Today was parent teacher conferences. Her teachers are so honest and caring. Most of them, anyway. The important ones. And the truth is that for the one that we don't absolutely love, that's a lesson in life. We deal with these people all the time.
Overall, decent news. The biggest thing was that tonight, after our family lunch/conferences/grocery shopping, my girl did her work. A lot of it. With very little complaining. I think some of the words got through. The funny thing is that much of her work is very interesting. She really put in a LOT of effort. We were proud and relieved.
She also got the grade for her Big Science Test. 87!!!!! It wasn't an A, so she only gets 2 days of the Wii back - the original deal was that for an A she would get a BRAND NEW WII GAME and 2 weeks back - but the B was great. So we decided to get her a new game anyway.
Pushovers? Hardly. An 87? My kid? She studied hard. We both suffered that weekend as she fought the process. But we won. She won. And she saw that her hard work not only paid off, but didn't have to be as hard as it was! No results back from the math test, but I'm less confident about that one. Call it a hunch. Or call it observing my kid. She's a terrible liar like her mom.
Ok. Back to cancer. I know. I promised to not yap about it.
One of her projects was about my radiation treatment for science. She interviewed me tonight, inspired by the magazine article published this month. She still has to type out the nitty gritty that she learned from her personal tour of the radiation HELL HOLE that I spent 6 weeks in. But that's easy. I hope!
I have this one recording project hanging over my head. I work on it a little each night, but I'm so damned tired still. Not nearly as bad as before - which makes me wonder who was above me, pulling on my marionette strings to make it appear as if I could not only stay awake, but function in society, work all day, work all night, play a damned instrument and dance around on stage, record for 10 hours with a bunch of people who thought this was the "norm". I hope they're not disappointed when my brain cells rejuvenate and I can actually form a complete sentence. I'm hoping I wasn't the Suzanne Somers of the band - Janet was way cooler and smarter and funnier. Of course, I'd give my left breast to be Mr. Furley.
Where is that damned tupperware??? Oh, some lab somewhere. Maybe I can give righty to be Mr. Roper.
There I am. The skin is healing nicely though I still look crazy. La Mer is making a fortune on my cancer. Not really - J. Lo uses it everywhere. But I don't roll like that - just face, neck and one breast/armpit extending to back. I wonder if my right side is jealous. Though, she has an actual nipple, so she should just shut up already.
Well, that does it. I'm talking about my breast as if it has a personality. I suppose it's time for bed. Nip/Tuck or Breaking Bad? Don't I know how to have a peaceful moment before sleep? At least I feel better about my own situation after those shows!
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Saturday, February 23, 2013
Friday, February 22, 2013
A Good Night
It was a good night last night. My girl did her homework on her own while I recorded. Did she do it right? Maybe I was a Bad Mom for the evening, because I only helped her when she needed help - the rest I told her to check over herself. I'm usually more thorough than that, but maybe it's time for her to take more responsibility. Maybe she'll actually do better in the long run if I let her fail a few things. I mean, she gets mediocre grades as it is, but now we're offering Prizes! and Incentives! instead of taking things away (though she has NO VIDEO GAMES until she pulls the nose of the plane up!) But still, she had a huge science test on Thursday and if she gets an A, she gets 2 weeks of her Wii back AND a brand new game. Maybe it's pessimistic, but we don't expect to see an A - however, I will be way more than happy to fulfill her Wii prizes if she does. In fact, I'm really hoping that she brings an A home. No idea when it will be graded as it was a big test - but I'm trying to cross my fingers and eyes that it will happen. If she gets a B, she gets a day of the Wii back. And I'd be really proud of a B, but we want her to shoot for the stars. Because she has it in her.
Meanwhile, back in the studio...
I have 2 projects to work on with little direction. Good and bad. Both are tracks basically without horns. Both with no sketches, charts or ideas. I worked on one last night and have to try and complete it tonight. I'm excited about that one because it's a new artist that is super kick-ass, and I'm feeling like family already.
The other? An old friend asked if I would do it for his brother. This friend was my intern many, many years ago in a studio - he has since done well for himself as a composer. We haven't always seen eye to eye, but obviously we respect each other's work. So when I called him to ask for a tiny bit of direction, I found out that his brother wrote a bunch of tunes 10 years ago, was diagnosed with cancer (lymphoma) and HIV, and was told he would die. He went through hell and back, and survived, so now he wants to record all of this music. Now I have to do it! Holy shit. And I complain about MY cancer? Shoo.
On the burn victim status: I have peeled an entire layer of dead skin, well, most of it. It looks pink and disgusting. But I can move more easily because the tightness of that blackened skin is gone. I had some stinging in the shower this morning, but nothing I couldn't handle with a bunch of four letter words under my breath. I know, it is supposed to be SINGING in the shower, but I didn't want to wake up hubby or girlie (I get up super early, get ready , practice a bit and THEN get her up! Yes, it's a very early morning for me, daily).
First day back in the gym since I don't know when. My pit hurts so much when I sweat, plus the whole unable to move and exhausted from the freaking radiation... well, today I worked my legs and did cardio for about 30 minutes. No real sweating so I made it. It's weird. I have to wear sleeves to cover the nastiness. I don't get to lift or push heavy things with my arms. I'm a girl. Jesus, has it come to this???
But I did it.
Now I'm home, having an iced coffee and a rice cake with fig honey (try it - trust me!), trying to rev up for more recording. I really want to get cozy, make popcorn, and watch a movie with a nice glass of Schmailey's. If I happen to finish this tune, I will.
I haven't seen my adorable hubby now for 3 days - except this afternoon for a few minutes. He's out again - working a LOT this week - and will be home around 1 or 2 am. I'm going to try and stay awake, but I've been so "Radiantly Exhausted" that I've actually fallen into a decent sleep pattern - with the help of sleep aids. But I need them for now. I've been switching between things, and am doing well again on the melatonin, though last night I took Advil PM because the skin is torturing me as it's peeling and healing. Suck ass, no?
Ok, a few more sips of iced coffee and I really need to motivate. I need a prize, like a new Wii game or some shit. It worked to motivate my girl to study. What should I reward myself with? It's harder as an adult, especially with your own biz, your own hours, your own rules. I just hate cramming for the test and I want time to fix things or change things. Prize... (besides the whole popcorn and Schmailey's thing...) any ideas? Anyone? All I can think of is shit like cleaning my own home, or organizing my taxes (a disaster for all of my readers who are freelancers!) But that's not a prize, it's more work. Hmmm... can't get a massage or a manicure. I picked up some new clothes recently for the burn issue (owchies) and really don't need more - I'm actually afraid that my size will change. I realized I can't buy any swimsuits, or pants, stuff that might or will change in 6 months. And I've gone a bit shoe crazy this year - in fact I need to let some go.
Really, the prize I want is for someone to tell me that I shouldn't take the Tamoxifen. That I need nothing else other than what I'm doing. Even if I'm told to stop drinking alcohol and coffee, even if I have to go vegetarian (maybe one steak a month? Please?) Anything to stay away from chronic medication.
Here goes... last sips... have a great weekend!
Meanwhile, back in the studio...
