The Thanksgiving list

Posted: November 24, 2011 | Author: | Filed under: breast cancer, food, kids, pets, tennis | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 9 Comments

 

It’s Thanksgiving and I would be remiss if I didn’t remark upon the things for which I am thankful. This time last year I was fresh off the post-mastectomy infection train and trying to navigate life as a survivor. This year, the infection is finally in the rear-view mirror, and 8 surgeries later I’m on the road to reclaiming my normal life.

I’m contemplative on this day of everything good in my life. Not gonna think about the bad stuff today. Here’s a short list of the things I’m grateful on this day of Thanksgiving.

My family. And the beach. Two of my favorite things at the same time — good stuff!

Living in Texas, where it’s warm enough to swim on Thanksgiving. People joke about how Texas is a whole ‘nother country, and it’s true. Everything is bigger here, and better.

My kids. Every parent thinks their kids are amazing and wonderful and I am no different. 

As the grow I see more and more the people they are becoming, and that will always be a source of pride for me.

Youth sports. Being a part of a team, and experiencing the thrill of victory as well as the agony of defeat is a wonderful thing. 

Raising kids who love animals. Whether furry or slimy, cute or with a face only a mother could love, my kids adore animals and have learned compassion and sacrifice through caring for them. 

Good books. I love a good read. And I love that my kids are readers, too. My sweet mama the former English teacher would be so proud!

Natural beauty. Whether the rolling waves of Salisbury Beach, the mountains of Utah, or the public gardens in Boston, I’m grateful to have beautiful scenery to gaze at as I go about my days. 

Tennis. I’ve learned so much from the game, most notably humility, and continue to be challenged. People laugh when I say I started playing tennis because I like the clothes and had no idea how hard a game it is, but it’s true. 

Funny art and snarky humor. I hope I never outgrow my enjoyment of them. If I’m ever too old to laugh at something like what you see here, smother me with a pillow. 

Jacoby Ellsbury. Because he’s so fine. Oh, and baseball, too. I’m thankful for baseball. But mainly Jacoby. 

 

 

A legacy. The women in my family are strong and funny and kind-hearted. I hope to continue the traditions they’ve established. 

Mentors for my kids. I’m so grateful for the people in my kids’ lives who teach them, guide them, and love them.

Cocktails. Need I say more?

Great food. To soak up the alcohol.

Puppies! The more the merrier! Sometimes I think I like dogs more than people. Puppies especially.

Things that challenge me to get outside of my comfort zone. Like modeling in the Couture for the Cause a few weeks after my latest hospitalization last fall. Yikes. After wondering what in the sam hell made me agree to do it, I ended up having one of the single best experiences of my life. And plan to do it again in March. Get your tickets now, before it sells out!

Friends. Couldn’t have made it through the last 18 months without them. Whether buds from way back or newly connected, I’m imminently thankful for my friends. 

Cheers to Thanksgiving!

One year ago today

Posted: May 13, 2011 | Author: | Filed under: breast cancer, drugs, food, infection, kids, pets, Surgery, tennis | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 12 Comments

Y’all know I’m a milestone-observing kind of girl. I’ve written about my cancer-versary, about a revelation, about week-old recollections after The Big Dig, aka my reconstruction, and returning to the tennis court after a long absence full of longing.

I’ve written about the anniversary of my sweet mama leaving this earth. That was early on in my blogging, and I hadn’t mastered the art of inserting photos. The photos of her are woefully displayed, and in my free time (!) I need to go back and fix them. She deserves better.

I’ve also observed the end of the worst year of my life. “Don’t let the door hit ya” was my message to 2010 as it went out like a lion. A mean, underfed, on-the-hunt-for-victims lion. Almost halfway through 2011 and I’m happy to say it’s turning out to be a much better year. Course, we didn’t have far to go to make it better than its predecessor.

Back to the current milestone. One year ago today, I said bye-bye to my breasts and was the lucky recipient of a flat–but cancer-free–chest. This was me, this time last year. On this very day (although it wasn’t a Friday, it was May 13th. Having a bilateral mastectomy on Friday the 13th would be cruel).

Trevor snapped this photo of me waiting for my surgery, in the holding pen before moving to a pre-op room. My brain was swirling with lots of thoughts, too many thoughts, and I was likely firing off a quick email to our BFF Ed with some last-minute kid-wrangling instructions. Notice the pink notebook in my bag: my cancer book, full of pathology reports, doctors’  notes, research, and bills. Bills, bills, and more bills. I think the current estimate of the cost of my last year medically is in the range of $260,000. And we’re not done spending yet.

One year ago today, I wish we’d thought to take a close-up shot of my chest instead of the deep wrinkle snaking across my forehead. My chest would never be the same, and would become a major battleground–and that was after the mastectomy. If I’d seen that pic before going under, I would have asked Dr Dempsey, breast surgeon extraordinnaire, to give me some Botox while she was in there. Yikes.

I didn’t know what to expect from the surgery, other than the basics. With subsequent surgeries, I’ve learned that actual procedures are available for viewing on youtube and I’ve watched a few. Gross. But amazing.

