50 Tries

For Everyone Who Had "Things Might Be Going Kinda Badly" in the "She Hasn't Posted Lately" Pool

You win!

We were in the hospital for a week because my breathing and heart rate got too unstable, and they decided to run a bunch of tests to make it worse. Adam stayed with me the entire time.

We've been back for a week now, I guess, but it's all been kind of a blur. For the first few days I was too weak to sit up without oxygen. But now I'm on a new chemo regimen, and I've put back on a little weight. I came home from the hospital 87 pounds--yeah, Kate Moss, try that without cocaine!

True Story

Question: What does the doctor say to you, right before they thread a camera up your nose and down your throat, and then insert four-inch-long needles in your neck?

Answer: Relax.

They were trying to fix my left vocal cord, which had (apparently) been paralyzed by the radiation I had in January. Though the procedure hurt so much I was sobbing afterwards, and my throat still hurts 10 hours later, both my voice and (more importantly) my breathing are already noticeably better. Maybe I'll get some sleep tonight.

Pneumonia & My Ass

Just as my left lung has partially collapsed, my ass collapsed. I'm serious. For some reason, the right side of my ass seems to have deflated or something, so that I'm constantly tugging my underwear out of it. And my underwear used to fit just fine.

I have pneumonia (also) but managed to be in the hospital for only one night! Woo hoo! That was a mistake! If you have pneumonia, stay in the hospital until you start to feel better, no matter what your underwear is doing!

Candy Gram

So I was back in the hospital on Tuesday night, but you know what? It's starting to not be such a noteworthy event. I was having a lot of trouble breathing. They gave me a CT scan, which, more detailed than an x-ray, showed an at least partially collapsed left lung. But as they explained to me, you only really need one lung, so it's fine.

They sent me home with antibiotics, and I am feeling better. It could be worse. One of Kylie's school friends is telling everyone that recently, his mother was  eaten by sharks.

How Things Have Been

Not well, though they may be improving. I dropped down to 101.5 pounds (though I always stand on the scale in my bathrobe, after breakfast; funny how you turn all those little tricks around) and was in searing pain every time I tried to eat. All the painkillers provided little comfort, and made me hallucinate and vomit back up just about every meal I choked down. My tongue started to get funky again, my lungs started filling with fluid, and I  lost my voice.

I've been a fluent typist since I was fourteen years old. I would think a word, and there it was on screen. Now, everything was coming out backwards and wrong.

The only things I wanted to do were sleep, watch television, and have Adam stroke my hair. He came home early from work yesterday and did that, and today, I went to McDonald's and got French Fries.

Tonight, I was lying on the couch when Kylie ran through the room, on her way to make a book about her favorite horse. There was no hurry; she's five, she was excited to do what was coming next and couldn't wait to get to it. Treasure your children; treasure your healthy time with them.

Cupid's Arrow

Me missed Valentine's Day this year and spent it at Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center instead, trying to scare up a few white blood cells. Actually, Adam and I spent the entire week there, including the first winter's snowfall, Kylie giggling over which Build-A-Bear valentine she would not give to which boy (as only some of the boys are nice).

I couldn't eat or drink without high does of narcotics, followed by high does of anti-emetics. Apparently I started making up conversations that hadn't existed, and denying others that had. The best point came at the end of the week, when one nicely groomed lady doctor-attending actually ran over to give me the good news today the cancer doesn't appear to have spinal so my fluid.

I'm ending this entry now--I still feel extremely week and disoriented, and threw up more times than I could count today. As I've stated in the past, I really don't reccommend cancer when you're looking for something to do.

Thanks to everyone who made me meel like my random mumblings would be appreciated.

Molly Ivins and Inflammatory Breast Cancer

Kick-ass newspaper columnist Molly Ivins died of inflammatory breast cancer last week. I wanted to make special note of both her life and the cause of her death. While Rosie O'Donnell mentioned it on the View, none of the other news reports (that I've seen) mentioned that the cancer was inflammatory.

Inflammatory breast cancer is a more aggressive disease, and the symptoms are different. Just because you don't have a lump doesn't mean you don't have cancer, so if you ever notice anything unusual with your breasts, see your doctor immediately. I wish I had.

Family Values

(Okay, my health: it's not so good. In our holiday tradition of having everything go to hell, we had problems both major and minor that kept us in the emergency room three weekends out of four, from a slipped tendon to a new, small malignancy on my jaw, and a bigger, scarier malignancy on my spine. I just finished two weeks of radiation yesterday, and celebrated by starting a new chemotherapy regimen this afternoon. That's not to mention two lung taps, three MRIs, and sundry other indignities.)

But here's what I want to talk about: I became very angry while watching the Colts-Patriots game on Sunday. The FCC still seems to think that seeing two second of Janet Jackson's nipple will scar my daughter for life; meanwhile, I constantly had to hit the mute button and cover her eyes during the endless commercials for television shows about torture, violence, and decomposing bodies. I mean, I know it was a  pierced nipple, but still.

Better

My tumor marker numbers finally fell! They even fell a substantial amount. And I'm feeling better, for the first time in months and months.

But I'm still going to McDonald's on a regular basis.

Thank You, Senator Macacawitz

Really. George Allen, Mark Foley, Dennis Hastert--by being such incredible, amoral dumbasses, I think you finally found a way to turn the Democrats' fortunes around and put a song in my heart.