One of a Kind Gift

Inspirational song: Grandma's Feather Bed (John Denver)

The postman rang the doorbell this afternoon, when I wasn't expecting him to. I was lying in bed, starting to feel extra awful, but the postman brightened my day. Well, he was just the last link in the chain. The real magic happened a while ago.

My summer has been about as awful as I could ever have imagined, but for a few hours today, I've been able to forget about it. The box that arrived was from my parents, a gift out of the blue. They had had something special made for me, and were saving it for either birthday or Christmas. But with my world crashing down on me, my dad recognized that I really needed a boost. It did the trick. I feel very loved, very supported, and now I'm fighting the good kind of tears instead of the bad ones.

My dad acknowledged that his retirement lifestyle no longer justifies dressing up in a suit and a tie very often. There wasn't much need to keep a closest full of ties. So he sent a big handful of them to a quilter to cut up and make into a quilt for me. The result is amazing. The quilt is so beautiful. Everything about it is perfect. In his letter, dad says that it's a link between us. That's so true, and I wonder whether a few of the details were intentional or intuitive. For example, the base fabrics are black and gold. To me, that ties the link between my lifelong fandom of the Colorado Buffaloes and his long running hobby of RVing in gold and black RVs. I feel like that part was probably instinct, which is wholly endearing.

They said it could either be a lap blanket during treatment or a wall hanging. I am okay with using it for both. I am always using more than just the one small blanket they provide at chemo, so for my last cycle, I will bring it with me. But when that's done, I have one spot of my walls that I had been leaving open without knowing why. I know now. I have a perfect spot for it.

When it first arrived, my constant companion through this cycle jumped on the bed, and stopped short when she found a new textile with different colors and smells. She was startled. I just had to include a picture of her getting acquainted with it too.

Spike

Inspirational song: Annie, Get Your Gun (Squeeze)

Life is super boring right now. By necessity, I am spending basically all day in bed. That might change tomorrow, but I’m not putting money on it. It would be nice to escape the room, however. A reduced ability for me to shower with regularity and not giving the sheets a chance to breathe has made this room a bit whiffy. (Same can be said for my own bad self.)

I was home alone most of the day. The Mr went up to the mountain to do road maintenance, on the forest service roads approaching the property, not on any so-called road that exists leading directly to the cabin. The last few times he and T went up, it rained super hard on them, and the roads flooded in places so badly they weren’t sure they could successfully get the truck home. The neighbor to the claim has a tractor that Mr S-P was able to use to cut channels in the road to divert water, and to put just a little dirt back in the biggest problem spot. And I haven’t gotten him to admit it, but I bet using the big machinery was the highlight of his day.

I’m still fighting the headache. I made it through the day with just Tylenol, but I had to step up to Tramadol later in the day. Even that isn’t touching it now. I can’t take anything stronger. I’ve maxed out what I can tolerate. I turned on the tv a couple of times, and so many things on there made it worse. I watched less than half an hour of the presidential debate, but the arguing killed my head. Then I watched an episode of drunk history, and just the idea of drinking that much alcohol made me want to cry. I’m not sure I’ll ever want to do that again, risking another headache like this or an upset stomach. It sounds too painful. The sad part is this is the improved cycle, with a weaker concentration of the meds that make me sick.

I found out from an internet ad that Squeeze is going to be playing at a nearby theater coming up soon. (Nearby meaning Arvada, maybe? I’ve forgotten already.) I really want to make attending it my “I completed chemo” goal. And then I remembered that the music would be loud, and I’m not fully convinced this headache will ever actually leave me. It feels like a part of me now.

Small Comforts

Inspirational song: Little By Little (Robert Plant)

Guess who managed to get a shower today? Maybe you don’t consider it a big accomplishment, but for where I’m at this week, to me it’s significant. I hadn’t really been upright since Saturday, and my world was getting a bit rank. It was all I could do to stand there in the water for about two minutes, and I immediately had to sit down on the edge of the tub when I turned off the tap. Still, I am less stinky. I rested a few minutes, and even swiped a toothbrush through my mouth before I settled back into bed for the remainder of the evening. It’s the little things that make it worth going on during the down week.

My headache has not let up for a second since yesterday morning, although I have been taking painkillers and sleeping as much as possible. I’m managing to drink more water than last round, and as of now, I haven’t thrown up yet. If this is the improvement promised by lowering the dose of chemo meds, I’ll accept it. I still feel like hell, but it’s a much lesser plane of hell this time around.

I don’t want to open my laptop to find a recent photo to attach. That’s too much work. I’m going to dig through the old stuff on my iPad, and see whether there’s a pretty flower from Charleston I can share. That’s about my speed now.

Round Three

Inspirational song: Back in the Saddle Again (Aerosmith)

This is a humbling experience on multiple levels. I’m totally dependent on other people for huge swaths of the summer. I don’t like making people wait on me, but I have little choice. Also, I stopped looking like myself weeks ago. (Months ago if you count the surgery that made me lopsided, years ago if you count the 45 pounds I gained when the cancer first started to blossom.) My bathroom mirror covers half the wall, and even sitting on the potty there’s no escaping it. I see my tired face, under a bald head, leaning against the cool wall for a little relief from the heat radiating out of my scalp. My eyebrows and eyelashes are thinning, and I haven’t had a lot to smile about lately. I can see the shadows of physical and emotional pain under my eyes. This will be my view for the next week, alternating with my bedroom ceiling. I’m not looking forward to it.

I was very careful today. I ate little, stopping by noon. I really just had cinnamon toast, weak chocolate milk, and about four green grapes. Nothing but water since. I’m determined not to throw up this round. We shall see whether it works. My head started hurting early in the day, and it’s getting worse as the night progresses. The steroids made me gain about seven pounds worth of water between the morning of infusion and the next day. So far I have shed more than half of it back off. No need to describe how.

I can’t decide whether to take a sleep aid, since I dozed most of the afternoon. Might be worth it. But then, it might make me sleep through the onset of the worst symptoms, and that could be a tragic mistake. Maybe I’ll just go natural after all.

A Post-Rabbit World

Inspirational song: Best Love (Steve Martin and the Steep Canyon Rangers ft. Paul McCartney)

The first full day without Rabbit has been every bit as bad as I expected it to be. Every time I was alone, like in the bathroom, the tears came back. When mostly-white Harvey walked through my peripheral vision, I saw her. When Jack or Alfred called out from the other room, I heard her voice. I questioned my decision to let her go a thousand times. She would have only lived a few more days, mostly alone in an oxygen tent, scared. I had to be there for her. I owed her that, at the very least. But, god, is it hard to be without her now.

