Chopped Off

Inspirational song: 13 Days (John Wesley)

Still no word on whether chemo has been approved by my insurance. I don't understand why this is taking longer than every other procedure I have ever had done, including a giant surgery for which I spent six days in the hospital, and never saw the bill. (There was a good reason I insisted that if I had to have diverticulitis surgery, it was going to be while the Mr was still on active duty. There were six digits worth of good reasons.) Yesterday I didn't want to call and poke around in the process to investigate why it was moving so slowly. Today I'm getting nervous, not only that they won't approve chemo, but that they will come back and tell me this port I'm already wearing inside my skin wasn't cleared properly, and I'll see a bill for 30 grand. I get anxious pretty easily, especially when there is radio silence. I can imagine too many things, from disapproval to people on one side or the other of this equation setting my request aside and forgetting to pick it back up again. And now I have to wait the whole weekend for my next chance to sit by the phone.

I know it's coming sooner or later. I'm just very frustrated by the lack of information. I am going forward with my preparations, knowing that it will eventually start. To that end, I invited my daughter over this afternoon, and handed her a pair of scissors. My instructions were to give me a shoulder-length bob. Just like the last time I let her at me, to cut off the purple and green on the bottom of my long hair, she got a little over-eager. It's still a bob, but it's barely at chin level. I need to play with it, like wash it and put a curling product in it, to decide how much I like it this short. Not that it really matters. Unless something shocking happens, like them telling me they won't let me have chemo, it's all going to fall out anyway. I expect some time before 4th of July to post pictures of me having a family member shave me bald. That is, I assume I'll post those pictures. It might depend on how the rest of me is looking about then, like if my face swells up or my skin gets a little too white and/or green.

I shopped for a few of the comfort items for my bag after my haircut. I had limited energy, so I only went to King Soopers. Thus, I didn't find everything I needed, or have been advised that I will need. I was surprised at how much trouble I had finding what I wanted. I did find a sleep mask and spongy ear plugs (both pink, because duh), which surprised me. But I struggled with simple things like moisturizing mouth rinse and sanitizing wet wipes. I probably just didn't know where to look for some of the things. For example, I crossed the store multiple times, struggling to figure out where applesauce cups were kept. I rarely go down the cereal aisle (I don't even like walking past sealed boxes of oatmeal, for fear of setting off my food sensitivities), so I had no idea that that's where my local King Soopers shelves applesauce. It made no sense to me, but I grabbed a couple packs of cups and moved on. Also, apparently they stopped stocking the old-people candies I bought a month ago, like the Brach's lemon drops. I'll look elsewhere for lemon and ginger candies, that should help me when chemo literally leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

Making a List

Inspirational song:  Linger (The Cranberries)

You may be wondering, as was I, why I haven't received a chemo schedule and shared it yet. I was too miserable yesterday to call the cancer center and ask for an update. I did that this morning, and was told that my insurance has not yet said yea or nay. I'm going to tell myself it was just because this was a big holiday weekend, and people must have been letting paperwork linger on their desks while they planned their cookouts. Usually Tricare works quickly, but this one is taking a while. I asked the person from the cancer center whether I needed to call and nudge them along, or get this as a fresh referral from my primary care, like just about everything else I ever do through Tricare, but she said no, that actually makes things slow down when the patients get involved. I am glad I asked, because for one thing, I don't want it to take longer, and for another, I really didn't want to have to make the phone call (my least favorite adult responsibility, talking on the phone).

Once my insurance does allow treatment (geez, I hope soon, since I went and got the stupid port...), it should all start quickly. If approval comes back tomorrow, I will be in a chemo class by the beginning of next week. Infusions will start not long after, but I don't have an estimate of how soon is soon. I spent a solid hour this evening starting to make plans. I have been skimming through Pinterest to find what most people say they needed in their chemo bags, and tonight I made an exhaustive list. I will definitely need the giant beach bag I bought last year to carry it all. I could have predicted all the usual stuff--socks, blankets, snacks, and iPad. I am glad I did my research to know that people needed and relied on remedies like dry mouth rinse, hard candies, sleep masks, and lidocaine cream (ahead of time for the port site). I also didn't think about cash, in small bills, for vending machines.

I'll do a little shopping for comfort items, but most of this I already own. Heck, this might be an excuse to go through the hoard of hand lotions I've collected over the last two decades, enough to last me through the end of the world. I have no end to scarves, notebooks, pens, and crochet supplies to keep me warm and entertained. I might have to go purchase a set of headphones for the iPad, and fresh charging cords for that and my phone (they never last, especially when cats always knock them to the floor when they're plugged in).

