All Pooptalk, All the Time

Wisconsin rules, 2-ply droolz.

My New Calling

I have a vision of myself as an angel of mercy to those unfortunate souls that should have to follow in my footsteps, passing out rolls of super-plush, mutiply, cottony-thick toilet paper to the patients on the GI surgical floor...

Seriously, that econorific Scott nonsense makes a post-takedown backside scream bloody murder.

Supporter Shoutouts, the Belated but You All Know My Excuse Edition

The latest round of shoutouts go out to...

• Jen Doc (who recently had a baby--congrats, woman!) for sending a great care package featuring, among other things, a DVD of the series Spaced, which I have not seen but have heard great things.
• Miss Erin (who has moved back to the States after a long stint in the not-so-fabulous part of Italy--congrats, woman!) for sending a totally cute stretchy bracelet with itty bitty pictures of saints decoupaged onto the wooden beads. Catholic kitsch that could just pack a healing punch!
  
• ck1, aka Christy K, for putting together a package complete with comfy woolen socks (I guess fall really is here, huh?), yummy chocolate, and a smattering of indulgent bits from Kiehl's. Funny side note--my skin had never been better when I was on chemo. Now that I'm done with treatment, I'm all bumps and scales, so this will really come in handy!
• Karen B., for her package of shower bubbly goodness and a t-shirt that reads "I > U." Because isn't it better to be honest than modest?

And last but decidedly not least, all of you--my dear, devoted readers--for all the concerned, caring, and encouraging comments you've left over the last week (and then some). It's no secret that I am a comments/attention whore and appreciate you all indulging my weakness in that regard.

I really do appreciate all of you regulars, whether you've known me since Freshman O or only recently met me through this blog, and encourage all of you lurkers to leave a comment every once in a while!

The Trick is to Keep Breathing

I am still awake (but barely), up late keeping a vigil over my totally uncertain, unpredictable, undependable guts. There's no sense in going to sleep if I'm going to be rudely yanked out of it by The Call.

So, I stay up and watch decent TV for the first time in nearly a week and catch the last half of Run Lola Run.

I watch the following scene and am completely overwhelmed with emotion...

...because it dawns on me that that is how I have felt since my diagnosis. I have put all of my chips on my doctors and treatment plan and then proceeded to SCREAM for a solid 10 months straight.

That look on her face at the end? That is what I am feeling now. Relief. But instead of cashing out my chips to save my semi-criminal boyfriend from a bunch of murderous thugs, I have to try to reboot my life and keep the topic of cancer crammed to the dusty corners of my brain.

...Until it's time for the next test or scan or scope, that is, and when I get enough negative results--which are a good thing, I always have to remind myself of that--under my belt, that ever-present, constantly hammering thought might actually retreat on its own, fade, and disappear.

This is where I trade denial for hope, and a punishing routine for an utterly, deliciously mundane one. This is where I play pretend at a normal life until it goes back to being one.

I'm Going Home!!!

...just as soon as the docs get the discharge paperwork together and I get off the toilet.

:::Oooph:::

Post-Op Porn

I am reading the hospital room service menu with lust in my heart.

Turned the Corner?

So, I've had multiple movements today, and the last couple came with sound effects, so I think I am officially over the hump. Cream of Wheat, here I come!

Gas Crisis

No "wind" means no food, no going home.

Groundhog Day is getting pretty damn old.

My To Do List:

Lady Ziplock No Longer!

Can't write much as I'm hopped up on pain meds--which seem to be working everywhere but my incision site--but wanted to let you all know that Oscar scrammed on schedule and I'm doing pretty aok.

Thanks so much for all of your emails and good vibes...keep sending those mendy (and gassy--I can't eat until I toot) thoughts my way!

Currently: Trying Not to Pass Out From Hunger

Oh. Mah. GAH I am so hungry. And tired. And totally psyched.

I still have to pack and not eat and shower with the ol' Hibiclens (tonight and at the crack of ass tomorrow) and get to bed by a decent hour, but I'm so looking forward to hitting another marker along this long, long cancer marathon.

This will in all likelihood be my last post before surgery, so wish me well, keep sending those good vibes, and if anyone knows how to teleport an In 'N Out (or NYC pizza joint) to Madison, would you be so kind as to get on that. I'm gonna have some eating to do.

Love you all.

ETA: Mom wil be posting updates at my Care Page until I get back on my blog feet.

And Now a Quick Break for Some Non-Cancer Business

• Blogger has rolled out its Follower gadget, which basically gives you more transparency as to who's reading your blog. That said, click on the "Follow This Blog" link in the side bar if you want to be an official follower!
• Speaking of, my one and only follower thusfar--HH--has launched a new blog: Suddenly Southern? Woo Hoo!
• Finally, I have done a quick color flip to signify the fact that my CT scan came back clear.

Brighter days ahead.

