An evening with Bill Clinton

I first saw Bill Clinton in person back in the Fall of 1992 when he was running for his first term in office. He was speaking on the grassy area near the LBJ Library on the UT campus. I missed Deborah Morrison’s Advertising 387-Creative Topics class to attend the rally that warm afternoon. When I later explained my absence to Deborah, one of my favorite professors, she told me I made the right decision because I would remember his visit more than anything said in class that day. I don’t know what I missed in class, but I do know that I remember her words and philosophy. I apply this same philosophy with my own students. And this philosophy guided my decision to haul Emma out last night for the opportunity to see the former President of the United States.


The rally was slated to start at 5:30 on the UT campus. David, Emma and I got in line at 5:00. At promptly 5:30, the line started to move. As usual, David led the way while I looked around at everything and everybody. While we were inching our way toward the South Mall, I caught the eye of an "older" woman who stood out from the crowd like me. Mind you, this was clearly a UT student, 20-something crowd. For some reason, this woman and I locked gazes. I smiled. She smiled back. Then this woman with a ‘Hillary Volunteer’ badge started waving a bunch of yellow pieces of paper at me and called me towards her. “Here,” she said. “Take these special tickets.” I asked her why me? She said, “Because you brought your daughter.”

I gave David a “just stick with me” look and off we ran with our yellow tickets in hand. We bypassed the general standing area, walked passed security, and quickly made our way up the steps of the UT Tower Building.

From the steps of the Tower, we had the most amazing view of the crowd. We were standing with all the volunteers, event organizers, photographers, secret service guys and warm-up speakers. It truly felt like we were back stage.

After about an hour of very lame student speakers, Bill Clinton himself walked right by us as he made his way to the speaker’s stand. I held Emma close and whispered in her ear to remember this moment when she got to see the former President of the United States. She asked what “former” meant, but she understood “President of the United States.”

David and I are on a roll. I’ve got energy and we are going to hear Obama speak this morning at the Austin Convention Center.

Here are some pictures from last night....


Here is a visual cliché of Texas: cowboys with attitudes. People don't really dress like this in Texas. I think these young men are members of the Silver Spurs, an honorary service organization responsible for taking care of Bevo, the UT longhorn steer mascot.


Another Silver Spur fella under the UT Main Building.




I am fascinated by secret service guys. About a dozen of them surrounded Clinton while he talked.








A photograher pointed her camera out at the crowd while Emma surveyed the scene in disbelief.



Here is Bill Clinton as he walked by. I'd say Bill was about 6 feet away from us... about the same distance between our refrigerator and our side exit door.

Goodbye, infusion room!

The night before Chemo Day is usually a tense evening. To lighten up the evening, we have a tradition of ordering pizza. This time, the night before Chemo Day was a bit different. Ebru and Hakan from Turkey were in town. Ebru offered to take me out at night. I suggested we attend a political rally since both Barack and Hillary were in Austin for the debate. We both liked that idea a lot. I had read somewhere that a rally started at 10 PM, so I told her she should pick me up at 8:30ish for a late dinner and on to the rally. I haven’t kept these hours in years!

As planned, Ebru and Hakan picked me up after I got Emma in bed. Dear David stayed behind to watch the sleeping Emma. I told Ebru and Hakan that my “Chemo Brain” kicked in and that I got my rally days mixed up. The political rally was not on Thursday, but on Friday. No worries. We would still have a late dinner.

We tried eating BBQ at the County Line, but we arrived too late and the place was closing down (I think my European friends forgot that Americans like to eat early). So “Plan B” was the Iron Cactus on 6th Street. Yea, 6th Street! I haven’t been on 6th Street in years! I felt so young and happy and excited.

When we walked into the Iron Cactus a little after 10 PM, it looked like a normal restaurant. We ordered and waited for our meal. Then out of nowhere, at promptly 10:30 the place morphed into a nightclub. Bada bing. Bada bing! The lights were dimmed; the music started blasting and in walk all these beautiful, young women…lots of them… tall, blondish, thin women with fabulous clothes. Our table was right by the bar, so we were surrounded by blond hair, tanned legs, midriffs, and cleavage. Yes, there were young guys around, but the women were the showstoppers.