For any of you who have gone through chemo, are there one or two things that you never could have made it through treatment without, and just as importantly, something you wish you hadn't bought or lugged to and from the infusion room with you? Also, while on my first outing since the port placement, I got myself a new scoop-necked t-shirt from Costco, assuming it would allow port access. As I carried the pretty periwinkle shirt to my dressing room, I wondered, is chemo messy? Do the drugs stain if they drip on your clothes, or do you tend to bleed at the puncture site? Should I wear cute new clothes that make me feel nice, or do I wear some of the dozens of cheap t-shirts I get from Target every year, the ones I go through like Kleenex, because I always manage to drop something greasy right in the middle of them, ruining them for use outside my garden?

Initial Assessment

Inspirational song: Bittersweet Symphony (The Verve)

I hate it. So far, after 36 hours, I fervently dislike the sensation of a catheter looped over my clavicle, knowing that it's tugging on my jugular with every slight motion. I'm terrified of raising my arms, or standing quickly--hell, I'm afraid to death of standing slowly. Sleep last night was difficult. I had only barely regained the ability to sleep on my left side. Now with the port, left side sleep is backsliding, and right side is right out. I obviously can't and won't sleep on my stomach, and too long flat on my back causes my legs to spasm. I'm going to have to sleep like a horse, on my feet. By 5:15 this morning, I was done sleeping anyway. I got up to go to the bathroom, and ended up digging out the tight Velcro bra they put on me after surgery, and wrapped it over the t-shirt I was sleeping in. It afforded me another 20 minutes' worth of sleep, spread out over the next two and half hours, at best.

I spent the entire day wrapped up in blankets, hating life. I had to talk to one of my best sources of information on cancer, and chemo ports specifically, to find out how long it takes to heal and stop feeling icky. I was told it took about two or three weeks to stop being irritating. Yuck. This means I'm not going to be participating in a whole lot of activity until well into June at this rate.

I discovered a YouTuber who has been a compelling guide through hair loss, mouth problems, makeup on a face with no brows or lashes, and ports. (I found her when I googled Power Ports.) I'm only making mental notes so far. I need to start writing some of this stuff down, especially the products to bring in my chemo bag. I thought I'd take the little roller-bag suitcase I have around here somewhere, but to pack a good plush blanket as well, I might want to upgrade to one of my big beach bags. I wish they had wheels.

I didn't feel up to much in the way of pictures today. Here's one from a couple of days ago, of one of the squirrels actively domesticating themselves on the altar of walnut-festooned back stairs. No matter what they think, they are not coming in this house. I can't handle the chaos that would ensue, and I'm definitely not going to be grabbing cats and squirrels away from each other while sporting a tube in my jugular. Nope.

Collect Them All

Inspirational song: Me of Me (Shock Treatment)

They know. They meowing know. I arrived home shortly after lunch, and I have not had a moment without a pile of cats smothering me with love every since. I appreciate the attention and the sentiment. Less so the logistics of finding a comfortable position to maintain for far too long underneath one to three overly warm bodies draped heavily across me. In fact, at this very moment, I am experiencing that shockingly rare trick of touching all five cats at one time. (Athena under my left arm, Rabbit on my thighs, Harvey on my ankles, Alfred on my left against my knee, Jackie on my right against my ankle, while I am reclined on my bed. Rare, but also so uncomfortably warm...)

They are right, I do need extra attention today, but I'd prefer it from a biped with opposable thumbs. The chemotherapy port went in this morning, and I was not prepared for how it would feel. I should have done more research ahead of it. The best I did was hear from two people who have gone through it, and said it made life much easier. I didn't ask anyone about how it feels as the lidocaine wears off, and one goes back to moving against gravity. Let's just say that they put it in with me lying down, this large acorn sized device and catheter that drapes over the top of my clavicle. They didn't warn me that as soon as gravity started pulling down on the one remaining intact breast that it would tug me over and make me this uncomfortable. Whenever I walk, I hunch over, holding up that side so I can't feel it pull so badly. I'm actually really distressed by this, and I've spent about four hours reclining on my bed so that there's no more tugging. I'm praying that it's just the insult of having the implant, and that it will heal quickly and completely. I'm scared that's not the whole impact of this procedure.

The nurses and doctor who took care of me today were genuinely wonderful people. I liked having their company, and not just because they made a point of doing everything they could to make me comfortable through the process. The nurse we saw the most kept stopping me when I'd apologize for asking for too much by insisting that it was the All About Me day. Still, getting my IV was awful (I was a bleeder today). I had to wait more than an hour for the antibiotics to infuse, because I'm allergic to so many and had to have one that requires a long delivery. In fact, they swapped the schedule, and rather than going back right after 8 am, I didn't get in until 10. But this was in my best interests, so I didn't complain. And for all I had hoped the Versed would have knocked me out, not even the combination of it and Benadryl was enough to make me lose consciousness. I was awake the whole time, underneath the drape that kept me from seeing a whole lot, but I was relaxed enough not to tense up while they cut and threaded and what-not.

