Odds & Ends

I'm at the end of the second round of chemotherapy.

In some ways, this one was easier. In the first round, I had heart burn. And we all know that the best treatment for heart burn is a Culver's Malted Milk Shake. (I told this to Dr. Science and a look passed his face that said, roughly, "That's stupid.") So, I medicated myself that week in such a way that the heartburn met with several reprieves.

But it turns out chemotherapy can make a girl lactose intolerant. The whole time, I was thinking, "This stuff is wrecking havoc on my lower GI track! Get me another malt!"

Associated to these issues, of course, was dehydration.

Then I learned about the whole lactose thing, cut it out of my diet all together, got another drug to treat the heartburn, and had a Round 2 free of all this discomforting issues.

But I was a lot more tired this time around.

It's easy and OK to be tired when someone else is taking care of your children. Betsy and Amy had them from Tuesday through Friday and the whole crew had a lot of fun together.

One moment: Amy said to Gemma and Joshua, 'You two are little rascals' and Josh said, "No, I'm a BIG rascal."

And sure enough, they came home a LOT bigger and older and more grown up than when they'd left.

So much for some "odds," now some "ends."

I re-read a lot of this blog this week as I was sitting around. It was a pretty intense thing to go back to the early days of the journey and remember being there. Combine this with the fact that health insurance and medical care has been on my mind and I feel like I need to add to the record.

I wrote some unfavorable things about military medicine. At the time, this was exactly what was on my mind. And for those of you who know about our travails in Korea with Joshua's pregnancy, and then my efforts to address my weird sugar issue, my cynicism would seem a little justified.

But even the evidence that I found the right doctor at the right time and place within the military doesn't excuse me from clarifying:

There are the same people on every block. In the military and civilian world, there are idiots with medical degrees and certifications. And, in both, there are talented, skilled physicians who are called to work exactly where they are working.

My friend, Amanda, is the daughter of a retired Col who was part of the medical corps. (And she married an Air Force guy herself!) She writes:

"I'm so glad to hear you found such a wonderful Army doctor. My dad is pleased as punch to hear it, too, after a career at Army Medical Centers around the world. They're truly not all bad. Like any professional in the military, some folks just like being in the military (though I know you said yours is in for the health benes for his wife). My dad's best friend did 20 years as a doc in the Army. Loved it. West Point guy. Vietnam Vet. He got out and went into private practice here in Denver. He quickly became one of the most reknowned urologists in Denver and went from being my parents' middle class next door neighbor to buying a ranch, tons of horses, hiring ranch hands, owning fancy cars, taking cool trips, etc. But he's still so down-to-earth and loved his time in the military. I think you find that less and less nowadays, but I don't think it's gone for good."

So there you have it. An updated record.

And now the kids are awake. :)

The Name Game: Crazy Things Afoot!

I got a phone call earlier this week from Yolanda. She works at the surgery clinic at Evans and when she announced herself, I had a heart-stopping moment of, 'Did I miss an appointment? How could I have an appointment there? You get into big trouble with these people if you miss an appointment!'

She continued on to explain that she was calling for Dr. Mayfield to give me, "Men's names from songs. . . He said you would understand."

I burst out laughing and told her, "I'm so sorry you've gotten roped into this, Yolanda!"

She said, "I asked him if I had research I wanted him to do on the phone for me, would he do it? And he said 'sure.'"

Heh heh. Sure. . .

So I am crediting these to both Mayfield and Yolanda, which makes her, officially, part of The Team.

"Paul & Silas" by the Stoneypoint Quartet.

Lazarus - from "Po' Lazarus" by James Carter & The Prisoners, off the Oh Brother, Where Art Thou? soundtrack. (I asked Yolanda, "This is a good one! Have you ever seen the movie?" She hadn't. Was it funny? "Well, it's funny, but it's quirky-funny," and she said, "I hate quirky.")

Mayfield also tried to submit "LeRoy," but we already have it on the list.

I thanked Yolanda extensively. Told her I'd make her famous on my blog. Welcomed her, officially, to The Team. Glad to have you aboard, Yolanda!

