad to Candyland by myself, which was a big deal, since I never have gone to a club in a strange city by myself. I was glad I did, because they were amazing. Really, every band that played was excellent, we missed some of the openers, but thanks to seeing the line up posted on FB, we got there in plenty of time for OWTH. We also saw Toys That Kill, Dillinger Four, Lftr Pllr (the special guest whom I never heard before but were amazing) Scared of Chaka, Tim Barry and Against Me! It was just one of the best days ever, and after the show, I went back to the room and tried to trick Andy into letting me sleep in, but no, he was up and ready to head back at the crack of dawn. So with a stop at the cheese shop where we bought a ridiculous amount of snacks, we headed home, tired, bruised, but happy happy happy. And Andy and I had only two screaming matches at each other during the whole trip – once at 5am when I needed to pee and couldn’t find a bathroom and the second when we were stuck in traffic in Chicago for 2.5 hours because of those damn hippies at the Grateful Dead thing going on there. Still, it was a fantastically fun weekend and I am so glad we did it. Plus spending the time talking with Andy always is worth it. And Andy got a ton of fireworks that could not be purchased here, so he was very happy too.

Then I got to see two of my oldest and dearest friends, Donna and Denise, who were in town for a wedding. It was 15 years since I’d seen either of them, and it was like we never had been separated. We drank and laughed and looked at photos to point out all the people we knew who were dead. I also got to see all of the kids, which was great. Then we also got together for breakfast which was another laugh riot. It would have been complete if our friend Anne could have joined us, but she had an event that she needed to prep for, so hopefully another time. Nevertheless, we had a blast and we need to not wait so long to hang out the next time.

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me, Denise and Donna

After that, my friend and former common law domestic partner, Debbie, her husband, kids, and her parents, brothers, sister in law, and niece and nephew came to Hershey to meet Andy and I to hit Chocolate World and get some dinner. I hadn’t seen Debbie since Andy’s graduation, and I hadn’t seen her family since Andy was 10. It was a day of great hugs, great laughs, and fun. The girls, Tyler and Kylie, are gorgeous and I adore them. And again, it was like the miles and the years between us just disappeared, I only wish we had had more time to just hang and talk, but I’ll find my way home to the west coast eventually.

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me and Deb

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Jenn, Kellie, Sue, Heidi and moi

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Komodo Dragon

Then was my surprise trip to DC with my friends from work. We left early Saturday and got to DC around noon. After a fun drive with mimosas and my breakfast of brownie, we parked and headed off the Natural History Museum. Now, you may or may not know that the National Mall is under construction which means if you want to get to something on the opposite side you must walk ALL THE WAY AROUND. Now, had I known this I would not have worn my black OWTH shirt and would have applied sunscreen, but I trudged through the heat (and it was fucking hot) darting under shade trees as we traveled along. We paused for rest and put our feet in the fountain on the mall, which was enjoyable until you realized how warm the water was. I saw my favorite strange bunny sculpture,  but my phone dieIMAG2453d so there are no pictures. We checked out the museum, which was crowded but fun, and then took a pedicab back to the hotel which was ultra fun, as I waved, queen-like, to the masses as we traveled. The guy who pedaled our cab was interesting and it made a great way to get back to the hotel. The hotel was very cool, and I had my own room, with another one of those comfy beds. When we got back, we grabbed some drinks and headed up to the rooftop pool, and I got kicked multiple times by a rambunctious child without parental supervision. My leg buckled under me after getting out of the pool, and I had a major cramp, but it went away, and and after a nap, I had a brownie and we headed out to the dinner cruise on the Potomac. Our cab driver was an idiot and it took us twice as long to get there as it would have if we walked, but I couldn’t handle anymore walking. The cruise was very nice, the food was awesome, and I ended up hanging out with Jenn on the observation deck most of the night, just enjoying the night air, the lights on the shore and sailing. Unfortunately there was non-stop “cool jazz” playing and it was making my eyes bleed by the end of the night. After the cruise, we’d planned to go to the hotel bar, but once I got to my room, I was cooked. The next morning we got up and headed out to the National Zoo where we rented me a scooter and began the zoo adventure. Unfortunately, the red pandas were unavailable, and the elephants under quarantine, but the Komodo dragon poked his head out when I got to his enclosure. We got to see some special “double turtles” (see photo) and vultures. I tried to race a cop who was on a segway, realizing after I IMAG2478dared him that I had had a brownie for breakfast and probably shouldn’t have been driving a scooter at all, not to mention racing cops. There were three lazy pandas there though and that was pretty awesome. We made it through the zoo by noon before it got REALLY hot (it was already blazing by then, and not even mid-day). After the zoo, we were all really tired, and headed back home. We stopped to get some fabulous Thai takeout and have lunch at Quaker Steak and Lube, which none of us had been too, and now having been, really have no desire to go again. Tired, and full we finally made it home. It was very fun, and I am jusIMAG2573t glad none of us were arrested. What was even moIMAG2466re special about this trip was that ALL my coworkers contributed to it – they had a pot luck luncheon where we all paid $5 for lunch and we brought a dish, and then the next day, we had a reduced lunch for $3 – which was actually a fundraiser to raise money to do something fun for me. I know I’ve said it before, but I can’t say it enough, I work with the best people – our job may suck, we may bitch and moan, but my friends at work have the most generous hearts, and the fact that they did this for me made the trip even more special – I only hope I can return the kindness for others later. Needless to say, after the trip, my body decided I needed to stay home with crampy legs and nausea, but it was well worth it.

And that brings us today. All that goodness took the edge off the gloom that’s clinging to me. I expect I will write more over the next two weeks as I stress about my upcoming CT scan and Dr. appt. I am bummed that my CT scan is the day before Andy’s birthday, and I am going to try not to read the results until the day after, but let’s be realistic, I’m gonna be hitting refresh until the scan is posted on my online med portal. The next couple months will be busy too, we’re planning to go to Riot Fest, and then I have OWTH tickets for September in Philly and Baltimore, and we got Bouncing Soul tickets in October, and if I can manage it financially, and physically, I want to go to Fest in October too. I’ve been putting these things off for years and I need to do it now or it may never happen, especially since I think there may be chemo ahead and the pain that was my constant companion last year, has returned and PA is still lagging on the medical marijuana bill. Sigh. Call your local representative.

But before I go, I strongly encourage you, if you are a fan of OWTH, or Bad Religion, or good music in general, to go to Ryan’s Anxious and Angry web store and buy something so you can get the free flexi of OWTH covering Bad Religion’s Sorrow. It’s amazing. Just buy something from Ryan even if you don’t want the flexi, because he’s a good guy and is super generous, and is always willing to help people out. And because his cat Stray Charles is blind. Or don’t buy anything and just make a donation to suppor the podcast. And listen to his podcast, which is very interesting if you like punk rock and mental health issues, and has helped a lot of people dealing with mental health concerns know they are not alone. Really, it’s worth the listen. And now it’s time for bathroom trip 5 tonight and then try and sleep. Let’s hope it comes quickly. Sweetest dreams, my dahlings!


It’s Spring, Bitch.

Yes, I know that spring is still a few days away according to the calendar, but you really should go by my feet. I’ll explain. I hate shoes. I used to be barefoot all the time, but then I moved back to good ol’PA, where life is not cooperative with my need for foot freedom. This means that at some point, I can not longer plod through the snow in sandals. My foot liberty is curtailed when the temperature gets into the teens, or snow accumulated that it covers my toes. On my little escape to Maryland this weekend, my wiggly toes realized that the temperature was above freezing, and plotted an escape. Monday morning, my fake super cheap ugg boots were set aside for an old pair of Doc’s sandal and I called “Spring.” (note: I still think ugg boots are stupid, but I can say they are warm and when they are only 19$, you can’t go wrong – at least the snow doesn’t soak them as quickly, as say, sneakers) So there you have it, I have declared winter to be over. Today I wore capris to work too…

There are other signs as well here in Northeast-kinda-Central PA. Some are clearly evident, others not quite yet, but my springy senses tell me that even those will emerge by the weekend. Mounds of snow are nearly pure black as they always are within a day or two after a snow; the melting snow on the highway reveals tons of garbage pitched out of car windows by nasty pig people or overturned big rigs who can’t drive in the snow. Firecrackers ring out at night. Bath salt heads screaming the street increase in number. The vampire children emerge from their winter slumbers. And before you know it, the pajama pants parade will commence on the main street of town, when all the teen mommas who proudly announce their job is “stay-at-home-mommy” on Facebook will don their finest pajama pants, pop their spawn into a stroller (first dressing the little in seasonally inappropriate garb) and march proudly, sprag smoking twixt their lips with the ash dropping on the kidlet’s head, up and down the avenue. What a sight the herd of future and/or present CYS clients are! Trying to act like they aren’t pushing a baby buggy, their posturing screams “look at me, I’m a fertile breeder” as they try to attract the attention of their next baby daddy. The cluster of children who have children will then mass together at either the notorious One Stop Shop, where you can get birthday cards, cut rate sunglasses, cold cuts, beer, and all of your bath salt and paraphrenalia needs met, or they will move to the corner closer to the town’s main intersection, and sit on the curb, alternately ignoring or screaming at the little person, while they wave to the potential absent fathers as they walk/drive/stumble by. That very same corner where I once hung out with my girls in my wicked youth, when we would wait to be notified where that nights party was, or for some older boys to stop and ask us to go for quarts or to burn one. Things harder to do when you are pushing a stroller. Although from the looks of Team PJ Pants, I somehow believe they probably manage to push those stroller along narrow wooded paths or up slippery slate banks to get to a bush party. Some nights I wish I had a van and the authority to just scoop those poor babies up and get them to safety – but alas, as a caseworker I don’t have that authority without a court order. The final marker of spring will come when the days final hit 60 degrees, and the pajama pants are replaced by shorts and tank tops that would make Miley Cyrus look modest, and those poor tots being carted about are still roaming the streets at 11pm. Then you know, summer is just about here.

Pennsylvania black snow mountains…way to make winter even more depressing that it already was…

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I managed to escape the my mesmerizing hometown, and came down from the tower to visit with my brother and his wife this past weekend. As wonderful as it was to get away, and spend the weekend eating, drinking and watching my family drink to excess and give me tons of great blackmail video on my phone, it was exhausting and I was glad to come home. My brothers, as wonderful as they are, should never sing. They can dance, but the singing…no, never, nyet. But it was a good time, and amazing to be out of my bed, and socializing with humans, and Bailey, my brother’s playful and willful boxer, who was so excited to see so many people, jumped all over me while I was lying on the couch and gave me multiple bruises from his paws as he attempted to lick my head. I am seriously hoping I don’t have to have an exam tomorrow when I see my Dr. because I may end up in a psych hold for real this time because I am so bruised. No Dr, I wasn’t trying to hurt myself, my brother’s dog threw himself on me, and assaulted me. And then it’s a 72 hour involuntary with chemo. How super would that be?

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Sweet innocent Bailey the rescue boxer. (after he ran away from me when I let him outside without his training collar. I swear he laughed at me before he took off)

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Bailey, projecting innocence because he knew he was in trouble

Yes, tomorrow is chemo infusion number 4. It was a little sketchy earlier, because I came home from work and took my nap only to wake up feeling nauseous and with a low grade fever, but it passed. I probably have one now, because I am now on my second dose of my pre-chemo decadron, the lovely steroid that makes me feel 20 degrees warmer than I actually am. Which is why I am up writing at 5am, instead of sleeping. Decadron is also responsible for keeping me from sleeping. It’s intent is to keep me from getting violently ill from the chemo, but as a steroid will, it gives you a sense of invincibility. So, instead of sleeping, I watch the same episode of Vikings three times, did two digital jigsaw puzzles, sorted my snacks for tomorrow, did two loads of laundry, looked for claw clippers, because the toe and finger claws are growing quickly, cleaned out my purse, packed monka-monka, lotioned my feet, scanned some receipts, updated my C.V. with some additional training info, and ate some crackers. I am sure I did other things, I just can’t remember them. Oh right, I made seven hundred trips to the bathroom as I slurp water to try to plump up my veins for the good time poking tomorrow. I am sure anxiety has played a role too. Since I have to leave early today with my chemo-buddy for the day, Ms. Crystal, I might as well stay awake and just forgo sleep. I did have a few naps, after all.

