Cancer Banter

Back to Pole Dancing

2011-08-16T16:15:00.000-07:00

Friend Anna helps hold down Puss while I prepare the needle.
A bag of fluids on a makeshift IV pole brings me back to my pole dancing days.

There's nothing quite like a feeling of accomplishment. I felt that when I first mastered the art of dancing with my two-left-wheeled IV pole partner when I was a patient at the City of Hope.

And I felt it more recently when I found myself in the reverse role of caretaker. My aging and cantankerous cat Puss needed fluids administered through the skin on her back. Each time I prepared to pierce her flesh, I repeated my new mantra, "It's only skin. It's only skin." When I managed to jab the needle and then hold her still for five minutes (with the help of my friend Anna), I felt a sense of relief. The second time, when I did the deed solo, I felt a genuine sense of accomplishment.

Now I'm about to do another fear-inducing act with a pole. A new friend who's organizing a fund raiser for Be the Match has asked me to do the pole dancing skit that I created three years ago for The Big C. And, just like I knew that poking the cat with a needle was for a good cause, I'm going to shed my fear because 100% of the evening's proceeds will assist with adding new potential bone marrow donors to the Be the Match registry.

I hope you'll join me on Friday, August 26, for a fun evening of wine tasting, appetizers, a silent auction, music, a beautiful and historic Pasadena venue and, of course, some pole dancing.

You may purchase tickets online at www.bethematchfoundation.org/winetasting

Feeling Guilty?

2011-06-08T16:01:00.000-07:00

I've been suffering from blogging guilt, gardening guilt and grapefruit guilt. At least there's a cure for the last one. Read all about it at Open Mouth, Insert Fork.

She's Back!

2011-06-05T16:55:00.000-07:00

It's been more than six months since I last posted on Cancer Banter. If anyone is still reading, you may have assumed one of three things: I was a) dead b) alive but sickly or c) alive and well.

I'm happy to report that the answer is "c," alive and well. After a year of non-stop colds, flus and pneumonia, punctuated with stomach ailments and plummeting weight, and culminating in a fractured hip and the death of my father, I'm back. Back to my goal weight, back to my old (before cancer) energy level and as close to feeling as "normal" as it gets.

But enough about me.

I'd like to introduce you to Jeanne, the Assertive Cancer Patient. She's taught me how to be assertive without being obnoxious, how to be your own best advocate, how to question everyone and everything, how to make arrangements for your own end-of-life hospice care and, most important, how to embrace life whether you have six months or sixty years to live. I'm proud to count her as a friend.

Jeanne has incurable, metastatic breast cancer. A year ago she and her doctors concluded that she had come to the end of her treatment options. That's a euphemism for "that's all folks." Enter T-DM1 - a miraculous new drug available in a clinical trial. Jeanne was lucky enough (or perhaps plucky enough) to enroll in the trial and, for the first time in more than a dozen years, is in remission.

But here's the catch. Jeanne must travel from Seattle to Southern California every three weeks to participate in the clinical trial at a hospital in Highlands. The travel schedule has taken a toll on her physically, emotionally and financially.

The drug will be available at a clinic near Jeanne in September, but, in the meantime, she must make four more trips to Southern Cal to receive this life-extending drug. She has managed to raise more than $3,200 in the last few weeks, but she needs just a few hundred dollars more to finance the trips.

Can you spare $10, $20 or more to help make this happen? She's fought for and won the privilege of staying in the trial. She's fought for and won the ability to receive the drug in Seattle in September. Let's not let her have to fight to raise the money necessary for travel expenses.

Click HERE to contribute to Jeanne's Travel Fund.

For every $20 donated, you will be eligible for a drawing for this beautiful Chinese swan necklace created by Jeanne.

When Patient Fatigue Sets In

2010-12-02T09:01:00.000-08:00

I'll never forget my first day as a wide-eyed freshman at a small university in South Carolina. When I learned that one of my roomies was a senior, I gushed, "Oh, it must be so sad to know that this is your last year." "Believe me," she replied. "When the time comes, you're ready."

Fast forward a few decades to a post-stem-cell-transplant visit to the City of Hope. I was slowly (and reluctantly) weaning my way from three to one visit per week. When I learned that a fellow patient was there for her annual appointment, I felt like a college freshman all over again. I couldn't imagine a stretch of 52 weeks without an appointment any more than I could imagine leaving dorm life behind.

Funny how three more years as a student and a patient changes your perspective. By the time I hit my junior year, I was plagued with student fatigue. You know the drill - when you think you're going to scream if you have to write one more paper or attend one more lecture or eat one more meal in the cafeteria.

Now I have patient fatigue, but not the kind that comes from massive doses of chemo. I'm simply tired of being a patient. If I have to take one more test or see one more specialist or endure one more procedure or . . . you get the idea.

Unlike my early days as a student or patient, I'm not as willing to do research or ask questions, and that's too bad. I'm still beating myself up over a City of Hope visit in August. My doctor and I celebrated the good news of clean, cancer-free scans and pondered the bad news of continued weight loss (I tipped the scales at 106 that day) and a host of GI problems. When it came time to discuss the results of my bone density scan, the doctor commented that my bones were thin. I didn't bother to ask the obvious follow-up question: "How thin?"

Six weeks later, I broke my hip, an event that led me to once again ask, "How thin?"

Last week I got the answer to that question with a printout of my bone density exam. "Osteosporosis" was the headline. The results indicated that I was eight times more likely to break a hip than my counterparts with normal scans.

Would this knowledge have prevented my broken hip? I doubt it. But it does make me think twice about wearing slippery socks on hardwood floors (although my accident happened with bare feet). And it does remind me that, in spite of patient fatigue, it's important to pay attention in class.

Is there a story in you?

2010-11-12T10:59:00.000-08:00

Greetings, Cancer Banter readers! It's been a long time (thank heavens) since I've needed to post here in my role as Susan's "cancer correspondent."

With Smooky's permission, I'm posting today about a blog that may be of interest to writers who read Cancer Banter. The Rose City Sisters flash fiction blog presents short-short stories of up to 1,000 words. There's a catch: each story might have a connection to Pasadena. (In spite of our name, male writers are welcome.)

Susan took the fiction plunge last year and wrote "The Fourth Possibility," which starts:

Miranda thought the Japanese word sounded like what it meant—hot and humid. She escaped the mushiatsui life when she moved from sultry South Carolina to Southern California, but there was no escaping the steamy, suffocating heat of Sado Island, Japan, in August. (Read the rest here.)

My most recent story is about a woman with a very peculiar superpower. This week we have a darkly comic Thanksgiving story—in list form. (Illustrated with a nearly obscene photo of a raw turducken wrapped in bacon.)

If you're a writer who's up for the challenge of telling a very short story, please read our story submission guidelines. If you know writers, share this blog post with them. The Rose City Sisters blog is accepting submissions.

19 Steps

2010-10-14T14:05:00.000-07:00

I've made great progress since my hospital stair-climbing meltdown. Thanks to the help of a top-notch physical therapist, I'm now going up and down the staircase with confidence and ease. Here's a video of the technique.

And, of course, I had real motivation to make the climb: my own bed and a hot shower. Gives new meaning to bed, bath and beyond.

She's Got the Look

2010-10-11T10:41:00.000-07:00

I love a line from the trailer of "She's Got the Look," a reality show in which long-in-the-tooth and lean-in-the-leg women over age 35 compete for a modeling contract. One 40-something runway-worthy woman gushes in the ad, "The great thing about getting older is that you no longer have fears."

Oh, really? I just want to take her aside and slap the curvy booty on her skinny body (how does she do that?) and say, "Oh, honey, the fears don't go away. You just learn to confront them."

And let me tell you, the show is designed to make the leggy lovelies crack under the pressure of extreme fear, whether it's heights or depths (under water) or something in between. These women quickly learn how to produce a cover-girl shot even though they want to pee their pants.

I have to admit, I haven't felt that kind of head-spinning, stomach-churning fear in a long time. That is, until my physical therapist tried to teach me to climb the stairs. As I watched him demonstrate how to lead with my strong left foot, I felt sick to my stomach. I could feel the fight-or-flight adrenalin surging through my body. My pulse raced and my sweat glands went into overdrive.

I remembered my unsolicited advice to the potential supermodel: ". . . just learn to confront them." I put aside my fears and attempted the left-foot-lead technique, but felt my head spin. "Can we go now? I feel dizzy" I whimpered.

As I used my walker to navigate back to the room, I still felt dizzy and requested a wheelchair.

It's a good thing I'm not a contestant on She's Got the Look. For sure I would have gotten the axe.

A Flop on the Floor and a Flop in the Kitchen

2010-10-09T10:44:00.000-07:00

Just a day before my flop on the hardwood floor, I had a flop in the kitchen. My gourgeres, intended to be lighter-than-air cheese puffs, were as flat and dense as buttons.

Read about the cheese flops at Open Mouth, Insert Fork.

Fear of Falling

2010-10-08T07:09:00.000-07:00

Most cancer survivors live with a low-grade fear. It's not something we talk about or dwell on, but it's there. Will I relapse? Will I ever return to the person I was before treatment? Will Meg Whitman become governor?

This broken hip is tapping into a whole new set of fears. The out-of-control feeling of falling is a recurring theme of my nightmares. And now the nightmare has come true.

I fear pain, but I also fear pain meds. Part of that is about fear of losing control (as I did after my one experience with morphine) and part is about fear of addiction. (It didn't help to read Broken Hip Chronicle, which describes the patient's addiction and 3-time withdrawal from pain meds.) I requested meds the first night I was here (emphasizing "the lowest dose possible"), but haven't experienced pain since surgery last evening. But, don't worry. I think my dread of pain will trump my fear of meds.

And now I must admit that I have a fear of wheelchairs. It's not so much a fear of the vehicle as a fear of how others might view me in one. If you've been reading for a while, you may recall the shame I felt at the City of Hope when I had to be pushed around campus. (I even hid my face when I saw my doctor on the grounds.) And you might remember my irrational panic attack when the wheelchair was pushed into the exam room.

My wheelchair-phobia came to light recently when I sat next to a man and his wheelchair-bound wife at a dinner event. When I learned that she was in the wheelchair temporarily as the result of a falling accident, I was surprised and ashamed at my reaction - relief. I'm even more ashamed to admit that a reluctance to talk with her evaporated when I learned that her condition was temporary.

Temporary. Just like my current immobile condition. Just like my hospital stay. And, hopefully, just like my fears.

Slip, Boom, WAAAH!

2010-10-07T07:36:00.000-07:00

Breaking a hip is no laughing matter, but at least I was able to entertain Baby Joseph with a recounting of my slip and fall. "Aachan fell down and went BOOM. And then she went WAAH!" He giggled with delight each time I told the tale and then did his own WAAH imitation.

Yesterday morning I fell victim to a slippery hardwood floor. I went down faster than a slapstick comedian slipping on a banana peel and hit the floor with full force. I cried out in pain and then cried out for help because I couldn't put any weight on my right leg.

Lucky for me, two friends were on hand to hoist me up and escort me to my bed. I assumed that I'd just bruised the hip, but, an hour later, I was still in excruciating pain. A trip to urgent care and an x-ray revealed that I'd broken the bone. Now I'm at Huntington Memorial Hospital in Pasadena, waiting for a 5:30 pm surgery to put pins in the hip.

I'll be here for four or five days and then will work on rehabilitation. I'm considered young for a broken hip, so the surgeon thinks that will work in my favor. Nonetheless, it will take at least six weeks to recover. Six weeks of maneuvering the stairs in our two-story house. Six weeks of depending on others to drive me. Six weeks of work in physical therapy.

All together now: WAAH!

The Skinny on Susan

2010-08-24T14:56:00.000-07:00

Life is a series of two steps forward and one step back. Or, in my case, two pounds forward, ten pounds back.

In my last post, I wrote about my ongoing struggle to gain weight and my visit to a nutritionist. I was alarmed today when I stepped on the scales at the City of Hope and discovered that I've gone from an underweight 112 to a skeletal 105 pounds. At this poundage, I have to be careful on the dance floor; my sharp, protruding hip bones could be lethal weapons.

Of course, this weight loss follows a week of symptoms that resembled a stomach flu. But I suspect that there's something more going on. For weeks, I've felt an uncomfortable feeling of fullness. And my body seems to have trouble absorbing nutrients A few weeks ago I learned that my Vitamin D levels were at an alarmingly low 9.5, when 30 is low normal. I'm also Vitamin C deficient, which is strange since I make a steady diet of the lemons, oranges and grapefruit from our back yard.

I know I've written before about seeing a GI specialist, and I've finally scheduled an appointment for September 7. I'm eager to get to the bottom of this. (No pun intended.)

Missing in Action

2010-08-05T17:45:00.000-07:00

Yes, it's been a while since I've posted. Friends often ask me why I haven't updated more often, and I tell them it's boring to post (and read), "I'm sick with a cold."