But this wasn't the only crazy entry of the week. I also received a piece of mail from Mrs. Queeney. Enclosed was a print-out of the lyrics of an Irish song and an accompanying note:

"Dear Amy!

[yes, thank you for using the correct punctuation mark with my name]

I don't know why this wouldn't e-mail. I was no where near Mary Jean's disturbed Indians

[This is a reference to my sister's bizarre electronic issues in her home, which she blames on on, well, disturbed Indians]

Maybe we have angry Confederate soldiers.

Anyway, if you let mentioned names rather than only title songs in, here's another 32 men. Yes, it's patriarchal, but what you expect--Irishmen!"

32 names????? Seriously???? In one song???

She's serious.

Here's the link to it: http://www.irishsongs.com/lyrics.php?Action=view&Song_id=94

And here are the relevant lyrics--the last stanza that's a great big pinata of men's names raining down on our heads:

Meet Branigan, Flannigan, Milligan, Gilligan, Duffy, McGuffy, Malachy, Malone
Rafferty, Lafferty, Donnely, Connely, Dooley, O'Hooley, Muldowney, Mahone,
Madigan, Cadigan, Lanahan, Flanahan, Hagen, O'Fagan, O'Houlihan, Flynn,
Shanahan, Manahan, Hogarty, Fogarty, Kelly, O'Kelly, McGuinness, MaGinn...CHORUS


3 technical matters:

1. We have not been insisting on title songs only, so these are admissible in this regard.

2. While we reject the "name checks" found in rap and r&b and boy band songs, these are name checks of band members. So they are also in.

3. This letter represents the first fiscal investment in The Big "C," --that of the $0.44 for postage. (Maybe a little less, because she used a Forever stamp.)

Way to go, MLQ! I appreciate the vote of confidence that money can cast in a voice like no other!

Those familiar with the whole history of the Name Game will recall that I have often called out my friend Nick for not getting to the names from ABBA songs first. This, finally provoked a response:

"Look, sorry to say, but the movie Mamma Mia! kind of required that I distance myself from ABBA for awhile. Not out of pride (it has never been -- and never will be -- cool to like ABBA). But what I love -- really LOVE -- about that group was was the immaculate production quality. They routinely layered Agnetha's soprano and Frida's mezzo-soprano over each other to perfection -- with some ear-tingling instrumentation thrown in.

"That movie killed that -- and yet people apparently liked it. Astounding to me because it devalued the real genius (yes, genius) of that group. I was so annoyed -- that I engaged in some subconscious backlash. Maybe that a bunch of crap -- or maybe it a decent explanation of why no ABBA songs have come to mind during this little lyrical exploration.

[AP: "Little lyrical exploration"??? Back away, man. Back. Slowly. Away.]

"So this is not out of passion -- it's because I'm tired of being called out -- that I actually made myself think about this in order to give you two additional ABBA submissions:

Sam ("Hole in Your Soul")
Jerry ("Hole in Your Soul")

And here are a few more names for the list (more challenging -- and fun! -- now considering that many pop into my mind are duplicates):

Luka ("Luka" by Suzanne Vega)

[AP: But isn't "Luka" a woman's name? I thought this was a song about a woman who is being abused. . .]

Gabriel ("Walking in Memphis" by Marc Cohn)
Ulysses ("Ulysses" by Franz Ferdinand)
Jonas and Ezekial ("Jonas and Ezekial" by Indigo Girls)
Marvin ("Nightshift" by The Commodores)
Duke ("Sir Duke" by Stevie Wonder)
Alex ("Alex Chilton" by The Replacements")
Tim ("Tim McGraw" by Taylor Swift)
Brian ("Brian Wilson" by Barnaked Ladies)

And if we're including Napoleon (from "Waterloo") and "Galileo", we should also include Rasputin (from "Closer to Fine" by Indigo Girls)."

Whoah! Nick smoked that. Very impressive foray.

When I told him that I would make him famous on the blog, he was quick to give credit for the "it will never be cool to like ABBA" line to another writer, Adam B. Vary. Admirable and honorable.

