1. To watch it: pure exhilaration. Where has this sport been hiding? The last time I was jumping up and down, shouting at a television, the Bulls were in a championship game.
2. I'm not the only one who's made a recent discovery of it. How else can we explain the Chinese? The first time a Chinese athlete ever won gold in a winter event of any kind was when a female short track skater took it in Salt Lake City. Only 8 years ago!
This year, Chinese women won gold in all four events. Bam! (Of course, they only got it in the relay because the officials biffed a call that disqualified the South Koreans.)
My question: This is a sport designed for little people. Chinese are little. And they've had the example of South Korea, which has been a powerhouse forever. What took you guys so long to go short?
2B. And why do Chinese men suck at short track?
3. As I say: it's a thrill to watch. So why were there so many empty seats in that stadium?
4. Let's talk uniforms. The US skate team wore, um, let's see here. . .light blue tunics with dark blue legs and arms.
Light blue? What the heck?
5. As for our boy, Apollo Anton Ohno. I'm glad to see a competitor like him do so well. He seems humble enough. Grateful enough. When he gets near a microphone, the overwhelming and solitary impression he makes is that he loves his sport.
His Dad is a cutie.
And watching Ohno skate is like it was to watch Jordan. You know he's going to pull off a winning move under pressure, and you know it's going to be beautiful.
6. But every time Ohno's face showed up on camera--and it was a lot--I would think, "He reminds me of someone. . ." and I'd suffer that nagging feeling of not knowing who. A former student? Someone I went to school with? Who?
The last night, aha!, I put my finger on it: Apollo Ohno bears a striking resemblance to my nephew, Joe. Seriously. If the former didn't have that soul patch going on his chin, the two could be cousins.
Which is odd, given that my nephew has no Asian blood in him. . .
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Monday, March 1, 2010
The Olympics: Opening Commentaries
I watched. And I took notes.
Today I present a comments about the Olympics in general.
1. The last winter Olympics I paid attention to were the ones where Bryan Boitano won gold in figure skating. That was, what? '88?
I only watched them this time because of this kids. We went out and got the digital TV converter and antennae just so Gemma and Josh could enjoy them. And they did. We all did.
2. But I didn't enjoy the same sports I remember liking back in 1988. The Olympics. . . just one more thing to lose its luster with age.
2B. Nor did I ever realize how insanely dangerous the Olympic games are. Human bodies, hurling themselves down mountains in a variety of ways. 2 weeks of it. Crazy.
3. The "proud Olympic sponsors" cracked me up. After McDonald's commercials, I'd scoff. Gemma would ask why. I'd tell her, "Because Olympic athletes don't eat McDonald's food."
4. Except for Steve Holcomb, perhaps. The first American to win Bobsled gold. He was also, probably, the tubbiest gold medalist in Vancouver.
Hey. More power to him. And to squeeze himself into that sausage casing/bobsledding onesie took real courage.
5. How did they decide winners of Olympic events before the age of digital timers? When most of the races were decided by tenths of a second--sometimes even hundredths--I marvelled. To time that now, no sweat. How did they do it a hundred years ago?
6. The kids could not watch any sport and remain seated at the same time. They kept getting up and spinning around in our family room, or leaping off of things, or wrestling each other. Their bodies seemed to be inspired by the idea that motion could be harnessed to accomplish greatness.
And when we went sledding on a gorgeous Colorado day with temps in the 50's and a hill full of snow, Gemma shouted, "I'm going to ride this like a bobsled!"--though it was Josh who was the first to master the run and jump and keep sliding form. It look a lot more like skeleton, actually. . .
7. Skeleton? See what I mean? These games are crazy!
8. I enjoyed Bob Costas. He did a great job interviewing the athletes, though he didn't do anyone tough. An interview with Plushenko, the Russian who landed a quad in figure skating, won silver, then whined to the Russian press that he should have won gold because the guy who didn't hadn't done a quad. That's the kind of guy I want to see interviewed.
But I have plenty more comments to offer on the stuff that did actually happen. You can look forward to a few days of them. Because this is what a post-cancer life looks like, friends. These are the things I have the energy to think about now.
Today I present a comments about the Olympics in general.
1. The last winter Olympics I paid attention to were the ones where Bryan Boitano won gold in figure skating. That was, what? '88?