It’s amazing how great my family, friends and co-workers have been, in being my chemo-buddies, giving me rights, cards, gifts, food (especially food). And even what might seem like little things, like text message and calls, just to see how I’m feeling – it means so very much. I am blessed with astounding people in my life. And I can’t forget how much Andy has stepped up to help too – he’s been working a lot of overtime to make sure bills get paid, and buys groceries, and brings me food when I ask. I am very proud of him – he can still be an asshole sometimes, but he’s still a kid – and feel bad he has to sacrifice to help care for his mom. And don’t tell me I shouldn’t, because that’s what moms do. So thank you for all of you who are there for me, even if I tell you I don’t need anything – I appreciate it all more than you know.

It appears that it is nearly time for me to get ready for today’s fun and to eat some breakfast. I’ll be back again soon – til then, aloha, sweet friends.

Photo Extras:

My sister-in-law, hiding under the table because she didn’t want me to take her picture. Then I explained that cameras can take pictures of people hiding under tables –

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My baby brother, my dad and my sister-in-law rocking out to Eminem

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Late Night Chats with the Zombie Monkey

So here we are, 2:49 am. I’ve clipped my finger claws, restrung my mandala (someday I will figure out how a bead fell off and left me with 107 beads…and the bead that fell off, perfectly normal), took a stroll through the house, and had some quality time chatting with monka-monkey and zombie monkey, listened to three podcasts at Anxious and Angry (you should too) and gave some serious thought to laminating something. So I decided, hey, I’ll blog a bit.

There’s snow on the satellite dish, and I felt guilty asking Andy to go out on the roof and clear it off, so I’ll hope the sun comes out tomorrow, and melts it off. Today was a snow day…although I was already in the car on the way to work before I found out I could have stayed in bed and savored the warm comfy comforter. Needless to say I turned around and hit the grocery store, because naturally, it might be 24 hours before I could again go to the store and buy milk and bread. Or less, because quite frankly, the roads weren’t really too bad on my way home. So there was no TV all day. Not really a bad thing, but I couldn’t get motivated to read, so I started watching Helix on Netflix, and then a quite troubling movie called “Come Back to Me” (you should too). I planned a whole bunch of projects in my head that I will do someday when the energy returns to my body, ate some crackers, and then some more. Such a busy day. Right now, I’m busy hoping there’s a delay in the morning because I am clearly not going to get a lot to sleep.

My weekend plans have fallen apart. There’s a leak in pop’s furnace, which means he’s not going to go, so since taking pop to my brother’s house was the reason we were going, now means we’re not. I was lamenting remaining trapped in the tower, and I realized I have been too much of a whiner lately and need to refocus on being grateful, because quite frankly, so many other people are in far worse straights than I am – I still have a job, I work with a wonderful group of generous, kind, caring people who make being at work bearable. Andy has really stepped up and taken on the responsibility of paying most of the bills, as I have little bitty paychecks since I burned through my paid time off back in December (yay for paid snow days/delays!). We have heat, I have a bed, there’s food in the house, we have a house, a roof, clean running water, indoor plumbing. I have boots. A computer with internet access. I have health insurance, actually, I have excellent health insurance. I have a good education. I like myself, mostly, and I am comfortable being alone. I have multiple talents. I have a nicely shaped skull. I understand the secret language I talk to myself in. I’m kind, funny, and have a vast amount of useless knowledge. These things so far outweigh the negatives in my life, I sometimes get too caught up in those.

So is life hard? Yes. But it’s not the worst place I’ve ever been.

And with that said, I’m gonna try to hit the bed again, not because I think I can, but because my toes are cold.

And spring is only 14 days away. 14 days.


This, That and Other Random Stuff All Tossed Together

For the first time ever, I completely scrapped the post I was writing and decided to start over.

I’ve started and stopped writing entries several times these past two weeks, (there’s extra bonus writing at the end – a longer post I started and didn’t want to keep writing so I’ll just slap it on the end of this one as a bonus). I don’t know what’s keeping me from writing – anxiety, exhaustion, procrastination – I mean I know it’s not because I don’t have anything to write about. Sometimes I think that I avoid it because I don’t want to have to keep whining about this cancer nonsense. I just can’t help that the stupid monster inside of me just kind of pervades my thoughts every day.

I do think of other things – like getting a pet goat, what book I should be reading, how I wish I had a maid, how I am hungry for brownies, that the season premiere of Vikings is next week, how I would rule the world when I am Empress of the Universe, calculations for the diameter of watermelons at the store – you know, important things. It’s not that I don’t want to write – I do – but half of the time, I find myself slipping into medication-assisted sleep, and the other half, I nod off, unmedicated. Some days I am all fired up about some social issue, I get ready to write and then I get distracted and next thing you know, drool is slobbered all over my cheek and my own snoring wakes me up.

Which is exactly what happened after I wrote that last sentence – I fell asleep, laptop in lap, and woke up this morning at 7ish. I had my wonderful morning cancer killing tea, and just finished some yummy oat meal. I realize I have little to complain about this morning – I feel okay, I can make tea in my bedroom with my loverly keurig, and oatmeal too. I am warm, and comfortable, and I can just spend the day doing nothing, which is what Saturday is often about here lately. I’m still undeniably anxious and restless about next week’s events but I’m grateful that I have such amazing health care that I don’t have to worry about the financial side of this. This whole cancer thing does put things in perspective, but I’m still not in that “live every minute as though it was your last” mindset. I am still too scared about what is to come to get there.

But let’s move away from this cancer nonsense and talk about what is going on in the world. I am sure we all know it’s cold. Well those of us in the snowy areas of the northeast do. My county has finally established a foot hold for a shelter for the homeless, but it’s causing quite an uproar because the shelter is part of a store front in the business district of the biggest town in our county, or I guess what has been formerly known as the county seat. The frightened townspeople are afraid that the existence of shelter will lead to more homeless people. Really? Like a funeral home would lead to more dead people? I often wonder when stupidity and hatred became the norm. Why is there so much opposition – I mean there’s already a drug and alcohol rehab on the main thoroughfare, and we still have the same amount of salt heads as ever. The homeless are still gonna be here, people…they will just squat in vacant buildings or spend the day in the library or the night in a laundromat or Wal-Mart , doing what they need to do to keep warm and alive. How stupid people are that thinking helping people who are in danger of hypothermia or frost bite will lead to more people wanting to live on the street. I just have such a hard time reconciling the emphasis in this area on being good Catholic and Christians and then in the next breath not turning your cheek, but rather turning your back on the people who need your christian charity the most. I feel like hell when I am driving my fat ass to work and I see someone walking in this cold, and people here are too worried about their “things” than they are about another person. These are the same people who will wax poetic on the value of a fetus, until that fetus is born and homeless and grows up in poverty. Then they will call my office and ask someone to go out and “take those kids away” forgetting that this was one of those fetuses that they insisted be born into to poverty. End of soapbox tirade. I have others, I’ve just decided if I am going to post anything, it’s gonna have to happen quick.

Round 4 of attempting to finish this – this is just an example of how tired this stupid chemo makes me. This is my fourth attempt to finish this post. I fell asleep three different times. Even after I drank coffee This is why nothing gets done around here. I get all excited with plans, I get all the stuff out for whatever project I have planned, and then before I know it, I’m under a blanket, dreaming about being attacked by a vicious and violent kitten I am supposed to be pet-sitting. Needless to say, that did not improve my opinion of cats. But on a night like tonight, being warm in bed with many blankets is not such a bad thing. Of course, since Andy is out on the road somewhere with friends tonight after a hockey game, I am now awake because I am worried about his safety on this hellishly frigid night. I couldn’t fall asleep easily anyway, with this howling wind. My multiple layers of blankets on the windows isn’t even keeping the icy breeze off my adorable bald head. I don’t want to text him because I don’t want him checking his phone wherever he is driving considering there is little visibility with the blowing snow. I just hope he had the sense to stay put wherever he is. Motherhood. It’s like an itch you can’t get rid of.

Well, since I have failed at humor and don’t have much else to write about until after my Dr. visit on Monday, I’m just gonna put this lame excuse for a blog post out of its misery. But not until after I share this facebook post from a young man who was one of my students when I was teaching at Lebanon Valley College…it’s nice to read these things when I often wonder if I have made a difference in this world…and according to this, I apparently have:

Everyone please keep Diane Pietkiewicz in your thoughts, prayers, etc. I’m not one for religion, but I’m making an exception and praying to the big guy. Diane is the most memorable part of my Academic collegiate experience. Best professor ever. She consistently made me look at the big picture, taught me never to settle, and that the history of our nation is far from that which we’re taught in highschool lol. She is fighting a bullshit disease, and deserves all the support in the world!

And since Joe talks about praying, I just want to say this…all of you lovelies should know by now that I tend to follow Buddhist philosophy, rather than religion. I am not one for praying although I do chant daily but I do appreciate prayers, in whatever faith and form they come in, because I believe in the power of focused attention. For me, putting positive vibes and thoughts out in the world can’t do anything but good, so I am grateful for whatever words or thoughts you put into action. I spend time every day visualizing this damn puffercyst inside me shriveling up and dying. So pray on, or chant, or just think good things. As a matter of fact, I am really grateful for everything people have done/are doing for me while I endure this latest go with chemo – everything from offers to run things up from the netherworld of the office so I don’t have to, to sending me surprise packaged, to simply asking me how I am. And I apologize for not being as shiny and happy everyday as I have been in the past – I try, but as I’ve whined about, I am so tired all the time. In fact, today as I was rolling over in bed, I realized I would have made a damn fine bear. But not a polar bear, because apparently they don’t get to hibernate. But a grizzly. I would be a fine grizzly. I could be a panda too, but they aren’t really bears, and they also don’t hibernate – but they are pretty lazy, which if me right now.

And with that, I shall try get comfortable and warm in bed, while I wait to find out if my kid is safe. I tacked on the post I tried writing the other right at the end of this one – I promise to try and rein in my adult ADHD next time and stay awake from start to finish when next I write. So stay warm and dry my darlings. Bonne nuit.

BONUS READING:

(I started this on the 29th of January, or so)

On the first day after chemo, chemo gave to me…so far, nothing that I can’t really complain all that much. I ate some chili (not always nausea friendly, but I am not known for always making the wises decisions), had some tea and ginger beer, and some nuts. No fever, took a couple oxycodone and a zofran (super effective anti nausea drug) and I am drinking water like a camel ready to hit the desert. Of course, that means I am spending a lot of time running to the bathroom, but if it means I don’t get sick, I’ll do laps. Andy cut off his dreads today and then I buzzed the rest of his head, because he wanted to show his solidarity in the current situation. He was pissed that I buzzed the last of the zombie grinch or some other weird Dr. Seuss character hair without him, but I explained I couldn’t go out in public to chemo looking like that…I love making and wearing funny hats, but hats get hot pretty quickly inside, and frankly, I love my bald head. It’s a weird time of year to be bald because it’s freezing outside, so when I am in the cold, I need to wear a hat, but at home it comes right off, and now that I don’t look like I wondered out of a nuclear bomb blast, I won’t be wearing hats indoors at all except to make my doctors, nurses and small children laugh.

