Tyler, day 1

Posted: July 23, 2011 | Author: | Filed under: baseball, breast cancer | Tags: , , , , , | 2 Comments

We arrived in Tyler safe & sound yesterday, just in time to have dinner with a couple of families from the team at Chili’s. Payton & I had lunch at Chili’s while we waited for Trevor to wrap up some business before hitting the road, so it was deja vu at dinner. I did not get my baby back ribs, as I eschew all foods from the mammalian category, but I did rock out on some guacamole and a cold Dos Equis.

Dawn broke clear, bright, and hot on Tyler, TX today–it’s currently 103 degrees. Gotta love July in the great state of Texas. Certain members of my family laughed at me for toting my Keurig coffeemaker all the way to Tyler, but as we enjoyed robust & delicious coffee in the room first thing this morning, there were no snickers from the peanut gallery. I have been pondering today the beauty that lies in having kids old enough to mainly fend for themselves. As Payton roamed the hotel with teammates, room key & iPhone safely tucked in his pocket, Macy and her two darling friends Mallory and Maddy swam in the pool with minimal supervision. I read my book while inhaling copious amount of chlorine fumes from the indoor pool and recollected on the events at this time last year.

I was not in the garden spot of Tyler TX in this great state’s piney woods, festively observing my firstborn’s maiden voyage of State Championship baseball. I was not languidly enjoying the comfy offerings of the Tyler Marriott, nor partaking of the fellowship of this fine team’s families. No, I was stuck in a hospital bed at the Methodist Sugar Land Hospital, enduring another round of battles vs the wily and energetic post-mastectomy infection. I was unlucky in that sense, but very fortunate indeed in that I had the intrepid Dr S caring for me all weekend, and my partner in crime Amy Hoover looking after me in the hospital. At this time last year, I was recovering from a nasty procedure to excise the infected tissue from my hollowed-out chest wall, along with an epic battle vs the morphine and barfiness that accompanied my formerly favorite pain reliever.

It was the beginning of a long and ugly stretch of history involving a lot of narcotics, a wound vacuum, and seemingly endless struggle. It did not involve watching my favorite boy do that thing he does best alongside the upper echelon of 10-year-old All Star baseball teams.

This time last year, I was going through a particularly challenging version of hell. Receiving a cancer diagnosis at the tender age of 40, with two children aged 8 and 10 and long memories of losing my sweet mama to the big C, was bad. Really bad. But I confronted the beast and did all the right things–schedule and endure all the testing, make the hard decisions, go through the surgery, and face the long, painful recovery. Being slapped with a nosocomial infection added insult to injury, for sure. Being slapped with a difficult-to-diagnose nosocomial infection was even worse, but missing Payton’s trip to the State Championship was the worst part of all.

All of that is behind us now, and I am here. “Here” in the sense of being present, and “here” in the sense of soaking up every second of the experience. Last year I was a distant spectator, following along with the games in a narcotic-induced haze. I was a long way from present, physically and psychologically. This year is a whole new ball game. I’m here, and I’m present in every sense of the word. It’s hot, it’s crowded, and there’s a lot of pressure on our team, but it’s all good. Last year the stakes were high: the boys wore their pink wrist bands in honor of me, and they wanted to win it all. Coming home with 2nd place was an honor to most but considered a failure to my kid. Seeing him walk through the door of my hospital room the day after they lost the championship was sweet for him and for me, but I could feel the weight of his disappointment. He wanted to bring the title home, and storm the hospital bathed in pride. Last summer was hard for all of us. Games were played, battles were fought, and lessons were learned.

This summer it’s all good.

I <3 Fiat!

Posted: July 21, 2011 | Author: | Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , | 3 Comments

This week I’ve had the pleasure of driving a Fiat 500 from Clear Lake Fiat. Oh, how fun!

I love this car.

It’s so cute, so fun, so zippy.

It’s way better than a Smart Car or a Mini Cooper. Much more stylish, and it gets a lot of attention.