I have 2 projects to work on with little direction. Good and bad. Both are tracks basically without horns. Both with no sketches, charts or ideas. I worked on one last night and have to try and complete it tonight. I'm excited about that one because it's a new artist that is super kick-ass, and I'm feeling like family already.
The other? An old friend asked if I would do it for his brother. This friend was my intern many, many years ago in a studio - he has since done well for himself as a composer. We haven't always seen eye to eye, but obviously we respect each other's work. So when I called him to ask for a tiny bit of direction, I found out that his brother wrote a bunch of tunes 10 years ago, was diagnosed with cancer (lymphoma) and HIV, and was told he would die. He went through hell and back, and survived, so now he wants to record all of this music. Now I have to do it! Holy shit. And I complain about MY cancer? Shoo.
On the burn victim status: I have peeled an entire layer of dead skin, well, most of it. It looks pink and disgusting. But I can move more easily because the tightness of that blackened skin is gone. I had some stinging in the shower this morning, but nothing I couldn't handle with a bunch of four letter words under my breath. I know, it is supposed to be SINGING in the shower, but I didn't want to wake up hubby or girlie (I get up super early, get ready , practice a bit and THEN get her up! Yes, it's a very early morning for me, daily).
First day back in the gym since I don't know when. My pit hurts so much when I sweat, plus the whole unable to move and exhausted from the freaking radiation... well, today I worked my legs and did cardio for about 30 minutes. No real sweating so I made it. It's weird. I have to wear sleeves to cover the nastiness. I don't get to lift or push heavy things with my arms. I'm a girl. Jesus, has it come to this???
But I did it.
Now I'm home, having an iced coffee and a rice cake with fig honey (try it - trust me!), trying to rev up for more recording. I really want to get cozy, make popcorn, and watch a movie with a nice glass of Schmailey's. If I happen to finish this tune, I will.
I haven't seen my adorable hubby now for 3 days - except this afternoon for a few minutes. He's out again - working a LOT this week - and will be home around 1 or 2 am. I'm going to try and stay awake, but I've been so "Radiantly Exhausted" that I've actually fallen into a decent sleep pattern - with the help of sleep aids. But I need them for now. I've been switching between things, and am doing well again on the melatonin, though last night I took Advil PM because the skin is torturing me as it's peeling and healing. Suck ass, no?
Ok, a few more sips of iced coffee and I really need to motivate. I need a prize, like a new Wii game or some shit. It worked to motivate my girl to study. What should I reward myself with? It's harder as an adult, especially with your own biz, your own hours, your own rules. I just hate cramming for the test and I want time to fix things or change things. Prize... (besides the whole popcorn and Schmailey's thing...) any ideas? Anyone? All I can think of is shit like cleaning my own home, or organizing my taxes (a disaster for all of my readers who are freelancers!) But that's not a prize, it's more work. Hmmm... can't get a massage or a manicure. I picked up some new clothes recently for the burn issue (owchies) and really don't need more - I'm actually afraid that my size will change. I realized I can't buy any swimsuits, or pants, stuff that might or will change in 6 months. And I've gone a bit shoe crazy this year - in fact I need to let some go.
Really, the prize I want is for someone to tell me that I shouldn't take the Tamoxifen. That I need nothing else other than what I'm doing. Even if I'm told to stop drinking alcohol and coffee, even if I have to go vegetarian (maybe one steak a month? Please?) Anything to stay away from chronic medication.
Here goes... last sips... have a great weekend!
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Some days, it's more important to say Fuck It.
My girl should still be up studying, but Fuck It.
Big science test tomorrow. Struggled through math.
It gets to a point where she needs to learn that her success in these things rides on her effort, her concentration, and her desire to excel.
I don't know if any of those things are natural to her. I know they weren't for me, I had to learn the hard way and am still learning. So, there ya go.
Fuck It.
I have so many projects to work on but - you guessed it.
I'm so tired and burned and peeling and stupid right now. Best if I go and leaf through a magazine in bed. I get a few, did it to sustain my air milage on a few airlines. Dumbest thing ever, but it is what it is.
I went back to the La Mer today. Noticed some rather disturbing spontaneous bruising, and read that is a side effect of the silvadene. I needed it, but am now really just trying to heal this skin. I'd rather go slow (and at $150/oz., it had better hurry up!!!) and use something that is not detrimental to my health. I mean, do I want to get cancer from that crap???
Riiiiiight.
Dizzy. Exhausted. Frustrated. But, I made a killing goulash tonight, and had some cake and frozen yogurt with my lady. I shouldn't, but I did, and it was awesome. So, there ya have it.
Big science test tomorrow. Struggled through math.
It gets to a point where she needs to learn that her success in these things rides on her effort, her concentration, and her desire to excel.
I don't know if any of those things are natural to her. I know they weren't for me, I had to learn the hard way and am still learning. So, there ya go.
Fuck It.
I have so many projects to work on but - you guessed it.
I'm so tired and burned and peeling and stupid right now. Best if I go and leaf through a magazine in bed. I get a few, did it to sustain my air milage on a few airlines. Dumbest thing ever, but it is what it is.
I went back to the La Mer today. Noticed some rather disturbing spontaneous bruising, and read that is a side effect of the silvadene. I needed it, but am now really just trying to heal this skin. I'd rather go slow (and at $150/oz., it had better hurry up!!!) and use something that is not detrimental to my health. I mean, do I want to get cancer from that crap???
Riiiiiight.
Dizzy. Exhausted. Frustrated. But, I made a killing goulash tonight, and had some cake and frozen yogurt with my lady. I shouldn't, but I did, and it was awesome. So, there ya have it.
Monday, February 18, 2013
Mom? Your armpit looks like the United States!
Apparently, the radiation burn peeling looks patriotic.
It's the least I could do for my country.
I want this shit to heal ASAP. I assume it is, and everyone says it looks worse and feels worse before it gets better.
Fuck that. I'm done. Literally. Well done and beyond.
Ironically, we're going out for Barbecue tonight. Hah. Hah. Uhhhhh...
Despite all of this, I had a lovely weekend with the family and some great friends. My armpit right now is NOT my friend. Hopefully we'll be able to reconcile that relationship soon.
It's the least I could do for my country.
I want this shit to heal ASAP. I assume it is, and everyone says it looks worse and feels worse before it gets better.
Fuck that. I'm done. Literally. Well done and beyond.
Ironically, we're going out for Barbecue tonight. Hah. Hah. Uhhhhh...
Despite all of this, I had a lovely weekend with the family and some great friends. My armpit right now is NOT my friend. Hopefully we'll be able to reconcile that relationship soon.
Saturday, February 16, 2013
Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Oh, and Ow.
My armpit is like a nasty dried up piece of tuna sushi. All red and black and purple and peeling and just NASTY.
Nice visual, 'eh? At least I'm not posting a picture. Heck, I can't bring myself to take a picture of it. Though hubby did a few nights ago - I think it actually looks worse today.
And it feels like crap. It's SO dry, I put all the different creams on and it gets immediately sucked in (after it burns the shit out of the open skin where the dead crap peeled off). I have quite an extensive 4 letter vocabulary. It all comes out when I either take off my clothes or put on the lotion.
Nice visual, 'eh? At least I'm not posting a picture. Heck, I can't bring myself to take a picture of it. Though hubby did a few nights ago - I think it actually looks worse today.