The day was long yesterday, my doctor was running late and then I found out my co-pay went up, and I got to chemo late. It was quiet on the infusion unit yesterday, but the day was fun since my friend and co-worker Heidi took a vacation day to drive me to chemo and hang out with me. We played the Chupacabra: Survive the Night Game which could be very fun in you add alcohol and make it a drinking game. Otherwise, playing to best three out of five is enough. But between the game, and conversation and people watching, the day went quickly. My nurse had a bit of hard time getting my IV started…she didn’t want to go with the vein I thought would be a good choice at first, so she tried my hand – no go. She then decided to try around where I thought would work, and hit one, but today it has a huge bruise, which doesn’t typically happen for me, so on my point scale of 1-10 where ten is I feel nothing and 1 is “oh my god are you doing this for the first time????”, she only gets a 4.8 downgraded from the 5.2 or 5.3 she got yesterday. I knew I’d have a bruise on my hand, but I didn’t think I would have on my inner arm. (as of February 14th, I still have remnants of this bruise) It doesn’t hurt, it just looks ugly. But the doctor did say that my blood work looked good and I looked good and let’s just see what happens by the 3 cycle to see if this thing shrinks, and that it’s important for me to just stop what I am doing when I get tired, and walk away from it. I know I don’t now, because when I am at work I don’t think like “I’m sick” and just do the work, and exhaust myself so I suppose I am just going to have to remind myself my body is in a fight, and I need to put it first. Alas, I also need to work to have health insurance and to pay the premium. I am very excited about my first paycheck since December tomorrow. I am going to do something crazy with all that cash…like pay rent.

And speaking of crazy, a couple weeks ago, there was a contest on the facebook group, Saving Money, Living Smart, that I belong to…at Christmas, there was wish list to put on the items that you wish you could get for Christmas, and I put down a Keurig. Well a couple weeks ago, the group owner asked a few of us if we got our Keurigs, and then had a second chance contest to nominate someone who we felt deserved it. Well I felt I did…I mean, especially today, the day after chemo, and then next week, when Andy is sleeping after work, and I am too sick to get out of bed myself and I want a cup of hot tea and can’t go get one and have to wake him up. I don’t know if anyone else entered me too, but I told my story about how I found out about the cancer two days before Christmas and blah blah blah, and today, the FedEx guy shows up and what? Whoa. I now have Keurig from Saving Money, Living Smart and the Keurig Company. How awesome is that? As soon as Andy gets up from his nap, I’ll have him take a picture of me and my Keurig…what a great surprise and what perfect timing. (Even though I bitched all the way down the steps about who was knocking on my door because don’t they know I am resting.) This is fabulous…I can’t wait to take it out of the box and check it out once I get a picture. I just need to get one of those reusable cups for my ginger honey tea. I am excited. (and that’s where I fell asleep that time)


Return, Resolutions, Repeat

I'm back....

I’m back….

That’s right, my lovelies – I did not run over any armadillos, I did not get a cat, I did not mix vodka with orange juice, I did not become a brain eating zombie, I managed to stay awake for at least one hour a day, I resolved to clean the house when absolutely necessary (which it never truly was), I did not use a drone to attack the neighbors, I ate no cauliflower, I checked my phone once a day, and I never told facebook what city I live in, no matter how many times it asked. 10 Resolutions made, 10 completed. Completing such daunting tasks gives me such a sense of satisfaction. I don’t know that I can top this in 2015, but damn it, what’s live without challenge?

I’ll get to this year’s resolutions in a moment. I really want to give the real ending to the attack on the cyst, because I couldn’t before I told my dad (aka pop) the facts – I didn’t want to ruin the holiday for him or for my niece – I mean I had to ruin it for Andy and some of my brothers, co-workers and friends, and of course, it was a bit of a downer for me too, but I couldn’t do it to my dad. I think I’ve told most people, if I haven’t and this is where you get the news first, I’m sorry. It’s not the thing you get any enjoyment out of telling people and one thing I’ve learned is that no matter how many people I tell, there’s always going to be someone that I forgot to. I can think of five or ten or fifteen now. Fact is, I’m tired of telling people. Here’s a fact: Telling people you have cancer (again) is fucking hard. You feel bad that your are giving people bad news, you feel you have to make them feel better, they always ask how they can help and it’s just generally a bad thing. If I tell you, just tell me that you love me. Or if you don’t love me, just say, hey, whatever you need. I’ll keep talking if I feel like talking about it, and if I don’t keep talking about it, and you have questions, ask me. I have a blog, seriously, it’s not like this shit is secret.

Anyhow, I read the CT scan before the surgery. I saw the words “possible malignancy” – I saw the look on the ER doctors face when he had to tell me there were some concerning items on the scan. I know my body. I knew something was wrong. After surgery, when Minion 1 arrived, and I asked her about the offending nodule and if they found cancer, she danced around it, saying that they “don’t think” anything is wrong, but they are only using human eyes. I much preferred the way I found out the first time – the resident held my hand and said it straight up, we can’t confirm it yet, but from the preliminary pathology, it looks like cancer. This time, I knew I was going to hear not very good news at my appointment. I know when they take a biopsy, they look at the sample to make sure it’s a good one. They don’t just randomly snap out a bit of tissue and hope for the best. And while they are checking, they can notice whether they have good cells or abnormal cells. Sure, they may not know if it’s malignant with certainty, but they know if something’s up or not. Minion 1 needs to work on her delivery. I should give lessons.

I also knew I wasn’t healing as quickly as I have in the past. I had some pretty hideous bruising. I lost my appetite. I knew things were different, but I wanted to believe what the Minion 1 told me. So when I got to my appointment on the 22nd, I was ready for the news, or at least I thought so. I went by myself because Andy was in Pittsburgh with my nephew and brothers for a Steelers game. I didn’t want him to not have fun because I had an appointment. I asked my niece’s mom to go with me last minute, but she couldn’t. So I just resigned myself to going it alone. I got there on time, checked in, and waited. I got weighed, and found out I’d lost 40lbs since October. That’s a lot. And then I waited. My blood pressure was almost normal, but there was much excitement by the nurse when I told her I was off the morphine and just taking percocet. I wasn’t in pain. That’s good. Yay. No need to undress. Hang out, Dr. will be in. Now, Dr. K is a presence. He’s a tall, funny guy, with a southern twang to his voice and he’s always cracking jokes with nurses and staff and patients. I suppose you have to when you have to give the news he’s giving. He’s almost never late. I can sometimes hear him talking to other patients when I wait for him. Today I can hear him telling one that they will beat this thing, and that they will be in to review the chemo and radiation schedule with her, etc, etc, etc. Not good. It’s still taking a while for him to see me. I wonder where my treatment coordinator is – I have presents for her and Nurse Sue and Dr. K – just little holiday gifts to say thanks. I don’t hear Anne outside either – not good. Finally, Dr. K arrives with Minion 2 from the ER nightmare. They sit down. Sit. That doesn’t usually happen, so yes, it’s another harbinger of doom. Dr. K looks at me and doesn’t mess around – the biopsy shows cancer, and launches into how we could treat it. No surgery, no radiation, two different ways to address it with chemo, there’s no protocol for cancer in this area, quite frankly he doesn’t even know how or why it came back, it shouldn’t have at this point, once you pass two years, there’s a much less likelihood of recurrence. I just kinda look at him, and tell him I don’t have dying on my agenda. He said that’s good because he hasn’t, and isn’t, giving me permission to die. I’m not crying, I’m almost relieved because now I know – I awkwardly hand him the card and ornament I brought him – tell him I don’t know if he Jewish, or celebrates Kwanza or Christmas, but he can hang the ornament on his Hanukkah bush if he wants to – and thank him for taking such good care of me. I can tell this is as hard on him as it is for me. I think the Minion 2 wants to bolt, but is glad I am not crying and that I am, matter-of-factly, addressing what I need to do. Dr. K tells him to talk to me about the MRI, since he hasn’t staged it yet, and needs the MRI to determine what all is happening in the dark recesses of where the stupid pufferfish lies. I tell him I think the unwieldy beast is starting its dark resurgence because I’m having some discomfort in the area, and he says that’s what he wants to see on the MRI. Minion 2 has ceased sweating, I truly believe he thought I would lose it like I did when they offered my the psych hold in the ER. I maintained calm. OK, I was in shock, but it still didn’t involve crying.

You are never really prepared for the news. I’m still not sure I have accepted it, and probably won’t until they hang the poison bag on the rack and it starts dripping into my arm. Dr. K and I hug, he assures me that we will kick cancer’s ass and be laughing about this in no time. He tells me this is a shitty way to end the year, and a shitty way to start a new one, but go home, enjoy the holiday, and they will call me with the chemo schedule the day after Christmas. I tell him I trust him, he got me through it the last time and will this time. I shake the Minion 2’s hand, and like a scared bunny, he hands me the packet of papers for checkout and flees the room. I head to checkout. As I stand there, alone, having just been told my body has betrayed me, it hits me, and I tear up. I have cancer. Fuck. The receptionist asks me about the papers – I tell her all I know is I have a 4 week appointment on the 5th, and Dr. K wants me to have an MRI. She asks if it is scheduled – I tell her I don’t know – I was just handed papers by the Minion 2. She looks, and doesn’t have a clue why I have been handed all of Dr. K’s results and notes. I suddenly realize I need a note for work, and another prescription for percocet. I ask if she can get that for me when she asks him about the other papers. She does – he tells me I’m off until after my 4 week check up. I realize we never even looked at the incisions. Good thing I heal OK. She comes back with all my papers – I ask her if she can give Anne and Sue my cards and ornaments. She will. I’m still not really connecting to any of this. I get my appointment for the MRI and visit summary and head for the elevators.

I don’t break down until I am in the car. Then I am a snotty, sobbing, weeping, sniveling, snorting, coughing, choking mess for about five minutes. And alone. Horribly alone. And also very glad to be alone because I don’t have to worry about making anyone else feel better about my breakdown. I text who I need to text. I need to get groceries while I am down here. It’s funny how the trauma and the mundane activities intersect here. I need to get food. I also need to get home. I start the car and go to Giant, and mindlessly wheel the cart up and down the aisles, tossing shit in I don’t really need, but I have a fuck-it-you-only-live-once attitude and decide we’re having a fucking rib roast and ask at the butcher counter for a small incredibly expensive rib roast. Two hundred dollars later, I’m checking out of Giant with my rib roast. I forget to buy water. I’m not even hungry. I need to go home and that’s the last place I want to be. My iPod won’t fucking charge. I’m not going home until I have the opportunity to sing loudly with my iPod, and preferably with OWTH, until the pain inside is purged. I must also see my friend, Pony-Pony. I need some normality in this surreal scene. I also need gas. Actually, GAS first.

So I drive – first to a gas station. I fuel up and head to the MHS barn to see Pony-Pony. He’s not there. They probably are making him be the stupid donkey is some live nativity somewhere. I keep driving. I see my friends, the goats, at the goat barn, and I yell “fuck you” at the sheep in their pasture. My iPod is still not charged. I see some cows. I see another pony, and another, none of which are Pony-Pony, but at least I saw them. I keep driving. I realize my blood sugar is quite low, and I am a little shaky – I’ll got to Hardee’s. This whole time I feel like I am in weird freaky film where my character is in a dream world unbeknownst to everyone who sees her. It’s like none of this is real. I finally get the iPod charged enough to commence screamsinging. Fortunately, RTE 322 is not busy and I can cry and sing and drive all at once with no worries. It’s not real. It’s not real. I get to Hardee’s and order some sort of burger and onion rings. I manage to choke down the onion rings. I head home.

The drive was cathartic. And pretty scary. Occasionally I would look down at the speedometer during pauses between songs. I pushed 100+mph more than a few times. It’s not really my fault the car goes that fast. I slowed down several times. I wanted to get home and then I didn’t. I would have to tell Andy and then other people. This is the part that sucks. I finally drove home – I walked in and Andy was all excited to tell me about his trip and the game – and I killed that with a look. He asked how the visit went and I lost it. I sobbed and cried and told him how sorry I was he had to go through this all again. My kid is a good hugger. He told me I was the strongest person he knew and it was just cancer, and I could beat it. Then he proceeded to hug me some more. When he was adequately covered in snot, he went and got the groceries from the car. I didn’t want my expensive rib roast being stolen in this neighborhood

The C-monster is such a fucking burden. Not only do you have to worry about being sick, but you have to worry about bills and work, and the house and telling people and not upsetting people all while being told that this is the time you are supposed to focus on yourself. If there are people who are able to do that, I wish they would have a network where you could find out their secret. Because once you recover from the shock, you have to think about who to tell, and when and where and how and how are they gonna react and if they are old, like my dad, are you going to kill them? And then there’s the logistics – appointments and chemo and food and laundry and the joys of all the changes in smell and touch and taste. And when you have been the head of household for the last 24 years, that just doesn’t stop, you still worry about that. It’s just a lot. And no matter how much you have people tell you they will do whatever they can to help you, you don’t want to ask, because you don’t want to be a burden, and you want to be strong and tackle this yourself.

