Diane's Diary

From Venice to Florence

2009-06-08T03:03:00.000-07:00

Another quick post from an internet cafe. We've now gone to Venice twice from Ferrara by train. The ride is actually quite scenic, at least to me, who's never seen the Italian country-side. Up til yesterday, we hadn't really left Ferrara much because in addition to me not feeling well, Joey got the flu and was up all night with it. It hasn't been good karma health-wise. And one thing they don't tell you about is that it is mosquito-city here. I am covered in welts from blood-sucking bugs! Bring bug spray if you come here :)

Now we are in Florence, just arrived, and about to set off exploring. Just waiting for Mike to finish up his email. Tomorrow we have appointments to see the David and also to go to the Uffizi. The train here was also very nice. Through the Tuscan hills.

The previous three days or so have been filled with little jaunts around Ferrara itself. It is an interesting little city. I'll have to write more about its history some other time. Ciao!

Buon Giorno

2009-06-04T01:23:00.000-07:00

Just a quick post from Ferrara, where I am sitting in an internet cafe. We got here on Monday with no trouble after meeting up with Mike's mom in Bologna. I now have both an upset tummy and a cold (or am extremely allergic to Italy), but altogether I am doing better than I was. The town itself is small and no one speaks English hardly at all. But that gives a more genuine experience and we are enjoying it. The part of Ferrara where we are staying dates back to the 14th century with very narrow streets and lots of archways. We have a tiny one bedroom apartment in this older quarter.

Yesterday we took the train to Venice and that was as lovely and magnificent as you would think it. I'll have to write more later as our time is up.

Paddling on the Serpentine

2009-05-31T09:49:00.001-07:00

Today was a better day. I tried a little toast and some fruit for breakfast and while I wouldn't say I felt great afterwards, I certainly felt a lot better than the other night. So. Joe's plan was for us to walk to Hyde Park/Kensington Gardens and stroll around. These gardens are basically behind Buckingham Palace whereas St. James Park is in front of it. Like St. James - lovely. We actually spent several hours there, although I'm sure Mike and Joe could've circled it twice but they matched my pace so it was a family stroll. We entered at the Hyde Park end, momentarily hearing a steel drum band, and then stopping to wander in a flower-laden garden. We moved on from there to the Serpentine, a small lake in the middle of Hyde Park. We each got a drink in this little cafe/kitchen and sat in lawn chairs looking out at the water and all the many geese, ducks, and swans for a bit. Going on from there, we passed the water-bird horde and watched while two parent swans chased all the other water birds away from their four cygnets as various people tossed them bread. Pretty fierce!

Joey realized you could rent paddle boats so we did that. It was fun, although I didn't have to do the paddling. It was mostly Joey; he's so good! Even though the picture makes it look like Mike paddled, too, he only did so at the beginning and the end. But Joey didn't seem to mind. In general, people really seemed to be enjoying themselves out on the water and all over the park. Lots and lots of happy dogs, too, some of them wet from retrieving sticks from the water. Two Jack Russells were having the time of their lives and one collie-type dog was carrying, not a stick, but a tree branch that was almost longer than she was.

I was getting tired out but it was such a nice day, I didn't want to take the subway home (as we'd originally planned). I wanted to stay with my guys. Joey wanted to circle around to the other side of Kensington Gardens to see the Royal Albert Hall (a concert hall), which is right across from the Albert Memorial (erected by Queen Victoria when he died). Then Mike found us a route home, down Sloane Street and then some less-traveled side streets that took us through some interesting neighborhoods. Altogether I guess we spent about 4 hours walking around. I was pretty tired getting back to the hotel but was the only one who did not take a nap when we got back!

Mike and Joe went off to dinner again and I found a protein cereal bar in the local convenience store. By all accounts the dinner was very good. Very ironic that the only London meal I had was the worst one. I made the mistake of asking Mike to tell me about the dinner, which just made me pine for a happier tummy. Oh, well. At least by avoiding food, I could enjoy my day (and sleep at night). Tomorrow we have to get up at o'dark hundred to make our flight to Bologna, which requires getting a train from Victoria Station to Gatwick. Flight leaves @ 8:30 so we need to be at Gatwick at 6:30. We'll be wheeling our luggage down the road at 5:15 AM!

A Day at the Inn

2009-05-30T09:55:00.000-07:00

After last night's post, I got to feeling really sick. Just like I had been the day before we flew here. I won't give you the details but it was not pretty and lasted all night & into the morning. Needless to say, I was in no shape to go anywhere. I managed to shower and get vertical by 9ish, at which point Mike and Joe set off for a long walk around the city (after having their breakfast here at the inn, which I did not venture forth for. Joe came back saying "bad sausage, watery scrambled eggs and 7 pieces of toast").

I was really sorry to see them go and to miss out on time spent with the two men in my life. Still, Mike took pictures to fill me in, and I know it was probably really nice for them to extend their long legs to the fullest for awhile instead of shortening their stride for me. They said they walked from where we are in Belgravia to the British Museum via Picadilly Circus, Covent Garden, & the Embankment. While they were out and about I basically tried to get my stomach under control by staying near the bathroom and only drinking water or sprite (which my two heroes had gotten for me before leaving on their walk). Our room has two nice, big windows overlooking the street so I was able to see people come and go along the road. There's a little coffee shop on the corner across the street and that made for good people/dog-watching (cocker spaniels sure are cute - and loud!).

Eventually I found Whose Line Is It Anyway episodes on TV and Star Trek, too. As you can see, my day was *pre-tty* uneventful. The true highlight was when Joe and Mike came back (around 2ish) to spend the rest of the afternoon with me. They had walked and walked and were really tired, and so came back to check on me. We got hooked on a two-part Star Trek episode after which time I felt like a brief stroll would be nice. The weather is so fine here and the sunlight had been beckoning me all day. We took a short walk around the corner to the news agent/convenience store, where I bought some plain crackery things. I figure if I avoid food for the most part, I'll do better. The trick will be how to keep the energy up and the temptation down. I thought about accompanying Mike and Joe to dinner (Joe wanted Indian food) but I wouldn't have eaten anything anyway and who knows whether the smell of food would have made my nausea return or tempted me with forbidden fruit. Either way, best not to find out!

The thoughts for the day are: it's no fun being sick, it's even worse being sick abroad, but London is still great even when viewed through a window.

London Revisited (2009)

2009-05-29T12:53:00.000-07:00

I never did finish blogging the London trip of last year. We were so busy those days and then when we got home I just couldn't quite hold on to everything. Strangely enough, we are back here this year - passing through on our way to Italy where we'll be staying with Mike's mom in Ferrara and traveling to other places in that country. We're here in London for just three nights and tonight is the first. This time we get to have Joe with us and that makes it extra special.

We flew from Phoenix this year so we could have a straight-through flight to London. The flight left on time, was uneventful, but *extremely* uncomfortable. I've never been so uncomfortable on a flight before. Does anyone think it might have something to do with being in the middle seat between long-legged men?

Getting out of the airport and to Victoria Station on the tube took about two hours, I'd say. Finding our way from there was easy peasy because I'd printed the "walking" directions to our hotel. Once checked in, we all three collapsed momentarily (sharing a big bottle of water) and then deliberately roused ourselves to fight against the jet lag. Joe wanted to see Buckingham Palace, so we walked there and then through St. James park to the Horse Guards (who were sadly not in evidence). St. James Park was a favorite from last time and I could easily spend the day there with a good book. It's huge, beautiful, and there are all sorts of people to look at, as well as lots of different kinds of duck, geese, moorhens, pelicans, and black swans. We saw one woman feeding pigeons out of her hand, a lost seagull swimming on the water, and a squirrel eating a banana peel. Honestly, don't ever leave London without walking through this park!

We had a friendly debate as we walked along about whether the London Eye (big Ferris Wheel on the other side of the Thames) was actually moving. You can see it from the park. We finally decided (having gotten a bit closer by passing by Downing Street) that it was moving veeeeerrryyy slowly. I think you'd have great views from there but I couldn't convince Mike to do it last time. With Joe on board...maybe so?

By the time we were trekking back to "our neighborhood", I was a zombie. I had a flu bug or something before I left and didn't eat much on the plane either (lots of it was dairy and I didn't want to risk it). I just concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other; and Mike and Joe were kind enough to walk at my pace and/or wait up for me if they got too far ahead. We were looking for a pub (on Joe's wish-list) and saw that people throng the sidewalks of pubs here, holding their pints, presumably meeting up after work. We finally braved one when we got closer to our hotel - and it was *terrible*, well, except for the beer. We all got fish-n-chips and it came so fast I wouldn't be surprised if it was their version of "Mrs. Pauls". Ick. I ate about half - and avoided the stupid peas they insist on bringing it with it (I gather it's not real fish-n-chips without the peas). My head was in my plate half the time, I was that tired. Still, I think Joe was pleased to have gotten a Guinness and not be asked for ID (drinking age is younger here). We then slogged back to the hotel and have now collapsed with various injunctions to each other to *not* fall asleep. Mike has succumbed judging by the twitching of his arm behind my back. Joey has a second wind and is reading, and I'm about to sign off. Be seeing you in dreamland. More tomorrow!

London - Day 1

2008-07-13T10:42:00.000-07:00

July 8th (Tues) – Breakfast at our London hotel was the usual with one key exception. They had hot chocolate on the menu and when I ordered it, it came in its very own little pot! Unlike the instant kind I got at a few other B&Bs, this was the real deal and was an excellent way to the start the day. Also, the young woman who served us at breakfast was really nice and had a great smile. Although the hotel itself doesn’t really live up to its guidebook description, the staff have all been very pleasant.

After breakfast, we stuffed our dirty clothes into one suitcase and wheeled it down to the laundry we’d visited the previous day. We dropped it off and then caught the tube at the Notting Hill station. We gave ourselves some extra time to negotiate the tube to St James Park, but in the end, it was very straight forward. This meant we arrived ahead of Deb, who called to say she was running a little late. It was raining a bit when we got up to the street but it slackened off very quickly. Mike and I decided to head towards Buckingham Palace, which we found with no difficulty. It’s hard to miss although at this time, there was very little going on. We did take a peek at the guards on duty and there was a huge fountain out in front that was pretty amazing as well. In the end, we got a call from Deb suggesting we meet her at the other end of St James Park near Parliament Square. She figured we had time to kill before the events we came out to see, so this would let us get in a little more site-seeing in the meantime. It turned out to be a pretty long walk, but the gardens were lovely. There were all kinds of birds by the water – some little black ones that I didn’t recognize, a mama and two babies, that I later learned from Deb were Moorhens. They have the most ridiculous feet! And some water birds that were too big to be ducks, so I guess they must have been brown geese, and also some enormous white pelicans. Despite Mike’s misgivings that we were in the right place, we ended up at Parliament Square, which contains Big Ben, the Houses of Parliament, and Westminster Abbey. Big Ben was very majestic, as you might imagine, but the Houses of Parliament looked very different than I had expected. They are neo-gothic type buildings and look almost church-like; with Westminster Abbey right there, it seems fitting.

Coordinating by cell-phone we managed to find Deb and Ali (short for Alistair) on the square. Ali is Deb’s blonde-ringleted three-year-old and is cute as can be. He was a bit shy at first but warmed up to us in no time. As for us, well how could we not be charmed by Deb’s son? As time was actually running short, we hustled back through the park to the Welsh Barracks near St. James Park to see the inspection of the guards; this happens every day before the guards march from the barracks to the palace to relieve the guards on duty. Although the events had already started when we got there, we were able to scoot right up to the wrought-iron fence and had a great view. There were many red-jacketed, tall-black-furry-hatted soldiers, some with instruments, so we got to hear some music and watch the inspection. A couple of mounted policeman arrived to clear the road for the march to the palace, and as the soldiers marched, we trailed behind. The peaceful square in front of the Palace that Mike and I had seen earlier was now packed with tourists, so getting a view of the actual changing of the guards was pretty much out of the question. Deb (and our guidebook) said it was fairly anticlimactic and not much to see in any case. Still, not to be defeated, Mike climbed up a decorative limestone wall (as had many others) – and Deb passed Ali up and got halfway up herself – to see what little could be seen. Not wanting all of London to see what would surely be an inelegant, likely to be unsuccessful attempt to scale the wall myself, I stayed on the ground and took photos of Mike and Ali and Deb.

From here we decided to head back to St. James Park (Deb’s favorite London park), where there was a children’s playground that Ali could enjoy. After he played a bit, it was snack time. Deb came prepared for things for Ali, so Mike and I went to a little snack bar and got tea for Deb and Mike and an orange Fanta for me. After this little respite, Deb suggested we head to Trafalgar square, which was part of a recommended walk that Mike wanted to take and also was a place that Ali wanted to go. We got to see other parts of the park this way, although we did stop to feed bread to the geese I had seen earlier. There were some great views of London from the park as well. On our walk through, we came across some topiary – elephants, deer, and other critters – although they were made from fake clover, not real greenery. They were pretty amazing even still and Ali ran around and under them for a few minutes before we continued on. We ended up walking out of the park, down Pall Mall (said "pal mal"), through the Marble Arch to the square.

Trafalgar Square is dominated by the statue of Admiral Lord Nelson that sits atop a huge pillar. At its square base sit four huge bronze lions, one on each corner. The area is actually roped off, but no one pays any attention to it and people were climbing up and sitting on them. This is not as easy as it sounds because the base of the pillar is really very high and the lions themselves are enormous. As Ali has a book in which the lions come to life, he was so happy that Mike managed to get up on the base of the pillar and from there to the lion; with Deb passing Ali up so he could sit with Mike on top of one of the lions. I was the picture-taker again because my little short self was no way going to make it up – even Deb, who is taller than me, had trouble and had to be hauled up by Mike.

After this, Deb and Ali headed home for Ali’s nap and Mike and I wandered a bit on the square, which contains the National Gallery and St. Martin-in-the-Field Church. Deb told us about a cafe in the crypt of the church, so we went to check it out but it was more food than we wanted to eat at the time. Mike pushed for continuing the guidebook-recommended walk, and so we kept walking down Whitehall Rd to peek down the street at Number One Downing Street, home of the Prime Minister. From the little I could see of it, it was fairly unassuming compared to the White House, for example. Kind of nice, if true. We also passed the Horse Guards (two), who were dozing on their horses amidst hordes of photo-taking tourists. The horses were so patient and good. It was raining off and on as we walked and by this time, my feet were sore and we were both ready for some tea. The walk ended up at Westminster Bridge and we sat on the steps and looked out at the Thames and the London Eye (giant Ferris Wheel) across the river. While resting our feet, I looked through a London brochure that I’d picked up at the hotel and found a tea shop advertised that was housed in the London Review Book Shop. As it was a ways away for tired feet, we hopped on the tube and found it, as we did most things, by accident – right near the British Museum. We had our tea and Mike had a croissant and I had a piece of carrot cake. We then decided to take in the British Museum for a little bit, as we were so close.

Words can’t describe how impressive the museum is. There’s is simply so much to look at that is phenomenal. Mike went straight for the Rosetta Stone, which when he had visited many years ago was stuck in a dark corner, unloved. This time it was the first thing you saw as you entered the West Hall – encased in glass, having its day in the sun. For linguists, this was a great thing to see. Next were Greek, Roman, and Assyrian statuary – topped off by the Elgin Marbles. In the latter room, there were pamphlets addressing the current controversy with Greece, who want their Parthenon ruins back. The British Museum maintains that they belong to the world and should stay where they are. Not sure I follow that logic as they could belong to the world in Greece just as easily as in England. In any case, they are extraordinary. Lots of people were taking pictures of the exhibits but Mike and I felt that many were taking pictures without really seeing what they were taking pictures of. Mike and I had similar mindsets for the museum, which was to read and look – getting our fill with our eyes and not our lens.

At this point, Deb called to set up a rendezvous for dinner later. As we still had our laundry to pick up, we decided to meet up at our hotel rather than have Deb come out to the museum. We took the tube back, picked up our laundry, and had just stowed it all away when Deb arrived. She and Mike had wine in the room and then we ventured out to look for a place to eat, where Mark (Deb’s husband) would join us. My little feet weren’t up for much more walking, so I was happy when we settled into a pub to have a pint and wait for Mark. When Mark arrived we switched to a little Persian restaurant that Deb and Mike had sussed out on our pre-pub walk. This turned out to be a gem. Our waiter was eager to give us a true Persian food experience and we had several tasty appetizers plus Naan before I got my chicken dish; this was chicken stewed in walnuts and pomegranate juice that you spoon over basmati rice. It was heavenly! On our way out, Mike stopped to investigate the pottery oven they were using to bake the bread. Our interest garnered the attention of the owner, who gave us a demonstration of how it works. There’s a sort of round pillow that the dough gets draped on after it’s rolled out. They then take the pillow with the dough on top and basically use the pillow to throw the dough onto the inside wall of the oven. The dough sticks there and cooks that way. The owner covered the hole of the oven with a small round metal lid and held it there to the count of seven. When he removed the lid, the bread was golden and bubbly and ready to be eaten. He scraped it off the wall and then put it in a bag and let us take it home with us – for free. It was a very thoughtful thing to do and made a nice ending to our evening out. We gave the Naan to Deb and Mark to take home for her mom and Ali and we all strolled back to our hotel, with Deb and Mark continuing on after that. That night we fell asleep full of Naan and other delicious Persian food.

Blenheim and to London

2008-07-10T15:54:00.000-07:00

July 7th (Mon) – Today we woke to rain again. I didn’t sleep very well as we were on another small bed (Mike and I just don’t well on a double bed; we need at least a queen) and I’ve also had the sniffles. I don’t know if I’m allergic to something or if it’s just a low-level cold but I keep getting stuffed up and sneezy. In any case, we were the first people down for breakfast, so the tea room was quiet and breakfast (the same sort as always) was relaxing. We had planned to head for Blenheim Palace when it opened at 9:00, but when we asked our inn keeper, she explained that the grounds open then but that the palace itself doesn’t open until 10:30. As it was raining pretty heavily, there was no point in heading over to explore the grounds first, so we hung out in the room until it was near time. Then we checked out, loaded up the car, stopped at the Post Office to load up our phone, and then walked to the Palace.

Given the off and on nature of the rain, we had asked our inn keeper if we could drive up instead, but she told us that you couldn’t really get that much closer anyway. This turned out to be untrue, but the walk was nice enough as the rain was only a mist at this point. The grounds are huge – and there was a beautiful lake with lots of water birds in it. I think I saw a pheasant on the lawn, but I couldn’t get close enough to really know what I was looking at.

We had a short wait at the main entrance before they opened, but as it was covered, it was pleasant to sit and walk and look about the exterior. This is actually the home of the 11th Duke or Marlborough, who lives in the East Wing of the house. I have to say, it was pretty magnificent. Really elegant and we had an interesting guided tour. We learned that the first Duke of Marlborough had been given the title, the land, and the money to build the estate as a reward for defeating the French in the Battle of Blenheim in 1704. This was quite a victory for England and thought to have been a brilliantly fought campaign, and Queen Anne was not stingy in her gratitude. We actually got to see some wonderful tapestries that depict that victory and others as well (there are 10 in all but we only saw 9 as one was off to be cleaned) – and we got to see the actual dispatch John Churchill, the first Duke, sent from the battlefield to say he’d won. The only paper he had on him was a receipt from a tavern and he wrote his hasty message on one side of it. The family still has it and it is on display in one of the rooms. Unfortunately, photography was not allowed inside the palace, so I couldn’t take any pictures to remind me of the rooms there. As you might expect, there was lots of marble and, strangely enough, a lot of French furniture; the latter was apparently purchased by the 4th Duke (we were told that at that time, lots of the French nobility were unloading their furniture, which was why the Duke was able to purchase so much of it). Perhaps the most impressive room to both of us was the immense library that ran the length of one whole side of the house. The ceiling was amazing, really beautiful, and I wish I could have had a picture. Between the ceiling and the books, I know exactly where I’d spend my days if I lived in that house.

There have been 10 more Dukes since John Churchill’s time and the current Duke, No. 11, is in his 80s (and has been married three times; interestingly enough, there were portraits of Wives No. 1 and 3, but not of No. 2 – wonder what the story is there?!). Winston Churchill, although never in line for the succession, was born there and liked to spend a lot of time there, so there was a big exhibit about him at the palace, which was fairly absorbing. He was quoted as saying that he took two big decisions at Blenheim Palace: to be born and to marry (having asked his wife to marry him while visiting). After this, we strolled around the gardens (also commissioned by the 4th Duke and undertaken by Capability Brown, a popular and very talented landscape architect of that time) in the small window of sunshine we had. This meant that we got rained on going back to the car, but it was worth it to have seen the brief slice of the gardens that we did. If we’d had more time, I could have spent another several hours there.

As it was, we were already late to return the car in Oxford as we’d intended and although I called, there was no answer at the Oxford office and the main number didn’t seem to know how to handle our dilemma. So we decided to head out as soon as we could. I had looked up the general location the night before, so that got us in the right area. I knew we shouldn’t cross the river into the heart of the city and as we were coming to a bridge that would cause us to do so, we turned right for lack of an alternative. This turned out to be the right road and we found the car drop-off location by accident. However, we hadn’t gotten gas yet and so we passed it, went back to the main road, and ended up driving around for another 40 minutes or so looking for a gas station (we did get to see a bit of Oxford this way, whereas we had decided we didn’t have time for it before). Needless to say, we were a bit testy with each other and we finally decided that the best plan was to get back on the highway we’d come in on as there were gas stations on that road at various intervals (please don’t ask why we hadn’t gotten the gas on this road to begin with). Having accomplished this, we dropped off the car and I think Mike was very pleased to be done with it. He really did a LOT of driving and I’m sure it was tiring for him. For me, I’m glad to not have to look at another map and try to figure out where we should turn every ten minutes or so. I’d be willing to be that navigating the tube in London will be a piece of cake compared to this.

The train station was about a 15 minute walk from where we had dropped off the car and as we had a rain-free window, we walked it. We were seconds too late for a train just leaving (the whistle blew just as I was paying for our tickets) and so we had a half hour to kill before the next “fast” train. This was better than running flat out with our luggage as we’d had to do to catch the train to Canterbury when we first arrived, so I was happy to sit and wait. Although our train left promptly, it was delayed on the line “due to the lorry hitting the bridge in front of us in the Banbury area”; I can quote this because the subway driver said it many times with profuse apologies for any inconvenience this may have caused. They made the train wait until they had inspected the bridge for safety, so the fast train turned out to be no faster than the slower train that had left 5 minutes before ours. We got to London about an hour and twenty minutes later, which wasn’t bad at all really. It was pouring, though, so we took a taxi to our hotel – and I was just as happy since I was tired of lugging luggage through the streets.

Our hotel had been described in my guide book as “newly renovated and positively plush” so I was a bit disappointed at the actual look of it. Although I think it has been redone, it still looks as if it has seen better days. Also, our room was made up as a single (two twin beds) instead of one king. The little old man with very bad teeth at the desk was really nice, though, and he said they’d do it up that way the next day. Size-wise the room was larger than I expected, so that is the silver lining, I guess. Unfortunately, the tub/shower combo looked like it was left out of the refurbishment and could best be described as looking like a medieval torture device. It was permanently dirty, the shower curtain smelled sour and was mildewed at the bottom, and I was feeling like being stinky for several days might be better than using it. Still, when we asked where to find a laundry and a place to eat, our escort from reception was very helpful – and his directions turned out to be mostly right. We left to find dinner, but checked in at the laundry about hours and costs, and then went on to the Prince Edward pub for a beer and fish and chips. It had been a long, not so smooth day of travel, but we both felt better after a pint and a short walk around the area of our hotel, which is in the Kensington Gardens/Notting Hill area of London.

When we got back to the room, Mike discovered that there was only one towel for our showers next morning, so he walked down to the desk and was told they’d bring more up. When that happened, we also discovered that our friend Deb Kelemen had called us but for whatever reason they couldn’t put the call through. As we had forgotten to write Deb’s number down and didn’t have internet access at the time, we hoped she would call back. Another nice hotel man discovered that there was indeed a problem with our phone but they fixed it in short order – just in time for Deb to call back. We agreed to meet in St. James Park the next morning in order to see “pre-changing-of-the-guard” activities near Buckingham Palace, which are apparently better than the actual event. That night we fell asleep to the sound of London traffic.

To and In Woodstock (near Blenheim Palace)

2008-07-09T23:56:00.000-07:00

July 6th (Sun) – Today we had our long drive back into England from Wales. We had another nice breakfast (more fresh fruit salad) and with clean jeans in hand, we set out early. Our route took us through the heart of Snowdonia and we were treated to some great scenery. There was one mountain that looked like it was made of slate (and indeed it was) and the black, tumbling skree against the green of the meadows made quite a contrast in color and texture. Plus, the day was overcast with big gray clouds to match the skree and low lying fog that covered the mountain tops. And, yes, sheep. It was really something.

We had planned to stop in Shrewesbury (medieval home of the fictional Brother Cadfael and pronounced "shrowsbry") and so we did, but it really started to rain and as I hadn’t really researched what there was to look at it, our brief, wet foray into the main square yielded nothing other than I can say I stopped there (and crossed the River Severn several times because we were lost). After this, we hit some of the bigger highways, which always put Mike to sleep. His tummy and mine were both calling for tea and a scone, so we eventually got off the big highways onto smaller ones that we’d actually traveled before as we had to cross back through the Cotswolds to get to our destination near Oxford. We were thus able to stop in Moreton-in-Marsh for what was probably our last cream tea – at a tea shop called “The Marshmallow”. It seemed to me to be the most authentic of all the tea shops we’d been to so far, but what do I know. It actually served loose leaf tea, which I had always understood to be the English way, but which we hadn’t yet been served. The scones were also the best so far and it really hit the spot, especially as we’d hit a lot of rain on the way. I’m sure Mike was glad for the rest.

Our stop for the night was in Woodstock near Blenheim Palace, which was only 30 or so miles from where we had tea, and is about 7 miles from Oxford. The B&B is above a tea shop in a building that’s 200 years old and stands right near one of the palace gates. Our room is perfectly fine, although it doesn’t look 200 years old the way they’ve done it up (but I think the bathroom must once have been the closet). After checking in, we went for a stroll around the town intending to wind up at a pub that our proprietress had recommended for dinner. After our stroll, we went there only to discover that they had stopped serving a few minutes before. It was 4:30. We then discovered that on Sundays, places are either closed altogether or they serve an early dinner and usually stop serving by 5. Luckily we found one place that was serving food all day, so we ate there. Mike really enjoyed his food (some sort of salad with chicken and potatoes and an elderflower dressing). My food was just okay. We split a dessert which had 4 different kinds of chocolate things – just little tastes. We thought the little creme brulee was the best. After this, we headed home in the rain. We hadn’t brought our jackets, so we had to huddle under Mike’s little umbrella but there were nooks we could stop in when the rain got heavy. We got home just a little bit damp and spent the rest of the evening just hanging out in the room. For the first time, we fell asleep without the sound of seagulls.

To and In Caernarfon

2008-07-09T23:45:00.000-07:00

July 4th (Fri) - Breakfast at our Aberystwyth hotel was the usual. The unusual thing about it was that it was held in the basement even though they had a much nicer ground floor dining room that looked out over the ocean. We felt like we were dining at a conference venue and it was a bit chilly as well. Despite the less than cheery surroundings, the people were very pleasant. When we checked out, I remarked to the grandmotherly lady at the desk on the great view we had had from our room and she said, “I’m not one of those landladies that says there’s a view and then you get a sliver; if I say there’s a view, that’s what you get!” She was so cute!

I wanted to walk along the water before we left town, so we walked a little ways in the opposite direction from the night before. I still can’t get over how large the seagulls are here. They are really bigger than some cats and if one went head to head with Ernie, well I think Ernie would be the one to run away! I could have walked for longer than we did because I do love to watch the water, but at one point we ran out of sand and had to edge a long a ledge to keep the incoming tide away from our shoes until we could get back up on the street. After that, we decided it was time to get on the road, and our first stop was the National Library of Wales. Here there were supposed to be old books in Welsh, including the first one ever printed, on exhibit. When we got there, we were greeted by the security guard in Welsh (bore da or “good morning”; pronounced “boray da”). This boded well for a good Welsh language experience for Mike and so it proved, as everyone was speaking Welsh there. We later learned that those individuals who interact with the public at the library must speak Welsh, it being the – ahem – NATIONAL library of WALES!! (I had mentioned this to Mike when he remarked on the amount of Welsh we were hearing; didn’t come as a surprise to ME!). In any case, we saw an exhibit entitled “Protest”, which was all about various uprisings and other events in the interest of getting Welsh officially recognized, among other things. This included seeing the actual printing press used to publish the first book in Welsh. We also saw a photo journalism exhibit on life in a town formerly dedicated to coal mining, which is very poor now that the mining is gone; it was called “Coal Faces”. There was also quite a large “Costume” exhibit that showcased traditional women’s clothing in Wales. I think “costume” actually meant the types of drawings and paintings on show, which in many cases were really wonderful watercolors of women in various traditional outfits from different areas of Wales. They also had some actual clothes on display including the Welsh hat that many women wore, a type of man’s tall black hat (stovepipe?). Finally, we made it to the book exhibit, which ended up not having the books we came to see but the ones they did have were interesting to look at. According to one of the security guards, the books are rotated in and out quite frequently, so you’re not guaranteed to see any particular one at any one time. Still, we enjoyed the visit – and actually ended up having spent a couple of hours there, particularly as Mike (while waiting for me at one point) began talking with the woman who runs the gift shop, who told us a lot about the use of the Welsh language today.