I’ve had tons of people ask me this week what kind of car it is. The waiter at my favorite Malaysian restaurant chased my bud Sharon & me outside after lunch because she left her credit card. He took one look at the Fiat, parked right in front, and asked if it was electric. No, not electric but way cool. He expressed in his broken English that he lusted after the Fiat. Big love. I can’t count how many times someone has commented on the Fiat this week.

It’s a teeny little thing. Way smaller than my gas-guzzling SUV. It’s super fun to drive, with its tiny size and rockin’ engine, it feels and sounds like a high-performance sports car. I can’t help making the “nunnn nunnnn” sound when I hear the engine rev; this car is made by the same people who make the Ferrari after all.  I feel like Mario behind the wheel. The other day with Payton in the front seat, we were just like Mario & Luigi.

googleimages.com

Lest I sound like a traitor with all the Fiat love, let me state that I do like my SUV. It’s big, it’s comfy, it wraps me in a loving embrace of protection from any unpleasant jarring or ruts in the road. It allows me to tower over other drivers (something I secretly really dig), and I feel safe in it. But this little Fiat is something else. It possesses few attributes of my SUV but is so much fun I don’t even care. It’s zippy and carefree. Doesn’t everyone want to live a zippy, carefree life? (Get a Fiat, and you can!)

It has a super-tight turning radius and I can whip in and out of any parking space, even if I’m going “up the down staircase” as my sweet mama used to say. Sometimes I park my big ol’ Tahoe at the end of the row of parking spaces and trek to the door of the store, just to make sure I can get in and out easily. No such worries with the Fiat. Any parking space, any time, and no adjusting necessary. 

The hatchback is so lightweight I can easily reach it and shut it with one hand, while the other hand is laden with my tennis bag, a cold beverage, bags of groceries, or the ever-present iPhone. My SUV’s hatch is so wide and so heavy it doesn’t even have a strap for shutting but rather a button to push to close it automatically.

This would be a great car for a teenager. I’m no teenager, but I covet it as my wheels when I’m free of kids, carpool, a Costco haul, baseball gear, and all the flotsam & jetsam that weighs down a suburban mom.

Man, even the wheels are cute on this little baby.

There’s not a car on the market that matches the 500 in stylistic expression. This car scores major style points. The interior is decidedly European, with the seat-adjusting controls on the right instead of the left. Never fear, though–the steering wheel is on the left side. You might start speaking with an Italian accent, but that’s up to you.

Everything inside the Fiat is designed to be stylish and fun. Check out the teensy little dashboard, all rounded like a race car. 

The gear shift on this particular Fiat is automatic, with the option to paddle shift, or shift gears without having to clutch. Personally, I like to clutch as it allows one to peel out if one so chooses, but the paddle shift is a nice option if your hands tend to be full while driving, or if you’re on an incline. 

To paddle shift, you push the gearshift straight down, near the “D” and the plus and minus at the bottom, which allow you to shift and downshift. How many times can I use the word shift in my text? Shift, shift, shift. If you don’t want to paddle shift, push the gearshift down and to the right, and the smart little Fiat will shift for you. It’s the best of both worlds, really.

One word of caution about the Fiat 500: the gas tank is small. Like the rest of it. No junk in the trunk here. The tank is 10.5 gallons. I think my SUV uses that much gas just to get out of the neighborhood. Fuel economy is fantastic in the Fiat: upper 20s in town and mid-30s on the highway. 

One of my favorite things about the Fiat is the round headrests in the backseat. How cool are those? Super chic.

Chic, and safe, too. The European version of the Fiat 500 was awarded a 5-star crash rating, and the US version has had several safety-minded upgrades, making it even safer than the 500s across the Pond.

I’m loving the Fiat. I haven’t even thought about driving my SUV for a week, and once I do, I expect to feel like a stranger in a strange land. I’ll be channeling Gulliver and wishing I was Mario instead. 

Victory after tragedy

Posted: July 19, 2011 | Author: | Filed under: breast cancer, kids | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

I wanted to post something about British Open champion Darren Clarke on Sunday, when he won the tournament, but have been consumed with tournaments and champions in a different sport, so here I am.

