BATMOM

Wow!

We all cried here at Casa Clyde thanks to Barack Obama (except for Adeline... she just wanted milk)! What a gorgeous, wonderful, history-making speech. Here are some highlights.

"America, we are better than these last eight years. We are a better country than this...

"Now, I don't believe that Senator McCain doesn't care what's going on in the lives of Americans. I just think he doesn't know....

"It's not because John McCain doesn't care. It's because John McCain doesn't get it...

"I don't know what kind of lives John McCain thinks that celebrities lead, but this has been mine. These are my heroes... [his mother and others who have struggled against difficult circumstances]

"Washington's been talking about our oil addiction for the last thirty years, and John McCain has been there for twenty-six of them. In that time, he's said no to higher fuel-efficiency standards for cars, no to investments in renewable energy, no to renewable fuels. And today, we import triple the amount of oil as the day that Senator McCain took office...

"Individual responsibility and mutual responsibility - that's the essence of America's promise...

"The times are too serious, the stakes are too high for this same partisan playbook. So let us agree that patriotism has no party. I love this country, and so do you, and so does John McCain. The men and women who serve in our battlefields may be Democrats and Republicans and Independents, but they have fought together and bled together and some died together under the same proud flag. They have not served a Red America or a Blue America - they have served the United States of America...

"We may not agree on abortion, but surely we can agree on reducing the number of unwanted pregnancies in this country. The reality of gun ownership may be different for hunters in rural Ohio than for those plagued by gang-violence in Cleveland, but don't tell me we can't uphold the Second Amendment while keeping AK-47s out of the hands of criminals...

"Regarding the Karl Rove/John McCain playbook: You make a big election about small things. And you know what - it's worked before. Because it feeds into the cynicism we all have about government. When Washington doesn't work, all its promises seem empty. If your hopes have been dashed again and again, then it's best to stop hoping, and settle for what you already know...

"This country of ours has more wealth than any nation, but that's not what makes us rich. We have the most powerful military on Earth, but that's not what makes us strong. Our universities and our culture are the envy of the world, but that's not what keeps the world coming to our shores...

"Instead, it is that American spirit - that American promise - that pushes us forward even when the path is uncertain; that binds us together in spite of our differences; that makes us fix our eye not on what is seen, but what is unseen, that better place around the bend..."

Barack Obama

Full speech here.

Vent

So Tom and I have been glued to the Democratic Convention. We were worried about Bill Clinton's speech. He rocked. He totally rocked. He and Hillary gave a one, two punch. Hooray!

You know who also rocked (besides the awesome Joe Biden and his awesome son Beau)? John Kerry. Though many won't know, because MSNBC cut out of it (after playing really annoying MSNBC theme music underneath the little part of the speech they did actually play). We heard most of the speech on the radio in the car, but we were looking forward to seeing it when we got home ((because we are, dare I saw, OBSESSED). So we play the recorded speech and...MSNBC cut from it to get Keith Olberman and Rachel Maddow's perspective on the same old questions of the Clintons and unity, blah blah. Now, I admit, I love Keith and Rachel, but, really, it's about the people on the podium. It's not about TV pundits! I don't want to know what you think before I listen and decide what I, the voter, think. Let me hear the damn speech! Okay, enough, I vented... the pundits on all the stations and their little, judgmental club: they're bugging me... Tom Brokaw is just annoying. 

We went to Ecole Bilingue's orientation night. Cole starts school on Tuesday (urghhhh). He's ready (I think), but am I? George said he wanted a magic wand so that he can have the same teachers and the same class. Uh-oh. He will have the same great English teacher, but his amazing teacher Olivier is back in France. His new teacher Emma is special too and tonight confirmed that to me and to Tom. It's hard to believe that it's next week.

Just in: MSNBC is now playing clips of John Kerry's speech. I bet some bloggers told them he was good. Duh. Where are the real journalists? 

I'm so worked up, I need some relaxation... some beach, some umbrellas...