From there, we went on to Devil’s Bridge, which we had passed on the way in. I really wanted to see it and Mike was a good sport and agreed to backtrack the 12 miles or so that it took to get there. Devil’s Bridge is actually 3 bridges built on atop the other with the oldest built in the 11th century by monks, the middle one in the 17th century, and then the modern one is the last. There are falls there as well (hence the need for bridges) and you can walk down many steps to see both the falls and the bridges, which we did. Both were really something to see. When Mike asked if I wanted to walk down all those steps, I said “how many chances do you get to see an 11th century bridge” and down we went!

From here on out, we traveled the route suggested by our nice Welsh restaurant owner of the previous night. This entailed going around several peninsulas on the coast with amazing views once again, but still quite different from what we’d seen in Cornwall. Here we were seeing lots of rivers that emptied into the sea, with long stretches of sandy beaches (in Cornwall they’re all pebble beaches) that had virtually no one on them. I ached to stop and walk along them but time dictated otherwise. Seeing the library and Devil’s Bridge meant we hadn’t left Aberystwyth until around noon, and at this point we still had a ways to go before Caernarfon. In the end we made time to stop for lunch in Barmouth (fish and chips and ice cream) and at Harlech Castle, but had to cut out Portmeirion, Porthmadog, and the Lleyn peninsula so we wouldn’t be arriving in Caernarfon later than we wanted to. Originally Mike hadn’t wanted to drive at night (and I don’t blame him) but it turns out that it doesn’t really get dark here ‘til after 9PM and sometimes not really dark at all. Also, Mike has been handling the driving like a pro (I’d still be a quivering blob of jelly if it were me), so it was more a question of not wanting to be so long on the road. Harlech was definitely worth the stop and we enjoyed rambling around the substantial ruins of the castle. Harlech is way up on a cliff and used to have the ocean meeting it at the bottom, so it was pretty much impregnable on that side. Now the coast is quite a ways away; and it amazed me to see how much the water has receded over the hundreds of years it’s been standing there (construction was begun in 1283). Many of the castles in Wales were actually built by the English (Edward I in particular) to control the Welsh, but some of them were captured by the Welsh to ward off the English (and back and forth more than once in some cases). We rambled about for an hour or so here and then finished our drive into Caernarfon.

Our B&B in Caernarfon was inside the original walled city, right near the Castle itself. In fact, at one time our B&B owner had stairs that led from her house directly onto the castle wall, but she had to take them down for repairs. By traveling round and round a bit in the car, we eventually found where we were staying, but we were back to narrow streets and no parking. We called our B&B to find out where to pack and the owner very kindly said she’d come out and move her car so we could park there. In the end, there was another space free by the time we made the loop back round and Mike had the pleasure (not) of parallel parking in a space the size of half a postage stamp on a street not much wider than that. After that harrowing experience, the B&B owner gave us two beers on the house! The rooms here were very nicely done and she’d clearly tried to think of every little thing that would make a guest feel welcome. The place was called the “Victoria House” but it was elegantly done and not at all frilly like you might imagine; our room was done up in reach creams and reds with candelabra-type lamps and a silky cream and gold duvet. Very comfy and nice to look at. The only thing was that she (and her mom, who was as cute and charming as could be) was not Welsh – we think maybe Irish. I think Mike would have been thrilled if they had been Welsh speakers but they were not.

After checking in, we mellowed in our room by splitting on of our beers and then ventured out to take a peek at the Castle and to look for food. In the end, we found most places were either closed or were serving heavier meals than we were in the mood for. There doesn’t seem to be places in the towns we’ve been stopping in where you can just get something light and/or something to take home. In the end, we got tired from walking around and our long day on the road, and opted to grab some snacks from the local “tobacconist” and head back to the room to finish our other beer. Back at our room, we could hear Ollie, the owner’s terrier, outside squeaking his little toy and that made me miss Ernie. I hope he’s not missing us too terribly and getting plenty of snuggles from Tracey. I fell asleep thinking of home.

July 5th (Sat) – Breakfast this morning had more options than usual and I ended up having a fruit salad with actual fresh fruit and some pancakes. The latter weren’t really like the pancakes I’m used to (they were small and sort of hard), but it was still a nice break from the usual selection of food. Mike had warm croissants and yogurt and muesli. On our way out after breakfast, we asked the owner where the laundrette was as I needed to wash a pair of pants (I’m not used to wearing a single pair so long and I wore both pairs I brought with me not realizing that when we do laundry, I’ll need to be wearing one that won’t get washed. Duh.) She began telling us how to get there and then said “Why don’t I just toss it in with my laundry? I’ve got loads to do anyway and you’ve just got one pair.” See? Nice people.

It turns out that if you walk the streets of Caernarfon, you can hear Welsh being spoken everywhere. It far outnumbers the amount of English you hear and you even hear very young children speaking it. Needless to say, Mike was in 7th heaven. THIS was why we had come to Wales and so the agenda for the day was simply to walk around and soak it all up. After all our driving, we were getting tired of the car and while a day in town meant missing nearby sites (like Anglesey and Conwy and other places), we needed the day to simply relax. As the weather couldn’t decide what it wanted to do, it rained in fits and starts and it was much better to be in the town – able to head to our room to get out of the rain – than driving in it or getting wet elsewhere. Our first stops of the morning were the two Welsh language bookstores that we had spotted the evening before. Neither of them carried the sort of linguistics books that Mike was looking for but he had fun browsing and in the second one we talked a bit with one of the young women tending the store – a Welsh speaker of course. She mentioned that by numbers, there are more Welsh speakers down in the South in the big cities in Cardiff and Swansea as compared to the North, but down there that’s only like 2% of the population, whereas here it’s like 80% of the population. She also mentioned that it’s the “ugly” villages that tend to have the larger concentration of Welsh speakers because the pretty ones get diluted by tourists who end up staying.

After this, as the weather was at that moment rain-free, we decided to take in the castle. Turns out it was Veteran’s Day for the Welsh (the Royal Welsh Fusiliers) and there were big doings at the castle. We were still able to go in and wander around, but surrounded by all sorts of soldiers in uniforms of various types – young, old, mostly men, some women. We could also hear military bands playing at various points, and although it was a bit crowded for me, it was a fitting background for a visit to Caernarfon Castle. At one point, a Spitfire (?) – an airplane – strafed the castle several times in salute, I guess, and the first pass was so sudden and loud that even one of the seagulls on the castle wall was startled enough to fall off the wall! It was funny to see that even seagulls can be startled enough to consequently look very silly. Caernarfon Castle was also built by the English to subdue the Welsh, I think by the same builder hired by Edward I to build Harlech. It had more of its bits and pieces intact than Harlech and was also substantially larger. Lots of things to ramble about on and I spent some time imagining what life would have been like living in such a place and in such a time. As with Harlech, there were great views from atop the castle walls and towers out to the bay and beyond. Joey would really have liked all these castles and I know he and Mike would have enjoyed taking them in together – racing up and down the towers. Maybe there’ll be a next time and circumstances will allow Joey to come along. I don’t know if he would like the amount of driving we’re doing and the pace might be a bit slow for his tastes, but I’m sure he’d love to take in the history.

After our visit to the castle and because it had started to rain again, we went for tea at a really charming little tea shop we’d also spotted the night before. We had tea, but instead of scones, Mike had parsnip soup and I had a garlic-mint chicken salad. Something different and quite welcome. From there, we walked around some more, stopping at a gift shop or two, and making our way to the waterfront back towards all the Veteran’s Day activities. We caught the very tail end of some sort of parade and got to hear the band play a teensy bit before that was the end of all of the events. We headed back round towards the water, found a dry bench, and watched the bay for a while before going back to the room for a rest. Dinner was at a nearby pub, where almost everyone was speaking Welsh, so Mike was as pleased at the end of the day as he was at the beginning. Bedtime brought a few more squeaks from Ollie. I miss Ernie.

To and In Aberystwyth

2008-07-05T12:33:00.000-07:00

July 3rd (Thurs) – Today is Mike’s mom’s Birthday. We thought of her first thing but of course we couldn’t call because it would have been in the middle of the night in L.A. Instead we wrote her a postcard, which she’ll not get for a while but at least she’ll know we were thinking of her. Today we head into Wales and because we wanted to stop in the “Book” town of Hay-on-Wye, we didn’t want to linger in Stow. Toast and grapefruit for breakfast for me (finally, a little variety) and then to the Coffee House for more cocoa and then to Hay. Driving there was uneventful, although we did go through some pretty towns. Hay itself was small but filled with bookshops as promised. Mike wanted to head straight for the ‘Linguistics’ bookshop, and there we discovered it was closed! Poor Mike stood in front of the shop peering in the window forlornly – even called the number of the shop to see if there was any chance the shop owner would open up that day. He got an answering machine and was completely heartbroken. We hit a couple of other bookstores – one was called Murder and Mayhem, so my kind of thing. But they were closing for lunch! I, too, must have looked forlorn, because they agreed to lock me in and let me browse as long as I went across the road to pay for any books I wanted. In the end, we simply didn’t have enough time to really have a good browse anywhere. For book-lovers like us, you need more than the two hours we had designated. I chose two books from the mystery bookstore, sighed the sigh of one deprived of a million other good finds, and then we checked a couple of others for Welsh linguistics books to no avail. On our way out we decided to take one last peek down the street to where the Linguistics bookstore was – and we happened to see the owner just opening her shop! Mike was down the alley quicker than you could say “Cymru” (the Welsh word for Wales) and entered the shop before even the owner even as she had just stepped away for a second. In the end, Mike did find several goodies there and I bought two Beatrix Potter books written in what’s called ITA (similar to IPA, which we linguists use), which is an alphabet that was used once upon a time to teach children to read. The owner tempted us sorely by offering to take us to her home where in her garage she had tons of books on phonetics. If we hadn’t been pressed for time to get to Aberystwyth, we’d have gone in a heartbeat.

We left Hay and headed for Aberystwyth, noting the changes in the landscape as we got further into Wales. Everything seemed much greener and the hills a lot larger with more trees and even more sheep. Everywhere you looked the green hills (mountains?) were dotted with little white furry dots. It was a lovely drive that we broke up by stopping in the town of Rhaeadr (which means “waterfall” in Welsh) and having a Welsh tea; this consisted of a pot of tea and two Welsh cookies and a piece of Bara Brith. The Welsh cookies look like little pancakes with currants or raisins in them and the bread is like a spicy fruit bread. We reached Aberystwyth around 5:30. Our hotel was on the waterfront road, Marine Parade, and although a bit past its prime, had an excellent view of Cardigan Bay. Couldn’t really get any closer than that! We checked in and then decided to explore the town a bit and look for dinner.

The one unfortunate incident occurred when I tried to get money out of an ATM. Although my receipt says that the machine gave me 200 pounds (about $400), it actually only gave me one 20 pound note ($40). As the bank was already closed, Mike and I spent time hanging around outside the bank trying to find a number to call to report the problem. The only number we could find was for the bank’s closed circuit TV surveillance camera, but that number’s recording gave us another to call. Unfortunately when we called that number, it was a misdial. Luckily a very nice lady came by and listened to the message and number for us and told us that the first number was probably a zero and not an eight as we had thought. Mike called that number and reported the problem. He was assured that the bank would fix the error and that we did not have to do anything further. If they don’t, we have no way to prove it and I’m out $380 that I never got.

We finished out the evening by eating at Gannet’s Bistro described in our guidebook as cooking simple but good food. This restaurant turned out to be run by two Welsh women. Mike was in bliss just listening to them talk especially as a young man (son? grandson?) came by and spent quite a long time talking with them in Welsh as well. The food was simple: fish, a dish of potatoes, and a dish of veggies to share – topped off with homemade raspberry and blackberry pie. We ended up getting a recommendation for our route to Caernarfon from the owner. At one point I had asked her how to pronounce the name of the city (the Welsh way, not the English way) and after that, although she’d been perfectly nice before, she was much warmer. It was the perfect choice for our first night’s dinner in Wales. I simply can’t describe how happy Mike was to hear the Welsh. After this, we walked along the water and discovered the tide was coming in with a vengeance. Waves were really moving in, being whipped up by the wind, and crashing against the beach and breakwater. Mike stood looking down at the waves and grinning, happy as a clam. At one spot, there was actually a wooden pier that was like a series of graduate steps that went down to the water. With the tide coming the steps were rapidly disappearing. Mike decided to see how far he could get without getting wet. He almost pushed the ocean a tad too far! Finally, all along the parade, there were flags of different types and Mike discovered the plaque that explained they were the flags of the countries whose minority languages were represented in the city. What better thing for a couple of linguists to see? We put the night to bed by watching the sun go down over the bay.

To and in Stow-on-the-Wold

2008-07-02T12:25:00.000-07:00

July 1st (Tues) – This morning we lounged a bit in our room before breakfast. I just wanted to have a leisurely morning and as our next stop in the Cotswolds was not that far away, this was the time to do it. Breakfast was just juice and toast for me this morning but Mike had the Continental Breakfast which consisted of slices of ham and cheese on a plate. Very odd but he seemed to enjoy it. After breakfast, we walked back into town to the sweet shop (i.e. Candy Store) we’d seen the day before but which was closed just as we got to it. We were searching for a fizzy hard candy that we’d gotten down in Lyme Regis, but turns out they didn’t have anything similar at this shop. Still, I encouraged Mike to get some things because he likes to munch while he drives. I also hit the Tourist Info place again (I’d gone in the day before and met my first cranky Brit) and lo, there was the same cranky Brit. I asked her how to get from Bath to Stow – our next destination – and she rather grudgingly and not very convincingly told me how. Mike had stayed outside while I did this and when I emerged he was talking to a young man who had a big whomping row boat in the middle of the square. He was there for charity purposes but Mike discovered that this very young man had actually solo-rowed ACROSS THE ATLANTIC! 75 days all by himself. Wow.

We decided to get on the road at this point, so we walked back to our car, stopping for bottled water and Orangina for the drive. Turns out the cranky Brit’s directions were actually perfect (shame on me) and we got out of town with no trouble. Once on the road, we decided to had for Castle Combe – a little town that our innkeeper said we should see and which was described as the “prettiest village in England”. We had thought of back-tracking to Wells, which we had driven through at the end of the day before, because Mike discovered that most of the filming for the movie Hot Fuzz was done there (speaking of the “prettiest village in England”). We decided to go forward, though, so Castle Combe it was. As we entered the Cotswolds, it was clear to us that while it’s very pretty (mostly farmland and rolling hills), we’d simply been spoiled by Cornwall. Castle Combe was tiny and had beautiful yellow stone houses all around and a small stream that ran along the edge of the town, but there was nothing much to see other than this so we simply drove through.

Next on the list was a town called Burton-on-the-Water, which was described as the “Venice of the Cotswolds”. Before getting there, though, we saw a sign for “The Museum of Mechanical Music” and as Mike likes music boxes, we decided to take the turn-off into the town of Northleach. We parked in the town square, noting straight off a little wine shop. We meandered over and one of the shop keepers began trying to read Mike’s “Linguistics in Tucson” shirt. She and the other male shop keeper were very friendly, so we went in. Mike got a couple of interesting wines and I got a half-bottle of a champagne I’ve never had. We’ll have to drink these before we head home, of course. Darn.

The museum itself was something you had to pay to enter, so Mike decided he didn’t want to go in that badly. On we went to Burton-on-the-Water. It was very pretty but absolutely PACKED with tourists. We did see some very cute ducklings and had ourselves a cream tea, but the tea room was tiny and crammed with people and neither of us wanted to linger. We headed out from there to our final destination for the day: Stow-on-the-Wold. This was only a few miles up the road and we found it easily, although once we checked in I was a tad cranky because we did not get the type of room I had requested (and for which I have email confirmation). We didn’t want to be obnoxious American tourists though, so we didn’t make a fuss after inquiring, although I’m still not sure whether I was overcharged as I haven’t been able to access our email while here. Our room is actually fine and looks out on the church and its yard and cemetery. We’ve actually heard some lovely church bells, although I can’t decide whether it’s creepy to sleep with headstones out your window.

We decided to have a drink in the garden and it was very pretty there. Our beer was a local brew and it was not to my taste at all, but Mike seemed to like it. As it was too early for dinner, we decided to walk around the town, which was very nice and much less crowded than Burton-on-the-Water, thank goodness. This gave us a chance to scope out our restaurant choices and when the time came we went to the Kings Arms for fish and chips. When we got there, there were just some locals in the bar and so we sat and soaked up the local atmosphere. Sadly, about half-way through our meal, an American family came in and basically took over the entire room. Geez, they were so loud – as if everyone wanted to hear what they were talking about. I hope we aren’t like that. It certainly put a damper on the end of our meal, so we settled up and went back to our room. At this time, church bells have been ringing and our windows are open to a pleasant breeze. A little relaxing will be just the thing - “Ta” for now!

July 2nd (Wed) – We woke up to colder, wetter weather this morning. And I have to say I’m getting a bit tired of the B&B breakfasts; there’s not much variety particularly if you are not a cereal eater like myself and short of an egg every day, there’s toast, and toast...and, oh! there’s toast. Guess what I had? Toast! After breakfast, we strolled around the church yard that we could see from our room (and no, it’s not creepy sleeping next to the old cemetery). On one side of the church there is a little dark wooden door flanked by two yew trees – said to be the inspiration for Tolkien’s Door to Moria. He was apparently known to have spent a lot of time walking around the Cotswolds and sketching things he saw there. The inside of the church itself was impressive as many churches here seem to be. Parts of it dated back to the 12th century and there were some very old tomb markers on the floor (although none as old as the 12th century). Apparently, during the Civil War here, 1000 soldiers were imprisoned in the church. A disturbing thing to imagine.

After this, we stopped at the New England Coffee House which we had spotted the night before as a place for hot chocolate. The barrista and another woman in the shop were really nice and asked where we were from. We spent a little time chatting with them and left with heavenly hot chocolate (the thicker kind, like European drinking chocolate) and recommendations for the route to Aberystwyth from Stow – our next port of call for the following day – and also the names of places to eat that night that would be off the beaten path for other tourists (so as to avoid a repeat performance of the night before).

Our first outing of the day took us to a Falconry Center for which I had spotted a flier the day before in the Tourist Information place in Bourton-on-the-Water. Mike was also interested so we decided to go ahead and see what it was like. Let me just say, it was a really well-spent several hours. We learned so much about birds of prey and saw a lot of really beautiful birds. The Center is apparently involved in conservation and breeding and so have quite a few breeding pairs of different species. Entering the initial courtyard, there were lots of uncaged birds right out in the open (tethered to roosts), identified by species but also by the names given to them by the Center. These are the birds that must and do get flown every day. Did our mouths drop open when we saw two Bald Eagles just hanging out so close we could have reached out and touched them? Yes, indeed! The bigger one was Gladys – apparently the females are bigger – and the smaller was Wutan. We have never seen a Bald Eagle this close – or any other birds of prey – and the whole experience was simply amazing. We saw all kind of eagles, falcons, hawks, kites, owls, kestrels, and vultures as close as the hand in front of your face. Some were in cages (mostly the breeding pairs) but many were not. At one point, I sat next to Desmond – a horned owl – who was sitting on a young trainee’s (gloved) arm. He was actually a pretty chatty bird and very large. The young man said he was really heavy but part of his training was to hold all the birds so they could get used to each other. I told him I had approached one cage with owls in it and one of them did this weird sort of head wiggle – back and forth, up and down – and I didn’t know what that meant. He said they do that because they have binocular vision so they have to wiggle their head like that to focus. Eventually we left Desmond because the young man’s arm had gone numb from holding him – even though he had his arm braced against the bench. Yikes!
At about that time, they had a flying demonstration. The falconer was the most enthusiastic and engaging man and we learned so much about birds of prey. The first thing we learned as that they are apparently “bone idle” – meaning they are lazy! He said they’re not actually made for flying (that is, flapping their wings) but for gliding and soaring. This means they don’t have the muscle for sustained flying so on days when the weather is not good for flying (no wind, no good thermals, etc.), they simply won’t; they won’t expend the extra effort and will instead go hungry and wait for a better opportunity. The day we were there it was overcast with very little wind, so he warned us that the birds he took out for us might not fly. We also learned that birds basically have three weights: hunting weight, opportunity weight, and fed-up. The latter is where we get that term and means that they are too full of food to fly. They fly the best, apparently, when they are at hunting weight, but that is a tricky thing to determine and it’s different for every bird. They keep most of their birds at opportunity weight, which I think means that if the weather is good and they’re hungry they’ll fly.

He took out two types of vultures, one pair was called Rosie and Ripper, four black kites, and a Chilean Eagle named Lulu. None of them really felt like flying but they were all magnificent and he got the kites, Rosie, and Lulu to fly a little bit. The two smaller turkey vultures that he took out first, followed him out of their cage on foot, gave the sky a look, hung around the falconer for a nibble or two, hopped on his arm, and then walked back to their cage! He did try to coax them nearer to people by tossing food close to us. They are skittish and so Mike and I kept quiet and very still and then one come cautiously over to get the nibblet – approaching it sort of obliquely, dashing in low, and getting out quick. The other two vultures, Rosie and Ripper, we got to see up close for longer because they were not shy at all (they were HUGE). Rosie basically sat right in front of us for quite a while. The falconer kept trying to encourage them to fly and they were so funny! They walked at every opportunity, waddling along behind him. He tried to trick them at one point by calling them out into a field and locking a gate behind them so they’d have to fly over the fence to come back – but Ripper decided going under the fence would be preferable. Heehee!

Anyway, we had a really great time and the falconer himself was a hoot, clearly loves what he does, and loves his birds. He also was very firm that they do not MAKE their birds fly and do tricks for an audience; the center’s philosophy is that the birds should be able to behave as naturally as possible. If this means that the day is crap and they don’t want to fly, they won’t make them do so – as we saw. It was an entertaining and informative visit even so, and if we’d have had time to stick around for the next flying demonstration, I would have. Instead we left there and did a little back roads driving in the Cotswolds to get a feel for the area. It really is very pretty there – not as dramatic as the coast of Cornwall – but beautiful in its own way. Low hills, green and gold fields, tree “tunnels” over the narrow roads – very pastoral. We stopped in the village of Chipping Campden for tea and to see the 17th century stone Market Hall that still stands in the village center. Our cream tea was perfectly timed as it started to really rain as soon as we got inside. We were nice and cozy with our scones and tea but then we decided to forge ahead to Warwick Castle, as we had originally planned. Turns out that once you enter the parking area, you can’t get out again without a parking token that you get in the castle forecourt. Mike was ambivalent about doing anything more than going to get the token since it was looking a bit like Disneyland and not the experience we were hoping for. It had really started to rain by then and I discovered that my jacket was really not all the waterproof (i.e., I got soaked). After all that to get the stupid parking token, I was damn well not going to leave without seeing the castle, Disneyland, drenched or no. I’m sure that’s exactly what they hope you’ll do and we had to pay quite a lot to get in. But it was fun even though the rain made us a tad miserable (Mike had an umbrella and a better coat so he was less miserable). At one point, we were in the basement walking through an exhibit called “The King’s Arms” or something like that, where there were all these wax, life-size figures set up in various rooms doing things that would be required if there were a call to arms – when suddenly one of the figures spoke to us! Turns out there was a real guy (dressed period appropriately) sitting among the wax figures. He said he thought we realized, as he was sitting there hand-sewing some thingamabobs for holding armor together (I forget what he called them). He hadn’t mean to startle us, but he sure did! We found out that he’s a “white smith” or a cold metal worker and as he put it “he gets paid to play”. Goes around to where they do battle reenactments and the like.

After this, we left the castle and thankfully the rain had let up a bit so I didn’t get any wetter than I already was. On our drive back toward Stow, we hit a bit of traffic so I read Mike “The Mousehole Cat” book that I had picked up in Bath. It was a really sweet story with great illustrations and Mike liked it, too. Once back in the Stow area, we head for a town called Bledington, the first pub that our coffee-shop acquaintance had told us about. It was a very small town and the pub was actually very pretty and situated on a small village green. We got there about 6 only to learn that pubs typically don’t open for food until 7. Rather than drive around some more looking for someplace else, we decided to stay there, have a beer, and just relax until we could order food. The pub had very low ceilings and we were seated at a “settle” in front of a huge (big enough to have a party in) fireplace – unlit of course at this time of year. It was very pleasant and 99% of the people that eventually came in were Brits, so we got to soak up some local culture. The food was actually more of what they call “gastro pub” quality, which from the look and taste of things means that it’s a bit upscale. We were “fed up” from the main meal (heehee, get it!), so we opted out of dessert. When we got back to our room in Stow, I filled up the bath with very hot water and finally got the chill off from having been in damp clothes most of the day. It was lovely! I also made decent headway on my Aberystwyth detective story, which was a strangely obsessive read despite being pretty odd and a bit too gritty for my taste. It’s of the “noir” genre, which I hadn’t realized. In any case, we fell asleep to church bells this night.

To and In Bath

2008-06-29T12:08:00.000-07:00

June 29th (Sun) – We woke up to another nice day in Mousehole. Breakfast today was Eggs Benedict for me and an English breakfast for Mike. I also asked the chef/waiter if he could make hot chocolate and he said “I’ll give it a bloody good try”. It was delicious so I’d say he did bloody well! We knew we had a long drive to Bath today so we said goodbye to Mousehole (alas) right after breakfast. We drove around Penwith as the shopkeeper at the Mousehole gallery had recommended (as it was “unspoilt” and let you see the old farms and how things have always been) and it turned out to be a really wonderful suggestion. I can’t even describe the landscapes we saw in a way that will do them justice. There were parts where you were simply breathless. I tried to capture some of this on my camera but looking at the pictures makes me realize I’ll have to hold the images in my heart because the pictures just don’t capture the reality. I was sorry to leave this area; Cornwall is amazing and we didn’t even see a third of it.

I was actually feeling downright yucky today but after Penwith, the plan was to head toward a spot called Tintagel (pronounced tin-TAD-jel) to the remains of a medieval (and perhaps earlier in spots) castle. There has been some supposition that this might have been King Arthur’s castle but in fact when we got there it was clear that they can’t really say so for sure. Because we didn’t really know where we were going, we pulled over at a sign that said “Park Here for Tintagel Castle and Church”. As we paid our 1 pound, we realized that we’d probably been taken by a local getting money from tourists for parking – and so it turned out. We had a long walk over fields with big round hay bales (not sheep) lying about until we met a road that took us up to the church, where there was parking for FREE. Yeesh. I would have liked the walk on any other day but I was feeling unwell and it was windy and chilly. In any case, we soldiered on past the church, which was surrounded by low walls that looked to be made out of slate stacked together at a slant – I meant to take a picture on the way back but it was raining by then so I didn’t have the chance. They were really interesting walls and I’d have liked to share how they looked; I always wonder about the hands and minds that put them together.

I must say that Tintagel Head was awesome, in the true sense of the word. To think people built a castle out there, well, holy cow! There used to be a land spit between where we were and the Head itself but that has fallen away – so they’ve built a pedestrian bridge in between. But to get from one side to the other you have to walk down a LOT of stairs and back up again on the other side. Some of the individual steps were half again the height of my leg, so I (and others as short as me) had to go down pretty slowly – thinking all the while of how the hell I was going to get back up again. As it was, I pooped out and let Mike go on ahead over to the other side. I contented myself with the ruins on my side and sitting on some ancient stairs and looking at the view. Pictures will show I was not happy on the stairs and partly it was because of feeling miserable, but partly because I really just couldn’t push myself to go up the other side, back down, and back up this side again. In any case, Mike very thoughtfully took pictures all about the Head and also took pictures of the information tablets that told you about the ruins. As he was coming back up the stairs on my side, it started to rain and we still had a ways to go to get back to our car. The wind blew the rain sideways and by the time we got back to the car, we were more than slightly damp. Did I say I was miserable? Geez Louise, that walk totally sucked – but hands down it’s better than what I was doing last summer at this time.

After we got to the car and I dried out a bit, I felt a little better but despite Mike’s willingness to stop for tea somewhere, I felt we should drive ahead to Bath, which was still several hours away and it was already 2 PM. The drive was uneventful and we arrived out our B&B with no trouble. Our B&B was right on the edge of all the interesting bits of Bath, so walking around was very easy. We were both tired when we finally got to Bath but we ventured out to find a place to eat. Looking at our various brochures we decided to head for Yak Yeti Yak – a Nepalese restaurant (great name, huh?). As my former student and now Dr. Good-Ament has cooked Nepali food for us many times having gone there on a Fulbright, we decided we couldn’t pass up such a restaurant. We stumbled about for a bit and then realized we’d passed it, so we retraced our steps only to discover, along with another confused looking couple, that it had moved. The four of us decided to try to find its new location together on the assumption that four sets of eyes were better than two sets. In the end, we actually passed its new location as well (it was down a flight of steps, below street level). When we did find it, we decided to sit together with our new friends, Jeff and Phyllis from the San Capistrano area in California. They’d been down to Cornwall for some sort of family reunion with cousins Jeff had never met. We spent a very pleasant evening with them eating delicious Nepali food. We think we bored them when they asked what we did but at least we were enthusiastically boring! We learned that Jeff is some sort of high-level administrator with the school board and Phyllis had just taken early retirement a week before – and was thinking about becoming a physical trainer. She was lovely in a very earthy way. I’d hire her!

