My 5K, my way

Posted: April 11, 2011 | Author: | Filed under: breast cancer | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

WordPress hosts my little blog site, and while I don’t understand all the ins & outs of what WP does, I do know that they do it well. Visiting other blogs on other hosts proves it: WP kicks ass.

I often read the updates that come to me from WP, whether it’s to showcase a new theme (the physical look of a blog), or to update users on a new feature, like the new iPad feature that provides those who read blogs via iPad a cool experience. From the gurus at WP: “Our iPad-optimized view is app-like in its functionality, but pure HTML5 goodness on the backend: it supports touch interactions, swiping, rotation, and many other features of the iPad.”

I don’t know exactly what HTML5 is but like the way they refer to its pure goodness.

The Automattic side of WP recently announced a cool idea: let’s have a virtual 5K. This group of 80 hipsters with job titles like “code ninja,” “systems wrangler” and “happiness engineer” are scattered in 62 cities around the globe, but they share a love of fitness, so they knew that getting all the co-workers together on the same day in the same city was crazy talk. Instead, they settled on the idea of having everyone do their own 5K in their own way but on the same day. And then, because they are totally kick-ass, they opened this idea up to WP bloggers, and gave us a week in which to complete this mission.

I’m well-versed in 5Ks from my running days, but with breast cancer and post-mastectomy infection as my sidekicks, my racing days are over. I may be down but not out, and I am definitely on the mend after a long, complicated and downright icky span of nearly a year. I’m officially deeming myself over that mess, however, and ready to tackle the Automattic 5K. Lucky for me, there’s an loophole in this 5K that says it can be “in your own way,” meaning it doesn’t have to be an organized point-to-point or up-and-back race. In fact, the invitation went out to “walk, run, or skip” just do 3.1 miles worth, and it counts. Those Automatticians are so nice.

photo: lonelyplanet.com

Walking through the lush and beautiful Wine Country in Napa Valley counts, right? I didn’t use a pedometer, but I’m pretty sure we walked at least 3 miles over 2 days of wine touring. We walked through lots of wineries, traversing the valley from its  southern end, near Downtown Napa, to Yountsville in the middle, and northward into Rutherford.

No matter where we were, the scenery was spectacular. I never got tired of looking out over the rows of tidy grapevines and seeing the rolling green hills and the majestic mountains rising up toward the azure of the sky. 

Our first stop on my 5K was Chandon in Yountville, where they’ve been making sparkling wines long enough to be household name. Chandon’s wine makers have experimented a lot but settled on Pinot Noir, Chardonnay, and Pinot Meunier grapes in the tradition of French champagne. Works for me.

After an hour-long limo ride from San Francisco to Napa, our group of 10 was ready to stretch our collective legs and get our drink on. Chandon was a great place to start.

As we disembarked at the threshold of all things Chandon, the first thing I noticed was this sweet little tableau, at the base of the winery’s entrance. The fountain was bubbling and the calla lilies were blooming. The only way the setting could have been more perfect would be if I had a glass of bubbly in hand. While we were in a rush to get inside and get that bubbly, we did pause at the entrance

to get a group shot of the ladies before we hit the ground running (or strolling, because this is a have-it-your-way 5K). Chandon was the first of at least 4 wineries we were planning to hit that day, so we had our work cut out for us. We needed to get busy.

 

The magnum was sublime. Our group of 10 found a table on the patio and and settled in for our first official taste of Napa. No one had any complaints.

Next stop was V Sattui in St Helena, north of Chandon, for picnic supplies. It was so perfect, we went back the next day, too. Grabbing a variety of picnic items from edamame salad to fancy-pants potato chips suited everyone in our group of hungry travelers. We served up our picnic family-style, passing and sampling our bounty of yummy morsels. 

Doesn’t the sign alone make you want to spend a lazy afternoon there, eating delicious foods and drinking wine in the sunshine?

Yeah, we did too, but we had miles to go before we slept, to quote Robert Frost.

 

Luckily we weren’t stopping by woods on a snowy evening, but instead zipping along southward to Silver Oak in Oakville. Yet another breathtaking view out the vineyard’s doorway made us stop and take it all in. Then we hurried inside in pursuit of some of Silver Oak’s finest.

We found it. We had a lovely chat with Walter, our tastings meister, who got a nice, big dose of our personal brand of Texas revelry. He was great sport, and we enjoyed him and the Silver Oak atmosphere as much as their wines. We could have stayed all day, but alas, we had an appointment with Quintessa, so we moved onward.

Quintessa, in Rutherford, was amazing. It’s a short distance from Oakville to Rutherford, and coming from the wide open spaces of Texas, it struck me how all these little towns seem practically on top of each other, and they certainly blend into each other. You can’t really tell where one ends and the next begins. Rutherford, in fact, is only 6 square miles — for the whole town. Between Oakville and St Helena, this tiny little area bangs out some killer Cabernets. It’s said that in order to make a great Cab, you “must have Rutherford dust.” They are most definitely doing it right at Quintessa

Our first cave tour did not disappoint.

After a tour of the machinery and vats, our delightful guide Lori led us into the cave. The mood in the cave was serene and somber, not in a sad way but more contemplative. Very zen. Until we figured out the cave had terrific echoing acoustics and all started cawing out various animal sounds. Classy.

This fountain stands in the middle of the cave, bubbling away as its water tumbles over jet-black river rocks that appear smooth as glass. It’s a beautiful and peaceful structure in and of itself, but it’s also functional, as it provides humidity in the cave, which is integral in crafting wine. The rooms flanking the fountain are full of barrels of aging wine, which put off a distinctive aroma that I can’t quite capture. I can still smell it in my olfactory memory, but can’t describe it. You’ll just have to go there.

We were intrigued by the reddish stain around the middle of each barrel. We wondered if the wine had leaked and stained the barrels, but then noticed that the stain was contained to just the middle. Lori cleared up the mystery by telling us that Quintessa colors them on purpose, to enhance the aesthetic beauty of their barrels. I had to strike a pose next to these beauties.

We came out of the cave and through these doors into the tasting room, thinking nothing could top the coolness of the cave tour. Then we saw the table that had been laid for us. 

A gorgeous wooden table in a secluded room lit by candles awaited us. Each of us had a place setting, complete with a personalized card surrounded by 3 lovely wines lovingly arranged in order. 