Some of the chemo symptoms have already started. I don't know what specific details are responsible for the change. Heartburn set in last night, and kept me awake from the wee hours until dawn. It's stayed with me most of today. Antacids aren't doing me much good. A headache is threatening. I'm retaining a bunch of water from the steroids, but I suspect a lot of that will start going away tomorrow. I made myself eat a few small things today, but I kept it light. My daughter made a bunch of things for later, and everything for me is in the freezer. If I eat at all tomorrow, it will be something I can tolerate coming back up by dark tomorrow night.

My daughter left this evening to go home. I really loved having her here. The beginning of the week was wonderful, and without her support, I'm not sure I could have made it through the disaster that was Friday. It was also fun having Sheba here. She really started having fun with the other dogs and cats, who all had accepted her by the end of the visit (although she wasn't willing to share the bed with Athena, which isn't surprising). I hope when my medical journey is over, I can go back out to California to visit them.

My mother sent me a photo this afternoon. She found a feather outside on her property that looked like it was a message from Rabbit. You'll understand when you see it, especially if I dig up a good picture of her face to go with it.

Goodbye, Rabbit, Love of My Life

Inspirational song: Keep Me In Your Heart (Warren Zevon)

My heart is broken into millions of tiny pieces. I have been beset by a tragedy I was not prepared for right now. I had known it was a possibility, but I was in denial, and I begged for it not to happen now, while I was so weakened. My beloved Rabbit, my very favorite of all of Mr S-P's surprise rescues, had a cardiac event this afternoon, and we had to let her go. It was very sudden, and it hurts so badly. She occupied such a large part of my life, I don't know how I'm going to go on without her. I wasn't kidding when I told people she owned me.

Back when we were stationed with the Army (in a tiny Air Force squadron) at the National Training Center, Mr S-P went down several times to the Barstow animal shelter to volunteer. One time he was there on "euthanasia day," and he held something like 8-9 dogs (mostly pit bulls) who were put down because of their breed, or because the shelter didn't have space and resources to hold them long enough to find out whether they were adoptable. He held them simply so they didn't die alone and scared. At the end of that stretch, they brought in a white kitten about 9 months old, who had been in some kind of accident. She had a broken wrist, an abrasion on her nose, and some chipped teeth. Otherwise, she was fine. The vet said if she were confined to a cage for six weeks, her leg would heal and she would be good to go. The shelter people said they couldn't tie up a cage for that long, so she would be put down too. Mr S-P said time out. I will foster her for that time, so she doesn't die for a stupid reason. They claimed they stopped fostering animals, because they didn't ever come back. He was firm, and brought her home. She and I made eye contact for a split second, and she knew I was her forever human. She was right.

I had trouble keeping her in the cage. It seemed so punitive, and I didn't want her psyche to suffer for the incarceration. So I would take her out sometimes, and carry her around the house, so she would get a little variety and open air. She got loose from me one time, and ran upstairs. I chased her up there, and she turned and ran back down, hopping on her one good front leg and her hind legs going together. She had a black tail, so her white butt looked like a rabbit hopping down the stairs. The pound had named her India, possibly because of the black dot on her forehead. It didn't take a month for her to be nicknamed Rabbit.

She knew immediately that I belonged to her. She had priority for my lap and for my side of the bed. She loved taking care of others. She raised several kittens, especially Ralphie, the one I got in New Mexico to give to my older daughter when she was able to move out of the dorms into her own apartment. When I was sick, which happened often, she would lie across me and purr, knowing that it was a soothing, healing action. She was, quite simply, the perfect companion.

Early in the spring, I took her to the vet, because her ears were bothering her, and she had very bad breath. We got drops for the ears, but the vet said she detected a galloping heart arrhythmia, and she was extremely reluctant to put her under anaesthesia because of it. So a dental cleaning was out. A few months later, Rabbit wasn't eating, was losing tons of weight, and her mouth started to swell. I took her back, and they said she had an infection in her mouth that they couldn't address with dental surgery because of her heart. The best they could do was give her an injection of pain killers and antibiotics that would last a couple of weeks. It took three days to take down the swelling, but she eventually improved. They told me that the infection may come back, and they could "pulse" the antibiotics, readministering them until they stopped having an effect. While I was sick with my first chemo cycle, she had to go back in for another injection.

A few weeks ago, I noticed she was struggling to breathe. At first I wondered whether she was just purring to soothe herself, and that's why it looked like every breath drawn was with effort. This week, she was breathing even harder, and I kept saying, no, I cannot handle this right now. I made an extra effort to cuddle her on my lap and tell her how much I loved her, and had been doing that for a while but now I was starting to stress about telling her all the time. I went to my chemo treatment this morning, and was home by about 2. I hadn't finished sitting down, and she was immediately on my lap. I joked about it, but I let her stay. She jumped down fairly quickly, but I don't remember whether it was because I had to get up. At around 3, I looked down and she was on the floor between the piano and her daddy's chair, panting and drooling. I immediately knew this was not good, but I tried to tell myself she was just overheating. We took her into my room and turned on the air conditioner, to try to bring her temp down. She hated being picked up, and she howled until I followed into the room. I was the only one she let get near her, and I lay across the bed and held her hand, looking right into her face. I was able to see the underside of her tongue and gums start to turn blue. Mr S-P got on the phone with the vet immediately and he and our daughter rushed her there on the double. A few minutes later, my daughter came back to take me to the vet. It didn't look good.

They had her on oxygen when I arrived, so I had to wait to see her. The vet came in and told me the news I never wanted to hear, that even with emergency care and a cardiac specialist, we could only buy her a little time, at best weeks, most likely days. We made the horrible decision to let her go peacefully now, in our arms. It's only the second time I've had to make that call, and even now, 17 years after the first, I still regret the first time, even though it was the right decision. It all went so fast. She was a little calm when she first came into the room from the oxygen chamber, but she got restless very quickly. I was able to tell her I loved her while she was still lucid, and I continued to talk to her as the anaesthesia took effect. I will never stop talking to her, even though she can no longer hear me.

I have already noticed how much rabbit-themed paraphernalia I have around my house. The recovery period is going to be long and painful. I went digging for the last photo I took of her while she was alive, and it was all the way back in June, in the middle of my first chemo cycle, when I was trying to do some searches on the MLS for our friend who I took to view houses that weekend. She was on my lap, pushing my computer down, getting in the way. I might have been annoyed that day, but I'd give anything for more time with her like that. The other photos are of her in the box they sent her home in. She looks like she is sleeping peacefully. We let the cats have a viewing, so they understood why she would be missing from now on. I'm really impressed that her biggest rival, Athena, is the one who stood guard by her body the longest. She stayed under the piano bench and on the D&D tub for more than an hour, sitting shiva. I appreciated her showing respect.