All I knew, really, was that I had breast cancer and I wanted it gone. I could have had a lumpectomy, but chose the slash-and-burn option instead. I’m not a half-measure kind of girl, and the idea of just taking a part of the infected breast instead of the whole thing wasn’t anything I ever seriously entertained. Slash-and-burn meant taking both breasts, even though the cancer was only detected in the right one. Only. Ha! Good thing I lost the pair, because the post-mastectomy pathology showed the left one had some problems, too. If you can call an area 5 cm in diameter full of cancerous junk a problem. I can, and I did. Little did I know then, one year ago today, that pretty much anything that could go wrong with my post-surgery self would go wrong. As my nurse practitioner friend Laura says, “Your case certainly has not been textbook.” Truer words were never spoken, but we didn’t know that one year ago today.

Because there were only 3 weeks between my diagnosis and the mastectomy, and because most of that time was consumed with tests, tests, and more tests, there wasn’t a lot of time for freaking out or being scared or crying about my fate. Not that I would have done any of those things anyway. There was a problem, and we were going to fix it. ‘Nuff said. I had a great team–breast surgeon, plastic surgeon, and oncologist– and was in a nationally ranked and highly acclaimed hospital. Course, I’d end up adding a kick-ass infectious disease team, home-health care nurse, a beloved lymphedema specialist, and wound specialists to my team before it was all said & done.

Dr Grimes, my hero

Tammy Sweed, I adore you!

The week before surgery, Payton turned 11

and Macy & I pampered ourselves with a Chinese foot massage.

I squeezed in as much time as I could with my girls

I didn’t know it would be a while before I did anything like this with my favorite girl.

Going into surgery one year ago today, I had no idea that I’d end up spending nearly a month more in the hospital and undergo 3 more surgeries; minor surgeries compared with the mastectomy, and of course reconstruction was way off in the distance, with even more days in the hospital. I had no idea how much I’d miss my kids while hospitalized

and my dogs (and their friends).

I had no idea how many times I’d need the special parking place.

I had no idea how much infinite kindness my friends would bestow upon me. We were on the receiving end of many, many meals delivered to our house, a kindness for which I’m so grateful. The rides to & from my  kids’ activities helped more than I could ever guess. The sleepovers and outings that my mommy friends provided kept my kids’ life normal when everything else around them was off-the-charts abnormal.

My cousin Teri’s hubby Tom made me more than one coconut cream pie. I ate a lot of this

but not nearly enough of this

Keith’s crab towers were chock-full of healing properties.

As was this:

Yes, lots of champagne eased the way from being an average, suburban at-home mom to becoming a statistic. From regular woman to cancer vixen. From got-it-together overachiever to at the beast’s mercy. And my bubbly companion continues to ease the way, from cancer victim to cancer survivor. Cheers to that.

A week after surgery, I began to feel a bit more human and was blown away by my little girl wearing a pink ribbon on her shirt–all her idea, BTW–to school every day.  

I was not enjoying the amount of time spent doing this:

although Pedey enjoyed every lazy minute of my recouperating.

Seeing me in jammies all the time gave Macy an idea: she could raid my jammie drawer and wear them herself. 

I’m not sure I ever got that pair back from her.

I certainly have learned a lot over the last year. Things I never knew I would have to learn, like the difference between invasive ductal carcinoma and in situ carcinomas. Like how a tumor is graded to determine the stage of the cancer. Like cure rate statistics and recurrence stats. Like how fine a line there is between the science of medicine and the art of medicine. Like how fighting a wily infection could be even worse than fighting cancer.

The crash course in all things infection-related was a big education. A very big, most unwanted education. My biggest lesson in this arena is how many unknowns exist. I wanted to know when, where, how, and why I got this infection. No one knows for sure. I wanted to know why it took so long to diagnose it, and why so many drugs have to be involved. I learned that my oncologist could have me all my drugs delivered to my doorstep via UPS. I learned to love vanocmycin and to depend on probiotics. I learned to eat breakfast as soon as I got up, hungry or not, because I needed to time the antibiotics right so they hit an empty stomach. I learned that morning sickness-style nausea doesn’t go away as the morning changes to afternoon and then to evening. I learned that there was nothing, not one single thing, I could put in my stomach to ease that awful nausea. I learned that washing those drugs down with alcohol doesn’t make me feel worse; that in fact it made me feel a whole lot better. I learned to develop a schedule and a rhythm to taking my antibiotics every 12 hours for 267 days. 

I learned that “We’re discontinuing the antibiotics” are the sweetest words I’ve heard in a long time. I’ve learned about the complete and utter relief of dumping my remaining oral abx out, because I don’t need them anymore.

That’s the tip of the iceburg, or what my friend Michele would call “a booger’s worth” of the practical things I’ve learned. The topical aspects of changing one’s status from normal person to cancer patient. Then there’s the other side of it.

There’s the stuff  I’ve learned in the last year about the unquantifiable side of a serious illness. The depth of inner strength required to get through something like this. The well of emotion that accompanies the clinical stuff. The patience and fortitude I didn’t know I had (although I’m still working on the patience part). The measure of gratitude toward the people who’ve helped along the way. The unbridled joy of making new friends in the midst of a shitty situation. The passion for writing, long dormant in the day-to-day of child-rearing, and the love of blogging. The understanding that my doctors are just regular people under those scrubs & white coats, and while they’re full of knowledge, there’s a whole ‘nother side of unknown things for which they make an educated guess and hope for the best. And, I have to admit, how much fun I’ve had getting to know these people in the white coats.

