High School Reunion #1

I have been feeling very well---both physically and emotionally this past week. I have had no chemo side effects. I actually have had lots of energy and I am very optimistic and happy about my life and my future. I am slowly starting to see this cancer diagnosis as a blessing. I know this sounds very confusing. Yet, I don’t think it is unusual for a life threatening disease to give one a renewed lease on life. I now call my cancer diagnosis a “mid-life course correction.”

I was fortunate this weekend to have the company of Andrea and Claudia, two friends from high school. Andrea flew in from Colorado. Claudia drove down from Dallas. All of us grew up in Otis, Colorado, a small farming community on the northeastern plains of Colorado. Claudia and I started Kindergarten together. Andrea joined us in 4th grade. All three of us graduated from Otis High School. In high school, Claudia and I ran around with a group of kids who thought that we not only knew all the answers, but that we actually wrote the questions too. In college, Andrea and I were wide-eyed freshmen roommates together at the University of Colorado at Boulder. Later, Andrea was my "Best Woman" in my wedding. Throughout the years we have kept in loose contact. The last time I saw Andrea and Claudia was when I reluctantly turned 40. Both Andrea and Claudia made a trip to Austin to help me “celebrate.” And now we see each other again at another milestone, at the point when all three of us, or at least Andrea and I are at a “mid-life course correction.”

We spent most of the weekend catching up with each other’s lives. Then we reminisced about the funny and sad times from the past. No need to introduce friends, family, or situations from the past to each other. We know each other’s past. We ARE each other’s past….and future.

With only 1 hour before Andrea needed to catch her flight, I decided to get my video camera out and interview my friends for the record. (I interview people for a living, so capturing the image, voice, mannerisms, and thoughts of my friends at this particular moment in our lives seemed appropriate.) I interviewed Andrea and Claudia together. I stayed safely behind the camera but asked the questions and made comments. I wanted to capture how we interacted as a group.

So, after getting the baseline facts from my friends (“Where do you live? What do you do? Tell me about your family?” etc), I started in on the good stuff….
“Where do you see your life in the next 5 years?” “What are your goals and ambitions?” etc. At some point, Andrea grabbed the camera and started asking ME questions. This never happens! I always hide behind the camera or video. But just as with this blog, I was front and center revealing my life for the record.

So, for the record, I am happy that it looks like I can continue to be a mother, wife and daughter for a whole lot longer. I am also optimistic about the opportunity to fulfill professional and creative goals. And I am truly blessed to have so many great friends. These are just a few of the realizations that have come out of my “mid-life course correction.”


Andrea on the left. Claudia in the middle. And me on the right.

My next backwards life

Here is a little funny that was sent to me by my good friend, Marye. I think it must be floating around the Internet. This just cracked me up. Enjoy......



I WANT TO LIVE MY NEXT LIFE BACKWARDS!

You start out dead and get that out of the way right off the bat.

Then, you wake up in a nursing home feeling better every day.

When you are kicked out of the home for being too healthy, you spend several years enjoying your retirement and collecting benefit checks.

When you start work, you get a gold watch on your first day.

You work 40 years or so, getting younger every day until pretty soon you're too young to work.

So then, you go to high school: play sports, date, drink, and party.

As you get even younger, you become a kid again.

You go to elementary school, play, and have no responsibilities.

In a few years, you become a baby and everyone runs themselves ragged keeping you happy.

You spend your last 9 months floating peacefully in luxury, spa-like

Conditions: central heating, room service on tap.

Until finally...You finish off as an orgasm.

I rest my case.

Emma's Get Well Art

I have been able to sleep a little better. Food tastes like metal and the end of my fingers tingle. I get tired, but naps help. That's it. That's the update on how I am doing. Details about chemo side effects just do not make for good blogging material. Let me share something more interesting......Emma's art. Here are a few of her recent pieces.

Here is Emma's New Year's Day card to me.


Here is the other side of the above New Year's Day card. She drew me with hair. She said this was a picture of me when I am all better.






Emma drew this picture on the evening of my 4th treament when she spent the night with her "Huita" -- Emma's version of "abuelita" which is grandmother in Spanish.





Emma also made this card at Huita's house. For now, even cards for Daddy are about me.

Stupid Wig Tricks

Here are some tricks I can do with my wig.

I can alarm everyone around me by shifting my scull 1 or 2 inches back and forth away from my face. I can get the same reaction when I lift my wig off my head. I do this a lot in public. I know I shouldn’t. I should try keep up the appearance that the hair is real, but I fuss with the wig because my head is hot and sweaty. I need a little air up there. I am totally into comfort now, so I really don’t care. David and Emma would rather I don’t do these tricks in public.

Sometimes my wig shifts off my head when I don’t want it to. When it is windy, I have to put my hand on my head to make sure the wig doesn’t blow off, just like a hat. One time David took a turn too quickly in the car and my wig slipped off. This either tells you something about David’s driving or the how precariously my wig sits on my head.