And it feels like crap. It's SO dry, I put all the different creams on and it gets immediately sucked in (after it burns the shit out of the open skin where the dead crap peeled off). I have quite an extensive 4 letter vocabulary. It all comes out when I either take off my clothes or put on the lotion.
Precious, indeed.
I found out recently that a style of sleeve that is apparently in (or on its way out, since I found them on sale!) is called a batwing. It's the perfect "Owch, my fucking armpit is killing me because of the radiation to my lymph nodes, which - by the way - they cut out of my body, so why the hell are they burning me there, too?" top. The problem really lies in the bra. I really do wish that I had a double - because I have a real breast, I have to not only wear a bra (without any bells or whistles, so sports bras are good, but they're not supposed to be tight on the surgery side, what the hell???) but I have to manipulate the real side to match the fake side - because the fake side is completely immobile.
Funny, many people have no clue what's going on, and when they hug me I try to turn to my "real" side, but sometimes they catch me off guard and all I can think is, they must think I'm one of those chicks who is 76% plastic. Then again, if that were really who I was, I would have removed 5 or 6 ribs by now. Mmm. Ribs. Speaking of missing ribs, check her out.
I question so much. Why are there murderers, rapists, etc. that don't have cancer? How is it that every person I've known with cancer has been generally a good human being? Maybe we don't hear about the drug dealers with cancer (and I'm not talking about Breaking Bad, that was after the fact!)
I was checking my yogurt maker's progress and pouring kombucha this morning, clutching my bathrobe so that the burn cream could absorb into my skin, really looking like a little old lady who lost the tie belt to her robe but just had to hobble out to get the Sunday paper, and I hoped no neighbors could see me through the kitchen window. I then wondered how many women in a 2 block radius have been through this, and it just pissed me off when I realized, way too many. And now I'm one of them. Fucking stupid ass cancer.
Yesterday, the magazine was published and hubby and I are on the cover. I'm nervous for THAT many people to know what's up, but it has to be done. And I will feel better not hiding anymore. I think,
Fuck.
We have a brunch planned with a good friend who's in from LA - and ironically, I found out a month or so ago that he started a fundraiser - raising cash for breast cancer research. Small world, no?
Then, an oyster date with a lovely couple.
And all I can think is: "Shit, I have to wear a bra".
And this, folks, is my life until the burning and stinging and pain are gone. But the more I live my life, the harder it is to physically heal. But if I stay home all the time, my skin would heal faster and I'd be crazier than ever. No thanks.
Okey dokes, time for makeup. I definitely like to wear a lot of glittery makeup (all natural, of course!) these days - even though I feel like shit, I want to look like I don't!
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
1 left. I should be thrilled, but instead I'm in pain, I'm a frustrated wife and mother, and I want to slam my head through a wall.
Does radiation make someone go absolutely batty?
Tomorrow is my last day.
My skin looks so horrible that I'm afraid to look in the mirror. Really? This shit again? It's almost worse than after surgery when I was afraid to look at my bloody *thing*.
I can't sleep. I'm exhausted, but I can't sleep. Last night I took one ambien and woke up repeatedly. Tonight, I will take as many as I need. Well, up to 3 or 4. Since they are a half dose.
I'm fed up with my daughter. I spend almost every night screaming at her about homework.
Tonight a neighbor told me her friend wanted to meet me. He is a musician. I told hubby and he said, no need for me to go there, he'd go meet the guy. What the fuck? I don't think he understood that she has been telling this guy about me for years. But sure, go meet the guy for me. Oh, and I'll put a casserole in the God-damned oven and tie a pretty bow in my hair and light your fucking cigar.
THIS is why I question my sanity. Am I wrong? Should I have smacked my husband in the head and said, "No, ass hole, he wanted to meet ME. I'm not just a fucking cancer patient, I'm an artist and he's interested in who I am". But no, I let him go meet this dude and ignore the poor little burnt girl who used to be her own person.
My daughter, that's another issue. She's 11. She spent the last 2 days with her good for nothing father. The sperm donor. Naturally after 2 days, he has turned her into a helpless brat who blames everyone and everything for all of her problems. Just like him. In fact, we got an email from her math teacher today, and his response was to email me to give me permission to tell her that "this is how Republicans act". Um, seriously? What does that even mean? He is teaching her to be like him. Which means, eventually she will probably get kicked out of highschool, barely get her GED, and spend her life trying to get everyone else to pay her way.
Fuck that.
So, yeah, I'm thrilled that tomorrow is my last radiation. I just hope they turn the beams on high and fucking kill me already.
If I don't die tomorrow in the Star Trek Torture Chamber, maybe my daughter will see the light (pun not intended) and realize that her father is a waste, and life would suck if she grew up like him - with a huge ego and the only actual skill he has is the ability to be a waste of a human life.
Ok, that feels better.
Was hubby trying to help? I don't even know. How is that possible? Help me by meeting someone who asked to meet me? Is it ego? Is it oblivion?
All I know is I need a fucking glass of wine. Now.
Tomorrow is my last day.
My skin looks so horrible that I'm afraid to look in the mirror. Really? This shit again? It's almost worse than after surgery when I was afraid to look at my bloody *thing*.
I can't sleep. I'm exhausted, but I can't sleep. Last night I took one ambien and woke up repeatedly. Tonight, I will take as many as I need. Well, up to 3 or 4. Since they are a half dose.
I'm fed up with my daughter. I spend almost every night screaming at her about homework.
Tonight a neighbor told me her friend wanted to meet me. He is a musician. I told hubby and he said, no need for me to go there, he'd go meet the guy. What the fuck? I don't think he understood that she has been telling this guy about me for years. But sure, go meet the guy for me. Oh, and I'll put a casserole in the God-damned oven and tie a pretty bow in my hair and light your fucking cigar.
THIS is why I question my sanity. Am I wrong? Should I have smacked my husband in the head and said, "No, ass hole, he wanted to meet ME. I'm not just a fucking cancer patient, I'm an artist and he's interested in who I am". But no, I let him go meet this dude and ignore the poor little burnt girl who used to be her own person.
My daughter, that's another issue. She's 11. She spent the last 2 days with her good for nothing father. The sperm donor. Naturally after 2 days, he has turned her into a helpless brat who blames everyone and everything for all of her problems. Just like him. In fact, we got an email from her math teacher today, and his response was to email me to give me permission to tell her that "this is how Republicans act". Um, seriously? What does that even mean? He is teaching her to be like him. Which means, eventually she will probably get kicked out of highschool, barely get her GED, and spend her life trying to get everyone else to pay her way.
Fuck that.
So, yeah, I'm thrilled that tomorrow is my last radiation. I just hope they turn the beams on high and fucking kill me already.
If I don't die tomorrow in the Star Trek Torture Chamber, maybe my daughter will see the light (pun not intended) and realize that her father is a waste, and life would suck if she grew up like him - with a huge ego and the only actual skill he has is the ability to be a waste of a human life.
Ok, that feels better.
Was hubby trying to help? I don't even know. How is that possible? Help me by meeting someone who asked to meet me? Is it ego? Is it oblivion?
All I know is I need a fucking glass of wine. Now.