I’m tired of writing tonight, and I am tired of watching this fucking pathetic Steelers game while I type. I’m tired of being sick and doctor’s appointments, and not wanting to get out of bed. At least there’s minimal pain. At least there’s plenty of food in our house and we have functioning utilities. I can still write. My bed is comfy. I have a new blanket to take to chemo with me. It’s all gonna be over in 18 weeks (it better be). Tomorrow is the MRI – it will be a whole new experience for me, so look forward to that blog entry. I sure hope there’s no metal inside that suddenly gets torn from my body like I’ve seen in horror movies.

Good night my happy people…I’ll be keeping you updated – hug on your loved ones and do something fun with them before they can’t, or you can’t. Sleep well. Oh, about those resolutions, still working on them. I won’t be bound by your constrictive linear timetables. Kisses.

Oh yeah – three years ago yesterday, I got my first diagnosis. Happy Anniversary. I didn’t know the 3rd anniversary was also cancer.


Slice and Dice With Minions – Part Dos

Ah my friends, I have returned, later than planned, but back nonetheless. It’s early morn on Christmas eve, and I am still a little amped up from crafting like a loon as if I could ever finish everything I want to before Christmas day. As we know I am a grasshopper in all things. I did however, finish a project for the tree I have moved from project box to project box for two years now, so I’m kinda stoked. Now the tree just has to go up. Again, another attempt to get Christmas right gone awry because of the stupid pufferfish — which leads us to today’s entry where the minion encounters the pufferfish for herself in the operation remove and apparently realizes that I wasn’t kidding about the torture it was inflicting on me.

When last I wrote, I left you with a cliffhanger about how I was going to see Dr. K on Monday to discuss the future of pufferfish residing in its pouch. I hope you googled pouch of Douglas so you can visualize the pain I endured from leaving the ER and enduring the rest of the week lying on my side because it was no longer possible to sit or stand for very long after that no good horrible very bad day. Monday arrives and Andy drives me to my appointment. LONGEST hour of my life. Every bump stung. We could not get there fast enough. I am sure Andy was doing at least 80 but it felt like 40mph, and every stupid person who could possibly be on the road was on in front of us slowing us down. I get to the appointment. Dr. K is running late. I can’t sit. It hurts too much, so I am standing and pacing and squirming and just generally miserable. Did I mention by this time I have also run out of percocet? Yes, well I was out on Saturday. I have seriously pondered removing this thing myself. FINALLY my name is called. I jump on the scale, and guess what? I am down 30lbs. Since October. Being unable to eat has its benefits. Onto the exam room.

Again, no one is taking my pain as seriously as I am, even when I tell the nice nurse I am at an 8, pushing a 9 on the 1-10 pain scale. I am lying down on my side on the exam table, my blood pressure is “going to pop a blood vessel” level. I am rocking and crying and waiting for Dr. K. He will save me. He arrives. I blubber about how this is now unbearable and I cannot go on, this monster has to come out. He nods and says, yes, I agree. Finally!!! Someone is taking me seriously. He’s gong to get me on the surgery schedule for tomorrow. YAY!!! And even though this means I cannot have anything to eat or drink from now until after I am gutted, I am elated. I would not eat for weeks if it meant I was going to have some relief. Whatever it takes, I tell him, just get it out of me. I pause in my blubbering to complain about his new associate and the minions and how they wanted to keep me overnight on psych hold and how his associate should never ever use the words sympathize and/or empathize ever again because she is clueless about what my pain was like and it came off as cold and uncaring, and they sent me home in the exact same pain I arrived in. And also, please let them know I know the difference between “the pufferfish is trying to assassinate me” and “constipation”. So there.

I meet with the necessary folks to get all my surgical ducks in a row and get some sodas and water from the kind nurse Sue. She’s the best. They will call me with a time for the surgery tomorrow. No more eating and no drinking anything after midnight. Fine, what ever, just give me another ‘script for the happy opiates and I’m on my way. Oh wait, you need to go to anesthesia. No, not them, Dr. Doogie will say I have a heart murmur again. Damn. Okay fine. Whatever it takes to be released from my bonds of pain.

I go find Andy in the parking lot and give him the news. Now we have a dilemma. Do I go home, an hour away and usually 20 degrees colder than Hershey with a winter storm pending, and risk having to drive at a super early hour to the hospital in snowstorm, or do I stay in Hershey? It seems logical I stay here. I have clothes in the car since the ER trip. I have friends I could call and stay with, but with a storm swirling off the coast, I don’t want to inconvenience anyone, so I decided to book a room. I get one at the Simmons Motel which I will plug here as a very nice, quaint, clean and comfy room and a 50’s feel and a super soft bed. And quiet except for the damn train. But I am getting derailed. (see what I did there?) In the meantime, Andy makes arrangements for his friend Tom to pick me up and get me to the hospital in the morning so he doesn’t have to come down and just sit around all day. Now some may say it’s odd that I don’t want anyone with me – but frankly, it’s easier to be by yourself, in my opinion, you don’t have to make anyone feel OK, and comfort them. You can just get shit take care of. We go hang out with Tom for a while, I get my pain under control with some medication, and head back to anesthesia. I meet with the goofy anesthesiology associate – I think you have to be a bit odd to work in that department or working in that department makes you a bit odd, because she asks me this litany of questions but doesn’t put down the answers as I tell her as I find out later. She asks me about my “heart murmur” and I ask her to keep reading so she can see that I had an expensive EKG after that diagnosis, and that there was no heart murmur. Her response? Oh, right I see that now. Then she asks me about my anemia following my surgery. I tell her continue reading, so she can see that I lost a ridiculous amount of blood from my tumor and that once I got some blood bags hooked up, anemia gone. Again, Oh right, I can see that. Then she asks me about my thyroid. Again. I tell her to read ahead, and again, she sees the answer I was going to give her. It takes forever. I want out . I just want to go to the hotel and sleep until I get the call. Let me go. Please. Finally, she leaves and the Dr. comes in. She checks to see that I am still breathing and I still have a heart. I sign the papers. I get to leave. I go to the hotel and check in and send Andy on his way. All is going to well, see you in two days. We hug, and give the usually mother/son affection. I tell him, no worries not gonna die.

I find that my surgery is scheduled for noon. Oh good, I could have gone home – but hell, the room was only $50, I don’t have to worry about being tempted by food or drink because I have none, and I can just lie there, in an opiate haze and do my bowel prep. Those of you with previous abdominal area surgeries or in the medical profession will understand that this means a lot of time running back and forth to the bathroom, typically in the middle of the night. I drift in an out of pain riddled sleep, literally counting the hours until I will be rid of this nightmare inside. I finally doze off for a few solid hours until BOOM. The medication for the bowel prep sends me running to the bathroom. Now the fun starts for the next 4 hours. I get through night, and though I’d like to remain in this super soft and comfy bed, I have to go. Tom comes and picks me up and takes me to the hospital around 10, because he is squeezing me in between work, and I wait. Counting. I am all checked in and they tell me a volunteer will come get me when I need to go to the surgical wing. I am stoked because I can then get a wheelchair ride instead of having to make that long walk. I connect to the free wifi, and get down to the business of saving baby pandas from the mean dragon. I will save you baby pandas.

Noon. Gee, all the volunteers have gone home, so here’s a map and off you go to same-day surgery, ma’am. What? I have to take myself? No wheelchair. Walk? Oh fine, and I head off. (please make no mistake, I love Hershey Med Center, they are awesome and I would not go elsewhere for my health care) I get to the elevators when I encounter on of the Sons of Anarchy Pennsylvania motorcycle club members. I can tell this by his hoodie, that reads “Sons Of Anarchy – Pennsylvania.” He has a pager. He must be a MD too. Why else would he have a pager, being in a biker club? He notices my Spamalot t shirt I am wearing from the musical. He shares with me that Spamalot is one of his favorite musicals too. If only I wasn’t about to have surgery, I may have just met my soul mate, a biker who loves musical and is clearly a doctor to boot! But as my luck would have it, after we exit the elevator on the surgical wing, he turns left and I go right, and our potential love affair is over. Sigh.

At the unit, I am escorted to my prep area and given a gown and some special washing clothes to prepare. The nurse shows me the chart and tells me how to wipe down for surgery and says when it comes to doing my back, ring for her and she will do it for me. I do that and a different nurse comes back to help. I tell her what I need, and she says to open the last package, place the pad against the wall and rub up and down against it like a bear scratching its back on a tree. I look at her surprised, about to question her, but still ready to follow her instructions, when she says, “just kidding”. I laugh with her and said that I guess they have to get their fun anyway they can, and she said she was gonna see if I was going to do it, but she decided against it. I told her had she not stopped me I probably would. I hope on the bed and entangle myself in my blankets and listen to an Anxious and Angry episode on my iPod I guess my laughing to myself troubled the nurse and one comes to hang out with me and get all my vitals and shit. She hangs out for a while, and finally I am ready for the big surgery, when they ask where my ride home is. I said I am not going home til tomorrow, and she’s all – well it says here that you are going home after surgery – I look at her and say, uh no. That’s not what the Dr. said. She leaves to go get that worked out. Time check. 2:20PM. Technically I am supposed to be in the ER in ten minutes. She comes back to assure me that I am indeed staying overnight and informs me that surgery is running about 45 minutes late. I tell her it’s cool, I was a last minute add on, and as long as the pufferfish is dealt with, I will wait. I pick a movie to watch on Netflix and wait.

3:45. Still waiting. Me and another woman are the only people left in this holding area. She’s crying and whimpering, and I am am just happy that gutting will occur. 4:30. I’m on my way. Next stop the OR. I tell the operating room nurses that they better keep Dr. K focused and don’t let him mess around, I want be in and out and in recovery before the Season Finale of SOA at 10pm, so no dilly-dallying around in there. They assure me they will keep in him in line and before you know it, I am waking up in the recovery room to another nurse asking me if I want ginger ale. And this Mennonite lady in a rocking chair smiling at me. I wasn’t sure what was going on at first and then I slipped into full awareness once I noticed there was no pain. JELLO!!! I could have JELLO!!! It’s JELLO heaven. I immediately order up a few orange jellos and some water and eat like I haven’t eaten in days. Oh wait I haven’t eaten in days. I inhale the JELLO and begin to keep the nurses and the nice Mennonite lady in stitches with my sense of humor until they determine I can go to secondary recovery down the hall. The doctor will see me then. My “sister” Paige calls me and we chit chat for a bit as the anesthesia wears off. I assure her I am fine, and think about getting more jello. The little boy in bed across from me belongs to the Mennonite woman, and needs to go to the NICU, but there’s a problem getting enough people to help transport him – I tell my nurse she can go help, I have things under control, I’ll be fine. She is about to do when word comes down, I’m off to the next stage of recover and away we go. At this point I realize I still have a catheter. I am not please by this. I ask for its immediate removal. Denied.

I get settled in my room. I have some sort of inflatable bed. It’s very comfy. I have the special massaging boots I love so much on, and my phone. Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer is about to start and I can have all the Jello I want, and when I am ready, even a sandwich. I make sure I am not dead, because it seems like heaven. Especially the no pain part. No pain. Did I mention NO MORE PAIN. I get a new nurse. Like all of the nurses, she is super nice. She tells me I am staying there all night as there’s been some sort of influx of patients on the Women’s Health wing and there’s no room for me there. I see all kinds of people walking the halls – they aren’t stuck with a catheter. I ask again for mine to come out. Wish Granted. I am even allowed out of bed. I get up and head to the bathroom, just for fun. I have no pain. I am so happy I can’t even explain. I jump back in bed, watch the final episode of SOA, call Andy and eventually get my sandwich. I take several trips to the bath room, roam the halls for a while and finally fall asleep around 2 am. I still have no pain. If I didn’t know better, I’d say I’m still not awake and this is all a dream.