Damn, 2019 has been a hard year. I don't dare wonder what's next.

Adjustments

Inspirational song: The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway (Genesis)

I got to go into see my oncologist this morning. They took a little blood, and then I had a once-over. I got the chance to tell them how overwhelming my fatigue was, how long it took me to eat again, how bad the taste in my mouth was, and so on. I believe I covered everything, and didn't leave anything out. It did me some good. She gave me some new coping tips, and better yet, she is lowering my dose of the harsher medication. I don't know how much, if at all, this cycle might improve, but I'm hopeful.

I had my usual reaction to having blood drawn. It doesn't take much to make me loopy, and the couple vials they withdrew were enough to do it. I was fine through brunch, but I started getting less coherent as the morning wore on. I was home all of about ten minutes before I crawled into bed, and stayed there until mid-afternoon. I let the world go on around me after that. I'm still having balance and low blood pressure issues, especially when I first stand up.

I got a call (that went to voice mail) before I made it to my car, leaving the oncologist's office. They went ahead and set me up with a follow-up visit next Thursday, so I don't go three and a half weeks feeling dreadful like I did this time. They'll check my blood levels, give me hydration if I need it, and since I'm having problems finding an oral anti-nausea med that works for me, they might be able to give me another injectable version that would last a few days. But apparently (according to the voice mail) the referral from my primary care doctor, way back around Valentine's day, was only good for five office visits. The business office of the cancer center wants me to get an updated referral before next Thursday. I get my infusion tomorrow and will get sick starting on Sunday night. The original referral came from the primary care doctor who retired at the end of April. I've played phone tag with the medical assistant for my new doctor today, and I'm getting very stressed out worrying that I won't be able to arrange an updated referral in time. There is no way (stress that: No Way) I will be able to take care of this next week. If they think I'm coming in for an appointment to get the new referral, they're fooling themselves. I so do not need this extra stress. They had better let me handle it by phone tomorrow.

Food Prep

Inspirational song: Cherry Pie (Warrant)

Today had two main foci, baking food to be consumed later in my chemo cycle, and watching the hearings on TV. I did more of the latter, because I just couldn't find a whole lot of energy to do more than agree when my daughter suggested foods to be stored for later. She did all the cooking and I mostly lay around, turning on the a/c when I needed to. I'm a little concerned that I never fully recovered my energy this cycle. I hope that this upcoming round is not significantly worse than the one that is ending. I'm not sure I'll get a whole lot accomplished in the next six weeks if it's that bad.

We've been pretty scientific in our approach to what foods to prepare. I got recommendations to try foods that have a lot of lemon, vinegar, salt, ginger, and sugar. I've had to eliminate anything with cold cheese, because my mouth and brain are interpreting the texture as something horrible and artificial. Anything spicier than uber-mild causes heartburn. And things that ought to be good old bland go-to items (think BRAT diet) make me extra nauseated. I threw up gluten free banana bread early in week one, and that makes three of the four initials in BRAT problematic. It took me two days to choke down a school-lunch sized snack cup of applesauce two weeks ago, and I cringed every time my husband tried to offer me the white rice we had leftover that week, so let's just call the whole thing a non-starter. But it won't just be the first week that I'll need to eat, and there will be lots of days where I'll be alone, needing to feed myself over the next six weeks, so the more pre-made "meals" the better. I put meals in quotes, because we are using the smallest portion sizes we could find plastic storage for on purpose. Most of my meals will be fist-sized or smaller for at least half of the remaining two cycles. But we are going to try things that seem appealing now, while I'm feeling somewhat normal, like quiche Lorraine, cinnamon coffee cake, and quinoa-based couscous. We already packed up some silver dollar pancakes made with green banana flour. I enjoyed the sample one I tried today, but I have to hope that it's okay with metallic-bitter chemo mouth later.

My biggest contribution to food all day was to settle in at the table and pit the entire cherry harvest for this summer. I had the absorbent doggie pad that my paintings had dried on the other day, and disposable gloves, and I still got covered in cherry juice up to my elbows. I learned from Pinterest that poking the pits out with a metal cake decorating tip was efficient, and even so it took me more than an hour to complete the large bowl of cherries we got this year. My daughter made up a syrup that was a blend of regular and brown sugar, orange zest and fresh juice, vanilla and almond extracts, and just a dash of ground cloves. We didn't put in nearly enough corn starch to thicken the sauce, but that didn't stop the entire D&D group from raving over how it turned out. It was fabulous. If someone needs a recipe with all the ingredients and a revised proportion recommendation, I can offer that up. If my cinnamon-pecan coffeecake comes out like I expect tomorrow, I might write that up too.

L.D.L.B.

Inspirational song: Marquee Moon (Television)

It has taken about four and a half years for our younger daughter to make it up to the mountain property. She was always busy with work or her social life whenever we went up, so she just never made it there. Today daddy took both daughters up to the hill, while I stayed home. Naturally, he handed them each a couple boards of lumber to take up when they parked at the staging area, for them to carry up as they hiked. I got a picture from halfway up, of them looking totally fatigued, but still game to go see the cabin. There were a few hitches with the tools and hardware (forgot the drill, bought the wrong size of clips for the metal roof), but they still managed to get a fair bit of work done. At one point our younger daughter texted me about how the climb wore her out, and she was having trouble mustering the energy to do much work at the campsite. I wrote back, "Now you know how I felt last summer. And picture that feeling with lupus and cancer mixed in." She said she couldn't imagine how I kept going every week. I told her never to forget she comes from badass stock.

I didn't feel like that much of a boss today, though. I am still so tired and sore from yesterday's day out that every cell in my body hurts. I seriously considered taking my mid-grade painkillers, but I try so hard not to do that unless I'm in crisis, that I took a two hour long nap instead. I had made it to Rotary and to the pet store to buy crickets to feed the lizards, and by the time I got home, I was moving at 1/4 impulse speed. I never really picked up steam again after that. I was groggy from the nap and tired from, well, everything. I was lucky that older daughter is used to a very physical job, and the hike up the mountain didn't deplete her, so she was able to take charge of dinner. I managed to chop a large handful of carrots, and then I was kind of done.