I recently realized that I've been sick almost continuously since early December. Back-to-back flus followed by back-to-back-to-back colds with a short bout of pneumonia thrown in for good measure. Every time I think, "I'm back," my temperature spikes to 101 - my body's signal that I have another cold coming on.

I think I'm at the tail end of a cold and am enjoying the surge in energy and the chance to finally work on "rebuilding."

Speaking of rebuilding, I saw a medical doctor/nutritionist about gaining weight. The mere act of keeping a daily diet diary has made me realize that I really don't eat enough to maintain my weight, let alone pack on a few pounds. (There, I said it.) And the reason I don't eat enough is that I almost always feel uncomfortably full, like I'm going to explode. I don't think this is normal.

Otherwise, life is good. I've enjoyed watching the guest house and the baby grow. The house will soon be complete, but baby Joseph will keep on growing (a bittersweet realization).

If you're interested in a new way of brewing coffee, check out Open Mouth, Insert Fork.

If You Can't Find It, Make It - Crab Fried Rice

2010-06-30T19:20:00.000-07:00

When my favorite Thai restaurant closed a few years ago, I searched in vain for a crab fried rice that was good as Nana's. Turns out I didn't have to go far to find it.

Go to Open Mouth, Insert Fork to learn how to make Thai crab fried rice - a dish where the crisp flavors of fish sauce, lime juice and ginger complement the subtlety of the crab.

A Trio of Good News

2010-06-22T15:43:00.000-07:00

My PT scans were clean.

My EOS are under control.

I got to hang out with my friend Nancy, who also had appointments at City of Hope.

Lifelong and Long Life

2010-06-20T14:17:00.000-07:00

It's easy to forget that I'm a "lifer" patient at the City of Hope. But on Tuesday, I'll have several reminders of my forever Hope status.

I'll start off the day with a shot of "Vitamin P," the notorious drug that Michael Jackson mainlined on a daily basis. Unlike the King of Pop, my propofol will be administered by a licensed anesthesioligist in a clinical setting. I'll fall to sleep right before my doctor jabs my rear with a thick needle to extract bone marrow for my annual bone marrow biopsy. And then I'll wake up 15 minutes later, feeling as thought I slept for ten straight hours. I can't wait!

Then I'll spend the next two hours wandering the campus for a mammogram and a bone density scan. (My choice of the word "wandering" is because of my nonexistant sense of direction.) I know it's probably a "business" decision for CoH to encourage patients to come to them for these services, but it's also convenient for me and a comfort to have all of my medical records in one place.

And, finally, I'll meet with Dr. Forman to discuss the results of the PT scan I had last week. The scan will confirm if I'm still in remission or if I've relapsed. Strangely enough, I'm not feeling the usual funny little "is she or isn't she" butterflies. I think it's because my non-patient life has been creating so many flutters that I can no longer tell the difference. I'll also find out if my pesky eosinophils (aka EOS) are behaving themselves.

It will be a long day, but, truth be told, I don't mind being a "lifelong patient," as long as that means that I'll have a nice, long life.

By popular demand: The little man in my life. I love to make him laugh.

Bouncing Back and Berries

2010-06-02T15:24:00.000-07:00

After months of nearly non-stop sickies, I finally turned the corner a couple of weeks ago. Nothing serious or even EOS-related - just enough to slow productivity and squelch the appetite. But the first thing to return after I've physically bounced back is a healthy preoccupation with food.

My current obsession is strawberries; I can't seem to get enough of them. You can take a peek at my latest strawberry creations at Open Mouth, Insert Fork.

The Three Cs: Cancer, Chemo and Colds

2010-04-23T16:51:00.000-07:00

Which of these doesn't belong in the group?

After being diagnosed with an advanced stage of cancer and undergoing some of the harshest chemo known to man, I would think that I would now sneeze in the face of colds. Only wimps complain about colds, right?

Wrong. After catching yet another cold four weeks ago, I've been tired, sluggish and grumpy. An active day is followed by a day of recuperation. And it seems that I no sooner recover from a cold or flu that I've caught another bug.

During my visit at City of Hope yesterday, I told my doctor that I now catch colds and flus more easily (I've had two bouts of the flu and two colds since December, with sick days outnumbering well days 5 to 1), that I'm knocked down harder and that it takes me longer to get back up again. He believes that my immune system was battered by the post-stem-cell-transplant maintenance Rituxan that I took every quarter for nearly two years. We cut short the last infusion because he suspected that my immune system was taking a hit.

"It's one of the things that we doctors often debate," he said. The efficacy of Rituxan for keeping patients in remission is uncertain. But the pummelling of the immune system with some patients on Rituxan is certain.

If someone had come to me with these facts before the decision to go with the maintenance Rituxan, I doubt that my decision would be different. I figured only a fool would pass on a chance for a longer remission because of a fear of sniffles.

But as I reach for one more Kleenex and cover one more cough, I'm beginning to wonder.

A Little of This, A Little of That

2010-03-19T16:38:00.000-07:00

I really love the stretches of time when Cancer Banter lies dormant and Open Mouth, Insert Fork sizzles with food activity.

The food overindulgence is paying off. I found out yesterday at the City of Hope that I've packed on seven pounds in a month. (And, if you've been following my food blog, you'll see why.) Now I just need to gain another dozen pounds to go from "scrawny" to "svelte."

[photo forthcoming]

I've also been indulging in some good wines, but still haven't managed to visit the EOS Estate Winery in Paso Robles.

The EOS cap brought me good cheer, and it must also be bringing me good luck. Ever since Nancy brought it over, my EOS have been behaving. Yesterday I found out that they decreased (sans steroids) slightly since my last blood draw a month ago. I believe my EOS woes (and the accompanying stress) are behind me.

I'm always amazed at the creativity and thoughtfulness that goes in to helping others who are going through or recovering from cancer or a serious illness. Instead of a perfunctory, "Let me know what I can do," some of you may have offered to help with nitty gritty tasks, like cleaning out the litter box or scrubbing the toilets. If there's a disconnect between your intentions and your scrub brush, you may want to visit Cleaning for a Reason, an organization that provides free cleaning services for cancer patients. (Thanks to Petrea for forwarding this website.)

A concerned friend of blogger Assertive Cancer Patient lives in a different state, so she couldn't bring over a home-cooked meal. She did the next best thing and made arrangements for a pizza delivery. This works for close-distant friends too, because sometimes it's easier to make a call than make a meal. Just remember to contact the patient to find out when they'd like the delivery made and what toppings the family likes. (And, of course, delivery doesn't have to be confined to pizza.)

I love the creativity of Susan Kitchens, who made an audio tape of her walk, complete with the sounds of zooming cars and cheeping birds, and brought it to a friend who is landlocked in the hospital after an organ transplant. If only there was a way to record the amazing spring fragrances.

I feel uplifted just thinking about the love and thoughtfulness that goes into these acts. They're a great reminder that it's better to do something than to do nothing and feel guilty about it.

Have you been on the giving or receiving end of a thoughtful act? I'd love to hear about it.

Becoming Dis-Oriented

2010-03-01T19:03:00.000-08:00

Disorientation is nothing new to me. I was born without a sense of direction.

But lately I've been thinking about the way marketers use the term "Oriental," as in "Oriental Flavor Ramen."

Don't get lost on your way to Open Mouth, Insert Fork.

The Lazy Life

2010-02-22T19:27:00.000-08:00

Is taking the easiest, least stressful route being "lazy"?

I think so, but I've finally made peace with "lazy." In a good way.

Read more about my lazy luncheon at Open Mouth, Insert Fork.

Nursing Sick Dogs Back to Health

2010-02-16T15:01:00.000-08:00

Any patient with a dog, knows that our faithful companions immediately sense when we're not feeling well and then do their best to help lick our wounds.

Last night was my turn to help out Betty, our wonder mutt. A little before 5 pm, she started coughing in convulsions. She lost bladder and bowel control. She wandered into the spare bedroom to isolate. Soon, she lost the strength in her legs. She couldn't walk and I couldn't carry her, so my neighbor came to the rescue and gave Betty a lift to the car.

We rushed to the emergency hospital in Eagle Rock and arrived just as they were opening at 6 pm. I was afraid that it was time to say goodbye to my faithful girl. But she pulled through, in spite of literally turning purple, a collapsed lung and a host of other problems set off by an inability to breathe.

We're hoping that Prednisone (the same drug that I take for rising EOS) reduces the swelling in her trachea so that we don't have to do surgery.

When we were at our local vet's office this morning, I stepped on to the giant scale and got a shock. "Is this scale correct?" I asked the vet's assistant in disbelief. Of course, it was. I just couldn't believe that I tipped the scales at 110 - an eight pound weight loss in less than a month. (This in spite of calorie contributions in the form of mac 'n' cheese and soups from two friends.) I've been having a host of ongoing GI problems, which I'm sure explains the plunge in pounds.

I'm scheduled at the City of Hope on Thursday and plan to ask for a referral to a GI specialist.

In the mean time, we sick dogs will just have to stick together and nurse one another back to health.

Eating My Way Through a Bucket List

2010-01-30T10:46:00.000-08:00

I'll tell you this much: I'd much rather be talking about bucket lists on my food blog than on my cancer blog.

Read about what happens when restaurants kick the bucket at Open Mouth, Insert Fork.

Let the Sun Shine In!

2010-01-23T16:25:00.001-08:00

After a week of soup and stew weather, the clouds have parted and it's time for a celebration of citrus.

Wander over to Open Mouth, Insert Fork to find out how I've been using the back yard citrus.

It's Raining, It's Pouring, but Food Isn't Boring

2010-01-22T12:38:00.001-08:00

Energy is returning, appetite is back and the kitchen's been getting a good workout. (I've even gained four pounds in the last two weeks.)

See what's cooking at Open Mouth, Insert Fork.

Non-Chemo "Chemo Brain"

2010-01-21T14:33:00.000-08:00

My brain is a very fickle creature.

Today I went to City of Hope for my fourth of five "chemo brain" tests. I'm part of a clinical study that's tracking my cognitive functioning from pre-stem-cell transplant to three years post-transplant. And, not to brag, but in some areas, I'm as sharp as a tack. "Wow! Noone has ever gotten that far before," gushed the test administrator. Or, "You're the first person to complete that entire section." Just don't ask me for directions to the restroom.

And I have an uncanny ability to hear a list of up to nine scrambled digits and letters and repeat them back in numerical and alphabetical order. I even amaze myself. But don't dare ask me for my office phone number.

I guess we're all like this. We have our strengths and we have our weaknesses. And how much of the weaknesses can be pinned on chemo or aging or peri-menopause or post-menopause or just the way we're wired is anyone's guess.

That's why the City of Hope is looking for a non-chemo control group to enroll in the same cognitive study.

If you're between the ages of 18 and 75, the series of 90-minute tests could be an excellent way to test your memory, focus and mental agility. The administrators do not share the results of the tests, but it's easy to gauge how you're doing. And, if you're really concerned about your performance on a particular test, the neuropsychiatrist who is the principal investigator will talk with you. (As she did with me last year when I cried out, "I've gotten stupid." She assured me that I had not.)

As a little token of appreciation City of Hope will give you a $20 Target gift card for each of the five tests.

Email me at susancarrier AT sbcglobal.net if you'd like more information or if you'd like to participate.

After all, a mind is a terrible thing to waste.

Recommended Reading: Your Brain After Chemo: A Practical Guide to Lifting the Fog and Getting Back Your Focus by Dan Silverman, MD, PhD and Idelle Davidson

A Roll in the Cabbage (Old Fashioned Cabbage Rolls)

2010-01-17T23:45:00.000-08:00

I still have a few pounds to gain back and, lucky for me, I'm hungry. Check out one of my favorite comfort foods over at Open Mouth, Insert Fork.

What's in Store for 2010?

2010-01-10T17:17:00.000-08:00

For the last two years, I've started the New Year brimming with optimism. In 2008, right after my successful auto stem cell transplant, I was giddy about the endless "what if" possibilities of the new year. I followed up with musings on the challenge of "rebuilding." A few days after toasting to health and happiness, I landed back at the City of Hope. That was the same year that I became debilitated from the high eosinophil count in my blood. And the year that my crinkling skin was diagnosed as cutis laxa. And the year that I made a difficult personal decision.

In 2009, I lived a charmed life for the first few weeks of the year. I vowed to live simply, drink more Champagne and sparkling wine and find the ultimate crab cake recipe.Very little effort on my part seemed to produce effervescent results. But by late-February, 2009 had lost its fizz.

And 2010? PPFFBBTT! That's a giant raspberry to the New Year. I woke up on January 1, sick and alone. I went on to get dumped and then thrown (cough, cough) out of a New (cough, cough) Year's open house party. (The two incidents were unrelated.)