I began to flag at a certain point, realizing that we’d gotten to Bath later than our usual arrival time at our destinations, so it had to be after 9. Indeed it was, so we paid our bill very amicably and then walked along together towards our B&Bs. On one corner, a young man was standing with his arm around an older man – and he said to Phyllis and me, “It’s my dad’s birthday today, wouldn’t you like to sing Happy Birthday to him?” So we did – and then were instructed to give him a kiss. It was all very silly but heart-warming, too. We then parted ways with Phyllis and Jeff and continued on to our room where we dropped into bed like sacks of potatoes.

June 30th (Mon) – Our first morning in Bath saw us arranging to have our clothes washed by “Speedy Wash”. They come get it and bring it back to you all clean. We decided that despite the cost, it was worth it in terms of convenience and the time gained. No standing around in a laundry meant more time to explore.

I had eggs and mushrooms on toast this time for breakfast but vowed to lay off the eggs for a bit in the next few days. Mike had croissants, yogurt, and cereal. Our room here at the Villa Magdala is very pretty. Apparently the building used to be two Victorian homes that have since been knocked together. The balustrade is original to the house and is ornate and very pretty, as is the room itself. All pale yellows and blues. Our windows overlook the park and down Henrietta Road with its line of Georgian townhouses all in a row.

We headed out to explore the town, walking down by the River and towards the chocolate shop I had of course discovered on the map. Along the way we found our first bookshop where I bought a children’s book called “The Mousehole Cat”. I figured having stayed there, I really out to have it. Once at the chocolate shop, Mike was persuaded to get a champagne truffle and I got a hot chocolate and two chocolates for later (that I ultimately shared with Mike). I’d been taking a dietary supplement daily for my dairy issues but the rich cocoa was too much for it, as I later learned while wandering around the Roman Baths. Thank goodness there are WCs for tourists!

We spent a little time on the square in front of Bath Abbey and the Roman Baths, looking around and just enjoying the nice day. (With the exception of a day or two, we’ve really had luck on the weather end of things and I hope it will continue to be nice.) There were queues of school groups waiting to go in to the Baths and we spent time remarking on how the group who clearly belonged to a girls’ school all looked eerily the same: long blonde hair (whether natural or not), artfully mussed, with big sunglasses and bags, tights under short short skirts, dresses, or shorts, and off-the-shoulder long-waisted tops. If you’ve ever seen the movie Heathers – well this was creepier than that. I’m sure individually they were all lovely young women, but as a group they were a bit frightening.

We decided to head into the Baths before the various school groups but as luck would have it, just as we headed in, the groups were called forward by staff. Ah, well. What’s a tourist experience without school groups?! Actually, Mike figures we were in the Baths for something like three hours but it was so absorbing that I didn’t feel as if that much time had passed. All of the ruins here are something to see and the free audio guides we got really helped us to understand how things must have been. For one thing the Baths themselves are 600 meters below the current street level. As I understand it, they were discovered in the 19th century because people living in the area began to complain that warm water was seeping into their basements. When engineers of the time went to find out why, they discovered the Baths and convinced the government to buy up the houses and uncover the ruins. The Baths were not just used for pleasure but were considered to be fed by a Sacred Spring and the waters were thus considered to be healing. The Baths are part of a temple complex built to the goddess Sulis Minerva and the ruins of that temple (mostly foundations and steps, also underground) are part of the exhibit as well. You can also see what they understand to have been the changing rooms and various other baths that are offshoots of the Great Bath. How they heated the rooms, set up the drains and piping, and generally constructed the baths is really interesting – especially since the drains, for example, are still in use today. The Great Bath is the only one currently filled (not counting the Sacred Spring that feeds them) and used to be completely enclosed. Now it’s in the open air so the water is green with algae, but during Roman times there was an arched roof on the building to keep sunlight from the water and so the water would have been clear. You can also still go the Pump Room where people have been going for hundreds of years to drink the healing waters (now treated). Mike and I had a sip or two but: Ewwww! Remember, it’s a hot spring so the water is warm and I also just didn’t care for the taste. I have to say that I did feel a bit better the next day, so who’s to say it doesn’t actually do the trick?

After the Baths we went searching for something for Mike to eat and found fudge and a pasty shop. We bought the fudge to save for later and Mike had a pasty. I decided to get a sausage roll for the experience but was sorry I did and tossed most of it into the trash. We’ve decided that the English don’t really understand sausage. We then started our stroll to the Royal Crescent, where the nobility used to live in the 18th and 19th centuries. Along the way, we found a cheese shop, which we entered and then drooled over various cheeses (no more dairy for the day for me!). Then we found a great bookshop called “Mr. B’s Emporium”. A really sweet dog greeted me at the door for pets (named Vlaschka –apparently she’s Czech) and after we took a browse, the shopkeeper found some mysteries for me – some take place in Bath, some in Dartmoor and Bodwin Moor, and some even in Aberystwyth in Wales where we will be heading in a day or two. Not to mention they had a WC. I only mention it because on the inside it was completely wall-papered in magazine articles, Sudoku pages and the like. Could have stayed in there some little time quite pleasurably! The shopkeeper was kind enough to tell us exactly how to get to the Royal Crescent and following his directions got us there with no trouble. It’s interesting architecture built in the Georgian period, 1777 to be exact. To get there we passed through another area called The Circus, which is similar, but not quite as grand. It was definitely impressive to contemplate, but people still live there so you can’t go in any but one, and we opted out of that.

From here we ambled back towards town and I decided that what we really needed to do, especially as I was still feeling sick, was to go the NEW Baths, which our innkeeper had told us about. This we did, and it was exactly the right thing to do. You have to pay, of course, but it was well worth it. We had brought our swimsuits with us just in case and so we went straight there. There are two pools fed by the hot spring, one on the roof and one at ground level. We went to the roof-top one first and paddled about. On one side there are benches under the water that have jacuzzi vents, so they go on and off in cycles. In another corner, there was a sort of waterfall that also goes on and off in cycles. It was absolute bliss. Then we went one floor down to the steam rooms; there were four of them, each with a different scent: frankincense, lavender, mint, and mint and eucalyptus. Oh, baby! We had to go into each one of course and in between you could refresh yourself in a hug open shower in the middle of the room that had like 30 jets – a huge “rain shower” one in the middle and then other individual jets around the edge in a circle. In this room, there were also individual “foot baths” where you sit on a stone bench and stick your feet in a little tub and fill it up with water and then turn on the bubbles! We then tried the downstairs pool but felt it was not as warm and you couldn’t see the Bath roof-line like you could in the other one. So back up we went and ultimately again to the steam rooms and then our time was up. We were wonderfully relaxed and I could easily have stayed longer and/or gone back for more! In general, I keep thinking our pace here would be too slow for Joey to enjoy, but this he would have loved.

After our Thermae Bath experience, we had an early dinner at a restaurant that sells the “Famous Bath Bun”. It was good to say we’d had one, but the food was just so-so. Good veggies, though. Dinner finished, we oozed back to our hotel still quite relaxed from the Baths and discovered clean clothes. Yay! For the rest of the evening, I down- and uploaded photos, blogged a little, and began my Aberystwyth detective story. Mike occupied himself similarly, but his book of choice was his teach-yourself-Welsh book, of course.

To and In Mousehole

2008-06-27T12:26:00.000-07:00

June 27th (Fri) – Woke up to rain this morning, which gave us a different view of the town with the mist and a different play of light on the water. I never get tired of looking at the ocean. Down to breakfast again – had a poached egg on toast (really good, actually) and more toast. I know I said it before but my dad would love breakfast here. There’s always toast and jam – which is a staple for him. As we were trying to plan our route out of town, another diner came up to us and asked if he might recommend some things. He said we really should go through Dartmoor and if we had a chance to see something called the Eden Project. He’s not the first person to recommend that to us; it’s apparently a biosphere-type project, but in the end we had to pass. Simply not enough time for everything.

We headed out of town just after breakfast as we knew we had a long drive to Mousehole. Lyme Regis is just on the border of Devon, so we had all of Devon to get through before we even reached Cornwall – and Mousehole is almost at the very tip of the peninsula. As we were checking out, one of the innkeepers suggested we take a very short detour to a town called Branscombe for something different. Apparently a cargo boat called the Napoli beached near there just a few years ago and he said you could see parts of the ship wreck sticking out of the water. Turns out that the boat actually ran aground on a reef elsewhere down the coast but everyone was rescued and they towed the boat to Branscombe and beached it there to dismantle it. We decided that we should try things that locals recommended, so we got off the main road and headed down. Oh my word, you’ll have to ask Mike how it felt to drive those roads. They were so narrow, two cars couldn’t possibly pass at the same time – and the roads were completely surrounded by high hedges. When you met another car, one had to back up to very small “lay-bys” so the other car could squeeze around with barely a breath in between. Mike was terrified but soldiered on down some especially steep parts where we thankfully did not meet another car (backing up would have been horrible) and eventually made it into the town (very tiny) and the beach. We didn’t actually see any wreckage but we did see a few boats doing some dredging. The shoreline was pretty though and there were some red cliffs there that are apparently of some note.

We didn’t linger in Branscombe but headed out on a different route, which was slightly less terrifying for Mike. We happened on another little church, St. Winifred’s, parts of which were built in the 12th century. It really amazes me how old things are. We stopped to take a look inside and its age was very clear. Must be really cold in there in the winter! Also, the church itself was very bare – apparently it was a Catholic church first and had been very ornate at one time but with the dissolution during Henry VIII’s time and the sacking of the Catholic churches, it suffered and now is very simple.

After Branscombe, we toodled around on some smaller roads but it had really started to rain and we were feeling tired so we get on the M5 (a road more like an interstate) for a short bit to what were more like state highways until we got to Dartmoor. We had the perfect weather for seeing Dartmoor because it was foggy and rainy. Great for that Sherlock Holmesian feeling! We took a road that basically bisected the Moor and once we got to the less inhabited parts, we could definitely see the mystery of it. For us, though, it was unexpectedly hilly and green. We both thought it would be flat and rather bleak but it didn’t seem that way to us. The fog rolled across the Moor just for us at one point and made us feel as if we’d properly seen it. There were also lots of sheep here – there were even “sheep on road” caution signs. While we didn’t actually have to negotiate around any in the road, some were awfully close. They seem to sleep and stand around on almost anything and just about wherever the please. We passed very close to one whose nose just about touched our car!

We wanted to stop for a cream tea in one of the little towns in the Moor but Mike was unexpectedly picky and didn’t like the looks of the places we saw. By this time, it was raining pretty steadily so we forged on out of the Moor. We’d been seeing these little road-side carts in “lay-bys” near the road that Mike was curious about and so he got himself lunch at one of these – a sausage “bap” otherwise known as a sausage roll. I passed – I was thinking Mad Cow disease and he teased me by saying he didn’t think there was “Mad Pig” disease. After this, it was a long rainy drive to Mousehole, which we reached around 5ish. The streets of Mousehole are horrendously narrow, like the ones we drove on to get to Branscombe. Mike said the only way he got through it was knowing there was no way to turn around. Thankfully, we stumbled upon our B&B on this, Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride. Our room is over a restaurant (The Cornish Range), which made us worry about noise, but actually it’s really a nice room and the noise didn’t bother us. The room is big and very long – runs the whole width of the place – with eight windows that overlook the street. It’s done up very modern but also comfy and there’s a huge painting by a local artist hanging on the wall. It’s really a perfect room.

We had to park our car a little ways down from the B&B in a car park just inside the breakwater. The water could potentially come up as far as our car, but we figured they wouldn’t let you park there if it would. Paying for parking was an adventure in using an “Honesty Box” as there was no one to man the little hut at the time we arrived. We basically had to stick 2 pounds into the side of this little stone hut – in which there was an iron coin slot.

We ate at the B&B restaurant this night and it was delicious. This food could hold its own with places in Tucson and then some. All local seafood and local produce. I had, get this, a half lobster simmered in white wine, and new potatoes and salad on the side, and Mike had a medley of local Cornish fish. I then had something called “black cherry and chocolate delice” with a pistachio crust and clotted cream. Oh boy. It was too sad that I couldn’t finish it all. Where was my dad?! Mike had three different scoops of home-made ice cream, which, judging by the way it rapidly disappeared must also have been good. Apparently this restaurant is very popular but it’s small – only about 10 tables or so, and at first they said they couldn’t seat us until after 8 PM (at which point our faces would be in our plates). Fortunately, one of the young men/chefs that had checked us in saw us and knew we were staying there, so they found us a table. He said “there’s always a table for a resident!”. Both chefs we’ve seen as well as the waitresses were simply charming. I found this place on the internet (and the one in Lyme Regis) and we’ve really done well so far. After dinner, we walked around a teensy bit, but my tummy was rumbly (all that food!) and so we went back to our room for the night. I really tried to ignore the fact that I had a sore throat sneaking up on me as I fell asleep.

June 28th (Sat) – Woke up early but to a day without rain – and to a day with a sore throat and what might be a cold coming on. Bummer. I think my immune system has just been whomped too many times and I’m prey to every little bug. I decided to pretend that all was well to see if I could convince my body that it felt fine.

To start, we had breakfast down in the restaurant – toast made from their homemade bread and I had another poached egg. When I asked just for the egg, the same (cute) and helpful chef said “no toast?” and I said “you can put it on toast if you like; is that how you normally have it here?”. He laughed a “yes” so egg on toast it was. After breakfast, we asked about a laundry in town as we’re running low on clothes, but apparently the nearest one is in Penzance – a short bus ride away. However, today was “Mazey Day” in Penzance and we were encouraged to go there for the parades and street fair. So we did! Rather than get back on Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride, we took the bus where Mike chatted up two very nice older English ladies also on holiday. Honestly, everyone here is so kind and wonderful to talk to. I’m not sure people are the same way in the States. They told us we really had to see St. Michael’s Mount, which we actually passed on the way here but because it was so foggy, we couldn’t see it. This is like the little island of St. Michel in France. You can walk out to it at low tide but at high tide, you have to take a boat. It’s basically a small castle town on top of a hill. Because we’ve seen its sister in France, we’d love to do it, but we’re not sure if we want to backtrack. The nice thing was we could see it from the bus and ultimately from the harbor at Mousehole later in the day.

We got to Penzance with no trouble and found the festival very close by. First we stopped at the tourist information center right by the bus station, where we got some maps of the area but Mike also asked about Cornish and where we might find books about it. We did find one little book there about the Cornish language but they told us we’d see another bookstore along the main street where the festival was. On that street, we noted a place to come back to for a true Cornish pasty, but a little further down I couldn’t resist the crepe stall and got a lemon & sugar crepe. It was delicious. We walked along through the stalls until Mike spotted the bookstore and of course, he made a beeline for it. He happily bought a Cornish grammar and I bought a few postcards and a mystery that is one of a series set in Cornwall – and was recommended by a woman working in the shop. A few stalls further down, Mike spotted a “Cornish language” booth, which was there to promote the revitalization of Cornish. Well, Mike was as happy as a pig in you-know-what and we spent the better part of an hour there while Mike talked their ear off. I was tempted into buying a sort “easy” Cornish illustrated book, which I’m looking forward to spending some time with.

At this point, the parade was approaching and we spent a nice 30 minutes watching the bands (including some bagpipers) and dancers and looking at the “floats” (for lack of a better word). These looked to be large paper machiere type figures held up on long poles and all of them were really remarkable. We then walked along the street a ways until – pthhpthh! – we both got strafed by seagulls and ended up with – um – gifts on our shirts, Mike more so than me. This meant Mike simply had to go back to the language booth and get a T-shirt with the Cornish flag and some Cornish on it. I didn’t think any of them would fit me (sigh), so I went to the next booth and got a pretty blue hand-painted T-shirt from a nice man who does them all himself; mine has a sort of sea creatures theme with dolphins and pretty fish. After this, we had to make our way back to the pasty shop, where we both got pork and apple pasties (not to my taste, actually, but Mike seems to like them a lot).

At this point, my charade of feeling just fine started to wane and we decided to head down to the bus station, hit the loo, and then eat our pasties while waiting for the next bus. This plan went smoothly, although once we boarded the bus, we got stuck by more parade and had to spend about 30 minutes at a stop light while the parade went by. They were new floats and music, so it was a pleasant half hour plus I was sitting next to a very old fisherman who was traveling with his two dogs – looked like Shelties – and they were so cute! Although he was a bit difficult to understand, I got that his dogs were named Darling and Princess. They clearly loved him and were so gentle and beautiful. In general, England is proving to be very dog friendly. We’ve seen so many. All very well loved and tended.

Once back, I felt poorly enough that we went back to the room where Mike let me nap for 15 or 20 minutes before we headed out to explore Mousehole. We made our way to the tea shop first for a little pick-me-up – and we had our first Cream Tea. Which was tea and a scone each with clotted cream and some jam. Really hit the spot. Then we made our way down to the harbor – the town is really very small and the twisty streets are filled with charming lopsided homes some with really beautiful little gardens. We headed to the opposite side of the harbor where Mike was looking for the home and plaque that commemorated the last speaker of Cornish, whose language died with her in 1777. We didn’t find it then but we did find a lovely gallery of locally-made crafts, the Sandpiper Gallery, and I couldn’t resist going in. Spent a nice half-hour talking to the shopkeeper, and she recommended we drive along the bottom of the peninsula and around (Penwith) on our way out. I could have bought so many things in this store; it was really beautiful stuff. I limited myself to a silver ring and earrings, and a little clay mouse. How could I leave Mousehole without one?

After this, we strolled down one of the breakwaters and had a good view of Mount’s Bay and St. Michael’s Mount. The water was a mixture of blues and greens – really beautiful. We had asked at a nearby shop where we could find the house and plaque Mike was looking for and it turns out we’d actually passed it nearer to our B&B. So we headed back that way and did find it (and a lot of lounging cats, a few of whom didn’t mind a skritch or two). We then made our way down onto a walkway right by the rocks and the water, which eventually petered out – but it was a pretty area and I loved the view. Making our way back, a boy came down with his little white dog who began leaping about in the tidal pools having a grand old time. I think I heard him call her Lily and she was just as sweet as could be. Little tail wagging a mile a minute - trying to fetch rocks thrown to her in tidal pools.

We walked up some steep stairs after this and tried to find our way to the coastal path to keep walking (a quest we shared with another couple who also remarked on the confusing signs), but once we did we decided not to go any further. Instead we headed back to our room and rested for an hour or so. Then it was dinner time and so we made our way to the Ship Inn, Mike’s choice. A low beamed pub where I had a half pint and Mike a pint of bitter. I wasn’t feeling very hungry after the Cream Tea, so only had a small bowl of crab soup which came with fresh homemade bread. It was the perfect meal. Then we walked back around the harbor for a small ice cream cone and then down on the sand inside the breakwater and back to our room - again serenaded to sleep by seagulls (larger than cats here in England!).

To and In Lyme Regis

2008-06-26T12:18:00.000-07:00

June 25 (Wed) – Joey’s birthday today. I sent an e-card first thing but we couldn’t call until later because of the time difference. Instead we had breakfast – a basket of warm croissants (plain and chocolate) and some juice. We then headed out to the Royal Pavilion, stopping on the way for a battery charger with the right plug for our camera. We were able to walk right in to the Royal Pavilion although we had a teensy wait because someone with a group was apparently not registered as such and they only had one person selling tickets. We got audio guides for free and this was a good thing because there was so much to look at and things weren’t labeled. The most magnificent rooms were the banquet hall and the music hall. The banquet hall had a huge chandelier held in the claws of a dragon and the music room’s ceiling was decorated in gold cockle shells and was hung with huge lotus shaped lamps hand painted in the Chinoiserie style. What wealth and beauty were kings surrounded with. Columns were wrapped with serpents – in fact there were lots of snakes in the room (which wasn’t creepy, rather exotic). Apparently, the Chinese have said such a room would be unlucky – and in fact this room has required renovation several times. Once due to a hurricane that damaged the roof and another time, before the hurricane damage was fixed, one of the balls on the roof fell off and went through the ceiling. We also saw the King’s bedchambers and even the door to the Royal Potty – but we didn’t see the potty itself, which after hundreds of years is probably a good thing.

After this, we began the drive to Lyme Regis with directions that the nice lady at the Royal Pavilion Tourist Info room printed out for us. We took mostly big roads this time and actually found it boring. We skirted around Portsmouth and other big towns so Mike wouldn’t have to drive in scary situations, but after a few hours, this got tedious so we switched back to smaller roads. Back in farm country with rolling green hills in all shades and more cows than sheep this time. The streets into Lyme Regis made up for the relatively stress-free drive we’ve had. Poor Mike. They were so steep and narrow and on top of this, we didn’t know where we were going. Mike had to back up and turn around several times. We finally called the hotel and had to turn around again to find the place. Our B&B was actually up the hill from the town and our room had a view to die for. Our windows looked out over the town and out to the water (see picture). So although the room itself wasn’t anything to write home about it had three great qualities: it had a spectacular view, it had a king bed (actually two twins pushed together) and it had a TUB!

Once we checked in, we walked down the hill on the main street of the town. Most of the shops were closing but I marked a fudge shop for the next day. We also walked a bit along the boardwalk. I really liked this town and could have stayed there for a month or more. Mike chose our dining venue and so we ate a place called the Pilot House. It was a nice little place. I had a crab roll (not so good because I think it was dressed in something they call “salad cream”) and a local beer “Palmers”, and Mike had fish and chips and beer as well. We both decided to have dessert and I got something called Hot Chocolate Pudding with hot chocolate sauce. This turned out to be chocolate cake with hot fudge – it was delicious but not pudding! If cake is called pudding, what is pudding called?

After this, we walked back up the hill (huff puff), stopping along the way to “top up” our phone so we could call Joey back, which we did. Once we got to our B&B, we sat where we could see the view and simply enjoyed where we were (and I took a bath!). I couldn’t help think of Joey and wish we’d had the money to bring him here AND give him the summer of music that he wanted.

June 26th (Thurs) – We spent the day relaxing in Lyme Regis. Had a breakfast of poached egg and walked to town via Hill Road (even steeper) which led to the river walk (very small, runs through a small part of the town); picturesque with wildflowers, ducks, etc. We saw what looked like a promising bakery but we didn’t go in at that point. Instead we walked out to the Cobb (seen in the film of French Lieutenant's Woman) although Mike got spooked walking along the actual wall. We then found a bench by the water and sat and read for quite some time; then we checked out some shops (fudge shop, the bookshop) and then we went for lunch at the bakery. It was great fun. The bakery was basically a shed with a corrugated roof but it was nice and warm inside from the ovens. From the ceilings were hung racks of mugs over long wooden benches – food was superb, bruschetta and some little salads, plus soy cocoa and we brought home a scone and some carrot cake for later. From here we went to the TI and out onto the quay and as it was getting windy, Mike decided to go back up for his coat while I sat on the benches by the water with my book. When he got back, we each read for while and then decided ice cream was in order. I went and got it for both of us but it was further than I thought so walking back the ice cream began to melt and drip all over. With the wind, I ended up with drippy ice cream blown onto my pants and camera case and all down my hands. A sticky situation indeed! And Mike went and fed his cone to a seagull who ate the whole thing in ONE bite and the proceeded to scold me so I’d give him mine. I didn’t as there were signs asking people not to feed the seagulls. Although he called over a mate and I did give that seagull a tiny part of my cone, alas. We sat there until it got too chilly for us at which point Mike remembered a bench he’d seen on the river walk earlier. So we went there and read for a bit. At this point, it was about dinner time but I wasn’t really hungry so we got Mike another pasty and then hit our B&B for a drink in the garden (I got a half pint of bitter, which is beer actually – it was really good with a creamy top). Then up to the room where I had my carrot cake and read some more and then had a bath. An altogether excellent day.

To and In Brighton

2008-06-25T11:38:00.000-07:00

June 24 (Tues) – This morning we woke early and Mike had coffee and I had cocoa while we got showered and dressed. This morning for breakfast I had scrambled eggs on toast (I didn’t expect them to be one on top of the other but they were) and Mike had yogurt and muesli. It was a much tummy-friendlier breakfast. I then mapped out our route to Brighton and wrote it all down from Multimap on the Internet. Mike wanted to hit the towns of Rye and Battle on the way and I wanted to hit an area called Beachy Head, where there were supposed to be white chalk cliffs more impressive than the ones at Dover (which we never really saw). The directions proved to be more helpful than the ones we’d tried to follow in Dover but not so straightforward that we didn’t get lost once. Mike pulled into what looked a bit like a small industrial park and two very nice men helped get us on our way again. The country side on the roads we were driving was really beautiful. Rolling hills and farmland – and what could make me more excited than that there were tons of sheep everywhere! I cannot even tell you how many sheep I saw: woolly sheep, shorn sheep, big sheep, little sheep. They were as frequent here as cows are in some parts of the States. I absolutely loved seeing the little white dots on all the green hillsides.

Just before we got into Rye, we pulled over at a little road-side fruit stand. The stand abutted some sheep pasture so I got to see some of the sheep at close-hand. So CUTE! I had already determined that these were dairy/hairy sheep, so I didn’t have to fret about them being little Gyro sandwiches someday. We got some cherries and some strawberries, and the latter were outstanding. I have never seen strawberries so plump and shiny glossy red. Yum! The town of Rye was full of narrow twisty streets full of antique shops and tourists so while it was nice, we decided to head instead for a little town that our guidebook said was quieter and prettier, called Winchelsea. We found this little town with no problem – up on a hill. And there we discovered the most beautiful old church, St. Thomas’. It was surrounded by a stone wall and enclosed an old graveyard. Some of the stones were new but many were old – people who had died in the 17 and 1800s. Parts of the church itself were either never finished or had tumbled down and the flowers that grew around the tumbled bits were gorgeous pinks and purples. You could actually go in the church itself – the several doors were old, very solid dark wood with complicated latches – and it was a treat to see it. There were some beautiful windows and tapestries and what I assume were crypts along the wall – the highly ornate sort with carved figures lying down. It wasn’t creepy though, instead it was very peaceful and I could see how people would come to worship in a place like this. There was also a huge old organ, the pipes of which you could see if you stood near the altar and looked back (they’d be behind you as you entered the church). I lit a candle here as well, not so much for Jennie as for me and the people I know and have known.

After Winchelsea, we tried to find lunch and ended up at a little road-side cafe (looked like a little house) somewhere between Rye and Hastings. Mike had already decided not to go to the town of Battle (where the Battle of Hastings actually took place) and so we stopped here before heading on to Hastings and Beachy Head and the chalk cliffs. We knew we wouldn’t be able to see everything we’d hoped to and so we’re already beginning to cut things out. I had a Ploughman’s lunch, which was a few slices of ham, a bit of salad, some “pickle” (really chutney), and a boiled onion that I did not eat. Mike had “bangers and mash” which was basically a huge and greasy pile of mashed potatoes with three big sausage on top with brown onion gravy all over. He said later that he never wanted to see another such again. I tasted it and was glad I had my Ploughman’s, which was sort of like a cheese board without the cheese.

From there, we drove through Hastings, which was nothing very special, and on to Beachy Head and a little stop over at a place called Birling Gap. Beachy Head is a coastal area and may I say that our first sight of the chalk cliffs left our mouths hanging open. They are absolutely magnificent. Very startlingly white and HUGE! Plus it was a beautiful day – a little windy but sunny and clear. We were on top of the cliffs, not below them at first, and the area around them is farmland – so rolling green hills, wildflowers, white chalk cliffs. It doesn’t get any better than that.

We drove a bit further along the coast to a light house that our waiter at lunch had told us about – and we parked the car and walked up the hill – the views were great although I must say I had a little bit of vertigo at one point. There’re signs all along that say “Cliff Edge” and because chalk crumbles, well, you don’t want to get too close – although the path did get too close for Mike at some points and he began walking further away. It was really beautiful and I could have stayed there all day. The waiter had told us – and so we read – that the lighthouse had actually been moved back from the cliff at great expense, because the cliffs are constantly eroding. Looking down from the one light house, you could actually see another one down a little ways away and in the water.

From here we went on to Birling Gap, which was basically a parking lot and a hotel but you could get down to the beach via stairs. We parked and walked down and so got a view of the cliffs from below. The beaches here in England so far are all rocky but in this case you could tell there was a lot of chalk cliff mixed in with the rocks. Mike wanted to see if the water was cold and lost his dare with the surf and got his sneakers wet. He seemed fascinated by all the rocks and spent time trying to skip stones in the surf and crouching down looking at all the pebbles. I walked a little ways to stand as close to a cliff as I dared and picked up a chalk chunk about the size of my palm to bring back to Mike. I was pretty sure we weren’t allowed to bring anything away with us – but Mike had collected a few rocks plus the one I gave him and wanted to bring them back. At the top of the stairs, though, there was a sign that said not to take anything away with you – alas. Mike tossed his collection away (although he might have snuck one tiny piece). This was also a beautiful place and I could have walked along for quite a while. They did have signs warning about incoming tides, though, so I guess you can get trapped out there if you’re not careful. I don’t imagine trying to get a grip on a chalky, crumbly cliff to keep from being swept out to sea would be easy to do.