I’m not much for watching golf on TV. It’s slow and to me, boring. I consider it an activity, not a sport, and I say that knowing full well I’m torquing a lot of golf fans by doing so. I don’t quibble with the skill involved, but to me if you don’t get sweaty & out of breath doing it, it’s not a sport.

Anyhoo, back to Clarke.

I didn’t pay him or any of the golfers one lick of attention over the weekend. If Freddy Couples isn’t playing, I can’t be bothered. 

Then Trevor told me that Clarke’s wife, Heather, had died from breast cancer. That got my attention. Heather Clarke died in 2006 at age 39 after a recurrence. Her boys were 8 and 5 years old when she died. 

That is my biggest nightmare. And I imagine it’s the biggest nightmare of every mother of young kids who is diagnosed with this damned disease. Recurrence is enough of a nightmare, but dying from BC with young kids at home is even more terrifying. Being diagnosed with cancer at a young age, with young kids still to raise, is hard enough. Worrying about and fearing recurrence adds to the terror that comprises this disease. I don’t care that my odds of avoiding recurrence are good, or that I’m doing all the right things to ensure that this cancer does not return. I was doing all the right things before cancer became the pile of poo in my path, and it still infiltrated my life. So while the numbers and statistics are in my favor, the fear is always in my heart.

During her battles with BC, Darren said of his wife, “My wife is a battler. She fights it so hard and I have so much admiration for her.” He too is a battler, having played in the Davis Cup 6 weeks after Heather died, and winning all 3 of his matches.

At Heather’s funeral on August 17, 2006, the minister remembered Heather as “an unpretentious, lovely girl, who was full of character” and said “that day in March 1996 when you married her here in this church, Darren, you really won the greatest trophy of your life.” The reverend made everyone smile by recalling how she loved to shop while her husband played golf. My kind of girl.

After accepting the British Open trophy on Sunday, Darren Clarke said, “It’s been a long and bumpy road, I have had some good things happen to me and some bad things, but I’ve had so much support from an awful lot of people.” He credited Heather with watching him “from up above” and said, “In terms of what’s going through my heart there’s obviously somebody who is watching down from up above. I know she’d be very proud of me. She’d probably be saying ‘I told you so’. But I think she’d be more proud of my two boys. It’s been a long journey.”

He seems like a really cool guy.  He likes to lift a pint or two, and he’s been known to enjoy a cigar after a round of golf. After winning on Sunday, he partied all night, and he started that party during the post-match press conference by drinking a pint of Guinness while being interviewed. I really like this guy. Being a good father is important to him (take a lesson, Tiger). In an interview with Golf Magazine, he was asked how long it took to return to normal after Heather died. His reply is so honest. Instead of platitudes and false courage, he says:

“Well, what’s normal? It’s still not normal. It can’t be normal when you haven’t got the mother of your kids and my wife at home. I was starting to get back to an even keel probably at the start of this year [2009]. It was a long time. There were some dark moments. God knows things have been difficult for me, but it has been even harder for the boys. It has been tough having to deal with things. And tough being thrown in to being 100 percent responsible for my two kids. I had to start making the decisions for everything for the boys. Making the day-to-day decisions for the boys has been a shock to the system. You don’t realize how much wives have got to do until you’ve got to do it yourself.”

When asked in the same interview if he felt angry about her death, he again answered honestly: “Probably. I’m sure anybody would. You know, Why Heather? Why? Why? Why? There are no answers to that.”

No, there are no answers to that.

All hail the Raiders!

Posted: July 18, 2011 | Author: | Filed under: baseball | Tags: , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

They did it!

The mighty Red Raiders beat the Pearland All Stars 15-6 last night to clinch the Sectional title. Cue the music.

You know what this means, right? We’re going to Tyler.

