Enough about breast cancer. For now.

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!

Natural Alternatives to Tamoxifen... this all makes more sense to me than the medication.

http://elynjacobs.wordpress.com/2012/01/15/natural-alternatives-to-tamoxifen/

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!

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.