Birling Gap is not too far from Brighton, so it only took us a short while to reach our night’s destination. From the direction we were coming, we hit the huge marina first and then the town itself. There’s a big street at the waterfront called the Marine Parade and the whole rest of the city faces that in a higgledy-piggledy jumble. The town reminded me a lot of San Francisco – the architecture is very similar and the streets are steep and narrow and townhouses hug each other quite closely - and occasionally surround a small green or garden. Like San Francisco, the town is also a hub of gay culture in England and we saw plenty of “Toy & Leather” shops along the streets! This spooked Mike out, but not me.

The streets were not very well marked and it was a lost cause trying to find the one our hotel was on, so we called for directions. Our hosts were two young gay French men – one very gregarious and the other very reserved. They were very welcoming and helpful and the gregarious one recommended several places to try for dinner. We stowed our stuff in our small, but nice little room, had a glass of champagne (which we had had waiting for us as a treat), and wandered out into the town – heading towards the Royal Pavilion and an area of twisty lanes and cobbled streets called The Lanes, where there were shops and plenty of places to eat. We caught glimpses of the Royal Pavilion on the way but planned on hitting that the next morning as it was nearly closing time. We managed to find one of the restaurants that our host had recommended but it was closed so we wandered out ocean-side to look for the next. Down by the water (right on the beach and below the Marine Parade), there were all sorts of little cafes and pubs. It was noisier and more rowdy here so we weren’t sure we wanted to eat nearby. Once we found the recommended restaurant we had to remind ourselves that it was a Frenchman that had recommended it. The entrees were things like duck and liver and other assorted scary things at least to this American. So we headed back up to the first restaurant and lo, it was just opening. This was a Spanish tapas place called Casa Don Carlos. We enjoyed ourselves here. I had a glass of sangria and Mike had several glasses of wine (see picture at top). The food was delicious, and the waitresses, although reserved at first, became friendlier and sweeter the longer we stayed. Tapas means you get a lot of little dishes instead of a single entree. We got garlic mushrooms, a plate of manchego slices, mussels in some kind of tomato broth, and the best swordfish I’ve ever tasted. For dessert, we split a Crema Catalana. It was a nice evening and we strolled quite happily back to our hotel, where we finished our bottle of Champagne (or we nearly did anyway), while listening to the many seagulls outside our window and watching an episode of Star Trek and then some of Bulletproof Monk. Fell asleep while listening to a lot of rowdy seagulls!

Canterbury & Dover

2008-06-24T11:32:00.000-07:00

June 23 (Mon): Our first full day in England began with an English Breakfast. We figured we had to try it at least once. This English Breakfast consisted of a fried egg, bacon that looked more like ham, sausage (much larger than American breakfast sausage; it also tasted very different and I didn’t really like it), a small stewed tomato, and some baked beans – oh, and toast. My dad would be in heaven; it comes on a little rack of 6 or 7 pieces and there’s a plate of different kinds of jam. The toast was the best part! Mike had coffee from a French press and I had orange juice (European OJ tastes different from American OJ and not in a good way; still it’s juice!).

After breakfast we walked down to the train station and got ourselves a ticket to Dover, where we had to pick up the car. We had about a half hour to kill so we walked around on the old castle wall that looked over part of the city and a park that according to the plaque had been there since medieval times. At points along the wall there were defense posts that had arrow slits in them – bigger than I thought they would be both in height and in width. I wouldn’t have wanted to be manning one of these during a battle.

The train ride to Dover was through some pretty country – lots of farmland and there were sometimes fields of red poppies – a carpet of red standing out among other gold fields. Once in Dover, we had to find our way to the Eastern Docks where ferries arrive from France, which is where the car rental place was. I had diligently printed directions before we left home on how to do this but they were not easy to follow and in the end, we simply headed toward the water on the assumption that that is where any sort of dock would be. The town itself was much smaller than I thought it would be and awfully pretty, with Dover Castle sitting high up on a hill above the town. We had hoped to go up to the castle, but in the end we were too tired and Mike too anxious about driving and we decided to skip it. We didn’t see the actual White Cliffs of Dover but we did see some white cliffs near the docks.

On our way to the docks, we walked through what was clearly an area intended for tourists – interesting old buildings, quaint shops, and places to eat – but we didn’t linger. Once at the water, we sat for a bit on a bench looking out at the Port of Dover. It was pretty impressive. The Eastern Docks were easy to spot. We saw a lot of ferries coming and going. I had hoped to be able to see France because it was a beautifully clear day and I was told that you could on such days, but we couldn’t see it. Maybe we had to be up at the Castle to do so.

Getting the car was uneventful although we decided to pay additional money (more than the cost of the rental itself) to get insurance. I had called my credit card company before we left home to ask if it insured on rental cars and they said no – so to lower the stress for Mike of driving on the wrong side of the car and the wrong side of the road, we got insurance. This way if anything happens, including a scratch (which they seemed to fret about), we won’t have to pay for anything. Mike’s first time at the wheel and my first time as navigator was to get us back to Canterbury. Mike did really well and it was a very straightforward route to our hotel. We deposited the car there and headed out to explore more of Canterbury and to look at the inside of the Cathedral. The town is full of narrow streets, some cobbled, some not and some old buildings and houses that lean to one side or another. Also, a lot of old churches – much older than anything you’d see in the U.S. I liked the look of them.

As a side note, streets here seem not to allow for parking even though every one does it. This means that if you are driving and you hit a row of parked cars in your lane, you have to veer around it sometimes for quite a ways. This can be intimidating especially as cars don’t seem to give way to each other but rather push on through the narrower space. Eek!

The town was good for walking around in. We found a chocolate shop called Hotel Chocolat and got some very delicious chocolate. There was so much to choose from, I could have happily sat down and stuffed myself silly with all the different kinds, but I exercised restraint and only got a box of 6 chocolates – which later melted in the car and that was sad. Of course I wish I had gotten more now! Mike tried a pasty – and as he’s had another since then, I guess he likes them. I haven’t tried one yet as I decided to have a Cornish pasty when I was actually in Cornwall.

We did go into the cathedral and that was really something. I always try to picture the people who must have built this and how they did so and it never ceases to boggle my mind. There are so many details to take in, it’s almost impossible to do. I realized that if I concentrated on one piece for a bit, more and more details would pop out. The windows were beautiful mosaics of red, blue, gold, and green glass, and I tried to figure out the story they were telling. My camera simply did not do justice to the colors of the stained glass or to the architecture. Even though this cathedral is Anglican, I lit a candle for Jennie’s son (she is Catholic) on the principle that a candle of remembrance works just as well any place. We went down into the crypt but it didn’t look like a crypt the way you might think of one. This is where they keep the church treasury and some pretty impressive items were on display, in particular a gold cross about half the height of me. I was really tired by this point, so I stayed sitting in the cool of the crypt (there were chairs laid out down there as if they hold services) while Mike wandered about in other parts of it. We then made our way out into the garden and from there into one of the cloisters. This is a grassy area, in this case there were some monuments and headstones in it, surrounded by a covered walkway on all sides. There were lots of tombs here under the ground and we walked around and read the inscriptions under our feet and on the walls. Many children who had died in infancy and many men killed in battle.

After this, we walked around the town some more – went into a couple of bookshops but there was nothing special. I’m also very aware that anything I buy to take home has to be put in the suitcase that I’ll be lugging around on the subway and train to get back to London and ultimately to the airport. That was not fun on the way out and I don’t expect it to be on the way home either. We were pretty tired by this point, so we decided to have an early dinner. We went to a pub called The Three Tuns, recommended as a place where the locals go. The bartender was a Polish woman, believe it or not, and she was very kind to us. We asked her about a drink a friend of ours who’d just been visiting England told us to try. This turned out to be called a Cider and Black, which is hard cider plus a black currant liqueur. She gave us a taste for free (I had already ordered a beer when we thought to ask about it). A lot of locals did drop in for a pint and all were nice and fun to talk to. I got fish and chips (fine but not great) and Mike got a Thai curry (which he said was delicious). By the time were done, it was a little after 5 and I decided I really wanted to hear Evensong at the cathedral, which started at 5:30 (that is 17:30 over here). This had been recommended in the guidebook and I love hearing church choirs even though I’m not religious myself. The cathedral actually has two halves and we sat in what I think was the “top half” – on long ornately carved dark wooden benches with red needlepoint cushions and high sides that ran sideways to the alter with an aisle in the middle. The choir was not very big and only consisted of men and boys – no women. Still, when they started to sing, the sound just soared up and stayed there – it was amazing. Gave me goose bumps. We did have to sit through a service, which was about 45 minutes long, but there was lots of singing and that was why I had wanted to go. I knew it might be difficult for Mike as he has no tolerance for religion whatsoever, and so it proved. The service had really just begun when he mouthed that he had to pee and so he left. As there were not many people there, it was pretty obvious when he did so. It was a little embarrassing but only for a minute or two. I stayed through the whole thing and it was clear there were other people there like me who were not religious (did not repeat prayers, etc.) but were there instead for the singing. It was really something. The acoustics of the cathedral were amazing – sound just flew up and echoed. Not something I’ll forget anytime soon.

After the service, Mike and I headed back to our B&B, where we did email and I uploaded pictures from the camera. Helped to keep us awake until an hour for bedtime that wouldn't have us up in the middle of the night!

One Year to the Day...

2008-06-23T12:07:00.000-07:00

On June 21, 2008, one year to the day of my last chemo (although radiation still came later), Mike and I left Tucson to vacation for *three weeks* in England and Wales. Since my last post, which was about six months ago, I returned to work full-time for the Spring semester. The semester was busy, but went very well. I stayed ahead of my fatigue & took care of myself until mid March, when I very unfairly got the stupid flu. That derailed me for several weeks and I don't think I ever quite caught up after that. Still, I got to teach one of my favorite courses and my TA was someone I really enjoy working with. So you can see that things are smoothing out after our very bumpy ride last year. And our trip abroad is a treat to ourselves - a major splurge, in fact. But our motto over these last seven years (since Cancer No. 1) has been: you only live once. Today, Mike added: and travel every year that you are healthy! I think I'm good with that!

It is now June 23rd and there's a lot to say about our trip so far.

Getting there (June 21 and 22): June 21 -We left dear little Ernie in Tracey's (pet-sitter) hands and headed for London via Houston. We missed our connection in Houston because our plane, get this, RAN OUT OF GAS, while in a holding pattern over Podunk, Texas - waiting for storms to clear out of Tucson. We had to divert to College Station, which looked like a Lego-sized version of an airport (one runway total). On the plus side, we flew over Texas A&M, which was interesting. We got to Houston to find out that our connecting flight had also been delayed and we had exactly 15 minutes to get from our arrival gate and terminal to our gate in the international terminal. Watching me run couldn't have been good for anyone! Needless to say, we did not make it; the plane left the gate at 6:54 and we arrived at the gate at 6:59. They booked us on another flight and we had to kill three hours or so in the airport. Someone very kindly told us that if you skulked around the President's club you could get free wireless and so that's what we did as we needed to send email to our B&B in Canterbury saying we might be arriving late.

Our flight was uneventful. We went to sleep immediately - missing out on what smelled through the haze of sleep like a really unappetizing dinner. As we'd already eaten in the airport, I'd say it was a good call to sleep through it! We slept off and on for most of the flight, waking up a couple of hours before landing to a soggy croissant and some fruit. Tasted pretty good actually.

June 22 - Arrived in Heathrow a little early, got through customs and got our luggage with no trouble, changed some US dollars for a pitiful amount of British pounds (the exchange is 2-to-1, not in our favor), and bought a SIM card for a borrowed cell phone. The latter exchange was one where Mike was clearly having English-dialect-adjustment problems! Had no trouble getting to the underground as it was just one floor down from where we were, although negotiating our luggage up and down stairs really sucked. And, yes, through all this I'm sure we looked exactly like what we are: bumbling American tourists! Still, we met some very nice people on the subway who helped us with our cell phone. Negotiated Victoria Station in London just fine, although we had to run *again* for our train to Canterbury. Finally on the train we thought we could sit tight and relax only to discover that the train was going to SPLIT IN HALF at some point. A very nice young woman (a teacher of Spanish, actually, who looked all of 18) helped us figure out whether we were in the right set of cars - and thankfully we were. All the travel from the airport - subway and train - took about 4 hours. We made it to Canterbury by 5:30, had no trouble walking to and finding our hotel - although we did go in through the wrong door! Can anyone else see the big "L" on our foreheads, I wonder.

After checking in, we wandered around Canterbury in an exhausted jet-lagged fog. Stumbling upon a CLOSED chocolate store (never fear, we'll return to this later!), several street musicians (two of whom had a really cute and good doggie), and into the Cathedral area. It was closed but we gawked at it from outside and then made our way to the Old Weaver's House for dinner. Sat in the garden near a tributary from the River Stour. It was very picturesque and if we hadn't been half-asleep, we might have appreciated the ambience a bit more. We both had hard cider and Mike had Shepherd's Pie and I had a chicken & bacon pie (w/ undercooked chips=french fries). Still, it was a nice way to end the evening and from there we stumbled back to our room where we made ourselves stay awake until 9:00 PM.

By the sea, you don't count the days...

2007-10-20T06:43:00.000-07:00

I see it's been almost a month since either of us last posted. In that time we were lucky to visit with our friend Colleen, who flew in from Texas for a week to work with colleagues on the TO reservation. The week after that (with one day of overlap), we had a visit from Pat and Pierre, who we know from my grad school days. Haven't seen them for a coon's age and it was great to catch up with them. As an added bennie we got to see Dianne and Tom, also from grad school days. They live in town but we never seem to keep in touch. P&P always bring us together again. Good friendships are those where you can pick right up again with each other as if no time has passed - even though you've gotten older and life has changed. We are lucky to have such good friends.

At the same time, we've been in a holding pattern regarding Mike's mom. She had one test so far that I know of - and that showed a "pre-cancerous" tumor, which I believe the doctor recommended not be removed (are you kidding? ack!). Also, this doctor apparently said that this tumor would not be why she has lost so much weight, so there is definitely more work to be done here. In truth, any response that has the word "cancer" in it makes my alarm bells go off. Unfortunately, in today's world, you have to be extremely proactive and aggressive about your health, but if I know Mike's mom, she is probably planning on doing that. This scenario is so potentially scary that I hope she doesn't stop until she has actual, definitive answers.

As for me, I am physically much better except for sudden tiredness episodes, where I'm afraid it's stop, drop, and snooze for me. I wish these fits were more predictable but for now, I am just trying to learn my new limits - and at the same time, get out and do more. There's only so much hanging about in one's house that a person can do!

In that spirit, Mike and I came over to Sanibel for a bit of a rest, although Mike had to leave too soon. Here I am now, looking out at the beach where the sky is shades of white and gray stretched out over the sun. The filtered light quicksilvers the water to the horizon. It's very easy to forget time here and that there was another world where I had cancer for the second time. In a way, it's almost startling now when I think about it here. Something as timeless as the ocean makes you forget about time itself. By the sea, you don't count the days...

Another Lesson

2007-09-28T08:59:00.000-07:00

Life doesn't always give you time to catch your breath. In fact, it frequently plows you under. It is clear that Mike's mom has a small tumor (not a cyst) at/on something called the Ampulla of Vater. There may also be some other mass in the pancreas that her doctor has referred to as a cyst, but that bit is a little murky right now. As I understand it, the Ampulla of Vater is an area near the pancreas, where it meets the small intestine. If the cancer is there, then it is actually referred to as ampullary cancer and is not pancreatic cancer but its own thing. In general, the prognosis is better for this type of cancer because it is usually resectable, whereas pancreatic cancer often is not. Ampullary cancer is also typically detected earlier, which again means a better prognosis - and we do know that the tumor is very small. On the other side, 50% of ampullary cancers have metastasis to the lymph system. This news is all very scary no matter what way you slice it but one always has to hope. There are several more diagnostic procedures to be done, so we're also still working without the complete set of facts. Mike's mom is a very strong woman, though, and is ready to give this, whatever it is, a run for its money.

As for me, and aside from this latest news, I am doing all right. Physically, I sometimes still get whomped by fatigue. I think to myself "I feel pretty good! I still feel pretty good! Hey, this is great! Uh-oh, I'm exhausted." It is clear that a full day at work right now is too much.

Mentally, well, I think this is a different matter. There's all kinds of thoughts racing through my head at all hours that I'd pretty much stuffed because the treatment itself occupies you so much. So now there are Big Questions: how to move forward, how to live with the fear, whether there are changes that need to be made so life is what you want it to be now and not something you wait for "when you're older". Those "I'll get to that someday" things that we all have ought really to be things we make happen for ourselves sooner rather than later. Carpe Diem.

Bam from a different direction

2007-09-27T12:35:00.000-07:00

Treatment is indeed over and dko is getting fuzzier every day...which is a really good thing.

She's coming into the office every once in a while and this is strangely reassuring to me. I think it's something about seeing her in a "normal" setting.

The bad news is that I got a call from my mom the other night saying she's got something tumorlike near her pancreas. Pancreatic cancer is really bad I hear, but she seems pretty sure that's not it....which is a really good thing too.

DKO apparently heard about this a week ago but my mom swore her to secrecy. Is it a nice thing that my wife and my mom can bond about such a thing?

Damn. So we're trying not to worry, waiting for tests and biopsies and such to tell us more.

T-1

2007-09-05T14:39:00.000-07:00

Yes, the day is finally looming when all this treatment will be over. Tomorrow, assuming the machine doesn't decide to spazz out in a fit of Machiavellian humor, will be my last day of radiation - and my last day of this whole long ride. By this I mean that I won't have to go get cut, injected with toxins, or burned in the immediate future and hopefully not for a good long while, if ever again. That said, I think true recovery will take some time. I'd sure like to have my energy back and a whole lot of other things besides. I look forward to doing more and seeing doctor's less - although too much distance from doctors will make me very nervous.

There was an article in the Sunday 'Parade' magazine a couple of weeks ago called "Helping Cancer Patients Heal". The author's point was that with over 10 million cancer survivors in the U.S. alone, it is surprising how little rehabilitation there is for them after treatment is over. A doctor from Harvard (herself a cancer survivor) is quoted as saying, "...cancer patients are expected to finish chemotherapy and radiation and return to normal life - even though it can take three or more years to heal." This is in contrast with cardiac and injury patients, who get aftercare classes and therapy as a matter of course.

Having been through the recovery period before, I can say that this is kind of true. There is a bit of a "cut-you-loose-now-you're-better" attitude that is a little bewildering. I'd like Cancer Recovery for Dummies, please. Even after BC2 (Breast Cancer 2), especially because there was a BC2, leaving the safe haven of my doctors' care is kind of stressful. Of course they'll still watch over me, but the immediate feeling is a bittersweet mixture of happiness and fear. Our lives have been a bit upside down since December 1st of last year (the day we heard the MRI looked suspicious) and the doctors have helped us navigate a difficult and challenging nine months. On the other hand, for us the other shoe has dropped already and most people have only two feet. Here's to being cancer free from here on out.

Ever fearful and Funky

2007-08-27T08:13:00.000-07:00

I'd been thinking it was time for a post, but DKO beat me to it.

Mostly, I'm just worrying. I suppose I've written that maybe a couple times before, but it's back again.

Part of it is that DKO is worrying, quite rightly of course, as in her last post. Part of it is that I'm now back to work with tons to do. JRH is back in college halfway across the country and I worry about him too.

And, of course, I'm a worrywort generally.

And what else? There's a daily comic DKO and I both read: "Funky". It's quite good, but it often deals with really really serious topics. One character is off in Iraq and another character, Lisa, has breast cancer. In the comic, Lisa's health has apparently deteriorated to the point where she's been given only months to live and has decided to stop doing chemo so as to spend her remaining time better.

It's a really good comic generally. Also, it's really really good that the author takes on timely and difficult issues that spread awareness. But DKO and I are both addicted to it and it's a really hard story to read these days.

Progress and Panic

2007-08-21T07:52:00.000-07:00

Progress. I was going to post yesterday morning to say that radiation had finally smoothed out with fewer problems overall. I've been going everyday at 10 AM and aside from occasional minor delays (anywhere from 15-30 minutes), it's been going all right. Alas, just before I sat down at the computer, the phone rang. It was one of the techs telling me the machine was broken again. I was told to call back if I didn't hear from anyone by the time my appointment rolled around - and I didn't. Two calls later, the good news was that the machine was back up again, which they apparently refer to as "running beam". I was able to go in at noon and still make my 1 PM appointment at UMC North for a port flush, so all worked out in the end. And I was thankful they were able to call me so I could wait at home and not there.

This means that I have so far received 23 of 35 treatments. As of Thursday I will have completed my "general" radiation of much of my left chest area and armpit. On Friday they will switch to a "boost" that will target only the surgery site - for 9 more treatments. That should have me finishing up during the first full week of September. Almost there!

As Mike mentioned in his post, I am seeing side effects of the radiation but they are not nearly as troublesome as those from chemotherapy: mostly sunburn-type skin with one rashy area (apparently that's because you burn from the inside out...greeeaaaat), and one area that is really burned, almost purple and blistered. I think I can hang in there for three more days because after that, that area won't be targeted anymore. If I make a fuss, they will stop and I just want to keep going.

Panic. So, that's the progress part and now here's the panic. When you go daily for radiation, you start seeing the same people in the waiting area. I've taken to chatting with a very nice Vietnamese woman, who is receiving the same kind of radiation as I am. I had also seen this woman, J, in chemotherapy and in asking about her treatment, it came about that she didn't really know much about the drugs she'd received. I hadn't heard of one of them and knew only a little about the other, so I offered to look them up for her. In doing that, I found a website that lists all the chemo drugs and their potential short and long-term side effects.

As stupid as it may seem, I'd never done that for the drugs I received because I'd read about them in some cancer books I have. SO...I looked up cytoxan, which is the one I am most worried about as my doctor told me one of its rare side effects is to cause leukemia. I found this out because one and only one of the books I read said that you shouldn't receive more than x-many milligrams of this drug and I asked her about this before I began chemotherapy. She'd never heard of any need to limit this drug, so despite my fears, I consented to take it.

Looking back, I really should have asked more questions and also asked whether there were other alternatives. The websites (note the plural: websites) I looked at the other day all indicated that cytoxan...although it is used to treat cancer, can also cause cancer - particularly of the bladder, lymph nodes, and bone marrow - anywhere from months to years later. This, as you can imagine, sent me into a complete tailspin, which much loving attention from Mike has not yet mitigated. I wanted to shout "Out! Out damn spot!" But nothing will allow me to go back and take that drug out of my body. What's done is done but I can feel it still coursing through my veins, almost like a hum. I am so scared, I can't even speak the words. It makes me feel nauseous. I want this to be the last round for me so bad, but I can feel my body weeping with helplessness. And the idea that something I did to make me well might actually cause something even worse is the worst feeling of all. I want to grow old with my husband, my child, my family, and friends. I want to go back to worrying about what now seem to be trivial things and not whether I'll make it another forty years.

As if the threat of getting breast cancer a third time isn't enough (and of course, I read in the paper this morning about a woman whose breast cancer returned for the third time and had spread to her liver and bones), there are long term side-effects of the drugs they treat you with. I chose to take this drug and if something happens down the line, that puts the blame on my shoulders for not asking if there were other alternatives. Perhaps I would have made the same decision even so, but somehow I feel there has GOT to be a better way. When all this happens to you, you are in such a vulnerable state that even people like me, who do make a point of looking things up, can allow control to pass to someone else.

You will note that I titled this bit "panic", so I do realize that's what I'm doing. But sometimes you've got to let it claw its way out before you can move forward again. There's no taking this drug back out of my body so things will play out however they will. How much luck can I hope to have? How much can I ask for?

Still, I met a man in the elevator to radiation that I'd seen in chemotherapy. I don't know what kind of cancer he has but he has to have 28 chemotherapy treatments (one every two weeks) and radiation at the same time as well. How scared he must be. I'm sure he wants to be lucky, too. How's that for perspective?

The unplugged

2007-08-16T17:10:00.001-07:00

I just wanted to post so folks wouldn't think we've forgotten to post.

Hm.

DKO is in radiation which seems to be going o.k. She's got the expected fatigue and soreness/burn and is pretty uncomfortable.

I think the gist of where we are now is we want to be done!

The plan is for DKO to take a leave of absence from work for the fall to finish up treatment and recharge her batteries.

Fits, Starts and the Blues

2007-07-30T08:07:00.000-07:00

I'm thinking I'm an unlucky person in some ways. Radiation is supposed to involve treatments five days a week at the same time every day for the duration of your plan. The latter is to reduce the inconvenience to the patient and increase the convenience to the technicians. In Diane's World, there would be 1) a daily radiation time that doesn't fracture my day or make me get up too early or be out later than I'd like, 2) treatments that run relatively on-time, and 3) uninterrupted treatment for the next 6 1/2 weeks, excluding weekends. Oh, and there'd also be world peace and prosperity and lots of no-calorie, no-fat but-still-delicious chocolate.

Friday, July 13th. A nurse calls to schedule my treatment time. She is very sorry but the only slot left is 7 o'clock at night. Brilliant logic tells me I utterly and completely lost the choose-your-slot sweepstakes. One slot left? I'm the last person you called? What did I do to bring this on? Do I smell? Was I cranky? Was I too nice? 7 PM? for 7 weeks? But...that's only two hours from my bedtime these days. I'll be sleep-driving on the way home. I am only dismayed and not cranky, I swear. The nurse is sympathetic, so after some hemming and hawing, she says: How about noon? I am mildly trepidacious since I'm pretty sure that the office usually closes at noon. But she would know that, right? Resigned to fate, adjusting lunch plans (or going without) for roughly two-months, and having my day broken right in half for the same amount of time, I agree. Because the only slot on the following Monday is at night, she suggests I start on Tuesday instead. This is the first clue that the universe is totally unaware of Diane's World (see #1 above).

Tuesday, July 17th. Mike has already posted about my first radiation treatment, which involved a hospital-wide power outage that caused a two-hour delay. This outage occurred the minute my parents and I stepped out of the elevator into the reception area. What little gremlin was sitting on my shoulder, I ask you, that killed the lights and everything else just exactly in time for my treatment? This, however, meant that the other people in the waiting room would not be subject to the tummy-grumbles of the Hammond/Ohala clan. As a special treat for the first day of radiation, we get to have lunch in the hospital cafeteria. There went my plan for a speedy treatment and a take-out lunch from Beyond Bread on the way home (a place my dad especially likes). The universe sneezes again at Diane's World (see #2 above).

Wednesday, July 18th. The waiting room and reception desk is deserted today, evidence that patients are not usually scheduled at noon. This is a tad disconcerting because on Wednesdays, in addition to getting treatment, I am supposed to see the doctor so he can take a look at the tata and answer any questions I may have. I have the sneaking suspicion that my Wednesday trips for radiation will also involve waiting for the doctor to get back from lunch.

Surprisingly, I get zapped relatively on-time. I try to envision the radiation beam sizzling dormant and potential cancer cells: snap, crackle, pop! When I am taken back to see the doctor his nurse tells me there is a weekly reading group from noon-to-one on Wednesdays, so it is not clear how long I will have to wait to see him. Sighing, I pick up my book and prepare to wait in my drafty hospital gown in a freezing cold room. After ten minutes or so someone comes, but it is a resident, not my doctor. The resident is very nice and answers all my questions, except whether I will ever actually see my doctor during treatment given his attendance at the reading group.

Monday, July 23rd. A technician calls me at the crack of dawn to tell me that the machine is broken and I should not come at my usual time, which was actually bumped to 11:20 instead of noon. They have a repairman working on it and I should call later that morning to see if and when I should come in later in the day. Um, okay. Do multi-million dollar machines have repairmen like a Xerox? Shouldn't there be a team of specialized emergency technicians for such an important machine? A lone repairman of uncertain (to me) provenance seems a little like sending a plumber to fix a leak in a dam. All right. At least they called me first. And a one-day reprieve isn't unwelcome since my parents are visiting and my tata is already showing signs of a burn.

I call back as requested and am told not to come in that day and possibly not the following day either. The best the repairman can tell: a part is needed that is not readily available and it will take the rest of the day to locate one. Um, what? Why are parts for such a critical machine not on hand? This is a machine that services upwards of 60 people a day - and these 60+ people do not just have a cold but have cancer. Hello? Why are there no contingency plans? I know there are two other machines so why not switch people to those machines? I know this would involve some work because apparently each machine is slightly different; a patient's plan would have to be reworked for a new machine. Still, I wonder why they don't plan patients on two machines from the get-go in case of just such a power-down, but I say none of this to the technician because the broken machine is not her fault. She and her fellow technicians are some of the nicest, most empathetic people you could ever hope to meet. I am slightly worried, though, because when I started treatment the week before, the nurse told me that interruptions are not a good thing. I begin to fret that these delays will jeopardize my health, nullify the three days of treatment I already had, and add additional days to my already long radiation road trip. It's subtle, but I'm guessing we're definitely not in Diane's World (see #3 above).