I saw Dr. Forman last Thursday and learned that I've dropped 8 pounds in 4 weeks. That's in addition to the 8 pounds that went missing between Halloween and Thanksgiving. The 16-pound loss brings me down to a scrawny 114 pounds on a 5'10" frame. I felt dizzy because my blood pressure was a ridiculously low 80 over 36. I still have to pace my days because I become fatigued easily. The reason for this? We haven't a clue. I just know that, for the third year in a row, I'm back to "rebuilding."

This all sounds dismal, but one advantage of having a blog is the ability to look back. Yes, I had that little unplanned 11-day stay at Hotel Hope. But I bounced back and, just a few days after my discharge, took a solo trip to SF to visit my ailing friend Bob at the Veteran's Hospital.

And, yes, the eosinophils laid me lower than the chemo from a stem cell transplant, but that didn't stop me from taking two trips to SF to be with Bob that summer. My friend Kiki and I even got to see him on his last day on earth.

And I recovered in time to see my brother and his bride Bonnie get married at our house and garden in September.

I'm writing all of this to give me perspective. I was tempted to write off 2008 as a terrible year punctuated with illness and "rare" disorders and 2009 as a stressful one peppered with uncertainty. I'm already set to pop 2010 into the dumpster. And I'm always ready to belittle myself for not bouncing back more quickly after an illness, until the blog makes me realize that I was doing the best I could each step of the way.

Looking back, I see that our years and our lives are a a frustrating blend of good and bad, charmed and cursed, memorable and forgettable.

Now let's take a look at 2010, the year that I'm trying to salvage from the dumpster. I think life owes me a great year of health and happiness in 2010, especially since it's starting off so lousy. Don't you agree? That's what I'm hoping.

Truth be told, I don't know if life will continue to throw curve balls in 2010 or give me a breather on the bench, but I do know this. I'm strong enough to deal with whatever the year has in store. More important, at my weakest or my strongest, I could never make it without the love and support of my family and friends.

That reminds me of the second day of 2010, when I spent the afternoon with an old friend I've known since she was a toddler. She, her husband and two preschool children were here for the OSU Rose Bowl game, so I jumped at my first chance to see her since her wedding seven years ago. Our strong bond of reconnection more than made up for feeling like a social pariah just the day before. Good and bad. Charmed and cursed. Sometimes they're in the same day, sometimes in the same week, often in the same year.

Looking forward to a year with endless, positive possibilities. And a lot of resilience.

Upbeat, downbeat and just plain beat

2009-12-24T15:13:00.001-08:00

A few months ago, www.spryliving.com placed Cancer Banter on its list of five "best blogs for cancer patients and survivors." I ordinarily wouldn't mention this, but the description calls Cancer Banter an "upbeat blog."

This is true for the most part, and, believe me, I work at it. From the beginning I've tried to be honest while putting a positive spin on the bleakest of circumstances. Nonetheless, I've never wanted Cancer Banter to be simply upbeat; I want it to be an accurate account of my experiences. If for no other reason, I want to look back and think, "That was a terrible time, but I struggled through."

But now it's been nearly a month since I've written. The upbeat part of me wakes up every morning and thinks, "This is the day that I turn the corner." The downbeat part of me wonders irrationally, "Am I relapsing?" The just plain beat part is sleeping a lot.

I first went to the ETC (City of Hopes emergency room) on December 4 with a 104 degree temperature. I was given steroids and antibiotics through the IV and then sent home with an oral prescription for six and seven days of the same drugs.

Two days later my temp. bounced back to 104, but I felt well as long as I was on the steroids. I saw Dr. Forman two weeks after the visit to the ETC, and my blood counts and temp. were normal.

It's now been two weeks since that visit, and my temperature continues to be a bouncing ball, climbing to as high as 100.8 in the afternoon. My exhaustion level is an 8+ on a scale of 1 to 10.

The upbeat me says to just wait until the next appointment in two weeks, but the downbeat part wants to sound the alarms.

Friend and fellow City of Hope patient Nancy Sakakura (now that's one upbeat gal) made my day on Tuesday when she drove up from Orange County with a special gift: an EOS cap. Even when I saw that the gift was a cap, I didn't guess that it was the coveted EOS one. (When I'm feeling better, I'll take a picture of me with the cap and post.) Special thank you to Heather at EOS Estate Winery, who donated a cap to Nancy and me when Nancy shared my story. Nancy added to the gift by finding the perfect T-shirt from the winery - a nice French fitted tee that says "Live each day" on the front and features the graphic of a wine glass on the back.

Both the cap and the Tee are enough to make me feel . . . upbeat. I can't wait to wear them to my next City of Hope appointment.

Stanford Out, Newport In

2009-11-28T20:19:00.000-08:00

I won't be picking up that EOS cap after all. I received a call last week from the Stanford doctor's scheduling desk. They erroneously booked me on a day when Dr. Gotlib will be out of the office. Our schedules don't sync again for another month, so I didn't bother to set another date.

That means that I'll be headed to Newport Beach a little sooner for that uninterrupted R&R (reading and 'riting) time.

Feel like getting away? Give me a call or drop me an email.

Cross the Line, If You Dare

2009-11-23T20:51:00.000-08:00

Over at Open Mouth, Insert Fork, we've discovered that the food always tastes better when you're being a little naughty.

Read about our latest trespassing picnic adventure here.

The Days of Wine and EOS

2009-11-23T12:22:00.001-08:00

Once I get an idea in my head, I have a hard time shaking it off. Take that EOS cap. I won't rest until it's sitting on my head.

I might have a hard time justifying a jaunt to the Eos winery for a taste of the liquid grape, but when it's on the way to Stanford Cancer Center, that's an entirely different matter.

I'm scheduled to see EOS specialist Dr. Jason Gotlib on November 30. The EOS wine specialist is on the calendar for November 29.

Now I can rest again.

The Light Side of EOS

2009-11-22T12:41:00.000-08:00

A friend sent me this photo of an EOS hat. I want this hat. I need this hat.

If my friend doesn't relinquish his, I may have to schedule a stop at Eos, the Paso Robles winery, on my way to a visit with the Stanford EOS specialist.

Don't you love the symmetry of that?

And I just reread an Eos post from friend and goddess gal Finnegan Begin Again. She reveals how Aphrodite, goddess of love and beauty, turned Eos, the goddess of the dawn, into a slut.

Besides the chuckle, the story is a good reminder to "Channel this goddess: when shrouded in darkness, when it feels like the day will never dawn. It always dawns. Follow Eos. She'll lead you to the light."

I can see that light. And there just may be a glass of wine to go along with it.

What Idiot?

2009-11-20T15:35:00.000-08:00

"Unexplained weight gain"

I laugh every time I think of those words on a doctor's letter nearly three years ago. It's funny because my weight gain at that time wasn't all that mysterious: I was eating too much and moving too little.

I think we humans are always in search of an explanation. If we can't find one, we make one up.

And when there is no explanation, as in the case of my whacky eosinophils? Doctors explain it away with one simple word: idiopathic. It means "of unknown cause," or, in med-speak, "Hell if I know."

Keep this word in mind the next time someone asks a difficult-to-answer question. "How did this house get so messy?" "Why are our sales down for November?" "How did you get so brilliant?"

Simply shrug your shoulders, put on that enigmatic smile and say, "It's idiopathic." You might just get away with it.

Here We Go Again (Round Three Against the EOS)

2009-11-19T10:46:00.000-08:00

They're ba-ack.

The eosinophils (EOS), the component of the white blood that fights allergies or parasites, are climbing once again. It makes me think of a little story that the Pasadena Library children's librarian often told when Cynthia was a little grasshopper. "They went up the hill and down the hill and up the hill and down the hill and up the hill and down the hill."

They (the EOS) went up and then they went down with the prednisone. Then they went up when I tapered off the prednisone. Then they went down with prednisone. Then I tapered off the prednisone again, and we're climbing that hill for the third time.

What can I say? I'm tired of climbing the hills. I hate this "in between" stage when I must carefully pace myself if I don't want to collapse. (I'm back to making dates and breaking dates.) I don't like feeling out of breath after climbing two flights of stairs. I'm deathly afraid of becoming as sick as I was during the summer and fall of 2008. I hate the manic, sleepless side effects of the treatment - high dose prednisone. I want off the treadmill.

Now, here comes the tricky part. When I saw the EOS specialist at Stanford last spring, he advised me to see an allergist after I tapered off the prednisone so that we could see if allergies were the driver of the EOS. I saw a very competent allergist last week and learned that I'm allergic to pollen (no surprise), dust mites (no surprise) and pets (BIG surprise). We have two cats and two dogs.

So . . . we know I have allergies. And we know that my EOS are rising. We just don't know if there's a connection between the two. The allergist recommended that I isolate myself from the pets for two weeks and then immediately measure my blood counts. I've decided to take a friend's offer to use her Newport Beach apartment for two weeks. I pack my bags right after Thanksgiving.

Just doing my little bit for science.

Maybe I Need To Get Out More

2009-11-16T20:31:00.000-08:00

Today I spent the better part of my day at the City of Hope.

Since I'm really too busy to be a patient, I popped into the Patient Resource Center between appointments to check and send emails and finish up a couple of small projects.

After letting out an expletive at the keyboard, I realized that I was emoting while typing. I turned to the lady to my left and apologized, "Gee, I'm sorry for all the sound effects."

"That's OK," she laughed. "You're funny. It's like sitting next to the Sandra Bernhard of computers. You have gone through every possible emotion in 20 minutes."

And, to make her point, she said, "Here let me imitate you." She went through my soliloquy, which ended in "OH, SH**!"

"You should have seen me when I found out that they had removed the vending machines next to the pharmacy," I told her.

"I can only imagine."

Ups, Downs and Hugs All Around

2009-11-06T12:44:00.001-08:00

Yesterday I ran into my friend Krissy Kobata while I was at the City of Hope. This was a surprise because she ordinarily sees a doctor at the UCLA Medical Center.

She told me that our friend Jerome has finally found a donor match after a search of more than two years. I had somehow missed this Facebook announcement, wrote him back right away and found out that he's scheduled to go in for his stem cell transplant on November 15. I might be a little reserved when I find out I've won a raffle prize, but I go a little crazy when I get this kind of news.

But minutes later, while sifting through the blogs I follow, I spotted this headline: Brad is Gone. I immediately burst into tears to learn that this larger than life Texan died yesterday. We both got our diagnosis of Mantle Cell Lymphoma, Blastic Variety, at around the same time and followed one another closely through our blogs and email. The blastic variety has a reputation for being aggressive and treatment resistant. This proved to be the case for Brad.

I never met him in person, but I'm going to miss him dearly. I only wish that just once I could have given him the kind of embrace that Krissy gave me yesterday. I love to receive one of Krissy's hugs and I love to watch her give one because you see her face glow and you feel pure love, appreciation and support.

Just one more reminder of how good it feels to be supported and the importance to wrap our arms around others (both literally and figuratively) every chance we get.

Candy Banter

2009-10-26T12:19:00.000-07:00

My favorite childhood candy tastes just as sweet today.

Get your sweet-tooth fix at Open Mouth, Insert Fork.

Hometown Hospitality

2009-10-20T17:36:00.000-07:00

Turns out my hometown B&B has an open door policy.

The owners were out of town, so they left the door of the cottage unlocked for us.

Read more about it at Open Mouth, Insert Fork.

What are the Odds?

2009-10-20T16:06:00.000-07:00

I am one lucky gal, and I have the winning raffle tickets to prove it.

At A3M's benefit dinner and concert last Saturday, my raffle ticket was pulled out of a hopper with thousands of other ticket stubs. Just as I was thinking about how I would spend my $500 windfall, I heard the emcee gasp in amazement.

"I can't believe this, but the same person has won twice." She once again called my name and announced that I had just won an NBA basketball signed by the entire Laker team and two tickets on the floor for a Laker game. I was too busy mentally calculating the odds of being a two-time winner to scream in excitement. Besides, I have this minor character flaw - I don't bleed purple and gold.

On Monday morning I was contemplating how I would spend my lucky money. Should I donate it back to A3M or another favorite charity? Should I treat four friends to a lavish dinner? Should I continue my pursuit for the perfect purse?

These thoughts were swirling as I pulled out of the parking lot after the YWCA' s Women for Racial Justice Breakfast. Then I heard the unmistakable crunch of mangled metal. My Prius had a close encounter with a parking lot pillar.

Now at least I know how I'll spend my windfall. Oh, lucky me.

Hello, Goodbye

2009-10-19T12:48:00.001-07:00

2009 has been a year of losses. As my circle of friends affected by cancer widens, the death toll seems to be rising proportionately.

I won't list each friend by name, but they all had at least a half dozen things in common: access to the best cancer centers, doctors and treatments; a strong support network of family and friends; the proverbial positive attitude and a feisty determination to lead full, vibrant lives.

But sometimes that's not enough.

Take two recent deaths: Nick, whose aggressive cancer roared back right after a bone marrow transplant and Gahlit, a fellow blood cancer patient at the City of Hope.