No, I wasn’t too drunk to take a decent photo, but the candlelight and the iPhone camera didn’t think too much of each other, so yes, it’s quite blurry. Next trip to Napa, I will take better photos, I promise.

But I won’t share my Quintessa artisanal cheese plate. Yum. Three cheeses from the region married with the wines so well we thought we’d died and gone to heaven. I’m a fan of cheese, especially with my wine, and these three were outstanding. We could have stayed in that peaceful tasting room for the rest of the day, but we only had it reserved until 5 pm, so we regretfully shuffled out of there, basking in the deliciousness of all things Quintessa.

Our first afternoon of tasting the bounty of Napa Valley’s wines drew to a close, and we headed from Rutherford south to Yountsville, to our hotel, immensely satisfied with the splendor of our first day. I was so happy I didn’t even realize until later that my feet kinda hurt, from my 5K, my way.

Pics, as promised

Posted: April 11, 2011 | Author: | Filed under: breast cancer, food | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

I really missed my easy access to photos and images while posting from the road. Even though I had several tech-savvy traveling companions, there wasn’t time to set up a functional blogging station (or at least, I wasn’t willing to sacrifice wine-drinking time to getting techy). I had to make do with the cranky iPad, but now that I’m home and plugged in, I no longer have to rely solely on my words to portray the utter fabulousness of our trip to Napa.

The trip got off to a great start with an upgrade and Vueve Cliquot while awaiting our flight out of Houston. I love, love, love my seat assignment of row 1. And if there’s anything I love more than drinking Vueve at 8:00 in the morning at the airport, I can’t think what it is. Some of you who know me well have asked if both of those glasses were for me, and sadly, no one was Trevor’s but he was taking the picture so I didn’t try to steal his glass. Thought about it, though.

Before we got to Napa, we spent some time in San Francisco. Trevor and I arrived before the group gathered at the hotel, so after we checked in we explored the wharf area. A very reliable foodie couple recommended we eat at the Tadich Grill in the Financial District. It’s the oldest restaurant in all of San Francisco, which has no shortage of eateries.

Been in business since 1849, when it started as a coffeeshop. A Croatian immigrant named John Tadich worked at the coffeeshop after coming to San Fran in 1872, and he bought the place in 1887 and renamed it. It’s said to be the first restaurant to grill seafood over mesquite wood, starting that yummy tradition in the 1920s. So glad they thought of it, and that the practice made its way to The Lone Star State.

We walked to Tadich Grill, which I mentioned in a post last week, to find out if they truly do have the best cioppino in the city. The answer: yes. 

Hell, yes.

I could devote an entire blog to this bowl of stew. But I won’t.

This was by far the best ever. Especially after a long plane ride that started early. Especially after a 1.5 mile walk in cold, windy weather. Especially with some hot, fresh, crusty sourdough bread. San Francisco is known for its sourdough, and I tried it everywhere we went. Never had a bad piece, but this was some of the best. So good it didn’t even need butter. 

This scallop and its twin were floating in the tomato-based broth, minding their own business and likely oblivious to the fact that scallops are perhaps my all-time favorite food. I spied the two beauties and saved them for last. After the shrimps big & small, the whitefish, the mussels, the clams, and the crabs. Saved the best for last. And they did not disappoint. I’ve eaten a bunch of their friends over the years, and I can easily say they were the cream of the crop. I miss them. A lot.

Trevor had another yummy dish: shrimp and avocado mixed with rice and covered in a creamy sauce then broiled to a cheesy, bubbly state of bliss. The shrimp and avocado combined with the creaminess of the sauce made for one scrumptious combination. It didn’t sound all the special on the menu, but it came together to be pretty spectacular. Too bad the photo isn’t all that spectacular. It’s probably blurry because I couldn’t wait to tuck back into my cioppino.

On the walk to Tadich, we passed many restaurants, including one that claims to be the best Indian food in San Francisco (a ballsy claim, I’d say), and lots of shops. It’s always interesting to get to know a bustling, pedestrian-friendly urban area, since it’s very different from the life we lead in our SUV-driven suburbs. Pun intended. One shop we passed caught our attention because of the smell wafting out of its doors: buttery, brown-sugary, and mouthwatering. Ahh, a candy shop. Trevor vowed to hit it after lunch, and I’m glad he did. He chose some handmade fudge and we picked up some stuff for the kids, then noticed the source of the amazing smell: homemade caramel corn.

In an old-fashioned popcorn popper. Popcorn is one of the few snacks I can take or leave, but this stuff was of a whole different order. We weren’t going to buy any because we’d already ordered the fudge and were stuffed from lunch, but the heavily-inked salesman threw in a gratis bag, probably because I asked him a lot of questions about his tattoos and he assumed they were of the admiring sort of inquiry. I was really just curious to learn if the tattoo on his lip hurt when he got it. Yes, in fact, it did.

Candy in hand, we said adios to the tattooed candy man and headed back to the wharf. The caramel corn made it a few blocks.

After a short respite, The Birthday Girl arrived, so we hoofed it down to the wharf to meet her and Thad at The Franciscan, a huge, white boat-shaped restaurant overlooking Fisherman’s Wharf and sporting the best view of the water.  

We arrived before the crowds so were able to get a table with a view, and we soaked it in. Diana and Celeste, two more of our group, were already there enjoying the view and a snack. It was time for wine! We ordered a yummy bottle of Sauvginon Blanc and toasted our safe arrival and our good fortune to be in the Bay City, drinking wine and watching the maritime world go by.

Trevor and I were the only ones who had eaten, so the other 4 ordered some good stuff: a sizzling plate of crab legs, mussels and shrimp all perfectly seasoned on their cast-iron platter. It was similar to the sizzling fajitas platter that we all know & love in Texas — the sizzle gets the other diners’ attention, and the smell makes them think they ordered the wrong thing.

Once Lisa & Larry arrived, our group was almost complete, but since Jill & Keith weren’t landing until 10 pm, we went on to dinner without them. We needed 2 cabs to get from the wharf to the restaurant, and the girls all piled in the first cab to stop. That poor cabby was overwhelmed. At first he said he could only take 4, but we had 5 and didn’t want to split up, so we talked him into it. We “buddy buckled” 4 of us in the back, with Celeste in front to keep the driver company. We crested some of the city’s highest hills and squealed all the way down as if we were on a roller coaster. Our driver did not regret picking us up one bit, I’m sure; probably the wildest ride of his night. Sushi at the hip & happening Ryoko was delicious, and the place itself was unusual. Kind of a cross between a bedouin palace and a Japanese tea house, with funky music and chill people. We sat on cushions and ate at a low table. They serve sushi and beer until 2 a.m. but we had to get back to the hotel and drink champagne and await the arrival of Team Cremer.