I only watched them this time because of this kids. We went out and got the digital TV converter and antennae just so Gemma and Josh could enjoy them. And they did. We all did.
2. But I didn't enjoy the same sports I remember liking back in 1988. The Olympics. . . just one more thing to lose its luster with age.
2B. Nor did I ever realize how insanely dangerous the Olympic games are. Human bodies, hurling themselves down mountains in a variety of ways. 2 weeks of it. Crazy.
3. The "proud Olympic sponsors" cracked me up. After McDonald's commercials, I'd scoff. Gemma would ask why. I'd tell her, "Because Olympic athletes don't eat McDonald's food."
4. Except for Steve Holcomb, perhaps. The first American to win Bobsled gold. He was also, probably, the tubbiest gold medalist in Vancouver.
Hey. More power to him. And to squeeze himself into that sausage casing/bobsledding onesie took real courage.
5. How did they decide winners of Olympic events before the age of digital timers? When most of the races were decided by tenths of a second--sometimes even hundredths--I marvelled. To time that now, no sweat. How did they do it a hundred years ago?
6. The kids could not watch any sport and remain seated at the same time. They kept getting up and spinning around in our family room, or leaping off of things, or wrestling each other. Their bodies seemed to be inspired by the idea that motion could be harnessed to accomplish greatness.
And when we went sledding on a gorgeous Colorado day with temps in the 50's and a hill full of snow, Gemma shouted, "I'm going to ride this like a bobsled!"--though it was Josh who was the first to master the run and jump and keep sliding form. It look a lot more like skeleton, actually. . .
7. Skeleton? See what I mean? These games are crazy!
8. I enjoyed Bob Costas. He did a great job interviewing the athletes, though he didn't do anyone tough. An interview with Plushenko, the Russian who landed a quad in figure skating, won silver, then whined to the Russian press that he should have won gold because the guy who didn't hadn't done a quad. That's the kind of guy I want to see interviewed.
But I have plenty more comments to offer on the stuff that did actually happen. You can look forward to a few days of them. Because this is what a post-cancer life looks like, friends. These are the things I have the energy to think about now.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
The Hollywood Sleeve
Lymphedema Part II: Treatment
There are two steps to reversing lymphedma in its early stages: compression and massage.
As for compression, the theory is simple enough: apply firm resistance to the affected area--in my case at first, an entire limb--and as your muscles expand and contract, they squeeze the lymph against the resistance and push it back up the lymphatic vessels.
So I got this sleeve on, you see, and a really tight glove, and every move I make against these garments is squeezing the lymph out of my arm.
I don't find the garments uncomfortable. I can get them on easily. They're not stylish, of course, but that's because I haven't gotten my hands on the catalog to order myself some leopard print versions. The only annoyance of them is that a day full of ordinary motion really tires my arm. The first few days I wore these garments, I had severe muscle cramping in my arm and hand just from cooking dinner. Stands to reason: there is resistance to every move I make now.
This also means my handwriting has gone to pot. Not that it had far to go. . .
As for massage: The lymphatic vessels are punctuated by one-way valves, which create a kind of suction. A few times a day, I press on the lymph nodes in my neck, right at my collar bone, to clear them out. Once they're empty, they create a suction in the vessels they're connected to. I help my body by gently rubbing my arm from the elbow up to the shoulder several times. This empties those vessels. Then I rub from the wrist up to the shoulder. Then from the fingers on up.
I was doubtful this actually accomplished anything. But I did it often because I'm pretty interested in reversing the condition. Then I took a plane ride down to Florida and felt my arm fill up as the plane descended to sea level. I started emptying and massaging like crazy and after a few minutes of it, felt a decided relief. So now I do it often because I know it works.
And the results? My right arm is now noticeably smaller than my left! I'm not sure what we're squeezing out anymore, but I think it's more than just lymph. More details about results are coming in Part III. But as I've said, the condition is mostly reversed and my arm is looking great.
So great, in fact, that I'm surprised Hollywood has not discovered compression sleeves. These actresses could be squeezing a good 100 - 200 mL of fluid out of their arms right before going onto the red carpet.
There are two steps to reversing lymphedma in its early stages: compression and massage.