My initial bond with Gahlit was based on a mutual admiration of our head coverings. The conversation soon turned from hats to healing, and before we knew it, we were exchanging email addresses and phone numbers. The emails flew back fast and furiously as we shared our life stories and discussed our hopes and fears.

I'll never forget when I visited this type-A dynamo right after her first donor stem cell transplant. She was simultaneously investigating health insurance options for her nanny, while buzzing the nurses about medication while she had a video conversation with her two-year-old daughter.

She relapsed three months later and underwent a second stem cell transplant with the same donor.

She rebounded and continued to live her life as she always did both BC and AC (before and after cancer) - with a vengeance.

When the cancer came back a third time, her friends all reminded her, "You're strong, you'll beat this again." But sometimes, in spite of the strength of Samson, cancer has its way. She died at home last Tuesday morning.

Gahlit's death, on the heels of Tony's and Nick's passings, and just a few months after the death of 28-year-old Michelle, has left me sad and weary. I was even beginning to develop a "Why bother?" attitude.

As luck would have it, I sat next to the West Coast director for Be the Match (formerly known as the National Bone Marrow Registry) at last night's benefit dinner for A3M. I told her about my despair from the recent deaths of a half dozen bone marrow transplantees. She reminded me that there are no guarantees, even after a bone marrow or stem cell transplant, but one thing is certain. Without a transplant, most patients have a zero chance of survival.

That's all I needed to hear to snap me out of my funk and to recommit myself to the efforts to find a match for patients like Krissy Kobata, a 27-year-old Hapa with a rare blood disorder.

Queen of the Mutts Krissy Kobata and Team Krissy at the 2009 Doo Dah Parade

What can you do?

If you're not already registered and you're a minority (Asian, African American, Native American or Latino) or multi-racial, you can order a FREE tissue typing kit online from A3M or check the site for a marrow drive near you.

You can also order a kit from Be the Match (formerly known as the National Bone Marrow Program) or check the site for a marrow drive near you.

If you're already registered, consider making a donation to A3M or Be the Match.

Encourage your family and friends to sign up and Be the Match.

If you live in Southern California, volunteer with me at an A3M bone marrow drive.

Organize a drive at your church, synagogue, club, school or other organization.

Beating the Odds

2009-10-01T17:31:00.000-07:00

Doctors told 28-year-old Nick Glasgow that he had a zero chance of finding a donor match for a stem cell transplant. Nick, who is 1/4 Japanese like my niece and nephew (does that make them half Hapa?), beat the odds and found not one, but two, perfect matches.

He received the donor stem cells in early August and was declared "cancer free" in September. But Nick just learned that he has relapsed. Those same doctors say that he has a zero chance of survival. He is being moved to hospice care.

The odds were overwhelming once. The doctors were wrong once. Let's just hope and pray that they are wrong again.

Looking for young, uninsured person facing medical crisis in So Cal

2009-09-17T19:58:00.000-07:00

I just received an email from a producer at KCET, our LA PBS station. She is working with Lisa Ling on a show about the young (19-29) and uninsured in Southern California. If you know of someone who fits the description below, please have them contact Christal. And, of course, they need it "yesterday."

"PBS is looking for a young person (ages 19 to 29) in Southern Caliornia who is uninsured or underinsured and is now facing a sudden illness, chronic disease or a costly accident. If you know of someone, please hav them contact Christal at CSMITH@KCET.ORG OR 323-953-5272. ALL COMMUNICATIONS WILL BE IN STRICTEST CONFIDENCE."

Thanks for your help.

All is Not Vanity

2009-09-17T09:19:00.000-07:00

I recently heard an interview with Michael J. Fox. "Vanity is the first to go," he explained as he struggled to control his body.

With cancer, I discovered that (at least for me), vanity was the last to go.

I was reminded of this when I found this photo in my archives the other day.

I'm working out with my theraband during round three of Hyper CVAD at the City of Hope. Note the "chemo clothes" (not a hospital gown), silk scarf and lipstick under the mask.

I feel the most beautiful when I'm strong and energetic, but when chemo or cancer or illness robs us of these qualities, we have to work to find other ways to feel vibrant.

Cancer and treatment now seem like a light year ago, illness from EOS a century ago.

After my springtime bout with EOS run amok and pneumonia, I'm once again working on regaining strength and stamina. I started talking about it nearly a year ago, but now I can say "I'm a runner." You might recognize me. I'm the one in the cute clothes and lipstick.

NOTE: A few weeks ago, I received an email from someone about beauty and the suggestion that I interview a breast cancer survivor. I'm sorry that I accidentally erased the email, but, if you are reading this, could you please resend the information?

Simple and Simpler

2009-08-28T12:04:00.000-07:00

I've been busy. Really busy. That's good, right, especially when the busy business has nothing to do with illness or doctor's appointments.

As far as cooking, I like to keep things simple in the summer time. See just how simple things get at Open Mouth, Insert Fork.

Happy Birthday!

2009-08-23T18:58:00.000-07:00

Top pic is Susan doing her best to look innocent. Apparently, cowboy boots and shorts were in vogue, circa 1956.

Bottom photo, Susan is still the little princess.....patent leathers and all.

I love my little sis. I miss those birthdays we used to celebrate together. (And the cakes.)

It's CRUNCH Time

2009-08-14T13:01:00.000-07:00

That line always makes me think of the Seinfeld episode with an elderly Lloyd Bridges as Jerry's personal trainer.

Lately I've been enjoying a different kind of crunch - the sound of munching regional or home-made potato chips.

Are you salivating and ready for more? Go to Open Mouth, Insert Fork.

"A Different Demographic" at the Spa

2009-08-12T11:54:00.001-07:00

One of the "riff raff" at Spa Montage

I had to laugh when I read this article in the LA Times Business Section about how the swanky Orange County resorts are dealing with slow business in these recessionary times.

"The Montage has offered rooms on certain slower weekdays this summer at $425, down $100 from the cheapest room two years ago, and the St. Regis dropped its price to $325 a night for a few rooms on off nights. And though Pelican Hill won't cut its sticker price, if you shell out $795 for an 847-square-foot bungalow you get two rounds of golf or two spa treatments thrown in.

"From a consumer standpoint, there are going to be some wonderful values," Wise said. "And tee times are more readily available."

But price cutting is tricky for hotels that on weekends even now can command minimum prices of $600 to $800 a night for vacationers. Cheaper rooms at upscale resorts attract "a different demographic," as Wise delicately put it -- people who hoteliers fear might spend lightly in restaurants, damage the furnishings and perhaps alienate wealthier travelers."

I think it's hilarious that clientele who are willing to pay the $425 bargain basement price are considered a "different demographic." I didn't know that spending nearly $500 (with tax) for a room qualifies one for the riff-raff crowd.

If that's the case, I must have been Spa Montage's* worst nightmare. You see, clients can pay for a service at the spa (in my case, a one-hour therapeutic massage) and then spend all day using the facilities and taking fitness classes. My friend and I started our day at 8 am with a cardio class, took a one-hour beach walk with an instructor and capped off the day with a late-afternoon yoga class. The rest of the time we soaked in the steam room or jacuzzi or swam in the pool. I think I must have used about 32 dozen towels. We closed the place down at 9 pm.

My favorite part was standing under the warm waterfall, but the wet pellets shot off my body on to unsuspecting guests. I don't know how to act. I'm used to the $15 Chinese foot massage places.

See? That Wise guy was right. I probably scared away the wealthy travelers.

*For the record, Spa Montage treated us like queens.

Spa Day

2009-08-09T14:16:00.000-07:00

It's time for a spa day.

And this time Benadryl, Rituxan and blue fuzzy socks will not be involved.

My good friend Terry and I are headed to the Spa Montage in Laguna Beach for a day of fitness classes, beach walking, steaming, soaking and kneading.

I think this may be just what the doctor ordered.

I'm Such a Wimp

2009-08-08T10:48:00.000-07:00

About this time last year, when the EOS debilitated me, my dear friends had to push me around in a wheel chair during visits to City of Hope. I'll never forget my feeling of sheer, irrational terror when a friend brought the wheel chair into the examining room. I didn't want that symbol of weakness taunting me, and I didn't want my doctor seeing it. I insisted that it be removed. I must have been like the patient equivalent of a Bridezilla.

That time was a nightmare that I don't want to ever repeat. I came close this spring when the EOS started to go haywire again, but early steroid intervention kept me from going off the deep end.

I'm amazed now at how strong I feel physically and emotionally. But I'm equally amazed at what a fragile little tea cup I can be.

Take last night. I attended a Greek cooking class at hip cooks. I felt young and with-it among the hipsters in a downtown Brewery loft.

When it was time to roll the dolmas, a young woman student crossed the room in her stiletto heels and sweetly advised me to wash my hands because she had seen that I had coughed. (My coughing has nearly disappeared, but it does crop up occasionally, especially at night.) I said, "Oh, of course," and headed for the wash basin.

But on the way back, I coughed again. I knew she was watching me. Should I put my newly coughed-on hands on the grape leaves, rewash my hands or throw my hands in the air and sit it out. I decided to sit on the sidelines and watch instead of participate.

This made me sad because I really wanted to roll a dolma, but I didn't want to risk coughing. And then I started feeling like a social pariah on the sidelines and couldn't smile or enjoy watching the activity. Two sweet women came over and tried to rescue me. I told them about my cough and they said "Poppycock," or whatever hip young women say these days.

I continued to watch, feeling more morose by the minute. I considered fleeing the scene entirely but my growling stomach won out over my middle-school mentality.

When it was time to devour the eight dishes we prepared, I decided to eat in silence. This proved to be more impossible than stifling a cough. The sweet and hip young woman from Silver Lake told me she had coughed for the first 17 years of her life. I took a risk and did something more socially unacceptable than coughing: I told her about the eosinophils. She listened politely and even asked intelligent questions. Then I felt much better.

I began smiling and laughing and sharing stories. And the woman sitting across from me, the one who had asked me to wash my hands, was smiling at me and laughing at my stories.

She didn't hate me after all.

On the Road and Off the 'Roids

2009-08-06T22:37:00.001-07:00

Those pesky eosinophils are under control, I get to taper down another notch on the 'roids (to 10 mg), and I'm looking forward to a full night's sleep. Ahh, sleep. Yes, I remember you.

My sleep may return, but I wonder if road food on road trips is a permanent thing of the past? On my recent fly-drive trip to four southern states, Ohio and WV, I found that good road food is about as scarce as, well, a good night's sleep.

Read more about it at Open Mouth, Insert Fork.

I'm just not that kind of cat

2009-07-21T09:24:00.000-07:00

I'm a little concerned because every day I'm becoming more and more like my cat. And not Tiger, the sweet, compliant, easy-to-please one. I'm starting to resemble Puss, the feisty, particular one who knows exactly what she wants and gets grumpy if she doesn't get it.

Puss is the one who likes attention, but only on her own terms, which means that she must be sitting on my left side. Not the right. Not on my lap. Only the left side will do. She's the one who rejects all but one of the six varieties of canned food produced by Friskies. The one who insists on breakfast at seven and dinner at five. The one who likes to be stroked while consuming her meals. I blame it on her previous owner, a single 82-year-old man who doted on her for more than a decade.

I realized the resemblance when I went to Nordstrom's last week to purchase a new pair of shoes for a corporate gig. I knew exactly what I wanted, something halfway between sensible and slutty. I marched in and told the salesman, "I'm looking for a black pump with a peep toe, a quarter to half inch platform, a sling back and no more than a three inch heel." He marched me over to the perfect pair.

When he brought out the pumps, he also slipped in another box "that I thought you would like." I was delighted. I thought my salesman was like Pandora, the music application that can select tunes you'll love based on past selections. It turned out that it was Pandora's box, not Pandora. I lifted the lid and the foul odor of rubber tires rose like a fresh peel-out on asphalt. Why would he bring me such hideous and stinky shoes?

"These Tory Burch beach sandals are such a good value I thought you'd like them," he explained. "Only $55." I wanted to tell him that I liked quality, not status, and that status symbols without quality were not status at all. I wanted to yell out, "What kind of fool do you think I am to pay $55 for rubber beach shoes that smell like a tire?" Instead, I said, "No, thank you." I was so disappointed in the salesman. I thought he "got me," but he didn't have a clue. (I didn't know that buying shoes could be like dating.)

But there's clearly no doubt that I, like Puss, know exactly what I want. No wonder my doctor, who treats me like an equal, always asks, "And what do you think about this? I know you always have ideas." "Do you mean I'm really opinionated?" I asked.

I once feared that I ran the risk of becoming a "passive patient" because I trust my doctor so explicitly. When I confessed this fear to my (ex) husband, he said, "That's one thing you don't have to worry about." I guess that was a compliment.

Sometimes I think that I'll surprise my doctor one day and just coyly shrug my shoulders, tilt my head and mutter, "Whatever." But even while writing this I realize that's unlikely to happen. Apparently, I'm just not that kind of cat.