Payton upheld all of his superstitions for this series: wearing the same pants for each game since the last win, no matter how filthy with infield dirt and grass stains; eating the same meal after each game won; following the same schedule during the day on game days. Macy and I joined in the festivities and put red streaks in our hair for the do-or-die game last night. 

Our mojo definitely worked.

Here’s the local story about last night’s glorious game. Hope you’re smiling as widely as I am after you read it.

What a sweet, sweet victory. Readers of this blog may have heard about the utterly crummy season this girl had last year, and how yours truly missed every bit of the Raiders’ victories and trip to the State Championship.

What a drag. Words fail me as I try to express just how crappy it was to miss all this last summer. I’m not sure if it’s even possible. I have tried, but I know I’ve come up short.

All throughout the All Stars series so far, part of me kept thinking, “wouldn’t it be nice if the boys won District and Sectional, and got to Tyler, again, so that I could see it this time?” But another part reminded that part that it’s not about me. It’s about the 11 boys on this team.

Lucky for me, those 11 boys came through and I WILL get to see it this time. I am one happy baseball mama.

I woke up the night before last, after our team beat the Pearland team to stay alive, thinking about the next game. All day yesterday, the day of the winner-take-all-loser-goes-home game, my thoughts kept turning to baseball. Payton was uncharacteristically nervous yesterday, and had a hard time eating his pre-game meal. Walking up to the fields yesterday, we had to pass the Pearland fans in their bleachers to get to our bleachers. There were a lot of them, and they were fired up. But when we got to our bleachers, we saw a sea of red. Folks turned out in droves to support the Raiders. Members of the 12-year-old All Star team lined the outfield fence and had 3 big flags, each with a different letter: F, C, and A for “First Colony American.” Those flags were flying even before our boys stepped onto the field.

The Raiders looked a tad bit shaky as the Pearland team came up to bat. It was 3-0 them to start, but the boys in red looked strong and confident. I knew they were going to come through, and by the 3rd inning it was 9-4 us. While anything can happen in baseball, I began to really and truly realize that we were close to clinching the coveted trip to Tyler, and that I was going to be there for it.

I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating: watching my kid on the field is one of life’s greatest joys for me. He’s in his element, doing what he loves most in the entire world. He’s energized and engaged, he’s a gamer. Baseball is his life, and he makes the most of it. Every single game. Seeing #11 come up to bat thrills me; watching his discipline at the plate, appreciating the mechanics of his swing, and hearing him make contact with the ball all work together to fill me with happiness. Knowing that he’s experiencing success in his most beloved endeavor is parental bliss.

The game was fantastic, and last night’s victory is so, so sweet. I’m still savoring it today, exhausted though I may be from the late-night celebration. Seeing Payton on the field with his team after the game, awaiting their Sectional banner and pins from the District Commissioner was pretty great. 

Seeing the boys come together and play like champions was redemption for a crappy summer last year. That summer will go down in history as the worst one ever. This one will be remembered as the best.

 

Extra! Extra! Read all about the mighty Red Raiders

Posted: July 17, 2011 | Author: | Filed under: baseball | Tags: , , , , , | 2 Comments

I really should have posted this last night, as soon as we got home from the game, but I had to go straight to the defibrillator after suffering several small heart attacks watching that nail-biter.

It was do-or-die for the boys in red last night, and they came out looking confident and strong. The opposing team, however, seemed to think they had victory in the bag and were goofing through warm-ups.

We were scoreless for a couple of innings with some tight defense, until Mr Slugger Mark Stanford came up to the plate with bases loaded and blasted a grand slam to put us in the lead 4-0. I think Mark’s long ball is still traveling, so if you’re in the area, heads up! We were ahead for most of the game until the 5th inning, when Pearland caught some lucky breaks with crazy hops and disgustingly erroneous officiating. Usually I’m the only parent in the stands yelling at the umpires after an egregious call, but last night the entire First Colony crowd was hollering, and on more than one occasion. Our boys overcame the umpires’ ignorance, though, and are primed for victory tonight.