Tuesday, July 24th. My parents leave in the afternoon today. We are waiting to hear whether I need to go in for treatment and are hoping that, if so, it won't interfere with taking them to the airport. I call and am told not to come in until Thursday. The part has to be ordered and it will take until then to get it, replace it, and get the machine up and running. I am still amazed at the lack of planning for this type of event. However, we take the opportunity to get the missed lunch at Beyond Bread. My parents' tummies get filled before their flight out and my dad is especially happy because he gets a sweet as well - a big piece of coffee cake, half of which he wraps carefully in napkins so he can take it on the flight. We have a brief time at home before we drop my parents off at the airport. It is really hard to see them go. I never imagined I would live away from family and as my parents get older, seeing them so little gets more difficult. I am also well-aware that this is the last visit from family during my treatment. When we get home from the airport, I spot my dad's coffee cake forgotten on the kitchen counter. It makes me cry.

Wednesday, July 25th. I get a call saying that not only does the part for the machine have to be ordered but it has to be built in England and shipped overseas! Hahahahaha! What?! Are you seriously telling me that there really is no part for this machine in existence? and that no one in the whole of North America can build it? I admit that the humor in this escaped me on this day and is only hitting me now. On this day, I am actually pretty depressed and very very tired. I am unsettled by the lack of routine in what is supposed to be a straightforward treatment. I was ready to get started and these delays worry us both and also mean that my last day will be even later than we had hoped. I try to do some work that very much needs to get done but my brain won't cooperate. I miss my parents, Mike is at work, and I am very out of sorts - feeling lonely and discouraged. Also, my sister called the night before to tell me her cat has cancer. Do I spread this stuff? Please please please keep it away from family. After my last cancer, it hit my mom, one of my sisters, and my mother-in-law. Please please don't go there again. You can ignore Diane in Diane's World but not any others.

At least now, because the machine will be down so long, they switch my plan to another machine. Since the two remaining machines are already booked during the day, the only times available to schedule patients are in the evening and in the early morning. I lose the sweepstakes again and am told to come in at 6:30 PM on Thursday. No choice this time. I am also told that I'll have to come in on the weekend to make up for the missed days. This means we cannot go to E's post-wedding reception in San Diego, as we had hoped. In truth, I was worried about my fatigue in any case, but it is a disappointment nonetheless.

Thursday, July 26th. My mood does not improve today and I'm more tired than the day before. This depresses me, too, particularly as napping is not successful and resting doesn't make me feel any better. My brain is sluggish and so is the rest of me. In an effort to snap out of it, I spend time trying to work out why I should feel so blue. Although it may not be Diane's World, it could be so much worse. I've seen that by looking around the waiting room and reading the front page of the paper. I may feel unlucky now but I'm really not. I have people who love me - a network of more people than I realized who care and who reach out, who remind me that I'm not alone in this - and good people who make it possible for me to go through treatment without the onus of work. I have a wonderful husband and son, family and in-laws. I get to enjoy summer storms and the rainbows that follow. I get to sit with my little dog in my very own home, relatively free of debt and so far protected from the violence and tragedy that is present for so many others (no jinxes please).

My epiphany is that with all these things going for me and with Mike back at work and no more family visits, I feel I should begin to put the pieces back together. So why am I such a dud? With all this time off (going on 7 months now), what have I accomplished? I should work-work-work, I should get back to exercising, I should re-decorate my house, paint my office, see a nutritionist, a therapist, take dancing and photography lessons, give Ernie a bath, publish the Great American Novel or at least some research, get back to cooking meals, doing laundry, taking care of the yard and the house, my husband, my son, and find a way to be inspirational like all those other people I keep reading about in cancer magazines. These magazines say to me: if you are lucky enough to live through cancer then you should be doing extraordinary things. I am feeling just like ordinary me. And ordinary me is tired and weepy and feeling pressured by my own thoughts. Where is my inner strength? My sense of perspective?

I spend my day with these thoughts and not surprisingly, I am exhausted by the time we have to leave for radiation. There are goodies in the waiting room in an attempt to mitigate the stress of the week's delays and uncertainties. We are momentarily appreciative until we're told that they are an hour and a quarter behind schedule. No call to warn us of this glitch. I have changed into my gown and am sitting in the patient waiting room, which is as cold as I imagine an arctic night to be. Mike paces because he is too cold to sit. I don't want to change again but I tell Mike he can go elsewhere and come back, but he doesn't. I do get a warm blanket that I share with Mike, but then we actually get to see a doctor (but not my doctor) and she at least reassures us that, although for some cancers delays like this are harmful, for my cancer, such a break in treatment is not, especially as I am coming on the weekend. Coming on the weekend will also mean that I will have only missed one treatment this week.

I finally go back to get zapped, which means undressing again in front of strangers in a cold room on a cold table with a big machine that makes unsettling noises (it's a bit like Dr. Frankenstein's lab). The technicians are solicitous and apologetic, but tell me that the only time available to come in the next day is 6:45 AM. All right. Guess I'll be back in less than twelve hours. I am beginning to think that I doth protest not enough since I appear to be the one with no choices ever.

Friday, July 27th and so on. I make the best of the morning trip by stopping in to Raging Sage and the Coffee Bus on the way home. There is no traffic to speak of at this hour and I enjoy the way the sky looks and my open sun roof as I drive. I am early enough to Raging Sage to score some scones, and although I only ask for two, I somehow get four. Some to save! At the Coffee Bus, P (the owner) asks whether I am okay - something she clearly has been wanting to ask since I first showed up bald. She is wonderfully kind and encouraging. Although I get home needing to rest, I do actually manage to nap. I still fret about my sluggish brain but at least treatment is on again. I read an article about chemo-brain while eating a scone and feel marginally better that this is now a documented fact and I don't have to continually blame myself for being unable to focus (or at least I shouldn't blame myself entirely). I score a better time for Saturday's treatment but the rest of the days are up in the air (Sunday turns out to be a reasonable time but today was 6:45 AM and there is confusion about tomorrow; clearly there is no hope for #1 above).

Still, Mike brings home many surprises from people at work in the past week: a gift-certificate for ice-cream from LB, a hand-crocheted hat from SD, a book and chocolate from LG, a big box of Middle Eastern cookies from SF, sweets from JB. I also get an unexpected and very thoughtful note from someone I didn't even know knew about my cancer, as well as a call from my hairdresser (as I have no hair, this is a call made out of concern and friendship), and a note from the hygienist at my dentist letting me know they are all thinking of me. All of these things warm my heart and help to pull me out of my funk. Did I say I was unlucky? I must have misspoken.

Zap

2007-07-20T20:11:00.000-07:00

We've now finished the first week of radiation.

Review. The basic idea is that chemo knocks out any cancer cells that might be lurking around the body. Radiation is to knock out any cancer cells right at the tumor site. Thus, if a person has no lymph node involvement and a mastectomy, they don't get radiation as there is no local site. If a person has a lumpectomy, as DKO did, or lymph node involvement, which DKO did not, then they get radiation. So DKO gets radiation.

The regime is daily treatments for some number of weeks. In DKO's case, it appears to be six-seven weeks. We'd thought this would take us to the end of August, but it's looking like it might take us into the first week of September....which unfortunately means we may not be done by DKO's birthday....which would have been really nice.

DKO has now had three treatments this week. Tuesday they just did a 'dry run', then real zaps the other days. The big excitement on Tuesday was that there was a power outage at the hospital. I got there early and while I was sitting there writing away on the laptop, the power went out and the only light in the room for a minute or two was the glow from my laptop screen. Then emergency lights went on which meant a few lights behind the reception counter, one flourescent light in the waiting area and the fishtank in the waiting area! Around this time DKO showed up.

Anyway, this meant a delay because even after they had the power back on, they wanted to make really sure that everything was working so DKO didn't get in for her treatment for two hours. We took the opportunity to get lunch in the hospital cafeteria.

DKO's folks have been in town to help out and that's been great. D has been enjoying my scotch despite my best efforts to hide it.

Peach Fuzz

2007-07-13T09:10:00.000-07:00

Good news. I am now officially not bald. I might, just might, still appear bald from a distance of, say, two feet, but if you look closely there are no longer only three lonely hairs (holdouts that refused to die) but a whole bunch of little ones, hence the title of this post. If I were a drinking woman, which I'm not at the moment, I would have a Fuzzy Navel (although I haven't a clue what that is) or a Bellini in honor of the life returning to my scalp.

Another reason to celebrate is that yesterday would have been time for another ride on the toxic train but !HA!, that train has left the station without me. Adios! Auf Wiedersehn! Adieu! B'Bye! And don't you come back no more no more!

And a post-chemo PET scan ordered by my radiation doctor came back completely clean. No evidence of active disease whatsoever. I saw the scans myself. Big blue spots on the "before" picture and nothing at all on the "after" picture. Nada, nothing, zippo-patootie! Remember those little hard-hatted guys I described in a previous post? The ones I imagine inside my body directing the poison to all the right spots? Well, I'd say they've been doing their job spectacularly well. You go, little guys!

Details on the last chemo. I really felt completely flattened, like a ball that you accidentally let the air out of and can't stopper up quickly enough before some life has come out of it. I've been sleeping sitting up except in the last few nights because if I lie flat, I feel sick to my stomach. I'm definitely starting to feel better now - all the side effects are much muted - but the smallest activity makes me completely pooped and if I'm not careful, the tiredness can turn into nausea in an instant. It's very frustrating: Wake up, brush my teeth, take a shower, need to sit down for awhile. Get up, feed the dog, put some dishes away, need to sit down for awhile. Get up, get some breakfast, eat, need to rest (napping is elusive despite how tired I am) and on and on. I know this will actually get worse while on radiation, as its main side effect apart from the obvious burns is fatigue. But I've found the Food network and HGTV to be highly absorbing. And an old season of America's Top Chef on Bravo. Oh my word! Did that Tiffani lie or what?! Poor Dave. I was rooting for him and then he had to help the evil Tiffani. Um, okay, you can see that I'm not up to much intellectually. My brain is a bit mushy.

The good thing was that my sister Debbie, who I don't get to see very often, came two days before the last awful infusion and was here for a week. Mike came with me on chemo day and my sister took me for fluids for three days following the chemo. The fluids and a host of other pills and remedies were my doctor's suggestions for alleviating the nausea and other stomach problems that had made #5 so much worse than the previous four. She arranged four days of fluids but I skipped Day 3 because I wasn't sure they were helping at all. It took so much out of me just to get there, stay there to get them, and come home that I opted out on the Sunday. That day turned out to be one of the worst days so I went back the next day. Guess they were doing some good after all. Debbie took excellent care of us and our home (she is not one to sit still ever so there was baking and cooking and home repair during her visit). Also, Joey turned 19 while she was here. He's so darn tall and and and adult-looking! And during subsequent doctor's visits I got to see Roxie, who is the best therapy dog ever. There are always silver linings.

Details on radiation. Mike has posted on this visit and I second what he wrote. We did find this visit scary for whatever reason (perhaps because they review everything that has happened so far and it was just too much to hear). The doctor was nice, though. He ordered the PET scan because there was a spot near my collar bone that lit up on the last one (pre-surgery), which has never been dealt with. He wanted to see what that spot was like now as he might want to radiate it in addition to my tata. Since the scan was clean, that means it was probably a diseased lymph node that had the stuffing kicked out of it by chemo. The doctor said he'll include this area in my radiation plan.

The PET scan was a long day and the tech that did the scan did not know how to deal with my port-a-cath. He injected me with the radioactive stuff with no problems, but then he couldn't get the needle out. It was half in and half out and not moving one way or another. It was sticking out of me like a bee that having stung me found it couldn't fly off (the needle is yellow). It was a Saturday so no one at the Cancer Center was answering the phone, but luckily it was just up the street. Mike drove up there and found a nurse to call the tech and talk him through removing the needle. Phew! Thank you, Mike. Thank you, D (the CC nurse).

I've since also had my "simulation", which is a fancy word for using a CT scan to set up the radiation plan and get tattooed. This was okay but a long day because they needed us to go home and come back. And I forgot that the tattoos really sting when they're doing them. Who would go through this voluntarily? I have a lot of respect for people who get tattoos for the beauty of them (although mine are just dots). Plus you have to hold your arms above your head for about an hour and my shoulders got really stiff and felt like dead weights when I was done. Now we're just waiting for a call to schedule the first treatment. Once this process begins, I'll be going to radiation every day for 6 weeks. Bring it on because I am ready to rumble!

Interim

2007-07-10T17:08:00.000-07:00

We're still between chemo and radiation.

I was in L.A. for three days for my mom's 75th birthday, back for a day, and then gone again for another three days for a conference at Stanford.

DKO has been slowly coming back from the last chemo. It's real slow going though. The main thing seems to be frequent fatigue from doing very small things. DKO is perpetually chastising herself: "I should be doing better....". I keep trying to remind her that she's just been through six months of chemo....

Radiation should be starting in the next week. This means going in every weekday for the next six weeks. My understanding is that it's much like a dental x-ray in terms of the immediate sensation, but over the treatment there's more fatigue and some skin tenderness. It's not fun, but it's much better than chemo.

C6 + 6

2007-06-27T07:14:00.000-07:00

This has probably been the roughest one yet.

DKO has been in a funk since chemo six days ago and today, for the first time, she seems marginally better.

She'd had a PET scan scheduled for today, but was feeling so lousy, she cancelled out. Apparently you have to lie prone for something like an hour and she's been sleeping sitting up since the last chemo because of nausea. So we're going to have to reschedule the scan at some point.

Lots of other symptoms, mostly of the usual sort, just more.

As I mentioned she seems to be coming out of the funk/nausea, but somewhere in here will come the muscle/bone soreness, so we're bracing for that.

....and trying to keep in mind that this is the last one!

Last chemo

2007-06-22T09:19:00.000-07:00

9:00am. We arrive at the Cancer Center for lab work. Chemo is supposed to begin at 10:00am.

10:13am. Labwork is done and we're upstairs waiting for chemo to start. They seem to be running a little late, but I'm not quite ready to start having a hissy. DKO is reading some tawdry romance with rakish dukes and prim debutantes in hoop skirts...and is completely ignoring her bored husband. (Diane's note: I was actually reading a mystery).

10:35. We're upstairs meeting the chemo nurse, getting various pills and capsules and---I believe---waiting for the chemo drugs to arrive. As we wait, a huge dog named "Fashion" shows up. She's very friendly and dko enjoys dog-bonding.

10:45. I head to the coffeeshop downstairs for coffee for me and muffins to share. The banana nut is clearly a hit.

11:30. They started the drugs and one of the first ones is always benadryl, which puts dko to sleep.

12:30. DKO is still asleep and they've started the first of the two chemo drugs.

1:30. I'm off to pick up lunch at Ghini's: really yummy garlicky spinachy cumin vinagrette for me and a half sandwich for dko.

2:00ish. We schmooze with the nice chemo nurse who, it turns out knows our friend and colleague EJ (also undergoing cancer treatment).

3:00. We're on our way home.

Evening. DKO is exhausted, but doesn't appear to be nauseous. D makes "Mexican hats" for the rest of us and dko nibbles. We watch "Rundown" with D who seems to enjoy it.

Next morning. DKO seems to have slept through the night o.k. D takes her in for intravenous fluids. The doctor ordered these for the next few days in advance, hoping this might ameliorate the effects of the last round.

The $64k question is how much discomfort this last round will be. The labwork apparently showed no potential problems there, so my fingers are crossed.

The radiation guy

2007-06-18T15:08:00.000-07:00

We met with the radiation doctor today.

There's been a little burble in getting a referral for a radiation doctor; we actually ended up with referrals for two different doctors. (There's a separate doctor who supervises radiation and the one we had last time is no longer in town.) That occasioned a little awkwardness, but in the end it was a good thing as we could discuss the choices with the current doctor....and that was good.

We saw the new guy today and he seemed both very nice and properly cautious. We were also able to nail down our schedule for the remainder of treatment and make various travel plans we'd been sitting on for a while.

It was, unfortunately, a bit of a scary meeting. We didn't learn anything new, but it was a chance to say all the scary things again that we've probably been avoiding saying out loud. Alas, that's probably a good thing too.

One more chemo to go this Thursday and that's a very good thing.

Alas...

2007-06-12T18:28:00.000-07:00

The end of the Greer story is that we came home. Sunday was only 10 days out from the last chemo and now that I think about it, it was probably not the best time to make a break for it. This is when my "counts" (white and red cell) are at their lowest or getting there anyway (two weeks is about what it takes to knock them flat and then they go up again). My stomach luckily stopped making me so utterly miserable later Sunday night and that was a big relief. Sadly, after the drive home I felt as if someone had used a meat tenderizer on me and I still feel like that...but that must mean the job is getting done and that's a good thing. I just have to be patient a little while more (two months? two and a half?) and the whole kit and caboodle will be over.

We did have a beautiful drive there, as Mike said. We haven't been up that way in quite some time. And it was also about 20 degrees cooler. Here's a picture of us - in our "traditional" pose. We took this the day after the horrible stomach trouble as a way to make it look like we had lots of fun!

Greer

2007-06-10T18:33:00.000-07:00

Well, this is a story that is only just begun.

DKO decided that since she was going stir crazy, we should take the opportunity to get out of town for a few days, just hit the road and drive somewhere interesting.

So we got the "bruiser" to watch the dog and set off for the White Mountains and Greer.

A gorgeous drive. I really like the whole Oracle, Winkleman, Globe road and crossing the Salt River is always pretty.

We decided to stay at the Greer Lodge, a kind of high-end place, but with the key was a pretty room with a bathtub.

There were some thunderous rumblings before dinner, but we paid them no heed and went to the restaurant adjoining the hotel.

Hardly anybody there, with a wonderful view of the mountains. We had some so-so salads, but a really nice trout and a very nice apple pie à la mode.

Unfortunately, the rumblings increased during dinner and by the end of the meal, DKO beat a hasty retreat to the room.

Here we sit in the room, enjoying a wonderful view, but with dko in high stomach distress. It may be abating, but she's pretty miserable at the moment. At this nanosecond, having left most of her chemo drugs back in Tucson, she just wants to be home.

More anon.

Better now

2007-06-08T14:27:00.000-07:00

I may get overruled on this, but I think dko has come out of the #5 tunnel. She's vertical and I've gotten her out of the house twice now.

I think the real test is whether she agrees to a "Coffee Bus Trip". She loves that place but doesn't want it to get associated with chemo nausea, so she'll only go if she's feeling better. We've now gone twice since the last chemo.

Alas, I spoke too soon

2007-06-02T16:09:00.000-07:00

Well, as you can see from the last post, dko was feeling pretty lousy when she woke up from her post chemo nap later that day.

Yesterday was pretty miserable for her: lots of nausea. Today seems marginally better (but I could be wrong!). She's spent most of today sleeping, though we had a really nice visit from our old friend C.

I've been having a little stomach distress the last few days and this has happened a couple of times of the last few weeks. DKO did the math and it turns out it's happened right around chemo day the last three cycles, so we're figuring it's sympathetic. Not fun, but nothing compared to what she's going through.

Mike's "Fine" is different from mine!

2007-06-01T11:14:00.000-07:00

Seeing Mike's post, it is clear we had (of course) very different experiences yesterday. When Mike says "it went fine, hitchlessly", I think he means that I didn't end up hospitalized with a bad drug reaction, or the chemicals didn't explode my vein, or any number of potential horror stories.

From my point of view yesterday actually was the worst it's ever been (although the private pod was nice). I started feeling pretty sick about half-way through the infusion, when usually I can make it until the next day or even the following one before really feeling "hit". Mike and the nurse over-ruled my desire to get home before taking any further anti-nausea meds (I'd already had a pretty strong one in my drip) and so I got more before I left. This one makes you really sleepy and out of it, and I don't even really remember getting out of the car and going splat on my bed for an hour or so once we got home. After that, the evening and all the way through the night was spent trying to get the nausea, stomach cramps, headache, and insomnia under control. I was up/down all night, trying to remember when I last had what and wondering when it would all stop. Mike slept in another room and I'm glad because I'd have kept him up all night.

This is starting off really rough. Today I see the beginning of the "fungal" overgrowth on my tongue, which means my mouth feels and looks like slime-central and nothing tastes like it should. Since my stomach is whacked out anyway, I suppose slime-coated taste buds is really not a bad thing. This will last for 5-6 days, although the doctor gave me several new things to try this time to try to get it under control.

I'm glad to be at #5, but I am by no means past the evil parts yet. I think they'll actually be pretty constant straight through to #6. Not unexpected at this stage but an all out bummer for me. I did get to see S again yesterday, the old friend from our support group the first time around, and she brought me a free "cuddle pillow", which now travels about with me.

C#5

2007-05-31T16:55:00.000-07:00

We're home; all went fine.

We got in pretty early and, because we met with the chemo doctor last week, we got in and out of the "infusion pod" relatively quickly: home by 3:30PM.

The whole process went hitchlessly. We got a private pod for some reason and the nurse we dealt with, a very nice woman, was eerily like our graduate student JB, (the female one).

There was a little burp with the atavan anti-nausea drug. DKO has been doing a dose of that in the morning before we go in, but didn't do it this time. When we left, she was feeling a little nauseous, so they did a dose of the atavan at the end.

That said, it's clear that dko really wants to be done with this....and so do I.

Oops

2007-05-30T07:45:00.000-07:00

Oops. Posted the last one on Tuesday, not Wednesday, which is today. Next chemo is now tomorrow/Thursday.

And, yes, Evan, we're definitely not sleeping well.

C5 - 1

2007-05-29T09:00:00.000-07:00

The fifth chemo (of six) is tomorrow/Thursday. DKO is dreading it.

It just seems sooooooo very long now. Working out the schedule in my head, this puts the last chemo at about the third week of June.

Radiation starts some time in early July.

The last time DKO went through this, we went through this odd emotional state at the end of treatment. Chemo/radiation clearly suck, but at least you can feel like they're doing something to keep you healthy. Once you're done with all the treatment, you move from feeling crappy to just plain worry.

I know DKO is looking forward to not feeling crappy, but I'm already worrying.

C4 + n

2007-05-25T07:23:00.000-07:00

We saw the Chemo doctor yesterday. Just a check up, but we left with something like six new prescriptions. DKO goes over her various symptoms and the doctor tweaks the medicine chest.

We also ran into a woman S, who we know from DKO's first cancer when we participated in a support group in the hospital. S had undergone a double mastectomy and in the course of the conversation invited DKO and me to see the surgeon's work. It's a good thing to do and DKO took her up on it. I figured it was best to let DKO have first go at that, so I declined. S is very nice and I gather the surgeon did a real nice job of it. Good to know.

Two more to go, but I think DKO is bummed about giving over essentially her whole summer to chemo + radiation.

May is not January

2007-05-16T11:57:00.000-07:00

I woke up this morning to the realization that we were actually almost 6 months into the year 2007. It's May, for crying in the beer. Aren't we still in January? And barring that, okay, I'll admit it might be February, or perhaps March. But MAY? Where did the time go? And, no, I don't write that phrase without noticing it's normally reserved for time spent doing pleasurable things, like the phrase, "My, how time flies..." And, yes, there is a certain amount of bitterness there.

Okay, so let's examine "The Case of the Missing Six Months" (Will it become "The Case of the Missing Nine Months"?). How the heck did this happen? It's not as if I'm not paying attention to dates; every month brings some: birthdays, anniversaries and other events that need remembering, bills to be paid, meetings with students to be arranged and attended, doctor's appointments, and many other, near daily date reminders. Clearly, I have been marking time. January was surgery, my parent's visit, and my niece's birthday; February was the start of chemo and Valentine's day; March was our anniversary, a visit from Joey (Spring Break), a trip to Phoenix to visit with Mike's mom who was passing through with a friend, Mike's 50th birthday, and more chemo; April was Mike's Taiwan visit, my sister's visit, Easter, the Pima County Fair, more chemo; May has so far marked Allyson's wedding, the end of term, Joey's return for the summer, Mother's Day, a friend's daughter's and two nephews' birthday, and more chemo. So. It does seem that six months have passed and that I have noted that passing in a number of ways (and many more not mentioned here).

But why, then, did I wake up bewildered at the passage of time? I ask myself, "What have I been doing?" Oh, right. Let's see what the common denominator is in the list above: start of chemo, more chemo, more chemo, more chemo. Hmm. This doesn't seem like a good way to pass time. Why not on a beach under an umbrella holding a drink in a coconut, or exploring foreign cities and dining at night in outdoor cafes, or going to a wildlife sanctuary or a petting zoo, or getting a root canal, say? All of these things would be undeniably more pleasurable than filling one's veins with poison every three weeks, even the last one.

Okay, so this is what I've been "doing" all this time. I put quotes around that because despite trying to keep up with students and their work, which I think of as actually "doing" something, I don't really feel like I've been doing anything and I guess I'm looking for where these six months have gone. Don't get me wrong. A lot of research shows that cancer patients who think of chemo as friendly, do better than those who don't. So I spend some of my time thinking of the poison as a rapids-like stream running through my veins, seeking out all the nooks and crannies where cancer cells hide, and Zap! Zap! Zap! When I'm feeling my worst, I see the Good Guys - cells I think of as shaped sort of like Mr. Potato Head or the Planter's Peanut (with gloves and shoes and hard hats) - both constructing and holding up walls that keep The Stream away from all the other good cells and direct it towards the bad ones. The worse I feel, the more I see the Good Guys sweating from their efforts, shoring up walls that are trembling and buckling, but still holding. And the Good Guys always cheer on The Stream. A bit ridiculous, but it gets me through. That doesn't feel like a whole heck of a lot of "doing" though.

So this morning at 5:40 AM I asked myself if the Missing Six Months case could be solved with a simple answer. First, I realized that the real passage of time for me is being marked on a sort of "When will it end?" calendar and the answer to that is "Not yet", and more philosophically, "Not ever". I don't think I can just wait for the end of treatment so I can pick up my life where it left off in December, ignoring what I've been through in between (which is pretty much what I think I did the first time around). So where did the Missing Six Months go? Simple. They haven't been missing at all. What I've been doing is living my life - albeit not in the way I'm used to, but living it nonetheless.

I also realized that I knew this - dang it - but I just forgot for a minute (or several weeks). You'd be lucky to find a single picture of me from the last time I had cancer. It was an event that I wanted to put behind me in every possible way. But, okay, I wasn't lucky and I got hit with it again. But this time, I'm beginning to understand that having a life-threatening illness is actually a part of life for many people, and I am now one of those people. So, here's a picture from our recent trip to Victoria Island, that shows me living.

C#4 + 1

2007-05-11T17:13:00.000-07:00

Chemo yesterday went fine. We were to be there at 10:30, but were a little late getting out of the house. We did bloodwork, met with the doctor and we're in the "chemo lounge" by 1. (They call it an "infusion pod", but that makes me think of the little metal balls you put loose tea in!) We were home by 6.

I was sick two days ago, but was much improved yesterday, so it was no problem being there for dko. My job, as usual, was to provide moral support, transport, lunch pickup, and procure tawdry magazines.

DKO naturally prefers to read deep theoretical linguistics papers while they are pumping her full of poison, but I undermine that with "other" reading material.

C#4 - 1

2007-05-09T13:54:00.000-07:00

Fourth chemo tomorrow.

DKO seems to be feeling better now that we're back in the US and we're hoping that means her "counts" will allow the next chemo to proceed as scheduled. If they are not, then they'd be giving her various drugs to get them back up and rescheduling #4 later.

I, however, am feeling sick as a dog and hoping that I'll be well enough to accompany DKO tomorrow.

Canada was wonderful, but it's great to be home.

Nous sommes en Canada

2007-05-06T20:27:00.000-07:00

Well, here we sit in in the Sooke Harbour House in Sooke, BC, Canada on Vancouver Island. We came for our friend AKC's wedding and it was awesome.

The place we're staying is way out of our budget, but DKO was really really looking forward to this and we thought the wedding site would be the most convenient place to stay.

We come back tomorrow (5/7) and then chemo #4 on 5/9.

DKO is doing o.k., but is really tired. We're both fretting that her counts will be down and that may postpone the next treatment. We had a really wonderful dinner alone our last night here, but we took the opportunity to vent fears. Always hard, but probably ultimately good.

We've had a great time up here---it really is gorgeous---but we're looking forward to coming home.

Fatigue

2007-04-25T18:27:00.000-07:00

Not much new today. It was our usual "Wednesday at work". DKO was really tired, and it's clear that the bone pain and fatigure are increasing with each chemo cycle.

We have a wedding next week out of town and then chemo the following week. DKO has really been looking forward to the trip (Canada!), but we're concerned about her energy level. Will she be able to participate in all the wedding events or will she be exhausted, bummed, and depressed in the hotel room?

For myself, I can feel my sabbatical minutes ticking away and had a bit of a fear day. I think it's thinking about chemo and wondering if all DKO's discomfort will translate to good health.

Knock on wood!

An outing!

2007-04-21T14:14:00.000-07:00

The third round of chemo was a week ago and I think she's coming out of the tunnel this round. My evidence is that she seems ready for a small outing today: over to Border's to buy CDs!

We'll see how that goes.