Following our vote that admitted TV theme songs, we had a flurry of activity in the Comments section:

Janice gave us

George
Elroy both from the Jetsons

She asks about Scooby-Doo, but this doesn't seem to be a man's name used to describe a dog, but a dog's name used to describe a dog who is oddly like a man. I don't think we can allow it.

Carlo got back in the game after nursing his wounds over the name-check submissions being thrown out and gave us Gilligan and then Robin, from the Dukes of Hazzard song.

Also from Janice, Manny, from Handy and Manny. (I've never heard of this.)

And Max, from Max and Ruby.

(Gemma and Josh love this cartoon! Ruby is the older sister and Max is the younger brother. They are both rabbits and, amazingly, Gemma sees a lot of herself in Ruby and Joshua laughs and laughs at Max's antics.)

There was some controversy as Mary Jean tried to submit "Mike" from the Brady Bunch. Mike isn't in that song. But "a man named Brady" is--and Janice wonders if this is admissible because Brady can be a first name.

We allowed Thompson last week, though it was referring to a weapon, because it can be a first name. So I don't see why Brady should be excluded.

Then MJ's son, Joe, came up with Phinnas and Pherb. I was thinking, "Thanks for playing, young one, but can we be a little serious here?"

But Janice chimed in that these characters--though weird--are little boys. So. OK.

"Flow Rider"? This is not a man's name. That'd be like including "Spider Man" or "Aqua Boy."

Sponge Bob and Square Pants, also submitted. But we already have 'Bob' on the list and "Square Pants," again--not a man's name.

There are plenty of other TV theme songs to mine, though. Let's stay the course.

Finally, Amanda, new to all of you, old friend from Korea, came up with several new hits--

Leonard, Leonid, Lenny, Lester -- all from REM's End of the World as We Know It. We already had "Lester" from Dad's Big Band submission, I just thought it was interesting that a name like "Lester" could show up twice.

Also,

Ronnie from Escape Club's "Wild West," and

Victor from Billy Joel's "Leningrad."

Welcome aboard, Amanda. Way to make a splash!

I don't even know how many new names this is. About 60, I think.

60 Names!? Ugh. But Laura is going to tag team this one for me (again), and do some fancy excel-ing to get the list ready. Stay tuned for her update posted at the end here.

We've broken 100. Never thought it could be done. And there are a lot more Name Game Fridays ahead of us, so keep them coming.

From Laura - here you go:

1. Abie
2. Adam
3. Al (taken as different from Albert, because it might be short for Alan)
4. Albert
5. Alex
6. Amadeus
7. Andy
8. Anthony
9. Ben(nie)
10. Bernie
11. Bill(y)
12. Bob(by)
13. Brady
14. Branigan
15. Brian
16. Buddy
17. Cadigan
18. Cain
19. Casper
20. Charles(Charlie)
21. Chester
22. Chris
23. Connely
24. Daniel
25. Davy
26. Dean
27. Donnely
28. Dooley
29. Duffy
30. Duke
31. Earl
32. Eddie
33. Eli
34. ElRoy
35. Elvis
36. Ezekiel
37. Felix
38. Fernando
39. Flanahan
40. Flannigan
41. Flynn
42. Fogarty
43. Frank
44. Fred
45. Gabriel
46. Galileo
47. Gene
48. George
49. Gilligan
50. Gus
51. Hagen
52. Harry
53. Henry
54. Hogarty
55. Jack
56. Jeremiah
57. Jeremy
58. Jerry
59. Jessie
60. Jesus
61. Jim/James
62. Joey
63. John(ny)
64. Jonas
65. Jose
66. Juan
67. Jude
68. Julio
69. Kelly
70. Kenneth
71. Lafferty
72. Lanahan
73. Lawrence
74. Lazarus
75. Lee
76. Lenny
77. Leonard
78. Leonid
79. Leroy
80. Lester
81. Levon
82. Lloyd
83. Louie
84. Luke
85. Madigan
86. MaGinn
87. Mahone
88. Malachy
89. Malcolm
90. Malone
91. Manahan
92. Manny
93. Marciano
94. Marty
95. Marvin
96. Maurice
97. Max
98. McGuffy
99. McGuinness
100. Michael
101. Micky
102. Milligan
103. Monty
104. Moses
105. Muldowney
106. Napoleon
107. O'Fagan
108. O'Hooley
109. O'Houlihan
110. O'Kelly
111. Oliver
112. Paul
113. Peter
114. Pherb
115. Phinnas
116. Rafferty
117. Rasputin
118. Rene
119. Richard
120. Ricky
121. Rico
122. Robin
123. Roland
124. Romeo
125. Ronnie
126. Roy
127. Sam
128. Shanahan
129. Silas
130. Stan
131. Sue
132. Thomson
133. Tim
134. Tom(my)
135. Tony
136. Ulysses
137. Victor
138. Vincent
139. Walter
140. Wayne
141. Whelan
142. Willie
143. Wyatt