Baby Banter

2009-07-14T13:18:00.000-07:00

Head over heels in love with this new little man in my life

Funny how a few words can change your life.

Two and a half years ago, it was "You have cancer."

Six months ago, it was, "Mom, I'm pregnant."

Two days ago, it was, "My water broke."

39 hours later, it was, "WAAAA!" - the first sound from baby Joseph.

He arrived a month earlier than expected, but both he and his mommy are healthy and strong.

I, on the other hand, am tired enough to fall asleep standing up.

Sleep Watching

2009-07-09T23:58:00.000-07:00

Some people can sleep any time and anywhere. I envy them.

Take the 20-something young woman I saw at The Coffee Gallery the other day. She plopped herself down on an overstuffed couch while she waited for her boyfriend. Since she had nothing to do, she stared up at the fans spinning lazily overhead. Soon, she was as mesmerized as a six-month-old. The next thing I knew, she was sleeping like a baby.

“Oh, to have such a simple life,” I thought as I pretended to write. And then I realized that I was entertained by watching someone watching spinning blades. And then I stared some more as she slept. And then I Twittered about it. And now I'm blogging about it. Does it get any simpler than that?

Apparently so. Today I watched a patient at the City of Hope fall asleep while he leaned against a wall. I hopped up, tapped him lightly on the shoulder and offered my seat. He refused and I insisted until I had offered and he had refused three times (that’s the secret number of times one must insist, in case you were wondering). I felt a little bad about waking him and slinked back to my seat.

Within seconds, he was asleep again. I spent the next ten minutes watching him sleep standing. At one point, his head jerked violently back, but, otherwise, he was as unmoving as a corpse. I thought only horses could do this.

I took a break from my sleep-watching to have my vital signs taken. When I returned, I was happy to see the man still slumbering . . . in my vacated seat.

Warning: The next few paragraphs may cause drowsiness and should not be read while operating heavy machinery. However, if you or someone you know is taking Rituxin, the information may have the opposite effect.

I recently read that Rituxin, the monoclonal anti-body that I take every quarter by I.V., can lower resistance to infections, especially pulmonary infections. A blood test can measure the number of infection-fighting immuno-globulins, and, if the numbers are low, patients can receive a special transfusion.

I asked my doctor about this today, and he agreed that it was a good idea to draw a little more blood so that we could look at the immuno-globulin numbers. He also said that oncologists continually debate the merits of maintenance Rituxin because a) it can lower resistance b) the efficacy is debatable and c) Rituxin can no longer be used in relapse cases after it's used for maintenance. I knew about the efficacy debate, but I didn't know about the other two issues.

If I wasn't insured, I would skip the Rituxin. I called billing recently because the cost for one dose of the drug was $18,000. I thought that had to be a mistake, but it wasn't.

My EOS are creeping back up again, so we've delayed any further tapering of the Prednisone. Something else I learned today: I'm my doctor's only patient with eosinophillic issues. Oh, how I love being the one and only.

Alright. You can wake up from that snooze now. I'm just sorry I wasn't there to watch you.

Diprivan, "Vitamin P" and I saw this coming

2009-07-03T14:00:00.000-07:00

I just read that the powerful sedative Diprivan (also know as Propofol) was found in Michael Jackson's home.

I can understand the allure of the drug because I recently came under its spell (administered by an anaesthesiologist, of course). I was half joking when I wrote this:

But don't tell anyone. If word gets out about Vitamin P, it could be the next illicit street drug. Just imagine the applications. Sleep-deprived parents. Cramming college students. Anyone wishing to sleep through 15 minutes of boredom, pain or grief.

I just wish it wasn't a joke.

One article described the discovery of Propofol in a home as "unusual." No, raising a pet chimp is unusual. Wearing a mask in public is unusual. The at-home use of a powerful drug, intended to be administered by a licensed anesthesiologist in a clinical setting, is unheard of, dangerous and tragic.

Samurai Night Fever

2009-06-29T13:48:00.000-07:00

On Sunday, I came close to attending a kendo tournament in the South Bay. At the last minute, I found out I wasn't needed to help out at the A3M bone marrow drive, but the anticipation of dueling swords got me thinking about my own experience with a bamboo blade.

I'd almost forgotten that I was once a samurai in training. When I was in my early 20's and desperate to get in touch with my Japanese side, I took kendo lessons at a dojo in Monterey Park. Back then, an adult sword-fighting woman was a rarity.

Here are a few of my favorite kendo memories:

Tora! Tora! Tora! My sensei and classmates called me Tiger because my birth surname (I hate "maiden name") was Strother, pronounced Su-to-ra-da in Japanese. The middle part of the name, tora, means tiger.

The Kanji symbol in the center is for tiger.

There's something about a girl in uniform: Sometimes Kumie (my little-sister-like friend), her family and I would stop for food while wearing our kendo uniforms. It never failed: men would chat me up and then ask for my phone number. I felt like a Samurai seductress.

Lessons Learned: Fight through the pain and clean up after yourself: Once while I was practicing with an opponent, a sliver of glass became embedded in my bare foot. When I saw the trail of blood on the wooden floor, I asked the old-school Japanese sensei if I could stop. He nodded at my opponent and I knew I had no choice. I continued to wield my sword while smearing streaks of red on the floor. Of course, I was responsible for mopping up my own blood when the match was over.

If you go back and read old Cancer Banter posts, you'll find that I've never used the popular lexicon of battling or going to war with cancer or eosinophils. (I don't have a problem with other people using this language; it just never felt natural to me.) So why do I suddenly want to embrace my inner Samurai? To paraphrase Lance Armstrong, it's not about the sword.

According to this site that lists the top ten characteristics of a Samurai professional, the ultimate warrior maintains integrity, displays loyalty, is resolute, plans relentlessly, seeks advantage, continuously improves, flows with (not against), has personal discipline and self control, displays personal courage and acts industriously.

I especially like the idea of going with the flow:

Life is continuously in balance. Accept gracefully both victories and setbacks. Contending against instead of working with is a losing strategy. Go with flows. Yield what cannot be won. Adjust. Agility and flexibility are far stronger than direct opposition. Learn to change and progress endlessly.

So, which Samurai should I channel?

Toshiro Mifune as Yojimbo in The Seven Samurai?

Samurai John Belushi from Saturday Night Live?

Or Samurai Susan, who enjoys intimidating unsuspecting pooches.

Samurai can be so smug.

Moments later, I tripped, stained my gi, stubbed my toe and scraped my forearm. I think there just might be a lesson here.

Risky Business

2009-06-24T15:43:00.000-07:00

I've been engaging in risky behavior lately.

Don't get too excited.

For the last 20 weeks, I've been leaving my comfort zone and taking improv classes at Bobby Oliver's Standup Academy. How much riskier does it get?

How about getting up on a stage and performing at The Ice House in front of family, friends and strangers?

I'm glad I took the risk.

But I'm even gladder it's over.

I'll miss spending Saturday afternoons with this zany group.

Spa Day

2009-06-18T06:44:00.000-07:00

Turn off the cell phone and the laptop.

Curl up with a favorite book.

Enjoy a complimentary room service lunch served in bed.

Indulge in a never-ending supply of warm blankets.

Shut out the world.

I have been looking forward to spending the day at the spa at the Montage in Laguna Beach ever since I toured the lavish resort in November.

I still haven't made it there, but I did get to experience the next best thing: I spent most of yesterday at Hotel Hope for my quarterly fix of Rituxan.

Hotel Hope doesn't have much of a view, but it does offer at least one thing that the Montage doesn't. After the nurse pushed Benadryl through my veins, I settled in for a deep, three-hour sleep.

Shut out the world indeed.

Chaos and Cocktails

2009-06-16T13:52:00.000-07:00

I wrote before that I was brave enough to take an improv class and brave enough to perform but just not brave enough to do it in front of anyone who actually knows me.

But, what the heck. I'm feeling stronger and more willing to take risks.

I'm inviting you all to come to my improv class showcase on Tuesday, June 23, at 8 pm at The Ice House in Pasadena.

My performance may be hit or miss, but there are some seriously talented performers in my class. And I wrote a skit, being performed by two actors in class, that is actually pretty funny.

And, the way I figure it, having friends there may actually help me feel supported, not spooked.

(I just hope that my finger doesn't decide to do that "thing it does" while I'm on stage. Maybe I can improv around it.)

A Charmed Life

2009-06-16T08:02:00.000-07:00

Have any of you reunited with old friends through Facebook or other social networking sites?

This has been happening to me a lot lately, and it can be a bit challenging to blaze the headlines of my life without sounding tragic: stage four cancer, health challenges, separation, pregnant (unmarried) daughter.

I try to follow the negative with a positive:

"I was diagnosed with cancer two years ago, but I'm now in remission."

"I've had some health challenges, but I've bounced back each time."

"G. and I separated a year ago, but we've remained friends."

"C. is pregnant and this was a shock, but I'm starting to get excited about the baby."

But, the truth is, in spite of these "headlines," I really do think I live a charmed life. My life is filled with a lot of wonderful people and passions and the time to pursue them.

Sometimes I forget this and need a reminder of just how lucky I am. I recently found it through Jeanne Sather (aka The Assertive Cancer Patient) and her Charmed Bracelets. She makes one-of-a-kind bracelets or necklaces using clients' charms or unique charms that she's found.

I first fell in love with the jade and silver Jeanne used in this bracelet. When I saw that one of the charms was a turtle, the Japanese symbol of long life and security, I was drawn in. When I read about Jeanne's connection with Japan, I was sold. This bracelet was made for me.

I love wearing something that is beautiful, personal, filled with symbolism and created by a strong, artistic, tell-it-like-it-is woman.

Do you need a reminder that you live a charmed life, in spite of challenges? Are you looking for a special gift for a special friend? Then check out Charmed Bracelets.

And if your life just really sucks right now, then all the more reason.

Not Complaining, Just Explaining

2009-06-14T15:15:00.000-07:00

On my way to an appointment at the City of Hope last week, my right pointing finger started acting up. Or perhaps I should say "acting down." My hand cramped and the finger contorted down to a 270 degree angle. I massaged the muscle around the finger and stretched it back to its normal position, but it immediately flipped down. I'm just glad it wasn't my middle finger.

It happened at least a dozen times that day, including when my blood was being drawn. The phlebotomist said she'd never before seen anything like it.

My big toe also likes to take on a life of its own, levitating straight up into a 90 degree position.

It turns out that the cramping and contortionism are both side effects of the Prednisone.

On the same day, I noticed that my skin looked thin and was full of sores that wouldn't heal. My legs looked like the cats had mistaken them for a scratching post. And I had big purple splotches on my upper legs.

You guessed it: side effects of the 'roids.

I'm so glad to be tapering off the Prednisone. I'm now taking 20 mg a day instead of the original 60 mg. In about six weeks, I should be completely tapered off.

Goodbye eating everything I want, hello sleep.

Climb Over the Balcony

2009-06-12T08:50:00.001-07:00

To find out what that title means, you're going to have to, er, "climb over the balcony" and go to Open Mouth, Insert Fork. You'll also get to read about the batch of Julienne's Graham Cracker Chewy bars that I baked for my doctor and staff at the City of Hope. They were a big hit.

While I was at yesterday's appointment, I found out an interesting tidbit from my doctor, who is not only the chair of the hematology department at CoH but also literally wrote the book on bone marrow transplantation.

I asked him what determines if the donor gives bone marrow (from the hip, 20% of cases) or stem cells (from peripheral blood, 80% of cases). The answer was simple. Children require bone marrow, not stem cells for a successful transplant. Interesting, huh.

Many potential donors confess that they're willing to donate stem cells through their blood, but aren't sure if they could undergo the minor surgical procedure of removing bone marrow through the hip. I hope the fact that the life-saving bone marrow would go to a child would make a difference in that person's decision.

Time for a Cheek Swab - Calling Mutts, Minorities AND Caucasians

2009-06-06T10:05:00.000-07:00

The National Bone Marrow Registry desperately needs minorities (Latinos, Asians, African Americans and Native Americans) and mixes to sign up to be potential bone marrow donors.

But that doesn't mean you're off the hook if you happen to be Caucasian. We don't tell potential donors this at drives, but the National Bone Marrow Registry reimburses A3M for the tissue typing for minorities and mixes, but A3M must pick up the $52 tab for registering Caucasian donors. The same $52 charge applies for anyone who registers online.

That's why Caucasians (and everyone) needs to act quickly. Sign up online HERE between June 8-22 and use the promocode a3mmarrowthon and the tissue typing cost of $52 will be waived.

If you live in Southern California, you can also sign up at one of the many donor drives sponsored by A3m. Go to http://www.asianmarrow.org/drives/index.php for a complete list of drives.

If you are lucky enough to be someone's match, let me also remind you that the stem cells are harvested from the blood in more than 80% of the cases. That annoying little surgical procedure of taking the bone marrow from the hip is becoming a rarity.

So, what's YOUR excuse?