The Birthday Girl had a conference room adjoining her hotel room, so with sushi-filled bellies we gathered there, ready to party. The bubbly was chilled and the music was loud. I’m sure the neighboring guests smiled happily at our raucous celebration. If anyone called to complain, we didn’t hear them. Once Team Cremer arrived, the party was complete. Because we had an early start to Napa in the morning, we shut it down around midnight.

Saying good-bye to San Francisco wasn’t too hard because we were on to bigger & better. Well, smaller & better. Or maybe equally good but different.

We checked into our Napa hotel and were greeted with the most friendly of things: a champagne cocktail. They must have heard I was coming. Yum! Normally, I like my champagne straight, and will even ask for my mimosas without the OJ. But this was delicious. A hint of lime syrup to complement, not overwhelm, the bubbly and a flower-shaped lime-peel garnish made for a perfect start to our visit to Napa. I meant to ask the bartender to tell me exactly how it is made, but we got busy heading to our first winery, and then I realized that even if I had the recipe, it wouldn’t be the same at home so I need to leave it where it is: in the rolodex section of my brain reserved for the fondest memories.

The flower-shaped lime-peel garnish was a harbinger of things to come: there were flowers everywhere in Napa. As we drove into town, I noticed huge hanging baskets of flowers on the streetlamps. I always love seeing that as it lends such beauty and serene feelings to a city street.

Our hotel had gorgeous gardens, from perfectly composed splashes of colorful perennials to lush greenery and everything in between. The poppies were my favorite. I’ve tried to grow them in my garden, but they don’t like the Texas heat as much as the Napa dappled sunshine. The Villagio had poppies in the most beautiful colors: yolky yellow, coral, delicate pink, and bold red.

I’m a sucker for flowers.

The wisteria-covered walkways were gorgeous, too. Walking underneath a canopy of green and smelling the unique scent of those fun purple flowers never got old. Reminded Trevor and me of the old Schlumberger building in Austin.

Most of the wineries had beautiful arrangements inside, too. This was my favorite, from Quintessa. The size was impressive, and the colors spoke to me. The forsythia was the best, though, because it reminds me of Big Ed, who loved that flowering shrub, because it screams “springtime!” and because of a funny story.

My Aunt Sophia’s sister Polly, may she rest in peace, was at our house a few years ago when we had received a gorgeous cut flower arrangement. It had tall branches of blooming forsythia and Polly told me that once the cut flowers were dead, I could stick the forsythia branches in the ground and they would grow. I thought that sounded kinda dubious, but decided to try it. What’s the worst that could happen — they didn’t take and I had a dead plant in the ground? 

Well, Polly was right. Here’s what those few ornamental branches look like now.

If she were here now, she would have every right to say “I told you so!”

That handful of branches turned into a full-blown tree. It anchors the far right corner of our back fence, near where the pool floats are stored. That tree provides some shade in our little backyard oasis, and its delicate foliage sways gracefully in the breezes. We have to hack it back every year, as it grows quite forcefully. I guess it likes its new home.

But back to the flowers of Napa. This was our first view of our hotel and its beautiful grounds. The fountain out front is ringed with colorful flowers: the poppies I love, tulips, daffodils, dianthus, and primrose in every color.

Such a lovely site, and I never got tired of seeing it. We were sometimes rushing to and from the hotel, to hop in the limo to start the day, or staggering out of it at the end of our tastings, but I savored the site of those flowers nonetheless.

The rest of the hotel grounds were equally stunning, and not just the flowers; there were some cool sculpture pieces. This was my favorite. She looks likes she found just the right spot in the soft grass just off the beaten path between rooms. She was about halfway between our room and Thad & Yvonne’s room, so we passed her several times and she was peaceful yet full of presence every time. I can really understand why she likes hanging around this place so much.

Heading to Napa

Posted: April 8, 2011 | Author: | Filed under: breast cancer | Tags: , , , , , , | 1 Comment

The party into the night was pretty tame last night. If you ask Trevor, the tameness (not lameness, but restraint) was because of the utter lack of tequila. I’d say it’s also because of the fact that we are pacing ourselves in this long, luxurious bath in all things grape. We’ve got a lotta wine to drink, and the day is young.

We said adios to San Fran after a scrumptious breakfast at Pat’s Place, a short walk from our hotel in the brisk, sunny California morning. A crepe filled with mushrooms, avocado and cheese alongside a perfectly foam-sculpted cappuccino laid the right base for the wine-consumption that is to come.

Now, lest you think it’s all about catching a buzz and staying sloppy all weekend, let me remind you that this trip isn’t just about the cheap high. It’s a celebration. Of Yvonne’s 40 years of good living. Of good friends reconnecting, new and old. Of time away from work and home (and darling children). Of carefully-laid and at-long-last executed plans.

And of me finally getting out from under the overreaching arch of cancer and infection, to remember for more than a moment that before the #%*¥ hit the fan, I used to have a life that was full of sunshine, laugher, love, and friends.

It’s so good to be back.

Tomorrow is a big day

Posted: April 6, 2011 | Author: | Filed under: breast cancer | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

I’ve learned the hard way from all this stupid cancer business that every day truly is a gift, as hokey as it sounds, and that life is short, as cliched as that sounds, and that you gotta grab each day and milk it for all it’s worth (I think I just made that one up).

It’s pretty easy to get bogged down in these crazy-busy lives of ours, which by the way, are supposed to be made easier and more relaxing with all the time- and labour-saving devices we have, yet it seems that everyone is still rushed off their feet every single day. Which kinda makes it hard to unwrap the gift that is each day and to savor the little things that form a meaningful amalgamation of life as we know it. I know my to-do list is always a mile long, and some days I have to rewrite chores on the new list, since they didn’t get done on their appointed day.

My to-do list is again long today as I prepare to go out of town for the weekend.

Yes, you read that right: I’m leaving town.