 

While being diagnosed with breast cancer at age 40 certainly does suck, I’m lucky that I made the decision one year ago to not let that diagnosis define me or impede me living my life. There certainly were times in which I was miserable from surgery and infection, and down in the dumps about my limited capabilities during recovery. There were also times over the last year in which I thought for a second I can’t take any more–not one drop more of bad luck, rotten news, and beastly complications. But those times didn’t last long and they did not prevail. Cancer did not prevail. Not over me. No way. Nuh uh. That’s perhaps the most important thing I learned over the last year.

Breaking news

Posted: April 12, 2011 | Author: | Filed under: breast cancer, pets, Surgery, tennis | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

We interrupt the “All Napa, All the Time” marathon with breaking news. Imagine the tornado sirens going off right now (or maybe that’s just in my head). If you’re looking for news of Day 2 of our recent Napa adventure, you’re gonna have to wait.

Yesterday I did something I haven’t been able to do since The Big Dig. I’m very excited about it. It’s been 5 weeks since the excavation that gutted me like a fish in an effort to restore my post-mastectomy sunken chest. 5 long weeks. There are lots of things I’ve been unable to do, and y’all know I’m a very impatient patient. I tend to rush things and push the envelope, and sometimes that results in a set-back, or at the very least, a lot of frustration for my handlers. I’ve been trying, really trying, to be patient, to not rush things, and to avoid any potential set-backs. I’m not much of a people-pleaser by nature, but I do try to keep my handlers happy. They make a lot of noise when they’re unhappy with me.

I rode my bike.

chumpyclipart.com

Yes, that’s the breaking news.

Hope you were sitting down, because it’s really big news.

See, I’m one of those weirdos who loves to exercise. I’m restless and have a strong “productivity” drive. Like how some dogs have a high food drive, or our crazy dog Harry has a high “must have something to carry in my mouth” drive, I have a high “productivity” drive. I also like to eat. And drink. But don’t like when my clothes don’t fit, a wonky equation to say the least. Some people don’t care much about food, and I don’t understand them. I’m usually planning my next meal as I’m eating the current one. Different strokes, people.

I’ve mentioned before in this space that I’m not good at lying around, being lazy, and doing that thing called relaxing. What is this practice of which people speak? Apparently I missed the memo, because I’m no good at it.

All this to say that being grounded for the last 5 weeks has been hard for me. I’ve really missed my daily exercise. Whether it’s tennis, the gym, or riding my bike, I miss it. And yesterday, I rode my bike.

Glory be!

Macy and I have a routine of riding to the pet store every day after school to buy crickets for Cincko, her leopard gecko. He’s got a big appetite, and I’m always afraid he’ll start banging on the sides of his tank if he doesn’t get fed. He eyeballs Pedey, our little dog, and puffs himself up as if he’s going to attack that dog the way he pummels the crickets who are dropped into his tank. Thus, the need to procure crickets is a big one, and I haven’t been able to ride with her since my surgery.

Yesterday after dinner, she wanted to go for a ride. Not to the pet store, but just around the neighborhood. After proving to myself and my handlers that I could keep up in Napa last weekend, I felt good about giving it a try. I told Macy I’d do a lap down the driveway and see how it felt. A test run, of sorts. If it didn’t feel good, I’d concede. She reminded me not to push it, that we could wait until I was more healed. That child knows her mama well.

cardcow.com

The test run down the driveway felt fine. Felt better than fine: it felt awesome. Other than a little tightness across my abdominal incision, it felt like old times. It’s true that you never forget how to ride a bike, and my muscles remembered how to fire their pistons to propel me forward. I wanted to get down on my knees right there in the driveway to thank the great gods of healing for bestowing their kindness upon my beleagured and battered body. But that would have caused Macy to roll her eyes at me and say that I’m embarrassing her, again, so I refrained.

Instead, we made a 2-mile circle around our neighborhood, dodging pedestrians, watching for bumps in the road, and intentionally riding through sprinklers. We enjoyed the drier-than-normal Houston air and rejoiced in the birdsong. We admired the neighbors’ yard work and  noticed how lush and green everything is in our part of the world.

It was a very good ride.

bicyclingabout.com

Ok, this is the part that my handlers should skip over. Y’all don’t want to read this; I worry about your blood pressure.

As I reflected this morning on yesterday’s ride and conducted my mental inventory of how much my various hotspots hurt, I realized that they didn’t really hurt. Not any more than usual. Maybe I really am healing after all. Finally!

Satisfied, I ran through my workout options for today: I could ride my bike again, I could take Harry for a long walk, I could go to the gym for cardio or for strength training. Then I realized that it’s Tuesday. It’s tennis drill day. I haven’t drilled with my team in 5 weeks. I could go to drill! Yes, I could go to drill. I may have to dust off my racquet, but I could go to drill.

Ok,  handlers, you can start reading again.

Then I realized that I’d better settle down. I’d better take it easy. I’d better ease into it and not go head-long, full-speed into resuming my normal life.