Ebru wondered what we were doing there. I started feeling quite old and poor Hakan couldn’t finish his meal because he was so distracted. One woman almost accidentally disrobed when she caught her wrap-around dress on my chair. Minutes later a fella almost impaled himself on my chair trying to get passed us.

It was so funny and wild to be in such a different environment. For the past several months, I have been living in the little space where “cancer world” and “kindergarten mom” merge. Yes, an odd space, but a familiar one. So, spending an evening at the Iron Cactus was a bit out of my comfort zone. I forgot about being young and single with strappy heels and dresses. Actually, the Iron Cactus was never my scene as a grad student, but I do remember when the only thing on my plate was reading journal articles and keeping a social calendar.

The actual infusion went well. Ebru and I talked about the political situation in the Middle East until I could no longer hold my eyelids open. I slept through almost all of the infusion process. Ebru cared for me like I was her child. I loved it.

On Saturday, I went back for the usual shots and saline solution. They gave me my “Chemo Graduation T-Shirt.” I took my last round of pictures. I thanked the nurses from the bottom of my heart and told them they were great, but I never wanted to see them again. They understood.

I was in that infusion room 13 times. (One test treatment + 6 actual chemo treatments + 6 follow-up infusions of just saline). Every time I just drive by the clinic on 38th street, I start feeling queasy. The smell of the soap in the bathrooms of the clinic make me sick. I can’t watch anything related to medical situations on TV because I might see an IV stand. I think it will take a while to get passed the mental imagery from this experience.

This weekend was particularly bad…nausea, headache, dry mouth and fatigue. Yes, the chemo effects are cumulative. I do not know how in the world people survive more than 6 chemo treatments.

Here I am with my nice chemo nurse, David and my graduation t-shirt which says, "Let's make cancer extinct."




Ebru and I with our Sweet Leaf Ice Tea Tops. Mine said, "Luck is when preparation meets opportunity." Ebru's said, "Be grateful for what you have."

Last Treatment

In about an hour, I will start my 6th and final chemo treatment. I circled this date on my calendar back in October when I was trying to figure out when all this would be over. I remember noting that February 22 would be Washington’s Birthday and thinking how far off that seemed.

My dear friend Ebru and her husband Hakan flew in from Istanbul, Turkey to be my final chemo sitters. Ebru and I met in grad school. One summer, we lived together in New York City in a very tiny one-bedroom apartment in the Village. Like so many of my friends, we laugh a lot.

More later...

Stranded in the Dairy Section

For those not familiar with Austin grocery stores, here is a primer: Austin is the home of Whole Foods. I have lived long enough in Austin to remember the original Whole Foods, a hippy grocery store with creaky wooden floors and florescent lighting. There are two really wonderful Whole Foods here in Austin including the flagship store for the entire company.




In addition to Whole Foods, Austin also has two Central Markets. Like Whole Foods, Central Market is a foodie paradise. Central Market is owned by HEB, but there is nothing HEBish about Central Market. We like Central Market more because it is closer to our house and because of the kid friendly Café which hosts lots of great local musicians. There is one little annoying, quirky thing about Central Market: the store layout. To prevent people from running in and out, Central Market aisles are laid out like a maze. Shoppers are forced to start in the produce section and then work their way through the meat, wine, diary, bakery, deli, prepared food and finally to the checkout counters. The idea is to encourage more time in the store, which means more sales.



So, last weekend, I was shopping in Central Market. By accident, I found myself in Central Market’s “Chocolate Covered Everything” weekend extravaganza. I had worked my way to the diary section when I was overcome with exhaustion. I needed a chair, but they don’t have chairs in grocery stores, much less at Central Market.