As for compression, the theory is simple enough: apply firm resistance to the affected area--in my case at first, an entire limb--and as your muscles expand and contract, they squeeze the lymph against the resistance and push it back up the lymphatic vessels.
So I got this sleeve on, you see, and a really tight glove, and every move I make against these garments is squeezing the lymph out of my arm.
I don't find the garments uncomfortable. I can get them on easily. They're not stylish, of course, but that's because I haven't gotten my hands on the catalog to order myself some leopard print versions. The only annoyance of them is that a day full of ordinary motion really tires my arm. The first few days I wore these garments, I had severe muscle cramping in my arm and hand just from cooking dinner. Stands to reason: there is resistance to every move I make now.
This also means my handwriting has gone to pot. Not that it had far to go. . .
As for massage: The lymphatic vessels are punctuated by one-way valves, which create a kind of suction. A few times a day, I press on the lymph nodes in my neck, right at my collar bone, to clear them out. Once they're empty, they create a suction in the vessels they're connected to. I help my body by gently rubbing my arm from the elbow up to the shoulder several times. This empties those vessels. Then I rub from the wrist up to the shoulder. Then from the fingers on up.
I was doubtful this actually accomplished anything. But I did it often because I'm pretty interested in reversing the condition. Then I took a plane ride down to Florida and felt my arm fill up as the plane descended to sea level. I started emptying and massaging like crazy and after a few minutes of it, felt a decided relief. So now I do it often because I know it works.
And the results? My right arm is now noticeably smaller than my left! I'm not sure what we're squeezing out anymore, but I think it's more than just lymph. More details about results are coming in Part III. But as I've said, the condition is mostly reversed and my arm is looking great.
So great, in fact, that I'm surprised Hollywood has not discovered compression sleeves. These actresses could be squeezing a good 100 - 200 mL of fluid out of their arms right before going onto the red carpet.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Lymphedema At Last
I'm thinking back to my second consult with Dr. Mayfield, the one we had two days before my surgery, to the very moment when I said, "Wait. What's that you just said?"
No, this wasn't in response to his saying, "You are thin."
He had just said, "So what if you have a swollen arm for the rest of your life if you're using it to cheer at your child's graduation?"
This was in his Moment of Truth speech that I suspect he'd thought and prayed long and hard about delivering. The speech that probably got some air time during his residency, because surgeons have to give it often. The speech that, roughly translated into blunt language would sound like this: "The treatment I'm advising will suck, but dying sucks worse."
Hence the phrase "swollen arm" used with the other phrase, "So what?"
But here I am. I went through with the radical surgery that turned out to be less-radical than expected. I did the chemo. I did the radiation. My hair is growing back. My energy has returned. To gauge by all outside appearances and behaviors, I am no longer a cancer patient.
So it's no longer "so what?" if I have a swollen arm. I do, in fact, have a swollen arm and hand, this is not easily disguised and my attitude towards it is pretty straightforward: Lymphedema? Really?
So today's post will be an answer to the question on everyone's mind: What is lymphedema, anyway?
The lymphatic system is the one we did not learn about in Mrs. Saragoosa's seventh grade biology class, though she did very thoroughly cover all the others. I still know the term--check this out!--"Superior vena cava."
Nor did we learn about it in Mrs. Griffin's biology class Freshman year, though we did dissect a frog. (That was also the year Eric Lichtenberger and Sean Nolan teamed up for their science fair project and shot ants up in a model rocket.)
Nor did we learn about it in the same Mrs. Giffin's Human Anatomy course Sophomore year, though I did hang onto the enduring term, "canal of schlem."
That's right. We had time to learn about the "canal of schlem," but did not have time to learn anything more than the term "lymph node," and the fact that it was part of "the lymphatic system." I'm not being glib about this time issue. Go ahead. Take a look at a simple wikipedia entry on the lymphatic system. Pretty complicated!
The short version is this: Our lymphatic system runs roughly parallel to our circulatory system. It takes fluids to and from tissues and organs. And it's also a big player in our immune system such that when cancer cells form in some tissue, and start breaking off to hit the lymphatic highway and drive to a new organ, the lymph nodes act as little road blocks, trapping those cancer cells. The nodes will often destroy them. But sometimes they can't, or they get overwhelmed by incoming cells, and the nodes become tumorous themselves.