#3

2007-04-17T20:52:00.000-07:00

We haven't posted in a while. I had to go out of town and DKO is fresh from her third round. (I had a conference in Taiwan. James and Jane hosted the event, but a whirlwind trip so I could get back here quickly. DKO's sister "the catheter" watched over her while I was away.)

The good news is I'm back for the duration and she's now halfway through.

The downside is that the nausea and bone/muscle aches seem to be increasing each round. The latter have really knocked her for a loop and she's spending her time zoned out on the sofa, exhausted, but unable to sleep.

Catheter

2007-04-07T18:00:00.000-07:00

It's not what you think, Jennie!

Diane's sister Cathy--the "catheter"--arrived today for a week. I'm off to a conference in Taiwan and she's on watch while I'm away.

Chemo #3 is coming up next week, so this is a relatively high energy period for DKO. The main symptom for now is exhaustion. Even a small errand tires her out and though she normally poopoos my napping inclinations, she seems to be having no trouble availing herself of the sofa for just that purpose.

My birthday

2007-04-01T14:15:00.000-07:00

I had a birthday last week. I mention this because my plan had been to get a big rain check for any festivities, etc., thinking that I didn't want DKO stressing out any of it.

DKO, however, had been quite insistent about doing something, and I ended up relenting, thinking that she wasn't going to let go of this issue and that maybe it was something she really wanted to do. I've been second guessing myself about this steadily.

Nonetheless, I had a wonderful day, great gifts, and a really pleasant time at home with her. In the heat of all this cancer stress, the best gift of all, of course, was just to have her with me.

Yuck

2007-03-25T09:40:00.000-07:00

Couldn't think of a better title for this post. It about sums up the current state of affairs. If I don't post for awhile that either means I feel pretty good or, in this case, that I feel pretty lousy. I am also feeling distinctly sorry for myself this morning, which is ridiculous when all I have to do is read the front page of the newspaper to know I am much better off than many many people. I tried to add up all the things I have to be grateful for in my head this morning but my brain was sluggish and was much happier whimpering.

Yesterday. I managed to shower, get dressed, and take Ernie around the cul-de-sac with Mike. I also made phone calls to various places to try to locate a cream that my doctor wants me to use to prevent the rash on my hands that I got after the first infusion. It's called "Udder Cream" and I finally located it at Ace Hardware of all places. Having located it meant going to get it and there's where the day started to fall apart (and it was only 8:30 AM). I have several scarves now, but none of them looked right to me and my baseball hat didn't match my shirt. My KISA says I'm beautiful in a paper bag with or without hair, and that it doesn't matter if the scarves and hats don't match my shirt. But it matters to me because I am trying hard to look normal, to feel pretty, to not feel like the blob I see in the mirror. Clothes should be coordinated, hats, scarves, earrings, shirts...and after trying on various shirts with various scarves, I rip the latest off my head and stomp on it. I feel marginally better after that. The scarf is none the worse for its beating but I am still bald. I finally suck it up, throw on a black shirt, and a pink scarf. By the time we're back from the hardware store and the coffee bus (where else?), I am feeling worse and worse. When we get home, I change into sweats and a fluffy hat and can't finish my coffee. I can feel my body losing the battle for the day.

There is just no getting around the fact that the drugs sap you completely at the same time as the steroids they give you for delayed nausea make your body hum. It is this odd catch-22 where you feel like you are bouncing off the walls but sometimes you don't have the energy to even make your mouth form words. Needless to say, you can't sleep even though you're tired and reading and other intellectual activities are projects that seem to take place through a veil. You know your head is not quite grasping things and the next thing you know, the book you were reading has slipped out of your hands because you're too tired to hold it. You then realize that you haven't eaten much today so you have some bread. A little while later you realize maybe bread wasn't the right thing. Despite not wanting to, you take an anti-nausea pill. It does help but only adds to the drugs that are piled up in your system.

You try to get up and do something (tidy up, play with the dog, water plants) but in two seconds flat, you're exhausted. It occurs to you that having the TV on might help because then you at least feel like you might be doing something other than lying completely inert. Dozing through Bad Bad Bath on HGTV, Sugar Rush on the Food Network (I did wake up when they showed the monkey bread), and the Stepford Wives made the day go by a commercial at a time. That is...it was a long long day yesterday...a day of just waiting for my body to figure out how to overcome what it has been blasted with. I finally fell really asleep after dinner, around 6:30, woke up an hour later and was in bed by 8 - didn't wake up for good until 6:30 this morning. Still, there is something humorous in seeing Bette Midler and Glenn Close as Stepford Wives. The day wasn't a total loss.

Today. Today is better than yesterday so far, although I can feel the aches coming back in my arms and fingers as I type. I didn't have enough energy for a walk this morning but I'll try later. It could have had more to do with the "pity-party" for one I was having. I didn't feel like eating but knew I should, then couldn't think what to eat because nothing sounded good. The drugs coat your tongue for a few days and nothing tastes right. I ate cinnamon toast and a banana but neither one tasted like food. Hmmm...I think the pity-party may still be going on! How about that?! What I need is a pinata shaped like a giant cancer cell. Then I could whack the heck out of it - and everyone knows that once pinatas are broken, good things come out.

C2 + 2

2007-03-24T18:08:00.000-07:00

Second chemo was on Thursday and it's now Saturday.

Yesterday seemed pretty mild, but the hammer is clearly starting to fall today. DKO has been intermittently sleeping, reading, and watching TV from the same spot on the sofa all day.

She's been eating some, but not a lot. Some queeziness and muscle aches I think.

Her hair is virtually all gone and she's having a hard time with it. I think she has a beautiful head, hair or not!

Brownies. Natasha/Evan, you're reading her mind. She had a craving for brownies yesterday and I picked up the easy brownies in a tube from the market yesterday. Haven't tried them yet though.....

C 2

2007-03-22T09:14:00.000-07:00

Here we are for Chemo treatment #2.

We have to get up at the crack of dawn to be at the Cancer Center by 7:00AM. We swing by the Coffee Bus on the way.

First stop is labs and then a visit with the chemo doctor. DKO reviews her various symptoms from the first cycle and the doctor has all sorts of suggestions and prescriptions to address them for the second cycle.

9:20 AM. We're done with all that and waiting to get buzzed for chemo.

10:00 AM. A sheepish administrator woman comes by and lets us know that there had been some odd delay in getting DKO's chemo "package" delivered upstairs. She apologizes profusely and offers to get us something gratis from the snackbar. DKO gets a smoothie and I get a rain check for a cup of coffee a little later. My reason for taking the coffee later is that I've been tasked with a key mission: to pick up a handful of tawdry magazines from the market down the street.

11:00 AM. I come back and DKO has gotten taken back and they've started a drip with the pre-chemo drugs. A few minutes later a social worker shows up to check in with us. She's very nice and we discover that 7 years ago she'd been a roommate of a former grad student in the program (Megan C.). We chat for a while until they start DKO on benadryl; at that point, the drugs put DKO to sleep, the social worker heads off, and I get to put in some blogging time.

1:30 PM. They've done the taxotere and now they're doing the cytoxan. We'd been concerned that DKO might have another allergic reaction to the taxotere, but all went well. I stepped out around 12:30 to pick up lunch. DKO had expressed interest in "baked goods", so I walked over to Ghini's for a selection: croissants, rolls, pastries, etc. She ate a ham-and-swiss croissant but passed on the brioche (which was actually really yummy). They're saying that we should be out of here in an hour or so.

2:15. Cytoxin headache. Last time DKO got a headache at about this point and it's happened again. The nurse says that they can do the cytoxan slower next time but for now she can take more benadryl and/or tylenol. Slowing down the drip seemed to help.

2:45. On our way home.

Next morning. DKO seemed to sleep pretty well. Major symptoms don't seem to have kicked in yet, but she's bracing for them. My morning mission is to pick up all the non-prescription meds to alleviate all the side effects she had last time.

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

2007-03-14T14:17:00.000-07:00

I woke up yesterday morning with my head feeling sore in the back. I knew what it meant and a quick swipe of my hand over the back of my head came up with a fistful of hair. Sigh...

I washed my hair today and allowed myself some sniffles in the shower as it came out in handfuls. I'm lucky to have such thick hair because I don't think you can really tell at this point but it is only a matter of time. My mom and I were remembering that it comes out pretty quickly once it starts and I'm not sure I want to go through the trauma of seeing it fall out bit by bit. I think I'd better let my hairdresser do the deed. Anyone know how to henna a head? Or maybe I need one of those jeweled headresses that ancient Egyptians used to wear - that cover your head and come down in beads to your shoulders? Would that be cool or what?

Once the initial week or so of feeling awful was behind me, I'd actually managed to convince myself that this second cancer was all just a very bad dream. Hence, why I haven't been blogging. The cancer blog is for that woman who has cancer again, not for this woman who feels pretty good right now. And I have felt pretty good this last week, and so it's easy to deny that there is anything wrong with me. Cancer? No way! Toxic chemicals in my body? Nope. Not me! I'm healthy and strong and happy. Right?

Okay, not right. The morning hair alarm was a jolt back to my reality. But even though it makes me teary, I am reassured that the chemotherapy is doing its job. If its killing hair cells, then it must be killing cancer cells, too. If baldness is one price to pay in order to zap the bad guys, then bring it on. This, too, shall pass.

No news

2007-03-09T15:47:00.000-08:00

We're still in the first chemo cycle and dko's symptoms seem to change every few days. We seem to be past more extreme effects on this cycle, but who knows! Jennie: skip next paragraph.

Current symptoms seem to be continuing gastrointestinal infortitude of various sorts and a new rash in the last day or so.

So how are we on other fronts? I can't speak for dko, but I find I'm worrying away about it. What's going on that I can't see? Could it have spread? Could this? Could that? This leads to occasional sleepless nights, middle-aged clenching of various sorts, and distraction.

We exercise. We try to eat well.

Yes, Natasha, I've been inadvertantly vegetarian for several days now, subsisting on rice, lentils, colorful veggies (per our latest health tips), but with a nice shiraz! DKO doesn't do the shiraz and has opted for the eggbeaters and colorful veggies instead.

C plus 5

2007-03-04T08:16:00.000-08:00

We're now five days out from the first chemo.

DKO's symptoms/side-effects seem to be evolving. The muscle soreness and nausea seem to have ebbed, which is good, but now there's stomach issues: cramping and the like. It was bad enough last night that she couldn't sleep. She spoke to the on-call doctor this morning and he suggested some over-the-counter meds. I'm thinking we'll be talking to DKO's regular doctor about this tomorrow....

C plus 3

2007-03-02T07:29:00.000-08:00

It's now Friday; first chemo was Tuesday.

The nausea is under control, but the muscle and bone pain is still increasing. Nonetheless, DKO decided to try to drive herself this morning for a haircut. She'll get it cut real short preemptively.

I'm preparing to buzz myself too, but she's assured me that her cut today will still leave her more hair than me.

We've got Joe coming for spring break next week which we're both looking forward to a lot.

With Joe's visit and my b-day coming up, DKO seems to want to plan events, but I think that's just hassle she does not need. I'm militating for a rain check for any b-day festivities: big party in August for the postponed b-day for me and end of treatment for her!

C plus 2

2007-03-01T16:44:00.000-08:00

It's now two days past the first chemo day.

The short version is that DKO seems to be doing better than her first treatment seven years ago. Details below. Jennie: skip the details!

Seven years ago, we left after the first treatment thinking all was well. An hour or two later, DKO felt sick as a dog and spent the evening with Mr. porcelain. The chemo doctor, same one as now, was really apologetic and adjusted things so that wasn't repeated in the later treatments. This was part of the reason DKO was so apprehensive this time.

This time has generally been much better. DKO hasn't yakked, though she seems to get twinges of nausea. They have her taking compazine which seems to work well. I've deduced today though that she's trying to be the brave little toaster and, though the compazine can be taken three times a day, she's slogging it out at once a day. (I love her so and can't help but admire her guts...but take the pills!)

Muscle soreness kicked in big time today. She apparently woke up 3am-ish and at 4:30am I woke to find her gone, reading in the living room with a sore neck/back. Lots of rubbing then and later didn't seem to help.

Today we had a follow-up with the surgeon and then a few errands. Marian/Evan: chocolate clearly helps. We went back to Ghini's for their chocolate decadence desert. And then there was a trip to the chatty pottery guy and now, $200 later, we're home.

Chemo Day

2007-02-27T19:29:00.000-08:00

Today is the first chemo day. The basic idea is that they inject DKO with various different chemicals every few weeks for the next eighteen weeks. These are intended to kill off any cancer cells that may be wandering about her body. My very naive understanding is that the chemicals basically target any cell that is growing or dividing. These are poisons.

8:45am. We leave for the hospital. We go past the Border's to pick up the "chemo reading kit": People, Us, etc., all the news about Jennifer, JLo, Angelina, Brad, Britney, etc. Next stop is the coffee bus for a little decaf comfort, and then past work to drop off tupperwares.

10:20am. We reach the Cancer Center and wait for 40 minutes or so. DKO is pretty anxious and the wait is frustrating.

11:00am. We go to the "Infusion Pod". I'm hoping for a hottub with a view of the mountains and a Martini bar, but it doesn't happen. The facilities are quite nice...and huge. There's something like six rooms for four people each, plus another ten private rooms. One of the nurses explains that the chemo space here is eight times as large as their old digs down at UMC.

12:00pm. I go off to pick up something to eat. There's a Safeway a block away, but it turns out Ghini's (bakery/restaurant) is on the same corner. I pick up some pasta and salad to split with DKO and some pastries for Dwight (the father-in-law). Oops, he's not here, so we're going to have to eat those all ourselves....

12:40. I'm back in the hospital, but I've missed some excitement. They had given DKO various pre-chemo drugs, and while I was gone, they started her on Taxotere, the first actual chemo drug, and she apparently had a minor allergic reaction. They take that quite seriously though, so apparently the drugs were shut off, they gave her hydrocortisone, and a doctor appeared. I arrive when the doctor's checking DKO out. All appears to be fine and they decide to wait 30 minutes before restarting. DKO's regular chemo doctor then shows up and they restart while she's here. All seems to go well and the chemo doctor heads off.

2:20. Popsicles. DKO has just about finished the Taxotere. No more allergic responses. She thinks her hands might be a little tingly. The nurse says that's not a symptom she's aware of but the lady next to us (with cool orange shoes) says she had tingly hands with Taxotere.

3:20. All is well. DKO finished the Taxotere and they've started her on Cytoxin. This latter one is supposed to go for about an hour and then we can leave. The doctor and the nurse are both saying that they're worried that DKO will have "anticipatory nausea", where the patient is so worried about getting nauseous that they get nauseous. Now Liz the chemo nurse has just shared some green corn tamales with DKO...which smell really good.

4:00pm. We're done with the Taxotere. A quick dose of Atavan(?) for nausea, some schmoozing with the nurse and we're gone. Home by 5:30 and I'm off to pick up groceries and prescriptions.

The Borg Queen

2007-02-26T13:07:00.000-08:00

So I am now feeling slightly like the Borg Queen from Star Trek (pictured left). I only have one portacath and it's only visible as a bump under the skin above my right tata, but still - it's a foreign body and definitely feels like one.

In about a week or two, I won't have hair and the resemblance will be even more striking. I don't expect to be wearing leather, though, and could only hope to look as good as she does in it! And although she's a bit eerie, I think she looks pretty good bald. From past experience, I know that I can only hope to aspire to those in the "bald and sultry" group, alas - and I certainly don't want to share her fate (she gets obliterated by Picard) - so I am fine with not looking too much like her!

I've been busy since I last posted with appointments every other day or so: I've had my teeth cleaned, I've had a mammogram on the right tata, I've had the port put in and I've had the MUGA - plus I've met with students and done other work as well.

The port.The most traumatic of all the health-related stuff for me was the port surgery because I'd had such a crappy time of it last time. Last time, they took me in, prepped me (which included literally taping me to the table), and then left me in the dark for two hours unable to move an inch (some emergency of which I was not told). I was very very unhappy about this and was determined to avoid a repeat performance.

Despite trouble putting in the IV (sigh) and although I was still taped to the table (across my right tata no less with three very wide and long pieces of what looked like masking tape), things went better this time but not the best. Mike was quite happy to tell all the doctors, techs, and nurses about my previous experience and they all agreed it sounded horrible and that it would not happen this time. And it didn't, so that was good!

Mike was also quite happy to tell everyone that I tend to be quite chatty under conscious sedation, which was very true the last time. This time was different, though. What I think happened was that the happy juice wore off after the first little while and because I felt little to no pain, it didn't quite occur to me to ask for more. As a consequence, I felt all kinds of icky tugging and pulling and pushing that I really wish I hadn't felt. They told me that they would be tugging quite hard and they weren't kidding.

I didn't realize how distressed I was until tears suddenly started leaking out of the corners of my eyes. At about that time, a nurse came around to look at my face and when she saw this, she spent the whole rest of the surgery rubbing my temples (there are angels everywhere). I didn't ask for more stuff because we were nearly done - just getting stitched up - and I didn't see the need. I think they all thought because I was so quiet that I had gone to sleep but I was awake through all of it.

The whole point of the happy juice is so that you forget all the unpleasant sensations but I can remember every blasted second. I don't know why it didn't occur to me to ask for more but when I get this removed you can bet I'll tell them to fill me up! I went home nearly right away after they were done since I hadn't had anything for over an hour - and the nurse remarked on how very well I did. I'd rather be a wimp and not remember a thing!

The MUGA. I learned that MUGA stands for multi-gated analysis and that the procedure uses gamma rays to take pictures of the heart. After one failed attempt to insert an IV by a well-meaning and very nervous community college student and one successful attempt by the same young woman who'd injected me for the bone scan, they took a little bit of blood. My blood was mixed with a radioactive isotope and after an hour, they gave it back to me through the IV. This was all done in Nuclear Medicine, which is the same dimly lit and depressing place I went for the bone scan. I had to lie down with leads attached and then they positioned the gamma camera over me to take three pictures of my heart. Unlike with x-rays, where the machine emits radiation, with the MUGA, you are radioactive and the machine is not. I wonder how much radiation I have accrued in the past month? Let me know if you see me glowing!

I actually dozed a bit during this procedure and only woke up because of the heart episode Mike has already described. I will say in all honesty that it scared the crap out of me despite my having had similar episodes before. I woke up with my heart literally feeling like it had leaped out of my chest and looking down I could see my heart beating way too fast through my shirt. I had trouble catching my breath and worried about passing out. I was unable to call for help (and found myself pushing a phantom call-button with my thumb) until it had subsided somewhat. The tech reacted with no concern whatsoever when I told her what had happened and suggested I just stay lying down until I felt better. I could wish that the MUGA caught it and then everyone would know I am not crazy but I'm pretty sure the camera was done taking pictures by the time this happened. I do not for a moment believe these are panic attacks since I am almost always sleeping or doing something fun and non-threatening when they happen. I really hope that someone figures out what they are some day.

Chemo. Tomorrow morning I go for my first "diffusion", as they call it. HA! Is that a euphemism or what? In the end, my doctor recommended the Plan B chemo regimen, mainly to avoid giving me any more of the scary heart-threatening kind. I am relieved about that. I will also be getting Taxotere and not Taxol and I'm happier about that, too, since the risks are slightly lower for any resulting neuropathy. Mike and I plan to stop en route tomorrow and get a "chemo kit", the essential component of which is trashy entertainment magazines. I think I'm also going to bring extra socks because I remember getting cold feet (no pun intended).

In anticipation of impending ickiness, I went to JoAnn and spent too much money on craft supplies (they were having a sale, okay?). When I got home, Mike asked how much I had spent and I said "the exact right amount for someone about to have chemo." That's a good argument, right? And just so you know how good Mike is to me, he actually asked to see what I had bought and sat through my five minute show-and-tell (okay, maybe ten minutes).

Muga day

2007-02-24T08:52:00.000-08:00

Yesterday we did the muga test.

The short version is all went well.

I'm understanding that the test is designed to assess how much blood actually flows with each beat of the heart. Apparently, some kinds of chemo affect your heart, so this is something they need to do beforehand. We did it last time as well.

The basic procedure is that they draw some blood, mix something radioactive with it, and then inject it back into the patient and observe what happens. As usual, we're assured that the radioactivity is no risk and as usual we fret away.

We started out the day optimistically, hoping the test could be done quickly and we'd be able to get other things done as well. So, after stressing through the early morning, I dragged DKO off to her favorite breakfast place: Robert's. Really yummy as usual, but definitely a bridge too far.

We next went off to the muga at UMC. We'd hoped they'd be able to use the newly "installed" port, but they decided to go for a vein instead, and that occasioned the usual difficulties. The procedure went fine but took much longer than we'd originally estimated and we didn't get home until way late in the day, exhausted.

One interesting development is that DKO has this recurring event where she feels like her heart is beating really really fast. She's seen a doctor, done bunches of tests, but they've never been able to figure it out. It hasn't happened in a while, but it actually happened during the muga while she was wired up. We're hoping that the muga may actually tell us something about the heart thing.

Chemo on tuesday...the calm before the storm.

Port

2007-02-22T17:19:00.000-08:00

Today was "port surgery" day. The short version is that all went well.

Details below.

What is a port? The basic idea is that when a person undergoes chemo they get a lot of injections. The port is placed under the skin and connected by a little tube (also under the skin) to a major vein. The port itself is about the size of a bottle cap and has a plastic-like cover (all under the skin). It makes it easy for the nurses and the patient to do all the chemo injections. The whole thing can be removed later. DKO had one of these seven years ago last time and then had it removed when chemo was over.

Why do this? DKO has really difficult-to-find veins. Over the years, I've seen lots of hospital folks have a very hard time finding a workable vein for an injection or to draw blood. The usual procedure is to keep sticking her with a needle until they find a good vein or to place the needle in some incredibly awkward or painful place. The bottom line is this is necessary.

How did the day go? We were both pretty stressed in the morning. This is minor surgery that she's had before, but no matter how many surgeries she's had, it never gets routine. We arrived at the hospital around 10:30 for the procedure.

They very quickly took her back, gowned and IV-ed her. Putting the IV in was as difficult as always, all complicated by the fact that, since she's now had lymph nodes out on both sides, both arms are "compromised" and pose a lymphedema (swelling, potentially very large) risk. (She already has a little lymphedema in her right arm.)

We had to warn the various people who came in about her various allergies, the lymphedema, and about aspects of her experience last time she had the port surgery. Last time, they apparently left her prepped in a room for almost two hours taped to a table when the person who was going to do the surgery had some emergency elsewhere. We wanted to make sure this didn't happen again. Also, DKO reported to me that last time the doctors remarked on how "chatty" she was, asking lots of questions, and therefore needed extra anesthesia. I took some joy in alerting them to this risk.

Two and a half hours later, I collected her from the recovery room. The surgery went straightforwardly, but DKO is really sore. She's been chastising herself that she didn't ask them for more painkillers at the time.

The key fact is that she's home and doing o.k.

A tough week

2007-02-16T08:16:00.000-08:00

This one's been pretty rough.

We met with the chemo doctor on Tuesday. We'd both been quietly stressing about it, our overt worries about whether there would be chemo and, if so, what kind. I think I'd also been worrying about whether there would be any further info on prognosis.

The chemo doctor is really nice. She's been seeing DKO for seven years, since the last time. She was really good this time as well.

So what did we learn? Yes, there will be chemo, more of it than last time.

The pathology on the tumor showed that it was really fast-growing. That's not so good, thogh the clean margins and the negative lymph nodes are both really good and the most important things.

I suspect I've found the scariest things the doctor said and am now magnifying them out of proportion, indulging my fears. I don't want to deny my reaction, but I want to get it under control so I can help get DKO through this.

On the practical side, we're trying to get everything done that really needs to get done before chemo starts. Lots of medical appointments and then probably chemo within a week or two.

Que sera sera

2007-02-13T15:04:00.000-08:00

I'd intended for this post to be a continuation of surgery-day but as I have news, I'll hold off on that. What we've been holding our breath about for two weeks now is whether I would have to have chemotherapy again. Last week, I dug through my nearly 7-year-old notes to see if I could find the pathology from my last cancer because Mike and I were pretty sure that aside from it being a different type of breast cancer this time, the pathology in all other respects was nearly identical and in one case a bit worse. I did find some of my doctor's notes detailing the pros and cons of my pathology and confirmed that our collective memory was right on the money. This made me pretty sure that as I had to have chemo last time, I would have to have it this time as well.

Today we saw the medical oncologist and although I was prepared for hearing that I would need chemo, I'd really really really really (did I say REALLY?) hoped that I wouldn't have to go through that again. Alas, I will. I guess nothing prepares you well for actually hearing that the show must go on, so to speak. It also looks like I'm in for a longer ride on the toxic train this time, too. This cancer is apparently even more aggressive than the last one and so I will probably have to have between 6 and 8 treatments, either two or three weeks apart depending on which kind of regimen my doctor recommends. This means chemo will last at least through June and possibly longer, followed by 5 or 6 weeks of radiation. That would mean no "get out of jail free" card until August or maybe even September. And yes, "sayonara" to the hair. Plus, no big travel plans: no long sabbatical travel for Mike, no anniversary trip, no special bday trip for Mike, no summer on the beach; no visits to family. Breaks my heart. When pressed the doctor allowed that we might be able to sneak in one trip that we feel is really important but no guarantees. I feel a big sigh coming on.

At this point we have two chemo cocktails from which to choose. Plan A comes with a slight risk, since it would mean getting the drug Adriamycin, which has the potential to mess with your heart (it can weaken the muscle). I had this one last time and that is the dilemma - whether to give it to me again. The doctor explained that I had 240mg of this last time and research has shown that up to 300 mg and possible 400 mg over a lifetime is safe. If I have it again, that would mean I'd be at 480 mg or slightly above the maximum. BUT they can counter this effect with a drug that protects the heart but which, unfortunately, can add to the nausea that I'm already going to be feeling from the chemo itself. Another sigh coming on.

The nausea part is about as fun as having to walk a ways to your car in 110 degree heat in Tucson and then actually having to get in it when it's been baking in the sun all day. Then imagine that you forgot to put your sun shade up but you have to touch that steering wheel, that you also have no air conditioning, no water to drink - AND that you have to repeat the walk, um, let's see 9 or 10 times a day. I'm pretty sure I'm not exaggerating but it's possible!

I've been told it's a lot like morning sickness actually, but without the fun baby part at the end. Since I've never been pregnant myself, I can't compare and am just going by my memories of last time. In any case, the nausea is a given no matter what regimen I get. Under Plan A I'd be zapped with another drug at the same time as the Adriamycin - for 4 treatments, to be followed by 4 treatments of another drug called Taxol. My mom and sister have had this and they say this is no picnic either; my mother has permanent neuropathy in her fingers and toes because of it and my sister says that the bone pain that comes with it is sometimes unbearable. Everybody's different, though, so maybe I'll have it easier. One can always hope.

Plan B is a newer regimen that my doctor wants to look into, which is Taxol and another drug for 6 treatments. This would actually take longer even though the number of treatments is less because these drugs have to be given further apart (every three weeks instead of every two for Plan A). My doctor is still mulling this one. She's also ordered a heart-function test (I had this before, too) to see if there's been a change from 7 years ago. If so, then it is unlikely she would want to risk the Adriamycin. So now we're in a new holding pattern - wonder what cocktail it will ultimately be?

Chemo may start as early as next week but probably not until the week after (the last week of February). In the meantime, I need to have the heart-function test, get my teeth cleaned (they can't do this while you're undergoing chemo because of the risk of infection), get a mammogram on the other tata (because I'm due for one) and get the chemo port put in. The chemo port is something they insert under the skin between your collarbone and your tata that allows them to draw blood right from a major vein. They can also easily feed in the chemo drugs without having to find veins all the time. To put the port in requires surgery but only as an outpatient and they don't put you under. They use a local anaesthetic and some happy juice. The latter made me very chatty last time; I guess I was asking too many questions! The port is something you can actually see under the skin and for Star Trek fans out there, last time we likened it to being a member of the Borg collective. Yee ha!

On the plus side, there is sure to be shopping involved for things like scarves and hats to cover the ever-so-lovely lack of hair. The ones I had last time went from me to my mom and then to my sister so they've gotten plenty of wear and tear and it's time for a new batch. As many of you have heard me complain before, I am not a person who looks good in hats so it takes an actual shopping trip to choose them. Now, who am I to turn down a shopping trip? You never know what you might come home with :0) Also, there's the possibility of re-inventing oneself with a wig. Should I be a brunette? A red-head? or stay blond? Long hair or short? straight or curly? Votes, please!

Fossilization pero...

2007-02-08T12:17:00.000-08:00

We went and saw the surgeon again today. All is well. The blisters seem to be healing and he seemed satisfied with the way things look. DKO was worried about an apparent rash and some soreness under her arm, but he characterized those as "you're healing".

We have an appointment with the chemo doctor next week to find out if there's going to be chemo and, if so, what kind. Both of us are stressing about what's going to happen.

There's been a running conversation between DKO and the surgeon about fossilization in language acquisition. The surgeon's first language is Spanish and, when he found out DKO works on language acquisition, he wanted to know all about it.

The surgeon came in with students (as usual). At the end of the appointment, one of them came up to me and asked if I'd ever taught INDV 101....and even remembered me by name from when he took the course with me in '01. Very spooky!