Currently: Killing Time

I've got about an hour or so before my post-op work-up and meeting with my surgeon, so let me get you up to speed:

I just got out of my second procedure in the radiology department, going for a barium enema this time. It's pretty much as horrible as it sounds, but was made all the worse by the doctor running the show, continually barking orders at me with regards to my getting into different positions so as to best visualize my sleepy guts.

Hey guy, if you're going to get all drill sergeant on me while I have a tube up my ass, the least you can do is address me by name. Oh, and lightly touching me on the arm on your way out the door doesn't make up for your being a dick.

Upshot of that procedure: my new "architecture" is leak-free. Well, that's a relief.

Before that fun, I met with chemo doc and his right hand man. They had all KINDS of good news for me. For reals!

First of all, my CT scan was CLEAR. I guess there was some stuff that showed up, but they're chalking it up to post-operative changes and after effects from my radiation treatments. I didn't ask and he didn't say so I don't have the offical decree, but I think this makes me CANCER FREE. FUCK YES.

I THINK I WILL WRITE IN ALL CAPS FROM THIS DAY FORWARD.

Just kidding--I would be forced to smack myself in the head if I were to do that.

Not only did they hand down that great news but my blood counts are good enough to go forward with tomorrow's surgery! Which is apparently at 7:30a! Which means I have to get there at 5:30a! Which kinda sucks but whatever--let's do this thing!

Currently: Oncology Waiting Room

The scan seemed to go fine (but oy how I hate how the IV contrast makes you feel all warm and oogy in your chest and pants)--we should be getting the results from my onc here shortly--and I just got back from labs, where the tech was training someone to deaccess a port (um, I didn't get any real training to do it--why can't you guys figure it out, too?) and she was all "I'll count to three and you take a deep breath" and then immediately pulled the needle out.

I had the shocked/perplexed look on my face, and it took me a sec to realize what had happened, and even though it didn't hurt all that much or anything, I was still all "But you didn't count to three!"

Bitch barely blinked much less apologized, so now I have one more reason to be happy that I won't be coming back here any time soon.

In other news, I'm effing hungry. DAMMIT.

Currently: CT Lounge

I'm just getting started on my long, long day of medical appointments. Right now, I'm sitting in front of two huge cups of CT contrast (one less than the last time), actively avoiding making eye contact with the person sitting across from me (who reeks of cigarette smoke, natch).

It's kinda like the awkwardness of being trapped next to a Chatty Cathy (or Charlie) on a long flight, except in this case you know exactly what the topic of conversation will be.

Next: Blood draws in the onc lab and a meeting with my chemo team.

An Open Letter to My Email Provider

Dear Gmail,

Stop being broken.

xo,
me

ETA: Fixed. No idea what was wrong, but whatevar.

The Beginning of the End

Today was a very important milestone in my relationship with Oscar: it was the last time I'll ever have to look him in his ugly, pink, swollen face.

I think if my relationship with Oscar was going to be more long term (as in, permanent), I could have made my peace with him. I'm just so glad I (in all likelihood) didn't have to.

So the rest of the week looks something like this:

• Tuesday: First day of co-op day care with Miss V (Grandma will be taking her after this week).
• Wednesday: Farmer's market, baby story time at the library (see above), Mom arrives this evening.
• Thursday: Commence clear liquid diet; hit my six appointment wickets at the hospital.
• Friday: All the king's horses and all the king's men will put my Humpty Dumpty guts together again.
• Saturday: Cheer on The Irish from my hospital bed (or even better, some lounge to which I managed to walk without pain or issue).
• Sunday and beyond: ???

In other aches and pains news, I'm still dealing with some nasty peripheral neuropathy in my feet, the upshot of which is that they've got that pins 'n needles feeling, coupled with mild burning, that gets worse and worse throughout the day (somehow reaching its apex when I'm trying to sleep, oh joy).

You know when this condition is a real drawback? When you're trying to check out at the grocery with the baby in tow and one of the coupons you have manages to shut down the register's operating system. TWICE.

Fortunately one of the items in my cart was a six-pack of beer, so I was able to medicate. ;)

Coincidence?

Note the date:



A very apropos bookend to my cancer deployment.

With a hopeful emphasis on END.

Like a Mothertrucking Drum

I am BEAT.

Violet continues to throw my words ("my baby sleeps like a CHAMP") in my face. I apparently had forgotten the don't-talk-about-the-boy-you-like and don't-say-you-did-well-on-the-test jinxes of yore.

I am an idiot. An exhausted, frazzled idiot in desperate need of a professional cut and color (not to mention a vacation and big night out with good friends that isn't followed up with the two day brick-to-the-brainpan sort of hangover that seems unavoidable after 30).

More as it happens.

Shoulda Kept My Yap Good 'n Shut

Remember all that blabbing I did about what a good sleeper Violet is?

Yeah, the wheels are kinda falling off in that department. I don't know if it's her fever or the fact that she's transitioning from two naps to one or both or what, but--as a result--hers is not the only sleep that's jammed up.

:::frowny face:::