The local newspaper’s coverage focused on the First Colony National 10-year-old team last night, with our team just getting a blurb, which I’ve conveniently extracted for you here. If you’re interested in the entire article, read it here.  Tonight’s game at 7 pm at West University Little League decides who goes to the State Championship next weekend. GO RAIDERS!

First Colony 11-year olds force decisive game for title

The First Colony American Red Raiders jumped to an early lead with the help of a Mark Stanford grand slam then held on for a 7-5 victory over Pearland Maroon at West University Little League Saturday night. The result sets up a winner-take-all game for the sectional title Sunday night at West University.

First Colony dropped into the loser’s bracket when it lost to Pearland in the tournament opener. It has won three in a row to get within one victory of a return trip to the state tournament.

Red Raiders’ pitcher Cody Joe Cegielski gave up one run over the first 4 2/3 innings then gave way to Stanford and Camden Kelly who closed out the game when it got close in the sixth. First Colony led, 7-1, at the end of the fifth.

Payton Hicks had two doubles and one RBI for First Colony.

Quick update on sectionals

Posted: July 15, 2011 | Author: | Filed under: baseball | 2 Comments

For you kind souls following Payton’s All Star team, the mighty Red Raiders are still alive. The boys in red defeated the Norwood Heights team 14-0. Our boys took care of business, and they did it speedy quick.

Here’s the story by a writer with more time on his hands than I.

More later from the Belly. It’s a busy day in suburbia with places to go, things to do, and people to see.

Baseball blues

Posted: July 14, 2011 | Author: | Filed under: baseball | Tags: , , , , , , | 3 Comments

I’m not trying to keep ya hanging about the outcome of the game last night; I haven’t been home much today. It was not a good night for the Raiders. I wish I had better news to report, but the 13-3 thrashing by Pearland Maroon was b-a-d bad. The boys in red were off in just about every possible way, but the concession stand at West U has 25-cent snowcones, so at least Macy was happy.

Tonight it’s do or die for the boys in red. We face the All Star team from the Heights, and plan to bring our game faces.

Meanwhile, check out this guy in his spiffy white cowboy boots. 

I spied him the other day at Town Square and spent a good little while wondering who he was meeting and where he was going in those oh-so-fine kicks. It also made me think about my own pair of super-fine cowboy boots, and how much I’d love to wear my boots every single day if not for my blasted plantar fasciitis and my aching feet. Sigh.

Those black & white cowhair boots and I go way back. I bought them at a kitschy little shop on South Congress in Austin in the early days of my editorial career. I paid cash for them from my hard-earned paycheck, and I loved them dearly. Still do.

I love how there’s just enough white to set off the glossy black hide. Or hair. Or fur. Or whatever it is. Don’t tell PETA, but I love the hide/hair/fur. I’m as nutsy-kookoo for animals as always, but that poor cow was doomed anyway, so that fact that his/her hide/hair/fur ended up on a pair of boots is a part of life. If I thought for one second that that cow had a shot at living a long, bucolic life eating grass into his/her old age somewhere in the great state of Texas, I’d say thanks but no thanks on the boots. But we all know the cows around here are destined to end up on someone’s grill or smoker; this is Texas after all. Funny how I wouldn’t think of eating that cow, but wearing it doesn’t bother me one bit.

Oh well. Thinking about boots is a nice distraction from last night’s agony of defeat.

baseball lineage

Posted: July 13, 2011 | Author: | Filed under: baseball | Tags: , , , , | 4 Comments

I mentioned in a previous post that Payton got his baseball skills from my dad, and then I remembered that my dad made Payton a scrapbook for his 8th birthday of his (Dad’s) athletic memories.  It’s pretty cool. My dad is a good writer, and he has an amazing memory. He remembers things like the score of a particular game in 1956, and all the names of his teammates from high school. It may be a few years more before my kids appreciate the heritage that my dad has presented them, in the form of his narrative, photos and press clippings, but it will be there, when they’re ready.

P’s baseball lineage is the real deal. I wish we had home movies of my dad playing baseball, because I’m guessing his body language and motions looked a lot like Payton’s. In fact, there are certain ways in which Payton stands or walks that really remind me of my dad.