Finally.

After an unfortunate series of non-starters all summer, in which no less than 3 much-anticipated trips erupted in a giant puff of post-mastectomy-infection-tinged smoke, I’m finally going on a trip. First it was the Duke girls’ trip to Tahoe. Gone. Then it was the All Star state baseball championship. Adios. And finally, the annual trek to Boston and Salisbury Beach. See ya. Missing one trip was a hard pill to swallow; missing 3 was just plain cruel. No way around the choking down of that horse pill.

But now, there’s Napa.

napavalley.com

My beacon of hope in a long, barren season of maladies. Could it be that the end to that dreadful season truly is in sight? I’m starting to believe that it is so. There is a part of me, a teensy part, that still fears a blow-up. But just a teensy part. Or a woonty part, as our friends at Salisbury Beach say. The rest of me is full-steam ahead, preparing for one fabulous weekend full of bottled poetry.

napavalley.com

Last time I was in Napa, I was pregnant with Payton, who will be 12 (gulp!) next month. Talk about needing a do-over. And what better reason for a do-over than a BFF’s birthday bash and a celebration of her “40 years of good living,” as the invitation states. I’m in. For celebrating my BFF, for getting a change of scenery, and for relishing this life of mine. 

fotosearch.com

This “cancer journey” has turned out to be a bit more complicated than I thought. I’m still a destination girl rather than a journey girl, and I don’t think that’s going to change.

pixdaus.com

But starting tomorrow, if only for the celebratory weekend, I’m going to savor every bit of the destination.

sterlingvineyard.com

Even if my titanium port-a-cath sets off the security alarms and I ended up getting frisked.

fotosearch.com

Even if traffic is heavy and the plane is late.

peju winery, fineartamerica.com

Even if I’m stuck sitting next to a mouth-breather on the plane (no, I’m not talking about Trevor).

napavalley.com

Even if the weather turns yucky.

domainecarneros.com

Even if the ever-present antibiotics have killed off some of my wine-savoring tastebuds.

napageneralstore.com

I’m going to suck up every ounce of enjoyment from a trip that has been much anticipated, meticulously planned, and a very long time in coming.

 

Our first stop in Napa is Domaine Carneros, maker of one of my favorite champagnes.

domainecarneros.com

I may just skip all the other wineries and stay right there.

domainecarneros.com

I’m no cliffhanger

Posted: April 5, 2011 | Author: | Filed under: breast cancer, cancer fatigue | 3 Comments

Before I get into the heavy stuff, here’s some eye candy. No, it’s not a picture of Jacoby Ellsbury, my favorite baseball player and not-so-secret crush. It’s a photo of my TOMS shoes that I blogged about yesterday.

photo: TOMS.com

I received more than one request to showcase the shoes here. I aim to please, people. You make a request, I will consider it. Didn’t say I’ll make it happen, but I will consider it. I chose the TOMS natural canvas classic AND the canvas wedge. Love them both.

photo: nordstrom.com

A girl needs options, and a girl coming off a nasty battle against not only cancer but also a nosocomial infection or two needs multiple options, i.e., lots of shoes. If there were a TOMS store in my neighborhood, I’d be standing outside it now in my jammies, nose pressed against the glass waiting for it to open. But I digress.

And I lie: I am putting in a photo of Ells. Because it would be wrong to mention eye candy and not put him in here. You’re welcome.

photo: joyosity.xanga.com

Ok, back to business. Although it’s hard to concentrate with Ells on the screen. All right, focus, focus.

I read a lot about cancer. Not just breast cancer, either — I’m an equal-opportunity reader on this weighty subject. Hate it, but am drawn to it and have a yearning to find out as much as I possibly can about this insidious killer. I’m an info-junkie when it comes to my cancer: I want to know all the gory details. The not knowing is way worse for me, because it allows my crazy imagination to have free reign and imagine all sorts of scenarios, none of them good. Reading about cancer can be overwhelming, frustrating, depressing, thought-provoking, and rage-inducing, much like the “cancer journey” itself.

I learned early on (although my “cancer journey” is short compared to a lot of people’s) that reading about people who died from cancer is to be avoided. Stay away from the unhappy endings! After watching that very thing happen to my sweet, irreplaceable mama, I need no further education on the topic. Not that I’m closing my eyes to the reality, because believe me, the one thing you think about a lot when diagnosed at age 40 is death. It’s a sobering fact that you hope to live more years beating the disease than you had lived before being diagnosed with it.

Some say being diagnosed early is a good thing, as we tend to be healthier and better able to tolerate the twists & turns, the challenges and set-backs that cancer throws our way. Some say that diagnosis at a young age means being better able to handle the tolls the disease takes on your body. Both of which can be true, but they are countered by the fact that most of us in the “young cancer club” have young kids at home, maybe even more on the way, and parenting during cancer presents its own land mines. I will never forget my fearful yet brave 10-year-old boy asking me repeatedly if I’m sure I wasn’t going to die from breast cancer. Similarly, I will never stop being totally pissed off at cancer for creating the situation in which that question had reason to come out of my boy’s mouth. Stupid cancer.

Of all the things I have read about cancer, Dana Jennings’s column is one of the best. Jennings writes a phenomenal column for the New York Times about his “journey” with prostate cancer. I’m not sure how much longer you can access it online for free, since the NYT is going to start charging for online subscriptions, shame on them, but I will likely reference and quote him in future because he’s a writer who inspires me and because his “cancer journey” had a happy ending.

He wrote something recently about a quintessential cancer patient experience: being in the waiting room, filled with other people, at the oncologist’s office. People not on a “cancer journey” likely don’t give this a moment’s thought; why should they? An oncologist’s office is something you pass on the way to your kid’s orthodontist’s office, right? Why would you think about what goes on in there, or the people contained therein?

After reading Dana Jennings’s observation, you may well think about what goes on in there, and about the people contained therein. I know I do, and I’m one of them. I’m the one being overly nice to the receptionist and office manager, willing them to see me as a person not just a patient. I’m not above bribing them with treats so that in future, if I need a last-minute appointment or other favor that only those in their position can grant, they may be more inclined to grant it. I’m the one stretching out the day so I can get to the oncologist’s office at the last possible minute, in order to put it off as long as possible without being late. I’m the one not making eye contact with other patients, because I don’t want to hear anyone else’s sob story. There’s simply no room in my heart or my psyche for any more worry, misfortune, or bad news. I may indeed be what Jennings refers to as “a human question mark,” but I refuse to be a cliffhanger.