I'm curious what it will look like as it heals. I'm more curious how much I'll get used to it once it does heal.

Duck

Inspirational song: You Give Love a Bad Name (Bon Jovi)

Most of the time, I'm completely at peace with this process, and I know it shows. I'm not worried about outcomes. I'm okay with the unpleasantries along the way. But every once in a while, right before a procedure, my nerves hit me. I'm visibly calm, but under the water, my little feet are paddling nervously. I have such a long, miserable history with IVs and needle sticks. I fare very poorly. Now that I'm about to get infusions on the regular, I have to get a port installed. It's not optional. Nothing will work right otherwise. But now that I'm less than 12 hours from the installation, I'm starting to freak out. It's a really good thing that they'll be saturating me with Versed when we start. I only hope that it calms me enough that I don't just chatter incessantly about dumb stuff. Not that I would know. I have zero memory of the lumpectomy, after I was set next to the operating table. For a port placement, I don't want to be alert, and I won't want to remember any of what happens.

I need to fall asleep soon. My show time is 7 am. Unfortunately, I can't take any sleep aids like I did last night, or I won't be out of bed in time. Picture me for the next four or five hours, staring at the ceiling, just like the lawn ornament I saw the other day, that I desperately want... (see photo)

Clarified

Inspirational song: The Meaning of Life (Monty Python)

Another day hijacked by the fish pond. It may finally be settled, however. Or is that "settling." We built an under-gravel filter, that we then pulled up to put sand underneath the gravel. We spent hours getting that all set, and then discovered that the flow on the pump was way too low. So we dug out the pond for a third time, second today, and put more holes in the PVC pipe system.We treated the water with barley pellets, put in about 20 gallons of fresh water, and washed algae off of the bigger rocks too. By the time we had returned the pumped-out water to the pond, resettled the rocks, and released the half-dozen additional fish, I was so tired, all I could do for half an hour was to stand at one end of the pond, staring at the water coming out of the filter hose, waiting for the pond to clear.

I'm not used to extended outside days. I'm finding it difficult to write, through pain and fatigue, and for having T over to visit over a backyard fire. I think it's a good night to rely on pictures to tell my story while I stare into the flames and wait for one thing or another to dull my pains.

Spoonless

Inspirational song: I Wanna Rock (Twisted Sister)

It all started with a dirty fish pond. We created an under gravel filter for it out of PVC pipe and weed barrier. I had to sew a wrap for the pipe filter out of the weed fabric. Once done, I stayed outside, watching the Mr slowly pour a bag of pea gravel down into the murky water, hoping that the fishes that I couldn't see were able to avoid falling rocks. After standing in the sun longer than I should have with no sunscreen or hat on, I finally put the tomatoes I bought weeks ago into the ground. The fence isn't around the new garden yet, since it's really only one bed at present. But with cages, it was moderately safe to put the tomatoes, tomatillos, and cucumbers in. Elsa most likely won't lie across them or eat them at this stage.

I wanted to hit the doorbuster sale at Michael's, to get mega packs of cheap canvases for even less money than usual. It's right across the street from the Massage Envy where my membership is, so I went ahead and froze the membership there while I'm unlikely to want to be worked on. (I expect with the port in, I won't want my shoulders or pecs massaged, and until the Biozorb coil dissolves in my breast, I won't want to lie face down on a massage table.) It could have been that easy, going to two businesses and then home. But no. I had to notice this morning that we were out of cat kibbles. And I knew it was a good idea to pick up more snails to eat algae in the pond. And as I prepared to leave the house, the Mr hit me with the death blow: "why don't you stop in and get some marigolds to go between the tomatoes?" That meant Lowe's without a chaperone.

All these stores, other than Massage Envy, were roughly in a row. I parked in front of the center one, and walked to the others on either side first. I went in circles at Lowe's, trying to find basic six packs of marigolds. I walked for half an hour, getting upset and tired and filling my cart as I went, before I asked a store employee, who told me they had been on sale last week and they sold out. In the meantime, I got rosemary, Anaheim and jalapeno peppers, lemon thyme, red white and "blue" petunias, and some new heavy duty tomato cages. At Michael's, I got three mega packs of medium sized canvases (8x12, 12x12, 11x14) for ten bucks each (go if you need them!), and a fresher tube of brown paint to replace the one that turned into putty. In between each store, I went back to my car to fill the trunk and to swap out shopping carts for the right ones for the different stores.

The trip to Petco was depressing. I got my cat food, and then stood around for 20 minutes waiting for the teenager ahead of me at the fish section to get everything she needed. I studied algae killers while I waited, but everything I saw warned not to let dogs or livestock consume any water treated with them. Eventually I got three new snails. Was considering getting another big goldfish or two, until I came around the corner and found that the tanks had been emptied, and the fish were in desperate shape. Some a-hole had poisoned the tanks for the feeder fish and the koi. There was a crystaline substance on the filters, and the water "stopped smelling like fish," according to the cashier I talked to. She said this wasn't the first time they had been sabotaged. People have poured soda in the betta cups, and they've done something like this to the goldfish before. They were all in two five-gallon buckets when I saw them, most of the big ones in the process of dying. I don't get people. Who on earth thinks that this is okay?