Maybe next Tuesday.

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?

I’m over it

Posted: March 14, 2011 | Author: | Filed under: breast cancer, kids, pets | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Yesterday was a bad day, but just for about half of the day. I was in a wicked bad mood, the cause of which remains unknown but the remedy of which is no surprise: a stiff drink in the company of good friends. I got some talking therapy from several sources, and with the assistance of some Stoli and tonic, all was right in my world once again.

It’s a good thing, because guest blogger and night nurse Amy H was going to charge me cash money for my bad mood. You may recall her referring to her $10 surcharge while sitting with me in the ICU last week. It was the day after my big surgery and she was subjected to my ranting about the extreme heat and pounding headache. I ran up a tab that day, and added to it yesterday. She kindly reminded me that it’s ok to crash around in a foul mood for a little while, but then get over it and get on with it, and she sent me a picture of her policy, in writing, that hangs in her kitchen.

Point taken.

Today is going to be a good day. It will, it will, it will.

It’s gloomy outside with thunder threatening, but the birds are still singing and congregating around Macy’s feeder in one of the trees in our front yard. It’s spring break in these parts, so my offspring are fanning out in search of entertainment and a respite from the rigors of 3rd and 6th grades. Macy, the little zookeeper, is going to day camp at the Lone Star Pet Lodge, which Trevor refers to as the Last Resort Pet Resort in a funny malapropism.

Macy will be tending to the animals whose owners checked them into the resort while they’re off on spring break adventures. We’re not sure exactly what her duties will be, but it sounds like an ingenious plan on the kennel owners’ part to both extort child labor and turn a profit. We pay them for our kid to do their work. How crazy is that? Crazier still is that I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if Macy came home a part-owner of that place. She was definitely in her element when we walked in; we were greeted by a miniature Yorkie at the reception desk, and for the first time ever, Macy didn’t hesitate when walking into a camp. She didn’t hesitate, and she didn’t look back to tell me good-bye. Yep, she’s in her element.

Payton’s spring break adventure is of the roadtrip variety. My firstborn has a taste for the great outdoors and a longing to see some of our fine national parks. Sadly, he missed the great cosmic birth-order assignment that might have landed him in a camping and hunting type family, and ended up with a less-rustic and more beach-oriented family. Lucky for him, there’s Ed, our nature-loving BFF. He’s a fan of the roadtrip and is well-versed in all things national park, so he and Payton hatched a plan to drive to Carlsbad Caverns in the neighboring state of New Mexico. Payton and Ed will be on the road all day today en route to their base camp in Van Horn, TX, which is about 10 hours from here but close enough to Carlsbad to visit the caves. Payton is looking forward to the “guy’s trip,” seeing the sites and splendor of West Texas, exploring Carlsbad’s 117 caves, and consuming more junk food than his mama allows. With him gone, I don’t know what I’ll do without my daily infusion of Sports Center, but I’ll try to muddle through. My prediction: since Macy has exclusive rights to the TV, there will be a Wizards of Waverly Place marathon going on when she’s not at camp.

It’s definitely going to be a good day.

Pedey, aka Weasel Dog

Posted: February 24, 2011 | Author: | Filed under: breast cancer, kids, pets | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 15 Comments

It’s been brought to my attention that I have written about Harry and Cinco the leopard gecko, but not Pedey, the other canine member of our household. Well, excuuuuuuse me.

Pedey, oh Pedey. I don’t even know where to start.

He’s a cutie, for sure. We weren’t planning on getting a puppy, not really. Not that day, anyway. IMHO, any day is a good day to bring home a new puppy, but not everyone subscribes to that point of view, so you gotta tread lightly.

Flashback to May 3, 2008. It was Payton’s 9th birthday. I went to Petsmart to pick up something for Harry and the Houston Humane Society was there with the mobile adoptions. I figured I’d scritch a few pups, get a dose of puppy breath, tickle a few fat bellies, and move on. Then I saw this: 

Oh. My. Gosh. I was smitten. That face! Those floppy ears! The speckled feet! The fat belly! The little white blaze down his nose! 

Did I mention that it was Payton’s actual birthday? 

And that I now really, really, really wanted a puppy?

And that I really, really, really wanted this puppy?

Long story short, Payton fell in love with Pedey (his mama taught him well), and we had to have him. Trevor, being the good sport that he always is, gave in, even though we already had one dog too many for him. Payton and I reasoned that Harry needed a dog, and since it was almost summer, the kids could help take care of this puppy.

Welcome to the family, little guy.

I think you’re going to like it here. We have a mentor for you named Harry. He’ll show you the ropes. He makes the mean face sometimes, especially when he has a chewie, but just ignore him.

We’ve got a best friend lined up already (Snoopy), a pool should you become a water dog, lots of toys & treats, and unlimited belly rubs.

It took us a while to come up with the right name for the new guy.

Since he was officially Payton’s dog, Payton got to have the final say. And he decided on Pedey, after his favorite Red Sox player, Dustin Pedroia. The dog is nothing like his namesake: he’s cowardly, lazy, and clumsy with a ball. But the name stuck.