All around me, happy, energized people were sampling chocolate covered everything (pineapples, tofu, nuts, peppers, etc). Everyone seemed to be having the time of their lives…pick up a little soy milk here, grab a few Kalamata olives from the olive bar there, get a loaf of black bean chipotle bread here, can’t forget the cactus pears there, a little pumpkin seed pesto just in case…... All of these busy foodies were swirling around me with their carts full of organic, locally grown, free-range, hormone-free stuff. As for me, I was exhausted. Forget the cage-free eggs, just get me a folding chair!

At this point, I allowed myself to feel sorry for myself. It actually felt very good to feel pathetic…. “Poor, sorry me. I don’t even have the energy to go grocery shopping. And if I can’t go to Central Market and buy expensive, exotic food that is not on my shopping list, then there simply is no more joy in my life.”

With no chair for relief, I just leaned heavily on my shopping cart and inched my way through the maze to the checkout counters. I collapsed when I got home.

Grocery shopping is just one of my many failed attempts to be “normal” again. Oddly, the fact that my cancer is gone has caused me stress and frustration. I keep thinking I am normal again, yet I am really not. I am still very tired, yet I want to jump back into life because I am in remission. I need to keep reminding myself that fatigue is the number one side effect of chemo and the effects are cumulative. I haven’t really bounced back from chemo treatment #5. I have my last chemo treatment a week from today. This too will pass.

Goodbye, friend.

Funny things happen when you are sleep deprived. Last week I was on steroids and going through the usual round of sleeplessness. Like always when I am on steroids, I was moody and emotional. On day 3 of the required 5 days of steroids, our clothes washer stopped working. I usually don’t get too worked up about broken appliances, but because I was on a daily dose of 100mg of Prednisone, the broken washer was like a death in my family. The Maytag washer was 28 years old! How could I not mourn the loss?


You see, the washer is the last remaining appliance from my Aunt’s original house. I inherited the house we live in from my dear Aunt Mary. David and I remodeled this house. I now have the best of both worlds…the warm memories of my Aunt’s old house together with a new, updated version.


In 1980 when it was first installed, the machine washed my Aunt’s clothes. So that meant blue and brown polyester pant suits plus lots of tea towels (thin, white embroidered towels used to dry dishes).



In 1991, I moved next door to my Aunt Mary. Because there was only one washer between the two houses, the Maytag washer washed my clothes too. I stuffed my grad school clothes into that washer: jeans and lots of black things.

After my Aunt Mary passed on, I got roommates to share the house. The machine washed their clothes too---Belinda’s pretty pastel sweaters and Logan’s jeans and sweatshirts. During grad school time, my friend Shari and I were regular Saturday night patrons at Borinquen, a south Austin Puerto Rican owned salsa dance club. That washing machine always did a nice job of getting smoke out of my clothes.

After finishing my dissertation, I emptied the house and moved to Berkeley with David. I rented the house to 3 young college guys and they used the washer too! I imagine that machine washed lots of guy clothes during that time.

In 2001, David and I moved back to this house. David started putting all his Gap jeans and shirts into the washer and I put my teaching clothes (still black) in as well.

















In November 2001, I started putting in the clothes of our darling little baby girl. I began with pink little onsies and sleepers. Now I put in pink dresses and skirts. Most recently, that machine washed my cancer wear, which means sweats and other types of cozy, comfortable clothing.

















This machine washed twenty-eight years of sweat, stains, smoke and dirt out of soiled clothing. Will our new washer take us to 2036? I don’t think so. They just don’t make them like they used to.

Fun with Wigs

Here is Gigi with her old hair.





Here is Gigi with her new wig.




Here is David with no hair.




Here is David with Gigi's new wig.




Here is Emma with Gigi's new wig.





Here is David with his old wig.

High School Reunion #2

I had my fifth treatment last Friday. Sylvia, my good friend from Colorado, flew in for the treatment. Like my other friends from last week, Sylvia and I also grew up together. We spent the day before the treatment going to lunch and a movie. It was a windy day here in Austin last Thursday and my wig flew off twice! ….once outside of Central Market and the other outside of Trudy’s. Both times, I sprang into action and caught the wig in the air before it fell to the ground. A couple walking near me at Central Market saw the flying wig and kept staring at me. Of course, Sylvia and I laughed and laughed both times. I am so glad Sylvia was with me! By myself, I would have been SO embarrassed, but with Sylvia, losing my wig was just one more crazy event in our 27-year friendship. Sylvia makes me laugh. I make Sylvia laugh. When we get going, our bellies hurt.