I get up around 6 when the female minion arrives. I remind her that in the ER she said she said she would not be gutting me. I ask her what happened in the ER, because none of the nurses knew the exact details. She tells me that they went in, it was hard to get to, they just drained it and did a bunch of biopsies. I ask about the C monster due to the what I read in the CT scan and she tells me that they are pretty positive that things were normal, but they won’t know until the reports come back, because you can’t tell those things with human eyes. I ask where Dr. K is. She tells me they will be back between 8 and 9 to discharge me. At this point I am starting to think he called it in, and let her do the surgery because I didn’t see him before surgery or in recovery and now he’s sent her in here and I am not even sure he didn’t go back to Disneyland. But I’ll wait to see.

I alert Andy to come fetch me. I am starting to have pain from surgery but not pufferfish brutality. I am told to wean of the perocet first and then the morphine. I get up and head to the bathroom to produce enough pee to be allowed to go home. After succeeding in that area, I am provided with a delightful breakfast of eggs with salsa. I can’t really eat, but I try. The nice nurse who was with me through the night tells me that Dr. K and the minion aren’t coming back but I can go home. I find this odd, and now I am sure he is just a figment of my imagination, but I am going home. I get freed from all of the IV tubes and machines and dress to go home. Run to the bathroom again. When I get back Andy has arrived. I am free to go. Still no pain. It’s a early December miracle. The minion comes back with my note for work, and a pretty prescription for percocet and I am turned out into the cold. Andy and I head home, after stopping for chinese and a chocolate croissant. I am cured.

This brings us to today. The pufferfish remains. He is still under the watchful eye of Dr. K and my close monitoring of my body. There are more tests to be run, but I remain pain free. I am weaned off the morphine (yay) – I have no debilitating pain – I had my one week check up – wounds are healing very slowly, and there was a lot of bruising inside and out. My incision did not start spouting fluid like they did during the last surgery. I can eat a little and sleep a lot. I have lost 40lbs now. Things are looking okay, but I cannot go back to work until the 6th after my 4 week check up and I can’t lift things. This means no holiday baking, not decorating, and only doing things that require sitting or lying down. I drove the car to the Dr. yesterday – I am still recovering from that, but the bottom line is I am recovering and will be able to enjoy the holiday with NO PAIN.
And that my friends, it the second part of the story. I will relay the story of my one week check up at a later date, but it involves minion 2 (the male one). It’s time now for me to return to watching White Christmas and sleeping. Have an awesome holiday and be sure to savor every minute you are with those you love. Eat, drink and be merry. I know I will be when I am gnawing on the bone of my rib roast on Thursday. Tomorrow (actually today) is the annual family Christmas eve dinner. Pictures will be forthcoming and I bought a special surprise that will bring joy to the hearts of many and make the family photo spectacular. I will share that debacle with you all later. Merry Christmakwanzakuh. I hope it’s all you wish for an more.


 My Days in Poppyland…

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So, I’m trying to wean off of the morphine. I had my appointment with Dr. K. My treatment plan is this: suffer. No, really, it’s manage the pain for now, try to lose 30lbs or the weight of a medium size dog, and then try some laparoscopic surgery in the New Year. Not exactly what I wanted to hear as my doctor was stabbing me in the side saying “yep, your cyst is back and no, I won’t cut you open.” Apparently, the pufferfish is not the toxic life threatening kind of blowfish. It’s just a pest. An inconvenience. A bother. And I’m stuck with it at least a while longer. Because of where it is, and my “fluffiness”, the Dr. would like to see me drop some “fluff” to be in a better place for the procedure. He has said if he goes in and it would be more hazardous to remove it, than it would to leave it be, it’s gonna stay. If he can’t get it with a laser, I’m stuck with it unless something more dangerous grows alongside it or I am impregnated as part of an alien experiment. It’s like a baby I’ll never deliver. Again, another example of me wishing for something and getting it, but only in the universe’s twisted system of fulfilling my dreams.

So my days are now categorized into “manageable” and “unmanageable” – the pain is ever present, but there are days when it is tolerable, and days, like this morning, where it is brutally cruel and tortuous. I waited too long to take a pill, and I was rewarded with two hours of writhing around on the bed bellowing like an elephant seal and looking like a beached beluga whale. And to make is stop, or rather, dull it, I had to double up on the opiates and send myself into a coma for an hour until it was time to go to work. Don’t worry, I am smart enough to not drive on coma mornings. And every time this happens, I make a silent wish that medical marijuana will someday be the law in PA. Because I believe that much of my pain would be squelched by a cannabis brownie.

This will not deter me from the Wine and Whine OTR trip this weekend in which we shall descend on local wineries like thirsty locusts and suck up grape nectar until we tumble back onto the bus. I’ve never done one of these wine tasting trips, but I am looking forward to it. Although I believe there’s some sort of cautionary bit on my prescriptions about alcohol intensifying the effects. Also long as it’s not intensifying the pain, I should be OK.

I apologize for my failure in the witty blogging that you’ve grown accustomed to, but the narcotics dull my shine. I hate not being myself, and I hate being in pain and there’s no happy medium. But I’ve committed to myself to write my way through this, so maybe one other person who is struggling with the magnificent residual gift of the c-monster doesn’t feel insane. They give you all these pamphlets about what treatment is like and what the effects of chemo are, etc, etc. And they show all these smiling “survivors” on TV, all bright and beautiful – but what you don’t hear about is all the goodies that the disease and the treatment leave behind. I’m still having to randomly smell phantom odors (all of which are unpleasant), I’m tired a lot, my hair still tries to be curly, and then there’s this fucking stupid cyst. But there’s no evidence of any cancer, so for that I’m grateful

So since I took my happy little blue pill an hour ago, I’m nodding off as I type, so this signals I should try to get some rest while I’m in the honeymoon stage of numbness. But before I go, I should announce that in my efforts to defluffitize, I’ll be trying to eat in a healthy manner. That means no more “single serving” pints of Ben and Jerry’s and stuffing pizza in my mouth like I am the beaked creature in Beetlejuice whose head practically opened in half. I’ve asked my coworkers to punch me or knock unhealthy food from my hands at the office, so if you see me in a public space dining on sugar bombs, please feel free to do the same. I am somewhat upset that I am trying to do this during the eating season when orange kitkats, turkey cranberry paninis, and warm chocolate cookies are taunting me like tiny demon sprites around my head. And now it’s time to watch American Horror Story, because the morphine and percocet don’t give me enough weird scary dreams on their own.

Peace my pumpkins, be well.


The Only Guarantee in Life is That Things Will Change

Just a quick update, because I feel like sometimes I just whine and I don’t feel like being that person today – it was a gorgeous early fall day with the blue-est of blue skies and a nice breeze. I made an awesome dinner and spent an hour or two with a good friend and things were progressing nicely. I was sorting through craft shit, had managed to get through another week of not overdrawing my checking account. The car is behaving nicely, I was making crafty things, laundry was getting done and I was, dare I say it, looking ahead to the future – what was next, trying to get past the fear of letting go of things and making huge changes without a safety next. Try to not let the world define me. You know, spiritual and philosophical advances and the like. Trying to find myself.

And the universe’s response to this?

Hey, guess what? Your landlord wants to sell the house you are living in. NOW.

Thank you, Universe. Apparently if I don’t make change quick enough – you will do it for me.

As to what’s next – who fucking knows? All I know is that I need to remember that anytime I feel comfortable in where I am at, and where things maybe going, that it’s all going to fall apart in a few hours so don’t even bother.

No worries – I’ve been here before, and I’ll get through again.

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I’ll be spending the next few days cleaning, not that it’s going to make much of a difference in the way this place looks – but maybe that will be the motivation to downsize even more. Anyone who wants to come over for Disaster Fest 2014, feel free to text or call, and bring a hazmat suit cuz it’s gonna be ugly.


50.5 Hours ‘Til Depufferization

I am so restless. Monday cannot come soon enough. I had to stop taking motrin last night because of its blood thinning properties, and I’m out of tylenol until later so I’ve been nibbling on percocet trying to make the pain go away. It’s not.

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In an effort to distract me from writhing about in bed, bemoaning my situation, I decided to give cleaning out my closet a go. I applied the fifteen minute rule, and actually was at it nearly an hour. I got rid of a lot of things I won’t/don’t want to wear again. There are still some things I can’t get go of including the very Victorian/gothic long black dress I bought trying to hang on to my goth past, and a crushed red velvet mini dress from the same desperate period when I dreamed of returning to my glorious youth. I tried – I event took the black dress of the hanger, but in the end, I clutched it my hands, as my opiate-sotted brain harkened back to the days of pale skin and clove cigarettes and dancing wildly to Echo and the Bunnymen, the Jesus and Mary Chain, and Love and Rockets. Sigh. I realistically know that the dresses will hang in homage to my youth, never to be worn again, the same way there’s a pair of size 5 shorts in a box somewhere from when my short-lived border-line skeletal hips slipped them on one summer day following my high school graduation. Strange the things we treasure. Now, I’m lucky if I could get them over my ankles.

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Even though the pain is still a constant ache despite the medication, the sedative effects are doing just fine. My eyes keep slipping closed and I should probably take a little nap because I’m going to head in to the den of babysnatchers to get a few more things done before I am off on Monday and Tuesday to have my procedure and biopsy done. They pushed the time back to 12:45p so a pathologist can be available when they retrieve the tiny chunks of flesh from SPFXL from snappy steel jaws that will be tearing them out of me. Of course, I don’t expect to have the pathology completed before I am released to go home, even though I secretly know they do because all they have to do is look at the sample and it’s either normal or it’s not. I don’t need to know how normal or abnormal the cells are, I just need to know one way or the other.

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Not that it really matters, because as I was driving back from Pittsburgh on Thursday night, I was on Interstate 99, and if you have never been on it, there are 11 miles of the most beautiful stretch of highway I have been on, outside of Hwy 1, aka the Pacific Coast Highway, in California. The sun had just about set, the hills were green and purple and some of PA’s tallest rounded mountains were rising above the fog that was settling into the valleys amongst the farms and random houses spotting the countryside. It was so magically beautiful, I kept waiting for it to end, and each curve of the highway just became more breathtaking than the previous one. At one point, when the sun had almost sunk below the horizon, there was this lone cow standing next to a barbed wire fence on a hill close to the highway, silhouetted black against a violet twilight and I could not even remember when I saw something so simply marvelous. If I wasn’t moving along at 80mph, I would have hit the brakes and captured it on film. Fortunately, I can still picture it in my head. And I realized, after travelling 500+ miles that day, in the car, alone with my thoughts and in silence most of the car ride, that there’s nothing to fear, no matter what happens next. In that moment, it didn’t matter if I was going to live or die, because everything is connected and timeless. Yes, I had brief reminder of nirvana, one of those glimpses of what being human is all about, and why nothing is ever lost, why we are here, and why it matters, and that whatever comes is just another lesson for me to learn. It’s all going to be okay, even if it seems like it’s not. And I’m okay with that. I forget how strong I really am, and how much I have gone through and how I am so grateful for everything I’ve endured because generally speaking, it has made me the pretty fucking awesome person I am. And even all the not so positive bits, the parts of me I don’t like, are just challenges yet to overcome. Including the SPFXL.

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So now that I have waxed philosophical for the day, I’m off to get ready to face the day and head into work to tackle a few things so I can come back after the probing and get back to the grind. Then it’s off to Presto’s 3rd Birthday Party. Have a great weekend, friends. And if I don’t check in before I’m rocking the CT scanner on Monday while I’m probed like an alien in a secret lab out at Area 51 in Arizona, send me some good vibes – especially that they have some good jello in the recovery area. Peace.