He settled right into our life and weaseled his way into my heart. Let me state for the record that I’ve never had a small dog, and I’ll admit, I’ve never quite understood the appeal. Now before you carry-dog lovers out there go ballistic and send me death threats, let me be clear: I don’t dislike carry dogs or their owners. I’ve just never understood the benefits. 

Now I get it.

He was of course the cutest puppy ever. (I can say that because Maddy, the best dog in the universe, has gone on to her Great Reward, and because we adopted Harry at age 2 and never knew him as a puppy.)

He likes to snuggle more than rough-house. He would rather sleep than do just about anything else (preferably in my lap). 

We call him The King of Comfort, because he always manages to find the most comfy spot available. 

If he’s not fast asleep in a prime spot, he’s camped out under my desk chair. 

Sometimes his legs or tail peek out from underneath the chair, and sometimes he’s completely hidden and I forget he’s there until I scooch the chair back and accidentally scare him half to death.

Sometimes he gets in the chair, right behind me. When he was tiny, it worked out just fine. But now he’s a little too big for that, but he still tries it sometimes. 

He still manages to fit. Mostly.

He likes to make a nest when he finds a comfy spot for sleeping. He will either wedge himself tight in between pillows & cushions, or get himself wrapped up in blankets & comforters. He will also stay in bed until he’s good and ready to get up, instead of leaping up the instant my feet hit the floor, like Harry does.

We don’t know what kind of dog he is, besides lazy & shiftless. Beagle, maybe? He has short, coarse hair; very different from the labs’ hair I’m used to. He has a very wrinkly brow and often looks quite contemplative. It’s mostly for show, though, because he sure doesn’t seem very smart. 

He’s not all that well-trained, either, because he was so cute we were always holding him instead of schooling him to sit and stay. 

He never did learn to love to swim, like the other dogs do. He doesn’t really even like for his feet to get wet, hence the need to be in my lap as often as possible.

Dana Jennings, a wonderful writer for the New York Times said, “Good dogs – and most dogs are good dogs – are canine candles that briefly blaze and shine, illuminating our lives.” I’ve had 4 dogs in my adult life: Maddy, the best dog ever in the history of all dogs. So good, I still get teary when I think of her, several years after her death (and y’all know I’m not much of a crier). So good that the urn of her ashes is on a side table in my bedroom, her name engraved in a simple, beautiful script, the urn way too small to contain all the love and memories she provided. Then there was Lucy, who we got to keep Maddy company. Her canine candle was pretty dim, and there is no urn for her. Then came Harry, and now Pedey. A short but very full doggie history.

Pedey was so happy this past summer, when I was convalescing from surgery and multiple hospitalizations. I don’t usually lay around much, but I had to then. And he loved it. He was always right by my side or in my lap, sleeping away. We joked that we should have snuck him into the hospital, so he could have slept on my bed with me there.

Well, Pedey, rest up; in a few days, I’ll have some more down-time. Are you ready?

He’s done it again

Posted: February 2, 2011 | Author: | Filed under: pets | Tags: , , , , | 5 Comments

Good Lord in Heaven, I think my dog Harry can read.

I think he read my post about his thieving ways (see “Thank goodness for tile” under recent posts; the link isn’t working so you’re gonna have to find it yourself). While I was busy carrying in my loot from Costco, he snatched a pound of sliced Swiss cheese and horked it down.

Damn that dog to hell.

It’s too cold to keep him outside, and I am a bit of a sucker for his big brown eyes imploring me through the window to let his sorry butt inside. But it’s that sorry butt I’m worried about after a pound of cheese passes through it.

If he makes another mess in the house, I’m shipping him off to the glue factory.

Thank goodness for tile

Posted: January 31, 2011 | Author: | Filed under: breast cancer, pets | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

I guess Harry was worried about me today. While I was at the medical center (all day!) taking care of some pre-op business, he had a BIG accident that wasn’t quite solidified.

Suffice to say, I came home to an atrocious smell and found a gigantic pile of mess in the dining room.

Thank goodness the entire downstairs is tile. Otherwise, I’d be ripping up carpet and throwing it on the front lawn instead of typing this right now.

Gross.

After a long day at the hospital, this wasn’t what I would have liked to find.

Poor Harry. He’s always had a nervous stomach. His tummy gurgles a lot, and he’s had some issues with his backside off and on. Some sort of doggie IBS, I guess. He’s high-strung and can be quite grouchy, and the retired neighbors who walk up and down the sidewalk in front of our house multiple times a day really set him off.  Maybe he needs more time lounging on the couch. That’s relaxing.

He’s a nervous traveler, too.

He’s famous for stealing food when no one is home. He has a big appetite. 

I found this when I came home one day a couple of weeks ago. Harry had gone into the pantry in my absence to look for a snack. He lucked out, and found about 2 dozen rice krispie treats within reach. Score!

He picked the wrappers clean. There wasn’t a speck of krispie to be found in all that mess.

He was full, but ashamed. He wouldn’t even look at me.

He knew he’d been bad, but he just couldn’t help it.

His sweet tooth is a powerful force.

Curiously, he never gets sick after his thieving.

He’s eaten an entire loaf of whole grain seedy bread from Whole Foods more than once. I’ll never forget the infamous Christmas cookie incident, in which he unwrapped and consumed 2 platters of homemade cookies that were intended to be gifts.

