2002-06-12

9:49 a.m.

Just when I thought I had made a mistake going back to work my coworker brought me the kind of refreshing news only available to a team of curious people with on-the-clock internet time.

"Police shocked by a castration that went awry

Birmingham man sought out surgery

It wasin his low-slung Oak Park home, he told police, that he quietly performed a castration on a man who contacted him through the Internet.

The 29-year-old Taiwanese national told police he had performed about 50 castrations before his kitchen-table operation on a 48-year-old Birmingham man went wrong. " (freepresswebsite)

I've only lived in the burbs for six months. It's an isolated folk out here.

Castrations aren't the only thing that can go "awry".

I anticipate the rest of my work day to go well. I shouldn't have to answer to anyone - if I am questioned I will give my best "about to be sick" face and run off.

2002-06-11

8:33 a.m.

This is an avomiltaion.

I am haunted by D's charm and good looks and tortured by his stinky coffee.

Is he trying to kill me?

I wonder if he takes secret pleasure in inflicting pain and agony on me. A subconscious rebuttle?

Hmmmmm... I will never know since I am powerless. A weak cancer patient at the mercy of those who are stronger than her. Those who have choices in drinking beverages and bowel movements.

Today I visit two doctors. It's not like they can tell me I am in a bad way or something. They probably leave their houses before any nasty artificially flavored coffee is brewed.

2002-06-10

10:36 a.m.

D made a huge piping hot pot of aromatic "hazelnut" coffee this morning. Vom-a-matic! I wanted to kill him. The smell is still in the house I swear.

Unfortuantely for me, no one around me has grasped the number one crappy side effect of chemo. People are burining incense, concocting anything out of artificial flavoring within reach, whipping up fish casseroles and offering suggestions of what food *they* think will be comforting.

No food is comforting since now I don't like food. I also don't like to smell anything.

No food, no food smells and no smelling.

The other night I had a headache that topped the mother of all headaches. In fact I thought it was the end of me. I was the one person who could not tolerate even one treatment of chemo and I was sure my brain was building up several blood clots and my vision was slipping away. It was bad.

The next day my parents helpfully suggested that it might have been stress.

Very true. It also could have been one of the four ultra-toxic-DNA-altering-cell-killing drugs that I recieved intravenously a few days ago.

It's some sort of denial thing, I am sure.

2002-06-08

9:34 a.m.

I had my first dance with the ABVD chemo yesterday. As far as I can tell it has comepletely altered my personality since I cannot bring to mind one item of food that sounds appetizing.

My little brother and sister came out to visit late last night and I instantly felt better - there is a remedy in there somewhere.

I think the key to feeling ok through all of this is moving around , well with intervals of napping since I seem to be very sleeping after being awake for over and hour and a half.

During my treatment (which took 6 mutha-luvin' hours) I got hip to walking around with the IV pole. I prefer to be in motion when I am uncomforatble so I was ready to take off in the hospital - I even asked the nurses if I could go across the hall to check out the activities. One of the nurses gave me a "well... we aren't supposed to but..." and she was ready to set me free until the policy enforcer nurse suggested otherwise.

I can't blame her too much - I was getting a drip of a drug that could actually do damage to the hospital carpeting if it were to leak from the IV bag or my vien.

2002-06-06

10:44 p.m.

Hair gone. I decided to beat the chemo to the punch and lop off 12 inches of hair today. The hair remnants will be sent to "Locks of Love" in a couple days.

I didn't want to see myself with ultra long hair all thinning out and struggling with a comb-over.

I went a friends salon about an hour from where I live. She is kind, cute and cuts hair like the wind, a true craftslady. But, I like to go to her earlier in the day because she is unpredictable with her temperment.

One of her stylists is much older than the rest. She pulled polished stones out of her prayer bag and showed them to me and S. I didn't really know what to do with them. So I would hold them in my hand and say "nice". One said god and another had a yin-yang.