“But in the waiting rooms of oncology — diagnosticians and surgeons, chemotherapy and radiation — almost no one speaks in a normal conversational voice except for the employees. In those rooms, we all know that none of us managed to catch that last plane out.

We patients, often frayed and afraid, glance at one another, sometimes nodding, sometimes not. I like to nod and look my fellow patients in the eye because, for a moment, it frees me from the overactive prison of my own mind. But I also understand those who don’t want to. They’re afraid to look into another face and see their own staring back.

A sense of exhaustion hangs in the air, and it’s not unusual for the healthy spouses to look more inconsolable than the patients. We’re all tired of the tests and the questions, tired of the fear and the rage, tired of our insurance companies, tired of the cancer-focused magazines and pamphlets that we just don’t have the patience for anymore. We are sick of being human question marks.

In those rooms, we are, all of us, on dark journeys, each one of us bearing a crucial tale to tell. But we are also feeling poignantly mortal, and we’re not up to telling each other our stories right then and right there. When it comes to the stories of our lives, we know that we have become cliffhangers.” — Dana Jennings

pathology report

Posted: April 2, 2011 | Author: | Filed under: breast cancer, infection | Tags: , , , , , | 4 Comments

Pathology reports are terrifying. I can think of no other grouping of 8 1/2 x 11 inch paper with the potential to inflict such rack & ruin. Four measly pages, what might otherwise be considered a rudimentary book report, but with the power to turn your insides to ice water at one glance.

Reading a pathology report is a combination of a race to the finish to see if there’s anything terrible contained therein, with a good helping of “WTH does that mean??” rounded out by the distinct feeling of utter confusion. It’s also a little weird to read about your own body in such clinical, anatomical, far-removed-from-me-as-a-person way. Oh, how I would love to sit down and have a beer with Gustavo de la Rosa, MD, aka the pathologist who wrote my latest report. Since he would likely think I was stalking him, I decided to leave him alone and do my own research.

Unlike previous pathology reports, this one, from the Big Dig, seems pretty positive and full of good news, and more importantly, free of any bad news. Important distinction, that. On the first page alone, it says “No evidence of malignancy” 6 times. Holla! I also learned a new word in reading that report: papule. Any ideas what that means? Click on it to find out. My education continues; shouldn’t yours?

It’s interesting how the pathologist describes the different chunks of my body that were offered up as samples: “Received in formalin, labeled ‘left breast capsule’ is a piece of fibrous tissue measuring 12.5 x 7 x 0.3 cm. One surface is tan-pink, smooth and glistening, and the other is tan-brown and roughened with some unremarkable yellow, lobulated adipose tissue but no gross lesions are identified.’ ” I think Dr de la Rosa could have a career as a copywriter. The descriptions of the colors alone are noteworthy: who knew my innards were tan-pink, tan-brown, yellow, white-tan, and yellow-brown? There are also references to pectoralis muscle, striated muscle, intercostal muscle, cartilage, soft tissue, fragmented tissue, fibrofatty tissue and fibrous tissue, not fatty.

foreign body giant cell reaction

Long story short in the 7 categories of chunks of me that were tested is no evidence of malignancy, but evidence abounds of “foreign body giant cell reaction consistent with implant capsule” on the left, which means the left side of my body didn’t like the tissue expander placed there during the mastectomy. The right side disliked it even more, with “florid foreign body giant cell reaction.” Florid means it really didn’t like the expander. I always associate florid with rosiness or abundance, so perhaps that applies to florid foreign body giant cell reaction, as in abundant or highly developed bacteria growth. Not such a rosy picture after all. The pretty pink photo above is deceiving. When I first saw it I thought, ooooh, pretty. Then I realized that it’s some seriously ticked-off cells having a gigantic inflammatory reaction to an unwelcome visitor. Yikes.

The methodical and organized way in which the information is laid out appeals to me, with the Anatomic Pathology Diagnosis broken down into 8 sections, A through H. Each section is a different chunk of flesh that was tested and range from the tissue expander itself to left pectoralis muscle to soft tissue and lymph nodes.

The gross description of the tissue expander is pretty darn detailed: “left breast tissue expander is a flattened, spherical mesh structure with a circular plastic disc on one aspect measuring 4 cm in diameter. On one side it is inscribed with ‘Mentor’ and ‘MH 550 cc.’ This specimen is submitted for gross identification only.”

“Gross identification” doesn’t mean it was nasty, but done with the naked eye instead of under a microscope. Putting a tissue expander under a microscope doesn’t make any sense, but then again, neither does the phrase “naked eye” because when exactly do eyes wear clothing? These are the thoughts that plague me while reading about my smooth and glistening, white-tan fibrous skin.

Playin’ the cancer card

Posted: April 1, 2011 | Author: | Filed under: breast cancer, drugs | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

I don’t do it very often.

Not because I’m so virtuous, because the truth is, I’d sell my soul to get back to my normal life. Too bad nobody’s buying.

Today I played the cancer card. And I’m not sorry.

My allergists’ office called. The one doctor’s office I don’t hear from on a weekly basis, at the least. The nurse said they can’t call in a refill for my Flonase because I’m “way overdue for a follow-up visit.”

I haven’t had any respiratory problems–that may be the only thing I haven’t had problems with, and my sinuses seem to be the only body part not felled by infections, yes, plural infections. I didn’t think it necessary to go for a follow-up visit.

I’ve also been a little busy.

I told the nurse that I’ve been a little busy. I was nice about it, despite a childish but pressing desire to blister her ears with the entire, complicated, curse-word-filled story.

But I did not. That, people, is what is known as self-control. I don’t exert it all that often, so pardon my need to point it out when the planets are aligned and it does happen.

I simply told the nurse that I’ve been preoccupied with breast cancer, multiple surgeries, infection, and full-time, long-term healing. Long, drawn-out pause. Cue the crickets chirping.

She didn’t say anything, so I wrapped up the already-dead conversation by telling her to please pass along the message that if the doctor still needed to see me, in order to refill a benign prescription for a preventative steroid nasal spray, I would indeed drag my pathetic, battered, scarred, fused, and infused carcass to the office and wait ever-so-patiently for the all-mighty doctor to fill out a perfunctory slip of paper.