Monday, February 11, 2013
2 to go. Come on, skin, hang on for a few more torture sessions...
Had a late appointment due to software upgrade at the hospital. I couldn't help but say Good Morning to all my usual suspects even though it was 4pm!
Had my zaps. Bitched about my peeling skin. Got some gauze and a promise for a new silvadene prescription tomorrow. My jar is over half empty and we just got it Thursday evening! I'm tempted to use sparingly tonight just in case, but fuck it. I'd better get my refill tomorrow. The skin is open under my armpit, and of course, that's where you sweat. And of course, sweat has salt. Stingstingstingsting.
I have a recording session Wednesday. Talk about sweating! That happens to be my last treatment as well - if my girl is well enough, she and hubby are coming along for her science project, and also to celebrate the end of an era. I'm sure she'll be ok with being a little late for class!
Got my hormones revved today - every morning I walk by Subway and I smell fresh baking (crappy ) bread (product) and I think, mmmmm. Today, since I was alone for dinner and walking by after treatment at almost 5pm, I walked in and got a BMT with mayo. My hormones are screaming, stomach growling, so I figured, go for it. I haven't had one of these in maybe a year? I don't know. It was perfect. I also enjoyed 3 home baked cookies after. These damned hormones. But I know what it is, and it's fine.
I can't wait until my skin heals up. I am so looking forward to sweating again (gym) without wanting to cry. I'm looking forward to being able to think clearly. To not be perpetually exhausted. To be able to sleep through the night. My exhaustion and inability to sleep just don't make sense. But, here I am. I think it's time to curl up with the kitties in bed and watch something dumb and try to sleep. What the hell. I could lie and say I'm going to try and accomplish something tonight, but as far as I know, I've accomplished fulfilling my hormonal cravings, and keeping it under 2,000 calories!
Had my zaps. Bitched about my peeling skin. Got some gauze and a promise for a new silvadene prescription tomorrow. My jar is over half empty and we just got it Thursday evening! I'm tempted to use sparingly tonight just in case, but fuck it. I'd better get my refill tomorrow. The skin is open under my armpit, and of course, that's where you sweat. And of course, sweat has salt. Stingstingstingsting.
I have a recording session Wednesday. Talk about sweating! That happens to be my last treatment as well - if my girl is well enough, she and hubby are coming along for her science project, and also to celebrate the end of an era. I'm sure she'll be ok with being a little late for class!
Got my hormones revved today - every morning I walk by Subway and I smell fresh baking (crappy ) bread (product) and I think, mmmmm. Today, since I was alone for dinner and walking by after treatment at almost 5pm, I walked in and got a BMT with mayo. My hormones are screaming, stomach growling, so I figured, go for it. I haven't had one of these in maybe a year? I don't know. It was perfect. I also enjoyed 3 home baked cookies after. These damned hormones. But I know what it is, and it's fine.
I can't wait until my skin heals up. I am so looking forward to sweating again (gym) without wanting to cry. I'm looking forward to being able to think clearly. To not be perpetually exhausted. To be able to sleep through the night. My exhaustion and inability to sleep just don't make sense. But, here I am. I think it's time to curl up with the kitties in bed and watch something dumb and try to sleep. What the hell. I could lie and say I'm going to try and accomplish something tonight, but as far as I know, I've accomplished fulfilling my hormonal cravings, and keeping it under 2,000 calories!
Sunday, February 10, 2013
Cookie Weekend.
Given my flight cancellation plus PMS, we baked 3 batches of my mom's super duper chocolate chip cookies this weekend. All were meant for the Cancer team at Beth Israel, but one batch came out too thin (the batter was too warm), so, sadly, we had to keep them. Actually, my favorite cookie texture, crunchy and thin. The other batches came out beautiful, fortunately ( or not, hah!)
It was an intense weekend. After having missed 4 days of school due to a terrible cold and fever, we were off to the races. My girl does NOT like homework, tries to do minimal work or avoid. I basically told her she had to do her best, I'd be checking, and after each assignment we'd set the timer for 15 minutes of video games. It totally worked. She beat my ass in Mario Kart but not by much - she did quality homework, and though she has more to do (it's not due yet but I didn't tell her) she's well on her way to being totally caught up. She'll be with her dad tomorrow night so hopefully she will do what I asked in her math book. It was a LOT. But it was supposed to be done.
So my day has consisted of, kissing hubby goodbye for his few days upstate teaching, drinking 3 cups of coffee and a bunch of water, homework, video games, baking cookies, and eating hot and sour soup and cookies. I feel slightly unbalanced, but considering I'm in the middle of raging PMS, I'm doing GREAT. I didn't once lose it today with my kid - no yelling, no frustration (that was, due in part to her magically good spirits and cooperation... where did I go right?) And I didn't really gorge on much. Ok, the cookies? Maybe not the best lunch. But again - hormones.
I also have been wearing hubby's most disgusting workout tank top. The armholes are so sweated up (it's clean but old) that they feel plastic. He had one that was worse but I was afraid it would actually cut into my burn. Not kidding. But this awful top allows me to put cream on my burn space, gives my armpit plenty of breathing room, and I look like an ass hole. Everybody wins!
Wait... what?
Anyway, my daughter kept looking at my fake boob, it's tan and super freckled. She thought it was cute, how freckley it is. She also really feels for my armpit, the peeling and pain. But I told her it's a small price to pay to burn the cancer away. She believes it. Do I? I'm on the fence. I have been this whole time. If I didn't have her? I wouldn't have gone through this. With her in my life, there was no question. If I were "just me", meaning not a mom, I would have gone super hippy-dippy and probably headed to The Ann Wigmore Institute. I was so interested in her in the early '90's. I even started sprouting and making weird fermented things.
Oh, wait. I'm doing that now. But, seriously. I would have gone there and immersed myself in their live food protocol until the cancer was gone or I was gone. I was so against all this barbaric crap called modern medicine until I had a kid, and I had to be here. I couldn't take a chance with things that only I seemed to believe in. I have worked them into my life, but I also had major surgery, I've been turned into a human barbecue. And soon, I'll be a guinea pig taking medication that will turn me into a 70 year old woman. I'm STILL on the fence about the pills. I've always told hubby that these "studies" that are released aren't the whole truth. They're what companies benefit from.
And then I came across this. Read the article, but also watch the TED Talk. Now, hubby is a huge fan of TED talks, so this might get his attention. I keep telling him that I find snippets and pieces of tamoxifen studies around the 'net that say women drop like flies out of the tests because the side effects are so super ass-sucking that they want to kill themselves. He wants me to live. I do too. But taking medication for 5-10 years that will turn me into a broken boned, achy, menopausal, sweaty, fat, cranky old lady with uterine cancer and no will to live (I added that symptom as a result of the others) is not my idea of a good time. I'm a young woman. I look and act younger than I am. I love my life and family. I'm active. I'm fun. I'm athletic. I'm an artist. I'm a mom. I'm a wife.
That shit sounds like a crazy old cat lady who hoards.
Disclaimer: We have 2 cats.
Disclaimer: I have a lot of shoes.