Theme Song Thursday

I've been singing this song for years. It's a popular one in our kind of church. And every time I sang it before this past June, I had the same thought about it:

"Every blessing You pour out I'll turn back to praise"

Yeah, this is easy I can do this, I would think

"When the darkness closes in, Lord, still I will say: Blessed by Your Name."

But what do I know of darkness? What do I know of the desert place? What do I know of God taking away?

I would wonder: If a dark time ever came along, would I really still bless His Name?

Well. Here I am. First I must say that this isn't that dark a time. This isn't so rough a road to walk. Of all the trials that could befall us, this one is pretty minor.


But it is a trial. And I know the answer for myself now. Would I still bless His Name? In my heart would I still bless Him?

The answer is "yes," not because of how "strong I am" or how "strong my faith is"--has nothing to do with me. In my heart, I am blessing His Name now more than ever, and I love Him now more than ever because of how Good He is.

I fancy myself a wordsmith, but I don't have any better words than that to explain it.

Herceptin Part I: What it Is

I've been thinking for a while that I want to have a "Herceptin Week" at The Big "C," but alas, there's been too much else to report on. Like foam rocket launches. Hair cuts. Other important matters.

So instead I'll have a "Herceptin Series," spaced here and there throughout my days.

To explain what Herceptin is, I have to explain what my cancer is.

Healthy cells have HER-2 proteins around them on the outside, and they send signals into the cell telling it to grow and divide.

My cancer cells--and 25% of breast cancers are like this--have an over-expression of this HER-2 protein. They've got too many of those HER-2 buggers and so the cancer cells grow and divide like crazy. This is what makes the cancer so aggressive. It grows fast. It chokes out nutrients to health cells and, if it had metastasized to any organs, it would interfere with very important cell function.

Herceptin is a "monoclonal antibody," or a targeted biological therapy that "is proposed to work" in two ways.

Isn't that language fascinating? "It is proposed to work. . ." as in, through laboratory science, they've seen the results of Herceptin's application to HER2+ cancer cells, and this is their hypothesis of what is happening. But they can't just say that this is what's happening. All their literature--oh, we'll get to the literature!--keeps it hypothetical.

1) Herceptin attaches to the HER2+ cell and "may stop" those many HER2's from telling the cell to grow and divide.

2) (This is the one I especially like) Herceptin "may flag" the cancer cell for destruction by the body's immune system. As in, the body doesn't recognize cancer as the enemy, so it doesn't fight it, but Herceptin calls attention to it, "Right here, girls! Come and get it!"

In 1998, Herceptin was approved by the FDA and was used immediately in the US to treat metastatic breast cancer. With startling results. The survival rate of those women treated with Herceptin jumped about 45%.

In 2006, following the clinical trials of Herceptin with adjuvant patients (e.g. those like me who had surgery and all the visible cancer was cut out), it became standard treatment as well. The survival rate went from just 23% to 83%.

I am deeply grateful and humbled by all the research that went before me. . .

But here's an interesting note. As I was poking around the internet to learn more about Herceptin, I came across the role of Herceptin in Australia.

They have national health care there.