The nurse said she would call me back.

I said, thank you ever so much, and please, have a nice day.

Guess what? The prescription is approved, filled, and awaiting pick-up.

As Kenny Rogers so eloquently put it, “You gotta know when to hold ’em, know when to fold ’em.” You also gotta know when to play that cancer card.

Yesterday

Posted: March 31, 2011 | Author: | Filed under: breast cancer | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 10 Comments

Yesterday was busy, and I was so occupied with celebrating the removal of the last surgical drains (HOORAY!), I didn’t fully process all that happened in the 3 doctors’ visits. Also, in the interest of full disclosure, I learned that two of the three docs read or monitor this blog, and that fact inhibits me. It takes a lot to achieve that, as I’m not easily inhibited or shut-up-able. Yikes.

So if the docs are reading today, hellooooooooo! Hope you’re having a great day filled with smiling patients, easy procedures, and ever-flowing compliments. Y’all deserve it. As I gaze down at my newly created cleavage, I’m indebted to you once again. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Back to the long day yesterday — it began bright & early at Dr Grimes’s office, and the adventure was kick-started as soon as we walked in the door–Amy and I wondered if someone had spilled a bottle of Febreeze, as there was a serious overdose of artificial freshness in the small waiting area. An older woman who was waiting to see Dr Grimes said she couldn’t smell a thing, darned allergies, and she really hoped it wasn’t her perfume. Amy & I giggled behind our hands at the idea of someone with no sense of smell piling on the perfume, hee hee. Guess what? It was her perfume! As she left the waiting area for an exam room, the smell went with her. Egads.

Dr Grimes was full of wisdom–even more so than usual. I told him that Amy & I took the “Do I Have a Problem with Alcohol?” quiz on one of his HIV pamphlets in the exam room. According to the pamphlet, “people with HIV are prone to abuse alcohol.” They don’t have an exclusive on that propensity, believe me.

So the quiz goes like this: Amy read the questions, and I answered.

  1. Do you lose time from school/work due to drinking? No, but seeing the “due to” construction misused makes me need a drink. It’s “because of” drinking! Sheesh.
  2. Is drinking making your life unhappy? No, just the opposite. It makes my life very, very happy.
  3. Is drinking causing a change or harming your reputation? Nope, it enhances my reputation. It’s all good. But would it kill ya to say “causing a change in or harming your reputation?” Seriously, who writes these things??
  4. Do you feel guilty or have remorse after drinking? No way, I don’t even remember having had the drinks. And another beautiful thing about drinking is that it kills those kinds of feelings (which is why we do it, duh).
  5. Has your performance at school or work declined because of your drinking? On the contrary, my drinking universally enhances my performances.
  6. Do you often drink alone? Define “often.”
  7. Do you ever black out or forget what you have done while you were drinking? What was the question?
  8. Does drinking make you feel strong or overly confident? Why, yes, it does. I couldn’t write this blog without being under the influence, every single time I write. People don’t do this sober, do they?
  9. Has your drinking negatively impacted your relationship with family, friends, and/or loved ones? No, and if they really loved me, they’d get me a refill.
  10. Do you drink and are under the age of 21? Yes, and no. But I like looking at people who are under the age of 21, especially cute guys. No harm in that. And again, can we get a proofreader here? “Do you drink and are you under the age of 21″ flows so much nicer and sounds so much better. It’s not that difficult.

With the quiz completed, Dr Grimes swept into the room and gave us a passing grade on it. We told him that the only problem we have with alcohol is that we weren’t drinking bloody marys as we took the quiz and waited for the doctor. He shared a quote with us from one of his college professors, a man whose first name is Chivas: “My definition of an alcoholic is someone who drinks more than me, and who I don’t like.” Well said, Professor Scotch.

Another funny thing: Dr Grimes was in the middle of the Chivas story when I started stripping down for the physical exam. I don’t think twice about doing this because I’m so used to it at this point, but he clearly doesn’t have a lot of patients do this. I bet he doesn’t have any who were slated for 3 physical exams in the same day. He was working hard to avert his eyes while he finished his story!

The other good quote we got from Dr Grimes came in the course of our discussion of how long it takes to treat and cure infection, and how much more patient I’m being than I have been in the past (he really said that, and I didn’t prompt him — it’s true!). I used to ask him as often as possible when I’d get off the oral antibiotics. I’d even have my friend Laura, who works with him, ask him for me. But now that I’ve had a flare-up and am back on IV antibiotics, in addition to the oral abx, I’ve stopped asking. I will stay on the oral abx as long as I need to. 231 days and counting, but not impatiently.

Ok, the quote: it comes from Dr Grimes’s grandpa, who said “Anything looks fast running past trees.” That’s pretty deep. I’m going to leave the interpretation up to each individual, like a Rorschach test in which everyone comes up with a different answer. 

Let me know what your answer is.

Speaking of open interpretation, Dr Grimes gave me a copy of my pathology consultation report from the Big Dig. Fascinating stuff. I think it warrants a separate post. Don’t want anyone to get behind in their real jobs because this post stretches on too long. Plus, I need to look up a few more words and educate myself a little more. Either that, or have a drink so I can better ignore the multiple references of adipose tissue in the path report.

Thank goodness Amy was with me for the long day yesterday, both because I have proved to need adult supervision, and because I tend to miss half of what the good docs tell me. Not sure when I became such a birdbrain, but once I get in those exam rooms, I can’t seem to retain everything.

That, and I need a witness to some things like the fact that all three docs yesterday approved of my trip to Napa next week. Well, Dr Grimes’s approval was less than wholehearted; he basically said, I’m not going to tell you what to do because I know you will just go ahead and do what you want to do. I’ve learned that about you.” I think he coughed and muttered “tennis” a few times, as if we needed to dredge up the past in which there were rumors of me playing tennis before I was officially cleared to do so.

He said yes to Napa but wants to keep me on the IV abx right up until we leave, just to be sure. He thinks that whatever potential infection was stopped in its tracks before it had a chance to get ugly, hence the lack of progression. He was treating my symptoms but not seeing evidence of anything getting worse, so at this point the extra week of IV drugs is insurance. Anything that ensures me getting on that plane and heading to Wine Country is all right with me. He did tell me to try not to drink too much. Huh, yeah, right. I’ll give that a try. While in Napa. Uh huh. Gonna try real hard. Sure.