All of my brave little lymph nodes in my right armpit, shoulder and collar bone area that were within the surgeon's reach--including the one that really should have been out of reach--were removed during my surgery.
The radiation, which centered on my chest wall and up into my shoulder, damaged the delicate lymphatic capillaries, and whatever other lymph nodes that remained in the area. We have no way of knowing how much damage was done, or whether my body can or will repair it. We just know that my system stopped draining my right arm as it had been doing.
Lymph is getting to the tissue in my arm, but my body is not draining it out as it should. Left untreated, the whole limb would swell. And swell. And swell. I won't link to photos of this because the worst case scenarios are pretty grim.
Still left untreated, the lymph--a protein liquid--would simply harden. The skin would lose elasticity. The limb would remain permanently swollen.
It's more than a just cosmetic affliction, too. Even mild cases can cause significant pain in the affected joints. My swelling is very slight, and at this point, only remains in my first two fingers and first knuckle. But it's tight, all right. Hard to grasp things with fine motor control, too.
It's also worth noting that lymphedema is not just a breast cancer treatment complication. Sometimes people get it because of a genetic trigger. Or trauma to a limb. It's most common in arms and legs, but it can also afflict parts of the torso.
I think, if I had to choose, I'd want it in an arm. See how nicely that turned out?
I am nowhere near the worst case scenario. I noticed mine while it was just a wee bit past a "pre-clinical" level--meaning it was barely detectable with the naked eye. Now, it is mostly reversed, and I'm still hopeful that we can get rid of this last little bit in my hand. Thank you for your prayers for this.
Tomorrow's post: Treatment.
Alternately Titled: What to Say to People Who Ask Why You're Wearing Pantyhose On Your Arm.
No, this wasn't in response to his saying, "You are thin."
He had just said, "So what if you have a swollen arm for the rest of your life if you're using it to cheer at your child's graduation?"
This was in his Moment of Truth speech that I suspect he'd thought and prayed long and hard about delivering. The speech that probably got some air time during his residency, because surgeons have to give it often. The speech that, roughly translated into blunt language would sound like this: "The treatment I'm advising will suck, but dying sucks worse."
Hence the phrase "swollen arm" used with the other phrase, "So what?"
But here I am. I went through with the radical surgery that turned out to be less-radical than expected. I did the chemo. I did the radiation. My hair is growing back. My energy has returned. To gauge by all outside appearances and behaviors, I am no longer a cancer patient.
So it's no longer "so what?" if I have a swollen arm. I do, in fact, have a swollen arm and hand, this is not easily disguised and my attitude towards it is pretty straightforward: Lymphedema? Really?
So today's post will be an answer to the question on everyone's mind: What is lymphedema, anyway?
The lymphatic system is the one we did not learn about in Mrs. Saragoosa's seventh grade biology class, though she did very thoroughly cover all the others. I still know the term--check this out!--"Superior vena cava."
Nor did we learn about it in Mrs. Griffin's biology class Freshman year, though we did dissect a frog. (That was also the year Eric Lichtenberger and Sean Nolan teamed up for their science fair project and shot ants up in a model rocket.)
Nor did we learn about it in the same Mrs. Giffin's Human Anatomy course Sophomore year, though I did hang onto the enduring term, "canal of schlem."
That's right. We had time to learn about the "canal of schlem," but did not have time to learn anything more than the term "lymph node," and the fact that it was part of "the lymphatic system." I'm not being glib about this time issue. Go ahead. Take a look at a simple wikipedia entry on the lymphatic system. Pretty complicated!
The short version is this: Our lymphatic system runs roughly parallel to our circulatory system. It takes fluids to and from tissues and organs. And it's also a big player in our immune system such that when cancer cells form in some tissue, and start breaking off to hit the lymphatic highway and drive to a new organ, the lymph nodes act as little road blocks, trapping those cancer cells. The nodes will often destroy them. But sometimes they can't, or they get overwhelmed by incoming cells, and the nodes become tumorous themselves.
All of my brave little lymph nodes in my right armpit, shoulder and collar bone area that were within the surgeon's reach--including the one that really should have been out of reach--were removed during my surgery.