But no, we're not hoarders or crazy cat people. We're a newleywed couple with an 11 year old here and a 17 year old elsewhere. We have finally found our matches in each other. We laugh a lot. We joke. We're each others best friends. Yesterday, we lay in bed talking about everything and nothing, waiting for my girl to wake up. Just laid there and talked. As if we were catching up from not seeing each other for years. But this happens every time we see each other. If I start turning into the cranky old cat lady hoarder, that shit will end. I will turn into Grumpy Cat. But not as cute.
3 treatments left. I'm so scared that my shit is going to completely fall apart.
Tomorrow my treatment may not happen. Software upgrade. No morning appointments so they moved me to afternoon/eve. But that means I won't be able to put any cream on all day, and I'll have very little recovery time. If they think it's a good idea, I'll go ahead and roll through. Sounds like too much chaos, maybe my doc was right in telling me to just can Monday and extend another day. I'm just so excited to be done Wednesday (and go to a recording session where nobody knows how fucking sick and tired I am of cancer, but that's part of the fun! Anonymously Super Sick!)
The magazine is going to be published end of next week. Yes, it's a February issue but they're a bit Euro about it. So when that happens, everyone will know, but by then, I'll have gotten through first major surgery, recovery, radiation... all that's left is heinous cat lady hoarder meds and reconstruction!
meow.
It was an intense weekend. After having missed 4 days of school due to a terrible cold and fever, we were off to the races. My girl does NOT like homework, tries to do minimal work or avoid. I basically told her she had to do her best, I'd be checking, and after each assignment we'd set the timer for 15 minutes of video games. It totally worked. She beat my ass in Mario Kart but not by much - she did quality homework, and though she has more to do (it's not due yet but I didn't tell her) she's well on her way to being totally caught up. She'll be with her dad tomorrow night so hopefully she will do what I asked in her math book. It was a LOT. But it was supposed to be done.
So my day has consisted of, kissing hubby goodbye for his few days upstate teaching, drinking 3 cups of coffee and a bunch of water, homework, video games, baking cookies, and eating hot and sour soup and cookies. I feel slightly unbalanced, but considering I'm in the middle of raging PMS, I'm doing GREAT. I didn't once lose it today with my kid - no yelling, no frustration (that was, due in part to her magically good spirits and cooperation... where did I go right?) And I didn't really gorge on much. Ok, the cookies? Maybe not the best lunch. But again - hormones.
I also have been wearing hubby's most disgusting workout tank top. The armholes are so sweated up (it's clean but old) that they feel plastic. He had one that was worse but I was afraid it would actually cut into my burn. Not kidding. But this awful top allows me to put cream on my burn space, gives my armpit plenty of breathing room, and I look like an ass hole. Everybody wins!
Wait... what?
Anyway, my daughter kept looking at my fake boob, it's tan and super freckled. She thought it was cute, how freckley it is. She also really feels for my armpit, the peeling and pain. But I told her it's a small price to pay to burn the cancer away. She believes it. Do I? I'm on the fence. I have been this whole time. If I didn't have her? I wouldn't have gone through this. With her in my life, there was no question. If I were "just me", meaning not a mom, I would have gone super hippy-dippy and probably headed to The Ann Wigmore Institute. I was so interested in her in the early '90's. I even started sprouting and making weird fermented things.
Oh, wait. I'm doing that now. But, seriously. I would have gone there and immersed myself in their live food protocol until the cancer was gone or I was gone. I was so against all this barbaric crap called modern medicine until I had a kid, and I had to be here. I couldn't take a chance with things that only I seemed to believe in. I have worked them into my life, but I also had major surgery, I've been turned into a human barbecue. And soon, I'll be a guinea pig taking medication that will turn me into a 70 year old woman. I'm STILL on the fence about the pills. I've always told hubby that these "studies" that are released aren't the whole truth. They're what companies benefit from.
And then I came across this. Read the article, but also watch the TED Talk. Now, hubby is a huge fan of TED talks, so this might get his attention. I keep telling him that I find snippets and pieces of tamoxifen studies around the 'net that say women drop like flies out of the tests because the side effects are so super ass-sucking that they want to kill themselves. He wants me to live. I do too. But taking medication for 5-10 years that will turn me into a broken boned, achy, menopausal, sweaty, fat, cranky old lady with uterine cancer and no will to live (I added that symptom as a result of the others) is not my idea of a good time. I'm a young woman. I look and act younger than I am. I love my life and family. I'm active. I'm fun. I'm athletic. I'm an artist. I'm a mom. I'm a wife.
That shit sounds like a crazy old cat lady who hoards.
Disclaimer: We have 2 cats.
Disclaimer: I have a lot of shoes.
But no, we're not hoarders or crazy cat people. We're a newleywed couple with an 11 year old here and a 17 year old elsewhere. We have finally found our matches in each other. We laugh a lot. We joke. We're each others best friends. Yesterday, we lay in bed talking about everything and nothing, waiting for my girl to wake up. Just laid there and talked. As if we were catching up from not seeing each other for years. But this happens every time we see each other. If I start turning into the cranky old cat lady hoarder, that shit will end. I will turn into Grumpy Cat. But not as cute.
3 treatments left. I'm so scared that my shit is going to completely fall apart.
Tomorrow my treatment may not happen. Software upgrade. No morning appointments so they moved me to afternoon/eve. But that means I won't be able to put any cream on all day, and I'll have very little recovery time. If they think it's a good idea, I'll go ahead and roll through. Sounds like too much chaos, maybe my doc was right in telling me to just can Monday and extend another day. I'm just so excited to be done Wednesday (and go to a recording session where nobody knows how fucking sick and tired I am of cancer, but that's part of the fun! Anonymously Super Sick!)
The magazine is going to be published end of next week. Yes, it's a February issue but they're a bit Euro about it. So when that happens, everyone will know, but by then, I'll have gotten through first major surgery, recovery, radiation... all that's left is heinous cat lady hoarder meds and reconstruction!
meow.
Friday, February 8, 2013
Flight cancelled. Raging hormones. Burnt boobie.
Well, my flight(s) were cancelled. While I'll miss the fun times and the paycheck, I'm glad to be grounded at home rather than struggling to get to the airport early tomorrow, most likely to be turned away since SO many flights have been cancelled already! We're apparently rescheduling the concert - by we I mean they, and hopefully I will remain "first call" by then (and I only say this because I was recently told of my status). Does it mean anything? Not really. Does it feel good? Of course. So I'll be first call until whenever. I hope to hang onto it for as long as the act stays intact. But - the good news, I was petrified to get on stage and shake my groove thang. I was afraid that the costume would rub against my burn. That my skin would peel off like a banana. Mmmm. Banana flambe. Though it's more like melon, but the whole skin peeling reference loses it's shimmer.
Well, there goes an almost funny moment down the toilet.
The silvadene seems to be working ok. But I woke up in terrifying pain last night thinking that my arm had snapped off at my burnt pit. You know, when you roast a chicken and snap off the leg and thigh combo? That's what I had pictured as I lay in bed 97% asleep, wincing in pain. I am wondering if some bag balm tonight might be in order - perhaps on top of the silvadene, to keep it a little more goopy so that my skin doesn't completely dry out like last night. I'm having a bit more peeling, but not a ton.
