...Lace Up Your Gloves...

Ok, maybe not. Add to that the fact that typically autographs are worth more once the signer has left this earth, and I'm perfectly content to have my signature worth no more than the paper it's signed on.

However... we did make the news again! Cori from the Ahwatukee Foothills News did a very nice piece on us - except for the fact that we were married in New Mexico, and not in California... maybe she had beachfront property on her mind. In any case - whoot- there it is.

Race for the Cure was this past Sunday. All things considered, it wasn't a bad race. Honestly, I wasn't feeling great. I couldn't get my breathing right, and my leg was really aching for some reason - probably psychosomatic race nerves - and I wasn't feeling nearly as strong as I would have hoped. However, let's get to the "all things considered" part. According to Greg's Garmin, the time was 24:36. Not my favorite, yet a bit faster than last year, and not too shabby when you factor in 11 weeks of chemo. Besides, I've been instructed (and rightfully so) that this is the one day that I can't complain about my time.

Another year of nerves, jitters, dreams, expectations behind us... on to the half-marathon.

P.S. I know I've been remiss at posting photos for the "As the Hair Grows" serial. This week for sure... it's gettin' fuzzy up there.

Well, maybe not tomorrow, but soon enough, it seems. I've decided that I'm going to start a series entitled, "As the Hair Grows" with weekly photos to document the progress. It's growing, I tell you. And strangely enough, it's not coming in patchy either. Granted, in the meanwhile was told, hopefully in jest, that I apparently bear a vague resemblance to Steve Van Zandt when I am wearing a bandana. Truth be told, the Silvio Dante isn't exactly my favorite look, but it's amazing what a little makeup can do, huh? Then again, that's not really the point of this entry now, is it?

So, another treatment behind us, and thank GOD for that. Not my favorite, yesterday's round, as I once again had the privilege of doubling as a human pincushion. Eight. Eight freakin' sticks until they finally found a vein that wanted to cooperate. Apparently I had been stressed out (apparently when someone comes at you repeatedly with a needle that won't get a good blood return, that tends to happen) and my vein valves were closing. Or seizing. Or something. The end result being a smattering of bruises, a few puncture wounds, and the nurses telling me not to drink water for a bit lest I shower the rest of the chemo room with it spurting out my punctures. Pleasant, no? It was waaaaaaay too quiet in there yesterday. I don't like it when it's that quiet, and this time, I wasn't exactly doing much to add to the levity. I guess we can't have every week be the best of all. The good news? It's another day, I'm feeling fine, and will warm up my arm and think more pleasant thoughts next week. Honestly, I think it works better in the morning. Yesterday's appointment was in the afternoon, and there's just too much time in the morning to idle. Not that any of yesterday morning was spent idling. The Ahwatukee Foothills News sent their Health and Education reporter to do a story on us which will appear in the October 17th edition. Don't worry, we'll get lots of copies. I'm pretty sure there will be a link online, too. The fame and (mis)fortune continues...

Thankfully, I slept pretty well last night. I remember waking up around 1 a.m. and dragging myself to the bathroom, eyes barely open. I crawled back in bed and mumbled, "I'm SOOOOOOOOO sleepy...". I guess the glass of wine helped, coupled with the fact that I tend not to sleep well on Tuesday nights. The falling asleep part is usually fairly simple, but I take the dexamethazone pre-meds on Tuesdays and if I happen to wake up in the middle of the night, which I inevitably do, thanks to my Ship of the Desert quest the day before treatment, I'm up for a while.

Anyhow, last night I was only up for a little while - maybe 1/2 an hour, which is quite bearable in the grand scheme of things. However, as my mind wanders, as it tends to do at 2 a.m., I somehow found myself marvelling at the random and unrelated things I had put into my body yesterday. Let's examine the chaos, won't we?

Between the time I woke up and the time I fell asleep, I had taken (or been given) two Tylenol, 5 mg of Aloxi/Decadron, 25 mg of Benadryl, 100 mg of Herceptin, 65 mg of Taxotere, one Pepcid, a multi-vitamin, one calcium, one magnesium, and two Omega-3 fish oil pills. HUH???