In the cover page of the scrapbook, my dad wrote a letter to Payton in which he said, “I cannot begin to tell you how much fun, excitement, pleasure and enjoyment I had as an athlete. Also, I met many new people who have remained my friends all my life. I know how much you love playing, and I hope you continue to play and that when you conclude playing, that you have as many fond memories as I still have today.”

And my favorite part of the cover letter is the P.S.:

“Remember to always be nice to your Mom. You will never have another person in your life who will care for you and love you as much as she does.”

And that’s the truth.

My favorite article in the scrapbook is the one entitled “Hard-Hitting Katapodis Adapts to ‘Bad Luck’ Breaks.” There’s no date on the article, but it was his junior year so it was in the late 1950s. The article starts by saying “The Aggies better watch out. At least that’s the prophecy given after hearing Golden Hurricane baseballers such as right fielder Leon Katapodis say, ‘I’d give anything I’ve got to beat the Aggies.'”

Now I know where Payton gets his trash-talking skills, too.

The article goes on to say “Probably wielding one of the heaviest bats as he has in other games this season will be Katapodis, who pounded out three singles and two doubles in eight tries agaist Northeastern State Saturday.” Sounds a lot like my son.

How about this for continuity among generations: ” ‘Kat’ as he is generally called has a long baseball history just as most other Hurricane diamond-men. After spending three years in the pee wee league and one in junior play, he graduated to Legion ball. Both his legion teams ended up in the state finals.”

Assuming Payton’s team emerges victorious from the sectionals tournament that begins tonight, he too will get going to the state finals.

We’re ready, but not assuming anything. We’re superstitious, like most baseball folks. The boys on the team each collected a sample of dirt from our home field last night, scooping the dirt into baggies, empty water bottles, and even an empty Altoids tin. They’ll sprinkle the home-field dirt on the field where they play tonight, bringing a bit of local mojo to the game.

Several boys on the team got mohawks after clenching the District championship, and several of the moms got baseball-inspired pedicures. I’m not generally a fan of publishing photos of toes, as most of them are pretty weird looking, but you gotta see this: 

Here’s hoping that the treasured lineage, home-field dirt, good-luck haircuts, and spiffy toes combine to create an air of victory for the First Colony Red Raiders tonight.

Life is so uncertain

Posted: July 12, 2011 | Author: | Filed under: breast cancer, tennis | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Lyle Lovett said it best:

Lyle P

“Look,
I understand too little too late
I realize there are things you say and do
You can never take back
But what would you be if you didn’t even try
You have to try
So after a lot of thought
I’d like to reconsider
Please
If it’s not too late
Make it a cheeseburger.”

I don’t eat cheeseburgers, or any burgers, but I love Lyle Lovett, and his clever and playful lyrics have been running through my head all day as I contemplated my latest visit to my cutie-pie oncologist. Last time I saw him, we discussed whether I need yet another surgery, to remove my ovaries. See, those little suckers pump out estrogen, and estrogen happens to be fuel for the type I cancer I had. So the theory is this: cut off the fuel, starve the cancer and ensure it has nothing with which to reconvene. Since I wasn’t physically well enough to undergo the oophorectomy because of the post-mastectomy infection, we put that surgery on hold, but in the meantime I began getting a shot of Lupron once every 3 months. Lupron essentially does the same thing as removing the ovaries, which is to shut off the supply of estrogen.

I thought the plan was set: continue the Lupron shots until I was deemed well enough to undergo the oophorectomy, which would likely be in the fall of this year. Get the kids back to school, recover from the August 17th reconstruction revision, and get rid of the ovaries. I like having a plan. I like sticking with a plan. I’m not a fan of changing the plan.

Today, Dr Cutie Pie said he didn’t think I needed to keep getting the Lupron. I’ve been getting the injections for nearly a year now, so even though I was scheduled to get one today and was planning on getting one today, he thought I was done. The plan had changed.