Mutts for Marrow - What a Pack!

2009-06-06T09:48:00.001-07:00

The Mutts for Marrow raised almost $4,000 for the American Cancer Society and, with the help of A3M, signed up 45 Mutts and Minorites for the National Bone Marrow Registry and walked more than 50 miles.

King and Queen of the Mutts, Bill and Susan

Even Queen Mutts get to hang out with the pack.

Rob, aka Queen Elizabeth, represented the Mutts in a relay event.

Does Cancer Make You Brave?

2009-05-29T09:09:00.001-07:00

I don't know, but, in my case, it at least makes me more willing to take risks. Here are a few of my latest:

Fear of Fiction: When I was a child, I wrote fiction with abandon, but gave up in high school. Those really great writers managed to uninspire me. I could never come close to writing anything as great, so why even try? I've just broken the fiction fast with a submission to pal Paula Johnson's Rose City Sister's Flash Fiction site.

I Hate Irrational Numbers: I'll be reading this piece at the IWOSC (Independent Writers of Southern California) Reads Its Own event on June 7, 2 to 4 pm, at Barnes & Noble at The Grove, 189 The Grove Drive, Los Angeles.

Improv Improvement: My improv class will be showcasing its work at the Ice House Comedy Club in June. I'm brave enough to take the class and brave enough to participate in the show, but I'm not quite brave enough to invite my friends. (At this point, potential humiliation in front of people I'll never see again seems preferable.) But bear with me; I'm workin' on that.

Rest in Peace, Brownie

2009-05-28T22:41:00.000-07:00

Last August, during a weak moment (inserted into a weak week and an ever weaker month), Cynthia asked if she could take care of her friend's chihuahua. "Is it temporary?" I asked weakly. "Yes, Mommy," she assured me.

The moment that Brownie moved in, I knew that I had made a fatal error. (You can read the whole story, "Help, There's a Chihuahua in My Kitchen" here.) Brownie didn't care that she had an eviction notice. She was here to stay.

Brownie was a pain. She yapped at guests, terrorized the cats and annoyed Betty. She threw me into frantic yelling fits of "SERENITY NOW!" But, somewhere along the line, I started to fall for the little terrorist. Just yesterday I spent more than an hour in our back yard watching Brownie and little Coco (yes, another dog) scamper about.

You can see where this is going, can't you? (I, on the other hand, am very slow to pick up on foreshadowing.)

When Cynthia woke up this morning and found that Brownie wasn't in her room, she looked outside and found her dead dog in our side yard. Brownie's neck was bleeding and her entrails exposed. We suspect a vicious raccoon.

All of us are sad and traumatized. And I never thought I'd say this, but I miss you, Brownie.

Mutts for Marrow and Pasadena Relay for Life

2009-05-26T09:54:00.001-07:00

Bill and I and the "Mutts for Marrow" team for the Pasadena Relay for Life will be at the Pasadena City College Stadium from Saturday, May 30, until Sunday morning.

We'd still love to have our local friends join us for all or part of the day. Our team has raised enough money so that we can "redistribute" the contributions to other team members. That means that you can get a free T-shirt, free breakfast-lunch-dinner and an endless supply of Starbuck's coffee, even if you haven't raised a dime. All you need to do is click here or on the "Relay for Life" logo to register for our team. (Pick the FREE team member option.)

We'll also be signing up potential donors for the National Bone Marrow Registry. If you know of any minorities or "mutts" between the ages of 18 and 60 who aren't on the registry, please encourage them to come by the Mutts for Marrow tent on Saturday.

Here's the schedule of events for Saturday:

8:00 am Registration and Breakfast
9:00 am Opening Ceremony
9:45 am Survivor Lap
10:00 am Caregiver Lap
10:15 am Parade of Teams
Noon Balloon Toss
12:30 pm Lunch
1:00 pm Frozen Tee Shirt Contest
5:00 pm Bra Contest
6:00 pm Dinner

AMAZING RACE

8:00 pm Miss Relay Contest
9:00 pm Luminarias Ceremony
9:30 pm Remember Walk

I haven't pushed hard for donations this time because so many of you were so generous for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society's walk in September. But, if you'd like to donate to the American Cancer Society on behalf of the team (we're just shy of our $2,500 goal) or me (I'm $50 shy of my modest goal) or any team member who hasn't yet raised money, we'd all be appreciative. Just click here or on the "Relay for Life" logo on the left side of this blog.

Hope to see you on Saturday!

Numbers, Odds, Randomness and Uncertainty

2009-05-24T07:00:00.000-07:00

I love numbers.

Those words might come as a surprise from a writer, but, for as long as I can remember, I’ve been smitten with numbers as much as words. Numbers are comforting. They explain. They form patterns. They offer proof. They tell stories. They can predict the ending for those stories.

Or so I thought.

Turns out that my elaborate spreadsheets, line charts and data during treatment did little in the way of comforting, explaining, proving or predicting. At best, the numbers gave me the allusion of control.

In spite of my disillusionment with digits, I'm still fascinated by the science of predictability and the age-old question, "What are the odds?"

I was especially intrigued with this NY Times opinion piece by "the editors" and Leonard Mlodinow, author of “The Drunkard’s Walk: How Randomness Rules Our Lives."

The author's answer to this email question struck a chord:

An earlier post by the psychologist Daniel Gilbert makes the argument that uncertainty — not knowing what misfortune will come — makes people more unhappy than misfortune itself. Do you find that to be true?
It does seem to be true of my own psychology. Also, I find that what’s most important, whatever happens, is how you deal with it. And once something bad actually happens, you can start that process, and bad can eventually even turn into good.

I'd never heard the uncertainty/unhappiness theory, but I can certainly relate. For me, the hardest stretches during diagnosis, treatment and remission have been the pockets of uncertainty. And Mlondinow gets it right in his response.

So how do we deal with the uncertainties of illness or life? Carl at A Pastor's Cancer Diary does a great job of describing the frustration (and eventual acceptance) of living with uncertainty, what Dr. Seuss called "the most useless place. The waiting place . . . "

For Carl and others, the operative word of "living with uncertainty" is living. And you don't need a spreadsheet for that.

(Leonard Mlodinow will be at Vroman's Bookstore in Pasadena on June 11. I'll be there.
5-25 Update: Oops. Mlodinow was at Vroman's in 2008. I'm only a year late. He's a local CalTech guy, so I hope I have another opportunity to hear him in person.)

Beauty and the Blight

2009-05-23T08:15:00.000-07:00

My garden is a little microcosm of life. There's lots of beauty, but there's also plenty of weeds, crab grass and a few eyesores. It all depends on where the eye chooses to rest.

And sometimes it's about covering up the blight and creating something beautiful in the process. Read more about it at Open Mouth, Insert Fork.

Feeling Grateful

2009-05-21T14:53:00.001-07:00

I keep waiting for the day when I'm one of those patients who reports for duty at the City of Hope once every six months. But, thanks to my recent complications, I've been driving to Duarte three times a week - a far cry from twice a year.

At least my frequent visits have reminded me of a few of the many things for which I'm grateful.

I'm a celebrity: Well, not really, but my doctor and all the staff treat me like one. I thought about this when I watched Farrah's Story and saw my doctor consulting with real-life celebrities Farrah Fawcett and Ryan O'Neal. All of us City of Hope patients get treated with the same level of care and compassion as a star. And we don't have to put up with the paparazzi.

I have enviable physical assets: Forgive me for bragging, but I have great veins. They are so outstanding that phlebotomists (blood takers) and nurses almost always comment on them. When I went in for my CT scan yesterday, the nurse said he didn't even need a tourniquet to pump my vein before the insertion of the IV. I'm an easy target and an easy blood draw and rarely feel a thing.

I wonder if Blood (a magzine for hematologists) would be interested in a center fold?

I'm covered: Cancer and serioius illnesses can be financially devastating, with or without insurance. (Mike C knows a thing or two about this.) In my case, all of my sky-high medical expenses (except for our annual deductible) have been completely covered. Not a day goes by that I don't thank God for this.

I'm surrounded: Loving, supportive, positive people are all around me, nearby and around the world. How about a giant group hug?

What about you? What are you grateful for these days?

(And, in case you're interested, those darn EOS went UP AGAIN. I am NOT thankful for that.)

You are getting VERRRY sleepy - More EOS talk

2009-05-18T16:28:00.000-07:00

Each day I'm more energetic and more active. My cough, however, persists, and I'm still breathless after climbing a flight of stairs. (I only wish that I was breath-taking, instead of breathless.)

At the risk of inducing naps, I found out something surprising during today's visit at the City of Hope. We have been regularly checking my white blood for eosinophils (EOS), and, of course, expect to find nothing. After all, I've been on a high dose of Prednisone (60 mg.), a steroid that efficiently annihilates EOS.

But, for some unknown reason, mine are on the rise again. Last Monday, EOS made up 10% of my white blood, when it should have been nada. How can this be? My suspicion is that those same EOS have crept into my lungs. I'm scheduled for a CT scan and pulmonary testing on Wednesday and a consultation with my pulmonologist on Thursday. I'm voting for a diagnostic bronchoscopy so that we can get to the bottom of this.

Isn't It Romantic?

2009-05-15T22:42:00.000-07:00

There's at least one good thing about being diagnosed with pneumonia: Everyone knows what it is.

No need for long-winded explanations or that snooze-inducing word, eosinophils. If you think that coughing turns you into a social pariah, try dropping the word "eosinophils" into a conversation at a cocktail party. Eyes will glaze over. Heads will nod off to sleep. Gin and tonics will need to be refreshed. Long-lost friends from across the room will suddenly appear.

But, at the risk of putting all the new Cancer Banter followers into slumber mode, I don't think I have pneumonia. I believe that the cloudy x-ray with the infiltrates and the shortness of breath and the coughing and the fatigue are the work of those pesky little eosinophils. The prednisone has battered them down in my white blood, but I think they may have infiltrated my lungs.

My doctor, a hematologist, disagrees with me. He thinks that it's a simple case of pneumonia and that the antibiotics will have me healthy again in no time. I hope he's right.

I just saw my doctor on Farrah's Story, the Farrah Fawcett documentary of her struggles with cancer. He's shown at the City of Hope in a consultation with Farrah and her long-time love Ryan O'Neal. Now that's a love story.

But hematologists have nothing over Farrah and Ryan in the romance department. Don't forget that the "Eos" in eosinophils is from the Greek Goddess of the Dawn. And the "phils" is from the Greek word for love. As a matter of fact, two other components of the white blood end in love: neutrophils and basophils.

What's that you say? You need to refresh your gin and tonic? Alright then.

Accordion Blues

2009-05-12T22:27:00.001-07:00

Funny that I should write about the old squeeze box of life the other day. You know the number - expand, contract, expand, contract. The point of that post was to talk about how my life has expanded.

But it turns out that my life has also been slowly contracting for the last 11 days. With a hacking cough that has turned me into a social pariah, I found myself making and breaking dates and staying home more. On top of the cough, I was short of breath from the smallest activity, like walking across a room. Add in fatigue (in spite of a healthy, daily dose of 60 mg of Prednisone), and I was very content to be housebound.

I can't believe this was the same person who, just 12 days earlier, drove solo like an old-fashioned Dad (straight without stopping) from SF to LA and then, in response to a text message, met a friend at an improv club in Hollywood on the way home.

Tonight I received an email from my doctor with the results of the chest x-ray that I had yesterday at the City of Hope. I have infiltrates in my lungs, which means I have something that looks like pneumonia. At least we'll be treating it like pneumonia. Here we go again. (By the way, I'm one of the luckiest patients. My doctor emailed me with the results of my x-ray and then called my pharmacy with the prescription for antibiotics after 8 pm.)

I'm always just a little relieved to find out that there's something amiss and that I'm not just becoming a lazy, out-of-shape wimp.

Time to contract again. Just a little.

(Recommended blog: Running for my Life: Fighting Cancer One Step at a Time. Runner and writer Ronni's life has taken more twists and turns, ups and downs than the Dow Jones, but she always comes back, one step at a time. She is currently recovering from her THIRD donor stem cell transplant. I love her observations, insights, humor and spirit. When she describes getting platelets or going through a pulmonary function test, you're right in the chamber with her.)

La Vida Loca - Crazy Mint

2009-05-10T13:38:00.000-07:00

Anyone who has had a diagnosis of cancer or has had a friend or family member with the Big C knows this: It can make your life just a little out-of-control crazy.

And then there's the every-day kind of "crazy." It's up for debate who said it first, but craziness (or insanity) is often defined as doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.

I discovered that's exactly what I was doing in the garden while trying to grow a crazy little herb called mint. You can read the full story at Open Mouth, Insert Fork.

Life is a Squeeze Box and Relay for Life

2009-05-07T10:03:00.001-07:00

There's no doubt about it.

Cancer or any serious illness can contract your life. Heck, even a bad cold can reduce your daily existence to a box of Kleenex, a bottle of Nyquil and a remote control.