When we adopted him from the SPCA four years ago, we had no idea that he’s psycho. They don’t seem to advertise that at the SPCA. But he is psycho.

He loves the water.  The day we brought him home from the SPCA he jumped right into the kiddie pool.

He was so happy when we built him a real pool, and he swims a lot.

He swims alone, with the kids, and with his friends.

No matter the weather, he will swim. If there’s a leaf in the pool, he won’t rest until he fishes it out. Same goes for bugs.

He and Snoopy spend a lot of time in the pool together. Good times.

Harry has a major oral fixation. He has to have something in his mouth all the time. Preferably a tennis ball. We have about 100 tennis balls in the house and in the yard on any given day. That boy is crazy for tennis balls. If we throw two balls in the pool at the same time, he’ll put them both in his mouth. At once.

I told you he was psycho.

He loved this jolly ball so much we ended up having to hide it from him. It was hard plastic, and just big enough that if he held it in the right spot, he couldn’t see where he was going with it in his mouth. He crashed into a lot of walls, and people, before we hid the jolly ball.

He loves to carry his collar in his mouth, and shake it like a small animal destined to die a slow death at his hands. He usually ends up whacking himself with the metal ID tags, but he’s gonna kill that collar.

Sometimes he can’t find his collar or a tennis ball, so he’ll grab whatever is handy.

The bath mat will do. And if he can’t find something to put in his mouth when we get home, he will go crazy looking for something, anything. Scraps of paper, dirty socks, kitchen towels. Nothing is off  limits for Harry.

He’s also really lucky that Macy loves him so much. She picked him out, and he is definitely her dog. He sleeps in her room, and no one commands his attention like her. Well, except for maybe a tennis ball.

He loves her a lot in return.

Here she is showing him a cascarone (Mexican confetti egg).

She organizes a birthday party for him every year, and sometimes there’s entertainment, like the cascarones. He wasn’t too interested in the confetti inside, but he did eat the eggshell.

His nickname is Mr. Chin, because he will rest his chin on anything. The windowsill is a favorite spot for Mr. Chin. 

Sometimes he looks like he’s going to dislocate his neck, with some of the positions he settles in, but he always manages to go to sleep, even if his head is twisted.

He’s crazy, but we love him. Even when he leaves a huge pile of nastiness on the floor.

Don’t let the door hit ya…

Posted: December 31, 2010 | Author: | Filed under: baseball, breast cancer, drugs, food, infection, kids, pets, tennis | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 11 Comments

As we prepare to bid adieu to 2010, I took a stroll down memory lane in the months since I joined the club of which no one wants to be a member. There were some great moments in the first few months of 2010, or BC (before cancer), and I made it my mission to ensure that the months that followed had the same. Two weeks before I was diagnosed, life was grand, as evidenced by the happy girls in this photo of Yvonne’s birthday dinner at Stella Soli. So fun! Who knew that something wicked this way comes?

The day before my surgery, Macy and I had the great good fortune to meet Jeffrey, a baby mockingbird rescued and rehabilitated by our friends the Hoovers.  I’m sure I had a million things to do to get ready for the big day, but meeting Jeffrey was high on the list, and I wasn’t going to miss out on the chance to have this sweet little guy hang out with my favorite girl.

An awful lot of people did a whole lot of nice things for my family and me, following my surgery, including but certainly not limited to custom-made cupcakes,

an apropos coffee mug for my cup of Joe (the photo is small but the mug says “cancer” with the red circle & slash mark,

and home delivery of my all-time favorite coconut cream pie. You know you’re in the inner circle if you’re invited to share a slice of my cousin Tom’s homemade heaven. 

One of my first post-surgery outings was around the corner to dinner at the Cremers’ for Keith’s famous crab towers: lump crabmeat topped with a most delectable avocado-mango salsa atop a bed of greens with a citrus-y vinaigrette.

Dinner at their house is always good, because he and Jill are both fantastic cooks and there’s always plenty of bubbly on hand. 

Y’all know how much I love my bubbly.

Some may say I love it more than my kids, but that’s not fair.

We all know it would be a tie.

Two weeks after the surgery, but before the dreaded infection showed up, it was my birthday. Those who say it’s all downhill after 40 may not realize that to a cancer patient, each and every birthday is a gift, and I met birthday number 41 head-on with a welcome embrace: Mexican food, margaritas and the cutest cake ever with my girls. None better.      Who cares that I still couldn’t wash my own hair at this point? Not me! I was happy to be upright and out of the house.

A week after my birthday, the bottom fell out of the extraordinary recovery I was experiencing post-surgery. We were at a joint birthday party for 3 June girls (but there were no joints at the party; that’s how rumors get started!), and I didn’t feel good. After two weeks of slowly but surely making progress and feeling better, this was weird. What was really weird was waking up the next day to a huge red rash and blisters at the surgery site on my right side. You don’t have to be a doctor to know that is not good.

In the time that I was hospitalized the first time, Payton made the All-Star team 

and embarked on one of the most memorable summers ever, for baseball. Memorable because the team did so well (District champs, Sectional champs and on to the State championship in Tyler) and because the boys chose to show their support for me very publicly by wearing pink sweatbands all summer. These warriors in pink tore it up on the baseball field and made this mama so proud.