Granted, I had complained to him about the major side-effects of Lupron: hot flashes and sweating like a pig in heat. It’s summertime in Houston. Not just regular old hot-as-Hell summertime in Houston, either, but record heat and record drought summertime. I can tell you with 100 percent certainty that hot flashes and Houston summertime are a wretched combination.

Do I think the hot flashes and sweating like a pig in heat are sound enough reasons to discontinue the current path of hormonal suppression? No. I haven’t murdered anyone (yet). Dr CP said there’s really not that much difference between hormonal suppression from Tamoxifen alone and suppression supplemented even further with Lupron. A year of Lupron injections seemed to be enough, in his opinion. The daily Tamoxifen will go on, though.

Disclaimer: I did not beg, whine, or persuade him to make that decision. Not like I did last summer with Dr S when trying to sway him to release me from yet another hospitalization or disconnect me from the dreaded wound vacuum, Sucky. I did not employ any such tactic with Dr CP today. He came up with the idea to cease & desist all on his own.

He also said maybe that oophorectomy isn’t necessary, either. While I’m completely in favor of eschewing yet another surgery, my gut instinct tells me to rip those ovaries out (gently, though, and with lots & lots of morphine).

Life is so uncertain. What’s the right choice? How does one make such a decision? Stop the Lupron or not? Pursue the oophorectomy or count my blessings that I won’t need another surgery? Where’s the Great and Powerful Oz to tell me what to do?

That’s the problem with cancer. One of the many problems. Big-ass decisions need to be made; life-and-death decisions. And while there’s research aplenty and resources available, there’s no clear answer. I like clear answers. And unchanged plans. Neither of which prevails in one’s “cancer journey.”

Nonetheless, we moseyed along through the rest of the check-up with the usual and quite popular assertions from Dr CP that my cancer is not coming back. I like that part. He says this at every visit, and I really like hearing it. He told me that my reconstructed chest looks fantastic, and I really like hearing that (even though I think he’s shining me on, because there is definitely some tweaking and fine-tuning that needs to be done). I still like that he says it, though, even if he’s shining me on.

We chitty-chatted about his new baby, my tennis game, and other pleasantries. He said he’s started playing tennis and is thinking about taking some lessons. When he told me he plays once a week, I told him he’ll never get better that way; it’s not often enough. He got all puffed up and said it’s enough for him because there’s such a thing as talent.

Oh. Well.

In the immortal words of Steve Martin, “Well, excuuuuuuuuuuuuse me!”

He even strutted down the hallway a bit, then turned to say something about how he’ll be ready in about 6 months to kick my butt on the tennis court. I said, maybe in about 60 years.

How on Earth do I manage to find such cocky doctors?????

We parted ways, him to daydream about beating me in tennis while I headed to the infusion room to get my port flushed. For the last time. Ever.

Yipee! That makes me very, very happy. I’ll get my port removed next month, when Dr S does my reconstruction revision. Can’t wait to bid adieu to that little guy (the port, not Dr S).

But while in the infusion room, I started to second-guess the decision to stop taking the Lupron shots. It didn’t feel right to me. The instant-gratification-girl inside me said, “Hell, yes, let’s forego the shot — that sucker hurts and leaves me bruised for weeks.” But the more-measured-approach-taking girl inside me said something doesn’t seem right with this decision. What’s the harm in continuing the Lupron therapy (besides the obvious, 20-gauge needle harm, that is, and the hot flashes and sweating like a pig in heat harm)?

Dr CP walked by a few minutes later, as I was discussing the pro’s and con’s with my patient advocate extraordinaire, Amy Hoover, and we grabbed him to say I’m not sure about the Lupron decision. He listened intently as we reviewed the pro’s and con’s and said there’s no harm in getting the shot. So I got the shot. Still not sure if it’s the right choice. No idea if it’s the right decision. My gut says yes, and my gut usually is right. However, the fact that it took 3–count ’em–3 tries to get the shot makes me wonder. The needle went in, but the Lupron wouldn’t go. Ow! 3 needle sticks with a 20-gauge needle could easily make a girl question her decision to question her decision. But, as Lyle Lovett says, “Life is so uncertain.”