By the time I made it to the car for the final time, I had run myself completely out of spoons. Too much walking, too much lifting, too much bending over to dig, and way too much sun. I've been a worthless mess ever since sundown. I thought I'd be okay holding out my NSAID before the procedure on Tuesday, even though they told me I could keep taking it until tomorrow. I regret that. I had been feeling so much better after the surgery a month ago. Now I've run myself ragged, and I doubt I'll have much to offer the world tomorrow.

Pulling Away from the Station

Inspirational song: Watching the Wheels (John Lennon)

Once I gave the green light to chemo, which I was able to do even before I left the exam room yesterday, they didn't waste time getting going. The scheduling guru at the cancer center still had to run everything past my insurance, so I don't yet have a date for the chemo class, but then, this all fell at the beginning of the big kickoff weekend for summer, so I'm okay with him having a life outside of the clinic. If he doesn't get me set up until Tuesday afternoon, I'll understand.

Why did I choose afternoon just now? Because Tuesday morning is already spoken for. They called me right after I talked to the cancer center dude (on his direction) to arrange getting a port installed early that day. I have super crappy veins. I've known this since I was in my late teens. My veins are small, deep, and they roll away from needles. I also feel everything that goes in or out of them. IVs are particularly distressing to me, and they have been since I was 18 years old. So when the cancer nurse said that the chemo infusion drugs are known to irritate veins, I became very comfortable with my choice to have the port installed. I have done zero research into this beyond speaking with a family member who had one and hearing from a distant friend whose wife has been battling breast cancer for a few years now. These two people both praised the port as the best thing to make this process tolerable. I don't know for sure where it will go in. I assume they'll put it in my upper chest, but that's only because I had a roommate in college who had a central line there roughly three decades ago. The only part of it that I see as a negative is that I will be even more reluctant to lie on my stomach if I have this, meaning it would be best if I put a freeze on my Massage Envy membership while I go through this. Won't Slow Hand be surprised when I show up months from now, potentially still bald and less chubby.

It occurs to me that I gave the wrong impression about hair loss yesterday. I'm not afraid of it, and I'm actually looking forward to the opportunity to do a little advocacy. I appreciate that some people are distressed by the change in appearance, and that hair may represent their sense of identity or beauty that they aren't prepared to sacrifice. But I view it a little differently. I don't intend to feel ashamed or crushed by the potential loss of my hair. I don't hide what I'm going through. I'm honest and forthright about it, and I sort of enjoy being the embodiment of a teaching moment. People who aren't exposed to cancer or lupus or whatever else directly are welcome to ask me what it's like. Having a neon sign on my head, so to speak, is my way of giving them permission to ask. If I want to feel flirty or whatever, I'll go buy a shiny, obviously-fake lilac wig, to wear for fun. Otherwise, I have plenty of colorful scarves and ball caps with the CU Buffs logo on them to keep me safe from the sun.

While I was down here making arrangements for the next steps in my treatment and driving my daughter and her cat to the vet, the Mr went up to the mountains on a gorgeous day to plow the snow off the neighbor's road, so that his (the neighbor's) guests can get to his cabin without him. He sent back lovely photos of how it looks up there. I had really counted on being able to go up and finish our cabin build this summer, once the snow melts. Now I will be lucky to get up there by Labor Day, if my chemo has ended by then. I doubt I'll have much energy to climb the hill otherwise. I'll have to be satisfied watching him and T building the cabin from afar.

High Risk

Inspirational song: A Night on Bald Mountain (Modest Mussorgsky)

Genetic testing results came in today. As it was explained to me, these are tests on the tumor itself, and not necessarily on my ancestry, to evaluate risk. I really didn't know what to expect. Of course I imagined that it could go poorly, and I imagined that they could say, "All good. Radiation and then you're done forever." I honestly expected the latter. Turns out no, it was the former. Not only was I high risk for a recurrence of cancer, but I was solidly high risk. No fence-straddling here. On a range of plus one (low risk) to minus one (high risk), I was approaching minus point six. Bottom line is that my very specific, advanced-test results say clearly that chemotherapy would be of great benefit to me.

While I sat in the exam room, waiting between seeing the tech and seeing the oncologist, I took time to reflect. Waiting for the biopsy and then the lumpectomy felt like an agonizingly long time. But now that I'm this far, it seems like this has happened too quickly for me to have adjusted to my new reality. It still feels like it's happening to someone else, like I'm watching a movie with a character I'm deeply invested in, but it isn't me. I try to use the words cancer and tumor (and all the other related terms) as often as I can, not to elicit sympathy, but to make it seem real and relatable. I still get a little impostor syndrome over it.