Here: the Maidstone Club on Long Island

 

Luck

I had more energy today. I even went out of my way to walk around  a ladder, not under it. Maybe the non-superstitious me, is suddenly superstitious. Hmmm... I thought 'why not?' It doesn't hurt to walk around the ladder. I'll take all the luck I can get right now. And yet, I felt silly afterwards. Luck. Am I basing this whole cancer thing on walking around the ladder? On luck?

It was a CT scan, not a PET/CT... so, thankfully, I was not radioactive and it took less time. Let me be clear though: it was not fun. I hate those things. But Tom and I had a lunch date afterwards. I imagined Tom holding me as I did the scan and I thought of him out in the lobby (with new HIPPA laws he couldn't come back with me as he has every other time). And I suddenly thought of how lucky I was. Then I briefly laughed at myself: yeah real lucky. But I am. I am deeply in love with my husband. He is my soul mate. And I have three perfect children made of and from pure love. We found each other. Luck? Fate? Random?

We took those three perfect(ly) loud children to a once fancy Polynesian restaurant, Trader Vics. We thought it would be fun and different. It was. We saw a seal diving and swimming and birds and boats. And Babu got each of the bambinis a parrot on a stick (who wouldn't want a parrot on a stick... I was the first to order a drink with one in it ... why not?). When it came time for the unexpected trans-fat bomb Chinese fortune cookies, I picked up one that I knew was mine. And Cole demanded it. So I took another, "Time is precious." No shit. To whom do you think you're "talking?" Cole's cookie (ahem, mine) said something about a social occasion... something... whatever... I'll take it. Benign, frivolous, boring, social, you have time to be benign, frivolous and boring... that's the cookie for me!

I didn't take a hint from the cookie. I really felt like it wasn't mine and it didn't apply to me.

We don't get the CT results for more than 10 days. Both of my docs are on vacation (I guess that's what happens when your liver surgeon is married to your oncologist). I feel good though. I know I'm doing well just like I knew that fortune cookie was no fortune of mine.

 

Body

Today it was all about my body. Disgusted by it. Loving it. Thanking it. Disgusted by it again. It is so foreign to me these days... my body. Scars and scars and scars and plastic foot long bags hanging off of my belly... part of my intestine sticking out next to my belly button (called a "stoma," doesn't make it any better). Rashes, gashes, and swollen feet pads... 

And then I remember what my body is doing. It's fighting for survival. It's trying to thrive in the worst of  conditions and succeeding. And I thank it. I try so hard not to lose two more pounds each chemo round. There's a whole new world of what is good for me with my new plumbing. Not brown rice, white rice. No greens, meat. This defies all I've ever been told. I feel like I'm being evil to my body when I have sugar and yet, I'm supposed to be gaining weight. I don't need more guilt right now. I'm trying to eat and keep anything down. I try to eat well. Honestly, I don't need any more evil looks and disapproval from my nutritionist. Urgh.

Tomorrow to the zoo with candy and ice cream. Yum...

Pump Out

We did a reading of my screenplay SOME ROMEO tonight. It was great to have some of the Transparent Theater gang together again (though we missed those of you in Chicago, NYC, Ireland, etc...). It was really great to hear the script having taken shape and I now feel like I know how to rework it. 

The pump is out, and I'm feeling pretty good. The Kytril switch is really great. I feel like I'm still a human being even during the four worst chemo days. I haven't seen enough of the kids for the last few days. I hear them laughing downstairs in the morning, but can't manage to even roll over to check the clock. 

I did go to swim class with George this morning. He had a swimming test, but never even knew it. Good because he failed! Neither he nor his two cute classmates would hold their head under water for the allotted 10 seconds, but George didn't care. His goal had been to put his whole head under the water and he did it! Twice! He was so proud and sweet. Babu and I were proud, too!

 Here is an Obama video Tom, the kids and I made in the backyard a week or so back.

 

The Same Heart

I felt so good today. So normal. I took Adeline and George to swimming class. I took Adeline to my favorite yoga class. Babu and I took Adeline, George and Cole to music class and we boogied. I know I will be slammed with chemo on Monday, but today feels, well, GREAT. I have to remember, as Tom reminds me, that when I'm in hell next week I will get better in a matter of days.