The radiation, which centered on my chest wall and up into my shoulder, damaged the delicate lymphatic capillaries, and whatever other lymph nodes that remained in the area. We have no way of knowing how much damage was done, or whether my body can or will repair it. We just know that my system stopped draining my right arm as it had been doing.
Lymph is getting to the tissue in my arm, but my body is not draining it out as it should. Left untreated, the whole limb would swell. And swell. And swell. I won't link to photos of this because the worst case scenarios are pretty grim.
Still left untreated, the lymph--a protein liquid--would simply harden. The skin would lose elasticity. The limb would remain permanently swollen.
It's more than a just cosmetic affliction, too. Even mild cases can cause significant pain in the affected joints. My swelling is very slight, and at this point, only remains in my first two fingers and first knuckle. But it's tight, all right. Hard to grasp things with fine motor control, too.
It's also worth noting that lymphedema is not just a breast cancer treatment complication. Sometimes people get it because of a genetic trigger. Or trauma to a limb. It's most common in arms and legs, but it can also afflict parts of the torso.
I think, if I had to choose, I'd want it in an arm. See how nicely that turned out?
I am nowhere near the worst case scenario. I noticed mine while it was just a wee bit past a "pre-clinical" level--meaning it was barely detectable with the naked eye. Now, it is mostly reversed, and I'm still hopeful that we can get rid of this last little bit in my hand. Thank you for your prayers for this.
Tomorrow's post: Treatment.
Alternately Titled: What to Say to People Who Ask Why You're Wearing Pantyhose On Your Arm.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Breast Cancer Survivor Gear Thursday
From now 'till the end of this blog, I'd like to spend Thursdays exploring the wonderful world of pink products. We know all about the key chains and water bottles and pins. What else is out there?
I have a few ideas already. But please, do your part: send me links to any Pink/breast cancer-related product that you find amusing or bizarre or funny or cool.
Big thanks to Julie B for sending me this one. It made me laugh. And laughter, after all, is a primo piece of survival gear.
Oh--and if you can think of a better acronym for this feature, do pass it on.
I have a few ideas already. But please, do your part: send me links to any Pink/breast cancer-related product that you find amusing or bizarre or funny or cool.
Big thanks to Julie B for sending me this one. It made me laugh. And laughter, after all, is a primo piece of survival gear.
Oh--and if you can think of a better acronym for this feature, do pass it on.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
B, G and J Day: Behaving Badly
B:
Bryan has been checking Craig's List every evening and weekend morning for months, looking for bricks. If ever the phrase "Why buy new when used will do?" applies, it applies to bricks that will be used to make garden pathways.
Sunday morning--BING!--a "load" of bricks for $65. How much is a "load"? Four trips with our Explorer, that's how many. Two trips were that Sunday, and he made another both last night and tonight. The owner is moving, and these are bricks she hauled up from Pueblo when she came upon them as left-overs from some guy's new fence.
(If it's made out of bricks, do we still call it a fence?)
There were a few other pavers in the pile, too. Bryan took 'em.
Tonight he arrived home and pronounced the job finished. "Except for this one square paver. It was frozen to the ground. I couldn't pull it up. I couldn't kick it loose. I tried hammering a piece of wood against it with another brick--nothing!"
I kidded him, "And here I thought you were a man of perseverance."
A naughty grin slipped out. "Well," --uh-oh-- "I even tried warm water on it."
Hmm. As in. . .he knocked on this person's door and asked them for a cup of hot water?
He saw that I was puzzled and said, "It wasn't exactly warm water."
Pause.
Amy: "UGH! I'm putting that in the blog!"
G:
This morning at breakfast, Gemma told me how she spent a little time last night looking out her bedroom window, counting the airplane lights that flew by.
How pleasant. I told her that I used to do that when I was a little girl, too.
Then she said, "Yeah. And I use my binoculars to look into people's houses and see what they're watching on television."
J:
When we grocery shopped last week, each child started the circuit with a small bag of gummy worms for them to enjoy. You know that bribe. It works well for us, too.
It's Joshua's modus operandi to eat his treat one after another. Gemma likes to make hers last and last. This is why, when we got to the last aisle, she still had three gummy worms left and he'd been eyeing them since four aisles ago.