He let me go and said to come back in a month, but I had to make a return visit to the infusion room after I saw Dr Spiegel to get my next week’s supply of IV abx, and to have Nurse Shakey change the needle in my port and insert a new one. See why I need to drink, people???

On to Dr Spiegel’s office. Amy and I spent some time in the waiting area reading the pathology report,  giggling, and admiring this week’s delivery of fresh flowers. Once back in the exam room, I stripped down again, the second of three times in one day. I guess that would be weird for some people, but it’s all in a day’s work for me.

Dr Spiegel was as stunning as always, and I wish I’d asked her who cuts her hair because it’s a great cut. She continues to be pleased with the healing going on in the multitude of scars on me, and gave me the ok to ditch the flimsy post-surgical bra and buy a real bra. A real bra! Wow. Haven’t had one of those in almost a year. That’s strangely exciting. What’s not so exciting was learning that my belly may stay a bit swollen for 6 months. There was a lot of excavation done there, so it makes sense, but I’m ready for everything to be back to normal now! I need some compression on my belly to help reduce the swelling. How ironic is it that when I had a bit of a belly, I never wore a “compression garment” but now that my belly has been relocated north, I need a girdle. Fine, whatever, I’d wear a suit of armor at this point if it meant getting rid of the drains. Hooray and hallelujah that the drains are gone. What’s really amazing is that the holes that held the drain tubing are already closed. Not healed completely, and still really bruised, but not open and not seeping any fluid. Yes, it’s another gross photo but this one actually represents something to be celebrated. As in, I’m celebrating the absence of any rubber tubing. And instead of cringing, you should be celebrating that you don’t have any either. And while you’re at it, cross your fingers for continued healing and no drama. And be glad you’re not wearing a “compression garment.” Not that I’m complaining. Just saying be glad it’s not you.

My visit with Dr Spiegel concluded with her blessing to go to Napa, have a great time, just don’t go swimming since the incisions and drain holes aren’t completely healed. Trust me, the last thing I’m going to do is anything to jeopardize the fragile peace that I’ve made with this complicated wreck of a body.

From there, we zipped back to Dr Grimes’s office to take care of the port maintenance and pick up the latest box of goodies, then headed out of the med center and down University, past the beautiful Rice University campus, to Second Silhouette, the nearest medical supply company to get my new bra. Yea, how exciting — getting a bra at a supply store. No boutique or Victoria’s Secret for me. No sir, I got to shop at a store that also sells prosthetics and diabetic socks. Yea.

That’s all right, I was shopping without any drains, so it was all good. We were in and out of there quickly, since we were starving, needed to raise a glass to the drain-free status, and still get to Dr S for the third and final appointment of the day.

After some libation and a quick but yummy lunch, it was onward for the highlight of our week: seeing Dr S. His new office is configured so that he has a little desk visible from the check-in window, which has no glass (love that). He was sitting at the little desk, waiting impatiently for his favorite patient and her trusty escort, who he likes the most! I think he glanced at the clock to remind us that we were late, and I’m sure he didn’t want to hear that the reason we were late involved adult beverages. We said howdy, checked in, then fled to the hallway. He wanted to know where we were going, so I told him: to go smoke a butt. No, really, just needed a pit stop.

After that, we got right into an exam room and I once again eschewed the paper gown.

Greenisites.com

Save that for a “normal” patient who isn’t used to stripping down multiple times a day. I’ve saved a lot of trees from my frequent doctor visits. Always looking on the bright side. And I’d much rather hug a tree than a person. Can’t help it, I’m just not very touchy-feely. I just hope that this new habit of mine isn’t permanent; don’t think I need to strip down for the allergist or the podiatrist.

Dr S joined the chorus of “yeses” saying go to Napa, girl, you’ve earned it. ‘Bout time you got out of town. I remembered to get a letter from him to present to TSA saying I have metal in my body (the port) so I may set off the metal detectors. If they are suspicious, I can always strip down and prove it. Amy showed our shared gratitude by washing his glasses, which we could tell were smudged when he gestured and pointed with them. That’s full service. Always happy to help make Dr S’s life better, easier, more joyful. When he mentioned my little blog, he suggested I say some nice things about him instead of always busting his chops. I may have to start a whole ‘nother blog just for him, and to contain all the words of praise and appreciation I have for him. I forgot to tell him that guest blogger Kayte VanScoy described him as “fit and attractive” and likened him to a combination of Justin Timberlake, Arnold Schwarzenegger, and Karl Lagerfeld. What a mash-up!

We had some serious talk about Little League baseball and his 6-year-old’s stellar season so far. He knows I’m a big baseball fan, and we bonded over baseball about this time last year. He helps out with his son’s team and Amy and I both think that’s awesome. He has a seriously busy schedule and a very important job (well, the work he does for cancer patients, anyway; the more cosmetic stuff not as much), yet he’s proven time and again that his family is his priority. I’m sure the coach appreciates the frequent input that Dr S gives him, and he’s been known to make suggestions on the line-up.

After we solved the problems of the Little League team, our business was done. At least for that visit.

Some days…

Posted: March 30, 2011 | Author: | Filed under: breast cancer, cancer fatigue | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Some days I want to open up my skull, scoop out my brain, cradle it lovingly & pat it reassuringly and tell it there, there, one day this bad stuff will be behind us and everything will get back to normal. Those who’ve walked this “cancer journey” before tell me that this will happen. Other days, I want to open up my skull, scoop out my brain, and kick it across the room, saying, is this the best you can do? Can you at least try and keep up here? 

Today is a kick-it-across-the-room kind of day, and it’s early. It’s still dark outside, for cryin’ out loud. My brain should still be sleeping and recharging so it’s ready to face the day. Instead, it woke up–and woke me up, too–several times last night, disrupting my Ambien-induced slumber. Stupid brain. Doesn’t it know that sleep is the one guaranteed relief from the cancer-laden thoughts that course through my head? Unless I’m dreaming about cancer-related stuff, that is, and that too I blame on my idiot brain. How come those dreams are never good? Where are the unicorns and fields of four-leaf clovers? Where are the feel-good scenes that bathe my brain in serotonin, ensuring that when we wake up, we do so with a big smile and feel like we’ve had a nice hug. Where’s Charles Schultz when I need him? 