I often lose my wig in the house just like I lose my keys and shoes. This is because as soon as I walk in the door, I rip the wig off. I might put the wig on the dining room table, the couch, the bookcase. Anywhere - just not on my head. I know I should carefully place the wig on its stand. But I don’t like my wig. I don’t treat it nicely.

One time I started out the evening with the wig on. I kept my wig on in the restaurant, but I didn’t want to sit through a movie with a hot, itchy head. So, I went into the bathroom, pulled the wig off, stuffed it into my purse and slipped a black ski cap on. I felt like a spy the way I changed my look so quickly in a bathroom stall. This was great because for some time I have actually wanted to be a spy, more specifically an undercover intelligence officer with a covert identity working in a foreign country. I think I could really do this because I can pass for a variety of nationalities, I speak Spanish and I am a good listener. With a collection of various passports and wigs, I know I could pull it off.

Greetings from 2:35 AM

I am on my fifth and last day of steroids. I am taking Prednisone, which represents the “P” in my R-CHOP chemo cocktail for my non-Hodgkin lymphoma. Apparently chemo treatment is more successful when paired with steroids. Side effects include insomnia, increased appetite and irritability. So, the last couple of days I have hardly slept, I eat constantly, and I have been a bit on edge. Nice.

It is so quiet in the middle of the night. I have been here before… feeding Emma as a nursing mom; prepping lectures and grading as an assistant professor; and now rattling around the house in the middle of the night as a cancer patient. The difference now is that this sleeplessness is drug induced, so I don’t crash in the day. I just keep on going, and going and going.

4th Round Down

I had my 4th chemo treatment on Friday. I was actually dreading it a bit. I get rather anxious and nauseous the day before each treatment. My body is now conditioned to feel sick just thinking about the infusion room. The actual infusion was uneventful. David and my mom were my chemo sitters.

I had a slow weekend. I am on quite a few anti-nausea medications, so I haven’t been all that sick, but I have been tired. The good news is that I only have two more treatments: Feb. 1 and Feb. 22. In a flash, this will all be over.



Not all of the medicines go through the IV machine. Adriamycin, also know as the “red” medicine, is pushed into the port by the nurse. This is the drug that makes the hair fall out. It is a vesicant, meaning that it can cause tissue damage and blistering if it escapes the vein. The toxicity of this medicine is why adriamycin is carefully given by a nurse. I love the red color.

Blogging and the "D" word

I have been reading other people’s cancer blogs. (A simple Google search will get you there.) I started doing this because I was curious how others address cancer in terms of style and content, but now I am hooked on several blogs. There are actually several blogging moms like myself. I don’t know these women, but I feel an affinity with them. We are all going through similar things. I know, I know. I really should just join a cancer support group here in Austin instead of lurking on other people’s blogs.

Yesterday I found myself on one woman’s cancer blog. I was devastated to learn that she died just a few days ago. Her last entry simply said, “good bye.” I was so, so sad to read her words. I did not know this woman, yet the words seem to put me at her bedside in those final moments. These blogs are so intensely intimate in such a public way. They are compelling because they are stories about real people in real time. Should I be allowed to know so much about other’s people’s lives, even deaths?

As luck (or fate) would have it, while I was reading the blog, I was also listening to Fresh Air with Terry Gross show on NPR. Terry's guest was talking about her latest book regarding death during the Civil War. (WARNING: major name-dropping coming up.) The guest was Drew Gilpin Faust, the president of Harvard. A few years ago, I actually nibbled crackers and chatted briefly with Drew at a Radcliffe social event. At the time, Drew was the Dean of Radcliffe and David was a Radcliffe Fellow at Harvard. Drew has no clue who I am, but I have followed her in the press like a groupie as she moved from Radcliffe Dean to the president of Harvard.

Towards the end of the interview on NPR, Terry asked Drew if her research on death during the Civil War influenced how she viewed death now. Terry mentioned that Drew is a breast and thyroid cancer survivor. Drew said that death was ever present in the mid 1800’s and this closeness to death was viewed as a way to make life more meaningful. Now, she said, we pretend death does not exist. We don’t like to talk or think about it. Drew said, however, “that when you are forced to think about death, life comes into a very sharp focus.” In this sense, Drew said she now thinks about death in a very 19th century way: thinking about death can enrich a life, rather that detract from it.

Needless to say, yesterday was a sad, reflective day for me. I was reminded of the deadly reality of cancer, yet its power to bring renewed meaning to life.