This snowstorm is so interesting. There's no snow in our streets now. I know other areas are hit hard, but being in a busy section of a busy city, the plows are driving around dragging on concrete. *CRINGE* I assume they're throwing salt around, too. I'm just glad to not be flagging a cab down early tomorrow - it would never happen, especially if the snow does what the weather people are anticipating!
So I over ate, due to my hormone insanity at the moment. The interesting thing is that my PMS seems to be less and less emotional. Perhaps the radiation is zapping my anger right out of me through the peeling skin. But damn, I'm hungrier than ever. A typical phrase that I use for about 2 weeks a month (and for those of you who are mathletes out there, that would be 50%!): "I'M SO HORMONAL!"
Luckily for hubs, that does not usually mean frying pans being hurled at his nuts. Usually it's me hunting for candy and chips.
I think I doubled my caloric intake tonight. That combined with the lack of exercise will surely work it's magic on my girlish figure. You'd think that the radiation team practically lighting my breast on fire every morning would burn a few extra calories, no?
No.
Well, shit. So I'm fat and burnt and hormonal. At least I have my health. Oh, crap.
The good news about cancer: I've increased my alcohol tolerance. Now I can handle more than 2 thimbles full of wine in an evening. Is that an accomplishment? I'll drink to that.
Well, there goes an almost funny moment down the toilet.
The silvadene seems to be working ok. But I woke up in terrifying pain last night thinking that my arm had snapped off at my burnt pit. You know, when you roast a chicken and snap off the leg and thigh combo? That's what I had pictured as I lay in bed 97% asleep, wincing in pain. I am wondering if some bag balm tonight might be in order - perhaps on top of the silvadene, to keep it a little more goopy so that my skin doesn't completely dry out like last night. I'm having a bit more peeling, but not a ton.
This snowstorm is so interesting. There's no snow in our streets now. I know other areas are hit hard, but being in a busy section of a busy city, the plows are driving around dragging on concrete. *CRINGE* I assume they're throwing salt around, too. I'm just glad to not be flagging a cab down early tomorrow - it would never happen, especially if the snow does what the weather people are anticipating!
So I over ate, due to my hormone insanity at the moment. The interesting thing is that my PMS seems to be less and less emotional. Perhaps the radiation is zapping my anger right out of me through the peeling skin. But damn, I'm hungrier than ever. A typical phrase that I use for about 2 weeks a month (and for those of you who are mathletes out there, that would be 50%!): "I'M SO HORMONAL!"
Luckily for hubs, that does not usually mean frying pans being hurled at his nuts. Usually it's me hunting for candy and chips.
I think I doubled my caloric intake tonight. That combined with the lack of exercise will surely work it's magic on my girlish figure. You'd think that the radiation team practically lighting my breast on fire every morning would burn a few extra calories, no?
No.
Well, shit. So I'm fat and burnt and hormonal. At least I have my health. Oh, crap.
The good news about cancer: I've increased my alcohol tolerance. Now I can handle more than 2 thimbles full of wine in an evening. Is that an accomplishment? I'll drink to that.
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Burn, Baby, Burn!
So, my armpit is officially peeling. It looks like my left tittie took my left armpit on a secret vacation. To the SUN. Hay-Suess almighty.
Got a prescription for this cream Silvadene today. It's thick and messy, so I'm not sure if I can use it other than at night. But hopefully it will help.
Took an ambien at 4:20. It's now 6:40. Huh. I guess another is in order. Or a drink. Or both.
Had a nutritious dinner of homemade popcorn with nutritional yeast, a bowl of maple sugar cereal that I should never eat (and I want more!) and 2 small brownies from the batch this weekend. I sure hope I'm running a marathon tomorrow! Now I'm craving buttered toast, something I've never wanted, ever, but it's been happening on a daily basis recently. What is it that I need?
6 more treatments. I really am worried about my skin holding up. What if it rips before I'm done? It already did on my pit. I'm sure it's gonna be hella painful now. It wasn't a party, anyway - but now? This is some sick-ass shit. Who invented this, anyway???
Got a prescription for this cream Silvadene today. It's thick and messy, so I'm not sure if I can use it other than at night. But hopefully it will help.
Took an ambien at 4:20. It's now 6:40. Huh. I guess another is in order. Or a drink. Or both.
Had a nutritious dinner of homemade popcorn with nutritional yeast, a bowl of maple sugar cereal that I should never eat (and I want more!) and 2 small brownies from the batch this weekend. I sure hope I'm running a marathon tomorrow! Now I'm craving buttered toast, something I've never wanted, ever, but it's been happening on a daily basis recently. What is it that I need?
6 more treatments. I really am worried about my skin holding up. What if it rips before I'm done? It already did on my pit. I'm sure it's gonna be hella painful now. It wasn't a party, anyway - but now? This is some sick-ass shit. Who invented this, anyway???
Monday, February 4, 2013
Ambien Fail.
Told the doc today, I took it at 7:30 and was up until about 2, proceeded to wake up every hour until my alarm at 6:45.
Today I took one at 5:30. I felt a little woozy but it's worn off 2 hours later. I may take another. He did say it was a low dose, like a half dose. And, I confirmed that if I enjoy a glass of wine with said pill, it will not kill me.
I've been really out of sorts. 7 more BBQ sessions and I'll be some massive burnt ends. My head tingles and can not construct a sentence. Typing is easy, I can edit. Speaking? The shit that pours out of my mouth. Weird.
Also, I'm teary. Is it the PMS? I don't know. Literally, I will be walking down the street, listening to tunes, and start tearing up, like I'm going to bawl like a baby. I can stop myself because I'm not with anyone who might say "Oh no! What's wrong, Dear Cancer Patient???" So that's something. But seriously, this spontaneous crying shit is not cute. First, my makeup runs. Second, my eyes get redder than they are from lack of sleep. Third, I look like someone with a horrible illness.
Off I go to bed with a little wine. 7 more. 7 more. Please, let my skin stay together for that long. I've been using La Mer 2-3 times a day as well as calendula. Today, at my desk, I had no shame. When nobody was around I'd simply slop it on under my shirt. Really, it's not even a breast anymore. I didn't feel like walking to the bathroom to do it. The skin is burning hot and tight. It feels like my encapsulated expander is all squished up. I'm afraid I might spring a damn leak.
Flight Saturday. Hoping for no problems at security. The last thing I need is someone trying to feel up my burned skin. And the magnet in the expander... will that do something awful? Beeeeep! "Hey, this one seems to have a metal nipple." Fuck. I'm going to dress entirely in pink ribbons so they KNOW I have cancer. Give me a fucking break. I'm imagining the worst. Stop it. Stupid Cancer Chick.
Ok, off to sip wine and watch something mindless. Nip Tuck has been a nice choice. Watching elective surgery is fascinating.
Today I took one at 5:30. I felt a little woozy but it's worn off 2 hours later. I may take another. He did say it was a low dose, like a half dose. And, I confirmed that if I enjoy a glass of wine with said pill, it will not kill me.
I've been really out of sorts. 7 more BBQ sessions and I'll be some massive burnt ends. My head tingles and can not construct a sentence. Typing is easy, I can edit. Speaking? The shit that pours out of my mouth. Weird.