The government didn't subsidize the use of Herceptin for anybody until 2006. Why? Because the treatment costs 70,000+ dollars per patient. There was an 8 year debate in their country over whether the effects warranted the cost.

Now, it's true that in 1998, the US didn't have a pile of clinical trials to point at and say, "This works." I asked Dr. Markus about all this on Monday, and he described the American medical mindset as, "If we think it would do some good, we go for it. And then years down the road, we see the evidence of of how much good it does. In a system like Australia's, they have the cost-benefit discussion first." He paused. "Not that I'm trying to enter the debate."

After the evidence of its benefit was 8 years in the making here in the US, the Australian government finally agreed it was worth subsidizing. During those 8 years, Australian women either had to come up with 70 grand, or walk the road with almost less than half the chance of survival as Americans.

It's worth noting, also, that uninsured women in the US have access to subsidies for this treatment through the company that makes it, as well as several other non-government organizations that support breast cancer patients.

I'm not trying to have a health care debate on this blog. I just happened to run across this example, and I'm counting it as a huge blessing that I'm an American living in the US, receiving a life-saving treatment that my excellent military insurance is paying for because my excellent husband has persevered in his career. It's the very definition of privilege, and I'm thankful for it.

Wellness Update

Whoah.

Last time I felt pretty OK after chemo and on Day 2. I exercised both days and did the grocery shopping.

This time, about 2 hours after the last drip, the fatigue started.

For a while I thought, 'No, this can't be. I'm just being a wimp. This is half in my imagination. I'll be fine for another day.'

And then a little voice inside my head asked, "Why be a hero, Amy?"

So I called Betsy and Bryan dropped the kids off there this morning. He'll bring them home on Friday.

Gemma was a little bothered by it this time. She was excited to go, but still had a real Mommy moment. I told her that I didn't want her to be home with me because I would be cranky with her and would have no energy to do anything fun with her, and that I thought it was a better idea for her to be with Betsy and Amy all day who would have lots of energy to spend on them and who would be loving and not cranky.

Gemma saw my point.

Here is another example of the Lord's timing: Bryan begins his Retirement Class at the Air Force Academy, which is 5 minutes from Betsy's house. It goes from today through Friday.

The Burch family suddenly have a huge painting and flooring project on their hands that must be finished soon in a property of theirs. Bryan is a handy guy. So after his class, he'll go to the Burch house, eat dinner, change, and then go help Terry and TJ (that's Betsy's husband and son) paint like crazy. And because the kids are over there, I won't need Bryan too badly here! How perfect is that?

As for me, I hardly slept because the stomach cramping was so bag. The first bag of drugs was an anti-nausea med, and in the first round, it lasted long enough for me to fall asleep that night. This time, we got started a lot earlier and it wore off earlier, and according to my instructions, I can't take anything really effective until Day 2. I'll have to ask about that next time--e.g. whether I hit the hard stuff late on Day 1.

So, I'm exhausted right now, the kind where you feel almost hyper-active from it.

BUT! No responsibilities other than to rest! And my friend, JenJen (so nick-named by Gemma, whom she now calls GemGem), is driving me for today's white blood cell booster shot. So all is well enough.

Search and destroy, guys. Go get 'em.

Live from the Chemo Barn! Part III

My last drip just started and this one takes 30 minutes, so it looks like we'll be headed home around 1:30.

Bryan arrived with lunch, a McDonald's Southwestern salad with grilled chicken. I pick the cheese off because I can't eat lactose anymore. Pretty tasty. Surprisingly healthy. And here is where I might make a note about the dietary changes I've made in preparation for chemo and, in the case of lactose, because of it:

1. No lactose. Boy, does that stuff mess things up. . .

2. All whole grains, no white flour. I'd suspected for a while that my GI track was not very happy with white flour over the last 2 years or so, and the advent of chemo gave me a good reason to finally be done with it. That is, I figured with all the drugs my body would have to process, I might do what I could not to dump other hard-to-process stuff in.

3. No white sugar. The refined sugar, we already knew I couldn't eat. But my GI track has been very unhappy with even organic sugar since chemo started.