Guest Blogger: Shari

My good friend Shari was my chemo sitter during my last chemo treatment before Christmas. I invited her to write a guest post on my blog regarding the experience. As Shari and I once discussed, blogging reveals a whole new side to our personalities---our “writerly” side. Shari told me she enjoyed reading about my experiences through my written words. Likewise, I enjoy getting a peek inside the head and hearts of my blogging friends (Chris, Tandy, Genice, Dara, Luke/Joy). When I read the words of my friends, I feel like I have discovered a hidden talent. Who knew any of us could write!

I believe this blogging phenomenon has allowed amateur memoir writers like myself to get the satisfaction of publishing by just clicking a button. It is rather heady to be on the production end of content, even if hardly anyone reads our stuff. In addition, while writing is still a very important workplace skill (I use “writing” loosely to include bulleted phrases in PowerPoint decks), blogs have created a nice venue for the return of the old-fashioned essay.


So now, please welcome the “writerly” side of my friend Shari with her essay on chemo sitting…

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I met Gigi about 16 years ago when I was invited to join a group of graduate student women attending a book signing by Gloria Steinem on the Drag (a raucous and very empowering evening). Our mutual friend Margaret moved away and Gigi and I started salsa dancing. Over the years we’ve done a lot together and I’ve helped her with a garage sale and a couple of moves, but I never imagined accompanying her to a chemo treatment.

On Friday, December 21st I sat with Gigi as she received her chemo treatment. As Gigi has described previously, the infusion room is very sunny with nice furnishings and surroundings. But the poles with machines on them regulating the intake of the hanging bags of liquid certainly indicate the purpose of the room, as does the lack of hair on the heads of those tethered to the poles.

Gigi dozed after the Benadryl went in, but talked while eating lunch and when her naps were interrupted by the nurse doing something new. David, who brought Gigi that morning, had kindly left the New York Times for me to read leisurely when Gigi slept. For four and a half hours, varying liquids dripped into her port, mostly through the machine, but in two cases they were administered by the very nice nurse. It was quiet, calm, and uneventful.

As Gigi slept, I couldn’t help looking around the room at the half dozen or so other people receiving treatment and I was struck and saddened by their youth. Other than a couple of elderly patients, they seemed so young and included a young man who looked like he was high school or college-aged with his parents on either side of him and a young woman sitting next to Gigi, probably in her late 20s or early 30s. Her young husband was with her. I am so curious about their stories – what, why, how?? I felt a bit voyeuristic, watching them calmly sit for hours absorbing their drugs, a stranger witnessing a moment in probably the most challenging time of their lives.

Surely I’m not the only one contemplating my mortality as Gigi battles this cancer. Admittedly, I feel pretty selfish thinking about myself at all, but I feel myself wanting to be sure that life isn’t taken for granted by those of us who don’t have cancer. I walked to Quizno’s next door to get a turkey sandwich for Gigi about halfway through the treatment. I wanted a salad but was told that they were out of lettuce, sorry. My first irrational thought: “Out of lettuce? There are people getting chemo treatments next door and you have run out of lettuce? What if one of them wanted a salad?” No connection, I know, between cancer and lettuce, but I guess the chaos that is the universe seems kind of scary. Cancer is much worse than not getting a salad, but what can you count on? No lettuce today, cancer tomorrow. Of course, Gigi didn’t want a salad, so I didn’t actually say anything.

On Thursday, the day before the treatment, Gigi and I went to a movie, but she was nauseous and we were leaving. She was worried about being sick in the car, so I went to the candy counter and asked for a bag to take with us. But no, even if you have cancer and are throwing up, you can’t get a popcorn bag unless you pay for a bag of popcorn! After an incredulous comment from me, the young woman behind the counter called the manager, but then I remembered I had grocery bags in the car, so we left. Does that employee know how lucky she is not to need the damn bag? That’s how Gigi’s cancer has me thinking.

I have felt helpless to change the course of Gigi’s cancer and am grateful that Western medicine has made great strides in doing just that. In fact, Gigi received such good news right before her treatment began that I was thankful that all of those chemicals were coursing through her body. I was happy to sit with her in the infusion room and read the paper and help push the pole when she needed to head to the restroom, adjust the chair when she stood up or sat down, get her lunch, drive her home. I felt useful, which mitigated somewhat the feeling of powerlessness over the cells in her body that had gone awry.

To be bald

This is what it is like to be bald. My head is always cold. I always wear either my wig, a scarf, ski cap or hat even when I am inside. When I forget to cover my head in the house, I can feel the air flow around my scalp when I walk. Odd. I cover my head when I am outside to keep me warm and to avoid the stares. I am fortunate that I am going through chemo in the winter here in Texas. I think it would be uncomfortable to always cover my head in Austin’s summer heat.

The skin on my head is soft and tender, not hard like David’s bald head. Also, my scalp is white, not flesh tone like David’s. I think the whiteness of my head is part of the reason I look so ghoulish without my hair.

I still have little wisps of hair around my face that I use to foil people when I wear hats. With my hat or wig off, these wisps of hair stick out from my head like they have static electricity. Nice, huh?