The First Offensive, Second Edition

We’ll be going in to try and attack the SPFXL (see previous entry for clarification) which we determined today to be the size of my small desk fan. I’m just waiting for a procedure date – my treatment coordinator told me that they asked for it to happen in the next seven days, and if they don’t schedule it within seven days, she will call and tell them to make it happen, because I am symptomatic (based on my near-encounter with the ER yesterday). On the plus side, most of today was pain-free, or rather, pain-minimum, because for the last six weeks, I’ve been in pain to varying degrees.

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Like the last attack on SPFXL, when it was known as PF, there will be an attempt to aspirate it, followed by the painful snapping of flesh from the beast itself for purpose of looking for the C-monster. The difference is this time, it will be more pieces of flesh being torn from me, and in more areas to see if there is something that was missed last time, resulting in the return of SPFXL. They still will force me to be awake throughout the whole ordeal, but at least I can play with the monitors and make them think I am dead several times for my own personal entertainment.

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I’m trying to be positive, but pain puts a damper on that shit, especially when it feels like sharp spines in my lower back most of the day. The fact that it is in exactly the same are is a plus, and as I was told, I shouldn’t worry about it, it’s just concerning, not alarming. Of course when you have a blob the size of a newborn’s head inside of you, you are just a tad concerned. I will keep you darlings updated, I’m just not feeling the joy tonight.

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Sweet dreams my pretties.


Good Weekend? Bad Weekend? You Pick.

I came home this evening from hanging out next door with the Rooney’s, enjoying a glass of blueberry wine that I bought at the Pennsylvania Flavorfest, laughing til I cried while listening to Eric Rooney read some of my best impromptu poetry, including “Ode To Mikey” about his dead rabbit only to get some weird facebook message about pictures being posted of me on some ugly people website. At first I wanted to look, and then I decided not to, because one, I just had a weird vibe this was some sort of hacking activity, and two, because why would I subject myself to someone’s need to hurt me in that way (the link this person gave me had my name in it). This of course took the edge off my happy. I was about to launch into a rant hear about bullies and people who do ugly things like that. I was like, really, at my age who really hates me that much and has pictures of me that are, as the person who messaged me put it, disgusting. Whatever, nothing anyone else can say or do can cause me to feel worse about my body as I already do. So sorry mean people, I believe the word is “fail”.

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What that little message did though, was make me realize, once again, that nothing is permanent. And maybe, I should take my own advice, and make a list of positives and negatives and see which wins out in the total score for the weekend.

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Positive: Ryan Young actually had my email to him on his podcast (Episode Number 8, Anxious and Angry – Free on Itunes or here Anxious and Angry) You should download all of the episodes. They’re funny and interesting and will make you think.) He also said nice things about me. It made me happy.

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Negative: I re-read my email and saw that not only did I use some poor grammar, my dumb ass fingers are still switching letters and my brain is still tricking me into thinking I typed one word when I really typed something else. So, if I have spelled things wrong or used the wrong words in sentences, my brain corrects things so I don’t catch it until days later when I re-read something, or in some cases, never.

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Positive: I had an awesome Saturday with Kelly and her boys who are the most delightful littles ever. Rodney even performed a magic show with a rabbit in a hat. We had an awesome lunch and a semi-awesome milkshake. (Note to Sonic – Jalapeno Chocolate Shakes would be awesome if they did not have chunks of jalapeno getting stuck in the straw all the time. Find a way to fix that.)

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Negative: There were so many chunks of jalapeno in my shake, I thought it was salsa.

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Positive: I went to two impromptu barbecues today.

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Negative: There’s none for this really. I had fun. played in the pool with Presto. wrote some side splitting poetry. Ate corn. Drank wine. Can’t really find a downside.

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Negative: Andy was a served an arrest warrant for non-payment of parking tickets.

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Positive: See above, because those unpaid tickets were mine, and the car is in his name.

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Positive: I had three days off from work.

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Negative: My weekend started with having to do something I hope I never would have to do and trying to prevent from happening for almost two years. This was a big negative. Huge. Unfortunate. Sad. Troubling. Some days, work sucks. The only minute, teensy-weensy upside was that I took care of it myself, and no one else had to do it.

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Negative: I can’t sleep again.

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Positive: You get to have one of my more boring, less comical, blog entries.

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Honestly, I’m a little fired up about misogyny, murders, the internet, stupidity, gender inequality, remembering things I forgot to subtract from my bank account, the lack of breakfast food delivery services. I also hate my hair, the fat suit I am living in, the lack of motivation I have to do anything about it, social injustice, climate change and the fact that there is no IQ or other suitability test before people are allowed to use the internet. I need another week or three off. I got some bad news about a friend and my dad has some serious valve issues with his heart and I am not thrilled with the hospital he is choosing to address it.

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However, I got an awesome hug on Friday from a little who wouldn’t let me go until the stress was all hugged out of me, I laughed a lot, I ate good food, I slept, I met an alpaca that was wearing sunglasses, convince a little that his magic wand turned a girl’s hair pink, got to re-live some of the fun that having little kids around brings to your life, spent some time with my niece and relaxed.

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In other words, it was life. And tomorrow will also either suck or be awesome. Since it’s court day, probably more of the former and less of the latter, and I have the paper work from my unpleasant Friday surprise to deal with.

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If your Tuesday is in need laughter, you should check out Ryan’s podcast, really. It may also make you sad, but again, see above, ie: life.

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Be well my pretties. I wish I had flying monkeys.

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Black and Tan and Blue

I’m waiting for my laundry to get done so I can hang it up in order to be dry for the morning work. I suppose I should do this earlier in the evening, but I was unwinding from another troubling day of working for the man.

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As you may or may not know, I finally made it to the ocean. The Atlantic, not the Pacific, but the sound and smell of the sea took cleared away a lot of things that can only be washed away by something so vast and timeless as the ocean. I needed that. For those of you who have not seen both, I have to be honest when I say the ocean in northern California is a far more powerful force, even on calm days, than the Atlantic in New Jersey. Not to mention that the shell selection is somewhat better, and there’s more beach glass, and sea otters and sea lions, maybe an elephant seal. But still, the ocean soothes a lot in me. And made for a delightful Mother’s Day, even though it meant spending much more money than I intended to. I am somehow okay with that though, because every cent was worth hanging out with my son and laughing. It reminded me of when he was a little, and we would take road trips and adventures to see and do things we hadn’t done before. I miss that. And I miss the spontaneity – not many people I know are willing to do things at the drop of a hat, and thanks to my excellent child rearing skills, Andy has that inherent spontaneous streak. The beach trip came about at breakfast when I said, hey let’s go to the beach, and he said okay, but I need to go change first. And within an hour, we were on our way. It reminded me of when he was just a toddler and we would be leave the house to head to work/daycare and I would look at him, call “mental health day” and he and I would head to the ocean. Or the zoo. Or a park.

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And, as you may or may not know, during the beach trip, I learned some important information, which I believe should be shared. Large rocks at the beach are slippery if there is moss on them. Also, slippery without moss. Cement piers are also slippery, with or without moss. Women of my age should be careful on any of these things, lest they fall, as I did, and almost drown in the ocean/smash your camera/kill your ipod/get covered in blood, moss and sand. I also did some serious damage to my unscraped knee. It is getting better – but I keep thinking back to my fall, lying there like a giant beached pilot whale, flopping around as I tried to get up on the very slippery moss. Ah, a mother’s day to remember. My right leg looks like I was mauled by a demon too. Reminded me of the time I was going to showcase my mad skateboard skills for Andy and immediately had the deck shoot out from underneath me and I fell, slow-mo style, to the ground and smashed my head into the drive way. Days to remember.

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Well, I do believe the laundry is ready for my attention. Tomorrow, or today, depending what time you are reading this is “hug-it-out-hump-day” and I encourage you to drop your inhibitions, invade the personal space of friends and coworkers and hug the shit out of them. They might scream or tell you that it is unwelcome or unwarranted, but deep inside, they want them. Don’t let the mace or threats of legal action deter you.

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Good night my friends.

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btw, the title comes from the fact that I had Yuengling Black and Tan ice cream, and I was blue because it was all gone. sigh.

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This Space Intentionally Left Blank

 

So, there I was, prepared to lull you to sleep with my latest soul-searching foray and a treatise on forgiveness. And then I was about to dazzle you with my wit. However, my workday ended with negativity, so I feel it’s important to address that, so that my dreams are not a series of ways to work out my frustration (ie. murders). I won’t go into detail, but rather, share with you the wisdom that shook out of the no-good-very-bad-Tuesday-4:30-to-5:30 day (Read the book).

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If one wants to have people believe they are sane, they must attempt to act it.

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There are things you can tell everyone. There are things you can tell no one. Then there are things that you can tell everyone and yet no one will understand. Then there are things you can tell people OVER and OVER and OVER and they will never ever understand. All of this gives me a headache.

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Why do the trees in the valley areas get their leaves before the trees at the top of the mountain? Isn’t the top of the mountain closest to the sun? (It is unnecessary to explain why to me, I know the answer, it was just a rhetorical question)

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When you find a razor blade and want to put it somewhere safe, dropping it into a box of you craft tools will never be the safest place. Yes, you will find it, but it won’t ever be “safe” especially if you don’t remember it is in there. I should not be allowed to have razor blades in the first place. Or scissors, knives, needles, clippers, tacks, pins. Or matches.

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Sometimes you have to just say “fuck it” and pin pictures of cupcakes and furniture made out of popsicle sticks for hours on twitter.

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A salad will not make itself. And purchasing a pill box so you remember to take the pills you need to take daily is not effective if you fill it, put it in your bag, and then never take it out to take the pills. Pills will not take themselves. Despite what you “remember” from that one night back in ’99. (I have changed the name of the year, to protect the innocent, namely me)

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Cars should have lasers. So you can cut people in half. If it’s necessary.

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Peanut butter will be your best friend.

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It’s not important to know what kind of bug it is, just that it’s dead.

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You will always be thirstiest right when you sit down after forgetting to get that glass of water while you were up.

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One day you will suddenly realize that you know longer think that people are talking about you when you aren’t included in the conversation. You will feel wonderfully liberated. I mean, other people think that too, right? I can’t be the only one who thought that.

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Okay, that’s enough. Move along. Besos.

e0bf2e6784567b3f4bb01c6aa78607fe


the “a to “aw screw it already” challenge” aka I really should be doing work

I guess you expected another alphabet challenge entry. As predicted, I got to k, and have decided that for me, having to write with a prompt just is no bueno. I have too much going on in my head at any given moment to be limiting it to a single character to capture it all.

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Ironically, the next letter I would have written about was the letter L. Which is the type of work I am avoiding right now as I blog instead. Legal. I should be preparing my court questions for my hearing tomorrow. Or completing affidavits. I loaded up the flash drive on Friday to get this work done over the weekend. I was all about about doing work at home. I was….really. That said, because I knew I was going to do paperwork, I made a ham, cleaned my bedroom, organized my yarn. organized my art supplies, read some magazines, drank coffee, made a scrumptious salad with the ham, did laundry, napped, stacked books, watched tv shows I tivo’d, surfed the internet, pinned some shit, and made four hats. Procrastination 1000, Work 0. I will eventually get to the work stuff…probably at 11, and then I’ll get up at 5 am to do some more, because as my fellow baby snatchers know, the night before court is one restless night. No matter how solid your testimony is, no matter how much you have prepared, if you have to be at court, it’s usually because you are about to make one of the parties unhappy. And baby snatchers are disliked enough without having to deliberately make people more miserable. That’s not to say what I do isn’t necessary, and in the interest of keeping kids safe, but it’s never like anyone is all like…”hey, it’s CYS, hey how ya doing? Good to see you, I was just saying, I wish CYS would come by and visit, and uncomplicate my life” “oh we’re going to court? And you are going to testify against me and argue why my kids aren’t safe in my care? Well, come on in and let me bring you some cake!” So anyway, that’s why I will be up all night, tossing and turning – already I’ve got the burning knot in my stomach – and I actually enjoy testifying. I can only imagine what it is like for my co-workers who are uncomfortable with it. At least I now have a computer that has all the necessary keys present on the key board and isn’t possessed, throwing the cursor around wherever it wants and devouring whole manuscripts never to be recovered from the hell files again.