What I didn't realize is that, sometimes, cancer can also expand your life in unexpected ways. I won't even attempt to name all the people (both online and offline) who have made my life richer. Today I'm going to talk about one of those people.

I met Bill Kavanaugh through his blog, Lymph Notes, and was instantly smitten. Who wouldn't be after reading about how Bill's (or Baby Billy Bird, as he refers to himself in the blog) friends dressed in costume when escorting him to his chemo sessions. Or how they painted his bald head like an Easter egg. Or how he spent the day at the Happiest Place on Earth. Or his poignant response to the repeal on gay marriage.

We met in person a few months ago and instantly hit it off, even though we're complete opposites. He had Hodgkins Lymphoma; I had non-Hodgkins.

But we're alike in one fundamental way: We both like to do good while having fun.

That's why I immediately said "YES!" when Bill asked me to be a co-captain for the American Cancer Society's Relay for Life in Pasadena on May 30 and 31. (Click here for the complete schedule.)

Our theme is "Mutts for Marrow," and we're going to raise awareness of the need for mutts and minorities on the National Bone Marrow Registry while we raise money for cancer research and support.

Do you like to do good and have fun too? Sign up to walk with us. You can come for an hour or the day. I'll be making sugar-bone cookies as doggie treats, we'll be taking photos by the dog house and we'll share a pot-luck dinner on Saturday evening before the Luminaria. Yes, we'll have a doggone good time.

And, if you can't make it, maybe you'll throw us a little bone. I usually like to support smaller charities (like A3M) insted of mega organizations like the American Cancer Society, but when I found out that they provide free transportation for cancer patients here in the Pasadena area, I felt like I was seeing a more direct connection between my dollars and the local benefits.

I promise: Whether you walk or give, it will be a life-expanding experience.

The Social Pariah Strikes Again

2009-05-03T23:48:00.000-07:00

I'm coughing again. A lot.

I no longer have eosinophils in my blood, but the coughing has become progressively worse over the last week. I don't know why.

I do know that I am, once again, a social pariah. With the heightened anxiety over swine flu, the public reaction is far worse than last year.

Yesterday, I had two different cashiers ask me, "Are you sick?" in an accusatory fashion. "Yes, I guess I am, but I'm not contagious," I answered. Or maybe I should have just said, "No, but I just have this annoying cough." Or maybe I should have asked, "What happened to 'Have a nice day.'"

This evening, I couldn't stop coughing during the WriteGirl PlayWriteGirl Event at the Pasadena Playhouse. Teen girls wrote monologues and short skits during a day-long workshop, and professional actors from film and television brought their words to life. Before the show started, I offered a preemptive apology and explanation to the woman sitting next to me.

Once the show started, I tried to stifle my coughs and let them erupt during clapping. And I was fastidious about covering my mouth with both hands.

I noticed that each time I coughed, the elderly lady sitting in front of me moved her program to her left ear. The first time, I thought it was a coincidence. Then she did it again and again. Soon, she wasn't moving the program from her ear. This passive-aggressive act made me so intensely uncomfortable that I apologized to my friend and left before the program was over. (Of course, that meant climbing over a dozen legs and then hopping over a chair to make my escape.)

I'm thinking of getting a few buttons printed:

- I do not have swine flu.
- Ask me about my EOS.
- Cough 'til you drop
- No thank you, I do not want a cough drop.
- I'm sorry.
-

Stinky Leeks and If I had a mentor

2009-05-03T23:25:00.000-07:00

Miss Havisham challenged me to answer the question about what my life would have been like if I had a mentor as a teenager.

The challenge got me thinking about stinky wild ramps and . . . possibilities. Find out how at Open Mouth, Insert Fork.

Back from Stanford and San Francisco

2009-04-30T10:34:00.000-07:00

I met with EOS specialist Dr. Jason Gotlib at Stanford Cancer Center on Monday. He still wants to completely rule out any "secondary" causes of elevated EOS before arriving at a diagnosis of HES (hyper eosinophilic syndrome).

Once I've tapered off the steroids in a few weeks, I'll arrange for allergy testing. This is just a matter of doing due diligence because I don't seem to have any allergy symptoms. And Dr. Gotlib is the first to acknowledge that allergies rarely cause EOS to soar into the sky-high "severe" range that mine reached last summer.

So. . . no quickie diagnosis and no quickie cure. If it's determined I have HES, Dr. Gotlib would like to include me in a clinical trial of a monoclonal antibody called mepolimuzab. The drug does a great job of controlling EOS without all the harmful, long-term side effects of steroids.

And if "monoclonal antibody" rings a bell, it could be because I've written about another miracle drug in the same category. Rituxan (aka Susan's relapse prevention), the quarterly maintenance drug I take through an IV, is in the same drug class.

The Battle Zones

2009-04-30T08:21:00.001-07:00

As if it's not enough to be fighting stage four breast cancer, Altadena resident Megan Jones is up against a David versus Goliath battle against her insurance carrier, California Blue Shield.

At age 36, and without a family history of cancer, Megan was diagnosed with an aggressive form of breast cancer that had already spread to her liver, brain, and bone. Everyone was shocked.

Treatments began immediately, and chemotherapy and targeted therapy have started to shrink her tumors. Everywhere, that is, except for in her brain. When her doctor prescribed additional, cutting-edge treatments that could eliminate the brain tumors and prevent new growth, her insurance company, California Blue Shield, denied coverage.

She appealed, but the insurance company is still in denial. Megan has elected to receive the treatment, with or without the insurance payments, and her family and friends are trying to raise $100,000 in 100 days to cover the costs.

I received the following email from City of Hope research scientist Dr. Susan Kane:

You might know Megan Jones from political or city circles. What you might not know is that she has been diagnosed with an aggressive form of breast cancer and is currently undergoing costly therapy. Please go to http://megansfund.chipin.com/megans-fund and consider making a donation. As a breast cancer researcher, I know that Tykerb is a cutting-edge therapy that holds great promise for the treatment of breast cancer. Megan is a young, energetic and caring individual. Let’s help her fight the fight of her life.

Cancer isn't fair. Insurance companies aren't fair. I hope you'll consider leveling the playing field a little by either making a donation or spreading the word about Megan.

Breakfast in Beverly Hills

2009-04-25T09:10:00.000-07:00

What happens when a frugality fiend decides to splurge on breakfast in Beverly Hills? Find out at Open Mouth, Insert Fork.

Hapa Happenings

2009-04-24T16:03:00.000-07:00

It's been a Hapa-intensive week for me.

I joined "Team Krissy" at a bone marrow drive at Cal State Long Beach on Wednesday afternoon. It was exciting to see how the volunteer team works tirelessly to sign up minorities and mixes (and even European whites) for A3M and the National Bone Marrow Registry. We're hoping that one of our new recruits will be the match for Krissy Kobata, a 26-year-old Hapa who needs a bone marrow transplant.

This is the way we swab our cheeks. One Long Beach student works four swabs at the same time. The girls take a more traditional, one-swab-at-a-time approach.

I drove from Long Beach to the Landmark Theatres in West LA to see the screening of Half Kenneth, a beautiful film about two Hapa brothers who become orphans while they're interned at Manzanar during World War II.

Tonight, I'm going to the Mixed and Matched Concert and Bone Marrow Drive at USC and will, once again, join Team Krissy and A3M in recruiting potential donors for the Registry. Hapa Athena Misa's PSA about the need for multi-racial donors will be shown at tonight's event. You can view it here. (Krissy and I are interviewed in the clip. Just don't make fun of my bad-hair day.)

Finally, my new friend Bill and I are co-captains for the Pasadena Relay for Life for the American Cancer Society on May 30-31. Our theme is "Mutts for Marrow," and, once again, our goal is to draw attention to the need to sign up minorities and mixes for the Registry. You don't have to be a mutt or a minority to join us for an hour or for 24 hours during the Relay. And, if you sign up, I may even let you borrow my dog bone tiara.

Shedding Some Light on EOS

2009-04-21T08:54:00.000-07:00

Since eosinophilic blood disorders are extremely rare, only a handful of doctors in the country specialize in them. One of them, Dr. Gotlib, is a hematologist with the Stanford Cancer Center. Since I've been itching to take a trip to SF anyway, I decided to combine the getaway with a visit with Dr. Gotlib on April 27.

He'll review a year's worth of my blood charts and my doctor's notes before our appointment next Monday. I'm eager to find out his conclusions and recommendations for a course of action.

I want to get away from the watch, wait, react mode.

In the mantime, I'm still enjoying the extra boost of Prednisone-fueled energy, I'm eating like a horse and I'm not gaining or losing weight. All good things.

It's Cupcake Time

2009-04-14T21:56:00.000-07:00

Wouldn't ya' know that the shop that sells the cupcake voted best in Southern California is practically in my back yard.

I'm back on the infamous "booty or bust" tour and, on a quest for calories, I decided to check out Polkatots Cupcakes. Go ahead. Take a sample at Open Mouth, Insert Fork.

Writing While 'Roiding

2009-04-14T07:12:00.000-07:00

Last night I slept like a baby for 6.5 blissful, uninterrupted hours.

Darn.

After my near-sleepless but productive Sunday night, I had looked forward to continuing my writing streak. The marketing plan for a non-fiction book. A scene from my much-talked-about (by me) one-woman show. The grocery list. (Hey, with the way I have to eat these days, that's like writing a novella.)

It's probably just as well that I slept through the night. Trish had cautioned me about the possible perils of writing while on a jittery, steroid-induced high. Who knows what edgy, raw drivel I was churning out. But then the jerky wheels began to turn and I thought, "What if I create a flash fiction anthology blog for 'roid writers?"

I'd get submissions from eosinophil sufferers, asthmatics and arthritics, not to mention post-transplant patients. (No ball players; that's a different kind of steroid.) Was I on to something?

No, that just seemed a little too narrow. What if I opened up submissions to all insomniacs? I could call the blog the Night Writers instead of the 'Roid Writers.

Who isn't sleeping these days? The grieving. The lonely hearts. Parents of infants. Parents of teens. Any woman over 50.

And, of course, the crummy economy has been responsible for keeping countless eyes wide open in the middle of the night. A recent story in the LA Times about the growing use of sleeping pills ended with this line from a sleepless college student, "I'm stressed out about the rest of my life."

So, I guess the better question would be, "Who IS sleeping these days?"

Um, that would be me. Even with the 'roids.

Mixed and Matched - Bone Marrow Drive and Hapa Concert on April 24

2009-04-13T11:06:00.000-07:00

I love being a hapa (an Asian mutt). It doesn't take long for me to reveal to a new friend that I'm 50% Japanese, 50% Scottish and 100% hillbilly.

So, naturally, I'm excited about attending this FREE concert with all-hapa performers, especially since it's co-sponsored by A3M and will be promoting my pet cause - getting minorities and multi-racials signed up for the National Bone Marrow Registry.

I'd love to have you join me.

Grand Zero Performance Cafe
USC Campus

615 Childs Way

Los Angeles

Positive Side Effects

2009-04-12T20:05:00.000-07:00

What do you call those people who fake pain in order to get their doctors to prescribe narcotics?

It would be hard to fake a major spike in eosinophils in order to get a Prednisone prescription, but I can see how it would be tempting to try. This time, I'm riding the wave of the positive side effects of the 'roids.

First of all there's that whole metabolic rate increase. I've lost 3/4 pound while typing this blog post. Not that I need to lose any weight, mind you. In spite of overzealous overeating, I've lost eight pounds in six weeks (five from the EOS and three from three days of 'roids). I obviously need to step up my pig-out pace, and the timing couldn't be better. My refrigerator has become a shrine to all things pork: ham, sausage and bacon are shoulder-to-shoulder. Low fat and no fat products are banned. Sweets are in abundance. (If only I could find the three-pound bag of Jelly Bellies I hid.) Lucky me, and I mean it this time without a trace of irony.

And then there's the insomnia. (Don't be surprised to find me leaving blog or Facebook comments at 2:30 am and then again at 4 am after a 2-hour nap.) I'm not fighting it this time; I'm simply getting things done. Just last night I finished writing the great American novel. Well, at least a flash fiction version of it. I was inspired by pal Paula Johnson's new Rose City Sisters flash fiction anthology blog that launches on May 1.

I started out reading good examples of flash fiction, but those weren't the least bit inspiring. The brilliant stuff made me want to throw in the power cord before my fingers even hit the keys. The bad stuff was an entirely different matter. "This stuff is crap," I thought. "I can do better."

I've completed my 1,000-word submission. It's definitely not brilliant, but I don't think it's crap either. (Alas, it likely fits in that vast wasteland of mediocrity.) But not to worry. Paula points out that the goal is to try something different and to have fun in the process. By that measure, I succeeded.

Now excuse me while I slip downstairs and work on gaining back that 3/4 pound I just lost.