I talk a lot about what I do with the kids because it takes a lot for me to do it, and it means so much to me. But what I forget to write, is that Tom, Babu, Sheri, George and Lucia do so much to make it possible for me to have the time with my kids or therapies I crave. Tom gets up with the kids in the night. He gets up with them in the morning and gives them breakfast. He always seems to be doing dishes. Babu drives the boys to day care when they go. She helps with swimming class. She cooks on most nights and cleans up. Tom does the sometimes endless task of getting the boys ready for bed and the hour of demands. Lucia cleans up after breakfast without ever being asked. She takes over when I'm tired but always gives me the space with my babes when I am strong. She is kind and wonderful... and she LOVES my kids ;-)  Sheri and George take the kids, cater parties, drop off meals, come at a moment's notice, are ever supportive and encouraging of my every whim (even dumb ones), and have even been our chauffeur and greeting crew on a particularly crucial doctor's appointment. 

I forget to write about this amazing posse. I forget to thank them enough. Thank you!

When Tom talks about chemo, he says, "We have chemo on Monday" or "We have liver surgery..." And it's true. Once I was in the middle of a visualization about male strength within myself. I was concerned with why Tom did not "show up" in the visualization. I asked myself where he was and I realized he was underneath me, holding me. In essence, he was me. It was strange and strong. When I told him about the experience, he said "Of course, we have the same heart."

Yes.

Back from the Beach

I didn't mean not to post for three days, but we didn't have wireless down in Carmel, and I was too tired from the week's chemo to work out a connection. We had an amazing view from Jim and Angie's house, though. The rocks and beach and ocean for miles and miles and miles...

I forgot to take any reading with me. And with no internet and no desire to watch TV, I sat with myself a lot. Aieeee (as the kids' Tin Tin book goes when Captain Haddock gets his beard zipped in his sleeping bag). I'm not sure how much sitting with myself I want to do these days.

I've had a very prolific creative month. It's been kind of manic and unending. I want to write! I want to paint! I want to play the piano! But as I sat in Carmel, looking out at the shades of blue water crashing on black rocks, I realized I had also been running away from myself as well. If I'm doing something passionately, then I'm not reflecting. 

Hmm. And I had quite a break down on Saturday night with Tom, Martt (who visited) and Deanna (who lives in Monterey). I'm not as grounded as I was the last go around and I've realized I need to go back to Reiki and yoga and Master Danadoost and support groups... and... and... anything that prepares me because I don't feel strong or brave or prepared. I feel scared. ALL OF THE TIME. I need to gain some control of something because I'm whirling and spinning and feel more than a little off course.

I've got to get back to that warrior space. Warrior? Warrior? I know you are in there. Time to come out and train... aieeee (warrior cry)?

Comfort

I have kept all of the cards and notes that you have sent me, They are in a bag in my nightstand and offer strength and hope and comfort. Tom's cousin Dale sends bright, interesting cards with pictures from her travels. Inside she writes in reference to a blog I have just written... beautifully musing on a thought. The card arrives so promptly that I feel as if I'd only posted the referenced blog on the moment the card arrived. Did that make sense? I have chemo brain. It helps me to have you all on this journey with me. I love you all!

I am tired. I should sleep.... pump out tomorrow and off to Carmel. Our friends have offered us their beach house there for a week. As Carmel and Monterey Bay are too beautiful to pass up, we took them up on their generous offer!

These big photos are for you, Babu (she's off on an adventure in Canada)! We miss you!

22,000

No, it's not the cost of my latest chemo. It's my white blood cell count. It was 115 on Wednesday (when they wouldn't let me do chemo). And now, it's over 22,000. Wow! That Neuprogen works!

I had chemo today. The port access went easily enough.  I asked for the very stingy, numbing shot (lidocaine) before the access. Although it may seem that the port access is less painful than the lidocaine, I know what to expect with the shot no matter who the nurse is. And the access is painless with the lidocaine no matter who the nurse.