Also, I'm teary. Is it the PMS? I don't know. Literally, I will be walking down the street, listening to tunes, and start tearing up, like I'm going to bawl like a baby. I can stop myself because I'm not with anyone who might say "Oh no! What's wrong, Dear Cancer Patient???" So that's something. But seriously, this spontaneous crying shit is not cute. First, my makeup runs. Second, my eyes get redder than they are from lack of sleep. Third, I look like someone with a horrible illness.
Off I go to bed with a little wine. 7 more. 7 more. Please, let my skin stay together for that long. I've been using La Mer 2-3 times a day as well as calendula. Today, at my desk, I had no shame. When nobody was around I'd simply slop it on under my shirt. Really, it's not even a breast anymore. I didn't feel like walking to the bathroom to do it. The skin is burning hot and tight. It feels like my encapsulated expander is all squished up. I'm afraid I might spring a damn leak.
Flight Saturday. Hoping for no problems at security. The last thing I need is someone trying to feel up my burned skin. And the magnet in the expander... will that do something awful? Beeeeep! "Hey, this one seems to have a metal nipple." Fuck. I'm going to dress entirely in pink ribbons so they KNOW I have cancer. Give me a fucking break. I'm imagining the worst. Stop it. Stupid Cancer Chick.
Ok, off to sip wine and watch something mindless. Nip Tuck has been a nice choice. Watching elective surgery is fascinating.
Sunday, February 3, 2013
Superbowl, Schmooperbowl. Where's my titty at??
Yeah. I'm apathetic.
Actually, I was supposed to be there - but the contract sucked butt. And I couldn't fulfill it given my medical malarky. I'm actually thrilled though - it would have turned my life upside down, and with my daughter at 11 and becoming a really hormonal insane bundle of joy at times, and stubborn moodiness at others, I can't go away for too long. And I can't turn my life upside down and be someone's puppet.
So, today, I am feeling like the top of my foobie is contracting. Like, it's saying Fuck You, Bitch - in it's own special way. I feel twitching. Is it the burned skin? I almost feel like there is a little dude living inside, trying to get out. Perhaps like in the movies, when one gets stuffed into the trunk of a car - they find a way to stick their hand out and wave to let drivers know that there is a GODDAMMED PERSON IN THE TRUNK OF AN INSANE PERSON'S CAR!!! Some little thing is swimming around in my Age of Aquarium, trying to bust a move.
I haven't been able to sleep well since radiation started. Really, since diagnosis, but each level has it's own dysfunction in sleep. So doc prescribed Ambien at the lowest dose. Ever. I finally got to the drug store to pick it up. $10 copay. Again, thank goodness for insurance. Otherwise, I'd be knocking myself out with a bottle of wine and melatonin pills, and I still wouldn't sleep. I popped one just now. It's only 7:40, but I need to have my flabby ass out of bed before 7am, and if this stuff truly knocks me out, I'll never want to get up. Ever. Because I'm sleep deprived since August. It's fucking February. That's half a year. Is the year half empty or half full? Who gives a crap. I can't see straight or complete a sentence without sounding like an idiot. Today, I was talking to my girl about what to do for Valentines day for hubby. I called it Thanksgiving and had NO idea that I said the wrong holiday. We laughed thinking about me buying a turkey for the special day. Hey, cranberries are red.
Later, she said something odd, and said that maybe she was catching my radiation brain. Please, child, do not catch Mom's laser induced stupidity. Someone has to be able to think around here, and it sure as hell ain't me.
Science projects. We started one - she gets to do 2 a trimester. Today, we started a rock candy thing. Like the child needs sugar... but I wanted her to be motivated. Sometimes, she wants me to spoon feed her everything, and I just let her work. I hope it makes the damned candy, but if not we have time to figure out another project.
But for #2 - I had the idea to let her come to a radiation session. I go before school, she'd be a bit late for her first class (and she is NOT crying about that!) but I'm going to ask the doc and techies if it's cool. I did get the ok for her to come, but I want her to be able to interview them too. Sure beats the invisible ink trick! (Ok, we did that one last trimester).
I'm trying to keep my brain moving by playing "words with friends". Sometimes I do surprisingly well, sometimes I look at the easiest stuff right in front of my face, and I can't even make sense of the letters. God... 8 more treatments. I'm a disaster. And on top of it all, I'm HORMONAL! PMS officially starts tomorrow, by my app, but tonight I consumed at least double my calories. I felt full but kept chowing. That's how my hormones work, but also - I'm constantly running on fumes and my body just craves calories. That's one reason I hope this ambien kicks my ass just enough to rest at night. I can not handle being a zombie all day, though nothing would be much different, right?
Ok, off to watch some Breaking Bad. Maybe that's too heavy for my head tonight. Is Beverly Hills 90210 on Netflix?
UPDATE! It's 9:15 and I don't feel shit. Ambien, Schmambien.
Actually, I was supposed to be there - but the contract sucked butt. And I couldn't fulfill it given my medical malarky. I'm actually thrilled though - it would have turned my life upside down, and with my daughter at 11 and becoming a really hormonal insane bundle of joy at times, and stubborn moodiness at others, I can't go away for too long. And I can't turn my life upside down and be someone's puppet.
So, today, I am feeling like the top of my foobie is contracting. Like, it's saying Fuck You, Bitch - in it's own special way. I feel twitching. Is it the burned skin? I almost feel like there is a little dude living inside, trying to get out. Perhaps like in the movies, when one gets stuffed into the trunk of a car - they find a way to stick their hand out and wave to let drivers know that there is a GODDAMMED PERSON IN THE TRUNK OF AN INSANE PERSON'S CAR!!! Some little thing is swimming around in my Age of Aquarium, trying to bust a move.
I haven't been able to sleep well since radiation started. Really, since diagnosis, but each level has it's own dysfunction in sleep. So doc prescribed Ambien at the lowest dose. Ever. I finally got to the drug store to pick it up. $10 copay. Again, thank goodness for insurance. Otherwise, I'd be knocking myself out with a bottle of wine and melatonin pills, and I still wouldn't sleep. I popped one just now. It's only 7:40, but I need to have my flabby ass out of bed before 7am, and if this stuff truly knocks me out, I'll never want to get up. Ever. Because I'm sleep deprived since August. It's fucking February. That's half a year. Is the year half empty or half full? Who gives a crap. I can't see straight or complete a sentence without sounding like an idiot. Today, I was talking to my girl about what to do for Valentines day for hubby. I called it Thanksgiving and had NO idea that I said the wrong holiday. We laughed thinking about me buying a turkey for the special day. Hey, cranberries are red.
Later, she said something odd, and said that maybe she was catching my radiation brain. Please, child, do not catch Mom's laser induced stupidity. Someone has to be able to think around here, and it sure as hell ain't me.
Science projects. We started one - she gets to do 2 a trimester. Today, we started a rock candy thing. Like the child needs sugar... but I wanted her to be motivated. Sometimes, she wants me to spoon feed her everything, and I just let her work. I hope it makes the damned candy, but if not we have time to figure out another project.
But for #2 - I had the idea to let her come to a radiation session. I go before school, she'd be a bit late for her first class (and she is NOT crying about that!) but I'm going to ask the doc and techies if it's cool. I did get the ok for her to come, but I want her to be able to interview them too. Sure beats the invisible ink trick! (Ok, we did that one last trimester).