I turned back to the cart with a handful of yogurt to find Joshua kind of on top of her in the little bench seat they shared. And she was kind of. . .groaning, but it wasn't loud. It was muffled and annoyed.
"Josh, sit down," I told him.
He did. With a great big smile and a glistening, red gummy worm on his finger. Just when I realized what he'd done--that is, when I realized that he'd dug this worm out of his sister's mouth--he stuck it into his own.
I was laughing to hard to tell him that this was disgusting. As for Gemma, she sat there, a bit stunned, trying to calculate whether this kind of thing is allowed. On the one hand, she'd never heard an express prohibition against stealing food out of another person's mouth.
On the other hand, it was her gummy worm and she had been sucking on it!
On the other hand, her mother was now bent over from the laughter.
On the other hand, it had been in her mouth. . .
Bryan has been checking Craig's List every evening and weekend morning for months, looking for bricks. If ever the phrase "Why buy new when used will do?" applies, it applies to bricks that will be used to make garden pathways.
Sunday morning--BING!--a "load" of bricks for $65. How much is a "load"? Four trips with our Explorer, that's how many. Two trips were that Sunday, and he made another both last night and tonight. The owner is moving, and these are bricks she hauled up from Pueblo when she came upon them as left-overs from some guy's new fence.
(If it's made out of bricks, do we still call it a fence?)
There were a few other pavers in the pile, too. Bryan took 'em.
Tonight he arrived home and pronounced the job finished. "Except for this one square paver. It was frozen to the ground. I couldn't pull it up. I couldn't kick it loose. I tried hammering a piece of wood against it with another brick--nothing!"
I kidded him, "And here I thought you were a man of perseverance."
A naughty grin slipped out. "Well," --uh-oh-- "I even tried warm water on it."
Hmm. As in. . .he knocked on this person's door and asked them for a cup of hot water?
He saw that I was puzzled and said, "It wasn't exactly warm water."
Pause.
Amy: "UGH! I'm putting that in the blog!"
G:
This morning at breakfast, Gemma told me how she spent a little time last night looking out her bedroom window, counting the airplane lights that flew by.
How pleasant. I told her that I used to do that when I was a little girl, too.
Then she said, "Yeah. And I use my binoculars to look into people's houses and see what they're watching on television."
J:
When we grocery shopped last week, each child started the circuit with a small bag of gummy worms for them to enjoy. You know that bribe. It works well for us, too.
It's Joshua's modus operandi to eat his treat one after another. Gemma likes to make hers last and last. This is why, when we got to the last aisle, she still had three gummy worms left and he'd been eyeing them since four aisles ago.
I turned back to the cart with a handful of yogurt to find Joshua kind of on top of her in the little bench seat they shared. And she was kind of. . .groaning, but it wasn't loud. It was muffled and annoyed.
"Josh, sit down," I told him.
He did. With a great big smile and a glistening, red gummy worm on his finger. Just when I realized what he'd done--that is, when I realized that he'd dug this worm out of his sister's mouth--he stuck it into his own.
I was laughing to hard to tell him that this was disgusting. As for Gemma, she sat there, a bit stunned, trying to calculate whether this kind of thing is allowed. On the one hand, she'd never heard an express prohibition against stealing food out of another person's mouth.
On the other hand, it was her gummy worm and she had been sucking on it!
On the other hand, her mother was now bent over from the laughter.
On the other hand, it had been in her mouth. . .
Hair-ful
It's growing back.
I'd often thought that if I had that much of a concentration, I'd go for it. But my clump makes a streak about a quarter of that size on just one side. Before I lost my hair, I colored just this streak.
Then, just this weekend as I watched the Olympics, I saw a Pantene commercial on which the model--a hair model!--was a dark brunette with a long streak of white hair.
And it wasn't even for the old-lady version of their formula. So maybe, friends. Just maybe. . .
Half an inch seems to be the length that people interpret to be a chosen hairstyle, and not a side effect. I was wearing a hat on the airplane and a woman remarked, "Fantastic hat! Where did you get it?"
She looked surprised and said, "I was bald once, too!" and we high-fived. (Note to self: Is there a secret Survivor's handshake I should know about for these moments? Google it.)
My point is that she didn't have the "Oh, you've got cancer!" look that I've learned to read pretty quickly.