Once they pre-approve everything with my insurance, this will go quickly. I'll have a chemo class that the Mr (and maybe our daughter) will go through, so we know what to expect. Then the surgeon who did my lumpectomy will put in a port (I understand this will be under anaesthesia -- whew!), to compensate for my horrible little veins. When the oncologist told me it was "only three rounds," I don't know whether that means three total infusions, or three weeks of them spread out over months, or what. She probably said it clearly, but I was taking in a lot of information all at once. It got lost in translation. This is what the class is for, right?

We discussed side effects this afternoon. I may look forward to my lupus symptoms calming a bit while I'm on chemo. It's one of the advanced treatments for autoimmune disease that is resistant to other medications, so it's common for people like me to feel better on chemo. Also, it's possible that I'll lose some weight. Granted, it will be because I'll feel nauseated all the time, and not want to eat. It's a risk I'm willing to take. And lastly, we talked about hair loss. I'll be on infusions of chemo and on long-term pills that will both cause hair loss in most people. I have a friend on just the pills who hates how thin her hair is now. The doc said if I wear their high-tech cooling cap during infusions, I'll probably keep my hair. But she also said insurance doesn't cover it, and it costs two grand. Bald it is! I'm going to learn to wrap scarves around my head like the best of them. It'll be an interesting look. I promise, I'll take a few selfies so you can see.

Tipped

Inspirational song: Bark at the Moon (Ozzy Osbourne)

Crap, crap, crap! Y'all, nothing is going right, all of a sudden! It was such a pleasant day, too, until the last half hour. It was cool and rainy, and I didn't try to do too much, until the very end.

I put together a couple of paintings, trying a third time on the little 5x7 canvas, with a selective swipe method that I had watched my favorite pourer do online yesterday. It looked okay, and I set it on the most level surface I could find to dry: the floor. I then made another one, on a bigger canvas, with all the colors I had left. I tore up a card that came in the mail, and swiped in from the edges into the center. Made a bit of a muddy mess in the very middle, but was still bright with some good movement around it. I have something to work with here. Then I closed off the craft room and we finally went to see Endgame.

We got home in time to eat dinner before heading next door for D&D. The gang has started singing, "This is the game that never ends" in relation to this campaign. We have been in the "final" location for months. Some nights we literally don't move 70 feet. We had two encounters, and my character did what she thought was clever, that made things a little difficult at first. But then a magic user (our chaotic druid "Sally of the Fields") summoned a pack of wolves, and they pulled the floating monster down through the whirling cloud of daggers I had placed around it, and the battle ended. I was glad it wrapped up so suddenly. Five minutes earlier I had remembered that tomorrow is three medical appointments, the first being meeting my new primary care doctor for the very first time, and I never filled out the new patient paperwork I had brought home more than a week ago. I needed to bang out this post and then devote the waning hours of the night to that paperwork.

When I got home from the game, I found that my craft room door was open. Some naughty cat had pushed it open and gone exploring. I found the little canvas knocked off of the supports it was on, sideways on the grocery bag where I left it, with all of the paint run off of one side. I can't freaking win with this one! Tomorrow I'll scrub it down a little better, but for now I just left it on the drip tub to dry. I'm so mad.

I want tomorrow to go much better. New doc scares me a bit. But I can do this. I have to. I need a referral to the radiation oncologist, and it has to come from her. In the afternoon, I see the physical therapist again, and I can show off how much more normal my range of motion is compared to last Friday when I met her the first time. And then the really bit visit, the oncologist who will have the results of my Mammoprint. This should tell me whether chemotherapy will be of value, or not needed at all to keep the wolves at bay.

Before swiping.

Where I stopped and set it over a grocery bag to dry.

Colorburst with every bit of paint I had mixed up in the last three days.

How I found the little one at the end of the night. Crap.

Okay, Look...

Inspirational song: Can You Picture That (Dr Teeth and the Electric Mayhem)

It happens every day, without fail. Someone picks on Rabbit, because she's old and not interested in being the alpha of the Pride. Somebody chases her across the house at least twice a day. She's feeling much better than she did over the weekend, but she's agitated all the time. We decided to give her a couple more days before we took her back in for a follow-up, now that the swelling in her face has gone down and she's eating so well. But her eyes are still dilated, so we pay very close attention to her every twitch, to make sure she's still progressing favorably. She spends all day making meaningful eye contact with me, like she is right now. She's so focused on me, she doesn't notice the Murder Floof who glares at her jealously all the time. Some times I'm afraid to pet Rabbit, for fear of the inevitable lunge from Athena, who can't stand the idea of sharing my love with anyone, especially that old cat standing in her way.