My first chemo partner was a midget who never took off her headphones except to joke with the nurses. She appears to be used to the routine and knows what works for her. My second partner was a man whom I could not understand: he had a lot to say! He came into the Bat Chemo Cave in a wheelchair, but insisted on getting out and walking into our room, so that Sheri (who brought lunch) did not have to move. He reminded me of David, my step-father. The man wore a dark blue uniform: a combination of a milkman's and a UPS worker's. A nurse asked him if he was an auto-mechanic.

"Yep."

"Did you come from work? Long day"" I asked.

"Haven't worked in 16 years."

He spoke with a strange, unrecognizeable accent and in retrospect he many have had some of his tongue removed. It took me awhile to figure out what he was saying.

"He wears the uniform every day," said his daughter.

"Every day for sixteen years," he said. 

I have a character in a recent screenplay who always wears his uniform and was never actually in the military. I also have a woman who stays in an old bridal dress. I felt we were kin, this nice guy and I.

There are so many people coming and going form the cancer center, and I said the other day that I am the only one I've seen cry, and that everyone seemed so together. Well, today, I looked closely and I felt as if I could pick out the ones that were new to this and those trying to cope. One man I overheard told his mom that he wanted to work in a fast food restaurant.

"What?!" she said. "It's not fun. I've done it. It's no fun at all. Why do you want to do 

that?"

"Just because I will never be able to..."

And he laughed. And his momma looked away.  He's not supposed to go first... That's not right. 

Guffaw

Do four year olds ever stop talking? Can Cole ever scream quietly at George? Will Adeline ever learn an ounce of patience?

Now you know what kind of day it's been. Not a bad day, a dear friend even visited. But a normal day. I tell myself that I am not a bad mother for wanting George to take a breath. I am not a bad mother for zoning out as he's telling me how astronauts tie string from their rocket ships to the moon so that they can find their way home. I am not a bad mother for letting Babu put both of the boys down to bed tonight (they are still up there making a racket... poor Babu... and yep, they just woke up Adeline. Grrr).

And of course, they're also cute as pie and I want to eat them up. But maybe not tonight.

I've been going in for my neuprogin shots every day and they make my bones (particularly my lower back) ache and spasm. Fun. I went in this morning for my shot and who should come out and get me but the Bad-Though-Nice nurse. I covered my total panic quickly. I've rarely (if ever) had the same nurse and here she was smiling too sweetly at me. It was just a shot (a stingy, long shot to be sure), so I figured I'm lowering my statistical chances of getting her for port access again. I did make her double check the medicine and amount even though I had no idea what the amount should be. As I said the shot is painful but does not affect me the way port access does, so when I nonchalantly dealt with the shot, she was amazed. She was ready for a breakdown. 

I had called my doctor's nurse about some things today. When she she called me back, I realized she had no idea that I had missed chemo, was on antibiotics, and was getting these shots (I had seen the nurse practitioner, not my doctor on Wednesday. She was the one that delayed my chemo). "Does Dr. Cassidy know I didn't get chemo on Wednesday?" I asked the nurse. "Sure. I don't know. Probably. I'm sure." Yeah, but I'm not. 

I'm not as optimistic as I used to be. I said that today to Gena, my EMDR therapist. I said it wistfully, tragically... and she busted out laughing. And then I busted out laughing. How many therapists laugh in your face? But she does it with such a full heart and we share an ironic sense of humor and her laughs instantly reframe things for me. Of course I'm not as optimistic as I used to be. I mean, duh. 

Going to Gena was my first foray back into my complementary therapy world. I've been enjoying NO appointments (well, until the neuprogin), but after Wednesday's stress attack, I knew I needed help again. The month between liver surgery and the beginning of chemo was a bit of a head fake. I felt pretty good and lived a fairly normal existence. I almost forgot I had cancer. I had to tell myself in the mirror the other day: "You have cancer." "This is real." That felt terrible and then I cried.

But everyone is asleep right now (even Tom) and everything seems peaceful and not so bad. Maybe I haven't lost as much optimism as I thought. (Insert guffaw here).