Over dinner, we sort of revived our tradition of re-watching movies in the Harry Potter series. This was Harry Potter adjacent anyway. She hadn't seen Fantastic Beasts: Crimes of Grindelwald, so we kicked back and went through that one. Together we raved over costumes (because that's who we are), and picked apart plot deviations that didn't seem to match the original books. She re-reads them every few years, so I defer to her encyclopedic knowledge, but I do want to find the section we feel is the key plot hole, and piece together in my mind what's wrong with it.

While everyone else was up in the hills, I got to be grandma spoiling Little Dog with Little Brain. She was so nervous when they first walked up, afraid to cross the porch and walk through the door. It took me putting a single dog treat in her mouth for her to remember that she really, really likes me. She has slept on a micro-plush blanket on my bed every night since (where she is now, with her head resting on my toes), and she follows me around, knowing that every so often, treats just fall from my hands into her face hole. I caught her lying on the rug, belly up, directly in front of the fan this morning. I think she misses living in Colorado, now that she's in a hot apartment in LA. She was enjoying the heck out of the cool air.

Bonding

Inspirational song: Purple Rain (Prince)

My daughter has always walked with a purpose, like she is late for an appointment. I'm taller than she is, and I've never been able to keep up. Today, multiply the not-keeping-up times fifty. She was very good about slowing down while I crept along, but we both recognized that she was having to work to walk slowly. I feel bad about being such an anchor for her, but it doesn't take much to wear me out this summer.

We drove around quite a bit today, and at most stops, did a lot of walking and standing. We hit our traditional spot, the tiny hole-in-the-wall jewelry store in downtown Boulder where we've been getting fun little silver and gemstone pieces for decades. And then we went a couple of doors down to the toy store where I bought a giant collection of glitter dice for D&D years ago. They only had a few random glitter ones left, but I was able to find exactly what I needed: a silver glitter four-sided die to replace the gold one I have that broke on one point of the pyramid. My daughter has been talked into trying D&D herself (parenting win, even though it wasn't us who did the convincing), and I helped her create a starter set in colors that she likes. We weren't able to find every single shape she needed (no twelves or eights at that store), so we hit the local gamer shop when we got back to town. She's ready to go. I hope she enjoys the game. When we got home, after a long day OFO, I showed her the first three episodes of Dingo Doodles, a YouTube series about a campaign featuring Sips, a sentient monkey with a cursed crocodile hand. She appreciated the silliness of it.

We closed out the evening making (GF) spaghetti and teaching her how to do pour painting. The last pouring medium I mixed just didn't do the trick. It still split horribly for me, especially the white paint. The paintings I did weren't ugly, they just didn't turn out like I intended. After two mediocre attempts on canvas, I emptied out all the rest of the paint I had except the problematic white, and used one of the illustration boards. I didn't really have enough to cover what I made, so I had to use a little extra black to make the board slippery enough to expand the colored paint. I ended up making something that looked like an oil slick, and I kind of loved it. It still didn't cell up, but now I'm going to spend the night wondering whether the illustration board will swell up and warp, like all the others did. I'll be sad if the paint puddles in the middle like all the others. However, tonight (unlike the early attempts in early spring), the air is warm and the board is sitting under a running ceiling fan. Maybe it will dry quicker. I didn't get a picture of the first canvas, that was all in purples and black and white. I got snaps of the second one in turquoise and red (not that you could tell), and the last oil slick. My daughter was happy with her first one and much less so with her second, but I failed to photograph either. The four canvases are drying on covered cookie sheets in my cold oven, to keep cat paws, and to a less extent cat fur, out of them. We shall see tomorrow how that works for them.

Eagles Have Landed

Inspirational song: Baby (Justin Bieber)

I had high hopes that Harvey would remember Sheba. After all, Sheba was his Nana Dog. There are pictures of him as a tiny white kitten, curled up next to her, making her super nervous. (Everything makes Sheba nervous. She makes herself nervous, when she takes time to be self-aware.) When my daughter and grand-dog arrived this morning, we had been out in the hot tub, with the cats roaming the yard. Jackie forgot who Sheba was when she first saw her, and Jack ran back into the house to hide. Then she remembered and calmed down. Alfred was chill, as was Rabbit. Athena avoided conflict, which was fine with all of us. But Harvey, who should have remembered, poofed as big as a short-haired boy can, and was quite edgy for the first hour or two. Even when my daughter carried him around, he turned baleful eyes to me, pleading for help. I answered with impatience. "Harvey, you weren't just born in a bathroom, you were born in HER bathroom. Cut it out."

This visit is promising to be a good one. My daughter is here to help me out, and she has great ideas for making an impact long after she leaves. She's been planning for weeks on making meals that we can freeze, so that as I come out of the bad weeks of the next two infusions, all I have to do is throw something in the microwave. We're going to follow the guidelines on how to make food appetizing for chemo patients, like making it less spicy (much less), more acidic (lemon is good), and full of easy proteins. We are also talking about doing some painting together, and revising our tradition of watching some of the Harry Potter movies together. I had recently watched the fourth movie, Goblet of Fire, and so now we need to choose which direction to go from there. Do we go with the dark later movies, where they are wrapped up in the long battle against evil, or do we escape the angst and stick to the early ones aimed at a younger audience? I'm leaning toward the happy kid ones.

I'm not used to sleeping with a dog in my bed. It's been a long-standing rule of mine, no dogs on the furniture. Yet here I am, letting Sheba come bounding into my room, rolling around on the end of my bed at will. I feel a little bad for Elsa that she was never given that opportunity, but to be fair, Sheba weighs less than Jackie the cat. Sheba is going to be surprised when she finds out Grandma kicks and gets up a lot during the night. She might give up on me and go back to sleeping on the floor in my daughter's room. I'm curious to see how this goes.

Drive Time

Inspirational song: Waiting for a Friend (The Rolling Stones)

Blood is thicker than water, apple doesn't fall far from the tree, like mother like daughter, yada, yada... Yeah, I don't have to hear the platitudes. We live it. Last night, my daughter changed the plan from leaving after work and driving all night to avoid the desert heat. She said she'd leave at the time she normally gets up and goes to work. So when I checked in with her just after lunch, and she said she ended up taking care of hours' worth of tasks before leaving, I couldn't find it in me to be surprised. Have I ever left on a big driving trip on time? Has her father? Nope and nope. When the Mr and neighbor T started texting me on the way down from the mountain property, T asked whether I had heard an update on the kid. When I told him she left hours late, his only response was something along the lines of "she is definitely related to her dad." So true.