Now I can’t remember what this post was about. Stupid brain.

Today will be a long day. In addition to the choppy slumber and frustrating half-thoughts, I have 3, count ’em, 3 doctor’s appointments today. That’s about 3 too many for me.

First up is Dr Grimes, infectious disease guru, to hopefully shed some light on the MRSA part of the infection puzzle. I’m expecting to get culture results from my visit to him last week, and he will order blood work as well today, to seek more answers to the great infection questions that seem unending.

Then it’s off to Dr Spiegel to get down on my knees and beg her to please please please pull these damn drains. Today is 4 weeks, people. Four long weeks of being tethered. She’s not easily swayed, so my visit to her may end in tears. Or shouting. Or both.

But, wait — I have my appointment with Dr S to round out the day! That ought to be good. He always has something interesting to say about my pitiful situation. Half the time I don’t have the foggiest idea what he’s talking about, but it’s always interesting.

Stay tuned.

Don’t annoy the crazy person

Posted: March 29, 2011 | Author: | Filed under: breast cancer, pets | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

I saw this t-shirt and wondered why in the world I don’t own it. This may well be the single best piece of advice. Ever. “Don’t Annoy the Crazy Person.” Brilliant. Talk about a public service ad. This is a message to humanity. Wonder if I can get community service hours for providing this message.

I should have purchased this shirt a long time ago, but now that cancer has came to town and invited along not one but two unseemly infections, I could really use it. I might just wear it every day.

I certainly would wear it any time I ventured out in public, to deal with the hoi polloi. Seems you can’t swing a cat without bumping into someone who’s going to do or say something annoying. (No, I’m not really going around swinging cats, so settle down already.)

The latest annoyance is this: drugs that come individually wrapped in impossible to open blister packs. Yes, I’m well aware that overdosing on iron supplements can be fatal, but my kids are long past the stage of putting any- and everything in their mouths, and frankly, the sheer volume of prescription drugs perching on the countertops in my kitchen and bathroom render such toddler temptations trite, banal and just part of the landscape on which my kiddies exist. I have zero fear of them getting into any of my drugs. As for myself, if I were looking to overdose, it would not be on iron supplements. Just sayin’.

This is my iron supplement, Ferrex, that my cutie-patootie oncologist prescribes for me.

Notice the peeling and scraping and pressing of the layers of paper in an effort to get the pills out of the packaging?

I was doing pretty well with it for the first 3 or 4 pills. I started out by following the directions, bend at the perforation, then grasp the corner that is ever so slightly raised and pull to unpeel the first layer.

But that was taking a long time and was not nearly as satisfying as the application of brute force to pierce and punch the layers apart. I used some tools, which always feels good. Started out with a nail file but graduated to this:

I didn’t even break into the toolbox in the garage; that’s just what I had on my desk in the mug that says “I’d rather be drinking tequila,” which has been on my desk for more than a decade. When I used to work for a living in an office, I had this mug on my desk, and now it’s in my “home office” where I don’t do any real work.

And yes, I keep a small knife and hammer in my tequila mug on my desk. You never know when you may need such tools.

But I am also ready in an instant to dump the tools from the mug to fill it with tequila. I’m pretty flexible that way.

Back to the iron supplements. My oncologist prescribed them because my red blood count was low after the post-mastectomy infection and subsequent tissue excision this summer. At least, that’s the reason I think the hemoglobin is low. Mr Smarty-Pants onco thinks it’s because I don’t eat meat. He’s a big carnivore himself and doesn’t understand why someone would willingly forego the wonders of the meat world. Whatev. Point is, he says I need it so I take it. That is, when I can get it out of the *&%$ blister packs.

So I started thinking about the “Don’t Annoy the Crazy Person” t-shirt, and had a quick look-see on the web to see where to get it. This is what passes for online shopping while I’m under house arrest and have loads of time to fill. Yes, I could be checking out the hot new looks for spring at nordstrom.com or any number of websites, but instead, I’m looking for t-shirts for crazy people.

That makes perfect sense.

If you’re a crazy person.

Looks like it’s a popular theme. You can also get this version:

or this one:

I’m not quite sure what it is, but the cracked glass implies that something bad either happened or is about to happen. Things can unravel at a moment’s notice when dealing with the crazies.

There’s a bumper sticker, in case you need to warn people while on the road. That sounds like a good plan. I like to know which cars contain the seriously crazy people. In a town like Houston, which always ranks in the top 10 nationwide for bad traffic, it’s a really good plan. An article in the Chicago Tribune ranked Houston #5 in the worst cities for traffic, saying that 22 hours a week are spend in congestion; the average speed while congested is 13.2 mph; and the heaviest traffic is Thursdays at 5 pm. Interesting. I’m really glad I don’t have to face a rush-hour commute every day. Although I don’t do it while I have kids in the car, I like to drive as fast as I can everywhere I go, so 13.2 mph would seriously hinder that. I’d also be a good candidate for road rage. I have a lot of angst these days. If you see a navy Tahoe hauling A down the road, gimme a wide berth, ok? I don’t have the bumper sticker announcing myself as a member of the crazy tribe (yet), so look for the Red Sox license plate frame and tow hitch as I fly by.

If you’re not ready to commit to a bumper sticker maybe you’d prefer to have your dog do your talking for you. If so, get this:

It’s made in the USA, after all. I can see Pedey wearing his proudly. Except no one would ever see it, since he spends 99 percent of his life sitting in my lap. Lord knows that Lazybones doesn’t venture outside to see & be seen; too tiring. 

I’m guessing the doggie t-shirt doesn’t come in Harry’s size. Although the crazy label does indeed apply to him. If we did find one big enough and get it on him, he’d throw his back out trying to wrestle it off his body, then knock out a tooth ripping the fabric to shreds. Sweet boy.

Here’s some high fashion for your baby. Need a onesie to announce the craziness? 

You can also get a button, to warn people off:

I especially like the woman chasing the man with the knife, and the Edward Gorey-type illustration. Classy.

If you feel the need to announce your craziness in the kitchen, get this apron. Splatter some tomato sauce on it to look like you’ve been in a dangerous confrontation.

There’s also a handy card available, presumably to hand out while swinging cats at the hoi polloi. That’s convenient. Wonder what the minimum order is on that?

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