Like airline travel, I like my infusion treatments to be uneventful. Unfortunately,my treatment last Friday was a little different. I shook up the nursing staff and broke the peaceful silence of the infusion room when I started vomiting. I was sleeping with Rituxan on a slow drip into my port when all of a sudden, I woke up with a cough which quickly became loud retching. I immediately had several nurses buzzing around me. One quickly gave me a sick bag. Another gave me a wet towel. Even another patient’s chemo sitter tried to help. All the nurses shook their heads wondering why I got sick. I was on two different anti-nausea medications at the time. I think I shook up the other patients too. Every patient in that room dreads getting sick. During treatment, chemo patients are given several powerful anti-nausea drugs. Yet, there I was defying the drugs and reminding everyone that they might be next.


After my blood pressure and pulse returned to normal, they turned the IV machine on again and resumed “pushing” (as the nurses say) the Rituxan into me.


Here I am with Sylvia during treatment #5. I wear the same clothes for every treatment. It’s my little ritual. I wear my dad’s blue sweater and my Aunt Mary’s winter coat as a blanket. (My dad died in 1991 from brain cancer and my Aunt Mary died from bile duct cancer in 1996.) I feel like my dad and aunt are hugging me when I wear their clothes.


The patient and chemo sitter next to me also wore chemo outfits. These ladies were both wearing white Victoria’s Secret jackets with pink skull and crossbones images ironed on. They also wore big, black skull and crossbones rings. They held up their hands and showed me the cancer fighting power of their rings. The ladies told me they always wear special outfits to the infusion room. Once they wore matching tiaras. Another time it was bunny ears. Their clothing ritual is bit more whimsical, but I think just as meaningful as mine.

Thank you!

Wow. Thanks for all of the continued support from everyone. I REALLY welcome the posts, emails, prayers, calls, cards, thoughts, gifts, voice mail messages, books, food, hats/scarves, shopping runs, lunches, hugs, flowers, visits and love. I really have never had this type of attention in my life. I have been really moved by all the support. THANK YOU!

As I have written, this cancer has been a real life-altering event. One of the realizations is how many wonderful, dear, loyal friends we have. Perhaps, the magic of the Internet has helped create such a great support network. Just days into my diagnosis, our friends Saundra and Steve set up a local Yahoo group. People wanting to bring food simply put their names down on a calendar on the Yahoo group. Since my first chemo treatment on Nov 7, we have had about 30 meals brought to our house!! I know, amazing!

In addition, this blog as created a virtual community of supporters beyond the Austin area. What did we do before the Internet? How did we keep everyone updated? I guess we just called everyone or had others call with progress reports?

Blogging has been therapeutic for me. Instead of thinking about the nasty cancer cells in my body, I am always thinking of blogging topics and writing drafts in my head. Who would have thought that a cancer diagnosis would provide fuel for creative energy? Sure, private journal writing can provide emotional release, but there is something about public interactivity that makes the blogging experience so powerful.

The story is not over. My last chemo treatment is on Feb 22. I am not sure at what point I move from cancer patient to cancer survivor. I do know that I will continue to blog all about it. More to come….


My "Happy Complete Remission" bouquet of flowers from David.

PET Scan Results!

I had my 5th chemo treatment yesterday. I also got to meet with my oncologist to discuss my treatment plan and the PET scan results. As soon as the doctor walked in the door, he said, “The PET scan results look great.” He didn’t even wait to sit down to deliver the news. He just started talking the second the door opened. He usually does not do this. When he got to his chair, he continued, “The tumor is completely gone. There is no cancer left in your liver!