Details (Part Two)

2007-02-03T07:51:00.000-08:00

So, yesterday's post was about the wire localization, which was the first thing I had to get done on surgery day. Because the tumor couldn't be felt or seen, they had to insert the wire to give the surgeon a clue as to where he needed to be to remove the cancer. Once this was done, I had to report to UMC's Ambulatory Surgery for the actual operation.

I think we got there at around 9:30 and the waiting room was already pretty full - of people and of signs saying "Please, no food or drink in the waiting area" - a sign that was rightly ignored by almost everyone (for the life of me, I can't figure out why such an injunction would be necessary; I thought it was kind of insensitive to the poor people waiting for their loved ones to come out from under the knife). The waiting room was small and there wasn't much room for us. One area was filled with about six people, some wrapped in blankets and sleeping across several chairs (I thought that was rude). Another area was filled with about 15 people all packed into a space like a cubicle. We had a job of finding a place for the four of us to sit (me, Mike, Mom, Dad), but Mike waded in and not only found a space for four, but commandeered a table and moved the chairs about so we had a space to play cards. We'd brought UNO with us to kill time. My surgery wasn't scheduled until noon so there was plenty of waiting. But we had fun of a sort and I think we provided entertainment for others (there were definitely envious looks at our cards and sotto voce discussions about the game and its rules). Mike kept leaning over to sneak a look at my hand (I ask you!) and when I tried to do the same, he'd make it impossible - until I realized his cards were reflected in the window behind him! Aha! Take that, you scoundrel!

We played for about 40 minutes and were interrupted mid-game by a nurse who was ready to take me back for prep. Ack! Okay, I guess it was time. We made a small flurry as my mom and dad gave me a hug for luck (mom was looking teary) and Mike and I went back to the pre-op room. The first thing they did was sit me down to take my vitals, ask me who I was (another check on my identity in case I had bribed someone to take my place), and some other questions. While I was sitting there my surgeon came along with his usual gaggle of ducklings trailing behind - read residents, medical students, interns. When he saw me he started to apologize that they were not ready for me. From what I gather, I was supposed to be the second surgery of the morning but because they weren't finished with me at the Tucson Breast Center, he made the call to operate on someone else instead. As they'd actually brought me back earlier than he'd expected (it was 10:15 or so), I guess he was thinking that I thought I was going to be operated on right away. I reassured him that I'd been told noon for a surgery-time and that made him feel better, although he still kept apologizing and even made a call to see if they could switch things back. They couldn't, so we were in for more waiting. He joked with us for a bit (more comments on my hair) and then I was escorted by the nurse to what would be my bed (ha! a glorified cot, of course) for the next several hours - on which were waiting chic and trendy hospital clothes just for me: one well-worn smock, one pair of blue booties and one cap to cover my hair. I changed out of my clothes, dumping them all on Mike, and balked at the hat. Nope, wasn't going to put that on until I had to.

The best part came next, which was the warm blankets they pile on you (as many as you ask for). As you already know how I feel about blankets (see previous post), this made me feel a little less anxious (but not much). Pretty quickly after that various and sundry medical staff came over and introduced themselves, asked questions, and started doing things to get me ready. One woman was putting tags on my right wrist - one for my allergies, one for my name and hospital id, and one for the type of surgery I was having. This last one spooked me as this was clearly a step to make sure that they do the right surgery on the right person. On the one hand, this was comforting since this appeared to be all in a day's work for the people there. I was just one more person going through the surgery mill and it was all routine. On the other hand, I was just one more person going through the surgery mill and it was all rather impersonal. Who in this group actually cared about me and was going to take care of me?

At this point, I reminded myself that my surgeon was going to take care of me. I had to put my faith in him and believe that all would come out well. I simply had to. Plus, I thought of the many people who were rooting for me, including most of all the man sitting by my side, and had to believe that all those positive thoughts can only make good things happen.

I took a deep breath as the young doctor with the IV paraphernalia came over to my little nook. He was clearly a very very shy person who looked most uncomfortable having to actually talk to us and explain what he was going to do. But I only got good vibes from him despite being terrified of the stupid vein-finding expedition that was soon to come. I warned him about my veins, he asked when was the last time I ate or drank. Apparently when they say you can eat and drink up 'til midnight, they really mean you should. Having food in your tummy is apparently good for finding veins. I'll have to remember this and plan a slightly-before-midnight snack if I have to go through this again. He looked at my veins and proceeded to tourniquet my arm really tight (alas, this is always the case). I made a fist, I hung my arm down and while he was smacking my hand in the hopes of scaring up a vein, I asked if heat would help (a trick my mom reminded me about that they do for many chemo patients). He said yes and asked a nearby nurse for more warm blankets (score! I got more!). I got two blankets, one for each arm in case they had to use my right arm despite its lymphedema.

While he waited for the blankets to lure veins to the surface of my hand, a medical student doing an anesthesia rotation came by to say she'd be watching the procedure. She wasn't exactly mean or nice, just no bedside manner to speak of. The IV Shy Guy started smacking my hand again, as she instructed me to open my mouth as wide as I could, tipped my head, shone a flashlight down my throat. She made me do this several times and I admit I started to feel a tad cranky with her because it seemed to me that she didn't know what she was doing (I've actually never had anyone do this before in previous surgeries). My suspicion that she was a little out of her element was confirmed when she asked Shy Guy to also take a look. He did and she said, "So, what do you think, a 2? or a 3?" Shy Guy said, "2". At this point I asked what this meant and she didn't really explain it all that well. I asked the question later to the actual anesthesiologist (who looked as if she were about 12), who said it's an estimate of the distance from where your chin meets your neck and your thyroid cartilage - in terms of the number of fingers they can lay there. For me, she can lay only two and I gather they like to have three at the least. They use this as a measure of what size tube they'll need and to get some idea of what to expect as far as intubation.

Back with No Personality Woman, she asked whether I had been difficult to intubate before and I said no. She made a half-hearted swipe through my chart and then said maybe they just never told me. I started to feel a little nervous about this intubation thing at this point. I've never had an anesthesiologist worry about this before as far as I know, and I wasn't getting a good feeling about these two anesthesiologists, although 12-Year-Old was really nice and certainly seemed competent (but how long can she have been practicing, I asked myself? Okay, maybe she wasn't twelve but she was certainly not out of her 20s yet; ack!).

While I was fretting about this, Shy Guy began prepping my hand for the needle-stick. Mike got up and walked around the bed, away from this procedure because it was stressing him out. Shy Guy put some numbing stuff in first (Yay! That meant if he had to poke around in there, I wouldn't feel it so much) and then got the vein on the first try. I was looking away but looked back when I thought it was in. I asked if he'd gotten in, at which point he pulled back on the flushing syringe or whatever and blood started to drip rather rapidly out of my hand onto my fingers and all over the floor. I guess it was in! I told Mike not to look at the floor, while Shy Guy taped the IV down with a LOT of tape and then cleaned the blood off the floor and tried to get it off me, the latter with not so much effect despite his well-intended efforts. I think he was afraid of jarring it, not wanting to go through that all over again. Me either, so I was okay with icky fingers.

To be continued...

The Details (Part One)

2007-02-02T10:31:00.000-08:00

Well, it's been a while since you've heard from me but I know my KISA has kept you all posted with progress and GOOD news. Yay! Plus he has been reading me your comments and we just can't thank everyone enough for all the love and care you send to us. Have I said before how lucky we are to have such a wonderful group of friends and family?

I thought I would backtrack a little and put down some thoughts about surgery day (probably in several posts since I'm easily tired still). It helps to get them out of my head, as I'm sure everyone has realized by now. A week ago I was at this moment just being closed back up, I think. I seem to remember finally opening my eyes in recovery at around 12:20 PM but I know I was hearing stuff around me before that and trying desperately to open my eyes and tell them I felt like something was stabbing me in the armpit and how about a little more pain medicine, please!

As you might imagine, none of us slept very well the night before (me, Mike, my parents) but we were all up and ready to go exactly on time. I couldn't eat or drink anything, but that didn't bother me. I was just ready to get the whole thing going. We got to Tucson Breast Center at 7:30 for the wire localization. I filled out the medical history again (as Mike has already noted) and then we waited, and waited, and waited some more. Okay, we only really waited about 25 minutes, but it felt like forever. Here I was - ready to get this whole thing started and who the heck was holding me up anyway? Didn't they know I was mentally prepared for right now?! Hel-lo? Why were all these other women getting to go before me? You don't mean to say they actually have appointments, too?

These were the thoughts that were running through my head (some of which escaped aloud, alas) and we all groused a bit at the delay. We found out later that my appointment was actually for 8:00 but they wanted me there at 7:30 to, guess what? Fill out the medical history! Seriously, don't these offices share information? I know they either share or can access the UMC database. Do they think that anything about my medical history has changed in the last .5 seconds since I filled it out for some other office? Half the questions weren't relevant anyway, since I wasn't there to get a mammogram. In a snit, I made a big slash through all the stupid, not applicable questions. It made me feel much better. Also, Mike provided entertainment with his quest for coffee and pastries (which he reported already). Such a charmer, as he did score the coffee!

Finally, a very nice nurse called my name. She told my devoted "wait-ers" to expect me back in about an hour or slightly more. As we walked away, she explained that first we were going to take some mammograms to see if the tumor would show up and to see if they could see the clip that was inserted during the biopsy. I had to change into the pink, close-in-the-front smock and then wait only about five minutes this time. This was time enough to drool over some beautiful remodeled kitchens in a magazine. Now, I'd have normally gone for some entertainment magazine if they'd had any (did Cameron Diaz and Justin Timberlake really break up?), but for some reason the selection in the Breast Center seems to all be for new moms - Parent's Magazine, Babies Galore, etc. - or serious minded folk - Time, Golf Digest, Boring Mag #4. What about us shallow people? Where is the People? the In Touch? the Style Watch? My thought was maybe patients make off with those because they are the only interesting magazines and that's why there never are any of that sort.

After this brief interval, I got two mammograms (squished again; but this time they put a little pad on the machine so I didn't get squished and have to have the tatas on the freezing cold metal of the machine). In these images, not only did they see the clip, but they saw the tumor. This was actually reassuring because it meant that they'd have found the cancer even without the MRI. My yearly mammograms are in February and guess what month it is now? They would have caught it this year no matter what and that is a very good thought.

I then was escorted to another room where they had an interesting looking table (translation: another medieval-looking torture device) that I will apparently have to lay on. The nurse asked me some more questions and explained the whole procedure to me, and then she left to get the doctor. Before she left, she gave me a huge, blue, fuzzy blanket because it was freezing in the room (for the equipment, I gathered). I wrapped myself in this posthaste (plus, as Mike will tell you, even at 40 years old, I still like to feel swaddled; in the days since the surgery, he has made a point of piling many blankets on me and wrapping up my feet). I have to admit, the blanket was actually a big comfort.

The doctor turned out to be a very young, very pregnant woman (responsible for all the baby magazines, maybe?) who reviewed the procedure with me and also made sure I was who I said I was (not sure why as I can't imagine that some impostor might actually choose to go through this). She then left while the nurse prepped me for the procedure.

I had to lie face-down with my head turned to the right and my right arm up over my head; the left one was down along my left side. The left tata went in a hole where it got squished again (for stability) and then the nurse raised the whole table (I was pretty close to the ceiling; it would have been nice in other circumstances to appreciate my sudden height!) so that no one had to bend over to work on me. She then took two more images and made some calculations so that they knew exactly where to put the wire. At this point, the doctor came back and injected me with a local anesthetic. That stung and she also had to put extra in because I could still feel things I shouldn't have been able to feel. The nurse held my right hand to keep me from moving but I'm an old hand at this now (two MRIs later) and they both commented on how still I kept throughout the procedure. This still amazes me because I don't feel like there is a lot to laying down and doing nothing.

After I got all numb in the tata, the wire went in. The way they do this is the wire is inside a needle that is really a sheath that has the wire inside it. They put the needle in, take a picture to make sure they are where they need to be, and then retract the sheath, leaving the wire behind. It was actually really quick - over before I knew it. The blue blanket was on top of me at this point and I was surprised that I actually felt sleepy. I wouldn't have minded if they'd just left me there for a little snooze. Unfortunately, I had to get up.

The nurse taped down the wire, which was really really fine but could still poke me somewhere unfortunate if left to its own devices. Then I had to get two more mammograms so they could make sure they wire could be seen and that it was really really where it should be. When I got these mammograms, even though there was the oozing blood thing, I was not upset like I was with the MRI. Either I'm getting used to all this again and/or I was much more nervous about Phase 2 - the actual surgery. The doctor and the nurse both said that the wire was perfectly placed. They sounded really happy and a little amazed, so I wondered whether not getting it right is more the norm? If so, then I was glad to be the ideal case. Phew! One down, and one to go. On to the next bit of fun and games!

Après surgery

2007-02-01T14:07:00.000-08:00

We went and saw the surgeon today.

The big news is that i) they did indeed get the tumor and got clean margins; and ii) that the final pathology on the lymph node confirms the day-of-surgery pathology: no lymphatic spread. Both bits of very good news. We also learned that the tumor was creeping up on 2cm which puts it at stage two. (Overall: 2 x 1.5 x .5) Our initial understanding was that it was smaller, but so it goes. The first two points are the most important apparently and they go in our favor.

They also took care of the blisters DKO has been having near the incision. They think it's some kind of chemical burn from one of the preps before surgery. We got some lotions for that.

We also got some insight perhaps into why DKO had so much muscle soreness. It sounds like they took out quite a big "chunk" to make sure they got the margins and that the lymph node they pulled out was pretty deep.

We have to go back to the surgeon next week and then the chemo doctor the week after.

T plus 5

2007-01-31T16:01:00.000-08:00

It's now been five days since surgery. DKO seems to be feeling better every day, though she's still not really up to going out. (Our trip out the other day was abortive; she was too tired to really do anything.)

The "wound" seems to be healing, but there's still blisters and swelling around it. We've got an appointment with the surgeon tomorrow and presumably he'll let us know if that's all going as it should.

What I'm holding my breath about is the pathology on what the surgeon removed. The first question is did they even get the tumor. Then we want to know if they got clean margins. Then they do various tests on the tumor if they got it and those are used to decide on chemo, radiation, etc. Finally, they do additional tests on the lymph node(s) they removed which will hopefully confirm that there's no spread.

Holding our breath, fingers crossed, knocking on wood.

T plus 3

2007-01-29T08:54:00.000-08:00

She seems to be feeling much better in some ways. The muscle fatigue seems to be passing and she's sleeping somewhat better. The nausea seems to be all gone.

On the downside, she's getting blisters from the bandage and has some swelling. Nothing to worry about as far as health, but definitely uncomfortable.

The plan is for a teeny outing today to pick some stuff up at the mall and maybe a trip past one of her favorite places in town: the coffee bus.

She is the champion

2007-01-27T15:23:00.000-08:00

It's 4:30pm the day after surgery. DKO has been dozing on and off. She's feeling sore all over; I'm convinced that once they anesthetized her, they drove trucks over her instead of doing surgery. Her throat's pretty sore from the intubation issues and she's been doing tea + honey all day.

DKO periodically frets that she is some sort of wimp because she's not out hiking mountains and building bridges the day after surgery, but she sure seems tough to me.

Beautiful flowers from the folks at work; you guys are great.

Gramma's making chicken corn chowder and the scotch is disappearing even as I type.

A Quick One

2007-01-27T09:00:00.000-08:00

I'll write more another time; just wanted to thank everyone for all the good wishes. I am doing all right.

Hence

2007-01-27T06:57:00.000-08:00

It's Saturday morning. DKO was pretty nauseous last night. She didn't eat anything and didn't take the pain pill because one of its potential side effects is nausea.

She slept sitting up, but was getting up all night.

The inlaws seemed to sleep fine....the soothing rumble from across the hall lasted all night.

My impression is that DKO is doing better this time than last time, but she says she's in more pain than before. She got up early this morning and had a couple of slices of bread for breakfast.

I think the true measure of her recovery is that she's been instructing me to do Google searches for an old Queen song: guess which one....

Surgery Day

2007-01-26T16:06:00.000-08:00

7:30am. Here we sit in the waiting room while DKO fills out yet another patient history. Today is surgery day. First, we go to the Tucson Breast Center where they place a "wire" at the tumor site. The basic idea is that since this tumor is small and not yet palpable, the surgeon needs some way to find it. When they did the biopsy, they placed some sort of "clip" in that can be seen in the various scans we've done. The surgeon apparently needs more though, so what they do is place a wire from the surface to the clip and apparently the surgeon follows that in to remove it.

So what we have to do today is first go to the Breast Center to get the wire placed. Then we go over to UMC for the actual lumpectomy. The latter is apparently scheduled for noon, so we may be sitting around for some time waiting.

There are all sorts of provisos and caveats about the surgery. The tumor is small and that is good as far as long-term health issues. The downside is that it's harder to find and remove a small one. Apparently, they scoop out a lump of tissue where they think the tumor is, send it off to the lab and see if they got it. In addition, they need a clean margin of healthy tissue around the tumor, so if they miss it or don't get the full margin, they have to go back in, either right then or in a later surgery.

We're naturally hoping this'll all get done in one shot.
7:40am. Now we're waiting for them to call her in. I go up to the receptionist lady and point out that the new cancer center has lattes and a grand piano; why don't they? She laughs and I get a cup of coffee out of the deal. We learn that once they call DKO in, the "wire loc" takes about an hour. (DKO is still here waiting and is now looking over my sholder corecting my gramer and speling.)
7:55am. Somebody comes to collect DKO and take her back. Now we learn the doctor isn't here yet and that the process is at least an hour.
8:30am. Kay is ready to strangle the lady who's been talking on her cell phone for the past half hour.
9:00am. They finish the wire loc procedure and we drive down to UMC for the surgery proper. We sit in the waiting room playing Uno for an hour or so. They're hoping to get DKO in early, but at worst, she's scheduled for noon.
11:00am. They take her back and let me tag along. We run into the surgeon and he laments that they had already scheduled in a surgery before hers, so she's on for noon still. We joke around with him a bit and he is still enthralled with DKO's spiky hair. They take us to the prep room where she changes into the usual hospital gown and they start an IV. We warn the IV guy that she's a hard case and he manages to get in the IV quite easily. There's some debate about which arm, but he ends up doing it on the left side, away from the lymphedema arm and on the current surgery side, but that's apparently a workable move for them.

We meet various residents, nurses, interns, anesthesiologists, etc., all very nice, all re-asking the same questions. The latter is a bit annoying, but it's good to know that they reconfirm drug allergies and such.
12:00. They wheel her off to surgery and I go out to meet Dwight and Kay. We head off to the hospital cafeteria for lunch and we're back at the waiting room, actually outside on the patio--much nicer--by 12:45. The surgery is supposed to last an hour or two, so we're waiting. (I think I reach maximal stress level over lunch. It's not fun thinking about DKO going through that.)
1:30pm. Doctor comes out and tells us she's fine. The preliminary pathology suggests that the sentinal node biopsy is negative which is outstanding news. That's just preliminary though and the final pathology, which should come in another five days, could be different. Another issue is whether the margins of the tumor are clean and they don't know that yet. They want to show us the x-ray they took of the specimen in the OR, but there's some sort of problem getting that to us. Now DKO is in recovery and we're waiting around for when they'll let us in to see her. The surgeon said one to two hours.

The anesthesiologist also comes out. (She looks amazingly like my former student Debbie C.) Apparently, they had a hard time intubating DKO. No life risk, no danger, but she warned us that DKO will have a sore throat and that, in the future, she needs to alert any anesthesiologist that she is difficult to intubate.
2:40. Still waiting. The nice reception/nurse lady tells us she's waking up.
4:00. They let us take her home. Dwight and I head down to the Wallgreen's for prescriptions and ginger ale.

We're finally home.

Results!

2007-01-25T09:50:00.000-08:00

My oncologist just called and the bone scan was fine. Yay! The PET scan picked up the cancer that we know is there on the left side (expected) and one possible lymph node (unexpected). She cross-checked the lymph node with the CT scan and it doesn't show there...so it might not be anything to worry about. She's sending a copy of the report to my surgeon in case there's a chance they can scoop that one out doing tomorrow's surgery. The good news is that the right lung is fine (she ordered the PET because the CT scan showed a possible something there), as is the whole right side, other organs and my brain! YAYAYAYAYAY!

Did I say "YAY"?!

Even though the news isn't 100% positive (because of that one lymph node), I am still pretty dang happy! Plus, the folks are here and even though the reason is lousy, it's great to see them (and Mike offered the scotch because he is goodness and niceness; they didn't snoop!).

T minus 1

2007-01-25T09:48:00.000-08:00

Surgery tomorrow. DKO has to call the surgeon's today to get the final deal on things, precise time, maybe other stuff.

The plan for the day is to take down the xmas tree, hit the bookstore in the afternoon/evening, and a light dinner out.

Parents-in-law arrived yesterday and found the scotch!

PET scan

2007-01-23T14:54:00.000-08:00

You'll all know from Mike's post that the PET scan was yesterday morning. He described our adventures in getting there because of the snow we had (see some pictures I took to the left).

I had to fast, so maybe I was a tad cranky without the fortifying OJ that is my norm. When we got there, I learned that once they make me radioactive, I have to sit in a room all by myself for an hour and am not allowed to read, talk, or otherwise amuse myself because "we want you to really relax". HA! I admit to complaining rather loudly about this. I mean, I was definitely not sleepy so sitting there staring at four walls for an hour was going to really drive me buggy. For some people, this is just not relaxing, right? What if you had ADHD? What then? Whose brain-child was this stupid test anyway? I guess you get the picture.

Fortunately, the nurse that checked me in was very nice and put up with my squawking (I did make a point of saying that I was not blaming her or anything). She finally said, in a friendly way, "Are we done complaining?" I said "No," and kept at it for another minute or two. Mike and the nurse both seemed to find this highly entertaining (although I might have embarrassed Mike a little for which I am sorry). I wound down eventually and the nurse asked me my medical history which I have not only filled out a million times already but also told people about ad nauseum. If you pull my finger, I will probably just trot it out without thinking about it!

Mike left at this point (and yes, he did eat an Egg McMuffin; don't even think otherwise!) and they took me back for the injection. The room I got to stay in was probably about 4 feet by 5 feet - just big enough for the recliner that I had to sit in. First, the nurse checked my blood-sugar because, as the technician later explained, this radioactive isotope attaches itself to glucose. The idea is (as far as I understand it) that cancer cells like sugar. So the isotope looks for sugar-gorging cancer cells, which make more cancer cells, and the PET scan looks for the resulting cell growth. I could have this completely wrong, but it sounded something like this. Or maybe I just heard "blah blah glucose blah blah cancer cells blah blah growth" and made this all up!

I warned the technician who gave me the injection that I was cranky (although at this point I was resigned to an hour of complete boredom to be followed by at least 25 minutes more in the scanner, so I was not really cranky). He was also very nice and completely and utterly patient. He couldn't find a vein in my "good" arm, though he tried once without success. At this point, I realized that after I have surgery on Friday, both my right and left sides will have compromised lymph systems. So I told him to go ahead and look for a vein in my right arm, which I have faithfully protected for 6 and a half years. The good part is that he found a usable vein right away. The bad part is I worry about the consequences of having allowed him to do it. The bottom line is, I guess I am hosed either way. Small potatoes, though, compared to what some people have to deal with every day.

Another good thing is that he did turn on a radio for me. Although my book and crossword puzzles sat forlornly in the corner, I at least got to listen to a morning radio show. Still, it wasn't all that interesting and after 45 minutes or so, I had to pee and started tapping on my legs for entertainment; secretly, I was thinking, "HA! This'll teach 'em!" I finally decided to ring my "doorbell" to ask them if I could hit the restroom. This actually coincided with my being released from my cell. Yeeha!

I was warned to bring a change of clothes with no metal fastenings, so out came the penguin jammy bottoms that I wore to the biopsy. I accepted a blanket this time because it was really cold in the scanning room. The great thing was that the blanket I got was fleece with little dogs all over it. What luck! For this one, I also had to stay as still as possible, although I had to have my arms over my head the whole time. The hardest part was actually trying not to shiver, because I was cold despite the blanket. I tried to zone out but a little panic about the upcoming surgery and what seems to me to be ominous silence on the bone scan started to brew and so I laid there saying to myself, "You're okay; you're all right; everything's going to be fine." I kept at this for a while and just when the ol' bladder was knocking at the door, the scanner stopped and I was DONE! Yay!

The technician then said I could change and that they have snacks and juice if I want some. Okay, NOW I feel bad for starting off cranky. I mean, how can you get more thoughtful than that? And they even have OJ! I drank that while we waited to see if the scans were okay and we could go (although they did say I had to avoid pregnant women and small children for 6-8 hours because I would emit radioactivity). Because I hadn't had breakfast yet, I super-humanly avoided the cookies and took some peanut butter crackers instead. I ended up eating them for lunch and actually thinking fondly of the PET scan staff, if not of the procedure itself.

T minus 3

2007-01-23T12:19:00.000-08:00

No news on any of dko's recent tests.

The in-laws arrive tomorrow. We've got our day at the office before picking them up in the afternoon. The main task today is to restrain dko from exhausting herself trying to do things before her folks get here. Pretty much everything essential is taken care of. All that's left is to hide the good scotch before they arrive.

:)

T minus 4

2007-01-22T10:20:00.000-08:00

Here I sit in the pet-scan place, waiting for DKO to finish.

It snowed yesterday here in town: amazing, gorgeous, beautiful. I haven't seen snow on the ground here since my first year in Tucson.

Our appointment was for 7:15 am, but when we woke up, there was still snow and ice on the roads, so we left about a half hour earlier than we'd planned, just to be sure. DKO drove the big car, as we thought the added weight would be safer. The east-west bridges over the Pantano Wash were all closed! We tried Speedway and Broadway, but found both of them closed, so we headed down to 22nd--with everybody else on the eastside of town--to see if we could cross there.

Fortunately, the police were letting a single lane of traffic cross there, so we got through. While DKO negotiated the traffic, I tracked down the phone number for the pet-scan place to alert them we'd be late.

We got here about a half hour late. Once we'd crossed the bridge, the roads were still a little icy, but remarkable free from traffic, probably because everybody else was stuck at some bridge!

The procedure here is that they inject the patient with something radioactive and then they have to sit still for an hour before the actual scan. We learned that the patient cannot move or even read while they wait; DKO was not pleased...as I'm sure she'll report herself later.

I went off to wait at Mickey D's--where I did not have an egg mcmuffin--and now I'm in the waiting room.

In the meantime...

2007-01-21T12:03:00.000-08:00

Friday a nurse from the anesthesia clinic called to go over my medical history and pre-op instructions. We played phone tag until Saturday, and finally managed to connect in the late morning. The call only took about 15-20 minutes but it seemed like forever. I think this is because it made me actually have to THINK about the surgery when I'd actually been working up a good case of total denial. Dang.

Had to go through: don't eat or drink after X time, call the day before to find out your surgery time, don't wear any jewelry (I hate this one because it means I have to take off my wedding rings), don't use any lotions or perfumes the day of, etc. A new one for me was to shower with a good antibacterial soap. Do some people arrive for surgery really stinky or something? What is that all about? Personally, I think surgery is like that old "wear your best underwear in case you get in accident" saying. Definitely shower because even though the doctors and nurses all see you butt-naked, you want to be clean, right? I'm getting my hair cut, I'll shave my legs (don't want the surgeon to be distracted by scary leg hair), and be otherwise squeaky clean. Look your best for surgery...that's the ticket! Of course, the other interpretation is that they want you to shower specifically with antibacterial soap because the risk of infection is so high that a little Dial in the shower is an essential component of staving off germs. Yikes!

Other than this, I've been trying to keep on top of all the things at work and home that need to get done before surgery this Friday. I'm trying really hard not to drop the ball on anything but I suppose it's inevitable that I'll forget something. I hope not. Or if I do, that's it's nothing really horribly important. Mike knows me so well that on our dog-walk yesterday he said, "Forget about what you want to get done, tell me what has to be done before your surgery." Assuming I'm not forgetting anything, it's definitely a much smaller list now. Yay, Mike!

I have to confess that Mike did remind me that this is probably my last weekend for a little while at least that I'll feel like or be able to go out and about. A good excuse to see friends and to spoil myself completely - and to ignore certain household chores. Friday during the day, I got a massage from the best massage therapist in Tucson (can you tell that I've been with her a long time?). I find out later that she came in just for me and otherwise had the day off. See how lucky I am? Friday night, we went to Ra with our friends Adam and Andy. For me this was like getting back on the horse that threw you, since this is the restaurant where I learned about my new cancer. I think we even sat in the same booth. I must say that these passing thoughts were nearly obliterated by the serious business of sushi-eating, drinking sake (Mike, Andy, Adam) and one chocolate martini (me) and talking with good friends. There was just one moment in the evening when I felt like I was on the outside looking in. Could I really be sitting here having such a good time and have cancer? Why can't everyone else tell? I feel fine, I look fine. Can this be real? Why do I have the total misconception that if a person has cancer, they'll look like they do? I don't think I look like I do, ergo I don't have cancer, right?