A 16-17ish old girl in the Commissary stopped me to tell me how "cool" my hairstyle was and how "awesome" it was that I "went for it."
So, I inspired one of our nation's youth this week. What have you done, slackers?
I also have all of my eyebrows back. That was an awkward few weeks, waiting for them to come in. When you have just stubble up there, they look like two smudges, like hobo make-up mis-applied.
And stubbly eyelashes! They looked so icky for a while. But they are back now, too.
All further proof that we are finished with the hard treatment and that my body is getting on with the show.
Speaking of which, a photo below, taken at our reunion. I'd started entering the game room by sliding in front of the entrance a la Tom Cruise in Risky Business (a movie I've never seen, but who hasn't seen that scene?)
Mom, ever the faithful photo-historian, insisted that I do it once for the camera.
Here I am. Take those old records off the shelf. . .
I've told you Joshua's observations. First I felt "poky," then "like a caterpillar," then "like a cat." I got home from my family reunion weekend last Monday and he gave me a good pet. I asked him, "What do I feel like now, Josh?"
He said, "Like Mommy."
I know that's really sweet. Believe me, for the first twenty minutes, my heart gushed. But then. Well. Come on, Josh. When has your Mommy's hair ever felt like this? Get real.
(Oh, take it easy! Of course I didn't say this to him!)
It is about half an inch long now. Seems to be as thick as before. I have a solid patch of white hairs right above my forehead, slightly to the left. They were there years ago, but were easy to hide.
When Dr. Markus saw me and remarked on the new growth, I pointed to these white hairs and said, "Do I have you to blame for these?"
Was that mean? Making him think it was a chemo thing? Meh. He didn't seem to care.
He did say, "I think it's very distinctive!"
Oh?
"Yes! Are you a reader of science fiction fantasy?"
What? Do I look like a 15 year old boy? Wait. Don't answer that. . .
"The very powerful are often marked by a streak of white hair. You would be, well, like a sorceress."
Moment of silence. I'm fairly certain I'd never been compared to a sorceress before. What does one say to this? What did I say?
I shrugged and whispered, "Behold!"
He then said, "I've revealed what a nerd I am." I wanted to tell him, "I think being a nerd is very distinctive!"
And one of these days, I will tell him, "I'm glad you are a nerd. I'm a nerd. I'm working hard to turn my children into nerds. This world is a better place because of nerds!"
But his comments do make me think of Rogue from the X-Men. Check out her streak of white hair:
I'd often thought that if I had that much of a concentration, I'd go for it. But my clump makes a streak about a quarter of that size on just one side. Before I lost my hair, I colored just this streak.
Then, just this weekend as I watched the Olympics, I saw a Pantene commercial on which the model--a hair model!--was a dark brunette with a long streak of white hair.
And it wasn't even for the old-lady version of their formula. So maybe, friends. Just maybe. . .
Half an inch seems to be the length that people interpret to be a chosen hairstyle, and not a side effect. I was wearing a hat on the airplane and a woman remarked, "Fantastic hat! Where did you get it?"
I told her and then added, "I saw it, liked it, was bald at the time, so I bought it."
She looked surprised and said, "I was bald once, too!" and we high-fived. (Note to self: Is there a secret Survivor's handshake I should know about for these moments? Google it.)
My point is that she didn't have the "Oh, you've got cancer!" look that I've learned to read pretty quickly.
A 16-17ish old girl in the Commissary stopped me to tell me how "cool" my hairstyle was and how "awesome" it was that I "went for it."
So, I inspired one of our nation's youth this week. What have you done, slackers?
I also have all of my eyebrows back. That was an awkward few weeks, waiting for them to come in. When you have just stubble up there, they look like two smudges, like hobo make-up mis-applied.
And stubbly eyelashes! They looked so icky for a while. But they are back now, too.
All further proof that we are finished with the hard treatment and that my body is getting on with the show.
Speaking of which, a photo below, taken at our reunion. I'd started entering the game room by sliding in front of the entrance a la Tom Cruise in Risky Business (a movie I've never seen, but who hasn't seen that scene?)
Mom, ever the faithful photo-historian, insisted that I do it once for the camera.
Here I am. Take those old records off the shelf. . .
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