No autographs, please

Posted: July 11, 2011 | Author: | Filed under: baseball, breast cancer, infection | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Today is a very good day, for 3 reasons, maybe more. #1: Macy started two weeks of Fine Arts camp, which she loves (and I’m rather fond of having a few hours to myself while she’s off doing fun projects that someone else cleans up, and by “someone else” I mean anyone but me). While she hasn’t gotten quite this messy in a while, she’s definitely still got it in ‘er. 

#2: I did push-ups at the gym this morning. It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to do them, and there’s a bit of pride on the line since I was working out with my 12-year-old son. I wasn’t about to let him see me doing “girlie” push-ups with bent knees, so I tried the real thing, and while it didn’t feel great, I did it. Pre-cancer, pre-mastectomy, and pre-infection, I used to be able to do 50 push-ups like it was nothing, and while I’m not there yet, I’m getting closer.

#3: The article for which Payton and I were interviewed was published in our community newspaper. Corey the reporter was nice, and I think he’s a good writer. He has covered the district All Star games for all the ages, and he’s made the games come alive in his stories. P really enjoyed being interviewed; I like the drama of the article, especially the part in which I’m portrayed as “fighting for my life” (cue the dramatic music here).

It’s a good reminder to be careful what you say, too, because I joked with Corey about P having gotten his mad baseball skills from my side of the family. While it’s true–my dad’s baseball career started with PeeWee ball in 1948 and ended with him playing for the University of Tulsa–I was being smart-aleky, and Corey not only took it seriously but also included that in the article! I certainly don’t want to sound like one of “those” baseball moms. I think my kid is a good player who happens to have some natural athletic ability and a body built for taking some hard knocks. However, I’m under no illusion that he’s going to play ball for a living when he grows up, and his *$#& most definitely stinks.

While I can take or leave the publicity, reading the latest article did make me realize that a whole lot has changed since this time last year. And most of that change has been good. Really good.

This time last year, Payton’s All Star team was preparing for the sectional tournament, which they totally dominated, BTW. But I was fighting another battle against that damned nosocomial infection and was back in the hospital. Again. So after P’s team swept the sectional tourney, they were preparing to go to the State Championship in the lovely Tyler, TX. I remember thinking on that Monday, the day I was admitted to the hospital–again–that we’d get the infection under control, pump in some more vancomycin and I’d be on my way to Tyler.

Yes, I was that delusional.

Instead of the scenario playing out the way I’d envisioned, it went something like this: I was admitted on a Monday and didn’t get out until Thursday. An area that started as a red, streaky site on the mastectomied right chest wall had to be opened up, drained, excised, and packed with gauze. Repeatedly. The packing part was particularly brutal. See, there was a bunch of fluid inside my chest wall from the infection. Dr S cut a track–sans anesthesia, I recall–to open and elongate the drain hole, to let the fluid out. Once the track was there, though, it had to be packed with gauze to soak up all the nasty fluid. It wasn’t a quick process, because the hole and the track were small but had to be completely filled with gauze, for maximum soaking. Thus, a lot of shoving in an already sore, infected, and aggravated area was required. As was a lot of xanax. At one point, after Dr S shoved the gauze into the open wound, my blood pressure was 212/65. That’s a little high for me.

I survived 4 days of intense wound-packing and hard-core IV antibiotics. But just barely. I missed the entire State Championship experience, then put my kids on a plane for summer vacation, that I didn’t get to attend. I did manage to stay out of the hospital for 2 and a half weeks, but had IV antibiotics at home and a home health care nurse packing that wound. I was hoping to have turned a corner after all that (and more than once wondered what it would take to finally kick that infection) but was back in the hospital again the week before school started.

It was not a good summer, to say the least. This one has been much, much better. While the bar wasn’t exactly set very high after last summer, this one is pretty sweet.

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