I'm trying to keep my brain moving by playing "words with friends". Sometimes I do surprisingly well, sometimes I look at the easiest stuff right in front of my face, and I can't even make sense of the letters. God... 8 more treatments. I'm a disaster. And on top of it all, I'm HORMONAL! PMS officially starts tomorrow, by my app, but tonight I consumed at least double my calories. I felt full but kept chowing. That's how my hormones work, but also - I'm constantly running on fumes and my body just craves calories. That's one reason I hope this ambien kicks my ass just enough to rest at night. I can not handle being a zombie all day, though nothing would be much different, right?
Ok, off to watch some Breaking Bad. Maybe that's too heavy for my head tonight. Is Beverly Hills 90210 on Netflix?
UPDATE! It's 9:15 and I don't feel shit. Ambien, Schmambien.
Friday, February 1, 2013
Made it. I'm still alive, I played my gigs, and I still have cancer. Go figure.
I'm beyond exhausted. Every day, I think, will I be able to wake up tomorrow? Unfortunately, I wake up every hour... doc gave me a prescription for Ambien, a low dose to try, but I was too tired to GO PICK IT UP! What the...
I was musically fulfilled this week for sure. Deliriously tired, and my head has now started to tingle pretty much 'round the clock. I guess it's a cool feeling, but I know it's just my body telling me to fuck off. But it's also sometimes fun - like I'm on some bizarre drugs. I'm losing my ability to think and speak. For the people that I've met recently (and they don't know what I'm going through), they probably just think I'm a space cadet. Maybe I am. Maybe that is my After-Cancer-Status. Perhaps I'm meant to be an airhead. Omigosh, life just got, like, so much easier!
Tonight, I managed to drag my flab-ass to the gym. I got on an elliptical and burned 200 alleged calories in about 40 minutes while watching some bullshit on Dr. Oz about women's secrets that they keep from doctors that they shouldn't. Things like taking lots of caffeine in, bad V.O. (vaginal odor, you can't make this shit up!), that they smoke but tell docs they don't, brushing teeth in the shower, all these weird things. But it was all that my fuzzy head could take, anyway. And I'm glad to not be one of those chicks. Especially the one with V.O. Really, you are ashamed to ask your doc but you go on national TV and tell the world? I think there's something worse than your odiferous crotch, but that just may be the radiation talking.
After the gym, I popped into our local soul food joint to get some fried chicken, plantains, okra, and a slice of red velvet for my daughter and I to split for dinner. I had planned on her eating all of the chicken, but she got full after one leg, so naturally I ate the other. Because radiation is making me more ravenous than usual. And I'm hormonal. It was good, I can't lie. That red velvet cake... DAMN. Glad I only bought one piece. I had a small scoop of frosted flakes (really, Trader Joe brand which is way better) from my daughter's "weekend cereal" (not to be consumed as a meal during the week!) with a spot of almond milk. Still hungry. Methinks I just need to go to sleep and hope to stay asleep. I really wish I'd gotten the energy up to pick up my prescription. Perhaps the hammer inside of my brain will keep banging until nothing is left. Then I'll definitely fall asleep. Owch.
The good news? Well, I'm still a cancerous woman. I feel like one, anyway. But - I only have 8 radiation torture sessions left. It sounds good to everyone but me. I hear that and my expander curls up and cries. My armpit aches. I'm glad I can't feel the place where I once had a breast. That shit would really hurt now. But I'm putting my Creme De la Mer on it 2-3 times a day. It's so expensive and I don't give a shit. I can't cheap out when my reconstruction depends on the care of my skin.
It's been tough trying to dress for gigs. I can only wear a few bras, and no matter what, I always look a little off. Now the skin is getting discolored.
The other day, I was getting my stuff together at the Big Fat Cancer Zapping Club, and an older gentleman looked at me and said, "It's so sad that someone so young has cancer." I told him it was cool, I am just getting it out of the way.
But I know the truth. It'll never be out of the way.
I'm a fucking Cancer Patient.
Forevs.
I'll never stop worrying. Until I die. That'll be a strange sigh of relief, huh?
Stupid Fucking Cancer. Take those broccoli sprouts and shove them up your ass, if you have one!
I was musically fulfilled this week for sure. Deliriously tired, and my head has now started to tingle pretty much 'round the clock. I guess it's a cool feeling, but I know it's just my body telling me to fuck off. But it's also sometimes fun - like I'm on some bizarre drugs. I'm losing my ability to think and speak. For the people that I've met recently (and they don't know what I'm going through), they probably just think I'm a space cadet. Maybe I am. Maybe that is my After-Cancer-Status. Perhaps I'm meant to be an airhead. Omigosh, life just got, like, so much easier!
Tonight, I managed to drag my flab-ass to the gym. I got on an elliptical and burned 200 alleged calories in about 40 minutes while watching some bullshit on Dr. Oz about women's secrets that they keep from doctors that they shouldn't. Things like taking lots of caffeine in, bad V.O. (vaginal odor, you can't make this shit up!), that they smoke but tell docs they don't, brushing teeth in the shower, all these weird things. But it was all that my fuzzy head could take, anyway. And I'm glad to not be one of those chicks. Especially the one with V.O. Really, you are ashamed to ask your doc but you go on national TV and tell the world? I think there's something worse than your odiferous crotch, but that just may be the radiation talking.
After the gym, I popped into our local soul food joint to get some fried chicken, plantains, okra, and a slice of red velvet for my daughter and I to split for dinner. I had planned on her eating all of the chicken, but she got full after one leg, so naturally I ate the other. Because radiation is making me more ravenous than usual. And I'm hormonal. It was good, I can't lie. That red velvet cake... DAMN. Glad I only bought one piece. I had a small scoop of frosted flakes (really, Trader Joe brand which is way better) from my daughter's "weekend cereal" (not to be consumed as a meal during the week!) with a spot of almond milk. Still hungry. Methinks I just need to go to sleep and hope to stay asleep. I really wish I'd gotten the energy up to pick up my prescription. Perhaps the hammer inside of my brain will keep banging until nothing is left. Then I'll definitely fall asleep. Owch.
The good news? Well, I'm still a cancerous woman. I feel like one, anyway. But - I only have 8 radiation torture sessions left. It sounds good to everyone but me. I hear that and my expander curls up and cries. My armpit aches. I'm glad I can't feel the place where I once had a breast. That shit would really hurt now. But I'm putting my Creme De la Mer on it 2-3 times a day. It's so expensive and I don't give a shit. I can't cheap out when my reconstruction depends on the care of my skin.
It's been tough trying to dress for gigs. I can only wear a few bras, and no matter what, I always look a little off. Now the skin is getting discolored.
The other day, I was getting my stuff together at the Big Fat Cancer Zapping Club, and an older gentleman looked at me and said, "It's so sad that someone so young has cancer." I told him it was cool, I am just getting it out of the way.
But I know the truth. It'll never be out of the way.
I'm a fucking Cancer Patient.
Forevs.
I'll never stop worrying. Until I die. That'll be a strange sigh of relief, huh?
Stupid Fucking Cancer. Take those broccoli sprouts and shove them up your ass, if you have one!
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