4. All I drink is water, Gatorade during chemo week and maybe twice a month, a coffee.

--Uh Oh, a very unhappy patient behind me. He's yelling at the tech about a port draw he's here for. She doesn't have any orders for it. He wants it done. And he's pissed off about it. 'Threatening' to go "to the other place!" (other cancer center?) because "this place is so screwed up!"

Do we have time to do a blog poll with the following question: Should I turn around and tell him to pipe down?

No, we don't have time. It'd be a bad idea. Besides, Nurse Ginny is now on it. He's now standing up at the desk, re-explaining his case. Seems a bit calmer, maybe because he has the attention of 3 people now, and so he feels tended to.

I understand his frustration. Still. It's not the tech's fault.--

Anyway. Dietary changes. Yep. Aside from the cancer cells that are presumed to be floating around my body, I am the healthiest I've been since before Gemma was born and we moved to Korea. By the end of this cancer thing, I'm going to be in the best condition of my life!

--Well, looks like the lab from 'the other place' didn't send a lab order in for this guy. Here's the thing: I've found the administrative help at this center to be mediocre at best on my own behalf. So I wouldn't be shocked if there was an admin mistake of some sort regarding his lab orders. Poor tech.

He's gone now. Sent on his way.

And we'll soon be on ours! What a pleasant morning it's been! I hope you enjoyed your stay at the virtual chemo barn with me. (Bet you never thought you'd read that particular sentence.)

From my computer screen to yours: Wish you were here!

Live from the Chemo Barn! Part II

I've got 45 minutes left on my first bag of poison and I've sent Bryan out to forage for lunch. I do pack myself snacks. And I COULD pack myself a sandwhich. But I kind of feel like making a day of it here.

What other photos do I have to show you. Let's see.

Here I am with my ball cap on. I wear it or a different, knit cap, if I'm not wearing a wig. Today, I went without a wig because I wanted to check out the RMCC loaner-wigs and didn't have the nerve to say, 'Yes, I have this one, but I'd like another for variety.'

Alas, the 'wig room' offered 2 platinum blonde numbers, one ratty, long brunette dust mop and one reddish-brown mullet. So I'm on my own for wigs. Which is OK. Just wait until I do my post on those!

Also, note in this photo the pillow behind my head. A necessary piece of chemo barn equipment. Suzanne made this for me! It features the first zipper she's even installed! Well done, Suzanne. It makes my recliner comfortable.

Oh, and the bandage is the one they put over the 1 inch needle port access. Hanging out of the bandage is a tube with another doo-hickey at the end of it and the nurses attach the various lines into that contraption.

Finally, there's this:

My nurse, Ginny, asked, "What is that dart thing?" I said, "Oh, this? If you don't get to my box by the 5th time it beeps, I'm going to throw this at you."

She knew I was joking. Really, Bryan bought it back from the missile conference in Alabama (Alabama!!!) and the ball part of it is that foam squeezy stuff. I keep it hand for pumping when I'm not typing, as it helps to ward off carpal tunnel.

And if I get to 15 beeps, I really might throw it. . .

Oh! I asked nurse Ginny what we're supposed to call Nurse Practitioners. This is still an open question at The Big "C." Bryan's sister, a doctor, told me she didn't know either, which makes me suspect that perhaps there is no standard.

Nurse Ginny said, "Just call her 'Rose,'" Yes, yes, I get that. But what about the spirit of the question? She said she'd ask Rose.

But then I learned that I can ask Rose myself! Why? Because Rose has a PhD! And yet doesn't walk around calling herself Dr. Gates. So already I know she's not like that insecure nurse practioner friend from Korea and it's not going to offend her if I ask. I feel great about this. Really freed up over the whole matter.

15 minutes left on this bag. Times flies in the blogosphere.

Live from the Chemo Barn!

That's right! I'm wireless and ready for drugs.

And I brought my camera with me in order to bring a little chemo-barn atmosphere to you.