We had our group photo at Rotary today. It's been a while since being in a crowd made me agitated, but it sure did today. I was surrounded, standing basically in the exact center of the crowd, after we had carefully sorted ourselves based on height. I wanted to lean, cross my arms, tilt my hips sideways, or just sit down. But I couldn't, for the half hour that it took to get us lined up and posed, and to take about 15 shots so we had the best chance possible for everyone to have their eyes open and to be looking in the right spot.

After Rotary, I met the family at a coffee shop, to catch up with one of our best old friends who used to live in town, who moved away months before we got here in 2015. We had a wonderful visit. From what I understood her to be saying, she's in a good space emotionally and physically. While we were talking, I looked out the window of the coffee shop, and I swear I saw Stan Lee getting out of a car that had just pulled up. I know what you're thinking. Stan Lee is no longer alive. Well, look at the pictures, and you tell me who you think that is.

While I was making dinner, the Mr read something off the internet (yes, dubious source that I did not verify) that the Aurora Borealis might be visible as far south as my northern Colorado community over the next week. That would be fun, I said, but we are in such an extended cloudy and cold period that we wouldn't be able to see it anyway. As if to punctuate my assertion, as he drove off to his side gig, he texted back to me that it was snowing again. I haven't built up the nerve to look out the window to see whether he was right. I'll just take his word for it.

Keep Trying

Inspirational song: Psycho Killer (Talking Heads)

Seriously? Snow? Down here? Sure, it didn't seem so out of bounds for there to be fresh snow up at altitude. It's obviously a cooler, wetter spring than the one we had last year. I could even accept that Boulder was going to see a few flakes, being smushed right up to the mountains. But way out here, on the eastern edge of the county? I didn't believe it would happen. I thought Weather Channel was pulling my leg. Yet when I looked outside, right before bed, my car and my lawn were covered in white. My trees are bent way over, but I'm not going outside to shake them off. I'm done for the night.

We ran around a little today. I tagged along when the Mr needed to go price out materials for a fence at Lowe's, so I could buy Floetrol and Elmer's Glue-All in gallon sizes. If I'm going to keep doing this painting stuff (hint: I am), they had the best prices and the biggest quantities. I'm kinda done with Wal-Mart not having what I need. We had to run to Boulder, and stopped at the best pho place in the county, satisfying the craving I've been trying to fight for days. And we tried to pick up barley products for our cloudy fish pond, but the expert on site at the plant nursery talked us into upgrading the filter setup first. (Now we plan to put a home-built under gravel filter in it. How long will that take to accomplish?)

I closed out my day thinking I was ready to step up from illustration board to canvas. I started on a tiny 5x7 canvas that I had floating around for years, so if I made mistakes, I wasn't wasting a big one. Yeah, I made mistakes. Lots of them. My new pouring medium mixture was too thin, for one. The first attempt with highlighter colors was almost completely green, and the cells exploded and the paint ran right off into the tray. So I scraped it all off and tried again. This time the paint came out really well, but as I was picking it up to move it to a drying rack, it slipped and I stuck my thumb in it when I caught it. I scraped it again, and set it aside to dry off. I switched instead to a black canvas with primary colors in a swipe. I messed up badly the first time on that too, and scraped for a third time. I tried a different method, and told myself if it didn't work this time, I would just walk away. I came up with something I like, mostly. I might paint a figure on it after the swiped cells dry. Now I am hoping that it is level enough not to slide off the canvas into the tray while I sleep.

If I'd have believed it would snow, I probably wouldn't have left geraniums on the porch.

Best pho around. Best.

Things that look like faces #24150: the drip catcher from the first few paintings.

Attempt 1: paints too thin, cells broke, paint just slid right off the canvas.

Attempt 2: I liked it, but it was still a little thin, and I dropped it and wrecked it. Scraped and mourned.

After a mistake on the black canvas, I tried again, this time pouring puddles onto a base coat, then swiping out from the center.

Older daughter says it looks like a prog rock band's album cover. She's not wrong.

I feel like I see two sinister faces in profile, looking left.

I didn't believe it would snow, but yet, here it is.

Not Today

Inspirational song: The Song Is Over (The Who)

It's raining to beat the band out there. It waited to really come down until we had walked home from watching the Game of Thrones finale with T and his girlfriend. Since then it has poured. So glad the Mr found a minute to mow the front yard this afternoon. I don't imagine it will be possible again for several days. Last year was so ridiculously dry we started worrying about the long term health of our mountain home. This year the snow pack maps that track water storage in the various drainage regions of the state are completely opposite to last year. Where in 2018, the southern mountains were at zero percent of water availability by June or July, so far this year those same places are showing 200% and more snow pack. Up north where we are was around 110-120% the last time I looked, more than a week ago. We're in an extended rainy period, so we should be even better off. At this rate, we will be looking at mud slides in the southern mountains, and testing of the flood mitigation done since 2013 up here. It's still coming down as snow at higher elevations. They showed a photo of the Trail Ridge Road visitors' center in Rocky Mountain National Park a few days ago. Or rather, they showed a glimpse of rooftops in snow up to the eaves. We won't be going up there for Memorial Day, that's for sure.