I only made it to a couple of games but got to follow along with all the action thanks to an iPhone app that allowed Trevor to “broadcast” the games to a website that I followed on my iPad from the hospital. I will never forget the look on the nurse’s face when she came into give me a shot of morphine and I told her I needed to wait (I never turn down the good drugs) because I wanted to keep my wits about me and follow the game. Also memorable was the wound-care specialist who had two sons go to State as All Stars who called me from home at 10:30 pm to see if Payton’s team won. They did.            

In between hospitalizations, I spent a couple of hours one day in my backyard in the sunshine, watching Harry frolic in the pool. After being cooped up in a dreary hospital room and feeling lousy, the fresh air, sunshine and unbridled canine joy were just what I needed.

One of the best days of all was in early July, in between hospital visits. I had been to see Dr Darcourt, my third oncologist, and learned that he agreed with all the research Trevor had done: no chemo! Celebration was in order, and when Amy & I ordered champagne at lunch, our sweet waiter at PF Chang’s asked if there was something special to celebrate. He had no idea but we filled him in! 

Another highlight was getting to spend the weekend in Galveston with Christy & Alexis, who were kind enough to teach Macy how to fish. And fish she did: that girl caught the biggest fish of the trip! Later that night, I caught a baby sting ray (not my intent, for sure). I still feel bad about that poor little guy happening by the tempting lure on my fishing pole. All’s well that ends well, though, and with some help from some more seasoned fishermen, the little guy was freed. More importantly, I had a fun weekend with great friends that approximated a return to what most people consider a normal life. 

Despite the idyllic setting, that weekend was just an approximation, though, of normal life, and the infection would puzzle and vex not one but two set of infectious disease doctors. After two more hospitalizations and a new team of ID docs, we got a handle on it, and although the last thing I wanted was to go back to the hospital, and to the Medical Center at 10:30 on a Sunday night no less, I wasn’t alone in the joint. 

Macy loaned me her beloved Froggy to keep me company, and he took his job seriously. He didn’t left my side until I was allowed to go home, and then he went straight from the suitcase into the washing machine lest he brought home any nasty germs from the hospital. We’d had quite enough of those in our life.

Early August was bittersweet: I was on the mend, literally, but still on IV antibiotics at home and not well enough to travel to Boston for our annual vacation. After already having missed my Duke girls’ trip to Lake Tahoe in early June and all of the State championship in Tyler, I was beyond sad to miss this trip, which is always the highlight of our summers. Leave it to Macy, though, to bring me a fantastic souvenir: Continental Airlines had unveiled a new drinks menu on her flight home from Boston, and she got me a pomegranate martini mix and, once home, brought two glassed full of ice, two lime wedges, and one shot of vodka. My favorite girl and I had a welcome-home drink together. Of all the bevvies I’ve consumed, that one may be my all-time favorite.

A few days after school started, and a week or so out of the hospital, Macy & I had tickets to see Jack Johnson play at the Woodlands pavillion. After a string of disappointments all summer, I was determined to make it to the show. It poured rain on us and traffic was horrendous, but we made it and had a great time. What would be an already-sweet occasion was all the better because I was there, upright and out of the house!

I got through the rest of August and September without incident, and was starting to think maybe, just maybe I would be able to actually make and keep some plans that didn’t involve a hospital.

October marked my first foray into Breast Cancer Awareness Month as a survivor. While always aware of the fact that every October is earmarked and punctuated with lots of pink ribbons, it’s a different experience on this side of a cancer diagnosis. I was tickled pink (sorry, couldn’t resist), when Payton’s baseball team played in this tournament. 

Next up was an event that was huge for me: the Witches’ Open tennis tournament at our club. I went into my double mastectomy in the middle of our tennis season, not knowing how the surgery would affect my game. Of course it never crossed my mind that I wouldn’t get my game back, the question was how much and how soon. So playing in the Witches’ Open was a stellar event. Not only did I play with my longtime running buddy, Staci, but we won! I’m pretty proud of our little trophy.

That same night, still basking in the sweet glow of victory from the Witches’ Open, I made a return trip to the Woodlands pavillion for the Maroon 5 concert. Talk about a perfect day: tennis then a road trip & dinner with super fun girls, then the show. That great day slid into a great night, and again I was beyond happy to be upright and out of the house. 

As if this month hadn’t been great enough, the last Friday night in October was the icing on the cake. I gathered by BFFs for the first annual Pink Party. Prepare to be seeing photos of this event every year for the rest of my life. It was that good. Many a nights laying in the hospital bed, I thought about what I was going to do once I finally got well enough to do something for my friends to show my appreciation for all the love and support they’d so freely given during the worst time of my life. The Pink Party was all I had envisioned it would be, and the fact that I was able to put on the dog for my girls was monumental for me. 

Next on the calendar was Thanksgiving, and at the risk of sounding totally hokey, I had an awful lot to be thankful for this year. At first, as we approached the holiday, I tried not to think too much about it, for fear that reflecting back on all that had happened would overwhelm me. Then I realized that’s whacked, and instead of avoiding it, I should be relishing it–every bit of it. Another major triumph for me was making my mom’s famous crescent rolls. I’ve made them before with limited success, but this year, they rocked. 