Here is a shot of the nicest corner in the barn. The scene looks cosy because I took it from my seat looking out of the barn, and you can't see the rows of recliners filling the space. I am also facing the nurse's desk, and it's much more pleasant to see them bustling about than it is to see my fellow cancer sojourners hooked up to their pumps.


Speaking of which, here's the pump. The face of it counts down the time left on the drip. On my first chemo day, I counted along the last 10 seconds of the last dripping bag. The time ran out. The box starting beeping. The nurse came along in response to the beeping. And told me it'd take another 10 minutes because the bag wasn't empty. Really anti-climactic. . .











But I'm getting ahead of myself. I arrived at 8:30, they accessed my port using this 1 inch needle.

Yes, this goes through my skin. But I have a cream now that I apply an hour before going in and by the time I get there, I don't feel a thing.


They drew blood out and sent it to the lab to make various counts of various levels and then we met with Dr. Markus a.k.a. Dr. Sciene a.k.a. Maurice. The burning question, of course, regarded his name. I told him that the story left off last time and that my public was clamoring for the rest.

There kind of wasn't any "rest." The family lived a short while in Paris and then moved to the Bronx. He doesn't know much about this grandfather--or he might be a great-grandfather--for whom he is named. But he did explain that it's a Jewish thing to name sons after dead relatives.

His brother's name: Elliot. Which I take to be in the same school of names as Maurice.

Markus did say that his parents come to visit tomorrow, and that he'd get all the details on the family history and family name for me. What a good sport!





Before taking this photo, he said, "I'm glad I did my hair today." I said, "So am I."

Stay tuned for more posts from the Chemo Barn. I'm here until at least 2 PM Mountain time!

Sunday Storytime: Bad Hair Days

This week's close shave reminded me of our time in Leavenworth.

In our first year there, I finally convinced Bryan to let me by electric clippers so that I could give him his haircuts. There's nothing complicated about a high and tight, after all. And at $8 a haircut, the $32 paid for themselves in just 2 months. This was a no-brainer. Besides, Bryan was a student at the Command General Staff College. He spent most of his time with 20 peers in a classroom. There were no high-stakes briefs to be spit-shined for. Surely I could give him a haircut that would be a little better than 'good enough' if not 'as good' as he'd get on Post.

And besides, these clippers have different sized combs that are numbered, the lower the number, the closer the clip. There was no worry about getting the length "even"--these things are designed for idiots! I'd be fine.

All of this didn't quite convince him. But it mounted in such a way that he aquiessed. Every other week, I clipped his hair in our bathroom. With each haircut, his faith in this plan grew.

Then, one week, and I like to think that it happened on a Sunday night, late, when he told me, late, that he needed a haircut and so I was under a bit of duress, I clipped it too short. Was on a "tight" mode on the side and went up too "high" such that I had to make the top of his head a little "tighter" in order to avoid the creation of a mohawkish sort of look.

The next day, he went to class and his peers asked him, "Did you go to the Prison to get your hair cut?"

Oh, hah hah hah, guys and gals.

"It'll grow back," I told Bryan, when he reported this to me.

2 weeks later, guess what. No. You're wrong. Bryan did let me clip his hair again. "I learned my lesson!" I told him. And he's such a sweet, sweet man that he gave me another chance.

I didn't let him down. Over the next 2 haircuts.

On the third, I--was distracted? was too tired? was hungry? was in a hurry?--clipped the top of his head.

Without a comb over the razor.

DOH!

Well. There's only one way to fix a mistake like that. I shaved his whole head without a comb over the razor.

And apologized profusely.

The next day in class, his peers handed him a wad of cash and said, "We took up a collection to send you to a real barber."

I'm pretty sure the real reason Bryan held a garage sale that spring was to sell off those clippers.

At the end of the year, each class submitted their own photos and captions for their page in the CGSC yearbook. Their page included a picture of Bryan reading the paper (which he was also famous for--while others spent their downtime chatting, he spent his behind the pages of the Kansas City Star).

Below this photo was the caption, there for all posterity to read as this yearbook is not only on his peers' bookshelves, but that of the Eisenhower Library as well:

"Today's Horoscope: You will have a bad hair day."