I'm still quite mellow and contemplative since Game of Thrones ended. I drank a bold, red wine, as was appropriate, for the finale. Now I'm quiet and sleepy, and not sure how to feel about it all. I consider myself lucky that I didn't have HBO until two years ago, so I didn't expend almost a decade of my life caring about this. I binged on it starting in 2017, and finished up with all of the hardcore fans tonight. As always, I will keep spoilers out of my blog. I will say that I did not expect most of what happened tonight. There was only one bit I saw coming, and I wasn't sure it would happen until about four seconds before it did. Some of it was so out of left field I could barely stand it. I'm not alone.

Rabbit had an exceedingly restless night last night. It stressed everyone out, especially me and her. She kept jumping up and pacing, going from my hip to my bedside table to the floor just inside my closet door, over and over and over and over... She didn't sleep, so I didn't sleep. Somewhere around 3 or 4 this morning, I remembered that we had a liquid pain medication left over from when Alfred got kidney stones that blocked his plumbing. As soon as I had a mouthful of coffee or two this morning, I dug it out, and gave her a dose slightly less than 40% of what Alfred was prescribed. Within half an hour, she was much calmer. Enough to attempt to eat several times today, but her sense of smell appears to be lacking. She keeps asking for regular food, and refusing to eat it once it's by her face. She has taken a few squeezes from the tube of vitamin paste, but because she is frantically rubbing her face against things to make the infection stop bothering her, she sometimes rubs the paste on her face too. We are counting the minutes until the vet clinic reopens, so we can get a follow-up visit, and maybe more antibiotics, if they agree. I do feel like we turned a corner today, though. Saturday I feared this was going to be the end of Rabbit. Tonight I have hope that she just might make it. I'll do everything I possibly can to ensure she stays with me.

It feels like I'm swimming upstream right now, so I think the best photo is one I took late last week. I was in line to go through the car wash, and I noticed the evergreen bush that had sprouted for spring. It looked like an entire bush full of hands giving the middle finger. I didn't get a great picture, whipping out my camera for one brief flash before I had to continue around the loop to enter the car wash tunnel. Still, it encapsulates my mood. The Dancing Master Syrio Forel: What do we say to the god of death? Arya Stark: Not today.

Working Through the Stress

Inspirational song: Dear Friend (Fish)

One of my besties is moving two states away. She's only going to be around here for a few more weeks, and then the whole family is going to a smaller city in the Black Hills. We haven't been able to hang out nearly as often as I had hoped when I first moved back to Colorado. While she was in the next county over, it wasn't so bad, but they had moved farther south a couple of years ago, right around the time I stopped enjoying driving more than about fifteen minutes to anywhere. We have been trying to get some quality time together before the big move. Today she and her husband came up for a visit, and she and I went for one last lunch at our favorite French cafe. It will be sad not having them close anymore, but I am looking forward to visiting South Dakota in the near future. I've never been to Mount Rushmore. I want to see the buffalo roundup at Custer State Park. And I remember the Norwegian wooden church in Rapid City that we toured years ago when we were moving from North Dakota to California, and I'd like to see it again. The one thing I have zero interest in: Sturgis. At least during the rally week. I don't want to experience that traffic on the roads between here and there. I don't even like riding on the interstate between home and Costco when everyone in the region is driving up I-25 to Sturgis. Any other week, and I will be happy to go visit my BFF up north.

The shot they gave Rabbit for pain has obviously worn off. Yesterday she was lethargic and the antibiotic had done nothing for her. Today she seems to still be in pain, but she's being a trooper about it. It's breaking my heart, and it's stressing me out beyond bearing waiting for the infection to abate. Her pupils are completely dilated, and she rubs her face on stuff, wanting to make it stop hurting. But she's at least moving around, and trying to drink some water. I have convinced her to eat the vitamin paste she likes (when she can smell and taste it) a couple of times. I'll be happy when she can get real food down. Sunday will be a challenge, keeping her as comfortable as possible until the vet opens up Monday morning, and we can ask for a booster to the antibiotics (if they'll give it).

I blew off steam after my friend left by doing some more painting. It's all still practice, but I think I've made enough progress to give up on the cheap illustration boards. They warp every time. The small ones curl in and the paint puddles in the middle, crunching up the neat designs. The bigger ones arched and dumped paint off of one corner, on both of the boards I made. There was a great sale on canvases at Michael's this weekend, plus a coupon that took off a little more. I picked up four new canvases begging me to woman up and do this for real. I need more pouring medium (Elmers glue and Floetrol), and I'm off to the races.