Then I started thinking about the miscellaneous food I had ingested... keep in mind, I can't remember the last time I ate such a random assortment of food in a day. I started with the typical cup of coffee and antioxidant-laden smoothie. Harmless, right? This was followed by about 1/3 of an Oregano's Favorite salad, and about 2/3 of the largest slice of pizza I may have ever seen topped with mushrooms, black olives, and red onions. Not too unusual. Four hours later about a half mini-box of lemonade/wild cherry Nerds had been added to the mix. Then came the cantaloupe and the honeydew melon that I had to sample from the Edible Arrangements from my Larry & Jan. Then about a half dozen veggie spring rolls dipped in honey hot mustard mixed with Sriracha sauce. Then a chocolate covered strawberry. Oh wait, there was the glass of Lake Sonoma Zin. Then some red grapes, a couple pieces of pineapple, and a cantaloupe ball or two. All topped off with a handful of frosted mini wheats. No wonder I needed that Pepcid. It all tasted really good at the time... Hey, whatever works, right? (WTF, is a more likely comment to that discombobulated disaster of items ingested.)

New day, new menu, and Game 1 of the NLCS.
Sounds pretty good to me.

A while back, Greg saw an episode of the Today Show that, if my chemo-brain serves me correctly, featured a couple that had been happily married for 50 years. This feat, as we all know, is unfortunately somewhat of an anomaly these days. He told me that Matt Lauer asked them what their secret was. The wife gestured to the husband who nodded and said, "Yeeessss, Dear." (That was drawn out a bit in tribute of Charlie Bell...King of the Rim, and of the "Yes, Dear.") Ever since then, much to my chagrin at times, Greg has adopted the "Yeesss, Dear". Sometimes appropriate, sometimes not. In any case, when I give him a look or make a comment, his response is typically, "50 years! 50 years! 50 happy years!" Usually gets him off the hook when I think he is using the "Yeesss, Dear" in place of "I'm not really listening to you because I'm really distracted or you've just asked me something ridiculous and you should probably hush-a-snoot (meaning: shhhhhh)." Usually.

I came across this article today, and have to say, it's one of the best things I’ve read on the subject matter. I wish we had stumbled upon this back in July when we were facing the unknown and terrified of what it might bring. Then again, it had just as profound an effect on me now, particularly for those times when any of us lets fear slip in through the cracks.

Based on Steven Jay Gould's essay, The Median Isn't the Message, and the various and sundry statistics we’ve found on my general situation, I figure there’s no reason I shouldn’t live to the ripe old age of 117 – give or take a few.

At the very least, I’m looking forward to 50 happy years…

And the weight of the world feels much lighter on my shoulders today. I think there were just a few things I needed to do to help get some of those emotions out.

We went out last night, and it's the first time I had seen any of our friends since the big shave. Only TZ knew, as far as I understood, and part of me was a little nervous at the reactions of those around me. The eyes always give it away. MJK came in and asked if I had to shave it all. He knew it was a wig, and you know what, that's ok. I joked with him that I had about as much hair as he did... Esther came up and complimented me on my hair a bit later. I told her it was a rental... I think I needed to make wig jokes. Teri complimented me later on my haircut - I had just seen her and Dennis last weekend after I had gotten the real hairs cut, and apparently neither one of them knew that the hair I had on last night slept in a box at night. She was asking if I still had to straighten my hair, and looked at me blankly when I told her "it's a rental". She couldn't believe it when I said it was a wig - apparently even Dennis didn't know. More wig jokes. If I can joke, I can laugh. If I can laugh, it's all ok... I told them it would probably be laying on the table before the night is over. That never actually came to be, but I could have... maybe...
I needed to make wig jokes.

I needed to run this morning. I have to say, I didn't really want to. But I knew I needed to, and by the time we came around the corner on Frye for the last 1/10 of a mile or so to the house, I knew I had needed that run. 8.75 miles later, I knew I had more in me. How about that. I'm still thriving.

This morning, while drinking my coffee, I read something pretty amazing. Lisa had written in an email, "Because of you, I am not afraid anymore of cancer returning. I don't welcome it of course, but I am not so afraid either. You have shown me that their is HOPE for all of us... and God, how great is THAT?"