S might have thought her geology skills were being tested since she just got her masters in the science. When she held them in her hand and the stylist thought she was taking too long she would tell S "it's pink quartz". S would let out a congenial "hmmmm". I was worried that the relaxed salon setting was about to be interrupted by a lapidary showdown.

After the cut S and I fought the hellish metro detroit hell hot hell traffic to get back to yet another Doctors appointment. This time I had to lay around with the hospital gown open in the front while the tech schmeared around ultrasound slime to get a good pic of my heart.

I saw the thing. The heart muscle is violent. I was kind of repulsed. The valves shake and flubber around after each pump. I took some vitamin E when I got home to help the thing out. I heard that is good for the heart and mine seems to be very vigorous.

That is about all I can do for it since tomorrow it's going to be blasted with a healthy dose of ABVD.

2002-06-04

9:31 p.m.

The appointment in Ann Arbor at the Comprehensive Cancer Center took nearly four hours.

I stopped at the half-circle info desk to ask the friendly frosted lady where I needed to go for my appointment.

She must have been someone who normally works in the back room or something and I don't think anyone told her that she was going to have to personally give information at the information desk because she seemed a bit put out.

I didn't have my "blue card" and my damned careless friend who parked my car forgot the freaking parking ticket and we could now be faced with parking fees over the standard two dollar maximum...cancer was starting to look like the least of my problems. While non-friendly frosted lady grabbed some paper work I caught sight of the very near by "Blood Draw" cove and waiting room. People of mostly mature ages were piled on tan and brown and browntanish grey leaf fabric covered chairs. The place was packed.

Info-desk lady showed me a "map" of the center and drew a circle around my first destination. "You go to Blood Draw first" she made an arrow with her pen from the box symbolizing the info desk on the map to the Blood Draw waiting area "and then you go up to B1 for your appointment."

I walked ten steps and was in the Blood Draw area. It might not have been so easy without the map and hand drawn directions.

Many patients travel with their numerous perscription meds in ziplock baggies. The baggies get clouded after some use. That over-agitated clear plastic look really creeps me out.

The U of M Cancer Villa was a good experience all in all. I was told that my chest mass was very unusual. Apparently there is some involusion activity (hodpodged medical term). The whole mass is not cancerous, only the outer edges. That really makes me want to pull the fucker out and take a look. If it is no ordinary blob crowding out my heart and lungs I say we take a peep before the masterpiece gets blasted by chemo. Maybe if I would have offered the docs would have obliged, weren't they curious? Maybe they have terminal patients who are on their fourth relapse to save or something.

The bright and friendly head doctor happily told me "So you are getting good news today..."

Good news is relative. My lyphoma is the constant that all good news is weighed against. It's been that way from the start. Lymphoma... good news, it's Hodgkin's...good news, there is only a few more tumors...

My sentence of four months of chemo has been verified and starts soon.

2002-06-03

6:03 p.m.

I just threw a meat pasty in the oven. Something about the sea of grey hair and wrinkled skin in the Northpointe Cardiolgy Clinic gave me an unprecendented hankerin' for a pasty. I am certain that I was the youngest patient in the clinic by 35 years. I like to think of myself as not so much a genetic mutant with cancer and a lose heart sac but as a refreshing treat for the tired-eyed physicians. I am their tic tac, their evian face spray, thier unexpected goosing. Or maybe I remind those workaholic pricks to be kinder to thier college age daighters because they could develop a life-threatning illness at any time. Either way - I am so pleased to be of service. I am only so accommodating because when I indulge in my pasty in five to ten minutes I will be sharing in a time honored traditional miners meal. "Pasties originated in Cornwall, England. Cornish miners brought with them when they migrated to the iron and copper mining country of Michigan's Great Upper Peninsula. The pasty was a hearty meal for the miners, and stayed warm for several hours when wrapped in a towel."

And I was worried about being late for the Bill Brown and Thomas Comerford film showing...I'll put my pasty in a towel.

Warm food. Warm towel.

previous - next

powered by SignMyGuestbook.com