So now she's so far behind, it's not even worth my time to stay up late watching for her. All I can do is make sure the front door is left unlocked, and go to sleep on the early side, so when she rolls into town early tomorrow morning, I can get up and greet her. All I ask is that she check in at certain waypoints, so I can track progress, even as I sleep. I'm a light sleeper, and will wake up to check, even if I try not to.

I'm very excited for this visit. She hasn't been able to come out for a long time, because of her work schedule, and it's been more than a year and a half since she was able to bring her dog. Sheba is a little old lady now, with a totally white muzzle. She and Elsa will have lots of old dog stuff to talk about. I hope she will let me spoil her a little bit. For that matter, I'd like to spoil my daughter, but I think her plan is to take care of me, not the other way around. It's going to be hard to let go and be the one who is spoiled.

On This Day

Inspirational song: Walking on the Moon (The Police)

If ever there was a day I wish I had thought to get a guest author, this would have been a great time to do it. The news is covered with stories of the moon landing, and I have no first hand memories to share. Yeah, I was alive for the big event, but I was too young to have any awareness of what was happening. I was just a baby. My brother was a pre-schooler then, and my parents were rather young too, in their 20s. I'd love to know what they and their peers thought of it all. My dad was already in the air force at that point, so in my head, they were all extra excited about it, watching in a group at someone's base house, like I've seen in movies. But what if the reality was that he was in training and my mom was too busy with little kids to really care?

Do we still watch cultural moments like we did that day 50 years ago? There are still things bunches of us see, like the Game of Thrones finale or the Women's World Cup, to name two from this year. But those just aren't as historically significant. What compares? Is there anything that we all watch live, glued to the set like that? I wonder, with on demand streaming and DVRs, will we ever have a moment of mutual breathless anticipation like that again?

If anyone older than me, even by a year or two, has a fun or interesting memory associated with the moon landing, I'd be interested to hear. Leave me a comment on the blog page or on the Scenes from Smith Park Facebook page. I should have asked for this yesterday.

(Guest photo: from my daughter, on the occasion of the last eclipse)

Spent

Inspirational song: Dela (Johnny Clegg and Savuka)

I made it through the entire day without turning on the air conditioner in the house. It got warm in here, but having closed up the place early this morning, it wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been. It was the warmest day of the year so far, reaching 100 in several localities nearby. The news says Denver missed that mark just barely, but the car told me that wasn't the case for all of northern Colorado. What's that? The car? Yeah, I survived the heat of the day by driving down to Thornton with the car a/c blasting on high. I'm not as dumb as I look. When we got home from Costco, the cats were draped around the floors like a Salvador Dali painting, but they would have been even less happy with me had I taken them for a drive in the cold car.

I keep trying to live a normal life in this last week before the next infusion, but my body is fighting me on it. Just one solid lap around Costco left me drained by the time we returned. I'm not going to give up. I can't let the whole month go without a little bit of fun and productivity. I've made a few plans for activity and entertainment next week while my number one kid is here. Looking forward to seeing how much I get to.

I did manage to recover, once the sun started to set, enough to go water out front. Somewhere along the way while I was down with the nausea and fatigue, not leaving my bedroom, all of my flowers bloomed and faded. There are still a few spots of color around, but nothing looks fresh anymore. I kind of know how that feels.

Gifted

Inspirational song: I'm Not Gonna Let It Bother Me Tonight (Atlanta Rhythm Section)

Things have been too stressful in the outside world. While I'm going through all this heavy stuff in my immediate life, I've rediscovered the glorious freedom of disconnecting. I've been leaving my TV off most of the time, and when it's on, I've been watching marathons of things like Barnwood Builders or Fixer Upper. My total time on Twitter is reduced by about 90%, and I'm checking it far fewer times per day as well. This leaves me a lot more time to accomplish things, even if I don't have excess energy to get all the way done with all of it. With help, I've gotten my guest room ready to live up to its name, I've maintained the level of tidiness that the cleaning lady provided last week, and I managed to shop and make dinner for the whole gang tonight. Okay, I had to sit down a lot (a LOT) while I made the chicken stew, but it didn't spoil the soup for me to sit down to chop veggies.

The next two days are going to be miserably hot, but I don't have much I have to do, and none of it outside. If I'm feeling particularly frisky, I'll go outside long enough to water my flowers and pick another quart or two of cherries off the little tree up front. If not, I'll hide in a dark house in the coolest room I can find.

I had a particularly wonderful afternoon. My in-laws (sister-in-law and her husband) came for a visit. It's been a while since I have seen the family, and it was really nice to catch up. As a bonus, my sister-in-law knitted two caps for me out of cotton yarn, in colors I wear all the time. The caps I had been wearing were a little on the snug side, possibly because they were made of Spandex. These were made to the exact measurements of my bald head, so they fit perfectly. The blue one has little eyelet holes all over, so it was just right to wear during this evening's game, when my house never dropped below 85 degrees all night. I'll be wearing these often. I'll also be wearing them for the remainder of the year. I doubt I'll have much hair until at least Thanksgiving, and even then it'll be short. I might even be cold this winter because of it. Right about now, that sounds divine.

Back at It

Inspirational song: I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead (Warren Zevon)

Not one of us has any energy to spare, but that didn’t keep us from getting stuff done today. The Mr loaded up the truck and took three big loads of building materials up to the cabin. Me, I made it to Rotary for the first time in weeks, and that wasn’t all. I picked up the kid after she got off work, and together we burned through all of the accumulated mess in my guest room. Older daughter is due to visit soon, and I had abandoned all of the pour painting supplies across the entire guest room, and laundry was sky high on the bed. I needed a place for my daughter to sleep, and I needed the floor to be safe enough for my grand-dog not to get into trouble overnight. I think we got enough craft supplies stacked and organized for Sheba to be clear.

I don’t know what to expect for tomorrow. Will I have another crash like yesterday, unable to shower or dress or even stay awake? Or am I getting strength back and I’ll be okay cooking for the gaming crew? I’m hoping for the latter. I don’t know that I can afford another experience like the former.

The next ten days will be precious to me. I’m able to eat, socialize, and drive myself around. I am considering myself halfway done, even if the calendar doesn’t quite match. I’ve been trapped in the house an extra long time this cycle, and now I plan to cram as much excitement as I can before the next infusion. Well, it will be exciting for me, as it won’t be the same taupe bedroom walls I’ve been staring at for weeks. Exciting might be relative.

Two Steps Back

Inspirational song: Gentleman’s Excuse Me (Fish)

This could have been predicted. I pushed myself to have a normal activity day on Sunday, and thus spent every waking minute of Monday lolling around in my bathrobe. I never had the stamina to shower. I needed two long naps to make it through the day. I’m not proud of it. But I’m also not surprised. I have plans for Tuesday, so letting myself back up a step and rest thoroughly was probably wise. If only I could get rid of the lingering headache and just end this day, I’d be happy.