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Anyway, I was pretty fired up this morning when I realized that if I touched my computer I might be required to work, that I decided to wait a little and see if the passion subsided. As those of you who have delighted in my work for the last couple years know, I love to watch the Sunday morning political talk shows – specifically Meet the Press, and Face the Nation. If you have read this blog long enough, you will also know that I am a liberal of the worst kind…an uber bleeding heart socialist who believes that the wealth should shared in this country, guns are unnecessary, death penalty is inhumane, people come in all shades, sizes, languages, belief systems, gender identities (or not) and love who they love, kum-bi-yah (fill in the rest of the typical derogatory references to my political ideology here). I am also able to see past “belief systems” and see the person, which is why, despite my super left leanings, I also have a number of conservative friends who love me and I love as well. OH SHIT, I forgot to say I’m also a feminist with minor in women’s studies and a thesis on Feminism in the Colonial Period, which also makes me an intellectual elitist. For those of you still reading after this disclosure, I should also add I am fat and poor in material wealth, and also non-christian. Whew.

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So back to Meet the Press. The recording artist,Will.i.am, was on Meet The Press today. He’s a big supporter of the power of education to change lives. He has his own foundation. Of course all the political shows were heavy with people of color due to that nut job Sterling, but Will.i.am was not playing into it. He asked the politicians on Meet the Press, why does our country not care about making our children the smartest in the world and emphasizing things like project based learning. Then the politicos would open their mouths, and based on their political leanings, would blame the lack of funding for education by the Right or the stomping on State’s Rights by the Left. Of course, Obamacare is also to blame. And the Christian Coalition.

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Now, I suppose you’ve dozed off by now, but I will continue writing. Because here’s what I found fascinating. Will.i.am’s only question was why are we doing it, not who is to blame, and if we really want to foster American’s exceptionalism, why is it that we don’t capitalize on American creativity, and make it easier for our own citizens to get solid educations and hands on learning? He asked if we all believe in the same thing, then why don’t we do something to make it happen? And that’s when the light shone bright on how screwed up our nation is and why we border on the edge of the decline of Western Civilization. No one walks their talk. I find it hard to believe that every Republican politician believes in his or her heart that abortion is evil, we should let poor people starve, and that God should be forced into our education system. Nor do I believe that every Democrat believes that guns are the root of all evil, we should never say the word God in public and that socialism is the only answer. Yet, once we elect a “democrat” or a “republican” – they have to toe the party line and object to anything the other party asks for. No more acting for the good of the electorate. Make sure you don’t act outside your limitations. Don’t live your beliefs, adopt the beliefs of your party. And of course, it once again made me lose hope that anything will ever change, as the questions continued and each politician in turn, didn’t answer the question, but said why the other political party was foiling all of their ideas. And so another day, week, month, passes in America, and teachers are forced to teach kids to take tests, and try to squeeze actual learning and creativity in and around the indoctrination. Sigh. I did however, enjoy the jokes from the White House Correspondents Dinner, and yes, I am a science and political nerd. Add that to the list.

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I have so many more things that have been brewing in my brain to write about, and were stymied by following rules. Not that it wasn’t a good idea to start with, and I learned some new words, but 26 letters, that’s a lot for one month. While I have your attention however, or if you just skipped to the last paragraph to pretend like you read this, I encourage you to go to iTunes and download Ryan Young’s Anxious and Angry podcast. In episode 4, he interviews P22, the California mountain lion with mange from eating poisoned rats. I wish I would have emailed a question, to find out why they call him P22, and not ML22. Seriously though, its a great podcast, with very interesting discussions it’s swell being able to listen to Ryan talk with his guests and find that their lives are not entirely different from our own. It’s also quite effective in calming you down when you want to explode with rage at coworkers. Not that I ever would, but sometimes I am seething on the inside, and I wonder if they can hear my thoughts. Or if sometimes my thoughts are actually coming out of my mouth in a mumbly sort of way. So go download it. You can do it here. You should probably buy something on the website too. I mean, he went after a mountain lion with mange to try and reunite it with its family. That should make you buy a shirt. And be careful with the box, because there may be a note inside that you might almost recycle because when you tore the box open to get your shirt and flexi out, you weren’t paying attention. (Thanks for the note Ryan! – I will let you know if the flexi did its job in July – Harsh Realms is one of my favorite songs from Heart Burns btw) And there’s a link to the Anxious and Angry website on the right sidebar too. Just in case you forget to go here.

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Time to get my life together for work tomorrow…here’s a picture of the flexi and the awesome note I almost missed – I would have take a picture of the shirt too, but it’s currently in the spin part of the wash cycle…

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Oh, and before I forget, I believe the birds nesting outside my window must be eagles – they came swooping and screeching down this morning…definitely not sparrows.

 IMAG0092The almost lost note and the healing flexi disc

 IMAG0088ZOE_0006-004two of the 4 hats I made  – these went to a baby shower.


and you came here looking for justice…

Justice? Not Tonight.

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Miss me?

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Well miss no more, I’m back.

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I did the unthinkable. I went to one of those rent to own joints, and put $100 hard earned dollars down (which probably would be better applied to one of my many overdue bills, but true to my grasshopper spirit, I threw it down on a computer) on this here ‘puter. It’s still just a windows based lappie, not the highly coveted macbook pro which I wanted ever since I got my master’s degree, but we just have to keep that dream alive. I’m a bit rambly tonight, since I am in a ridiculous amount of pain for the last two days – multiple tablets of make-the-pain-go-away-opiates have done nothing to take it away. And in case you have trouble remembering what that pain actually feels like for me, it’s like a mole is burrowing through my femur. Or like I am a magician’s assistant in some bad magic act and the guy with the hat is trying to saw me in half, except it’s the middle of my thighs and the saw is way too dull and trick isn’t working out right. Or like my thigh is being gnawed on by a komodo dragon. Oh wait, not that, because komodo dragon spit would paralyze me, and at this point, that would feel awesome.

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Sorry, none of this is j related.

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And you came here to read me ranting about justice. And I’m not. And I won’t be. Why you ask? Not because justice doesn’t warrant a rant from me, but because as I was playing with this new lappy, I loaded some pictures from one of my more recent zoo trips. I think this one was my birthday trip – and I found some pictures of the jacob sheep. What is a jacob sheep? I’m not sure. I’ll google it later. (so can you – I’m not going to tell you about it and ruin it for you) I’m just going to show you pictures. And tell you that I believe this sheep was often mistaken for a devil in early cultures. It’s the horns. I don’t know if this is actually true or not, but I’m pretty sure that I am entitled to my own theory about these things. I mean if whole groups of people can buy into the theory that dinosaurs never existed and that the earth is only two thousand years old, then I can come up with my own theory about what influence jacob sheep had on religious beliefs of people I’ve never studied.

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My theory is at least based on some sort of evidence. If you look at certain pictures of the devil/demon, it has horns similar to the jacob sheep. Some even have hooves like it. Or even wool. It’s kind of like a celebrity look-a-like photo, except that I’ve never seen a devil in person, but I have seen a jacob sheep, so I am sure at least one of these things is real. (I have, however, seen tasmanian devils, and the Shenandoah Valley Blue Devil, because she lives next door to me). The evidence is right here:

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little-furry-devil-digital-painting-08-final  .GE DIGITAL CAMERA.

tumblr_lueex44DPT1qggdq1.

GE DIGITAL CAMERA

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GE DIGITAL CAMERA

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See how these devil pictures are nearly identical to the pictures of the jacob sheep? Hard to tell the two of them apart. I was tempted to label them but I wanted to see if you could figure out which were which on your own.

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So now that you are schooled on the jacob sheep, you can go to the Philadelphia Zoo to see them. I am sure they are also in other zoos, but I have not been to any other zoo recently, so I can only authoritatively state where I know they are. They also have red pandas there there. But no elephants.

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It seems that my body is finally shutting down, and my eyes aren’t staying open, despite the pain, so I must be on my way to bed. I don’t want to fall asleep with the new laptop in my lap, because then it would slid off and break and I would be wandering around lost again like I was the last two weeks. For those curious about what I got, it’s a HP laptop with a touch screen. And it has THREE WORKING usb ports and ALL the number keys. And a really nice keyboard feel. And windows 8. And it’s quiet. And if I pay it off in 120 days, then I just pay the normal cash price, which is 1/3 of what the coveted mac book pro would cost me.

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Some new J words before I go: jactitation, jettatura, jobbernowl, jumart, and…

jentacular.


Hwyl

Hwyl is the emotional state capable of arousing intense eloquences.

Let’s see if we can achieve that here. I’ve already written a few paragraphs and then deleted them. Not happy or hopeful enough.

So let’s talk about home. Because lately I’m thinking a lot about what home means. I have a house. Well I rent a house. A big house. For me and my son. We’ve lived here for almost ten years. It still doesn’t feel like home. It’s a building, like a storage unit where we sleep. It’s never felt like home – always a temporary stop in finding home. It’s in my home town. Near my dad’s house. Where I grew up, and never felt like home. Just another place to keep my stuff temporarily. I’ve never really lived anywhere that felt like home. And weirder still, when I dream of home, it’s an ocean. A beach. Not a house. A small beach, with crashing waves. Maybe I’m a former elephant seal. Or walrus. Who knows? But home is an ocean. But for now, home is a box. With things in it. And most of these things were bought to try and make it a home.

Yesterday, when we were driving home, we were behind an airstream trailer. I told Andy that the airstream was my dream home if I couldn’t have a little stone cottage near the beach. Because I don’t know what it means to stay in one place. I’m a nomad who is stuck. Home isn’t meant to be a place for me but a feeling. And I haven’t found it yet.

So h is for home. And the hope I’ll someday find one.

 

and because you are waiting for them:  hadeharia, haslot, helminthology


glaumless. gormless gowk.

Clearly, I struggle with this idea of the alphabet. Or maybe my problem is counting. Or maybe in my alphabet there are two “f”s. Who knows, but now, we will move on to g. I apologize for either my inability to count to six, or my inability to recall that the seventh letter of the alphabet is g, please forgive me.

I can’t really think of a g topic. I mean there’s the mundane things I could write about: good, glee, Godzilla. Grunge.Gophers. None of those speak to me today. So I turn to my source of unusual words: The Phrontistery. Amazing lists of words that I can use in this challenge. Like today, when I cannot think of an appropriate topic. So we will gambol gadarenely into an examination of some g words that you would think mean one thing, but their definition is something entirely different. Unless of course, I become inspired by some other g topic in the midst of this post, which will result in me abandoning this plan, because I am a freaking gadfly.

Oops. It happened! God. I will write about God. Curiously enough, Microsoft auto capitalizes God when you type it. (it also auto-caps Microsoft, coincidence? Perhaps.) I promise not to rant too much on this topic, and I will provide some other g words at then end, okay?

So anyway, I haven’t been watching a lot of tv lately, except for three seasons of Game of Thrones, because I am a geek like that. But I did watch a Today Show interview of Bill O’Reilly who wrote some book about Jesus that he thinks should be used in schools to teach about the historical impact of Jesus in the formation of the United States. Now, I could be wrong (but I rarely am) but I do not believe that the native peoples practices Judeo-Christian religion. That was imposed upon them. And that the founders were not all Judeo Christians. I believe some were staunchly anti-theists. And while Judeo-Christian religious themes are prevalent in the development of declaration and constitution, I distinctly recall there being a very clear statement in the Bill of Rights that Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof. So why do nut jobs like Bill O’Reilly, who are supposedly knowledgeable about our government, get it so wrong? Yes. There are no doubt a lot of Christians in this country. I have no doubt that many of them are good people. But I don’t know that many of them understand their God. Because I’ve read the Bible. Not just parts. All of it. And the God Christians drag out to support the many things they find offensive or against their values would not be the same God that is in the bible I have. I don’t know where they get their dude, but the god I read about is loving, and accepting and inclusive. That’s why I like this pope Francis guy. He seems to get it. And is humble. And likes poor people.And walks his talk. If there’s been a pope in the last few centuries that is close to what Christians consider their representative of God on Earth, this guy is it.