Of course, I should know better because I learned this lesson last time. People with cancer look just like anyone else, particularly if they're fortunate enough to have early-stage disease. You probably couldn't pick them out of a crowd if someone gave you a million dollars. People that look like your spouse or partner, your mom, your dad, your siblings, your in-laws, your children, your neighbors and friends. I remember Joyce, whom I met in cancer support group the first time. She didn't look sick to me. Yes, she had a wig, but it looked great. She was wonderfully supportive, fantastically upbeat and had lymphoma; underneath her shirt, she had intravenous chemo attached to her like a fanny pack. She didn't make it through the year but I hope if I'm ever in that situation I can be as giving as she was.

One thing I think Mike and I have both learned: you just never know. The trick is to live each day like you mean it, good or bad. Plenty of famous people have said that and I'm not sure I succeed with it but I think it's a decent goal. Which is why I'm going to go make myself some cocoa on this chilly (!) Tucson day. I'm pretty sure part of the secret is to have cocoa, cuddle up with your little weiner dog, your book and a blankie. Can life get better than that?

T minus 6

2007-01-20T08:39:00.001-08:00

Surgery is scheduled for this coming Friday. Diane's folks are coming to town Wednesday. I guess our lives have four main bits right now:

Stress and fear.
Getting ready for the folks.
Getting stuff done before surgery that needs to get done.
Pretending none of this is happening.

I'm remembering from last time that it was strangely comforting once treatment began and I'm hoping that the same will be true this time.

The Backstory (Part 4)

2007-01-18T15:47:00.000-08:00

January 16, 2007: This is the day of the bone scan, which Mike talked about in his post. I'll just add that there is humor in being radioactive. If we shut all the lights off, will you be able to see me still? Actually, I'll be radioactive again on Monday when I get the PET scan and again for the surgery when they do the sentinel node biopsy. I checked to be sure all this radioactivity wouldn't make me glow. I learn they're far enough apart that no harm will be done. Well, that's comforting. Good thing they're not all stacked up next to each other. Maybe I'd look like that glow monster thing from the old Scooby Doo episode.

We go down to the basement of UMC, to Nuclear Medicine, for this one. It's very dim down there (many of the lights have been deliberately turned off) and you feel a bit like you're in a cave. I'd find it very depressing to work there. When we come back after the three-hour wait, they take me back and I lie down on the machine. It's dark here but maybe that means I'll sleep. The tech is really nice and makes every effort to make sure I'm comfortable - even offering me a blanket in case I'm cold. The machine is a bit like a CT machine except that instead of you moving in and out of it, it moves back and forth over you - and it isn't donut-shaped but more like a square. You have to lie very still for about 45 minutes, so they make you hit the ladies' before you lie down. The tech then adjusts the machine so it lowers all the way down but still leaves room to travel over my body freely. That makes it pretty close to my face and now I remember being disconcerted by this last time. The tech tells me the first scan will take about 20 minutes and it will start at my head and move to my feet. He cautions me not to move my head until the machine travels lower.

I close my eyes, thinking maybe I'll fall asleep. Then I worry if I fall asleep, I might accidentally move, snore, drool, or twitch. I also try NOT to think about peeing. Somehow knowing that I can't get up has the potential to make my bladder demand it. To avoid this, I just try to zone out. When I open my eyes a little while later, the machine is half-way down my body. I think about moving my head, but what if some other body part moves when I do that? I really don't want to risk them having to do this again, so I stay still. It occurs to me that being short has its advantages, as the machine doesn't have to go as far as for some tall person. The first scan is done quicker than 20 minutes, I think, because it's just sitting over my feet (which have now fallen asleep) and not doing anything after only a short while. I can't move my feet, though, because they're trapped by the machine. Finally, they come check on me and tell me there will be four more scans - side views of my skull and ribs, which is standard for patients who have or have had cancer.

I have to keep my head still again and by now I'm getting pretty bored. I strain to hear the muted conversations of the techs. I can't. Dang. Where's good gossip when you need to be distracted? Now I try looking around just with my eyes. I can sort of see out of the corner of my eye a little sign. I strain to make out the words without moving head, which end up being something like: "In case of neuron gas leak, this room something something be evacuated something 2 minutes." I want to laugh at this. Greeeaaat...so what about the people trapped by the machines? How could they possibly get us all out from under them in 2 minutes? These thoughts entertain me until the scans are done. At this point they let me get up. Even though we have to wait some more (see Mike's post), at least there was no gas leak and aside from the needle stick, all I had to do was lie there. Not so bad for today.

Work

2007-01-18T15:15:00.000-08:00

Two days after the bone scan. We don't expect to hear anything about it for a while. There's no particular reason to think we'll get bad news, but for me the fear is always there...knock on wood!

We spent Wednesday in the office. I'm on sabbatical and trying to deal with lab and students one day a week. I think DKO is wanting to follow a similar schedule until treatment overtakes her/us.

The Backstory (Part 3)

2007-01-18T11:28:00.000-08:00

January 11, 2007: This is the day we head back to the surgeon. I'm curious to hear what he has to say about the CT scan. Mike and I have no firm decision in mind but lots of questions. We bring our lists and plenty of other things to do. We'd forgotten how much waiting there can be so we are better prepared this time.

Our appointment is at the new cancer center building. It was written up in the paper and is supposed to be beautiful and have lots of in-house resources for cancer patients and their caregivers. We get there and refuse the complimentary valet parking. A nice touch but we leave that for the patients who really need it. We go inside. The lighting is mellow and the reception area has a baby grand piano in it. Lots of volunteers are standing around to help us find our way. I sign in at central reception and wait to be buzzed on the pager I was given so I can pay my co-pay. Mike finds the coffee shop and gets a cup. I don't feel like having any. Mike then finds the pamphlet area where they have free info for patients and caregivers - how to cope, what to expect, specifics on many different kinds of cancer. Mike takes a bunch of stuff for us to look at later. I look in the window of an empty shop that will soon be a beauty and wellness salon for cancer patients. I make a mental note to take advantage of this if I have to have chemo and lose my hair again. The eyebrows and lashes go too, so maybe they'll have tips on how not to look surprised all the time; Mike says this is the effect and I actually want to laugh thinking about this. He's so good.

I still haven't been buzzed, so Mike wanders off and discovers the computer room, where patients and caregivers can check their email or surf the internet while they're waiting. Another nice touch. Just as I call up the UA website my buzzer goes off. It says "we're ready for you at the South Pod." I haven't paid my co-pay yet so I'm not sure whether to go the South Pod. I go back to check-in and explain. The woman I talk to doesn't seem to know what is going on. Another woman further down comes forward and says she checked me in already. I say "what about my co-pay?" I gather from what she says that she was just going to bill me because their computers are down. She says if I have cash, though, I can pay. I pull out a twenty and she says she needs exact change. I go find Mike, get a ten, go back and pay. I'm a little cranky now. Clearly they need time to work out the glitches here. I feel bad for being cranky so I try to snap out of it.

A helpful volunteer tells us how to get to the South Pod. We check in there and wait only a few minutes this time before we're called back. An aide takes my vitals. No surprise that my blood pressure is high. The room we're taken to this time is much better than our last closet. Everything is new, the lighting is soothing, and there are TWO chairs. Yay! Mike and I settle in to wait - starting a crossword puzzle together in the book Joey gave me for Christmas. It's very quiet and we think we must be the only patients there so far.

I hear heels click out in the hall and I think this must be my oncologist. It is. She greets both of us with hugs and compassion, asks how we're doing. She's happy that she's caught us before the surgeon. She writes the order for the PET scan she recommended on the phone yesterday. She also writes an order for a bone scan (see Mike's post on this). We only get to ask her a couple of questions before my surgeon arrives. One is whether she can give us any kind of estimate as to whether I'll have to have chemo. She says she can't really say until she sees the pathology on the tumor. She says her feeling is that I will probably have to have some. She emphasizes the word "feeling" and we understand that she can't really predict. The other question we start to ask is, of course, about mastectomy vs. lumpectomy. She confirms that survival rates are the same; she confirms the risk-of-recurrence stats. Then she says, "But this is a new cancer".

At that point my surgeon and his resident walk in - an entrance a bit like a tornado. He greets my oncologist and says, "Do we have the CT results?" She says "yes" and hands them to him. He looks at them and says, "Okay, so it's negative." She says, "well..." and tries to say more but he inadvertently talks over her. He looks flustered and it's clear that he's trying to recall my situation. I'm relieved that he read the CT results as negative, but grateful all the same for my oncologist's caution; I'll have the PET scan like she says, just to be sure. He starts reading my chart as she's trying to fill him in. She mentions that I'm BRCA1. He says "she's BRCA1?", and is still clearly trying to catch up. At this point, my oncologist says she doesn't want to intrude on our appointment with him and she will try to see us later. She hugs me again on her way out.

My surgeon apologizes for being distracted. From what I gather he was just discussing a pancreas patient or at some kind of pancreas cancer meeting. I know this cancer is one of the most deadly. I don't mind that he was a little distracted. Now he sits knee to knee with me, holds my hand, includes Mike in his gaze and asks, "What did you decide?" I look down, not wanting to meet his eyes, and say "I don't know." Mike has the list of questions and we start asking them. He answers them readily but midway down the list, still holding my hands, he says, "You're trying to make this decision based on numbers; if the answer were in the numbers, we'd be telling you what to do. You need to make this decision with your heart." I get teary now. The resident (a very nice woman) says, "What does your gut tell you"? I say "My gut doesn't know; it's all twisted up." My surgeon says he thinks I want to keep the tatas and that is okay. The resident says, "There is no wrong answer here." I look at Mike, who says, "You don't burn any bridges this way." I say, "Okay."

After saying this, I try to assess how I feel. Does this feel right? I know I'm not as terrified as I was before. That must be a good sign, right? I ask him what happens if, after having the more conservative surgery, I am a neurotic nightmare - always worrying about recurrence to the point I can't function or drive myself and others crazy. He says there's no problem. We do the mastectomy then. I feel reassured by this but in the back of my mind I have the sneaking suspicion that my other doctor would encourage me to do the mastectomy now. I know waffling now isn't going to help. I spoke the words. It's best if I just go forward and don't look back. I'm pretty sure chocolate would have helped at this point, but we don't have any.

The decision apparently made, my doctor says, "Okay, now I have to say something else scary." Basically, one of the risks of detecting a cancer early is that they can't guarantee to get the cancer on the first try. Mine was detected by MRI, which means he can't feel or see it. He says he doesn't want to see it anyway because that means he got too close. To increase the chances of success, they'll do what is called a wire localization. When I had the biopsy, a titanium clip was inserted at the tumor site. Now they can use mammography to see the clip. They can then insert a wire there before the surgery so they have a better idea where the tumor is. The surgeon says even with the wire, there is no guarantee. While I'm still under, they'll Xray what they excise to see if the clip shows up. If it doesn't, they have to go back in. They also check the margins of the excised portion to see if they are clean (clear of cancer cells) or dirty (still show signs of cancer). If the margins are dirty, they'll have to do another excision. They can't be certain in either case until they do the full pathology (after the surgery is over); so even if they think all is well, the more fine-grained pathology (that comes about a week later) could indicate otherwise.

The bottom line is that if they have to keep doing excisions or they can't be sure they've gotten the tumor, then they have to take the whole tata off anyway. They assure me that in no situation would I wake up with no tatas. If it came to that, they would wake me up and we'd reschedule the surgery for another time. I knew this was a possibility from what I had read, so I'm not as scared by this as I might have been. I think there's a difference between having to take the tata off and being given a choice. If they say it has to go, it has to go. In my case, they'd take both tatas because of the previous cancer. Okay, I'm already starting to second guess my decision.

The doctor then says he'll do a sentinel node biopsy, a procedure he didn't do 7 years ago. This has the potential to make the lymph node removal less drastic. The idea is that if the sentinel lymph nodes have cancer in them (usually there's only one or two), then so might the rest. If they don't, then it's a good bet the cancer hasn't spread to the lymph system. I'm happy he's doing this because there's less risk of lymphedema the fewer the nodes they remove.

Our questions start to dry up. I start to worry about more trivial things, like them finding a good vein for the IV. He looks at my hand and says it will be okay. The resident says to make sure I keep my arms warm the day of the surgery. This apparently helps. Who knew? I worry about being sick when I wake up. This usually happens to me if they don't put an anti-emetic in the drip automatically. He says they don't and the resident says to be sure I tell the anesthesiologist I've had trouble before and they'll take care of it. I worry about compromising the lymphedema in my right arm. Can they protect it? He says they can; he says they'd rather do the vitals and IV on the opposite side from where they are cutting but he says it can be done on the same side. At this point, he looks at my two arms, takes some measurements and tries to convince me that I don't have lymphedema. I let him talk but know I do. This is the one part I find odd and a little worrisome. I was diagnosed for this a long time ago. Although it is mild, my hand definitely swells up from time to time. He doesn't measure my hands.

At some point, we stand to talk. He puts his arm around me and gives me a squeeze. It's comforting and we stand like that for a while, facing Mike, as he asks about our work, about Mike's sabbatical (poor Mike; what a way to spend it). Because UMC is a teaching hospital, he's curious how it works for us. He says he's never had a sabbatical. How does it come about, he asks? He also asks whether I need to work. We say I'm on medical leave. Mike says it's like taking sick days. The surgeon says he doesn't have any sick days and doesn't take vacation much either (although his wife would like him to). He's a very pleasant man. A tiny bit blustery sometimes but ultimately compassionate. Someone who is taking the time to get to know us again. This makes us feel like we're in good hands. Plus, my last surgery went really well. You can barely see the scar. I hope for the same good results this time.

The surgeon leaves us and the resident sits down. Mike asks if, despite what the surgeon says, they can protect my lymphedema arm during the surgery. She says they can and that even if I didn't have it, my lymph system on that side has been disrupted and she would recommend not compromising it anyway. She says lymphedema is a life-time risk, which I didn't know. Mike says, "Well, after this surgery, both sides will be compromised. " Well, dang. That sucks. I hadn't thought of this before.

The resident, also knee to knee with me, seems to know exactly what I'm thinking. She says, "Now you have to promise not to second guess yourself." As I've already been doing that, I say "Nope. Can't promise that." She says, "Yes, you can. This is a good decision. Right now you are going to take my hand and look into my eyes and promise me." I do. It makes me feel better, stronger. She's a very nice doctor, too. I feel pretty lucky.

She gives us paperwork and now have to go down to the old cancer center to schedule the surgery. I also need to get an EKG and some bloodwork done. If we do that today, then we don't have to go back to UMC until the day of the surgery. The surgeon walks by the door and sees that we are still there. He stops to talk with us some more, tells us about his family, a trip he took to Croatia where his wife his from. I say "You did go on vacation!" He laughs, tells us a little bit about it, and ends up chatting with us about work again. He wants to know what I do. When I tell him I work on language acquisition he has lots of questions. We enjoy talking to him but I can see his resident and another staffperson hanging about trying to get his attention (unsuccessfully). Finally, the resident says "I hate to take you away but you have other patients to see." He's a bit chagrined and says good-bye. I leave feeling like he will take good care of me.

Before we head down to UMC, we stop by my oncologist's "pod". We wait a little while to see if she can squeeze us in but after 40 minutes decide to leave. We haven't eaten and we have all the other things we need to do. We leave a message for my oncologist and also leave the orders for the bone and PET scan. The aide says someone will call us with appointment times. I am grateful not be teaching as this makes my schedule more flexible and I can just go whenever they tell me to. My students are very understanding; they all know that meetings with me might change - although it hasn't been necessary so far.

Instead of heading to UMC directly, Mike takes me by the Coffee Bus. We get a bite to eat and my favorite coffee drink. Does he know me or what? After that, we head down to UMC to take care of the other stuff. This actually goes quickly. My EKG is normal, they take my blood without any trouble and my surgery is scheduled for the 26th of January. Still, it has been 6 or 7 hours since we first arrived at the new cancer center. A long day.

The Backstory (Part 2)

2007-01-16T18:59:00.000-08:00

December 18, 2006: We've waited, endlessly it seems, for the results of the biopsy. I haven't told my family this is going on because, well, I thought it might come out okay in the end and I didn't want to worry them needlessly. Although I tell friends (who are massively supportive), it is still hard.

I make the mistake of calling mid-afternoon to find out if they have the results. Apparently, they do but they can't tell me. I have to wait for the doctor to call and she is away for a conference. They say she might call as she's been checking for messages regularly. I know she will if she can, since she is really really good. Still, when I hang up the phone (I'm at work), I'm pretty darn cranky. Okay, angry. How come they get to know about MY body but I don't?! Hmph.

Joey (who's back from Indiana U for the holidays) and Mike and I go to Ra for dinner. We love sushi and they have great chocolate martinis. We sit down and my phone rings. I can see that it's not a number I recognize, so I'm pretty sure it's my doctor. It is. While Joey and Mike are ordering drinks and food, I'm learning that I have cancer again. Not a recurrence but a new cancer in the other tata. I have to say I pretty much expected this (I think you sort of know somehow) plus I don't want to stress Joey, so I'm on auto-pilot - asking what's next, being matter-of-fact. She asks who my surgeon was last time (whom I loved) so I request him again and she says she'll call me with an appointment time with him. Unless he says otherwise, she says I can wait through the holidays. Mike reaches over and takes my hand, as he and Joey can tell through my end of the conversation what the verdict was. When I hang up, I feel almost too sick too want any food or drink. Mike and Joey both say, "Get your martini". Who I am to argue? Joey, ever the optimist, says "It could be worse" and of course he is right. I get the drink, we eat lots of sushi, and the night is good.

Later, I call my family and now I have to tell them point-blank. My mom and dad, my sisters - all really upset now. Even later, Mike and I process it alone and it's scary all over again and perhaps even worse. Time Number Two. What are my chances now?

January 2, 2007: Mike and I are pretty good at distracting ourselves so we enjoy the holidays. Despite weather delays, my sister Cathy gets here from Denver for Christmas albeit three harrowing days late. Still, there's always the thoughts that come up just when I get into bed at night (and I know Mike isn't sleeping well either) and they can keep me up indefinitely. But a new day is always there and that's a good thing. Today we meet the surgeon. Unfortunately, it's a long wait today. My appointment is at 8:30 but an hour later and we've yet to be called back. Finally, we get called back and they put us in a room that is clearly not a patient room but some kind of closet. Right next to the bathroom where we can hear EVERYTHING that happens there. Also, there's only one chair. VERY depressing so we play word games on my cell phone to keep us distracted.

My doctor comes in. After a few minutes of chit chat to recall us from 6 and a half years ago, he holds up four fingers. I don't know what this means. He says "your hair; it didn't use to look like that?". "Ah", I say. "Nope; this is the post-bald look". He then says what I knew he would say and I was trying to prepare myself for. I need to choose between a lumpectomy and a bilateral mastectomy - the latter because now I've had cancer in both my tatas. I can't decide then and there. He gives me stats; we try to work our way around them. The bottom line is that with either procedure the survival rate is the same. With the mastectomy the risk of recurrence goes down 7%. Neither way is there any guarantee. There are no stats on my situation, which is what are the chances of a new cancer just like this one? No one knows. I worry about mastectomy, I worry that lumpectomy isn't enough, I worry that screening for new cancers won't catch future ones soon enough. I worry about reconstruction and silicone, I worry about my job - my students, my classes, tenure, I worry about my family. The doctor and his resident hold my hand, rub my back and tell me they need my help. They can't make this decision for me. It has to be me. I get a little teary. I just don't know.

The doctor discovers I haven't had a CT scan yet (which checks for metastasis to the lungs and liver) and gives me a week to get that and to decide. As he leaves, he holds his hand above my head - clearly wanting to run his hand over the top of my hair. This makes me smile and, of course, I let him.

Back out in the waiting room, we collect my sister Cathy, who nearly finished an entire 500 piece jigsaw puzzle while we were with the doctor. We fill her in when we get to the car and she and Mike both ask what I would like to do. Coffee Bus this time; you gotta love the power of the bean :0)

January 5, 2007: This is turning out to be one of the worst weeks ever. I don't sleep well; neither does Mike. I buy a lot of cancer books at Border's (all published within the last 2 years) but I avoid looking at them. I talk to my Mom, my sisters, to Mike and a few friends. I don't know what to do. I think I should do a mastectomy but it scares me. A former patient of my surgeon's calls me. Says she has had one and reconstruction. She's really nice but I still don't know what to do. She tells me "knowledge is power" and so I call my oncologist and the plastic surgeon. I get an appointment with the plastic surgeon but not until after I have to see my oncological surgeon again. Well, he'll have to wait if I think it's necessary. There are ways to be in control here.

Today is the CT day. Another needle stick, which doesn't go very well. They have to use the vein under my left wrist (the right arm is out because I have lymphedema there). That's the "last resort" vein, as the CT tech later says. It hurts the whole time, especially when they push the contrast through. Of course, it's temporary and Mike (KISA), takes me to breakfast and a scrapbooking store afterwards. My "all about me" treats. He's wonderful.

A few days later, my best-neighbor-ever calls and for the first time I say aloud, "I think I'm going to have a mastectomy". I tell her it's the first time I've said that aloud. She says I should say it. See how it makes me feel. Okay, it makes me feel sick and terrified.

That night, two nights before my next doctor's visit, I read after Mike has gone to bed. I'm up until 11:30 AM, which is late for me, reading all the relevant parts of the books I bought. When I'm done, I'm starting to think that a lumpectomy isn't a cop-out. Breast cancer treatment has come a long way in the last 20-30 years and mastectomy is not necessarily the only way to go any more. One book strongly advocates breast conservation as a first step unless a woman is in any of five particular situations - none of them are me.

Next day, I talk to Mike. We make a pros/cons list and a list of questions to ask. At this point, we are leaning towards lumpectomy. Mike says this way we don't burn any bridges. Once your tatas are gone, there's no going back. My most persistent thought is that there is no guarantee that a cancer won't reoccur even with a mastectomy; this is scary and also sobering. It makes me more cautious about heading straight for the more invasive surgery because it doesn't actually seem to offer the protection you might think it does. I also begin to think: imagine you have a mastectomy, but there are cancer cells still lurking. With no tatas to travel into, where does the cancer go? Somewhere scarier like my liver? My bones? I know this is ridiculous and not supported by the science (survival rates are the same with either procedure) but I can't help thinking it.

January 10, 2007: My oncologist calls to check in with me (I've been trying to reach her with questions). She has the results of the CT scan and reads them to me over the phone. There are changes in the right lung, probably due to the radiation I had last time. She says "but metastasis can't be ruled out". I feel sick. She says we'll do a PET scan and that should be more definitive. She emphasizes that the report reads changes are most likely due to radiation and that the wording about metastasis is merely a caution. She says she'll try to touch base with us tomorrow when we're waiting to see the surgeon. I feel myself weaken about the lumpectomy. When I hear the word metastasis, I'm thinking, "Take those tatas off!" I eat chocolate after this conversation.

Later we go out to dinner with our friend Andrew. Mike opts to break his "no fat" rule and gets a steak. Even though I'm not fond of steak, it suddenly sounds good. We all get steak, eat yummy veggies and potatoes, talk. We discover that Andrew is actually sick but dragged himself out to cheer us up. People are so good to us; we're very lucky.

Bone scan

2007-01-16T17:16:00.000-08:00

Today we did the bone scan. This is, as far as I understand it, a test to see if any cancer has metastasized into the bones (a bad thing). We were slated to arrive at the hospital at 9:30 when they would inject DKO with something radioactive. We would then return three hours later for them to do the actual test.

The initial visit meant they had to find a vein, which is always a problem, but apparently that went well.

We left the hospital and hung out in the department for a few hours while dko wrote letters and met with students (and I met with Mizuki who's visiting from Montana). We went back to the hospital at 12:30. The scan apparently went hitchlessly (though I had to endure the "whiner family" in the waiting room for a half hour or so).

Unfortunately, we had to wait around for the doctor on call to "check the films" before we could leave, so we went to lunch in the hospital cafeteria. Sounds gruesome, but it's not all that bad. No problem with the films, so we left for: i) JoAnn's for a treat for dko, ii) Goodwill to drop off stuff, and iii) the post office.

My space. The whiners were a drag, but it's really nice to have the laptop so I can distract myself while hanging out in the various waiting rooms.

The Backstory (Part 1)

2007-01-16T16:45:00.000-08:00

To catch everyone up on what's happened so far...

November 2, 2006: I go to my 6th month check-up with my oncologist in which I ask her about MRI imaging for women at risk for breast cancer. My mom and I have the BRCA1 gene, which we were tested for after my last bout with cancer (in 2000). We were tested because a year after I got cancer, my mom got ovarian cancer and the year after that my sister got breast cancer. As a result we are all followed pretty closely by our doctors. My mother and sister have been getting MRI imaging every 6 months, but I have not. This visit, I convinced my doctor to order a scan (no reflection on her; she's absolutely the best!).

November 30, 2006: I go for the imaging. A completely painless procedure except for the contrast they inject. I have really lousy veins so this part always sucks. Otherwise, you lie face down but the tatas go through little holes. Then they put you in the machine with headphones on so you can listen to music. Tip: in case you ever have to get an MRI for anything, it doesn't matter which kind of music you pick to listen to - you won't hear anything anyway! The machine is too loud. I tend to snooze. It's the best way to get through it :)

December 1, 2006: My oncologist calls me at work to tell me the MRI shows something suspicious. This is the very next day, so I am relatively stressed about this. She recommends going straight to a biopsy instead of further imaging. I agree whole-heartedly. Okay, I admit I cried when I hung up the phone. Wonderful Mike and AmyFou are there to support me. I elect to wait on the biopsy so I can wrap up my classes (the next week is the last week of classes at the U of A) and Mike and I can take the romantic trip to Sedona that we had planned.

December 12, 2006: Sedona was the best. We had a great time - it was definitely healing. This is the day I go for the biopsy. They have to use MRI to do it because the blip is so small. I go back to the same place I went for the imaging. I know it's not going to hurt (except for the stupid needle) so I am not really worried about the procedure. I bring my penguin jammy bottoms and socks (that my sister gave me) to wear while they do the test. I learned last time it was cold and no metal is allowed, of course, so I come prepared this time. The techs all get a kick out of the penguins. Actually, everyone is really nice. The procedure doesn't go without a glitch, though, because the first time they try it, they can't reach where they need to go (the machine itself is apparently in the way), so they have to try again. One of the techs holds my hand and rubs my back the whole time. This is to keep me still but also to support me and it really was a nice gesture. When they're done, they all tell me what a great job I did. I say "All I had to do was lay here! You all did the hard part". Such nice people.

I now have vampire marks on the tata. I have to admit I was wishing Dr. McCoy would come along and zap me with something to make me better a la Star Trek. I know we've come a long way technologically but it's all too reminiscent of the Spanish Inquisition - particularly when they take me for a mammogram after the procedure. For all you men out there who may not know, they squish the tatas something awful when they do this. I am numb, of course, but the thought of this when I know I'll bleed is the straw that breaks the camel's back. I want to cry but I don't...yet.

Mammogram over, I go to Mike in the waiting room. We'd talked about going xmas shopping for Joey afterwards so he wants to know if I'm up for it. I just keep saying "I just want to get to the car". Once there, I burst into tears - feeling like a big loser the whole time. It didn't even hurt but there I am crying. Mike is great as always and tells me he thinks I am entitled to a good cry. He assumes I'll just want to go home but through my tears I say I want to go to Starbuck's. Nothing a tall peppermint hot chocolate with soy can't fix! My knight-in-shining-armor (KISA) takes me there posthaste and then we go to Southwest Strings to look for presents for Joey. We get him lots of Beethoven sheet music (requested by him and which was definitely a xmas hit).

Why Hatshepsut?

2007-01-16T16:25:00.000-08:00

As soon as I was diagnosed, I wanted to find a name for my site that would be an affirmation of my determination to beat this once again. First, I thought of "Cancer Girl" (I was thinking super heroes) but my mom didn't like it and I'm pretty sure someone writes under that name in a women's cancer magazine that I get; so that was out.

Mike was all for "amazon queen" or "warrior queen" but I thought those were too generic. I almost caved when he said "Diane, Queen of My Heart", though. My next thought was Boadicea, but she eventually lost and that's definitely not the message I want to communicate to the universe. My sister suggested Electra (she saw some movie in which Electra kicks butt) but she's in love with her dad and that's also not the message I want to send. I do love my dad, but not THAT way :-)

Finally, I thought of Queen Hatshepsut, whom I've read about in the ancient Egypt mystery series by Lauren Haney. Hatshepsut actually ruled Egypt for about 20 years and was the longest reigning female Pharoah. I think she must have been a pretty strong woman to hold off all those men and to rule during such violent times. Mike was disturbed because she apparently wore a beard and dressed like a man at times to show she was capable of ruling but, hey, I got plenty of facial hair as a result of my last bout with chemo...so I'm not bothered by this!

What This Blog Is For...

2007-01-16T16:15:00.000-08:00

Because I have so many wonderful friends and family that want to know how I'm doing, I've decided to post my cancer updates here. So anytime you like, you can check here and Mike and I will try to keep everyone informed.

The first thing I want to say is "thank you" to all who have reached out to us thus far. It is incredibly uplifting to know that we are not alone. With so many people thinking good thoughts, I'm sure that all will be well.