I recently put away all my hair things (brushes, combs, headbands, barrettes, etc.) and replaced them with my collection of head coverings. I used to admire women with small waists and flat tummies. Now I turn to look at women with lots of hair. Love big hair.

I still wash my head with my special designer shampoo just out of habit, but I no longer get to feel the satisfaction of big lather on my hands and head. I am sure I could get away with washing my scalp with just a bar of soap. Just like David, it now takes me less than 10 minutes to get ready to go out because I don’t need to fuss with hair. I never really have “bad hair” days--just “no hair” days for me now.

Neighborhood Tour (Part 2)

Goodness. How could I forget…..An "anonymous" poster from the previous entry reminded me that I worked at a Jack in Box on the corner of Burnet Road and North Loop during the summer between high school and college. My co-workers called me "Gigi," but I wore a nametag that said "Angie" because management said it was close enough. Now, I know why it didn't matter what was on that nametag. Customers just needed a name--any name--to call the person handing them their fries.



Here is that old Jack in the Box restaurant now turned into a used car lot.

Neighborhood Tour

As I wrote in my introductory post, at some point I would probably blog about other things beyond cancer. With my renewed energy levels holding steady, I will now share something totally unrelated…

Let me take you on a tour of my neighborhood here in Austin. If you live in Austin (or lived in Austin), you will probably recognize these landmarks. For those who have never had a chance to visit, here is a something new.

We live near Burnet Road in Central Austin. David and I think of Burnet Road as Austin’s version of San Pablo Avenue in Berkeley, meaning that this street is just an endless unattractive strip of fast food restaurants, appliance stores, car repair shops, furniture stores and other useful yet boring retailers. There are, however, pockets of whimsy and nostalgia on Burnet Road. The nostalgia comes from my memories of visiting my Aunt Mary as a kid. Burnet Road in the 1970’s was still pretty much the same endless strip of urban blah. I just didn’t call it “urban blah” back then.


FIRST THE WHIMSY.......

I have driven by this shop millions of times. This store’s exterior is an odd combination of medieval and western imagery pulled together with a garish yellow color. Not your usual combination, but now because of familiarity, this place just seems normal.







This is the kind of place that I like having around because it makes Austin different than the rest of Texas.














The power of outdoor signs! Without the light bulb man, this store would be just another specialty store. With the sign, I get excited about shopping for light bulbs.











This is an unusual picture of Amy’s Ice Cream. Usually the place is swarming with kids on the cows and grown ups at the tables, but this picture was taken on Christmas Day. Twenty odd years ago, Amy worked at Steve’s Ice Cream in Boston when she was a premed student at Tufts. Now Amy owns the retail ice cream market in Austin. She recently opened up a new location on Burnet road with a playscape. What was she thinking! Does she have kids? Does she know what parents go through every time we drive by with our kids in the backseat?



NOW FOR THE NOSTALGIA......

In most places, a “pit” might suggest a dump. Here in Texas, “pit” brings up images of succulent barbequed meat. This is the restaurant where I first got hooked on Texas BBQ. The meat is served up on paper plates with pickles, onions and white bread--yes, two simple pieces of sliced white bread. The white bread, not the paper plate, is what confused and amused me at first. (Sliced white bread at a restaurant?) Now, like everything else on Burnet, white bread with barbeque seems normal.






This restaurant served as my aunt’s backup kitchen since the 1950's when it first opened on Burnet Road. I took this pic on Christmas Day. Usually the parking lot is filled with big, late model American cars. Inside, waitresses with tall hair call you “honey” and serve up hamburgers, steaks and fabulous meringue pies. I can remember sitting at each of the booths with various family members as a kid when we would visit Austin. My dad’s last restaurant meal was here. This Frisco will soon be moving to a larger location just up the road, but it won’t be the same. The owners must think they just serve food here.





This was the Luby’s Cafeteria where my aunt and others from Austin’s WW II generation probably ate 50% of their meals. Luby’s was close to my aunt’s house and served Texas comfort food (think chicken fried steak, hushpuppies, fried okra, black-eyed peas, pecan pie, etc.) Several years ago, Luby’s closed and the Austin affiliate of Univision (a Spanish language cable channel) moved in.


I often like to think in terms of symbols and this little change in my neighborhood was a biggy: a Spanish language television station replaced a hushpuppies and fried okra type restaurant. To me, this transition was a reflection of the sweeping demographic changes taking place in the US and the emphasis on media over low-tech cafeteria lines. “Telefutura” says it all.


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Don’t want to forget the following important disclaimer! David doesn’t want everyone “out there” to think Austin is just filled with kitsch and comfort food restaurants. Sure, Austin is very beautiful with lakes, hills and nice running trails downtown. Check out what David and the City of Austin want you to know here.