After Thanksgiving of course was Christmas, and the first ornament to go on our tree was this one: the cocktail shaker that says “Shake It Up.” I intend to do just that in the New Year.

And for the record, it was Macy who picked that ornament to go on first, in my honor. That girls knows me so well. Like most families, we have lots of cute and meaningful ornaments in our collection, but it makes me smile that she chose this one to kick off our Christmas season.

So as 2010 draws to a close, I can’t say that I’ll miss it. Unequivocally, it has been the hardest year ever. But amid the chaos and confusion and abject misery, there were a whole lot of bright spots. Those moments and memories outshine the yucky stuff.

The little zookeeper

Posted: December 24, 2010 | Author: | Filed under: breast cancer, kids, pets | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 9 Comments

Those of you fortunate enough to know my daughter Macy know she has a love for animals that’s as big as Texas. She’s said from her earliest days that she wants to be a vet and a zookeeper. I can think of no other vocations more suited to her, and despite the fact that she may end up at Texas A&M (oh, the horror!) for vet school, I support her.

Getting a little ahead of myself, again.

Keep in mind that we already have two dogs and three fish in our house, and that on any given day I’m meeting myself coming & going just keeping up with the necessities of getting through the busy day. So when Macy asks for another animal for Christmas, I heave a big sigh and think, what’s the best way to change the subject?

This isn’t the first time she’s asked for another animal. In fact, every time we go to the pet store she lobbies hard, and that girl is persuasive. Factor in my own love of animals, and we’re lucky we don’t have more of a menagerie around here.

I knew we were in trouble this time, though, because the only thing on her Christmas list was an animal. Uh oh.

A note about this child: from the moment we saw the sonogram image of her in utero we knew she was different. Different, good, that is. That first image showed a beautiful profile with her tiny wrist laid flat against her forehead in classic Scarlet O’Hara pose, as if from the very beginning she was thinking up some form of drama to unleash on the world.

Macy has never been like other girls. She never liked the Disney princesses, and to this day can be heard muttering under her breath when she comes across one of them on TV, “That Belle is so stupid.” When all the other little girls were having a Tinkerbell-themed birthday party, Macy wanted a barnyard theme. When all her little preschool classmates were tottering off to ballet class, she was in the backyard, digging for worms and filling the birdfeeder.

So it should come as no surprise that this fiercely independent girl not only goes her own way (despite the crowd), but has stayed true to herself for all of her 8 years. Her love of all creatures is here to stay.

While her first choice for a new animal was a chinchilla, the $150 price tag turned me off, and Trevor has a strict “no rodents” rule, so she moved on to a turtle. I told her that, while fascinating, turtles stink and I’m not sure they like to be handled, so she may be disappointed with a hard-shelled creature. Next up was a bearded dragon. Considering they grow to be 3 feet long and eat live mice, the answer was not just no, but no way.

Cue the leopard gecko.

Macy has taken care of a friend’s leopard gecko, the beloved Rico, so she (and we) knew what they were all about. So I went to Petsmart last week to look into it, see what all we would need to make her Christmas dreams come true this year.

There was a sale on leopard geckos. I love a good sale. However, that also meant, as the reptile lady pointed out, that they were selling more of the geckos, so I might want to go ahead and get mine and avoid the risk of coming up empty-handed when I was ready to purchase. Tricky sales technique, and it worked.

I brought the little guy home and set up his tank, with the two lamps and fake plants, the cave and the water dish. I put the mealworms in the fridge and thought about the best place to hide him. I settled on the guest room closet and when the kids got home from school, told them to stay out of there.

All was well. Or so I thought. I snuck up to the guest room to feed him the mealworms twice a day and to switch the lamps from day to night light. I thought I was being pretty sneaky. But a few days ago, Macy came downstairs with a very long face and a worried countenance.

After some coaxing she finally came out with it: she’d been looking for her clipboard and found the tank in the guest room closet. She was afraid she’d be in trouble, but truth be told, I was relieved that I was no longer in charge of the gecko’s care. I didn’t realize how stressful it was to keep him under wraps and alive until Christmas.

So we moved him from the guest room to Macy’s room, and she was tickled pink to know that she was the proud owner of a leopard gecko. We were busy getting his lamps plugged in in her room and so it was a few minutes before she decided to lift the cave and lay eyes on her new creature.

This is what she found. (Don’t look if you are squeamish.)

Sorry it’s graphic, but that’s life, people. The new gecko had dropped his tail. Apparently it’s common as a defense mechanism (when they’re being hunted) or in times of stress. Guess this little guy was stressed about his new home.

Ewwwww, gross.

But the little zookeeper wasn’t grossed out, she was worried. She was afraid he was going to die. Cue the tears. Merry Christmas, everyone.

After some quick Internet research, she was reassured that he was ok, this was something that just happens and that his tail would grow back in a month. We made another trip to Petsmart to treat him to some live crickets (gecko comfort food), and all was again right in our world.

This isn’t Macy’s lizard (didn’t want to subject him to even more trauma, so we skipped the paparazzi), but this is what his behind looks like.

Kinda creepy, if you ask me. But as the little zookeeper later explained, it’s all part of life, for a gecko.

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