I’m cheating on pictures. This is an old one, but I’m writing on my iPad, and I wanted to see whether it would load anything on here, since I can’t do it from my phone when I try. Good to know that it seems to work. And it’s not like I didn’t get plenty of Harvey cuddles today. He was way nicer to me than Rabbit was. Why not show him off?

Woman About Town

Inspirational song: Bastille Day (Rush)

After ten days in self-imposed prison, I have broken free at last! I put on real clothes, shoes (if cheap Wal-Mart sliders count as "real" shoes), and a hat, and I climbed into a very warm car. I rode away from Smith Park West, and had, as the cats always ask for, an "out."

We had brunch at Lucile's, the delightful Creole restaurant that has been my favorite for a quarter century. I may not be able to indulge in beignets anymore, but I can still get most of my go-to dishes there. Just the act of leaving the house and being around people was treat enough, but to do it with eggs Jennifer and spiced tea? Perfection.

From there I got my first chance to inspect the damage at our condo. It's bad. Worse than I imagined. Dehumidifiers have been running for more than a week, but it's still quite damp in there. The Mr emptied the two gallon water reservoir from the dehumidifier and set it to running again. He then resumed peeling up the moldy vapor barrier, trying to figure out how to pop out the wet floor boards in the hall closet. The floor is already up in both of the bedrooms and the hall. We can't find a match for it, and may have to replace the whole thing, living room included. The insurance adjuster has already suggested that may be our only option.

I was most upset by the smell. The whole place smells like stagnant water. When I was a little girl, the cabin in the woods that my grandparents built wasn't hooked up to city water. The water source was a pond on the hill. We weren't allowed to drink from the taps, but we were allowed to shower in that water and flush the toilets with it. When I was a teenager, my grandfather ran a line from the city source to the cabin, but the smell of the pond water never, ever left the bathroom. That smell was in every inch of my condo today. I'm not sure there's a way to get the smell out of there, unless we do go ahead and pull up all the floor and scrub the concrete floor with bleach. Even then, I will have to hope it works. It will be unrentable with that smell in it.

Self-Sustaining

Inspirational song: We Are the Champions (Queen)

Only four days later than anticipated, I was able to DO THINGS today. Real things, that have real world value! I stood up long enough to do dishes, even though it took me four runs at it. (Granted, I made more during the day, so that extended my totals.) I knew that we had the remnants of a rotisserie chicken in the fridge, and I pulled out the Instant Pot for the first time this summer, and made a rich broth out of it. I had to sit on a bar stool to completely clean the bones and undesirable pieces out of it, but I persevered. Carrots, celery, onion, brown rice, and Vegeta (Croatian seasoning that our exchange student left us) later, and I had an amazing soup. Considering just two days ago I was still so weak I could barely pitch a frozen pizza in the oven on my own, this makes me so proud. If I am careful, I could have about ten days of being a normal person, before this crap starts all over again.

I'm sure it helped significantly that the house was in good shape from yesterday's Cleaning for a Reason visit. There weren't many dishes to take care of, and the counter was already mostly clear for me to chop veggies and pick the chicken carcass. I wasn't stressed out about having to put a bunch of junk away, either before cooking or in general. It has just occurred to me that I even made my bed this morning. (I've been sitting on it a while, but I hadn't noticed I handled that detail.) At the end of the evening, after the sun went down and the heat broke, I had two whole spoons left, one to fold my laundry as it came out of the dryer, and one to carry the stack into my dressing room.

I haven't been willing to leave the house for two weeks. And by that, I mean the farthest out I've gone is just beyond the front door, when Jackie ran out on the porch, while I was chatting through the open door with the Man as he watered flowers out front. (I wasn't wearing a hat or clean clothes at that moment, and I didn't want to go running out very far in view of our busy street. Thank goodness she gave up easy.) This afternoon, I walked around the back yard in the sun for the first time this cycle, collecting raspberries to go over a scoop of ice cream. This made me happy. My standards for success are so low now. But for all that "normal" people could scoff at my personal victories, I don't care. I know where I've come from, just four or five days ago. I know how rough it could be next time around. I'm giving myself all the credit for getting up and moving today. My next goal: leaving the property altogether. I plan on attempting it as early as tomorrow.

Cleaning for a Reason

Inspirational song: A Spoonful of Sugar (Mary Poppins)

Oh, my, the most wonderful thing of the summer happened today. My complimentary house cleaning (the first of two), courtesy of the Cleaning for a Reason organization and Boulder County based 2 Buckets Cleaning, was today. The young woman assigned to me arrived thirty minutes early, at 10:30, and she was charming and understanding that I just had no energy to chat or supervise or anything. I kind of pointed at the areas that where I wanted focus, like my shower/tub that I just don't have the strength to clean myself, and then I turned her loose. I lay on my bed for most of the time, mindlessly watching TV shows about people who can afford pools that cost more than my whole house, and walked out into the rest of the house a few times for water or snacks, and she was diligently applying herself to the whole main floor.

It wasn't a deep, strip the gunk out of the grout sort of clean, and I didn't expect it to be. It was the stuff I can't do for myself while I'm so weakened by chemo, and that the Mr can't get to while he's working enough hours to compensate for my inability to do any work at all. The bathroom sparkles now, with a squeaky clean tub. She even folded my towels in a cute hotel-like shape. She tidied the piles of junk I never moved off my piano in a year, and dusted the whole thing. I had cleaned nearly all the debris off the end table, and she gave it a good scrub. The rugs are freshly vacuumed, the floors have been damp mopped, and the baseboards look like zero cats live here. It's not sterile and empty, it's just tidy. And it lowered my stress level by about sixteen notches. Bless this woman, and all the others who got her here.

When I was first devouring every shred of information on the internet about cancer, while I waited for my diagnostic mammogram and biopsy, I came across mentions of Cleaning for a Reason. I didn't know then whether I'd get a positive diagnosis, nor whether that would automatically lead to chemo. In fact, when they first told me I probably would only need radiation, I remember thinking, oh, well, I won't be needing those guys. And when I seemed to bounce back sort of okay from the first round of chemo, I thought, maybe I'll make it. I am so glad I asked to get a consultation with the social worker at RMCC. She has referred people to CfaR before, and she said she didn't get a whole lot of feedback on whether it worked. When I followed up with her yesterday, to make sure that my doctor's note had been received, so the local service would get compensated, if that's how it works, the social worker was pleased to hear that they had matched me quickly and that my appointment was coming so soon.