Nana Rabbit

Inspirational song: Best Love (Steep Canyon Rangers ft. Paul McCartney)

Rabbit didn't eat dinner yesterday. She had to be pulled out of my closet for breakfast, which she barely touched. She had been a little mopey this week, but this was new. Once we got a good look at her, her jaw was noticeably swollen and she didn't want to be held or messed with at all. She ran back into the closet at the soonest opportunity. It was a very long wait for the vet clinic to start answering their phones this morning. It wasn't until after 9 that the Mr finally got through and made her an appointment.

I couldn't wait all the way until 2:30 for them to see her. I called just after noon, to see whether they could get her in quicker, and they said yes, come in the next 10 minutes. Luckily, the vet is five or six blocks from the house, so I was on it.

The last time I took her to the vet, back in February or March, we had concerns about her teeth, as well as how much weight she has lost. They checked her thyroid, which was fine, but the doc was not happy with the galloping arrhythmia she detected. She wouldn't give her an under-anaesthesia dental cleaning with her heart like that. I didn't say anything to the vet at the time, but I knew then that my own health issues were going to suck all the air out of the room for a while, which they did. I'm finally feeling like my normal self, just in time to have to rush Rabbit back to see her, and this time I explained why I wasn't able to detect any further dental decay in my cat until this morning. Thankfully she didn't judge me harshly.

The doc still won't put Rabbit under to extract a tooth. Not that she could see clearly over the swelling and Rabbit's absolute refusal to let her open her mouth wide enough to see in there. It's obviously incredibly painful for her. The only solution the doctor would offer short of us going to a specialty clinic for a heart ultrasound (which I can't afford while going through cancer treatment myself) is "pulse antibiotics." She got an injectable antibiotic and a pain killer today, and we can see next week whether it was enough to knock down the infection and get a good view of the mouth. We may have to do periodic rounds of antibiotics like this to control a recurring infection, but putting her under for an extraction will be extremely risky.

At this point, the risks are high either way. If she can't eat, which she declined to do tonight again, she'll waste away and die. If the infection gets too severe, it can kill her. If we put her under, to take out the tooth, we may solve the problem, or it might cause her heart to stop. There aren't a lot of good options. This is going to be a rough weekend, worrying about the love of my life. I have to hope that the antibiotics start to work over the next six or eight hours, and reduce her pain. I can't stand that she's hurting.

Picture from a happier day.

Balm

Inspirational song: Man on the Moon (R.E.M.)

Knowing what I now know, I must re-evaluate the fairy tale Rapunzel. I must assert that it's a cautionary tale from a gardener's perspective. As I learned recently, rapunzel is the old German name for the creeping bellflower that is taking over my front flower bed. It's also the leafy green that Rapunzel's mother craved during pregnancy in the original tale. Knowing how invasive it is, how hard it is to make it stop growing, I now believe that the girl in the tower with the unstoppable hair is a metaphor for that damnable weed. I might be persuaded that the evil witch is actually trying to quarantine the invasive plant, and maybe she's not the bad guy after all. I haven't quite worked out all the details on the rest of the symbolism, but I think I'm on to something here.

I did almost no gardening last year, while every single calorie of energy I had to spend was burned up climbing the mountain to build the cabin. It was with great pleasure that I went out today to pull weeds and trim back a lavender bush that had mostly died on top. I went out twice, first to sit near the lavender and clear a large cookie-sheet-sized area of rapunzel and dandelion. It took half an hour to clear just that much. I took a break, and then went back and gave a little love to the Unless garden. The problem there was lemon balm. Who would have thought, planting a member of the invasive mint family in a soft flower bed would be a problem? (Answer: I should have but didn't.) This time I devoted about an hour to cleaning up a one foot by four foot span. The upside was it smelled fantastic, pulling out mounds of lemon balm. I uncovered the hen and chicks that was completely obscured, a nandina that is struggling mightily to survive, and something that sort of looks like another lavender (but not quite--I'll have to watch this to see what it actually is). There was grass scattered throughout too, especially hiding in the Stella d'Oro daylilies. The good news is I don't appear to be suffering for spending that much time on the ground (usually that makes me ache uncontrollably for days). After falling so far behind last year, there is a ton to be done down here at the Park. We won't be able to access the cabin until the end of June at least, so I have time to devote to tending my gardens.

Tomorrow is my first post-surgery physical therapy appointment. I'm looking forward to it. I was cleared by the surgeon to resume activity as I felt like it was appropriate, but this will be the chance to really test my range of motion in a controlled environment, with a professional who can tell me when to stop and when to keep pushing myself. She can also help me discover what's possible and what's unlikely to improve with my new body. I am finding that the dissolving coil that was put in place of the tumor, to mark where the radiation should go, is not the most comfortable of implants. I hope she can teach me how to manage the scar tissue building around it that seems to be growing like a weed inside of me.