I used to be Catholic. I was raised that way. I remember sitting on the steps to the second floor on a Sunday morning arguing with my mom about going to church. My position was, why do I have to go to a church that has so much gold and give it money when they could melt that gold and help a mom in Africa with twins feed them so she doesn’t have to choose one to die. The response was you will go to hell if you don’t go. I was willing to risk it. And now, I’m not Catholic any more. Oh I love ritual, don’t get me wrong, but I hated the thought of having to go and listen to someone tell me they needed my money to feed the hungry when African babies were dying and things were not exactly flush in our house either.

I don’t believe in God anymore. I believe in energy. I believe in positive and negative energy. I believe they have to be in balance. I believe we are all connected. I believe we all have an impact on each other, and I believe we are all responsible for each other. I believe we make choices every day, that can make life better or worse for ourselves and those around us. And the consequences or rewards for those choices are the outcomes of those choices. I also believe when we die, our energy doesn’t disappear, it just takes a new form. I believe those whose bodies expired are still with us, either in another body, or in energy around us. And I believe I am stuck in the situation I am in until I learn the lesson I need to learn. That’s my “God”. I suppose it would be easier to believe that someone else is orchestrating all of this for some ultimate purpose, but I would then have to believe they are a sadist. I prefer not to believe that someone/something would allow suffering, pain and sorrow for no other reason that because they want to punish millions of people for a bad choice made by some supposed first woman.

Gelastic – think it means gel? Elastic? Nope, means pertaining to laughter.

Gibbet – part of turkey or chicken? A bib? Nope, gallows.

Glossoid – glossy? Nope, like a tongue.

And that’s the letter g.


facula. floricide. fabulous!

It’s been a rough day. Week. Hell, decade. I’m tired and I want to crawl in a hole and sleep for days. Alas, that’s not an option. But I was talking to one of my mom’s today, and I was doing that life coaching thing I do so well for everyone but me and I told her the same thing I tell everyone about feeling good about yourself. Make a list. Write down your fabulousity. Read that list, add to it, and remember every day how amazing you are. I don’t do that shit often enough. And I know some of you reading this don’t do it either. At all. So get your paper and pen, or crayon, or use blood, it’s your list. No, seriously. Go get it. I’ll wait. I mean you can use the computer if you want, word, or open office or whatever. Do they still make Microsoft works? Are you ready? All of you? Because I am going to help you make your list. It’s an interactive blog today! We will make a list together. Ready?

#1. You are beautiful.   Yes, you. (applicable to all genders) Every day, someone looks at you and loves you more than you can imagine. Yes, you. Okay, it might not be the person of your dreams, or secret crush, but to someone, you are undeniably beautiful. Inside and out. And every day you deny that to yourself, you hurt that person who believes in you. So stop it now, and accept you are beautiful. Let it shine. And here’s a secret: that person, is probably persons. Multiple people see the beautiful you.

#2. You are uniquely talented. It doesn’t matter if you don’t believe it. You give good hugs. Or your sarcastic wit is the highlight of the day for someone who might never speak to you. Or you play an instrument or write poetry or make bracelets out of rubberbands. Or eat crayons. You are unique. Even if you look like everyone else.Even if you don’t believe in yourself. Someone does. I do. I know every person reading this has some talent that I am envious of. Something I can’t do. Like make brownies, or pancakes. Or keep a clean house. You might think it’s the boringest thing in the world, or common, but someone is in awe of what you take for ordinary.

#3. You are a good friend. Maybe not mine, but someone’s. Someone would have a huge hole in their life if you weren’t there anymore. You may not even know it, or know how much you mean to someone, but they do. And it may have been the smallest kindness ever, but in some moment you made a difference, and you changed a life. Feels pretty awesome, doesn’t it?

#4.You’re strong. I know it doesn’t always feel like it. In fact, if you are like the rest of us, some days you feel like the weakest human alive and beat yourself up for not being as strong and resilient as person x. But somewhere, someone has looked at you and saw you as strong as inspiring. It’s true. Just because no one made a movie about you doesn’t mean you aren’t a hero. So keep up the good work!

#5. You are intelligent. Yes, it’s true. You’re reading my blog, so clearly you have exquisite taste, a fine eye for brilliant writing and the good sense to read this. All markers of an extraordinary mind. So congratulations, you are extraordinary.

See how easy that was? I could continue, but just like when you are learning to ride a bike, eventually the training wheels have to come off. So little birds, I’ll get you started on the next one….

#6. I am….

It’s really quite simple. You will struggle getting started (at least I did) but once you get going, you’ll find great things about yourself everywhere.

And now, I find myself reading hit the hay. Like I said, it’s been a rough day. And it’s heading towards tomorrow. Which will be a challenge as well. I know you are anxiously awaiting my challenge posts daily and I am behind, but my lappy is in rehab, getting a new video chip,( if that’s really what’s wrong) and I am lost without her. She is due to return next week. She was almost home yesterday, but then had a relapse, or a misdiagnosis. So for now, you’ll just have to hang in there with me, and hope it’s curable.

Fairest and fortuitous dreams my friends, and keep working on that list.

And here’s your f words to look up:

Fatuous, firkin, forswink, fulgour


eudaemony, eutony echolalia, elbow macaroni and e.e. cummings

so I thought I would combine food for the ears and eyes (and soul) with food for the eating – I am sharing a favorite poet and a favorite (easy, cheap) recipe

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e. e. cummings is one of my favorite poets. I love his style because the words roll around on the page in chunks, and there’s no perfunctory punctuation to make you pause in wrong places. I think some people hate poetry because they’ve never read it aloud, or because someone who didn’t read it well, like a boring english teacher, made them listen. Some words must be heard aloud, read with intent and read well. Most people remember e.e. cummings because there’s always an obligatory poem or two in an anthology used in high school English or freshman english at college. Inevitably, the worst reader in the class is asked to read it aloud, and it loses the music it is meant to have. I find his work really evocative and visceral. I don’t typically like poems that rhyme, other than sonnets, and yet there’s something so rhythmic and lyrical in his work.

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I offer you one of his works you might not be familiar with. There are tons of e.e. cummings scholars, and people who will tell you what his works mean, and how to interpret them. I hate that. I think the best artist/writer/musician creates universals in their work, things that you and I can identify with and still be a million miles apart in our understanding. And then come back in ten, twenty years and find some new way to connect it to our experience. Enjoy (that’s an e word too)

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My Mind Is

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my mind is
a big hunk of irrevocable nothing which touch and
taste and smell and hearing and sight keep hitting and
chipping with sharp fatal tools
in an agony of sensual chisels i perform squirms of
chrome and execute strides of cobalt
nevertheless i
feel that i cleverly am being altered that i slightly am
becoming something a little different, in fact
myself
Hereupon helpless i utter lilac shrieks and scarlet
bellowings.

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And there you have it. If you want to explore more go here

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Now, let’s talk food. It’s the week before payday, and as often happens here at casa pietkiewicz, we are watching our dimes and eating on the cheap. One of the staples in our house is elbow macaroni, and one of my new favorite ways to make it is with curry…so without further ado, here is my fabulous curried elbows recipe

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1lb box of elbow macaroni

water

coconut oil

butter

sea salt

red pepper flakes

hot madras curry powder.

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Boil the macaroni. Cook until al dente. Drain. Put back in the pot. Using a tablespoon, scoop a chunk of coconut oil onto the macaroni and then add two-three tablespoons of butter (olive oil works too), salt, pepper flakes and curry powder to taste, mix it really well and serve. You can add some shredded jack cheese or a slice of white american cheese on top if you like, but it’s delicious without cheese too. If you expected measurements, sorry, I do everything by taste. But trust your judgment and I am sure you will be fine. If you don’t have coconut oil, use more butter or olive oil, but I really like the taste of the coconut oil. If you don’t use coconut oil, use less salt. And it has to be sea salt. So buy some. If you really want to splurge, throw in some cooked frozen peas. Or chickpeas. Or both.

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And this my friends, gets me caught up with my alphabet challenge. I hope you are enjoying the new vocabulary words I am sharing with you. So back to my Game of Thrones marathon, but I leave you with this, to end my escapade with the enigmatic letter e…

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dinoman_neotenyexobiology

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bromatology, babysnatching, Buffy, buteonine

two days, two entries.

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I think I’m going to at least make it to p so I can discuss pangolins.

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Today’s blog is brought to you by the letter b (and in honor of that, a poem I wrote with b words is here)

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and the number nine. But no one cares about numbers. Poor numbers. They should just go off and die.

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Today I will discuss baby-snatching and Buffy. What do baby-snatchers like me, and Buffy, slayer of vampires have in common? Well for one, we can both be considered protectors of good, defenders of innocents. Buffy slew the undead, and baby snatchers sometimes slay the people and things that nightmares are made of (of course, the Slayer had stakes and in later episodes, stockpiles of cool medieval looking weapons, and a snatcher’s toolkit is her (or his) intelligence, wisdom, and probably a court order.

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Then there’s the whole crisis of conscience thing. Buffy struggled with love and need to protect her loved ones, like her sister, when she discovered Dawn was the Key, and again, during the times of Dark Willow. We snatchers struggle with many ethical dilemmas, like having to sometimes remove a tearful child from their home because it isn’t safe. We sometimes have to make decisions that don’t always make us feel good, but are the right decision, like when Buffy leapt to her death as a blood sacrifice instead of dawn.

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You are probably thinking…wow, I never realized these striking similarities between Buffy and the business of being a baby-snatcher. That’s right, because I am making this up as I go along, and indeed, surprising myself with these revelations! But wait, there’s more…

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Buffy, as you know, lived over a hell-mouth. Going to the office feels like we are IN a hell-mouth some days. Buffy had to patrol all the time. Unfortunately, once you become a snatcher, you are, either consciously or unconsciously, always on patrol. I offer as proof the fact that for a few months, I could barely leave my house without locating a child in need of my intervention. (and like Buffy, my work is never done, you save one, and five minutes later, there’s another one needing saving).

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Still aren’t convinced of the parallels? Okay. Well, I can give you another. Or five.

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Buffy had a great, dry, sense of humor. An appreciation of the ironic. A tight group of trusted comrades. Me too. Especially the trusted comrades. For as hard as our job is, I have a mighty fine group of coworkers who have my back, and who can be counted on to bring laughter into the mix to take the edge off the unpleasant task of snatching.

th
You have to be strong. Dawn, the hardest thing in this world… is to live in it. Be brave. Live. For me.
―Buffy, Season Finale, Season 5 “The Gift”

 

 

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Buffy was not always fond of being the Slayer. Some days, I too, am not fond of being a snatcher, but like the Slayer, it is my duty. At least for now. And unlike the Slayer, I’m not required to do it until I die. And Buffy spent a lot of time in cemeteries. As do I ( this is a very personal comparison, it is my belief that many snatchers do not value the beauty of cemeteries as much as I do, although, I highly recommend them for their soothing silence)

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I suppose this makes little or no sense to you if you were not an avid fan of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (the series, not the movie – I’m not a fan of the movie, but I do own the boxed collector set of all seven seasons of Slayer) so if you have never enjoyed the Slayer’s antics, I suggest you start now. Watch it once and take it at face value, and then watch it all several more times to catch the commentary on family, relationships, morality, ethics, and social commentary. Many a college paper I have written on themes in Buffy. It’s masterful and fun at the same time.

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And here’s some more b words, for your googling pleasure…

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brobdingnagian, bantling, bdellism (you will really like the last one)

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and with that my buddies, I bid you buenos noches and bye-bye.