If you are interested to learn about this non-profit organization, read more at CleaningforaReason.org. There is information you can share with people you may know who are going through chemo, and struggling to keep up with their homes because of it. If you are of a mind to it, consider donating to them, to pass a little of this goodness forward.

Not Ensured

Inspirational song: Working in a Coal Mine (Devo)

"How long can this go on?"

Don't know what more I can add at this point. Holy moly, this sucks. The bad taste in my mouth isn't so bad anymore, but food is still iffy. I tried to make myself one of the good GF frozen pizzas I get from Costco, and it took every bit of energy I had just to sprinkle some Parmesan on top and throw it in the oven. I had to stagger back to my bed and lie there until the timer went off, hoping I wouldn't pass out and let it burn too badly. I managed to cook it correctly, and eat a few pieces of it (I normally eat half, when I'm healthy, but I wasn't so foolhardy today). How is it that getting one meal a day is both such a victory and such a crushing effort?

If I didn't have such a big thing happening on Friday, I would try to go in to the cancer center and ask them whether this is normal second-cycle behavior, maybe give them some blood for a CBC. I chatted with the social worker there today, when I called to make sure she had submitted the doctor's note to Cleaning for a Reason, and she asked whether I had something like Ensure to drink while I wasn't getting much nutrition. Make no mistake, I'm thoroughly repulsed by smoothies in general, so canned goo like Ensure is right out. But I ought to find a way to get a broader range of nutrients, I guess. She countered with the suggestion of bananas, so maybe I can make a stab at one of them, next time I can get someone to do a grocery run for me. But my fridge and pantry are overflowing. It's just a matter of finding something I can (A) make or have made when the Mr is actually home, and (B) stand to put in my mouth, and (C) digest, with or without cramps and heartburn.

As I finish up writing, it's about 12 hours until the cleaning lady they matched me with arrives. I'm both excited and nervous. I have a lot of deferred maintenance and I'm hoping I can direct her to the things that need doing without offending her with my stacks of debris covering all horizontal surfaces. I pulled out a handful of papers from my side table, filing and tossing and shredding as appropriate. But I just couldn't fix all the things I needed to with non-existent energy stores available. Maybe I can do one or two things before she comes in the morning. I think if nothing else, if I get a clean bathroom and bedroom out of this, I'll be in heaven. I am amazed at how fast Cleaning for a Reason responded and hooked me up.

(I think I'm almost out of stored pictures. I'm down to the one of my giant catnip patch. Should I dry it and save it for later?)

Up and Down

Inspirational song: Fifty-Fifty (Frank Zappa)

In order to lead off with the victorious news of my chemo cycle thus far, I can announce I actually ate real food today! I ate a whole small salad from Mad Greens(except the weird rubbery mozzarella chunks that tasted like tofu and grossed me out), and even had the wherewithal to get a small scoop of ice cream after. I had a piece of chocolate and a Jolly Rancher when the gang came over for game night. And I had a few bites of leftover chicken as a protein boost before bed. After seven days of not getting much of anything (even water) down, this is a huge step towards normalcy. It may be a few days before I'm actually cooking for myself, but this helps me see the end.

That was about the only good part of the day. I forgot again to call the social worker back at the cancer center to verify that she sent a doctor's note to Cleaning for a Reason, or to ask her to do it if she didn't see that requirement when she filled out my application. They've already paired me with a service, who will come on Friday, and I need to make sure nothing goes wrong that could cancel it. I tried to move a few things around, so that when the cleaning lady comes, she's not stepping over the boxes I abandoned in the living room, or wondering what the hell to do with our giant stacks of D&D paraphernalia, but I didn't get very far. This last week left me too weak to do much moving. Just a walk from the bedroom to the kitchen leaves me breathless and dizzy.

And then there is the rolling crisis we have been dealing with for a week, that thankfully I was too sick to address. Once again, there is water damage in the condo in Boulder that we rent out. Like massive damage when the upstairs neighbor's water heater broke and poured water down for three days after our tenant moved out. We have been trying to get an insurance adjuster there for a week, and absolutely nothing is happening. I have never before been so disappointed in USAA. The upstairs neighbor who just bought her unit has the same insurance as us, and we are getting runaround like I have never seen before. Today Mr S-P and our daughter went to clean it today, and after a week of running dehumidifiers, when he popped up the warped floorboards, the padding and concrete was still soaked. The walls in the larger bedroom and the ceiling are ruined.

This condo is my only source of income now. Or it was, until the tenant I loved moved out. Now I have nothing. No ability to work in real estate while chemo sucks the life out of me, and no basic income covering my recurring bills. I had one month of padding to my name, and if USAA doesn't move quickly, I don't know where August bills are coming from. Dammit. I just did not need this. Younger daughter keeps saying do a bona fide GoFundMe, and it's getting harder to say no. Stay tuned to see whether she breaks down my resistance.

Solo

Inspirational song: All By Myself (Eric Carman)

There are two ways in which to view how this day went. One, I could be unhappy that I spent all but an hour of the entire day completely alone, when I really wasn't strong enough to do much to take care of myself. Two, I could recognize that I wasn't up to anything anyway, and this way I allowed myself to stay in bed one more day, getting more of the rest that I still require. I'll go with the latter. I wouldn't have been good company feeling like this, and I don't have to talk when I'm asleep.

My younger daughter did come over for a while this afternoon. She showed up with french fries, which I had begged her for last cycle. This time, my stomach is still tender, and the metallic taste is still in control of my mouth. I managed to eat fewer than ten of the McD's fries. She gets a gold star for the thought. I did better later in her visit when I got a small scoop of ice cream, and finished the whole thing.

She was here to help me with a few things that have needed doing here. The most important thing she did was help me cancel a recurring bill that I should have stopped months ago. It wasn't big, but now that I have absolute zero income (vacant rental property), I have to plug every hole in this leaky boat. I just feel relieved that it's over. She also helped me move a few things around that were occupying space where they shouldn't. And lastly, she took a big box to donation that had been sitting in my living room since March.

The Mr has been gone all day to his mountain claim. The roof of the cabin was starting to suffer for not having been completed by winter. At the last picture I had received, he had attached a soffit, run tar paper, and attached 7 of 9 metal roof panels. That was while it was full daylight. He worked well into the fading of the light. Unless he is pulling my leg, he is still up there. He says he is done, but I think he still has to walk down to the truck.