Y'all Come for Biscuits and Gravy

2009-04-11T18:00:00.000-07:00

I've lived in So. Cal. for 33 years, and not once have I broken biscuits with a friend. Biscuits and sausage gravy, that is.

That all changed this morning when a dozen friends answered my plea to eat biscuits and gravy with me.

Wanna read more? You know where to go: Open Mouth, Insert Fork.

Love Bugs and Distraction

2009-04-10T16:49:00.000-07:00

No, that's not my new pet name for eosinophils.

It was my pet name for my daughter and her good buddy Meryl, an exuberant girl who lived next door to us before her family moved back to England. She's now 22, a graduate of the London School of Economics, a law student and a field rep for a Member of the UK Parliament. Mark my words: Meryl will one day be a Member of Parliament, if not the Prime Minister of the UK.

I got to see Meryl and her mom, my friend Carla, under the worst of circumstances this week - for the funeral of Brian, Carla's brother. I first heard of the City of Hope and bone marrow transplants 15 years ago when Brian was diagnosed with leukemia. After two transplants and 15 years, we assumed he'd live forever (or at least long enough to see his niece Meryl become an MP). Battered lungs and complications from pneumonia were the final culprits.

Brian was a City of Hope "Success Story" on the website, but, apparently, you are no longer considered a success if you die. His story has been removed from the site. His death makes me sad, but the removal of his moving story makes me sadder. It seems like the City of Hope should just move them to a special "in memory of" section instead of obliterating all traces.

I was moping about this when I received a call from Meryl this morning. She called to say goodbye, and then asked me if I remembered the "Love Bug" song that I made up for her and my daughter. Of course I did, and I sang it for the future Prime Minister of the UK, loud and clear.

And now I'll sing it for you:

LOVE BUG
Sing a new song
LOVE BUG
Sing it out strong
LOOOOOVE BUUUUUUG!

Here We Go Again

2009-04-09T22:13:00.001-07:00

I returned to the City of Hope today for the results of my Tuesday tests, and, sure enough, the EOS count jumped another 10% in one week.

I won't lie to you; those little buggers scare me. I'll be relieved to start the attack with a daily dose of 60 mg of Prednisone, the drug I call my ironic little diet pills. I'm already losing a pound a week (five pounds total), thanks to the EOS. If I'm not a complete glutton, I will now lose weight at an even faster rate. Let the gorging begin!

My doctor is still reluctant to give me an official diagnosis of HES (hyper eosinophillic syndrome), primarily because it's such a rare blood disorder. We knocked one rare blood cancer into remission. What are the odds that I would immediately develop another, unrelated blood disease?

Our short-term strategy is to decimate the EOS with the Prednisone and eventually taper off. And then we'll play the watch and wait (i.e. monthly monitoring) game to see if they come back again. If they do, then we'll develop a different plan.

This afternoon, I used the City of Hope computers while I was between appointments. Both hands were on the keyboard, frantically trying to set up interviews for an article that's due tomorrow. I started coughing, and my busy hands didn't make it to my mouth in time. The "gentleman" (not a patient) sitting next to me used his nastiest tone to admonish me, "You need to cover your mouth." I used my surliest voice to respond in mock politeness: "I'm so sorry that I failed to do that. I will work hard to be better the next time, especially since you have taken the time to remind me of this in your nicest possible voice."

I actually did work hard to supress my cough and cover my mouth after that, especially when I was in the waiting room with masked patients. I was trying to make amends for my earlier bout of bitchiness.

Lord help us all if the Prednisone makes me more irritable.

Nipping the EOS in the Bud

2009-04-06T16:57:00.000-07:00

I wrote last week about my misbehaving EOS. These are the same devious little culprits that infiltrated my lungs and GI tract last year and made me very, very sick.

I was originally scheduled to retest my blood a week from today, but I got a little nervous about waiting. Each day, I can tell that I am becoming incrementally sicker. A little more coughing. A little more fatigue. A little more short of breath. I don't think you can tell by looking at me or talking to me (except for the cough) that I'm not feeling up to par, but I am all too familiar with the mild symptoms that once turned into a three-month nightmare.

I finally emailed my doctor today and reported the progression. He scheduled me for bloodwork, a chest x-ray and pulmonary testing tomorrow and a consult on Thursday. He said that it's likely that I'll be put back on prednisone, the drug that's like Phen Phen for my lean body. To keep from losing weight, I'll have to start consuming 3,000 to 3,500 calories a day. Woe is me!

Actually, the timing couldn't be better. I'm planning to make biscuits and sausage gravy on Saturday morning and a calorie-laden Easter dinner on Sunday. (I think a serving of the scalloped potatoes alone has 2,500 calories.)

The Big C HIts the Book Shelves

2009-04-06T09:56:00.000-07:00

Cancer has long been a popular cinematic plot element, from Love Story to The Bucket List.

(As luck would have it, American Airlines showed the tragic movie Love Story on our flight to Hawaii, just two weeks after my MCL diagnosis. And by "tragic," I don't mean that Jenny dies. I mean the DOA script.)

If you're interested in a cancer patient's review of cancer movies, check out this list compiled by The Assertive Cancer Patient. (Click on the movie title to read the witty reviews.)

Even though most of us could easily tick off a half dozen cancer movies, we'd be hard pressed to come up with even one fiction book with cancer characters.

My friend Barbara (one of six Barbara friends), who is working on an MS in Library Science at UCLA, just sent me this link to a list of a dozen novels with characters with the Big C.

I've always thought it would be interesting to create an unsympathetic cancer character. (Jack Nicholson fits the bill in Bucket List.) Better yet, imagine the possibilities of an evil bone marrow donor who frames the recipient of his life-saving stem cells. They have the same blood DNA, ya' know, so there's got to be something a skilled (and twisted) writer could do with that.

The Obsessive Type

2009-04-04T13:28:00.001-07:00

When you're a blood cancer patient, it's easy to become obsessed with your blood counts. That chapter is behind me, but now it's equally tempting to become obsessed about the rapidly mutliplying EOS in my blood.

It's nice to take a break and become obsessed with something else. The color of houses instead of the color of blood. The number of coats of paint instead of the number of white blood cells. Paint palette trends instead of EOS trends.

It's doubly nice when you can make that obsession into a story for the Home & Garden section of the LA Times. Read my story, House Paint as Obsession. (The color palette of the house in the photo, by the way, may look familiar. It's the one I poached for my house.)

Fast Food

2009-04-03T19:38:00.001-07:00

What do you do when you want lunch in a hurry?

Go to Open Mouth, Insert Fork to find out how to have an Indian lunch at home in under 4 minutes, 4 dollars and 400 calories.

Trend Setting

2009-04-01T08:58:00.001-07:00

I once had a writer friend who was a frequent contributor to Parade Magazine, the fluff-filled tabloid that's inserted into millions of small-town and big-city newspapers every Sunday. She specialized in spotting "trends," a task that's much easier than it sounds. Her editor told her if she could come up with three examples, she had a trend on her hands.

Of course, in medical parlance, "trend" has a different meaning - "general direction in which something seems to move."

Since I tapered off the steroid Prednisone in November, we've been watching my blood counts for changes in the Eosinophils (EOS)*. I started off with zero EOS, but then a trend started to develop. Every month, the EOS count would increase by 40 to 50%. If this trend continued, I figured I could be in deep doo doo by July (thought I'd throw in a little more medical speak).

I went in on Monday for lab work, and discovered that the trend wasn't continuing at the same pace. Those pesky little EOS decided to be fruitful and multiply exponentially. The percentage of EOS in my blood jumped up from 5% to 30% in one month (a 500% increase).

To be honest, I wasn't surprised. My hacking cough returned about two weeks ago. I've noticed that I'm short of breath after delivering a long-winded monologue or walking up two flights of stairs. Mild fatigue has set in, and I frequently join the cats in afternoon naps. At this point, the symptoms aren't impairing my ability to get things done or to enjoy life.

My doctor has asked me to reschedule my next appointment in two weeks instead of four. Let's just hope that this latest trend doesn't continue.

*EOS refresher course: The EOS are a component of the white blood cells designed to fight allergies or parasites. A few of them sit around twiddling their thumbs until they're called into action. When they're needed, they multiply and fight off the parasite with toxins. Normal range of EOS in the blood is 0 to 5%, with an optimal count of 2.5%

Sometimes, the EOS go haywire for no known reason. This is called idiopathic hypereosinophillic syndrome (HES), a rare condition that I was hoping I didn't have. If left untreated, it can cause severe damage to organs, especially the heart and lungs.

Eos is also the goddess of the dawn. I'm channeling her now, hoping that she'll lead me to the light.

Belly Up to the Potluck Bar

2009-03-31T16:07:00.000-07:00

It turns out that San Gabriel Valley bloggers know their way around the keyboard and the kitchen.

Take a peek at some of the food at our Primavera in Altadena Potluck Picnic and find out how to make a simple California Salad at Open Mouth, Insert Fork.

A Shoe-In at the City of Hope

2009-03-30T14:20:00.000-07:00

While my doctor is writing out my prescriptions or making arrangements for future appointments, I sit perched on the exam table, dangling my legs and scrutinizing his appearance. I find comfort in the predictability of his wardrobe.

Today I looked down and saw that he was wearing a new pair of brown, lace-up shoes. They were the identical color and style as always, but looked as though they had just been lifted from the box. "Why, you're wearing new shoes, but they're just like your old ones," I blurted out as though I was talking with a six-year-old.

He explained that he's worn the same style for years. When it's time to replace them, he simply brings the box with him to the store, hands it over to the clerk and requests an identical pair.

No wonder he has time and energy to heal his patients, write thought-provoking essays and search for a cure for cancer.

(Imagine what I could accomplish if I ever found the perfect purse. My brain could move on to more lofty goals.)

This is going to be SO easy next year

2009-03-25T11:56:00.000-07:00

Half the fun and half the work of throwing a tea party is figuring out the menu and recipes.

Now I know we can't miss with the Julienne scones and the miniature pecan tassies. Click on the links for the full recipes at Open Mouth, Insert Fork.

Tea for Ten for A3m

2009-03-22T21:06:00.000-07:00

Today Nancy and I hosted a "Tea for Ten," one of our silent auction donations to A3M (Asians for Miracle Marrow Matches).

We had a great time as the chefs and hostesses at this fun event for an important cause. Will we do it again next year? Do minorities need to sign up for the National Bone Marrow Registry? (That would be a "yes" answer to both questions.)

Read more about it and find out how to make lemon curd at Open Mouth, Insert Fork.

Open Mouth, Insert Flan

2009-03-20T09:28:00.001-07:00

This rich and easy flan will make you want to dance the "flandango."

For more details, flandango over to Open Mouth, Insert Fork. (I've added photos and cooking notes since I originally added the post on Tuesday.)

Painter Banter (By popular demand)

2009-03-19T22:59:00.000-07:00

The inspiration for our house's paint palette

Before

After: A house of a different color.
I miss the ivy, but, like my hair, it'll grow back.

While I Was Sleeping

2009-03-11T17:00:00.000-07:00

I spent most of today in a drug-induced slumber.

I reported for duty at the City of Hope at 7:00 am for my 8:00 bone marrow biopsy, a procedure that involves a large needle thrust directly into the hip bone to extract the milky marrow. It's the closest I'll probably ever come to Medieval torture or a stay at Guantanamo Bay.

All joking aside, my doctor is very skilled at this procedure and it's only excruciating for about eight seconds. (My friend Bill, a fellow lymphomaniac, tells me that his doctor has him count backwards from eight during the painful part.)

Who couldn't deal with eight seconds of pain? Apparently, me. When the coordinator encouraged me to try sedation, I thought, "Why not?"

The anesthesiologist administered a drug called Propofol, or "Vitamin P," as my doctor calls it. I was making z's within two seconds of the time that the doctor pushed the milky syrum into my veins. Fifteen minutes later (five minutes after the ten-minute procedure was complete) I was wide awake. No grogginess. No fuzzy thinking. No desire to return to the Land of Nod.

I felt as refreshed as though I had slept for ten hours straight. The nurse told me that many patients dream and talk in their sleep during the fifteen minutes under, so the drug must instantly trigger a deep REM sleep.

But don't tell anyone. If word gets out about Vitamin P, it could be the next illicit street drug. Just imagine the applications. Sleep-deprived parents. Cramming college students. Anyone wishing to sleep through 15 minutes of boredom, pain or grief.

After the bone marrow biopsy, I crossed the hall to the infusion room for my quarterly infusion of Rituxan, a drug that is successfully extending my remission. The nurse pushed Benadryl through my veins, and I slept a restless 90 minutes and woke up groggy. This continued for the next three hours. Sleep. Grogginess. Sleep. Grogginess. And so the cycle continued.

What I need is another 15 minutes of solid "Vitamin P" sleep, but I'll have to wait another year before I get it.

Cancer Banter

Back to Pole Dancing

Feeling Guilty?

She's Back!

When Patient Fatigue Sets In

Is there a story in you?

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