Wow. That's just friggin' huge.
Me. Doing what I just do. I helped someone be less afraid of an enormous fear. That right there, that's an accomplishment. And, consequently, something I am very proud of. Thank you, Lisa, for sharing that with me. On a daily basis, I have people telling me they are in awe of me, and my gut reaction is to brush it off, because I really feel that I'm not doing anything all that awe inspiring. I'm simply living. With or without cancer. I'm living.

Come to think of it, if my living the way that I am helps someone else open their eyes a little more, and look around and remember not to take things for granted... if me going on about things the way I go helps someone to look at themselves and want to be the person they know they can be, even when nobody is watching... if my getting out and running, bald head and all, helps even one person lace up their shoes and give it a shot, too... I've done something.

Ok, maybe I am pretty amazing. Maybe just for today.

Ok, I suppose this will come full circle here, so be patient. First the good, then the 'meh' then back to the good. I'll get there... really.

Round 10 went off without a hitch. One vein, great bloodwork, Dr. C's observation that the masses were indeed still shrinking, and the Red Sox won Game 1 of the ALDS.

And then, there were there dumb hairs...
It was time. I looked in the mirror and no matter which direction I turned, it didn't look any better. It was just thin. Too thin for its own good, for my own good, and the hairballs in the sink weren't getting any smaller. I told myself that when it was time, it was time.
And, it was time.

Wig in hand, we headed off to see Adam Pink, knowing that with the wig haircut would also come the shave. I sat and looked at my scraggly hair in the mirror, haircut cape wrapped around me, and knew it was time. Adam offered us a beer and staying with the Boston theme, we each chose a Samuel Adams. We toasted farewell to the flight of the dumb hairs, watched them all fall to the floor for the last time, and looked toward the future of it coming back in stronger and thicker, all the while realizing that it was a necessary step in the process to healing. By the time he finished cutting the wig, I was a bit amazed at how good it looked. Well, for the most part. I'm not sure if it's because I know it's a wig, or because the part is to the other side than I had been wearing my hair, but it still looks like a wig to me. Probably only to me, though. Or so I'd like to think.

So, devil be gone. The trusty flat iron and hair dryer went into hibernation for the winter, and I resigned myself to get used to this new, bird-like head. The thing is, it's ok . In the big picture, it's really ok.

But that didn't stop the tears from coming. Even now. The worst part is that the twitching and tearing I mentioned? It's worse. This damn side effect is driving me insane. The tearing is making the eyes puffy. The puffy eyes are making me feel swollen. The swollen feeling is making me feel really freakin' unattractive. So please, send eye drops. And cucumbers. Or whatever the hell will make me look normal again.

Now, here's the challenge with feeling that I don't look normal. It affects the confidence. That, that part is getting to me most of all, because I can feel it. And I hate it. I have been able to go on for the past 10 weeks strong, confident, feeling like I look and feel great - mostly because I do. Now? I feel like I'm looking down all the time because I don't want to meet people's eyes. I don't want them to see my puffy eyes, and the hair that is just a little too big. I think most of all I'm afraid to see the look in people's eyes that betrays their words when they say "wow, you look great", when I know they don't think that at all. Because I don't think that at all. It's ironic - I feel more comfortable when I come home at night and put the hair-hat in its box and walk around with my bird-head. I don't know, it feels more free. Less like a facade. Yet, I'm not sure I'm ready to take off the facade for the rest of the world.

The worst part? Greg says I'm not looking at him as much either. Enter more tears. It's a vicious cycle. The puffy eyes make me look down. I realize I look down. Then I cry. The eyes are more puffy. WTF?? I've gotten 8 weeks more of hair than I thought, I've still got the energy that I had before, I haven't had any nausea, no mouth discomfort. Isn't it ironic that I'm beating the crap out of this life threatening disease and the bullshit thing that has gotten me down is this damn hair and how I look in the mirror?

This too shall pass. I just wish it would pass a bit more quickly. I can see it in the distance, that elusive confidence that I've had all the while. It's there, somewhere, I just need to find it. Meanwhile, I wish the tears (taxotere-induced or real) would just STOP already. It's enough, OK?

Do you think anyone would be alarmed if they walked past my office and my hair was sitting on my desk?

Ok, that made me laugh out loud.

I put the hair on the dog this morning. Both of them.