Fatigue has been for real today. I wasn't able to get a shower until close to 9 pm. It was one of the quickest showers ever, barely long enough to get all of my skin wet. I never even managed to wash my face. But I quickly became unable to stand any longer, and was very shaky when I got out. I staggered, still-damp, jammies in my hand, to the bed, swatting the air around Athena, while three times she got in my way and slowed me down. I want to brush the film off my teeth, maybe reducing the metallic taste combining with the unpleasant way I interpreted the french fries. Think happy thoughts for me that it happens soon.

Slow

Inspirational song: I Want to Break Free (Queen)

The worst is probably over. That doesn't mean it's smooth sailing yet, but I crossed several major milestones today. I started by getting up again, stripping the sheets off of my bed, and then getting them all the way to the middle of the kitchen before the Mr informed me that Murray's laundry was sitting in the washer. I abandoned my heavy load (included the cotton blanket and the quilt), and went to sit in a chair with a glass of water and my iPad. I was in the chair much longer this time, for possibly over an hour, before I needed to lie back down. It felt like much longer than it was. I remembered looking at the clock (without my glasses on) and thinking it said it was nearly 1 pm. A few minutes later, I looked up to realize it was actually not quite 10:20, and I'd read the hands backwards. It made me so tired to realize it was still mid-morning. I needed a nap after that.

Without sheets, I still had a microfiber fleece blanket that really isn't the right weight for a day like this. It's too thick for the heat, and too short to cover both shoulders and feet when I get chilled. I still had some gastric upset, but I have progressed to the point where medications do me more good than ill. I'm incredibly disappointed in the anti-nausea meds, considering all day long I kept gagging and having horrible flashbacks when I remembered what they tasted like yesterday.

My two biggest victories were most welcome. I managed to take a bath, and this time I had the energy to put on deodorant afterwards. That was one of the greatest feelings of the whole month to date. Of course, right after, I crawled right back under my non-breathable fleece blankie, so I have to temper my joy. And then, after the Mr finally made it home with a loaf of gluten-free bread, I got to have toast. We don't own a toaster anymore, so he made it on a cookie sheet under the broiler, and burnt the first two pieces. He remade it, and brought the whole collection to me. I ate everything but the most burnt parts. My stomach immediately rebelled, but for several hours, it has stayed down. I'm not willing to try any more food yet, but it was so wonderful to be able to put something in my mouth that didn't cause the bitter sensation on the sides of my tongue.

I'm having a lot of generalized and very specific pain. I gave in over the last hour and took something to address it, and now I'm waiting. If my headache wanes, I'll know it's working. If it helps numb my hips that are angry at how much time I've spent lying down, then it's a miracle.

Fast

Inspirational song: Hungry Like the Wolf (Duran Duran)

I really wanted to eat today. At the same time, I really did not want to eat today. I thought about food most of the day. I pretended I could eat gluten free toast and butter, if I had had any in the house. Mr S-P looked for some I could handle at Costco, but they had ingredients I couldn’t digest, even on a good day. It was for the best. I would have regretted it too much had I tried. As it was, I had half of a ginger ale and half a snack cup of applesauce, and I’m now in a fresh level of hell.

It’s possible my fresh hell is that oat flour peppermint I put in my mouth for less than ten seconds on Tuesday. I knew it would cause me problems, and then I promptly forgot about it until this afternoon. The pain and distress came at a very bad time for me. I don’t think I’m as dehydrated as the first cycle, and I definitely didn’t lose as much weight all at once, but I’m still in the process of concentrating myself a bit.

The Mr sent a photo of his cart at Costco, as commentary, and I noticed he had bought a new pack of gluten free pizzas. That made me want to try some when he got home. I’m glad I never asked him to make one. The ginger ale and applesauce coated the sides of my tongue in angry bitterness, and it just made me sad. I would say I have consumed roughly 100 calories between Thursday night and Sunday night. The anti-nausea meds didn’t help in the least. The second prescription they gave me was a melt in the mouth kind, and it had aspartame in it. So nasty, it made the nausea worse. I may have to admit defeat, and just suffer through the next eight weeks on my own. I can’t see what other options I have.

No picture. It would involve too much that I’m not up for tonight.

Small Goals

Inspirational song: Stink Foot (Frank Zappa)

For a day that seemed like all goals were too lofty, too insurmountable, I appear to have crested a few of them. I’m still not dancing around like I feel good or anything, but I hit two key milestones today. I’m proud of that.

I started my day hopeful. I got up and sat in my chair. I allowed the thought of coffee to flit through my mind, but I quickly dismissed it. I tried to sit there for about ten or fifteen minutes, until all the bad feelings came rushing back, and I gave up and crawled back in bed. I spent the entire rest of the day there (here).

My biggest pie in the sky goal was to wash my bedding and my body. These things desperately need to be done. I couldn’t stand up long enough to strip the bed, and by mid-afternoon I had accepted defeat on that. I kept telling myself that a bath would be super helpful. It wasn’t until almost 7:30 that I finally found the fortitude to rinse off quickly, for the first time since Thursday morning. I’m probably only slightly less stinky, for how brief my shower was, but it’s still slightly more sanitary, for which I am grateful. I crawled back into dirty sheets, but I’m not complaining.

My mouth tastes awful. No matter how much I sip water, or how often I brush my teeth, it stays awful. It makes eating impossible. It took me five or six hours of building myself up to try to eat a single spoonful of vanilla ice cream, and now I’m in the process of keeping it down. I won’t declare victory unless it stays down to tomorrow,

I know eventually I will eat. At some point, food will even start to taste good again. It would be nice if I were interested in food in time to make green chile with the bountiful harvest of tomatillos that is on its way. The Mr sent me a picture of the first good one today. I can’t wait.

Dark Room

Inspirational song: White Room (Cream)

The words are all a-jumble in my head. I could probably write something eloquent, if I were to apply myself. I don’t want to. I’ve stayed in bed all day, other than the expected side trips to the bathroom. I’ve thrown up twice in the last twenty four hours, and I am feeling like a big baby about it. So far my fever is minimal, but I think that’s because my Neulasta deployed on time this cycle. For being not as bad as last time, it’s still bad enough. I had to take something for pain, for a combination of headache and weird stabby pains in my jaw and gums. I had the fortitude to watch some of the Star Wars marathon this afternoon, but now that I’m feeling bad again, I’m kind of okay with the storm that is rolling over, interrupting my satellite tv signal. I’m going to enjoy the silence from the tv, the rumble from the storm, and the fatigue that will allow me to snooze off and on through tomorrow. Until the next report, adieu.