David, being a probability type of guy, wanted to nail down a confidence level that all the cancer was gone, not just in the liver. So, David asked what was the doc’s confidence level of complete remission? 95%, 97%, 99%? The doc said as close to a 100% confidence level as he could possible get.

I wanted to cry when I heard the news. I thought crying would be appropriate at this point, but I just couldn’t. I have been feeling so good, that I knew I was better about a month ago. For me, the PET scan just confirmed what I was feeling both physically and emotionally.

The protocol for my therapy is to have two treatments past complete remission. The doc was hoping for complete remission at this point. So we continued with yesterday’s treatment and the treatment on Feb 22 will proceed as planned.

The very, very big question is the maintenance plan. There is no definitive protocol as research results are always changing. There is a 60% chance that the lymphoma will return within the next five years. We plan on getting a second opinion regarding maintenance from MD Anderson Cancer Center in Houston.

We celebrated last night with the amazing Saundra’s matzah ball soup, challah, and several high calorie desserts.

I thank everyone for the positive thoughts, prayers, well wishes, and karmic energy that was sent my way. Nothing like a little western medicine, a good attitude and lots of positive support to cure a cancer.

Best Wishes from the PET Scanner

Big milestones in a cancer patient’s journey are the pre and post CT and PET scans. The pretests are used to help assess the cancer stage. The posttests evaluate the effectiveness of cancer therapy. My pretreatment CT scan and PET scans showed that cancer cells were present throughout my lymphatic system including the large mass in my liver. Because cancer cells were present above and below my diaphragm, I was classified as Stage 3 out of a possible 4. There is no stage 5.

My particular chemo treatment protocol calls for a follow-up CT scan after treatment #2 and a follow-up PET scan after treatment #4. After only two treatments, my post CT scan showed that the tumor had gone down significantly.

So, I had my post PET scan on Wednesday. This is how the nurse explained the test to me. PET stands for positron emission tomography. With a PET scan, radiated sugar water (FDG) is injected into the vein. Cancer cells love sugar, so the sugar molecules attach themselves wherever cancer cells are located in the body. Because the sugar water is tagged with radiation, the PET machine can pick up all the “uptake” locations in the body where the cancer cells connect with the sugar.

Here is the PET scan experience…you can’t eat any carbs or sugars starting at noon the day before the exam. Also, no food 6 hours before the test and no strenuous exercise 24 hours prior to the exam. When you come in, you are given a white “shake” that kind of tastes like bananas (barium). They check the blood sugars in your blood and weigh you.

Then they escort you to your private “uptake/relaxation room.” This room has a radiation warning sign on the door. Here they inject the radioactive sugar water into you via an IV catheter. The nurse carries the sugar water injection into the room in a little radiation proof metal box. She also wears a ring monitor on her finger to measure how much radiation she is exposed to throughout the day. Then you are told to relax in the lazy boy chair. No talking on the phone, no reading, no listening to music. Nothing. Just keep warm and relax. I forgot about the “total relaxation” part from the first PET. I brought a whole stack of books that I wanted to read.

After about an hour in the relaxation room (which is the time for the body to metabolize or “uptake” the sugar water), they tell you that “you are ready for your pictures” and you move to the PET scanner room. At this point, you are asked to lie on your back on a little platform that slides you into the PET machine, a doughnut looking thing. You are in the tube for about 25 minutes. Last time they asked me for my radio station preference. This time they just kept the country music radio station on.

Just before I got into the big doughnut machine, I asked the technician to take my picture. The young woman was a little confused and surprised by my request. I admitted to her that wanting a picture was kind of weird, but that I was documenting every step of my cancer journey. She agreed. I posed. She snapped.

So here I stand next to the PET scan machine, like a smiling tourist standing next to a well-known attraction. Unlike a tourist, I didn’t plan to take this trip nor am I very happy to be traveling down this road. People that have taken this journey might recognize this landmark. The good thing is that this trip has turned into a life-altering experience. I just want a few pictures of the roadside attractions to help me remember the highlights.

I expect to get the results of the PET scan today, just before I go into treatment #5.

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.